AN: I hope you guys like this chapter! As always, thank you for being so patient with me, and so much love to all of you who are invested in this little tale. If you're a creator of any sort, you know how much it just warms the heart to see that people care about what you create. Don't forget leave a comment in the reviews if you enjoyed it, give the story a follow if you want notifications when it updates, and if it takes your fancy, perhaps even save it to your favourites list! If you would like to follow me on Tumblr for some behind-the-scenes action, Shadowtoherlight. Tumblr. com would be the URL! Peace and Blessings to all of you lovely people.
XVIII
—
Hermione's eyes skimmed over the front page of The Daily Prophet as she sipped her morning tea. The gala she'd hosted had been the headline for several days, but the Dark Lord had finalized the first wave of pairings from the Fortification Programme the previous night, and the newspaper was already making wild speculations as to who had been bracketed with whom, if there would be backlash over the decree, and so on and so forth. The girl scoffed at the sensationalism of it all, but was unsurprised when she saw who had penned the article.
"Stupid slag," She muttered, pushing the paper aside and stabbing at her bowl of fruit. Across from her, Draco smirked.
"Skeeter?"
"Even with a controlled media, she manages to dramatise things to the point of absurdity. How can anyone take her seriously?"
The boy just shrugged. "People like drama, though I agree with you, her writing is distasteful. Hopefully whoever she's put with will be able to restrain her some."
Hermione froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. Lowering the utensil, she gave her intended a surprised stare.
"She's in the Fortification Programme?"
"Of course. She's an unmarried Half-Blood, and one with a substantial position at The 'Prophet. She could either register or lose her influence," Draco explained casually, spreading butter on some toast. When she was silent, he glanced up at her.
The witch was trying to remember what she'd read about magical people and reproduction. It stood to reason that if they lived so much longer than Muggles, they would be able to bear children later as well. Still, Rita Skeeter was nearing her fifties. Though it was possible even for Muggles, it was strange to consider a woman of such an age having kids, and that was the intent of the programme.
She shook her head. "How is the Dark Lord even arranging all of this? Is he just drawing names out of a hat and slapping those two people together?"
"The Healers are handling most of it. They dig through family medical histories and look to see how many times certain bloodlines have married each other, then the potential match gets sent to a wizard the Dark Lord recruited from Japan. I guess he's a type of Healer, a Geneticist, I believe he called himself. He does something with blood and then either clears the match or denies it."
At his description of the process, Hermione's eyes widened. It was actually quite sophisticated sounding, far more medically driven than political. She'd assumed the opposite.
Deciding she could contemplate the topic at a later date, she moved the conversation in another direction.
"Your mother thinks we should go see the vineyard the Corvi family gifted us," she said, resuming her breakfast. Draco looked at the incessantly overcast sky.
"It would be nice to get out of England, even if just for a day..." He murmured, then drew his brow in a thoughtful expression. "We'd have to let him know we were leaving the country, and he'd likely put a trace on us, just to be safe. But it shouldn't be a problem. Was there a certain day you had in mind?"
"Well, your birthday is in two weeks. That gives the Dark Lord time to plan for your absence, and the date will make it more… interesting, for the papers."
He looked up, scrutinizing her emotionless expression.
"'Interesting?' What on earth do you mean by that?"
Hermione shrugged. "The Daily Prophet would cover it for a couple of days, probably. They wouldn't be able to publish any speculation, since the Dark Lord will have approved of the trip, and obviously wouldn't have done so if he suspected anything improper. But it would still give them something to rave about, and it will keep us in the spotlight."
"Today won't be enough for that?" He questioned, his tone mildly exasperated. They were going cake tasting that afternoon, and as soon as they stepped foot in public, there was certain to be cameras following their every move.
"Of course not. Today's outing will probably get an article on the second page of tomorrow's 'Prophet, and that will be all. We're just eating cake, it's nothing spectacular."
"Why is it so important to be the center of attention all the time?" He said with a sigh. His intended gave him a dubious stare that then morphed into one of resignation.
"It reinforces the narrative that the Dark Lord is now accepting of Muggle-Borns. He wants us to be seen out together, and often, so that the community has no chance of forgetting exactly who his heir is betrothed to," Hermione stated. Her voice was measured, but she poked at a bit of apple with more force than necessary, hinting at the disgust she felt with the whole situation. Draco looked down at his hands, idly toying with his ring.
"So this is the Dark Lord's idea, not yours?"
The girl scoffed. "If I had my way, this whole engagement would be a completely private affair, with no one outside of the guest list having an inkling of what went on. But, that obviously wouldn't be very politically advantageous, so here we are."
There was an awkward silence as they both took sips of tea or snagged bites of toast. Draco eventually reached into his suit pocket and produced a thin box, pushing it towards her as he stood.
"Your 'sparkly bit' for today."
Hermione opened the case with an almost tired expression, only for her eyebrows to raise and her lips to part slightly. Her intended smirked.
"I assumed your tastes were more understated by the way you reacted to the necklace. It appears I wasn't wrong."
It was a simple diamond tennis bracelet, a far cry from the gaudy collar he'd given her on the night of the gala. And, he was correct, it suited her style much better. After staring at it a moment, she gingerly closed the box and met his gaze.
"I appreciate your consideration of my preferences. It's very lovely," she said softly. "Thank you."
Draco gave her a nod, then asked if he could escort her anywhere before he met with his father. When she declined, he gave another dip of his head, confirming he would meet her in the entry hall at noon. He then made his way from the terrace.
Hermione called for Migo and ordered him to fetch Delilah for her, the House Elf returning with the requested witch in seconds and bowing to them both before disappearing. Delilah, ignoring whatever her companion began saying, picked up the little box on the table and lifted the lid.
"This is exceedingly modest, especially from a Malfoy," she remarked as she studied the jewelry. Hermione growled and summoned the bracelet out of her escort's hands.
"At least he gave me something I might actually like instead of just flaunting his vaults."
The other girl gave a sparkling laugh. "You do realize that any Pureblood girl would weep to have access to the Malfoy jewels? And here you are, saying you'd prefer dainty little bracelets to centuries worth of gemstones. It's so absurd it's almost comical."
"Then laugh and shut up about it," Hermione snapped. "I'm not a Pureblood. I wasn't raised in your obnoxiously materialistic society, and if my tastes are more simplistic than that of every little twit who claims a pedigree, then so be it! Let it be one more reminder of who I was born, and the position I now hold; let every one of your empty-headed, narcissistic, inbred friends look at me and sob, because a lowly Muggle-Born is going to marry the heir of one of the oldest Pure bloodlines in Britain."
She angrily stormed back into the manor, leaving an aghast Delilah on the terrace. For the first time since she'd arrived at the Malfoy estate, Hermione didn't give a damn about propriety or escorts or who might be watching. She marched through the halls to the library and sat herself on one of the plush sofas, summoning a book from a random shelf and barely glancing at the title before diving into the pages, trying to quell the frustration pumping through her veins.
—
"I apologize for upsetting you earlier," Delilah said, though it didn't sound like she meant it. Hermione caught the girl's gaze in the mirror as she stood from her vanity. She'd lounged in the library for a few hours, then returned to her room to Glamour herself some before going out, and had just called for her escort to accompany her to the entry hall. She hadn't expected an apology, even if it was shallow and ingenuine.
Turning, Hermione leveled her stare on the other witch. "Thank you. Anything else to add?"
"A word of advice, actually," Delilah said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "You may not be a Pureblood, but you're supposed to be playing at one, are you not? I suggest, then, that you get used to the grand gestures and attention that come with your new title. Your intended is only going to be able to get away with that," she gestured to the diamonds draped over Hermione's wrist, "once or twice, then people are going to start whispering, and not in the way you want them to. Everyone knows you don't care for each other, but that doesn't mean you act like it. Especially in your situation. You need to be doing everything you can to portray the notion that you adore each other, and do you know what that means to my inbred, narcissistic friends?"
She paused, but Hermione was silent, so she continued. "It means he lavishes you with diamonds and sapphires and whatever beautiful thing he can get his hands on, and you repay him with touch and affection in public, where people can see that he is yours. It's a simple, necessary exchange that you'd best be getting comfortable with."
The atmosphere in the room was heavy as the two witches held each other's gaze. Several moments of quiet passed, then Hermione swallowed and squared her shoulders.
"We will discuss this in depth later," she said cooly, then began heading towards the manor's main entry hall, Delilah keeping pace beside her.
When the two witches entered the foyer, they both straightened infinitesimally at the sight of Narcissa Malfoy, who was holding her son's hands and muttering something. The woman had become somewhat of Hermione and Draco's publicity manager, organizing outings for them and strategically leaking bits of information to the press so that there was always gossip circulating.
Nodding to Delilah, Hermione moved to kiss Narcissa on the cheeks.
"Good morning, mother. You look well," she said, delicately looping her arm through the one Draco offered her. The Malfoy Matriarch gave her a pinched smile.
"Thank you, love. Now, André and Paulina are expecting you at any moment; they've served many high-profile clients, and they know how to handle press. I instructed them to keep this outing quiet until the very last moment, so there shouldn't be as many reporters. Remember to take your time, we don't want anyone thinking things were rushed, and Hermione, be sure to discuss the design intricacies with Paulina. She's wonderfully creative." The elder witch then stepped back and looked the pair up and down, giving a satisfied hum. "I suppose you ought to be off, then. Do enjoy yourselves, the Deschamps truly make the most splendid cake you'll ever taste."
With that, the young couple turned to the extravagant marble fireplace behind them, each tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the flames and clearly stating "Celesti Alley."
—
In a flash of green, Hermione stepped out onto the crisp white streets of what could be considered the Wizarding World's version of Bond Street or Fifth Avenue. She stood as tall as she could, taking her fiancé's hand and interlacing their fingers as they began to stroll leisurely down the way.
It took almost no time for the witches and wizards around the street to begin ducking their heads together and murmuring. And it wasn't long after that that the first cameras began to appear, discreet at first, but with every step the couple took, the more emboldened the reporters became. By the time they reached Deschamps Pâtisserie, they'd had to enact a distancing charm so as not to be impeded by the photographers.
When they entered the bakery, Hermione was nearly overwhelmed by the heavenly scents wafting around her. There were various delicacies arranged beautifully everywhere you looked, and for a brief moment she felt like a child again, wanting to run all about and taste every single pastry. Shaking that thought from her mind, she focused her attention on the man emerging from behind the main counter.
"Young Master Malfoy, Miss Granger, it is so lovely to meet you both! I'm André Deschamps," introduced the man, who looked to be in his late thirties only. He lightly kissed the hand Hermione raised, then shook Draco's. "Please, sit. I will locate my wife and we'll bring everything out."
Draco seated his fiancée at the little marble table near the wall, then took his place opposite her, the two of them waiting quietly.
When the baker reemerged, he was levitating a large silver tray in front of him. Behind him was a tea cart being controlled by a witch whom Hermione assumed was Paulina Deschamps.
As they got closer, Hermione gave no outward sign of the shock that went through her when she noticed the curse scar running over much of Paulina's left side. There was a faint lavender glow that shimmered underneath the damaged skin, hinting at which curse had caused it, and the young witch ignored the whispering in her brain reminding her of who in her Order had favoured that curse.
Paulina seemed curious about Hermione, as well. She gave a dainty bow as her husband introduced her, allowing Draco to brush his lips across her knuckles, and while she wasn't staring, Hermione felt the woman's eyes land on her as though she were being tapped on the shoulder. It was quite strange.
Mister Deschamps lowered the platter to the cart his wife had brought, removing the cover and flicking his wand so that it was suddenly a pyramid of trays bearing slivers of cake.
Hermione was trying to pay attention to what André was saying about their baking process, but yet again she felt the odd tap of Paulina's gaze, and couldn't help her eyes from flicking over to the woman. Strangely enough, Miss Deschamps seemed to be studying her hair.
True, aside from color, their locks seemed near identical. A looping, twirling mass that was half-waves and half-curls, Hermione's bearing her father's chestnut brown whereas Paulina's were a strawberry blonde. There was a prickle in the young witch's mind, as though she'd forgotten something, but she set the feeling aside to examine later as a small plate of cake was placed before her.
—
No one would ever claim they rushed things. By the time they had settled on flavours, hashed out a design, and discussed all the other details surrounding a wedding cake, it was nearing three o'clock. André and Paulina promised Hermione they would be in contact frequently, sending her sketches and miniatures of what they came up with, then the engaged young couple made their way from the pâtisserie.
Instantly there were cameras flashing, and, remembering Delilah's words from earlier, Hermione tucked herself closer to Draco, their hands entwined. Tossing up another distancing charm, they strode down the Alley, taking their time and ignoring the questions the reporters were shouting.
They passed a man walking the opposite direction, who nodded at them with a smirk, then Disapparated. Hermione looked up at Draco in confusion, her intended staring at where the man had been with a similar expression. Then his face morphed into one of recognition and he swore.
"Hold on to me, Hermione," he hissed, whipping out his wand.
She didn't have time to question before he had whirled her into him and gripped her around the waist.
There was a bright light, a deafening boom, and a sudden, searing pain.
Then the world disappeared.
—