XXIV
—

"What do you think of this one?" Hermione questioned lazily, levitating a sketch in the air. She and Draco were sitting on a blanket near one of the koi ponds, reviewing some of the cake designs the Deschamps' had sent over. He looked up from his papers and narrowed his eyes.

"Isn't that the same as the last?"

"Just making sure you're paying attention," she quipped with a tiny smirk, then floated a new drawing in front of them. He smirked as well, giving his input on the detailing before returning to his reports.

The Dark Lord was away on business for a week, therefore the occupants of the Manor could breathe easier for a short amount of time. Draco had taken to bringing his work outside, where he could join his intended as she continued to plan the various galas and wedding ceremony, and her company coupled with some positive intelligence from his Scouts had put the boy in high spirits.

Hermione jumped a little when her fiancé was suddenly reclining beside her, looking up at her with a mischievous expression. She quirked an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Your mother would have a fit if she saw you like that."

"Well, she's been a tad busy lately, so I doubt my posture is high on her list of concerns," Draco said, his tone matching the look he wore. He caught one of her curls and twirled it between his fingers. "I like your hair at this length."

Hermione scoffed. "You're in such a strange mood. Do I want to know why?"

"Several reasons converging at once, I suppose," he mused, then grinned and snatched away the notebook she was scrawling in.

She was indignant, but didn't fight to retrieve it, so he concluded it wasn't anything private. He flipped to the page she'd had open and scanned it, his brows furrowing.

"Are you really analyzing every single detail like this? Merlin, it's just the cake, no one is going to pay such close attention."

Grabbing the book back from him, she said, "Someone might!"

The boy softened a touch. "Hermione, by every star, please just do what you want with this," he muttered. "I know you don't have much of a say in anything else."

"I have quite a lot of say in my dress, actually."

He placed his fingers on her lips. "Don't breathe a word of it. There are traditions that must be upheld."

The girl pushed his hand away and turned back to her notes, only for him to grasp her wrist and kiss it, drawing her gaze back to him. He pressed another soft kiss to her palm, then studied her engagement ring with a faraway expression. Hermione felt a spike of magic run through her as he traced the large center diamond.

"Most days I still don't believe you're really here," Draco whispered. He then let go of her hand and rolled onto his back, staring up at the clouds with the same distant look. His intended sighed and set her notebook down.

"I don't believe it either," she murmured, her countenance breaking into wistfulness for a moment. But the melancholy was quickly replaced by acceptance, and she laid next to her fiancé, reaching over to caress his cheek. "But… If the stars were so aligned that things had to be this way… I can imagine far worse scenarios."

Turning to face her directly, his hand found her waist, his gaze heavy as he contemplated her.

"You seem to put a lot of faith in them. The stars."

The young wizard noticed a glow in her eyes as she gave a tiny smile. "Astronomy was one of my favourite classes at school," she said quietly, reminiscing. "In our first lesson, the way Professor Sinistra explained how magic moved and changed with the celestial bodies, like it was connected to them... it made so much sense to me, like she'd revealed an obvious truth I should have seen. And the more I studied it, the more convinced I became that magic is a part of the heavens in us."

Her focus returned to the present, and she took a slow breath. "I believe in the power of the stars. Not in a sentient, god-like sort of way; but I do think they influence us here on Earth."

Draco was quiet for a moment, his forehead creased as he thought over something.

"Do you think you could have changed things?" He mused, his stare not meeting hers. "That you weren't always bound to…"

He trailed off, but she understood. Hermione placed her hand over his.

"Perhaps," she whispered, then swallowed. "But perhaps this is where I'm supposed to be. For one reason or another."

The occasional rippling of the koi pond was all that was heard for a time, as the boy tried to find words. In the end, there really were none, and the two of them just laid in the silence, lost in their own thoughts.

It was several minutes later that Ditzy popped into view, startling the pair. The House Elf bowed low, then turned to Hermione.

"Mistress Granger is receiving a Floo Call from Madame Paulina Deschamps," said the little creature, so Hermione reluctantly sat up, gathering the designs she'd been examining into a neat pile and then standing. She bit her lip as she looked at the sketches.

"Do you really think no one will pay attention to the cake details?"

Draco nodded. "All they'll notice is the taste. Besides, since it's known that the Deschamps' are making it, it's a fairly automatic pass no matter what it looks like."

He waved his wand over his own papers, and they condensed into a folder that he tucked into his coat pocket before vanishing the blanket they'd conjured. Reaching out, he grasped her hand and kissed it, then they started towards the manor.

Draco escorted his fiancée to her preferred sitting room, where Delilah was already perched on a sofa, making small talk with Miss Deschamps through the fireplace. Hermione kissed her intended on the cheek while he brushed his lips against her knuckles again, the standard farewell for an engaged Pureblood couple. Then she sat down before the Floo.

"I'm so pleased you were able to find time for me this morning, Miss Deschamps. There were a couple of designs I really liked, but I'm considering changing a few details, if possible."

"Anything for you, Miss Granger," Paulina said, the hint of a French accent gracing her words. Her face was set in a warm smile, and a jolt of recognition flashed through Hermione, puzzle pieces clicking together in her mind.

Truthfully, it was an inconsequential realization. It would change nothing. But the young witch couldn't help the feeling of shock that ran through her as her mind turned over the notion that she was descended from the same bloodline as Paulina Deschamps. An uncomfortable feeling also bloomed in her stomach as she caught a glimpse of the marred skin on the woman's neck, recalling a vivid image of Fleur elegantly casting the lavender-coloured curse during training.

It didn't matter. Paulina was baking her wedding cake, and that was all. Yet as Hermione began to describe what she wanted to change, the look on the other witch's face seemed to imply that she'd figured it out as well, and that maybe it did matter.

—

Draco's expression was stoney as he glared down at Arnold Caswell. A month in Azkaban had done a number on the prisoner, and the man was already beginning to look vacant. But there was still defiance in his countenance.

Snape had his arms folded across his chest as he, too, glared at the captive. He'd slowly been breaking through the man's shield and into his memories, but it was taking too long to reach any information that might still be relevant. Draco had been experimenting in his lab and concocted something he thought may help speed the process, but the Potions Master remained skeptical.

"You're certain it won't kill him? You said it contains Castneedle Extract, which is incredibly difficult to distill into its inert form. If you've done it wrong-"

"It's not wrong," the boy hissed, unstoppering the vial and pouring the contents into a cup of water. He swirled the liquids together, then nodded at the two guards on either side of the prisoner.

They waved their wands and Caswell became rigid in his seat. One of the wardens took the glass Draco handed him and tipped the man's head back, prying his jaw open and magically forcing the contents down his throat.

The prisoner went into a severe coughing fit, then a milkiness clouded his eyes, and he stilled as if in a trance. Snape drew his wand and focused, but after a few seconds, the elder wizard snarled.

"You will have to direct his memories with questioning, currently it's as if he has no control over where his mind turns."

Draco nodded, waiting for his godfather to entrench himself in Caswell's consciousness, then began attempting to guide the man's thoughts.

The interrogation lasted several minutes. The young Malfoy could only hope Severus was getting the information he needed, as the Potions Master was as still as stone, his eyes wrenched shut in concentration.

Eventually, the cloudiness began to recede from the prisoner's irises, and Snape inhaled deeply as he opened his eyes.

"I fear much of the intelligence may now be irrelevant, since it has taken us so long to retrieve it. However, there is some that should help us to piece together a larger picture." He paused and looked at his godson. "Well done, Malfoy."

The two wizards turned to leave, while Arnold Caswell fixed his glare on Draco, wearing a look of unbridled rage.

"Your Mudblood whore will burn!" He shouted, and Draco froze. When the blond turned back to him, a cruel grin bloomed on the captive's face. "We might've failed the first time, but you don't turn traitor to The New Order and survive. Maybe we'll bring her back to headquarters, take a few of her pretty little fingers, make her beg us to forgive her before we kill her nice and slow."

The boy started towards the prisoner with darkness in his eyes, but Snape dug his nails into his arm for a moment.

"If he dies, Draco-"

"I assure you, I will not let him die," Draco said, his voice laced with something black. "No matter how much he screams for it."

There was a heavy silence in the room, then the Potions Master gave a nod.

"Avoid damaging his mind, the Dark Lord may still have use for him."

With that, the elder wizard swept from the room, leaving the Malfoy heir with Caswell. Draco looked down at the man with ice-cold hatred.

"If you presume to be taking people's fingers in the future, you ought to have some experience with it," the boy said, gesturing to the wardens. One of them held the prisoner's shoulders with slightly glowing hands, while the other waved their wand, a string of scarlet light tying around Caswell's wrist. The guard then manipulated the light, forcing the captive to stretch his arm out onto the table that was already covered in questionable stains.

Draco smirked and brandished his own length of Hawthorn, a dull orange gleam like that of an ember appearing on the end of it.

"Wand hand first, yes?"

—

Hermione closed her book, her brows furrowing when she looked at the clock on the mantel. It was nearing ten o'clock, and she hadn't seen Draco since he'd left her to discuss the cake with Miss Deschamps. He'd had some engagement to attend to, and hadn't returned until well after lunch, according to the House Elves. He'd apparently Flooed directly into his bedroom and not come out since, not even to have dinner. It worried her.

"Ditzy," she called, the Elf appearing not a moment later. "Is the young Master Malfoy still in his quarters?"

"He is, Mistress Granger. Shall I deliver him a message from the young Mistress?"

"No, that's alright. Is he still awake, or has he retired?"

The little creature hesitated for a millisecond, then glanced at the ring on Hermione's finger and spoke.

"He is askin' us elves to leave him alone, Mistress Granger. Ditzy does not know if the young Master is awake or asleep, she only knows that the young Master was not in bright spirits when he was comin' back from his work."

The witch sighed. "Thank you, Ditzy. You may leave."

With a bow, the House Elf disappeared, and the girl stood. With a few Disillusionment charms cast over her in case anyone happened to be around, she set through the house.

The Heir's Suite was on the second floor of the manor, on the opposite end of the Master. Still, Hermione felt the urge to tiptoe as she ascended the stairs and crossed the hall. For a second she considered leaving the boy to his musings, since he was clearly upset, but then she bit her lip and knocked on the magnificent french door anyways.

She felt a shimmer of magic run through her, then the doors swung inwards. Disregarding propriety, she stepped over the threshold.

His room was dark. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she could only just make out her fiancé's silhouette framed against one of the tall windows.

"Draco?" She whispered, the sound a gunshot in the quiet. He didn't respond, so she came up beside him, first laying a hand on his shoulder and then entwining their fingers, curling into him. He took a shuddering breath and instead wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. It was far bolder than he typically dared to be, which only served to deepen her concern.

"You can tell me," she breathed. He seemed to think about it for a minute, then gave a long, weary sigh.

"We interrogated Caswell today," the young wizard began, hatred cycling through his veins at the mere mention of the prisoner's name. "Overall it went well. But before we left…"

"He threatened something," the girl finished. He nodded and held her just a bit closer. Hermione placed her hands over his, beginning to trace her Sigil for peace even if it had no effect.

"And what happened after that?" She coaxed, knowing that he needed to talk about it. There was silence for a moment.

Draco didn't want to give her the details. While he couldn't exactly say he'd enjoyed torturing Caswell, at the same time, it had felt like justice. And he had dragged it on and on.

"I did to him what he swore he'd do," the boy muttered. "I don't regret it, but… now I can't seem to stop thinking about what he said."

Hermione considered her words carefully before speaking them.

"We're safe, Draco. When we have to go out again, we'll have every protective spell imagineable cast over us. You don't have to be afraid of The New Order."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "I'm not afraid of them, Hermione," he said, turning her to face him. His hands cradled her cheeks as he held her stare in the darkness. "I'm afraid of losing you."

There was a weight that filled the air around them, and for a while, neither of them moved. Then Hermione laced her fingers at the nape of his neck, raised herself onto her toes, and kissed him.

She had been hesitant about the act for a long time, for no real reason other than she was scared of crossing such a defined line. But as his hands traveled down to her waist, and his lips responded to hers with such a sweet, delicate fervor, she came to the realization that there was nothing she didn't want share with him.

Draco felt the last vestiges of denial in his chest dissolve into nothingness. She was the beginning and the end, the sky above him and the earth below, the air in his lungs and the blood in his veins. She was everything, and that was all there was.

Their lips met time and again, only separating for quick sips of air before returning to claim each other.

Whether seconds passed or hours, neither knew, but eventually they stilled. Hermione rested against Draco's chest, his arms encircling her. He pressed another kiss to her temple as he just held her, and she gave a small, content sigh.

"You won't lose me, Draco. I promise."

—