Harry hadn't been kidding. She had no idea how he had managed it in such a short time. No wonder he looked exhausted, eyes heavy behind his glasses as Ginny leaned sweetly against him. While his preferred aurors were to accompany her and Ron inside, showing Malfoy or his security the warrant as needed to enter, he reported that there was also a veritable Ministry army surrounding the edges of the Malfoy estate. Kingsley had personally blessed the deployment of anyone who volunteered - and approved the overtime. As he should.
It was eleven o'clock. Based on surveillance, guests had begun to arrive around nine.
Hermione asked a few questions - was Draco definitely inside? No reason to think he's not, but no, we're not sure.
Lucius? No sign of him.
How many guests? Over a hundred, at least. Death Eaters who avoided prison, their wives and partners, and then a slew of wannabes - heirs and hangers on of the dead or locked up set.
"Pansy?" croaked Ron.
"Yes, she's there," said Harry, patting his arm. "You won't be able to miss her."
Ron swallowed. He looked as nervous as she would have felt, if she cared about a specific outcome happening tonight.
Hermione had one goal. She was calm. She had no doubt that she would accomplish it, and then the pieces would fall as they may. At best she would learn that this was all some terrible misunderstanding and Draco would spirit her away. Ideally, to his bedroom, and make it up to her with kisses and declarations of his own and whispered compliments in her ear. At worst, Lucius would show up and perhaps drag her off to be tortured. The possibilities were endless. Time marches on. She was prepared for all potential paths.
Harry met her eyes, watching for any doubt. Finding none, he nodded. "We'll see you at the exit. At the first hint of trouble, you run."
They trooped out of Ginny's flat, bidding her solemn goodbyes, onto the street. "Wait," Hermione said. "The glamour."
She cast it over herself and then Ron. He turned into a blurrily handsome redhead. Completely unrecognizable.
Harry took their hands, since he knew where they were going and had been there for reconnaissance.
They apparated to the edge of Malfoy's drive. Ridiculously long. Unlike the night he'd brought her to the pool, now the whole estate seemed alive. Lanterns lined the walkways. Greenery festooned the gates. The Manor was lit in every window. People were congregating, waiting to board one of a line of magical horseless carriages emblazoned with the family's crest. Their doors were open, awaiting guests.
Harry wished them luck and disappeared before he could be noticed. The four aurors he had selected to accompany them were hovering, and Hermione told them briskly to stand apart unless she called for support. They split up, into the carriages before and behind. Clearing her mind of everything except the mission, Hermione climbed in to one, Ron offering his hand. She gripped it gratefully. Perhaps she was nervous, just a little.
The minutes until they arrived at the front door of the Manor were excruciating. She'd worn her watch, of course, and it gave her a measure of comfort to see that Ron and Harry both hovered over Danger. At least they were together. She focused on the sound of the gravel beneath the wheels. Counted to eight. Tried not to draw comfort from picturing his face.
When the carriage stopped Ron stepped out first and helped her down. "Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"If I don't get to tell you in there - Happy New Year." He bent and kissed her cheek. "This one will be better than the last."
"Happy New Year, Ron. I hope so."
The aurors were around them - the tallest of them nodded, and then they were walking up the stairs. Ron extended his elbow, and she accepted.
As they entered the Manor foyer she straightened her back and lifted her chin. Tits up, Granger.
The sound was overwhelming - a dull roar of people talking and laughing. An orchestra, somewhere, provided a soundtrack.
There was security waiting inside the doors - two menacing-looking guards in the general shapes of giant thumbs.
"Names?" one asked dumbly. He had a scroll in his hand, checking his list.
"Granger," she said clearly. "Hermione Granger."
He looked for it. "No, lady. Yer not invited."
"We're with the Ministry," interrupted the lead auror. "We've a warrant to conduct a search." He produced it from his robes and thrust it forward confidently.
Not knowing what to do with that, the guards looked at each other and then at the warrant and again at each other.
"Thank you," she said, and pulled Ron past. The aurors trailed behind.
There were people milling about - gorgeous posh types everywhere, wearing flowing dresses and fancy robes. No one she recognized. She glanced at her watch. Eleven fifteen.
She didn't know where to go. There was a ballroom on one side and a dining room on the other. She remembered this place only vaguely. Her fingers ghosted over the scar on her left forearm.
But she felt it - the pull. Malfoy is here. You will find him.
Surprisingly, the arrival of six non-Death Eating types caused no stir. Hermione couldn't quite understand it. She supposed she'd envisioned that the moment they - she - entered, a hush would fall and Malfoy would stride forward, angry and enticed. Then, ideally, would fall to his knees before her, explaining that he'd made a hash of everything and begging for her forgiveness. An exception to the rule: he never begs for anything.
Instead, she and Ron and the aurors, trailing in pairs, wandered through the crowds like they had received an invitation. Perhaps it was because they were all appropriately dressed and young and attractive. Perhaps it was because everyone else seemed to be several drinks deep, judging from the slurred words she could distinguish, and engaged in conversations of varying intensity. Perhaps it was because these Death Eaters were less familiar with each other than the old guard had been, new faces meriting no reaction. She trusted it was the glamour, too - she and Ron obscured, unremarkable.
It was never going to be exactly like your imagination. But regardless of the reason, no murmur proceeded as they passed through the foyer and turned into the candlelit ballroom. No path cleared, an arrow from her to Malfoy.
The aurors dispersed at her nod. They were still close, but took up positions, pretending to chat with each other, near the ballroom doors. No one noticed their Ministry badges, concealed beneath their dress robes.
Hearing snippets of talk, she made a snap judgment - pivot the plan. Learn everything you can as long as you can. So instead of trying to find Malfoy as quickly as possible, she led Ron by his arm and circled the room.
It was crowded enough - far more than a hundred, she'd have to speak to Harry about his team's ability to count - that they were able to unobtrusively listen in on nearly any conversation. She was on alert, looking, always, for Malfoy - but didn't see him anywhere. Ron similarly scanned, hunting for Pansy.
She overheard one small group sloppily speculating about why they were there. They seemed surprised that "Young Malfoy" got them together, "especially at a time like this, what with his father and all."
She and Ron kept meandering and soon discovered that was the prevailing view among the guests. Had she misjudged the gathering? She hadn't heard one person yet celebrate Voldemort or Unforgivables or Lucius. Perhaps -
"-and then he told me he had a proposition. Very convincing, that Draco. He has his mother's charm. So I heard him out."
"What did he say?"
Out of the corner of her eye she checked who was speaking - a group of two wizards and a witch, probably in their thirties. They vaguely and repulsively resembled Karkaroffs.
"Assurances that if I stick with him, I'll be rewarded. But warned that Alonso will make the same pitch."
"So why Malfoy instead of the Carrows?" asked the witch.
"He encouraged us to go to their party too. There'll be hunting, potion-induced revelry, and vampires willing to blood share - for those inclined. But Alonso is generous with the pomp and promises, stingy with the substance, that's what Malfoy said. If action is what I want from the Carrows I'll be waiting forever."
"But what of his plans?" pressed the other wizard.
The speaker shrugged. "We'll see what unfolds tonight. It was enough, though - to get me in the door."
Ron tugged her away. They must not linger. Of course. But her mind raced. The Death Eaters - there were factions. They were competing. Malfoy versus the Carrows. She remembered the big map of his lands in Yorkshire. The Carrows were his neighbors.
She heard Harry's name and she and Ron froze, turning their backs to the conversation to avoid notice. She squeezed his bicep, steadying herself. Beneath her fingers, his muscles had gotten larger. Stronger. She looked up at him and he blushed beneath the glamour, noticing that she noticed. "Been playing a bit more Quidditch, that's all," he murmured. Uh huh. His eyes swept the room. Looking for someone.
Hermione listened for more about Harry.
"You're the only one who's spoken to our host tonight, Waldron. What did he say about his views on the Ministry? On Potter?"
"He promised more details later, in the dining room. After the ladies get tired and begin to leave, he said. When I reminded him that I dream of seeing Harry Potter's blood on my grandfather's axe, Malfoy responded with all the right things. Destroy from the inside, you know. Install his father in power. Same as the Carrows, frankly. But I did inquire about the rumors."
"Which rumors?"
"Haven't you heard? That he's been seeing one of them. Potter's Mudblood. Apparently she's quite taken with him."
Ron glanced at her sideways and she hugged his arm, hard. Don't reveal us.
The speaker's companion laughed. "I bet Malfoy was mortified."
"Just seemed surprised I knew. And to the contrary - he admitted it." Hermione could barely hear over the desperate roar in her heart - "Said it's true, he's found an in."
Not hope. Horror. Replaying those moments between them - their promises, both acknowledged and implied.
"How's he going to use her?"
"He didn't say. Nor would he concede that his experiment this year was a failure."
"How could it be, MacNair? Lucius is out, isn't he?"
"The failure is in how it happened, Goyle. The weapon." He lowered his voice so that she had to step back, bend an ear. "Malfoy won't say what it is. But apparently he's lost control of it. It's missing in Yorkshire."
"Missing? He told you that?"
"Fuck no. I heard that from -"
Several things happened at once.
A slender woman with a smart dark bob appeared across the room, staring at Hermione and Ron. She was in a red gown, red lips. Eyes devastated, taking them in. She turned away, moving swiftly through the pockets of guests, headed for an exit.
"Pansy," breathed Ron. "Wait." He moved toward her like a moth to flame, pulling his arm unceremoniously from Hermione's. He didn't even say goodbye.
She was alone.
But she didn't have time to dwell. Because before she could even process it all - the shock of Malfoy telling people about her, about his weapon, of connections she hadn't ever drawn - she looked up.
The crowd shifted just so, opening a line of sight as the orchestra swelled.
He was standing across the ballroom.
Malfoy.
Draco.
Their eyes locked.
Held.
He took her in, his sweep from the crown of her head to her feet and back nearly imperceptible. The glamour. Perhaps he didn't recognize -
His cheeks tinged red as his jaw flexed.
Right. He recognized.
He did not take his eyes off her. Whatever discussion he'd been engaged in appeared to have died. The little crowd around him slowly turned their heads to look at her too. She could not place any of them, yet - because her focus did not, could not, leave his face.
Malfoy. Just there, across the room. Her heart beat his name.
His attention drew that of others in a ripple that spread. Malfoy, showing interest in a woman. Malfoy, Dark Society's most eligible bachelor. Malfoy, staring at a dark haired witch in a bold green dress.
She looks familiar, they murmured. "Can't put my wand on it," one witch said.
Hermione had got her moment after all - parting crowds and a hush falling.
Someone paused the orchestra with a squeak.
Her watch vibrated. Danger. It was only a few minutes to midnight.
She was thankful for the hours of preparation. The hair and the makeup. Her dress was armor. It gave her the courage to raise her head a little higher. To push her shoulders back.
To advance, silk swirling.
Each step, a memory. Each step, fresh pain. Each step, a piece of the dawning awareness. The creature was Draco's. He meant to use it as a weapon. He'd known about it - more than he'd let on. He had wanted to wield it, the monster that nearly killed her. And now it was missing.
As she approached, he didn't look surprised to see her in the least.
"They must know each other," she heard a wizard mutter. "But I've never seen her before. I wonder who her family is."
When she was just a few yards away, he smiled. Slow, lazy. Confident.
Like he expected her.
Of course, they matched each other perfectly. His dress robes were in the style of a cloak, shoved over his shoulders to reveal a white jacket and black tuxedo trousers beneath. His hair, freshly cut and shiny. His face, carved from stone.
She observed his mother in her periphery as part of Malfoy's contingent. Narcissa didn't look like an invalid. She looked like a lovely middle aged witch with a lot of money and just as much taste. Her dress was impeccable, her expression unreadable. Her eyes stayed on her son. Theodore Nott was there too, looking flustered and frustrated in a slim-fitting tux.
When Hermione got close enough to see the curve of light eyelashes she found that her grand plans of declaring her feelings were temporarily forgotten. Hard to form those words when her throat was closing, swelled with the unspeakable.
"Evening, Granger. I should have known you would get your midnight kiss," he said, mocking her quietly. "No matter what."
But it was loud enough that the Death Eaters in his immediate vicinity heard. Began to speak behind their hands, heads bent to each other's ears. That must be Hermione Granger, the Mudblood! . . . Can you believe this? The Mudblood crashed his party . . . she wants to kiss Young Malfoy . . . she has a crush, of course . . . I heard they were the same year at school, she must have been pining for him all these years . . . I don't recognize her . . . how pathetic. She told herself to ignore them. She didn't care what they thought.
Malfoy's gaze hadn't strayed from hers, yet. Until she was a foot away - they both blinked.
She felt all the room's attention on them. His mother finally looked Hermione over, briefly, and turned back to Malfoy. Theo, though - was watching Hermione carefully. Frowning like he hadn't quite recognized her beneath the glamour, but now that he did, her presence was a great disappointment. He seemed to be trying, failing, to catch Malfoy's eye.
Malfoy suddenly grinned for all to see. Turned, hands out, to his people. "Witches and wizards - several guests have suggested that I mark this occasion with a speech. Some of you, the bolder ones, have asked me to share my family's plans. We all know there's a dragon in the room - my father, Lucius. You've been honest with me about your expectations that I address it, and I'm appreciative. Young Dolohov here even shared some information about the Carrows. Shame they couldn't make it tonight to celebrate with the rest of us. What's that you said, Tony?"
Tony Dolohov was apparently a nervous-looking willow of a youth, standing a few paces from Malfoy. There was a grotesque shadow of a mustache over his weak upper lip. Put on the spot, feeling the shift of the crowd looking at him, he winced.
"Go on," Malfoy urged loudly. "Tell them about my competition."
"I just said, uh, that the Carrow cousins have a plan."
"Speak up. We all want to hear it while we drink my father's wine and dance in my family's home."
The Dolohov boy found his voice and raised it. "They have an actual plan, Draco, for vengeance on the Ministry and Harry Potter. Times, dates, assignments. I haven't heard anything like that from you."
Malfoy nodded solemnly in faux contemplation. "And yet - the Carrows have not produced results. They promise a carnival for the Spring Equinox - months away. Whereas my guests are already fed and watered. Whereas my father is freshly freed. Whereas I have Harry Potter's crown jewel - Hermione Granger - live and in the flesh. Gorgeous flesh, poppet, do a spin." He winked at her.
Tony, seeking to avoid his pending humiliation, eyed her. "Speaking of results, Malfoy - is this your weapon? You speak of flesh - is this what you worked so hard to hide on those secret lands of yours? We all know we were supposed to have this party months ago. But you were gone, sending us letters with thin excuses for the delay."
Theo was staring at Dolohov like he was about to entertain them all with a murder.
But for Malfoy it was the first sign of a crack. He paled.
"Yes, Draco," she whispered. "Am I your weapon? Am I the monster?"
He swallowed, eyes meeting hers. Narcissa glanced between them, looking confused.
Hermione smiled. "They probably expected claws and bigger teeth."
"Unfortunately," he said softly, "you showed up instead."
Emboldened, she whirled. She wanted to hurt him. Spoke as loudly as she could without shouting. "You all should know -"
Malfoy moved behind her. He had his hand on her upper arm, fingers digging into her skin, and he was taking her, pulling her and shoving her in equal measure, dragging her with him through the murmuring masses. The orchestra began to play again.
"Do not make a sound," he gritted in her ear.
They were at the door of the ballroom in a heartbeat. Two of the aurors stepped in front of them and Malfoy laughed. He shot a spell at one, a leg-locking curse. The other narrowly avoided something worse. Hermione sighed as Malfoy breezed her past. You'll have to tell Harry to get them better training.
She thought he might take her to the front door and throw her out into the cold. But no, he was leading her up the set of grand stairs, his security guards closing in behind to block curious partygoers from following.
They were in a long hallway covered in portraits of more Malfoys - they called to each other as he guided her past. He was walking so quickly she tripped several times, trying to keep up. But he didn't let her fall.
He turned suddenly and put her though a set of double doors - into a room. A big one. Books, everywhere.
His library.
It had a massive fireplace at one end, surrounded by the largest chairs she'd ever seen. They were begging for someone to sink into them. He lit the hearth with his wand, pulling off his dress robes and tossing them aside. He took her arm again and moved her closer to the flames.
"I could cheerfully kill you," Malfoy said. But his voice had no heat in it. "I don't think I've ever been so angry."
He was examining her, scowling. "Now that you've gone to all this trouble, take off that glamour. I want to see you properly."
She did, and he hummed, lips twitching. Like he was relieved.
That's a lie. She wanted to retort. But there was nothing left. Learning about his experiment, his weapon - it was so much worse than she'd thought. Would she have come here, if she'd had the whole truth?
You are only at the dawn of the heartbreak. It felt like long days, ahead.
"You came all this way," he said, stepping into her like he'd been compelled. "Though I have no fucking idea why."
She couldn't speak - was too busy taking him in. He was here, in front of her. The last time she'd seen him he'd had sex with her. It had changed her, her life. And then he'd just left. She'd forced him to leave.
"Well?" He was frustrated. "You must have something to say."
"Kirby was right." The words tumbled. "You really are planning something important. Something significant. A revolt."
She realized the mistake as Malfoy's eyes widened. "So that's how you found out." He chuckled bitterly. "I should have known. I told him to go to your flat that day. I could sense you were anxious about something. I thought maybe emotions about Christmas. Perhaps loneliness. 'Keep an eye on her and report back,' I told him. But obviously I forgot to be specific. 'Don't tell her about the fucking party.'" He wiped his hand over his brow, amused and upset.
"Please don't hurt him," she begged.
"Merlin, Granger. What do you think of - right." He sighed. "I'm not going to hurt Kirby. He's done everything I've ever asked of him. I assumed you came tonight because one of the attendees leaked it to the Ministry. Not everyone here loves this idea - of gathering. I got more than a few declines after Lucius escaped. So I figured someone talked. It's not the elf's fault."
"Promise?"
Not that she could trust his promises. But he looked in her eyes and nodded once, firmly. "Promise. He shan't even hear of it."
She believed him. "Thank you."
Malfoy reached for her then - ghosting his fingers down her arm. Invisible sparks trailed in their wake. She resisted the urge to collapse on him, to seek her comfort from the cause. "Next question."
"Did you know?" Her throat was dry, and her voice cracked. "What your 'weapon' did to people?"
He thought carefully before he answered, grey eyes looking her over. "What can I say to make you leave and never come back? Never think of me again?"
"Tell me the truth."
"I knew."
The pain sucked her down, tearing the fabric of her consciousness. You will never be the same.
"Will you tell me why?"
He dodged, extending a hand to trace the silk strap over her shoulder. He wasn't going to answer. She'd guessed he wouldn't. Take what you can get. She shivered. "Look at you," he said, soft, to himself. "If you think I'm not going to take advantage of the opportunity presented, you don't know me at all." He brushed the fabric at the side of her breast.
And look at him - the white of his jacket emphasizing his shape and contrasting sharply with the black lapels and tie, with his hair. There had never been a man as gorgeous in all the world, she was sure of it. And this one had eyes only for her. Hungry.
"What a pair we make," she whispered.
"Indeed," he said. "Who would have guessed after all that time spent in gloom and grime and hiding away in your flat? We clean up like shiny new knuts."
"I never would have felt worthy of appearing on your arm," she said. "Until tonight."
"You are beautiful," he confirmed. "I question your worthiness though. A wraith of goodness and purity."
Hermione snorted. "Not pure. Not anymore."
He shook his head, his hand lingering on her ribs, her waist. "You're as pure as the day I met you, all those years ago. You haven't changed, not at your core. I don't think you ever will."
"I already did," she said flatly. "Several nights ago. Compromising myself for a scrap of you -"
"Never scraps." He abandoned his gentle stroking and tugged her against him roughly. She was pressed to his chest. She felt his fingers on her hips, up her exposed back. "I swear - I have given you all I can give."
"Yes, I'm realizing that. Weeks in a dark prison under your own control, months of agony and unspeakable visions and nearly losing myself."
He looked ill at that, brow furrowed. "I -"
"How did people know about us? I overheard - someone said there were rumors." Had he spread it around, proud of his conquest? A violation of their promises in the cave. But, in spite of it all, it mattered to her.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I have learned that this crowd, though condemned to the shadows, is just as gossipy as ever."
"But how did they find out?"
"I don't know, Granger. Why does it matter?" He shifted as if he was going to step away from her.
She clutched his lapels. Not yet. She had a list. "You wrote to my parents." She leaned in, smelling him. The cologne, the soap, the natural musk of his skin.
"It seemed the best way to ensure you had space -"
"A pleasure to work with?"
"I meant it at the time." He frowned. "You were more obedient then."
"It's not true though - you've had virtually no pleasure. You've denied yourself, consistently - and in that, denied me. We could have had months of -" Sex and conversation and maybe figured a way out of this. If only he'd given himself to her sooner.
"Stop. You know now, that it was my fault you were injured. My lands, a monster I was - responsible for. I knew some of the effects, if it caught you. I gambled, letting the three of you intrepid explorers think you could capture it. I hoped that you'd give up after a night in a spooky cave and go home. Lost that bet, clearly. Trust that you are not the only one to have suffered the consequences. I never expected to have to take things this far. The other night -"
Her desire for him was disgusting. But she was incapable of overcoming it. He'd pulled her closer, as he gave his little speech, and she felt his desire, too. Hard against her thigh.
Hermione tilted her face up, flooded with anger. "The other night was a tragedy. Because in spite of it all, I lov-"
A clock, somewhere in the bowels of the room, chimed its first chime - the sound of a new year.
"No," he said darkly, cutting her off. Refusing to hear it.
Then he was kissing her.
The notes were all around, vibrating within them. He kissed her through the first few, and then she kissed him for the rest. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Marching on.
She slid her arms around his waist as he buried a hand in her hair. He was going to muss it.
She whispered - Offero - into his mouth, confident, when she was this desperate, in her ability to do wandless magic. Release. Fleur's masterpiece tumbled down into a mess of curls. She wanted him to pull them and he did, tilting her head back so he could lick into her mouth from above.
He tasted delicious, of champagne and lust. She moaned quietly as he slid his other hand along the front of her gown, caressing the skin just above the deep plunge of her neckline.
"Where'd you get a dress like this?" he asked, pulling away, gasping. "It's maddening, that I get so little time to see you in it."
His voice was thick, letting her into his innermost thoughts. He turned her from him, his fingers on her hips. When she was facing away, the fire at her back, she watched over a shoulder as he admired her backside. Ran his hands over it, palms spread. "Fuck."
She stepped away. He followed.
She took another step. His hands chased her, slipping over the green silk.
"You called yourself one of Pavlov's dragons - but that's me, Granger." He grabbed her skirt, tugging at it. "You expect me to see you like this - wearing that, in my home - and not touch you?" He grunted. "Impossible."
She supposed she hadn't expected that, no. If she was being at all honest she certainly hadn't expected it of herself. She knew full well when she stepped into that dress and the fabric slid over her skin - that one of them would succumb. That she wanted them to. That had been the whole point. To leave him wanting and hurting, to recognize what he could have had and now would forever miss by having lied.
Hermione found herself against a bookcase. Gripped the strong wooden shelves for support. Opened her legs slightly and turned her head to look at him.
Malfoy cursed, leaning back to take her in. "A fantasy come to life. I wish you could see all this the way I do." He sighed. "I'd give anything to show it to you."
Then he was bending, pulling up her skirt, pressing the front of his trousers against her. She felt how hard he was and closed her eyes. Please, please, please. Barely resisted the urge to demand - put it in me. Take me here. Tear my hair and my clothes and my heart. She was throbbing between her legs.
He had his hands over hers, leaning into her. Covering her. He smelled her hair and breathed a groan. Kissed and bit her neck. "It's very unfair that I'll never get to fuck you when we can both be honest."
"You can," she said, bending her head so his teeth and lips could more easily restore his mark. It was nearly gone. She wanted it back, so she could stand in front of her bathroom mirror for hours and stare at it. Fall asleep with her finger on the spot.
He paused.
Froze.
No, no. Come back.
But Malfoy was already stepping away, extricating himself.
"I can't," he said simply. Hermione turned - she could see on his face that the spell had broken. "I've just realized - that if Kirby told you about the party on Christmas Eve, you knew about it that night. When I came to you."
Adjusting the straps of her dress, smoothing the fabric, she accepted it. "Yes." Maintain your dignity.
"It wasn't just your virginity. I foolishly rationalized you hiding it, to an extent. No, it was the whole thing. The entire time we were -"
"Fucking," she supplied haughtily.
"I was going to say 'together.' But, sure, fucking works too. The whole time you were assuming that I was hosting these people tonight." He had a tongue in his cheek.
"My assumptions were right, as it turns out. Yes, I knew."
He was fixing his hair, tightening his tie. Crossing half of the room to get away from her. "Lies on lies, Granger. You had me fooled." He said it casually, like it was insignificant.
"Malfoy."
He smirked at her voice - back to business.
"I need to know about the creature. Where is it? What it is? Is it going to hurt more people?"
"You'll have to figure that out on your own. It was a mistake . . . for me to pull you away tonight. I have guests to kick out. Obligations -"
"Treason to get back to. I understand." She was proud of herself, of her snippy tone.
"Don't come here again," he warned, squaring his shoulders. "Don't seek me out."
"Why would I bother to do that? You're going to be arrested. The Ministry can't allow -"
He tipped his head back and laughed. "The Ministry doesn't know anything - or they would have come to get me before now. I've been waiting, wondering at the delay, for months. And yet -" he spread his arms. "I'm still free."
She frowned. "As is your father. Nice touch, by the way - fucking me while he was in the midst of his escape. Lies on lies, indeed. Hermione Granger, your infallible alibi."
He did not contradict her, but did look vaguely guilty.
She ignored the hurt. "As I thought. Well, neither of you will be free for long. Harry knows you were an accomplice somehow. I go back to work tomorrow. Now we just have to prove it."
"I'm not hard to find. So, ready when they - you - are."
"You want to go to Azkaban?" Daring him. Testing him. Say no.
"I have no doubt that's one of the possible places this ends."
"Where else?"
He shook his head at her, disappointed. "You're pretty smart, Granger. Get creative."
"It doesn't end with you, winning some insane Death Eater revolution - installing your father to power, reshaping society for the worse. I promise you. Harry and I will never let it happen."
That mean smile. "Oh I agree with you."
"Then where -"
"Just as you're sure it won't happen, Lucius is sure that it will. He certainly didn't go to all this trouble for nothing. I can promise you - of that. And I find myself at his right hand."
Malfoy waited, letting her figure it out. He tipped his head, eyes open and patient, watching her face. Watching her emotions and thoughts flicker across it.
"I don't understand." She leaned against the bookshelves. They bit harshly into her back.
He exhaled dramatically, to provoke her. "I strongly suspect my father wants a martyr."
Martyr? But - martyrdom meant . . . .
She knew she showed her shock. Malfoy did not react. He had anticipated it.
A martyr. For Voldemort. How poetic, from their point of view - the heir of the Malfoy dynasty, giving it all up for their glorious cause.
She contemplated fighting - now, while her armor was lovely and her strength, thanks to him, was at its peak. It would feel good - to fling herself at him, shake him. Bind his wrists and drag him away with her, punish him until he conceded. Perhaps she could torture him into giving up his time suspension spell and she could use it to stop this, reverse it. Go back to when she was on that train to Yorkshire and change it all. But then you would never have met him again. Never known him.
She tossed her head, angry. Her hair swished. "Martyrdom isn't impressive in service of evil. It's just - a waste. No one's going to remember the names of the people who died for Voldemort."
"I agree."
"This is crazy." She felt herself blushing. "I can't believe we're having this conversation." It was too serious, too - like it was, when they were children back at school.
He shrugged. "And yet."
"It's not too late. No matter what." Her tone bordered on pleading, but she was.
"Don't defend me. You should go. Find your way back to Potter." He moved closer to the doors.
Hermione remembered, then, why she had come. She had nearly forgotten, distracted as she'd been by his lips and hands and betrayal. She walked toward him, closing some of the terrible distance.
"Draco."
He turned.
"I love you."
She waited - for his eyes to widen, his mouth to drop. Perhaps, as she'd envisioned in some of her practice attempts, she'd secure a choked admission of his own.
He frowned, irritated. "I'm a bit surprised to hear that."
Uh. "I thought you should know."
"I'll hope for your sake, if it's true, it passes quickly."
Her heart and breath had ceased. "You know it's true."
He spoke through an infuriating grin. "I don't at all. At best you have an unfortunate but understandable pull toward your captor. At worst, you're lying to shock me or try to keep me close to you. It might be more believable - if you'd ever hinted. In fact, I've asked you more than once to tell me how I've done or for feedback. You declined every time."
"I -" She wracked her brain to correct him. Surely she could correct him.
He watched her thinking and laughed, incredulous. "Don't hurt yourself. You've paid me few compliments. 'Very nice,' I think it was, in the bath in the cave. You joked that my mouth was a competent healer. And several nights ago you implied I was an excellent instructor in the ways of fucking." He inclined his head gracefully. "Which - thanks. Necessity is the mother of invention. But I'm a little confused to hear it's 'love,' as you claim. You've never even shared whether you find me attractive."
"Of course I do," she spat. Torture would have been better than this. "Your arrogance doesn't need my flattery. I'm sure you hear it all the time. From your other witches - like Pansy's cousin."
Malfoy snorted. "Who's the gossip now?"
"I know you were with her." Hermione stood as tall as she could, determined not to show that he'd set her back on her heels.
"I don't kiss and tell."
"Are you still seeing her?"
"I was never seeing her." He pursed his lips, careful in his response. "But I will say that was a mistake. I regret what I did. To Persia, and to Pans."
He waited, watching her. Waiting for her to speak. But Hermione was frozen, hoping that something could change, could alter their course.
"Fine," he sighed, observing her stubbornness. "I'll go."
She was not ready. "Going to leave me alone in your house? I can't believe it. You wouldn't bring me inside just last week."
"You forced your way in. Now that you're here - the damage is already done."
"I might steal some of your precious books," she said.
He shrugged. "Take what you want. I don't need any of it now."
This could not be happening. Malfoy, her . . . her . . . healer, at the least. He was implying that he might die for a futile cause? It was ludicrous, all of it. Impossible, as he'd said. Things like dying for cult leaders was in the past, a thing of her childhood. That was over - right?
But he'd made his way to the doors. He gave her one last lingering look, as if memorizing her. Then he was gone.
He left her, with her mouth agape, and her eyes wide, and her lips trembling with things unsaid.
Hermione turned in a slow circle, centering herself. It gave her an opportunity to take in his library. Too bad. That she hadn't the time to properly explore. It was . . . perfection. A fantasy come to life. Shelves to the tall ceilings, which were painted to mimic the night sky. Ladders on rollers, globes and maps and busts of dead Malfoys scattered throughout. Long wooden tables, piled with what appeared to be the remnants of an extensive project - scrolls and open texts and empty inkwells. Long rows of bookcases, stretching in all directions, interrupted by the occasional chaise or plush ottoman. A place meant for solving problems, for learning. For . . .
The hinges creaked.
Hermione's skirts swirled prettily as she turned to face the intruder.
Found herself face to face -
With his mother.
No. No. No, no, no. She couldn't, not now. She was collapsing on the inside. Her emotional reserves were tapped.
"Miss Granger. I didn't have the chance to greet you properly. I am Narcissa." She bowed her head slightly. A gesture of respect.
Malfoy's mother was elegant - her hair, silver threaded with black, drawn back from her face. She wore a shimmering gown, long sleeved and clinging to her figure. She'd aged as though meant for it - the crinkles at the corners of her eyes and lips were a preview of how her son's would form over the next thirty years. Hermione refused to let herself imagine Draco aged forty or fifty. How much better looking will he get? He was only going to improve like those wines in his cellars. Posh wanker.
Refused to let herself imagine a world in which he was not there to age. That was far worse. Impossible, in fact.
"Yes," Hermione said weakly. "Thank you. I - I have to go, though. I appreciate you having me." An asinine thing to say, but she'd spent all her strength on keeping it together in front of this woman's son.
"Not yet, please. I have something to tell you."
"I really must -"
"I owe you an apology. I have come to infer, now, from clues dropped by my son and Miss Parkinson and Kirby, that you were with Draco. In the family caverns last summer."
"Yes."
"I didn't do anything to help you get out. And - I want to explain. I expect that it was an uncomfortable experience."
Hermione just stared.
"I knew Draco was up to something, you see. I kept careful track of him, as most mothers do when their children are burdened by the ennui of young adulthood. He'd been - struggling, I suppose, the last year or so. Seeing less of his friends, drinking too much." She sniffed. "Wearing an awful lot of black.
"All of a sudden he was occupied with some kind of project. It didn't take me long to put it together. I assumed he was trying to get my husband out of prison. I could tell from the tenor of Lucius's letters. My husband thought he was being clever, writing in code. He would describe scenarios he'd imagined. I knew he meant them to guide me.
"But I didn't want him to get out," Narcissa straightened her shoulders, eyes shining. "I knew him escaping would ruin my son's life - and now, of course, it has.
"So when Miss Parkinson and her friend came by to inquire about a password to escape the caverns - I was thrilled. They didn't mention you or Mr. Potter. I figured Draco had gotten himself stuck down there when he was up to no good.
"I'd heard some of the stories from my husband and his parents before him - about Malfoys who had utilized the bunker in bad times. If the magic was holding onto my son, I trusted there was a gods damned reason." Ah. This was not a woman who swore frequently.
"So, Miss Granger." Narcissa looked like she was trying not to cry. "I didn't know that you were with him. But the real reason I hoped to speak with you tonight - is to tell you, now that I do know, I - I wouldn't do a thing differently. Selfishly, I'm glad. I'm glad he was trapped so he couldn't somehow unleash some weapon in Azkaban. I'm glad he had to postpone his father's escape and this party. I'm glad he was not alone. I'm glad, if the rumors are true, that he was with you, in the cave and . . . after. I can only hope that, in the long run, your influence on him will prevail over . . ." she delicately dabbed an eye - "mine.
"It is your influence that might keep him safe. Might make him, one day, happy. My son has never been happy. He was always a serious little boy, trying desperately to please my husband. And me, too. When he was with us he was such a delight. Nary a cross word or hair out of place. I knew - I heard - that he could be precocious, misbehaving a bit at school."
Hermione blinked.
"I thought he'd grow out of that. And then of course the war came, and I've never experienced such terror. With Lucius's sentence I believed it was over." Narcissa shook her head, like she was remembering things better left behind. "I never wanted a lonely life of obligation for Draco. I sometimes dreamed he would have all the warmth and light that I never did - that he would break away, a little, from our community's rigid conformity and find some joy."
Malfoy, joyful and carefree . . . . "I can't quite picture him like that," Hermione conceded.
His mother's lips twisted. Familiar. "I saw some glimpses of it, this past fall. I suspected he was seeing someone. A few times I ran into him, in the evenings, before he left to meet you - wherever you went."
Just her flat, ma'am, and it wasn't joyful, she could promise her that.
"He'd be like a boy again. Hovering near the door. Changing his clothes, checking his hair. When I teased him, once, he hid a smile."
Hermione nearly laughed. Malfoy, dressing up to come and frig her. She'd never have guessed.
"It was wonderful to see. I felt an incredible relief. When I finally asked - 'who's the special person?' - I assured him I wouldn't judge, I simply wanted to know."
Narcissa frowned, her eyes devastatingly sad. "'No one I'll ever get to keep,' he told me. The way he said it - I cried when he left."
Hermione took the few steps forward, reaching out. She took her hostess's slim fingers before she could think. It was intimate - and should have been awkward. "I would have liked for him to keep me."
Narcissa nodded, lashes fluttering. "It's amazing, how your heart changes. When you see your child in pain. You'll be open to anything, instantly - whatever will help."
"I'm sorry he didn't find me sooner," Hermione whispered. There was a heaviness in the words that they both seemed to feel. Sooner - before he went too far down the path. Before he got too deep into whatever it was he was doing.
His mother laid a soft hand over hers. "When everything else left that magic box of Pandora's - hope remained."
How apt. Because blind, silly hope was all Hermione had. Malfoy had done terrible things. Things for which he'd have to pay. He'd probably helped his father escape. Was organizing the Death Eaters for some kind of resurgence. Planned to, if needed, martyr himself for their cause. Yes, all she had now was hope. Hope that somewhere, somehow - things might be different. That something - probably he - would change.
"Thank you. I'm not sure what, if anything, I can do now. But I'm grateful for the information."
Narcissa patted her hand and released them. "Be well, Miss Granger. I - I hope to see you again."
"I feel the same."
And then she really did need to go. Her watch was whirring. Harry over Danger. Ron over - Bed. So he must have taken - "extracted" - Pansy and left.Straight to his flat, or hers. Already? An hour ago she would have been disgusted. Now she was glad. He deserves happiness. Take it when you can.
So Hermione ran. Out of the library, down the hall and the stairs, past the ballroom - pushing between Malfoy's guests, who were in various stages of uproar, trying to leave, shouting at each other that the Ministry was here, looking in vain for Lucius, ruining a perfectly good time.
"Young Malfoy promised a big surprise," one witch pouted. "I thought it would be fireworks. But I guess they're cancelled."
Hermione forced her way to the front door and out of it, into the cold. To where her auror escorts had convened. They appeared to be coordinating, gesturing madly at each other, no doubt planning some kind of rescue operation.
"Here she is," the tallest one shouted with relief. He smiled as if she should recognize him. Hermione frowned. They all looked the same to her.
"Thank Merlin," said another. "Let's go."
The tall one took her elbow - where Malfoy had touched her. She ripped her arm from his grip and ignored his raised eyebrows. Undeterred, the auror pulled his robes off and draped them over her shoulders. Oh. She'd been shaking.
"We can't apparate on the grounds," he said. "Let's take one of the carriages."
"What if it's rigged?" argued another. "We should go to the edge of the property - meet Potter there."
"She can't walk that far in those shoes -"
Hermione tuned out their arguments and waited for them to figure out the plan, the exit, the way back to Harry and Ginny and her life. The plan to remove her from Malfoy and his presence and his hands and his mouth.
None of it mattered.
He was behind her somewhere, lost in the crowd.
Lost to her, forever.