The next morning came and went without much ado; Malfoy seemed to be in a mood and had no interest in talking, so we started our game of silence early and appeared committed to making it last all day.
It wasn't until a knock at the Manor's door, the sound elevated by magic, interrupted us that we really stopped to look at each other.
"Were you expecting visitors?" I inquired, mentally kicking myself for being the first to speak.
"Something like that," he ground out, reluctantly getting to his feet.
I follow, mentally preparing for an argument and potentially another awkward visit from his Slytherin friends.
"Malfoy, I shouldn't have to remind you that this house is under the Ministr—"
He whipped around to face me as we reached the foyer outside of the library, wand drawn.
"Do. Not.Start. Granger. Go back to your reading." He demanded, before stepping back and disaparating.
"Are you serious!?" I exhaled, my temper firing up before I continued down the stairs.
Luckily, I knew the perfect spot to eavesdrop on whoever he invited over.
I continued down one floor, past my room, through the master suites, and to the walkway overlooking the main entrance hall on the ground floor - just in time to see Malfoy greet two men.
One was an older gentleman I vaguely recognized from the Ministry, and the other was a tall, heavily scarred gentleman wearing tattered black garbs with an awfully sharp weapon hanging from his waist. My mouth dried as I put two and two together.
"The owlery is on the roof. This way." Malfoy beckoned to them emotionlessly, and they followed him up the stairs.
I ran around the corner, not wanting to be caught by wandering eyes, and tried to focus on my breathing.
The executioner is here for his owl, for Felix.
I sink down to the ground, imagining what it would be like watching your family owl be executed. I recalled how distraught I was before we rescued Buckbeak. I thought about Crookshanks.
Shaking those memories away, I thought about Matteo, Wes, and, more than anyone, Calvin; all the money and specialists couldn't prevent him from being scarred for life.
Then I remembered what Malfoy had said about Felix… He hasn't been right since the war; he attacks anyone who points a wand in his vicinity.
My stomach tied itself into knots over and over.
I could only imagine the abuse the poor bird must have suffered to lash out like that. There's no telling what pain befell him at the mercy of a wand.
My mind circled back to Malfoy and what this must be like for him. I shuddered at the thought.
By the time I managed to pick myself off the floor, voices sounded from below. I peered around the corner to see the executioner and the ministry official headed toward the front doors; Malfoy was not with them.
I waited for them to exit as I decided what to do next. I was no one to Malfoy, not a friend, not a confidant, no one he would want around at a time like this. But here I was.
I returned to the library, hoping I'd figure out something nice to say to him by the time he showed his face again. An apology, maybe. But for what? Sorry, your owl attacked my team and had to die? There really were no good words for this situation.
I tried forcing myself to read but ended up staring down toward the maze from one of the floor-to-ceiling windows instead.
That's when I spotted him.
I saw Malfoy on the lawn below, carrying a box toward the maze entrance.
I looked out at the astonishingly well-kept hedges that formed an expansive Malfoy Crest, realizing I'd never given them much thought, never considered what they could be hiding.
Once again, my curiosity or investigative brain got the best of me, and I found myself headed after Malfoy.
Upon entering the hedges, it took me precisely 30 seconds to realize what a lousy idea this was. The hedges were much taller than they looked from above and towered over me. If that wasn't enough to give me chills, the darkening sky that threatened rain any second definitely made me regret coming out here. Yet I continued.
I had no information about the maze; my team hadn't investigated it, and neither had Harry's. It was uncharted territory.
I continued checking around each corner, trying to picture exactly where I was in the crest and, more importantly, how I got there. With each step and turn, the temperature dropped, and the sensation of being watched took hold; the magic emanating from this place was so palpable I felt more like I was wading through it than walking. It didn't take long for me to lose track, get turned around, stop searching for Malfoy, and start searching for a way out. Something was wrong here, something wasn't right.
Thunder cracked around me, and the clouds opened up, spilling a deluge upon me. I threw up my wand to repel the water, but I was already soaked from head to toe. I broke into a sprint, hoping I was close to the exit. Fuck this place .
"Are you lost?"
I jumped to a halt at the sound of his voice, both terrified and thankful to be found.
"What are you doing out here?" I asked, taking him in.
He no longer carried the box and was somehow completely dry underneath the umbrella of his wand. He stepped closer.
"I could ask you the same." He quipped back, looking me up and down.
I shivered with wetness and coldness as I fumbled for a plausible lie; impatiently, he answered before I could.
"Burying my owl."
"In a hedge maze?"
"It's not just a hedge maze."
Thunder rumbled loudly around us, and the rain pounded harder. I closed the gap between us to hear him more clearly.
"What?"
"It's a cemetery."
I started to question him again, sure I'd misheard, but the hedge wall in the alcove to our left began to shift.
Reflexively, I pointed my wand in its direction, allowing the rain to drench me anew. I hardly noticed Malfoy shift his wand to cover both of us when the leaves revealed stone.
An ornate, marbled statue, no, a gravestone appeared in what had once been a dead end.
Recasting my umbrella, I stepped forward to read the inscription.
Septimus Malfoy
1772 - 1828
I merely gawked as understanding set in, the reason this maze felt so eerie, so powerful… It was filled with magical bodies. I recalled having a similar feeling when I entered the cemetery at Godric's Hollow.
"We should go inside," Malfoy stated behind me.
"Right," I answered, coming back to the present.
I turned around to find him holding out his forearm for me to take.
My eyes widened with surprise and distrust, but as another crackling of thunder began, I accepted it.
Then we were twisting and turning in space as he apparated us into the Manor. It took a second for my stomach to recover, but soon, I recognized the large parlor with a well-stocked bar.
"You could have given me a little warning." I manage to say before beginning a series of drying spells on my clothes.
"For what?" He asked incredulously as he stepped behind the bar.
My cheeks flush as I realize it should have been obvious to me. He wouldn't have offered me his arm to escort me out of the maze, like some sort of distinguished gentleman, in the middle of a bloody storm.
I watched him summon a fancy bottle of amber liquid from the top shelf as I smoothed my damp, ruined chignon into a tight ballerina bun; it was the best I could do without a mirror.
"It's hardly afternoon." I criticize, trying not to think about what my hair looks like right now.
"Deaths and burials supersede any and all alcohol rules…," He mused, summoning two tumblers. "Have a drink with me."
"I might believe you if you didn't make a habit of drinking this early in the day."
He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at me in response.
"A habit? Tell me then, since you seem to know it all, when was the last time I drank this early in the day?"
"About two weeks ago, when I first visited the Manor," I recall proudly.
His face paled, and he took his time before replying, summoning water from the tap and freezing it into two spheres.
"There was also a burial that day." He said coldly, as the ice clinked loudly into the glasses.
"Oh, really? Whose?"
I couldn't help but distrust him; he'd given me zero reasons to trust.
"My father's."
He pours three fingers in one glass and two in the other as I settle onto one of the barstools with my shame.
"Oh. The Ministry kept his… remains that long?" I could smack myself right now, bloody idiot.
He sips his drink and raises his blonde brows in the affirmative.
"So, are you going to drink with me or not?" He asks, a mask of indifference returning to his face as he holds out the less-filled glass.
I think back to that day, how I'd spilled his fire whiskey, how he'd been so angry, so cold, and then remembered that was the day he'd hidden his father's last journal in the desk; he'd probably read it that day, too.
I would have been rude to me, too, showing up and forcing my investigation down his throat on the day he buried his father.
I accepted the glass and held it up toward his without further consideration. I couldn't think of the right words to say, but I could have this one drink with him.
"To Felix."
"To Felix." He replied, clinking my glass.
We sip our drinks as silence ensues. The storm outside has dissipated now, making the quiet of the large room even louder.
"I'm sorry about your owl. I know how terrible it is to lose a pet."
I couldn't help myself; I had to acknowledge what had happened. It felt wrong not to.
"It's not like I was like I did anything for him in the last decade. I'd hardly call him my pet."
I don't know what to say after that, so I sit. I sit and look around the room, almost anywhere but at him. I imagine the illustrious parties this room, this floor must have hosted; people spread from the music room, this bar, and all throughout the ballroom, maybe even a couple sneaking around the library, hopeful to catch a kiss between the stacks.
"We used to have white peacocks." He said after a while, and I shifted toward him in surprise. "A whole flock of them would roam the grounds and nest in the maze. Father always joked that they owned the place, not us."
"Were they friendly?" I didn't know why he shared this, but I was intrigued.
"Gods, no. Not to a tyrant like me, at least, chasing them around the grounds as soon I got my first mini broom." A quick, albeit handsome, smile flashed across his lips.
"I imagine not," I replied, hoping this rare glimpse of him would continue.
"Eventually, they got their revenge; they ganged up on me in the maze and chased me all the way inside." He exhaled a laugh. "I ran upstairs to hide, leaving them to make a mess of the ground floor. Mother was furious."
"What happened to them?"
The color in his face drained, and I realized I'd asked the wrong question.
"Some people enjoy death and pain; they're not picky about who or what their victim is." Goosebumps prickle across my exposed skin as I fear what he will say next; for a brief moment, I feared he was one of those people or used to be. "A lot of his followers were like that. Sadists. The peacocks didn't stand a chance."
"I'm really sorry." I shake the chills and moronic thoughts away before taking another sip, thankful for the fire whiskey helping me survive this emotional roller coaster of a conversation.
"Why?" Genuine confusion cinches his brows.
Was empathy a foreign concept to him?
"I just am. That must have been terrible for you."
"There were worse things."
I couldn't argue that with him. I couldn't really say anything after that.
At a loss, I finish my drink, enjoying the burn and soothing warmth it brings.
He reaches for my empty glass, and I know I should stop him, but I don't.
He pours another couple of fingers or so in my glass and at least twice that in his before stepping out from behind the bar.
"Tell me something, Granger, tell me anything." He muses absentmindedly as he seats himself on the stool next to mine.
"I'm not sure what you expect me to say," I admit.
I've never been good at funerals, never known the right words to say. And I'm certainly no good at whatever this is.
"Surely you have another embarrassing story to share."
He turned his body toward mine, and I politely angled in his direction, but not too much.
His scent, mixed with rain and a hint of dirt, invades my senses, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of how close our knees are.
"Erm, I'm afraid none are coming to mind at the moment."
It's the truth; I probably couldn't think of my bloody name right now if he asked me. Most of my focus and energy was being used to keep my breaths steady and calm, in stark contrast to the rapid beating of my heart.
"Tell me about your home then and why you're so willing to abandon it for days on end."
Suddenly remembering my drink and the nerve-diffusing powers it possessed, I took a quick gulp before answering.
"There's not much to say, really. I live in a flat above a Muggle bookshop in London. It's lovely, but it's not like anyone's waiting for me there."
I watched him, watching me, seeing the next question flicker in his eyes before he voiced it.
"Why not?"
I took another sip as I tried to think of the best answer.
"I don't know, I'm too focused on other things. So many people expected me to be married with a couple of children, preferably Weasley children, by now. Fulfilling everyone's Golden Trio fantasies. But that just wasn't…"
I'm oversharing. I'm a fully-fledged adult; I should get this by now and pick up on social cues. He's only asking me questions to be polite, not because he's interested in the answers.
Then again, Malfoy was rarely polite, not really, not to me. And he rarely asked me questions.
"It wasn't what you wanted." He finished for me.
Was he actually listening to me?
I scanned his face, every perfect porcelain feature, before meeting his searing gaze.
"Right." I managed, darting my eyes downward, settling them on the faded tattoo on his muscular forearm.
"What do you want, Granger?"
A surprised breath catches in my throat, and I choke a little. Face flushing, I clear my throat with another sip, nearly emptying my glass again.
This is the question I'm usually dying to answer, but no one ever seems to ask. Everyone always wants to know why I'm not doing this or not doing that, whatever it is they think I should do.
"Well, first, I want to finish building and stabilizing the Curse Breaker Department, ensuring it won't get axed if I leave."
His eyes narrow in on me, and I expect to see judgment. Instead, I see what looks like a gleam of curiosity.
"So, you'd build the department just to abandon it?"
"No, the CBD needed to be built; I was the first one gutsy enough to do it. Building it doesn't mean I have to run it forever. It's simply one of the many things I want to do."
"Then what?"
I'm vaguely aware of the fire whiskey's effects as it settles into my bloodstream; my stiff posture is relaxing, and answering his questions is getting easier. I'm not quite as afraid of his attention or the closeness of our limbs.
"Then, I'd like to move into Magical Law. There's a lot of work to be done there, a lot of changes that need to come about, and I think I'll be able to help a lot of people and creatures that way."
"Then, let me guess, you'll aim to become the first female Minister for Magic?" He replied quickly with a touch of enthusiasm in his tone.
"Precisely. After that, who knows, maybe I'll be able to settle down, before that if I'm lucky. Unfortunately, not many men want to be Mr. Hermione Granger. "
He nods before bringing his drink to rest on his knee and leans closer to me.
I watch him, waiting for him to ask more questions. He simply sits, relaxed yet pensive, sipping his drink and sparing an unreadable glance at me occasionally.
I finish my drink and push the glass to the side, making it clear that I do not want another. Two glasses in this short period was more than enough, and it was still kicking in.
He smirks in understanding but doesn't continue the conversation.
We sat in silence for several moments, not the silence of our game, but something more second nature, natural, and comfortable.
By the time he'd finished his drink, I'd decided it was my turn to ask him questions.
"Tell me about your business? What exactly does running a multi-conglomerate entail?"
His immediate smirk was devilish as he reached across the bar for the bottle of fire whiskey.
"Making ridiculous sums of money, mostly." He quipped, pouring a splash more in his own glass.
"That must be such humbling work, I'm sure." I spat back sarcastically, making a show of rolling my eyes before continuing. "What types of businesses do you oversee?"
"Luxury goods mostly; high-end clothing, jewelry, alcohol, real estate, and various other things in both Muggle and Magic markets."
"Interesting…" I reply, a million new questions running through my brain. "I assume you've also been too busy to settle down? Although, from what I've seen, there's no shortage of interest."
"Are you trying to tell me something, Granger?" He mocked with a sanguine cock of his eyebrows.
"Hardly." I scoff. "It's no secret. You show up to every photo op with a different model on your arm. I'm a little surprised you haven't married one by now."
"Why's that, Granger?"
I lean back and wave my hand around, motioning around the room.
"You have all this, your family's name, legacy, Malfoy Industries." The very prolonged existence of his bloodline was proof enough of a serious dedication to its preservation. The journals I'd read so far supported that. "Honestly, the more I think about it, the more surprised I am that a marriage wasn't prearranged for you by your parents."
"Think about it often, do you?" He mused, leaning back as if to get a better view.
"Unfortunately, I eat, sleep, and breathe the Malfoy name these days." I muse.
"'Such humbling work, Granger, I'm sure,"' he mimics me and I snort. "I'll have to settle down one day; sire at least one heir and hope they're interested in taking over Malfoy Industries. It won't be with a model, though."
"Then why do you date them?"
"I'm a man, Granger. I have needs, desires…and in my line of work…"
"Models must be readily available ." I finish for him with a look of mild disdain.
"Precisely."
"A man of convenience, Malfoy, my, my." I tut teasingly before spinning around on my barstool, away from Malfoy, until I faced the windows.
I quickly came to regret that decision as the fire whiskey began swishing around in my stomach. I leaned back against the bar with my elbows to steady myself.
Malfoy, perhaps in response to my taunt, hops off his stool, glides one hand along the bar's edge, and steps toward me.
"Judging me, Granger?" He challenged, positioning himself in front of me and then placing his other hand on the bar at my opposite side. "We can't all be… monks like you. Although, I'd wager that you'd be far less uptight if you'd…"
I wasn't sure if the heat and tension that rapidly rushed through my body was due to the audacity of his words or the exceedingly close proximity of his body around me. Either way, I was not backing down.
"If I'd what , Malfoy, do tell?! Choose your next words carefully." I can't reach for my wand without brushing up against his arms or chest, so I don't, but I lace my words with enough venom to let him know I will.
"If you'd… take your friend's advice. The one that's always calling, always asking you about your sex life or lack thereof." He ducks his head and breathes a mocking laugh that boils my blood before returning his eyes to mine.
Even with me on the stool, he's still taller and mere centimeters away.
'"Are you trying to tell me something, Malfoy ?"' I mimic him with a snarl, clenching every muscle in my body.
"'Hardly,"' he taunts back with a scoff. "By all means, continue to be the tightly-wound, work-obsessed bundle of neuroses with a hero complex and check off each one of the boxes on your to-do list. Brightest witch of our age and all, you wouldn't want to let anyone down."
I glare demons back up at him as he smirks, infuriatingly pleased with himself for knowing exactly how to push my buttons.
The seconds drag on in our stand-off until the ringing of my phone interrupts, nearly making me jump out of my seat.
He takes a large step back, releasing his grip on the bar, and I pull my phone from my pocket.
"Fuck," I mouth when I see it's my assistant and remember that it is still very much the middle of a work day; and I'm definitely too buzzed to risk speaking with her right now.
Instead, I silence her call, hop off my seat, and take a step toward Malfoy.
"You're despicable, you know that?" I managed through gritted teeth, just in time for the blood and alcohol to begin its rush to my head.
"Likewise, Granger," he grins sinisterly.
I try to glare at him, but the yucky feeling in my stomach and a bit of light-headedness return.
"You don't look so good." He says, no longer mocking me, just stating the obvious.
"I skipped breakfast, and I don't usually drink liquor. I need to sober up so I can call Jessica back and get some work done. We should eat something."
I say 'we' like it's such a normal thing, like we'd eaten every meal with each other over the last two weeks when it was actually quite the opposite.
"I've got to leave soon; I'm headed to France for the weekend. I'm sure Trixie will make you something." I cast an annoyed look his way, and he goes right back to teasing me as he starts walking backward toward the exit. "However, if you make a mess on the carpet, she might be less inclined to serve you."
"I'm fine, just go already." I say, and I mean it, "I'll get way more work done with you gone anyways."
He chuckles softly, whipping his wand in the air, casting a silent summoning charm. A moment later, something small and hard whizzes into the room and into his hand.
"Thanks for the drinks, Granger." He says with a mischievous smile before tossing something to me.
I barely managed to catch the object, nearly dropping it twice before I fully had it in hand.
I turned the vial over, revealing the label.
PepperUp Potion.
I look up to thank him, but when I do, he's gone.
And there I was again, alone at Malfoy Manor.
Thank fucking Godric, it's Friday.