The hard road

Chapter 6

-/-/-/-/-

Bright green flames belched out of Malfoy Manor's yawning black granite fireplace. The glowing tip of a wand poked out, and then a black leather flat, perhaps a size five that was built for comfort, and then a bushy fuzz of brown hair. Aunt Bella's wand was already hissing before Granger stepped into their expansive great hall.

Her squinting stare passed over the stag heads and ancient swords arrayed on the high walls. His mother offered an outstretched hand, which Granger accepted and stepped out onto the black granite pavers. A quick flick of his aunt's wand scourgified the iridescent soot off of her white linen pants and silky blue blouse. A second slicked her floo-swept hair into soft ringlets draping her back and shoulders.

His mother's voice was soft and warm. "Welcome to our home. It is not often that we have the honor of hosting a woman of your stature and heroism."

Granger seemed caught offguard by the greeting. Her eyes flicked to Draco's as if asking the obvious: What does she know.

Mother would read them like a children's book, so he simply strode forward and slid a hand around her waist. "You should have seen her tear into those men when they got the Aurorer."

A smile perked in the corner of his mother's mouth. She presented Granger with a small box wrapped in crimson and gold. Granger quirked an eyebrow. Her posture softened as she broke the wrappings and unclasped the shimmering purple case. The bright gold pen engraved with a swimming otter brought a smile to her face. His mother continued, "I saw this and thought of you."

Granger twisted the barrel and a ball point tip silently popped out, and she laughed. "I've never really liked quills. They have this nasty habit of leaking all over your pants."

His mother brushed over the pen. "It is charmed so you won't lose it, and it never runs out of ink."

"Really?" Granger's face lit. "They steal every single one that isn't nailed down. How does that work?"

Mischief bloomed in his mother's face. "It is already bound to you. Just keep the case in your purse or wherever you want the pen to be."

She nodded and slid the case into her purse. His mother continued, "Watch."

She tucked the pen into the pocket of Draco's suit jacket. "Now open the case."

Granger clicked the shiny case open, and there was the pen, nestled into its nook in the velvet lining. "Brilliant!"

His mother continued. "Here's another neat little trick." She slid the case into Draco's hand and tucked the pen into Granger's purse. "Now open it."

He clicked the case open, but it was empty. Granger dug into her purse, and the pen was still there. He passed the case back to her, and when she reopened it, the pen was back in its place. "It only works for me? It's perfect."

With the ice officially broken, Granger seemed to relax. His mother escorted them to the garden, where they took a seat among her favorite peonies and roses. The light breeze was sweet with the scent of herbs in the cool air. It was only then, in the morning sun, that he noticed her pallid skin and sharp cheek bones. He recognized that look all too well - it was one that haunted him in the mirror. A twinge of suspicion itched the back of his throat, so he summoned Maltby to bring drinks and snacks. She took some sort of pink and fruity gin cocktail along with his mother. Granger eyed him when he asked for white coffee with sugar. "Figured you would join us for a drink."

He shrugged. "Parole."

His mother gently drove the subject towards Granger's career with the ministry. Her actual work sounded painfully boring, but the public administration degree program? Her description made it seem downright abominable.

His mother politely sipped her drink and nibbled a slice of sausage on a cracker. Granger was working her way through fresh beef tartare with horseradish on buttered rye toast when his mother gently steered the subject again. "The Malfoy Family owns over one thousand properties. To be honest, after thirty-seven years, I would like to back away from the daily management. The War and subsequent trouble presented significant challenges. Those affairs prevented us from allowing anyone else's involvement, and frankly, the last twenty have been trying. I was counting on Draco to step up, but his parole stipulates a five year minimum commitment with The French Magical Legion. I am going to need someone with superior intellect and experience getting results to manage the holdings as well as the family's benevolence program."

He was sure she would refuse out of hand, but instead, she scratched her chin and then sat in silence. Eventually, she offered some unconvincing protest. His mother pushed on. "It is no secret that Weasley's delivery drivers make more than fifth year assistant adjutants. Your talent is going to waste shuffling stacks of parchment between file cabinets. I'm sure you have already noticed that no one running a ministry department is a careerist from within the organization. They are all elected or appointed by Wizengamut members with hereditary seats. Of course, we would offer significantly more, as well as benefits and flexible living arrangements." She gently slid an envelope into Granger's hands.

Granger hemmed and hawed as the envelope rustled back and forth through her fingers before sliding into her purse. His mother gently let the topic lay with the admonition to consider it, but the gears in Hermione's head were turning. The seed had been planted.

Potter bounced in with Daphne Greengass draped around his arm. Her blonde hair glimmered and swished over a form fitting white silk blouse, and her blue eyes glittered. His mother greeted them politely while Granger gaped. From her surprise, she must not have known he was living at the manor, and certainly not the part about Daph. She let a snide comment slip, to which Daphne replied, "Why should it surprise you? Even Draco's found himself a nice little muggle witch."

Granger's sneer of disbelief landed on Daphne. "I doubt that."

"She's got that funny looking M branded into her back. From the purges. Isn't she around here somewhere? On her so called 'internship?'"

Granger turned back to Potter, who nodded. "Nice girl. Everybody loves her."

Her eyes bugged out. "Malfoy?"

Daphne must have sensed blood in the water. Mischief glittered in her eyes as she twined her fingers into Potter's and twisted the dagger. "She's quite beautiful, and smart as well. I hear she's got Draco using a cellphone. I might be jealous if not for Harry."

Draco turned on the Patented Lucius Malfoy Smug Satisfaction while Harry laughed at the spectacle. Granger's fingernails absently scratched across the knobbly MUDBLOOD scar etched into her arm. Potter wiped his eyes. "I've got to admit, I never in my whole life expected a text message from Malfoy."

Pink cocktail snorted out Granger's nose as her laughter burst forth. Her hand was pressed into her side when she finally caught her breath and choked out, "Him? A text message?"

He hadn't totally got the hang of it, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He put on his best bored smirk, wiggled the flip phone between his fingers, and drawled out, "Not all of us are mired in the past."

Potter burst out laughing again. "Bastard! You sent your first text three days ago! Mione, he just got his own phone yesterday."

"So," Daphne wiggled into Potter's lap and draped her arm around his shoulder before unleashing her self satisfied smirk on Granger. "I never reckoned you fancied that one. Not many people would save a war criminal from his just deserts."

He swore black flashed behind Granger's eyes. Maybe he was seeing things because no one else seemed to notice. An icy smile formed and her soulless stare made Daphne shudder. "I would be happy to give you a demonstration."

A jolt twinged in his ribs. He had no desire to eat another blasting curse. Harry stiffened when Daphne smirked and slid behind his arms. Draco straightened in his chair, took Granger's hand, and gave Daphne a cold glance. "I am thankful Ms. Granger intervened when she did. I pay my debts."

Daphne was ready to snipe at Granger again when Harry made side eyes at her and shook his head. Ever the consummate Slytherin, she instantly shifted gears. "So, when is the good riddance party?"

Granger snorted her drink again, but Draco was already laughing. "June fifth, love. You just don't know how long I've been waiting to tell you lot to bugger off one last time."

She muttered something under her breath, which brought a laugh out of Daph. "Oh, no. You can't miss it. You've got to see the mudblood wind Draco around her little finger."

"I still can't picture that. There's no way." Granger said as she fished a dayplanner notebook out of a purse that was maybe half its size. He already knew she would decline, but politeness dictated she at least play along. The planner creaked open, and she paged through the dates. "Can't. Exams."

Potter escorted Daphne up stairs ten minutes of banter later. His mother had already disappeared, which left Draco alone with Granger. She nibbled her lip, and then asked, "Was your mother serious?"

"About the job? Absolutely. Your talent is obviously wasted on The Ministry."

"And you?"

He shrugged. "I want mother to be happy. I didn't know how badly the last few years had ground her down until I got out. You have to remember, I've only spent maybe one month a year with my parents since I started school."

"Are you really dating a muggle?"

He nodded. "I can't imagine what Father will say when he finds out." He chuffed out a curt laugh. "Probably cut me out of his will. He really believes in all that crazy stuff, blood purity and all that. They're so inbred. Messed up, you know. Nuts. You weren't there seventh year. Probably all the better. They did things behind closed doors. Umbridge had a thing for first and second year pureblood boys. Making them into men, she called it. The others were worse. You just can't unsee that sort of thing. I was just a kid, believed everything they said."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. I can't believe we were stupid enough to follow Dumbledore. It sounds so crazy now, you know, send a bunch of kids on suicide missions. Make children go fight in a war when their parents won't? Mine would have pulled me out of Hogwarts in a second if they ever found out. We were so naive."

He nodded. "Riddle was a nutter. Completely out of his mind. Aunt Bella slobbered over him, would do anything for him, so he tortured her and sent her to her death. He didn't care one whit if we all died. It's a wonder any of us got out alive."

He pushed to his feet and escorted her back to the floo. "You ought to consider Mother's offer. The ministry is just going to grind you down to a nub. They'll turn you into another one of those backbiting plodders who just comes to work to snip and fight over the least destroyed desk chair."

She groaned, and he continued, "And if you really want to run a department, we could probably get you appointed to one."

Granger eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you doing this?"

He looked straight into her eyes while resisting the urge to stare at the pink scar etched into her arm. "You should have seen mother when I got out of Azkaban, like her pain never ended... Daph teases me about Ada. She's taken considerable load off Mother over the last month, but she's leaving in August. Mother will he alone again and Father is still in prison, not that he would be any help." He let a long sigh drift out. "We're not monsters... " He scratched over the snake twined skull etched into his arm. "Well, I suppose some of us are, but Mother isn't. Riddle sent her after your parents. She found them in that little blue house with the tangerine tree in the front yard. The one in Perth. He was after you. I would have turned them over, or just murdered them. I believed every word he said, but she had met them years ago, and liked them, so she lied and said they were the wrong ones."

Granger stood there silently for a long time. After a while, she dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. "I obliviated them. They're there, but they're gone. They still have no idea who I am. It's like I've got no parents."

"You did the right thing. The fact that they had absolutely no knowledge of you corroborated her story. We would have tortured them to bait you into his trap. They would have been murdered once we had you. He was like that. Got off on people's pain. Expected the same out of us." He trailed off.

"You could have, though, when you had me."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. His stomach knotted as the past clawed itself back into his thoughts. There was no sense trying to guilt her over that. He had endured so much worse in Azkaban, so he simply nodded as the memories stabbed into his guts.

Granger's eyes were red with regret that still burned raw. No words would erase what they had done, so he changed subjects. "I know it's not my place, but if a Public Administration degree is as horrible as you make it sound, you ought to consider studying something you enjoy."

She wiped her eyes and huffed out a hollow laugh. "I had no idea how bad it was until I heard myself describing it. I'm changing majors next week. Well, good luck with whatever it is that you do in the French Magical Legion."

With that, she pitched a handful of glittery powder into the roaring flames and climbed in.

He stood there in silence, wiping his eyes as the shame pushed back up into his chest. He still had no idea how his mother could even look at him. Merlin, he needed to get away. He was ready to ship out. Escape. Leave all of this curse behind. He just needed to see Ada first.

-/-/-

Her pale arms gripped his chest as the wind whipped their hair. Ada's body was warm against his as the bushes and streams slipped by. The green treetops brushing her feet made her wrap even more tightly. Her laugh was soft and not a bit of grating as the broom rolled upside down. The willowy branches whipped inches from her hair, but she wasn't afraid.

They flew over the forests and streams of Malfoy Manor, gripping the knobbed staff of his home made broom. The air moving silently through its birch sprays brought a smile to his face. Pride, really, at the best broom he had made in years, even of Ada didn't know any better because she had never flown on any other. It was dead silent and responded as if it was an extension of his own body. This one was also the fastest one, not saying much, really, as it would lag most any decent racing broom... But... He leaned back and it pulled straight up, never giving up the slightest as it climbed through the tree tops and into the bright blue sky, even with two people on the stave. Try that on a Nimbus and it lost speed fast.

He let off high above the manor. Trees, rivers, and paths were like toys below their feet. The big house was straight ahead, perched above the property, watching from its grassy hill. Ada's breath sucked in as they stopped and tipped backwards. The tip of the staff passed their heads and they went upside down. His wicked smile bloomed. "You want to take it from here?"

"Don't you dare!"

They had finished the nose over and were now falling straight down. Time slowed as the stony creek bed beside his garden whizzed closer and closer. Her nails dug into his chest as they flashed straight through the top of an oak tree and pulled up, brushing their feet against the bushy grass beside the path. They whizzed off, dodging bramble patches and twisting around thick trees.

She was laughing again. "How do you do it?"

"What?"

"Dodge the trees like that. I can't even walk in the forest without getting a mouth full of leaves."

A smirk perked on the right side of his cheeks. "How do you whip through all that infernal Muggle maths?"

"Oh, come on, it's easy when you've studied it for twelve years."

"Yes. Well, that."

"When did you start riding brooms?"

"When I was three."

Minutes later, the glittering sunlight soaked their skin as they popped out of the trees and raced up the half mile of lawn to the manor's back door. The white stone parapet surrounding the black granite pavers ushered him back to his gilded prison. He escorted her to a wooden table under the shade of spreading maple trees for some lunch. She took grilled mackerel with a beet root and orange salad while he dipped his hot roast beef on wick into rich au jus.

She told him about growing up as a muggle in a wizard family. Her mother and father couldn't have children, so they adopted her out of an orphanage in Austria. "I had black hair. Curly, you know, dark brown eyes, and sort of olive tinted skin."

He slid his hand over and touched her finger. "I still can't picture you like that." Not with her light red hair, pale skin, and sea blue eyes. "What happened."

She nibbled on a sweet beet as she thought. "I always hated these, you know. I'm not sure what sort of magic you pulled, but they are fantastic with these blood orange slices. I was ten or so. A bunch of black cloaked wizards wearing silver masks took me."

He swallowed hard, but kept quiet as she continued. "They poisoned me. Stabbed me with all sorts of things. My fingers and toes went numb and turned black. All my hair fell out, and everything burned. My father and his friends rescued me. Worms were crawling out all over my body and some of my fingers and all my toes had fallen off by then." She absentmindedly rubbed over the pink knot ringing the base of her third finger. "I don't remember much, but there was a ritual. My great aunt Millie was very old, and she said it was her time, to pass it on, you know. They took long needles from her and pushed them into my eyes and nose and the back of my neck. I had to drink all sorts of potions that stank and burned, and they gave me her blood and stabbed huge things into my bones almost every day. The world disappeared. I was blind except for shadows and glowing auras. My father held my hand because I couldn't see anything. Then I was cutting for a long time. I put her heart in a box and they sealed it with a spell, thumping you know. I had to dig, all by myself, and it took forever to bury the pieces of her body in a field of poppies, and everything died around me. That night, there was a glowing path through the house and into the forest. The voices called, so I followed. It was strange, I only remember bits and pieces, but I went after them, eating and drinking whatever they told me. I slept in bushes and gutters and under roads. My sight eventually came back, but it was different. Like I can see people's souls and their magic. I'm not actually sure how I made it through the winter, but I did. Anyway, I woke up one day, back in my bed. Scared the hell out of my parents, they had no idea who I was at first. They were so worried. I was gone over a year. Thought I ran away and died. When I looked in the mirror, my eyes were gray like a storm cloud. Like weird and shriveled, but I could see just fine, except the auras and stuff. That's when I saw my hair. You know red. My skin was white and freckled. I never once sunburned before, I just got dark, and now, the moon will almost burn me. They showed me a picture of Aunt Millie, and I looked like her except with my features and my eyes were flat gray with no white. It took another year and my eyes turned blue, like hers too. I still don't know why they did it."

Draco's chest had knotted when he heard about the attackers. Death eaters going after innocents because they existed. Like the cowards they were, they hid behind privilege and laws that protected them against prosecution. He had never even considered the consequences... He was curious... "How do you like it... You know, having powers and being a witch."

She huffed out a laugh. "You're serious? I hate it. I have to watch myself constantly. Proper witches chased me down and burned that huge M into my back. They treat me like an animal and threaten to arrest me if I use my powers, but regular humans will burn me alive if they find out. You're the only one that doesn't treat me like a freak."

What a strange turn that was, because yes, if Greengass hadn't dumped him, and Goyle hadn't gone on about not touching another pureblood with a pole, and then brought her over, she would have just been an animal in his eyes. He did have to admit, the utter disbelief on Granger's face was beyond priceless. If he had known she would be left completely gobsmacked and speechless, he would have found some excuse to parade his new love in front of her.

With lunch over, it was time for some fun. Ada grimaced and crept away from the sprawling granite fireplace burning bright green. "What do you mean by get in?"

It was Draco's turn to tease her. He reveled in a scrumptious morsel of turn about after his introduction to cellphones and television sets. "Yeah, you know, just pitch a handful of floo dust and hop in. You've really never heard of a floo?"

She shook her head and pulled away from his grasp. He gave her a wink. "How about we sneak away from all this boring business for a day at the beach."

-/-

The villa in Morocco sat high above them at the top of the dunes. He straddled the lounge chair behind her savoring the excuse to rub sunscreen all over her smooth skin.

They laughed and played in the surf. He loved to press his lips against the knobbly M under her bikini strap, and she loved to run her fingers all over the maze of pink tracks criss crossing his chest and back. There was just something about the way her body moved in that white bikini with in the warm, blue water lapping over it. He dared not climb out of the waves and show off his raging hard on. Wrapping her legs around his hips and grinding kisses into his lips didn't help one bit, especially when her hands wandered.

Eventually, the beach cleared enough that they could make a hasty retreat to the guest house at the top of the dunes. The only reason they made it into the shower was the sand rubbing them raw under their suits.

She frowned as her fingers printed white on her lobster red chest. "I won't be able to sleep tonight. It's already burning."

He passed her two vials of Wiggenweld.

"What's this?"

He gave her a wink. "I'm just liquoring you up for some shower fun."

Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff. "This is healing potion. Why do I know that?"

"Because you're a witch." She flicked a frown his way, but his mischief bloomed. "Or maybe just because your father and mother would have given you plenty over the years."

She flipped him the bird and downed both vials. Soon, the angry red burns faded to pink blotches before disappearing into creamy white. The raw rashes evaporated from her rubber smooth skin. He pulled her into the shower and nuzzled kisses into the crease below her ear. "There might be some benefits."

Warm water carried the sand and shell grit off their bodies and soon they were covered by the comfort of the cool cotton bedsheets. She ground into his hips and squeezed before her whole body shuddered. She slowed, wiped her flushed brow, and said, "Ok, so what other benefits."

He was trying to hold out, but her body was not making it easy. "You immune to muggle diseases and nearly all poisons. You already know about witching, but there's all sorts of magic you can do."

"I haven't gotten sick since I was eleven. What else."

"Our lifespan is about four times that of muggles. We can fly brooms, ride floos, and apparate here and there. I know a few wizards who can become invisible and even fly without a broom. Transfiguring things into other things is fun too, and you'll never have to fold laundry again. A lot of things."

"A lot of endless buzzing. Electricity gives me a headache. Your family's places are so deliciously quiet."

He smiled and rolled over on top of her. Her cheeks were flushed as he ran a hand through her wet hair. "You know it could all be yours."

A few minutes later she was nestled into the crook of his shoulder, tracing his zig-zag scars. "I'm going away to college and you've got five years in the legion. You'll forget me in three months."

He was fairly certain there was no way he could forget her, but there was no fighting reality. She would soon be in a place full of handsome men, and every one of them was more educated and decent than himself. Likely not a single criminal in the lot much less a convicted murderer. His foolish attachment to Daphne still left him fighting twinges of jealousy when the lovebirds came bouncing through the manor.

Her sweet scent wafted past. He couldn't imagine her with olive skin and curly black hair, but the pictures didn't lie. Yes, the swarthy girl beside the old Prewett widow bore her nose and lips and the shape of her eyes. The old woman may well have been a Weasley for all the red hair and specky skin.

The more he learned about the ancient ritual, the more he wondered at the secrets of his own species. A full forty percent of Hufflepuffs witches were muggle born. The numbers were less in Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, but it was around ten percent...

Were they really incapable of sustaining themselves, or was it just simply the lack of children as his mother stated. He thought of his mother's desire to go through the ritual when it was her time, and then to her embarrassment over Aunt Bella's refusal to ever consider it. Clearly the witch hated muggles, but surely passing her magic to a healthy squib would have been preferable to the extinction of the Lestrange and Black families

His mind wandered a bit more. Within his lifetime, six of the sacred twenty-eight had gone extinct. Grandmother had fondly recounted tales of the sacred fifty, but the ones that were left... Ugh. So many Slytherin girls were off... Not quite right in the head. He had been dumbstruck as headboy seventh year when he learned the house of the proudest and most influential pureblood families had lagged the other three houses academically for twenty-two years while Helga's house of mud and squib marched inexorably forward, finally overtaking Ravenclaw during his third year.

His fingers trailed curve of her breast. He held out hope that he could find a way to talk her into it.

They woke up at half-five famished from a day of fun. She picked a shimmering silver dress that swished like silk just above her ankles while he donned a gray suit with a matching tie. They took the floo to the resort in the Swiss Alps. It was a perfect late spring evening to sit outside and gaze out over the mountains. Most of them were still capped in a glimmering white cloak of snow. The afternoon crowd of skiers were finishing up while people on snow machines carved curving paths down towards the valleys.

Couples decked in bright pink, white, and purple ski bibs shuffled in, stamping layers of snow off. Gloves and knitted hats came off, revealing chilblained hands and rosy cheeks. The fireplace brought smiles to their faces. Hands rubbed and balled, chasing off the cold with mixed drinks, coffee, and hot chocolate. Their glances laid on her. Ada's presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room. Best of all, her hand was tucked into the crook of his elbow.

She leaned, and said, "I would be jealous of all those women staring at you if you weren't coming home with me."

He didn't need anyone to tell him that he was just the sock puppet in the steel gray suit, but that didn't mean he couldn't play along. "I admit it is hard to contain beauty like this. I don't know what I would do without you here to distract the men."

The concierge escorted them past the bar to the table reserved for the family. First came drinks. She took a vodka Collins topped with orange slices and cherries while he settled for tea. Soon after came small plates of olives, whisper thin slices of Iberico ham wrapped around cheese, and fried clams with crackers. A nibble later and Ada's face lit as small bowls of creamy potato soup topped with cheese, chives, and bacon arrived. She was clearly in heaven with the rich soup, but turned her nose up ever so slightly at the deviled quail egg topped with a thin slice of pimento filled olive. A small plate of cheese and mushroom tortellini with tomatoes smothered in a rich demi-glace made amends for the egg, and the other plates whisked away just as quickly. Soon, grilled shrimp on a bed of white rice with buttery garlic sauce dotted with red pepper flecks laid before them along with a glass of sweet white wine for her and grudgingly water for him. Her face glittered with fascination as her red lips tested the delightful surprises arriving at their table, one after another.

And her joy made him happy. There was nothing he could do to atone for the letter etched into her back. His idiotic self indulgence had birthed the whole mess. If he had kept his shoulder laid into the plow. If he had not indulged the flight of fancy, tracking Percy Weasley like an animal through the maze of abandoned tin mines dotting the Welsh countryside... He would have known. He would have been able to intervene, to stop his father's utter foolishness. Not only would he have saved himself and the old man from Azkaban, his lover would not bear the reminder of his failure in her flesh.

She rubbed a gentle hand on his knee. Her voice floated through his mind like a soft summer breeze. "It's not your fault."

Warmth radiated up his leg from the touch of her hand. His lips were numb from the euphoria washing away the pain. Now, with the help of her witching, he was able to shut away the impulse to seethe and swear. He beat back the self pity and loathing. There would be plenty of time for wallowing in misery. Now was the time for enjoyment.

What he wouldn't give to make her his wife. He pulled her in a little closer, and whispered, "Thank you for that." His fingers flicked as the waiter ambled past. Ada needed another glass of wine. Draco raised a toast as the filet mignon medallions came out dressed with herb butter and mashed potatoes. He would do his best to spoil this one tonight. She was worth far more than anything he could lavish on her.