Chapter Text
Heirs to/Current holders of Wizengamot seats (currently single)
Marcus Flint: a possibility!said no
Gregory Goyle: too sad
Neville Longbottom:engaged to Luna!
Ernie Macmillian: a possibilitycould not be locatedDraco Malfoy:
Theodore Nott: hard to read, possibly in a relationship??
Harry Potter: he would be miserable; I would feel bad; Harry needs to focus on Teddy
Kingsley Shacklebolt: too honest
Horace Slughorn: hated his parties (and classes)
Sunday. 10.30. Hideaway Cafe. Mayfair. - DLM
Draco Malfoy arrived early.
Hermione had decided to arrive exactly on time, which was unusual for her. She had considered arriving early of course – it was a good way to show that you were organized, and that you respected the other person’s time. Her parents always rolled their eyes when people arrived exactly on the dot for their appointments –
That wasn’t important.
What was important was that Draco Malfoy did not come away from this meeting thinking she was overeager. Or worse - desperate. She was the one doing him a favor, after all. Hermione wondered if he realized that. He must. He could have ignored her letter or suggested a more public place to meet if the idea was to turn her down in some grand fashion. But instead, he had suggested a discreet muggle tearoom, which Hermione didn’t think was meant to insult her.
"You've considered my offer?" she said.
Draco flinched. “Just – Merlin, at least sit down first – ”
Hermione plonked herself down in the chair across from him.
She hadn’t seen him in person for about four years. But there he was, at a little table with a cup of tea in front of him. Looking – if she was being perfectly honest – a little bit worse than she remembered. Those shadows under his eyes hadn’t been there during the Culpability Hearings. The slight unhealthy grey tinge to his skin was new too. He did pull it off rather well, though, she thought grudgingly. It made him look like a tragic Victorian consumption victim.
"Hermione," said Draco. "I – may I call you Hermione?"
It was strange to hear her first name coming out of his mouth. But it would hardly make sense for him to continue calling her by her last name under these circumstances, so she ignored her slight discomfort.
"Yes, you may. Can I call you Draco?"
"You did address your courting letter 'Dear Draco Malfoy.'" He put a hand to the lapel of his jacket. Maybe he had her letter tucked away in there. "Yes. You can call me Draco.”
He was fiddling with the teacup. Adding more sugar. Seemed to remember she didn’t have any, flipped the second cup over on its saucer, and poured tea in something of an automatic gesture.
"So," he said, quite casually. “Is it Potter's?"
"Is what Potter's?"
Draco closed his eyes, and made a kind of jerk that looked like the start of a wand movement, enough to make Hermione flinch. But all he said was - "Muffliato." Then continued.
"You sent me a fairly typical - I mean odd, yes, most courting letters don’t spend quite so much time talking about the importance of prison reform. Still, you did send me a courting letter, stressing the importance of a quick marriage. Which, well… you’d hardly be the first. But I assume that you’d just marry the father, if it were Weasley or someone else of no real political importance. If it were Potter, though… this news would dent his reputation at a time when it ought to be at its shiniest. The old families really don’t think much of siring bastards. Wreaks havoc with the wards.”
"The... excuse me, what?"
Draco looked at her, face full of confusion. “The wards?”
"Not the wards!” Hermione exhaled. Then spoke very clearly and slowly, to help him follow along. "I'm here because I need to marry a pureblood to gain access to certain parts of wizard society, and you were the best choice."
Draco still looked confused.
“Then what was all of that about wanting to marry before the Winter Solstice?” He now looked slightly alarmed. “What part of wizarding society do you need to gain access too, inside the next five months?”
It was possible her courting letter might have placed a little too much emphasis on her ideal timeline. But everyone knew that plans didn’t really count unless you included dates, and besides – five months was plenty of time to plan a small wedding. Luna and Neville had just announced their wedding, and well… there were enough things in Hermione's life that had lost momentum. The length of an engagement, that was something she could control. It had honestly just felt good to give herself a deadline again. One she could actually meet.
"I laid it all out in the letter.” She went back into her bag for her notes. “Dememtors are being re-introduced to Azkaban in a ‘trial’ period, and the vote for that will be early next year – ”
“You want a Wizangamot seat.”
Hermione sat back up. Instead of confused or insulted, Draco actually looked relieved. “You want a Wizgamot seat, because you don’t trust Potter or Longbottom to argue your position, and you think that my parents will be more receptive to… forced retirement. Than some of the other sitting members might be.”
Hermione almost rolled her eyes. “Yes, obviously. Your parents already don’t go to Wizagamot sessions. I mean, your father can’t, he’s under house arrest, but your mother could if she wanted. Passing on your seat is perfectly respectable. Even Neville’s grandmother has finally agreed to retire.”
“And Longbottom claims his family seat immediately after he marries Lovegood…” said Draco, slowly. “Which will happen… on the Winter Solstice.”
"Yes." Hermione didn't see why this was giving him so much trouble. “I want to be in the Wizangamot when that happens.” Because it turned out that the only way to join the most important wizard political body was to marry someone who was already in the most important wizard political body – or, she supposed, marry someone whose parents seemed on the way out.
"You're willing to marry me. For political clout. To reform prisons." Draco rubbed his left forearm with the heel of his right palm. “You do realize that even if we announced this today, it would be a scandalously short engagement. A very short amount of time in which to plan a wedding." He gave her a sharp look. "Even if you aren’t… expecting. Why not marry Potter, if you want a seat this badly? I'm sure he would do it. The gossip if you married him would be considerably less interesting. That’s always better for a career politician."
Hermione sighed.
"Harry would say yes. But he’s spent more than enough time shouting at the Wizangamot… and he’s so happy raising Teddy. I’d only make him miserable.”
"I suppose a metamorphmagus toddler probably gives you enough to be getting on with,” Draco muttered.
"Besides, I already have access to all of Harry's connections. I already decided that marrying a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw would be best. I know your family doesn’t have anywhere near the political power they did before the war, but they spent years at the head of a substantial voting block. There must be some of that left.”
“I suppose… I do have some friends,” said Draco, vaguely. “But you're a very eligible witch. You could have your pick of anyone."
Yes. As Witch Weekly kept reminding her. They’d spent the last few years gleefully pairing her up with every pureblood bachelor she stood next to for longer than twenty minutes. But her choices were more limited if she wanted a Wizangamot seat. If Draco said no, then next on her list was Theodore Nott – smarter and more crafty, so less ideal. And if Hermione was being honest, it did help that Draco Malfoy was prettier. That alone should shut down at least some of the gossip.
It was at this point that the muggle waitress brought over another pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.
"So... the actions of my family, during the war... " said Draco, after she had moved away.
"Not impossible to recover from."
"But the actions of my father ..."
“I think being a muggleborn offsets that particular problem well enough.”
"Yes, but… Hermione, leaving politics to the side. You’d be living in the same house as him. Even if you barely saw him, I don't think anyone would blame you for thinking that was too... too much."
Hermione did hesitate, for just a moment - before deciding that honesty was the best policy. "I don’t think that’s a problem. If anything, it shows that I personally believe in the Azkaban alternatives. I believe that they are effective, and I am willing to personally live with the consequences."
"So you don't wish to see my father in Azkaban?"
"I want to see Azkaban gone."
"Is there someone you do particularly want of Azkaban? If there is, I'm sure that Shacklebolt –"
Hermione shook her head. Draco was dead wrong if he thought she could get a favor like that from Kingsley, but more importantly, he still wasn’t understanding. "It's not about that. Azkaban is the biggest symbol of Ministry corruption and power, and if I let it go back to the way it was before the war…”
Then it would be like none of it had mattered.
"I suppose it says a great deal about the state of things," said Draco. "If I'm your best option."
She laughed at that, a little. If Theodore Nott said no, next up on the list was Horace Slughorn. That was one thing the war had done. Reduced the number of Wizangamot seats down from forty-five down to barely thirty. Making her list very short.
Draco ran a hand back through his hair. Adjusted himself a little more comfortably in his seat. He was quite a graceful person. It came from playing Quidditch, probably.
"Tell me," he said."How much of a marriage do you want this to be? I know you were seen around with Weasley a few years ago. Is there someone else? Who also doesn't have the good fortune of being heir to a Wizengamot seat?"
It took Hermione a minute to realize what he was asking.
"Oh, no! Nothing like that. There's no one. I've just been so busy, there hasn't even been time."
"And ah... well.” Draco was fiddling with his cuff again. “The house isn't going to accept an unconsummated marriage. Our wards are nearly a thousand years old… it's just... how it is."
Hermione steeled herself. She couldn't afford to be shy now, not when it sounded like he was so close to agreeing.
"I don’t think that will be a problem." After all, he was very pretty.
Draco’s eyes briefly caught hers. They looked grey and tired — even slightly bloodshot.
“What questions do you have for me?” he said. Like he was on a job interview.
"If we're successful with Azkaban prison reform, would you be willing to move on to house elf rights afterwards?"
Draco just kept looking at her. "So you see this as being quite long-term?"
"Ideally? Yes. I think both of us have a lot we stand to gain. Also, I'd hate to see what the papers would say about either of us if we were to break things off.”
"Merlin..." said Draco. "I'd look like a monster if you left me. Or the other way around.”
"I won't. Not unless something goes catastrophically wrong."
Draco paused. Stirred his tea. Then put down his spoon.
"All right. If you're sure." And then extended a hand across the table.
Hermione could do nothing about the enormous smile across her face. She had been prepared to argue her case all over again. But now… she was looking at Draco’s hand and realized that she didn’t know what she was supposed to do with it. Shake it? She didn’t want to be that business-like. Kiss it? Absolutely not.
Ultimately, she settled on briefly covering it with her fingers and squeezing. Which felt so awkward that she wished she’d gone with the handshake. Hermione pulled back, turned away so he wouldn’t see her blushing, and dove down to dig inside her purse. "If you wanted to look over my plan for getting enough votes to close Azkaban permanently, I brought some materials with me — "
"Maybe not here?" said Draco. “I mean. We are in public, and — being practical about marriage is all well and good, but if things seem too loveless you'll have people like Selwyn thinking you’re plotting to push me off the roof. Or confine me to a tower."
Hermione pursed her lips, even as she considered the parchment she'd pulled from her bag. Sighed. Maybe he had a point. Carefully, she put her notes back where she could find them later.
"You're right. The first priority is announcing that we're together."
"I agree," said Draco. And then he reached across the table. For her hand.
The motion made his left sleeve pull back slightly. Past the cuff, until she could see the loop of the snake that formed the very bottom of his Dark Mark. Black against a pale wrist. When Draco saw where she was looking he shook his sleeve to cover it. Like he thought she might forget it was there, if she couldn’t see it.
Then Draco's fingers did touch hers. His thumb brushed her knuckles. When Hermione didn’t pull away, he leaned over the table. Brought her hand to his lips. Pressed a dry kiss to the back.
Then let go.
Hermione took her hand back, not entirely sure what to make of any of that.
“If we're going to be married soon, you should probably meet my parents,” said Draco. "Or at least my mother… and please don't tell her this is a marriage of convenience."
"Oh. Oh, don't worry.” Hermione had been hit by a kind of fuzziness, as the reality of what she had just agreed to do started coming over her in waves. She shook her head, centering herself. “We need everyone to believe this is real." Then, because it seemed like the polite thing to do - "I can get the bill, if muggle money's too confusing."
Draco had been going into his jacket, but at her words he stopped. "You can get this. If you let me buy you dinner tonight, someplace in Diagon Alley."
Hermione nodded, and then Draco stood. He was very tall. Somehow, she didn't remember him being quite that tall.
She paid for their tea. As fun as it might have been to see Draco Malfoy struggle with muggle money… in good conscience, she didn't think she could do that to the waitress.
They stepped out of the little tearoom together, onto the posh, bustling streets of Mayfair. Even wearing a muggle suit Draco managed to look just slightly out of place. Perhaps it was the way he kept glancing over at her, like he expected her to dart away. Or maybe it was the hair. Out here in the bright sunlight it did look white, not blonde.
"So," said Hermione. It was good to have a plan again. “Are we going to the Manor now?”
"Or somewhere else. Mother can join us. I can't imagine you especially want to go back?"
"Yes, but it would be very strange if I don't. And I should probably stay the night if we want it to look like we've been together a while already."
Draco closed his eyes, like he was trying to fight off a headache. "Fine. If you insist. Just, know that the Manor, it isn't – it hasn't really managed to – recover. From the war."
Had any of them? Hermione thought about explaining that muggle buildings didn't heal the way wizarding ones did, but decided not to.
"I promise I won't judge."
"The gate-wards are still up, so you're going to have to side-along with me. I think there's a space back here...."
Hermione hated side-along apparition. But sometimes it couldn't be helped, so. Following Draco into a little alley, tucked out of the sight of random passersby, she had the thought that it probably looked like she and him were stealing away for a snog. The idea would be laughable… if that weren't precisely what she wanted all of wizarding society to believe.
Draco had to stand quite close in order to side-along apparate. Once Hermione took a second to get past the strangeness of that, she placed a hand on his arm – and was hit by an awful, terrible pinching –
That wasn’t as bad as when Ron did it. She suspected it something to do with physics, and the fact that Ron was so much taller. There was a squeezing, a twisting –
Then there was grass under her feet, and Hermione was spat out in front of a wrought-iron gate.
A very familiar wrought-iron gate. She was feeling nauseous now as she looked up at it, probably from all the apparating. The last time she had been here... had been with the Snatchers. Hermione could have sworn that this gate had been decorated with the shapes of horrible, blinking eyes back then – but no. It turned out that the Malfoy front gate had been designed to look like peacock feathers. She waited for the metal to contort itself into a face, steeled herself for that horrible booming voice. Only this time the gate didn’t bother.
Maybe because Draco was there.
“Enter freely and under no obligation,” Draco said. Which must have been ward-words, since the gate turned to smoke, allowing them to pass through.
"Once you’re keyed into the wards, you'll be able to apparate in and out as you please," Draco said, once again glancing over his shoulder as they walked up the long drive to the main house. Hermione listened for the cawing squawk of the Malfoy peacocks. Nothing. Everything was quiet here, compared to the activity of London.
There was grass growing between the cracks in the flagstone beneath her feet. Butterflies and all kinds of assorted greenery had escaped their flowerbed, bees buzzed around them, and the topiary bushes had become shapeless blobs covered with ivy. Draco seemed tense, walking though his overgrown garden. Hermione didn’t mind though. It was just a reminder of how much time had passed since the war. Everything was so stubbornly alive here - brilliant and green in the July sunlight. It had been night, last time.
They didn't speak much. Draco kept glancing back at her, like he was afraid she'd vanish.
"I'm not going to run away,” she snapped, the third or fourth time he did this. “If that's what you're worried about."
Draco didn't answer. Let his eyes drift back up to the manor. Hermione looked at it too. She hadn't really been in a position to take in the architecture on her last visit. Impressive, as well as imposing. Old - though not as old as Hogwarts - and tall. Thick stone walls, and dark narrow windows. Ivy, crawling up from the ground. Attempting to find a way in.
It was cold inside. The Malfoy Manor entrance hall had no windows, the massive fireplace was empty, and the light fixtures remained unlit - which left it dark as well. Still beautiful though. Even the first time she was here – when she had been so sure that she had failed and this was it – there had been enough room in her brain to think that at least she would die some place beautiful.
Now Draco walked through it, the ghostly light from his wand reflecting off his hair and off the marble floor. This room also showed signs of neglect, and damage - chipped tile, burns in the woodwork, empty niches that should have held vases or statues. They walked past portraits, all of blonde wizards, all dead asleep. The scars and pockmarks of war, so strangely absent from the rest of the wizarding world. Hermione had the slightly morbid urge to touch them.
"Mother should be up in her rooms..." said Draco, and gestured down the dark hall. "This way..."
Through a door that was slightly ajar, Hermione glimpsed a familiar drawing room. Familiar … although her most vivid memories of it were not from this angle. The wreckage of the chandelier Dobby had smashed was gone, as if that incident alone was too shameful to acknowledge. But small enough that it could vanish.
Draco noticed where she was looking and clicked the door shut completely.
"I didn't think you would be coming. If I did, I would have...." But he didn't have an end to that sentence.
"It's fine," she was quick to say. Maybe a little too quick.
Draco didn't respond. Instead, he pulled aside a tapestry with a great gash down the center, to reveal a hidden stairwell bathed in sunlight. He went through first, and then turned to reach back down for her.
"Don’t use the second step. The rest are safe."
Hermione studied it. It looked fine, so whatever was wrong with it was probably magical in nature. Warily, she took his hand and very carefully stepped up onto the third step.
Then Draco let the ripped tapestry fall closed.
The scorch marks, dents, and general destruction this house had suffered were more visible in the sunlight. Hermione ran her hand along a large gash in the bannister.
"It isn't a blood curse," said Draco.
She looked at him. Realizing that what she was doing was, perhaps, rude.
“It’s not,” he said, again. “I don’t know what it is, exactly, but this – this thing with the wards. They broke, somehow, sometime during the war, and I… the barrier wall is still intact. But nothing else." He touched the bannister, carved with the pattern of snake scales. Snapped and splintered, now.
"I'm sorry," said Hermione.
"You don't know how bad this is. You can't. You're muggleborn – " Draco cut himself off. For the first time he sounded bitter, and angry. About – she didn’t even know. About all of this.
He began to move up the staircase, his back turned to her. Hermione followed, wanting to push and question. Of course she wouldn’t understand if no one told her! Were these blood wards? Did that mean Draco was somehow affected? Was his magic? She had seen him do muffliato in the cafe, so apparently not? Was there a social taboo around letting guests see the house like this? Was that why he had seemed resistant about bringing her here?
The truth was that house wards just hadn't been a focus of her research. Maybe if there hadn't been a war to fight – but that was silly to think about.
Draco was taking her through the house as quickly as possible, but she still saw the bowls set out to catch dripping water, the furniture draped in sheets, the support beams that didn’t match hidden away in dark rooms. Stacks upon stacks of papers and books, shredded carpet, detritus littering the floor. They even passed one ghostly statue, wrapped head to toe in bandages.
And when Draco finally knocked at the door he said was his mother's, no one answered.
They waited for what seemed like a very long time.
"You can show me the rest of the house,” Hermione offered, when it became clear to her that no one was coming. “Even with all the spell damage, it’s still beautiful.” That felt like it might be the wrong thing to say, but it was true.
"What do you want to see?" said Draco, with so little inflection it didn’t really sound like a question.
Hermione sighed. It had been the wrong thing to say.
"It's your home . Even if the wards aren't working. Surely there's something..." She tried very hard not to think about the last time she had been home. Actually home. Took a breath. "Forget I asked."
"I'm sorry," Draco said, stepping away from his mother’s room. "I'll take you through to the Unicorn sitting room. It has a view of the orchard, I'll bring more tea, and you can show me - whatever plans you've made."
"You have an orchard?" Hermione had expected something more like a poison garden, or perhaps a hedge maze.
"The apricot trees are doing well. A few early apples. I can get some for you, if you like."
Apples. Hermione supposed that the Manor did feel a little like something out of a fairytale.
A spooky fairytale, but still.
The Unicorn sitting room was lighter and airier than any room Hermione had been in so far. Tall French doors opened to the orchard outside, and it didn’t matter as much that none of the lamps in here had been lit, since there was still plenty of sun. Clearly, this room had been named for its wrap-around tapestry. It mostly depicted a forest, but when you focused on the trees and let your thoughts wander, you could see a shining unicorn horn poke out from behind the leaves. This particular tapestry was also in considerably better shape than any of the others. She wondered if it was somehow more important, and Draco had bothered to get it professionally repaired. Or if it maybe had other, undisclosed magical abilities that were not immediately obvious.
Draco cast incendio on the fireplace. Flames immediately soared up, warming the room.
"If you look carefully, there's a princess hiding in the tapestry as well," he said. "I'll get the tea."
"I'll come with you,” said Hermione, springing back to her feet. “I want to see the kitchen." She liked the idea of Draco in a kitchen, although admittedly she had trouble actually picturing it. She hadn’t seen a single house-elf though, so she supposed that he must be doing that sort of thing for himself now.
"I wouldn't expect much from the kitchen,” said Draco.
"I spent a year camping. I appreciate a nice stove."
He didn't respond. Only tilted his head as though to say suit yourself.
The kitchens were subterranean, past dungeons which Draco insisted on calling cellars. It had thick pillars and high vaulted ceilings, but really was a space like you would see in a restaurant – room for at least fifteen people to work, walk-in pantries, multiple ovens and washstands. What wasn’t typical for restaurants was the cavernous fireplace, big enough to spit-roast an entire cow. And the multiple cabinets that were padlocked shut and rattling menacingly.
It wasn't nearly as big as the Hogwarts kitchens, but this was still clearly a place designed to serve a great many people. It completely dwarfed Draco, as he took out his wand and casually began levitating things over to him. "Aguamenti," he said to the teapot, before casting a series of heating charms.
Once it began to steam, Draco opened a cabinet that wasn't rattling, and took out – actually Hermione wasn't sure what it was. It looked like he was holding a fertilizer brick. It was only after Draco started slicing bits off and dropping them into the hot water… that Hermione realized he was holding an entire cube of compressed tea.
"Oh no. How old is that?" She grabbed it out of his hands without bothering to ask, and turned it over so she could decide how horrified to be. The label, which had practically fallen off, was both handwritten and in Chinese. "Did this come over during the opium wars ? Draco! This is old enough to be in a museum! And you've just had it sitting there?" How disgusting. "I would have expected this from Ron, and certainly from Harry. But from you?"
"I’m sorry.” Draco actually took a step back.“The storerooms have preservation charms on them, which I am perfectly capable of keeping up. Or do you think I can’t perform a simple Arresto Decomposto?"
"No - it's not-" Hermione was honestly a little flabbergasted. "This isn't about health. It's about integrity. It's about the principle of the thing! You have to have something better than this. You're a Malfoy for goodness sakes! You have a seat on the Wizangamot!" She started flinging open cabinets in search of something more modern. There was the pureblood practice of holding on to tradition, and then there was this. Certainly, some old things could be nice to keep around, but centuries-old tea was not one of them.
"Don't - " Draco grabbed her arm. "I can't - Hermione, stop - there's nothing. Yes, of course, if this were before the war Mother and I would have gone by Madame Puddifoot's and sampled the new blends of the season and had the best sent over, but now she gets more dirty looks than I do! Most days she can hardly bear to leave her room!"
“You can at least get something delivered - ”
“And let people see the state of the house?”
Of course. That explained it.
"Logistics can wait. I'm taking you to get some tea from this century." This was a humanitarian mission now. She set the brick of tea down on the counter with a distressingly loud clunk and dragged Draco by the arm out the way they had come. "You'll have to side-along with me this time because I doubt you know your way around muggle London."
"You won't be able to apparate out of the house," Draco said. "Might be faster to add you into the wards, than it would be to walk all the way back out..."
Hermione stopped short. "All right then. Wards first. But after that, we’re going to get tea."
Hermione knew she would get this house straight in her head eventually. But right now, she admitted to being a little turned around as she followed Draco out a different set of doors onto a wide stone terrace, and down mossy, overgrown steps. "You keep the wards outside? ” she said, swatting nettles away. They’d be all over her socks after this. "That seems like an awfully vulnerable place to put them." Maybe the wards had been a clever ploy to distract her from the tea.
Draco looked over his shoulder. "The chapel's built over the ward-setting. They're not outside."
“I suppose you would have a chapel. Hogwarts used to. But now all the important relics just go up in the Headmaster's office. Hogwarts, a History says that Hogwarts has wards which are designed to be moved if the school comes under attack, and the last time they were activated was back in –" Hermione cut herself off. Because that wasn’t right, was it. She had seen McGonagall activate the wards, as the Death Eaters marched on the castle. “Actually. I suppose it doesn’t have much to say about them at all.”
“The Hogwarts wards could have a Taboo built into them, I suppose,” said Draco. “Like how you can't talk about the Sorting Ceremony with anyone who hasn't already been Sorted." He said this like it was extremely common knowledge.
"Maybe..." Sometimes Hermione had to wonder about that book she had loved so much. It had hurt to realize it had been written by someone who didn’t think house elves were important. But she still kept her copy in her bag, next to Dumbledore's copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. After all, it had been a gift from her parents.
"There," said Draco, gesturing across shadowless grounds lit by noonday sun. At the top of a gentle incline, Hermione could just make out a small stone building overlooking the lake. Quite plain, to her eyes. None of the elaborate Malfoy carving and decorative marble here. Stone river-rock walls, small windows, a peaked roof. Rather like - well - a medieval chapel. The only thing that marked it as wizard was the shape. It was a pentagon, and instead of having one set of doors it had five, one set in each of the walls.
Draco ran a hand through his white-blonde hair. “Let's get this over with. That is... assuming you still want to be mistress of all of this?
"I'm known for being fairly stubborn."
“I hope you're not waiting for me to flinch." With that, Draco pushed open one of the chapel doors and ducked inside. Hermione had to take a moment to blink the sunlight out of her eyes, before following.
She couldn’t see anything. Well, nothing except for the water - water that glowed, as though thick with bioluminescent algae. Bubbling out of some central point. Dripping down.
It was quieter in here than it should have been. That soft drip of water, and nothing else. Hermione could barely hear her own footsteps. She waited for her eyes to adjust, enough to actually see whatever the thing in the center was. A kind of fountain, the size and shape of a bird bath. Only with scalloped sides that gave it the look of a star. The water fell from it into thin stone channels cut into the floor, radiating out from the center. They dipped below the walls, out of sight. Going into the ground, or perhaps the lake – she hardly knew.
The room felt unsettling yet beautiful in much the same way as a cave. Also like a cave, Hermione felt as though she were being beckoned deeper, while simultaneously warned against trespassing somewhere she did not belong. The water, her own breath, her heartbeat — it all combined in a way that made her feel watched, by something she could not see.
Draco was staring at the basin in the center. He took off his coat. Approached it, unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve as he went. When he was right up against the stone lip, he took a breath - and plunged his forearm deep into the glowing water. Up to the elbow. Hermione held her breath. Half expecting a pair of jaws to emerge, and snap shut.
Nothing happened.
Draco was moving his hand around, as though he’d dropped something small and was trying to fish it out. This continued for one long minute – then another –
It shouldn't have been as nerve-wracking as it was. But every moment Draco’s hand was in that glowing water, the feeling that something was aware of their presence only intensified.
Finally, the muscles in Draco's arm went taut, and with an audible sigh of relief he dragged out a silver chalice. Dripping wet, and now full of the glowing water.
His breath was as heavy as though he'd been running. The cup, he held out to Hermione.
She had been standing back, but now came closer. Her footsteps were loud, every footfall against the limestone floor announcing her presence, no matter how quietly she tried to move. Draco gripped the chalice in both hands.
It was heavy when she took it. The design under her fingertips was some sort of dragon-creature, and Hermione felt sharp wings. So carefully etched that she could feel the difference between the scales and feathers. The little beast in her hands, so detailed she could practically feel it breathing.
“Drink when I tell you to,” said Draco. “Try not to blink once it starts. I’m going to run you through the vows. Just answer ‘I so swear’ to all of them.”
Hermione nodded, taking the opportunity to blink now. Normally, she would ask why - but the atmosphere around her pushed those questions down.
Draco stood before her. The light of the water glinted off his eyes, turning them silver. He took a breath.
“Hermione Granger. Do you swear to use what skill and power you have to protect the Malfoy lands from invaders?"
"I so swear." When she spoke, the acoustics of the room felt like they belonged to somewhere much larger.
“Drink," he said.
She raised the chalice to her lips and drank.
"Do you swear to use what skill and power you have to defend those who claim the protection of the Malfoy name?"
"I so swear."
“Drink," he said, again. "And do you make these promises with a clear heart and mind, without fear and without compulsion?"
She smiled a little as she answered. No doubt there'd be at least one opinion piece speculating otherwise. "I so swear."
"Repeat after me. Sanctimonia vincent semper."
"Sanctimonia vincent semper."
"Those kept safe will be always victorious."
She took a deep breath. The air felt less heavy than it had just a moment ago. The difference complete enough that she almost thought she had imagined the way it was, before.
“I swear to honor these words, forever and a day,” said Draco. “Finish the drink.”
"I so swear," she said, before finishing the water from the chalice.
Then Draco took the cup from her and let it sink back into the water. Staggered, and put a hand on the basin to steady himself.
Hermione eyed him. His vertigo seemed bad enough that she was a little worried he might fall, and she stopped just short of reaching out to take his arm.
“I’m fine,” he said.
"I'll believe you in a minute." She decided to compromise by standing close enough to grab the back of his jacket, if it turned out that she needed to. But Draco waved her off, then straightened up to roll down his sleeve, put his jacket back on, and begin the process of putting himself back together.
The strange quiet from earlier was now peaceful. The darkness, cozy instead of oppressive.
"You can apparate inside the grounds now," he said.
"We can wait on apparating until you've caught your breath. Let’s get you outside." Despite squirming and his his insistence that he didn't need her help, Hermione slipped her arm around Draco. She figured that she had just sworn to protect him and his lands. This still counted as protection, even if all she was doing was making sure he didn’t fall in a fountain and make himself look like a prat.
Outside, the day had grown overcast. The sky dark, the bright green plants now silver and grey. It was enough of a change that Hermione did wonder exactly how long they'd been in there, dealing with the wards.
Before she was distracted by an approaching figure.
A very tall woman with waist-length blonde hair. Draped head-to-toe in green velvet.
Oh no. Hermione hadn't prepared anything to say. Or rather she had, but she didn’t think her speech about prison reform would work for this.
"Draco?" said Narcissa Malfoy, in a clear, musical voice. The hem of her dressing gown rustled as it dragged through the weeds.
"I'm sorry, Mother," said Draco. "I should have given you some warning that I was about to go into the wards."
Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes drifted between them - and settled on Hermione. Who still had her arm around Draco. Too late to remove it now. Also she didn’t want him to fall over.
"I hope Draco has been making you feel welcome," said Narcissa Malfoy.
"He has." Hermione didn't mention the tea, or that they were only doing this because she had insisted on dragging Draco to a muggle grocery store.
"Many find that staying the night does help, after settling into the Malfoy wards."
"Mother - " said Draco. He stepped out from Hermione's arm. "Mother. May I… may I have the ivy leaves?”
His tone made it sound important, but Hermione had no idea what ivy leaves referred to.
Narcissa grew still. Even the wind did not seem to touch her. She looked over Draco's shoulder at Hermione, her face unreadable.
"You are sure?" she said.
"Yes," said Draco. "I'm sure."
He stepped forward, and Narcissa reached out to touch her son’s hair with a long-fingered hand. "Then the leaves are in the bottom drawer of my jewel chest. Go and fetch them."
Draco popped out of existence. Narcissa continued moving down the path, towards Hermione.
Who couldn't help feeling slightly abandoned.
"Draco will be back," she said. "I know his presence must be a comfort. I do not blame you, for wanting to keep away from this place." Her steady gaze made Hermione wonder, for a moment, if she knew Legilimancy.
"It isn’t that. It's a beautiful house." Except that made it sound even worse. That made it sound like Hermione was avoiding Narcissa personally. "I just… wasn't ready yet."
"And you are ready now?"
Hermione looked back up at the Manor. She doubted she’d ever really be ready, which meant that now was as good a time as any. After all, there was nothing really threatening here, now that Voldemort was gone. It was all just a little sad and in need of repair.
"I think so."
Narcissa nodded.
"You might very well be just what we need. I hope to see more of you.”
At that moment, Draco reappeared, holding a long, flat leather case. A bit like a glasses case, although Hermione didn't actually think that was what it was. Clearly this had some ceremonial significance, and for a moment she thought it might also be related to the wards. But that didn't feel right. That ceremony had been completed in the chapel. This was something else.
"You are a worthy heir, Draco," said Narcissa Malfoy. "Doing as you do will help the house. And your father. But now... I really think I must be going." She looked once more at Hermione. Then completely and noiselessly vanished.
Draco exhaled with his entire body.
"You can not let my mother know this is a sham marriage,” he said. “It would kill her. That's not what she wants for me."
"You really do love your parents."
"Yes. I do," said Draco.
Hermione’s smile started out warm, and when it turned sad, she tried her best not to let it show. She pushed all thoughts of her own parents aside. They were safe. They ere happy. That was what mattered.
Draco stood in front of her, stiffly. Snapped open the box to reveal... three metallic silver ivy leaves. Laid out on a velvet cushion.
"I know this is a little fast. But Malfoys tend to have long engagements, so - will you marry me?"
"Yes." Hermione had expected to feel at least a little conflicted, but didn't. She and Draco were on the same page, and they were going to make this work.
"All right," he said. Then stepped close. For a second, she thought he was about to kiss her - but no. He was pushing her hair behind her ear and laying one of the little metal leaves on her head, about where she would place a hair clip. Except now the leaf seemed to be sprouting tentacles.
"What is that?!" She didn't pull away, but it was a very near thing.
"It's vines, Granger. Relax ."
"I have a complicated history with vines!"
"I... do not want to know. Here ." He picked up her hand and laid her palm on top of whatever new thing she was wearing. Under her fingertips, Hermione felt a net of tiny metal filigree drawing her hair back, contouring to the side of her head and then just... settling there.
"It's the Malfoy wedding tiara. You put the last leaf in the center on the day of the wedding, it's all very tasteful."
"Oh." Somehow, it hadn't actually occurred Hermione that this process would include important family jewelry. She wasn’t sure why. It seemed obvious in retrospect.
"So can I put the other half on. Or would you rather walk around like that?"
"I was startled!"
Draco looked for a moment like he might apologize - but then he didn't, and instead slid the second leaf into her hair on the other side. Which Hermione honestly appreciated, preferring not to dwell on her faux pas.
"So that's done," he said. Stepped back half a pace.
"Right.” Enough with wards, and weddings, and curses. “Now tea."
Hermione brought her hand down on Draco's shoulder and apparated them to a narrow little alley, right behind an Aldi.
