TITLE: All Roads Lead Back
KEYWORDS: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.
SYNOPSIS: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with his best friend...and everything went straight to Hell! A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told through multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.
SPOILERS: All six books.
WORD COUNT: 13,378
RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.
BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine
WARNING: This chap has a LOT of Draco, a LOT of Luna, and a LOT of one-sided D/Hr. You have been warned.
DISCLAIMER: If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is. She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.
Sunday, 05/29/05
"Mmm. Keep that up and we're liable to miss the party."
"Sod the party," Draco said as he left love nibbles down the side of her neck. "I rather stay right here with you and move what we were doing on to your desk."
He snaked his arms around her body and began moving her zipper down expertly. Her back was pressed up against his shirtless chest. Luna giggled.
"Oh you're just saying that because you wouldn't get to see me naked at the Burrow."
"Loony Love, you're spoiling the mood."
He kissed the shoulder he had just made bare.
"Good," Luna said as she slid off the settee, disentangling her body from Draco's.
She stood up and pulled her silver robes back on her shoulders, trying to straighten them out before she pulled the little black zipper of the garment up. This would make for the third time this day she had gone through this routine. Draco didn't know why she bothered; he was only going to get them off her again as soon as he got a chance.
They were currently the only two people left inside the Quibbler's London office. Luna had come in to check on an article she was hoping would make it to the front page of the Monday morning edition. She had uncovered a secret alliance between the Ministry and the Flying Broom lobbyists that was responsible for the British flying carpet ban. It would seem that a certain Minister for Magic, Agnes Granitebiter, did not outlaw the enchanting of carpets to protect Muggles as she originally claimed. The argument for banning the devices was that the rugs could accidentally wind up in a Muggle home, or that it was becoming increasingly hard to disguise them from non-magical persons when the carpets were flying in the sky.
Of course the same case could be raised over brooms, but that little issue was glossed over. Through an anonymous source inside the Ministry, Luna found out that Ms. Agnes was getting a truckload of galleons under the cauldron from the broom companies. Universal, Flyte and Barker, Comet and Cleensweep; all the big companies were in on it. Even Nimbus was involved, back when it was still Pye in the Sky Ltd. Apparently the Ministry was still profiting from this deal.
Luna was very excited about her story, she was sure it would finally elevate the paper's respectability, but her father had qualms about running it. Even though her father was the editor and owner of the paper he didn't play favorites with his reporters, a fact that Luna was usually in agreement with. Linus Lovegood's first concern was that he might lose advertising revenue from those very same broom companies. However the main reason behind his hesitancy was that he thought that the piece his star reporter, Patricia Stimpson, turned in on the tragic love affair brewing behind the walls of Hogwarts made for better copy. The gist of the daring exposé was that Minerva McGonagall, current Head Mistress of the hallowed institution, was having a bit of how's your father with one of her employees, a Professor Binns. Sure the fellow was deader than a doorknob, but the angst and the abuse of power that the story entailed made it still sexy and saucy.
Luna had been furious with her father when he floo'ed from the office to let her know he was going with Stimpson's article. She had just finished her shower and was in the middle of fixing a late breakfast for Draco and herself. Draco was still in bed asleep at the time. Luna quickly scribbled a note for her boyfriend before she transfigured her dressing gown into the fancy robes she had planned to wear that day to Ron and Lavender's party, then Apparated to the Quibbler. She had a feeling that she wouldn't have time to make it back home to change after she chewed her father out.
When Draco finally came downstairs in search of Luna he found her message next to a bowl of cold semolina porridge. He hated semolina! He also hated waking up without his lovely girlfriend beside him. He was used to having a nice late lie-in with his Loony on the weekends. Usually their weekday mornings were both hectic so they felt that on the weekend they deserved to not make it out of bed before noon. Sadly their tradition seemed to have been forgotten this day.
Draco was not a happy wizard. His sour mood did not improve when he read the note. Luna told him where she went to and why. She also informed him that she would meet him later at the Burrow, and that it was his responsibility to bring the present she had picked up for the couple, a crystal sculpture of a life sized diricawl, with him.
Draco had scowled at the note. He didn't even know why he and Luna were going to the damned party. He and Weasley were no more friends now than they had been before the War. And he couldn't for the life of him understand why Luna wanted to be even within three miles of the couple who had caused her so much hurt and humiliation not that long ago. Draco knew his Loony Love marched to the beat of her own drum, he just wished sometimes that she wasn't the only person who could hear its particular rhythm. He just didn't get her reasoning. Draco knew that he despised the redheaded lout for what he had done to her, but Luna herself seemed un-fazed by the whole affair.
Whatever her reasons, Draco knew that Luna had every intention of showing up to the Commencement ceremony, and by extension he was pressed to accompany her. That still didn't stop him from trying to worm his way out of it all the way up to the big day. Of course Luna saw straight through every ruse.
First he tried telling her that he needed to bone up on some research on a few of his backed up cases, but she shot that argument down by pointing out that Harry was going to be at the Burrow. If Harry could take a break from work, so could he, she informed him.
Next he tried to play sick. He claimed to be so ill that he didn't even think he had the strength to get out of bed and attend the party the next day. He couldn't even lift his head off his pillow; he was so weak and helpless. Luna called his bluff by sitting in a chair all the way on the other side of their bedroom facing him, hiking up her skirt, and diddling herself to the classical strains of Musidora Barkwith's "Wizarding Suite" off the wireless. Draco practically pounced on her!
After a few more lame attempts at escape; he had nothing to wear, he couldn't do a thing with his hair, he'd AK himself if need be, he finally broke down and accepted his fate. He would suffer through a Weasley family gathering for his Loony Love. But he was damned if he was going to show up to one alone. He might actually have to be there for five full minutes without her by his side. Who the hell would he talk to? The matching set of Weasleys weren't so bad, and Draco secretly admired the father, but he would rather talk to the ghoul that reportedly lived inside their attic than have a civil discussion with the future groom, his shrew of a fiancée, or that little bitch that Potter had married.
These were the thoughts that were in Draco's head as he Apparated over to the dilapidated tenement building that was the false face for the newspaper. He walked into the lobby of the building and curtly nodded at the security watchman before he stepped into a waiting lift carriage. When he reached the floor that Luna's office was on, he heard her faint voice speaking nearby. He followed the sound a short distance down the hall and ended up in front of small door with a simple brass nameplate. The name "Lu Lovegood" was written on it in a curling scrawl. Draco knocked on the door, he wasn't sure who she was talking to and he didn't just want to walk in and interrupt her. After he heard her low-set voice give permission to enter, he pushed open the door and entered.
As usual, when first laying eyes on his woman each day, he took a moment to thank the havens that he was lucky enough to snag her. Luna was sitting perched on her desk as a Quick Quotes Quill stood at stand still, waiting for her to continue speaking. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail that sat high on her head and she was wearing the diamond earrings he bought her for her last birthday. Her face wore very little make-up, as was normal. He liked the young, fresh faced look it gave her. But he couldn't help feeling slightly like a lecher who was cradle snatching at these times, even if she was only a year younger than him. As he continued to study her, he noted that the brand new robes she had bought just last week at Gladrags already had a smudge of ink near the neck line. Draco thought she was the cutest thing he had ever seen.
"I figured that I would see you here," she said as he fully entered the room.
He smiled charmingly at her.
"You knew I couldn't stay away from you?" he asked in what he intended to be a suave and sophisticated tone.
"That too..." she said as she hopped off the desk and set the quill at ease. She sauntered over to him and threw her arms around his neck.
She stood up on the tips of her toes.
"…and the fact that you were too cowardly to go to the Burrow on your own."
She then dropped a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.
"I am not cowardly!" Draco proclaimed. "I just don't like poor people," he said grumpily.
"Draco," she said with disappointment as she turned her gray eyes on him.
Whenever she called him by his name instead of her usual deep voiced "Lover", he knew he was fucked.
"Alright, so they aren't poor any more," he admitted. "But I do hate redheaded people."
By this time his arms were wound around her slim waist and he was holding her close.
"Draco, does the name Pristine ring a bell?" Luna asked him skeptically.
"And yet again I say-"
"Draco!" she admonished as she gave him a swat to the head.
Draco removed one arm from around her as he placed the hand on the spot where she struck him.
"Hey," he exclaimed, "you're going to ruin my hairdo!"
This made her laugh as he rubbed his hand over his short crop of blond hair.
"And now you've gone and hurt my feelings," he said in a false hurt voice. He even puffed his bottom lip out for good measure.
"Did I?"
"Yes," he said puffing his lip out even further. "And you called me a coward. You've wounded me."
"Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?" she asked in a throaty, enticing manner.
Draco felt his little Draco perk up at the offer. He wondered just what else she would kiss if he asked.
"You read my mind."
"Just a little," she said teasingly as her hand cupped his bum.
"Where's Linus?" he asked, voice slightly strained.
She began placing small kisses all over his face.
"He went to eat at the Dragon's Egg; said that arguing with me gave him too much of an appetite." Each word was punctuated with a kiss.
Draco was delighted at the news. He began to slowly walk her backwards to her desk. They had never done it on the desk.
"And who else is here?"
Luna kicked her shoes off.
"Just Kirby, he's downstairs. And he should be going home soon. I'm locking up."
Draco began to pull the dainty zipper of her robe down.
"I love responsibility in a woman," he said as he finally received his first real kiss of the day.
It was a tender, languid kiss. The kiss shyly promised lovely things. But before he could deepen it, Luna pulled back from him. He looked down at her dumbly, his mind made hazy by lust and need.
"Not the desk," she said breathlessly.
"But we never get to do it on the desk," he whinged.
"Yes, but the wall will be quicker," said Luna as she helped remove Draco's robes and dropped them to the floor. "And we don't have that much time. They are probably going to start the ceremony at the Burrow soon."
"I can be quick about it on the desk."
Luna licked his chin as she worked on his belt. Draco meanwhile had gotten her robe off and was pleasantly pleased, yet disturbed at the same time to see that she only had on a matching scanties set underneath. They were black. He didn't spend too much thought on them before he was trying to get them off of her too.
"I'm sure you can be quick on the desk. But can you be good?" she asked. "You're simply brilliant on the wall."
Draco's chest tightened with pride at the compliment. He was rather good, he had to admit. That is if he was going by the sated smile she always wore every other time he had stopped in for a quickie during lunch.
"The wall it is," he said as he lifted her up. She wrapped her spidery legs around his waist and he maneuvered them around to the wall by her door.
He was brilliant on the wall of course. He was also brilliant on the floor. He ended up being brilliant on the tiny settee by her window as well. Before he could find out if just maybe he could be just as brilliant on her desk, Luna was putting on her clothes again.
"Gracious! Look at the time," she said, staring in wonder at the large clock behind her chair. It was flashing "You're Late", in large red letters. "Did you remember to bring the gift?" she asked as she stepped into her low pumps. Her back was turned so she missed Draco's puzzled look.
"Umm...gift?"
"Oh Lover," she sighed.
She sounded disappointed, but she called him by his pet name. Knowing that he fucked up, Draco figured that he must have been exceptionally brilliant that day. He gave himself a pat on the back...in his head.
"We can always go back to the house and pick it up," he said innocently as she walked back over to where he was sitting and handed him his black Oxford shirt. He had already found his trousers and had put them back on.
"As if we would actually leave the house once we got there."
A sexy little smile crossed Luna's face and once again Draco wondered if her desk was sturdy. Once he had thrown the shirt on, she began to button it for him...while sitting on her knees between his thighs. Merlin, he hated when she teased like that.
"It's a shame. I had that statue specially commissioned for them," she said wistfully.
As was his usual reaction, Draco felt dark fury bubble in his belly at the mere mention of Ron Weasley. He just couldn't fathom why Luna didn't hate the wanker.
"I don't know why you bother. That slag girlfriend of his probably will hate it."
"I'm sure she will."
Draco looked at the little pleased expression on Luna's face as she finished with the buttons, and he grinned down at her. People tended to think she was spacey and harmless, but after dating her all these years, Draco knew better. To say there was a method to his Loony Love's madness was an understatement.
He stood up as Luna helped him into his robes. After she zipped it up, he slunk back down onto the settee. She then sat back on her heels to look at her handiwork, beaming up at him.
"You look nice, although you do look like a vicar. Must all of your fancy robes look like that?"
"And here I thought I looked sexy and mysterious," he said silkily as he pulled her closer to him.
"No," she said, voice lilting, "just a vicar."
It was very difficult at times to tell when Luna was joking or being dead serious.
"What about chartreuse? I think chartreuse would look splendid on you."
Now was one of those times.
"I have an idea," he said as began to fiddle with her zipper.
Luna smacked his hand away.
"No Lover, we are already late."
"Sod it!"
"Draco!"
"Why do we even have to go to this bash anyway?" Draco asked, fully annoyed.
Luna got off the floor and placed herself on Draco's lap. He was so annoyed that he couldn't even appreciate the gesture.
"We have to go because Ronald invited us."
Draco snorted.
"Well, Ronald invited me, but it's just about the same thing," she tactfully said.
"You should hate those people," he grumbled.
She smiled complaisantly at him.
"And yet I don't. Why should I when you do it so well for me?"
"I can't understand why you would even want to be in the same room with that Brown-Pye hag."
"Well yes, she is a bit of a cow," Luna agreed, "but other than that she's perfectly lovely."
"Loony Love, the woman walked in on your wedding ceremony, threw a wobbly, and told the groom that he couldn't marry you because he knew that he was still in love with her. Now you are about to go to the engagement party of this very same tart, at the very same place your own wedding had been held, and give her your well wishes? I know you're not mad...but are you mad?!"
Luna sighed dismally as she removed herself from Draco's lap and instead sat beside him. She took his hands in hers and forced him to look at her. Luna's usually dreamy expression was replaced by an unfamiliar vulnerable one.
"I don't hate Lavender," she said. "I don't think she is the nicest of people, but I don't hate her. If anything, I should thank her."
Draco gaped at her as if he had proof that she had lost it now.
"I mean it. Ronald and I should have never been together in the first place. Of course I fancied him from afar for years. He was quite cute."
"Hey!"
"Well he was. And I seemed to amuse him."
She turned her head as if trying to concentrate on a thought.
"Or he was amused by me."
Draco didn't see the difference. She turned back to him.
"But that was about all. Really the only reason we were getting married was because Harry and Ginny were already married, and I suppose I reminded him a bit of..."
Luna paused and looked at Draco uncertainly.
"You reminded him of Hermione," he finished for her.
She nodded her head.
"Well that just goes to show what an idiot he is. You're nothing like Hermione!"
For a very brief moment hurt resided in Luna's eyes, but it went away so fast that Draco missed it entirely. She moved closer to him as she shrugged her shoulders.
"I don't think that she and I were that far off. She told me once that the Sorting Hat had almost put her in Ravenclaw, for instance."
Draco was actually surprised at this piece of information. Hermione had never shared that with him.
"Both of us are very loyal to our friends. And most interestingly enough of all, we both seem to attract the same men," she finished as she stared pointedly at him.
Although Draco had never told Luna about Hermione, and what he'd felt for her, somehow Luna had figured it out on her own. She had a strange knack for just knowing things. It irritated him beyond words. He almost told her that that was another trait that she and Hermione shared, but he wanted to clear her off the subject as fast as he could.
"If you're trying to tell me that you once had a hot and heavy fling with that blighter Davies, I'll walk right out this office!"
Luna must have found that comment especially funny, she was doing that braying thing that he found so adorable now.
"No, can't say that I have. But Viktor Krum once made eyes at me."
Draco looked at her skeptically.
"He did! Or he just was suffering from a touch of gas. Hmm...Either or."
"Well I just don't see how you and Hermione are similar," he said priggishly.
"Hmm, I agree that I might not have her endowments-"
"I like your breasts!" Draco exclaimed.
He did. They were very nice tits. They were small, Luna had almost a boyishly slim figure, but they fit perfectly in his hand. Sometimes Draco thought they had been made specifically for him. He told her this once and got an extra special snog for his trouble.
"I was talking about her power."
A sheepish expression crossed his face, but Luna just giggled at the sight of it.
"Hermione was scary powerful. During those last few months, whenever she would walk into a room, you could almost feel the energy level surge. Her emotions were all over the place that you could feel the sheer force of them. Sometimes I got the impression that she didn't even realize how strong she was. She reminded me of my mum in that respect."
Draco quickly sent up a prayer that she hadn't gone and gotten herself blown up like Luna's mum too.
"But I like to think that I have something now that she doesn't have."
"And what's that?" Draco asked curiously.
"You," she answered demurely as she placed her head adoringly on his shoulder and turned her silver-ish eyes up at him.
Well that did it! She couldn't just say something like that and not expect to get snogged within an inch of her life. Draco pushed her down on the settee and laid his body halfway on top of her as he kissed her passionately. But before the kisses could get even more heated, she reluctantly pushed him off of her. Draco let out a frustrated growl. Luna reminded him that they were already late and that they had to leave.
"Aww, Loony Love, I'm not going to have anyone to talk to," Draco complained.
Luna looked at him as though he had gone spare.
"Harry's going to be there. You can talk to Harry. Poor Harry..."
Draco grunted at this suggestion.
"Oh stop pretending that you hate Harry still. You two are friends."
"We're partners. We're damned good ones too. That, however, does not make us friends," he countered.
"You saved his life."
"A fact that the prat still hasn't thanked me for!"
Luna shook her head.
"I just don't get you two. You respect each other. You work well together. But the two of you always act as though you're both in a pissing contest with one another. Don't you find that odd?"
He really didn't. This was just the way he and Potter operated for the last few years. It had been like that in the Order as well. That was the reason the two of them had been paired in the Department. Malfoy and Potter just made for one hell of a team. They were no Golden Trio (bah, who came up with that codswallop anyway), but the two did share some kind of deep, mystic connection. Chemistry, perhaps? People often said that watching them together during raids or maneuvers was like watching a well choreographed ballet. They supported each other. They anticipated each other's next move. They watched each other's asses. They just accomplished all of this while disliking each other intensely.
Draco always assumed that the reason why he and Potter worked together so well was because each was always trying to be better than the other at whatever it was they were endeavoring, be it department paperwork or taking down a dark wizard. In the end they each ended up making the other look good. It was one helluva weird synergy. Draco first noticed it when Hermione asked him to sword train with Potter.
It was January of '98. Voldemort's reign of terror was reaching its zenith. The Order had lost several members in just the first week of the New Year. Those who witnessed the ambush in Hogsmeade that day, and were still alive to tell the tale, said that little Flitwick fought valiantly against the four Death Eaters it took to take him down.
He, the Werewolf, King Weasel, and the rest of their group had gone into town because the Charms teacher believed that there was a store there that had a book that might aid Potter when it came time for the final confrontation with the Dark Lord. The book dealt with blood magic. Potter had been doubtful that he could ever use anything like that. It sounded too much like dark magic. Ninny! Hermione, however, got him to change his stance on the whole thing. Her reasoning was that in the end, to battle dark magic, they might have to use something equally as powerful themselves. Fight fire with fire. Draco agreed with this assessment, but it wasn't like he said it out loud during the meeting or anything.
Soon after the unanimous vote, a battalion was put together. The Werewolf was designated leader. The small troop went off just a few hours later to find Veneficium, the store where Flitwick remembered seeing the book. Hermione, the resident bookworm, seemed to be affronted that there was a book store nearby that she had no knowledge of. Flitwick explained that the shop itself was enchanted. You didn't find it, it found you. That is if your need for the knowledge from one of the books on its many shelves were great enough.
Years ago a teen aged Filius was standing outside of the Shrieking Shack depressed because he was too tiny to play Quidditch. He wanted to hate the bit of goblin blood that made him so small, but to do so he would have to hate his dear half-goblin papa. This was something that Filius could not do. So instead he wished fervently for a way to make his body larger. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of what looked like a book store. Only Filius was sure that the store hadn't been there the last time he had come to Hogsmeade in October.
He felt compelled to enter Veneficium. The shop was tiny and cramped with shelves and shelves of worn looking books. Filius didn't even notice that there didn't seem to be a shopkeeper at first. Instead He was immediately drawn to a shelf in the back of the store. He pulled out a book that was eye level with him. The book was tattered, but he could read the title still, Sanguen Albion. He opened the book, hesitantly, and the very first charm he saw was one that would make the caster as big as he was in his dreams.
Filius should have been excited. But he immediately saw that in order for the spell to work, the caster had to offer a very specific tributary. The one for this spell called for the blood of the person the caster was most envious of. Every drop of it. Although little Filius wished he had Sidimund Bonneville's girth and skill on the pitch, the large fellow made for a rather formidable Beater, he was not about to kill his house mate to get these things.
Flitwick dropped the book and ran out of the store. He knew dark magic when he saw it; he was a near genius after all (future Ravenclaw prefect and Head Boy to be exact). After doing some research Filius discovered that he had avoided a very powerful temptation. Because his need was great, Veneficium offered him a way to fulfill it. Luckily for Sidimund, Filius found the price too high. Unfortunately for Flitwick, he would remember the shop and the book years later during an Order brainstorming session. They were trying to come up with a way on how to make sure the Prat Who Lived...lived.
It was a massacre. Proudfoot, Diggle, van Louhten, Jones, Givens, and Flitwick all were killed. At least ten innocent bystanders, including a student who had been meeting a date at Puddifoot's, died as well. Weasley and the Werewolf were taken hostage. Potter locked himself in the Room of Requirement for days. Hermione didn't show up for meals any longer, just combed through tome after dusty, decaying tome looking for some kind of solution. The Order was in shambles.
Eventually they were contacted, by Aunt Bella no less, that the Dark Lord was willing to trade Weasley for the last Horcrux they had found. Nothing was said of the Werewolf; Draco figured he was already dead. The deal was made and soon Weasley was lying in a bed in the infirmary, comatose. The Dark Lord never said he wouldn't have any fun with the blood-traitor before he turned him over.
To Draco, everything was moving at the speed of light. On the 19th the Prophet failed to make it to the stand for the first time in its 316 year run. Voldemort preferred that the country be blanketed in a shroud of uncertainty.
Having grown up at the knees of dark wizards Draco recognized the signs of what was happening well; endgame. The Dark Lord would be striking soon. This knowledge, coupled with the fear that he might have very well chosen the wrong side, drove Draco to the potions dungeon. He wanted to be some place that had provided him with some form of happiness. He wanted to relish in all of the memories of grand times spent there when he had humiliated either Potty or King Weasel (he was sorry, but he wasn't going to be heartbroken if the wanker snuffed it) in this very classroom. Draco didn't dwell too long on why Hermione wasn't included in his youthful reminiscing.
Draco sat on top of Snape's desk. He had gotten so tall that even pushed back on the desk, his feet nearly reached the floor. As Draco stared dejectedly at his trainers, he missed the soft shuffle of thinly soled feet as someone entered the room. By time he drew his wand out realizing that some one was upon him, the person had already expertly disarmed him with a non-verbal Expeliarmus.
"You have to be quicker, Malfoy. If I wanted to, I could have killed you."
Draco scowled into the impassive face of Hermione Granger.
"And here I thought you always did want me dead."
Hermione walked over, handed him back his wand, and scooted herself next to Draco on the desk. The closeness of her body was, in a word, alarming. He turned his face down so as not to look at her, and instead focused on her scuffed brown loafers. And her nice legs; nice legs that were encased in the ugliest pair of argyle socks ever. They were brown and beige to go with the brown woolen skirt and matching cardie set she had on. The whole ensemble made her look like a big brown bird. A cute brown bird, but a bird nonetheless. Regrettably, her wild and bushy hair was tamed into a plait that hung over her shoulder.
"I never wanted to kill you. That would be Ron, perhaps Harry. I've only wanted to hex your nose off. At the least, make your nostril hairs reach your knees."
At first Draco thought she was serious, but then he saw the corner of her mouth lift. He, however, was not in a solicitous mood. Plus his ego was still sore from how easily she had spelled his beech wood from him. He glowered as he watched her drop her own wand down her jumper. He had to reign in the urge to lean over and steal a peek.
"Well I didn't figure on having to protect myself inside this bloody prison. Isn't this place supposed to be safeguarded from attack or something?" he said snottily.
"You and I both know that Hogwarts can be breached," she frankly replied.
Ah yes, that again.
"What do you want, Granger?" Draco asked as he wrenched his gaze away from Hermione's socks and looked towards the nearest point of exit.
"Why would you assume I want something?" she coyly asked.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Because the only time you search me out is when you want something from me."
His voice registered as bored, but secretly the insides of his stomach was swirling as it usually did in the girl's presence.
Hermione looked genuinely hurt to hear Draco say such a thing.
"That's not true," she said in a tight, pained voice. "You know that's not true. I don't only talk to you when I want something."
She was right of course. Whenever he was bored and up for a game of Wizard's Chess she would always play with him. She was even worse than he was. They practiced spells and incantations together. Back when they had all returned from their big rescue mission in France, and he had taken that bad spell to his arms, she had sat by his bedside; spoon fed him, and told him all about some bloke named Monty Python. Draco hadn't really cared who the fellow was, but it had been nice to have her look after him almost as well as she would have taken care of either of her two boys. So yes, Draco was definitely being unfair.
"MERLIN!" he shouted. "Stop looking at me like I stepped on the tail of that pitiful creature you call a cat."
"You leave Crooks out of this!" she fired back, hackles up.
"BLAST THE CAT!"
"I'LL BLAST YOU FIRST!"
"FINE! You don't always want something from me. Are you happy?!"
He jumped off the desk and began pacing the floor. He shoved his wand in his pocket.
"But would you mind telling me why you are here? You see it's rather chilly down here and I would like to leave before my knob gets frostbit and falls off!"
Hermione made a disgusted noise as she folded her arms in front of her.
"WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" he asked again, finally stopping his agitated back and forth in front of her.
Hermione started gnawing on her bottom lip. Draco turned away from her.
"I...um...I," she stammered nervously. "I sort of need to ask a favor of you."
"Of course you do," he said dryly.
"Now you listen here you great honking prat," she retorted, "I need you to stop thinking of yourself for a change and do something for the benefit of the greater good."
"Didn't I already do that when I saved your precious Potty's life?"
"Oh my yes, you saved Harry's life. How could I forget? Oh, that's right, I can't forget since you WON'T SHUT YOUR GOB ABOUT IT! Tell me Draco, would you like a biscuit?!"
Her voice was acid, her eyes were fire. She launched herself from the desk and got so close to him that Draco felt she was invading his personal space.
"Yes," he answered back snootily. "Yes, I would. I would like a biscuit."
"YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE!" she shouted. Her face was a livid red. She never looked more snoggable.
"Just tell me what the bleeding favor is so we can be done with it, Granger!"
Hermione, still seething, fought for control of her temper. She walked back over to the desk and leaned against it.
"I need you to practice dueling with Harry," she said.
Draco stared at Hermione in disbelief for a moment, before nearly collapsing upon himself in humorless laughter. Hermione slowly became irritated as Draco laughed uncontrollably for a good two minutes. At one point she stood up from the desk to stamp her foot in indignation. Draco laughed for a whole other minute over that alone. Once he had gained control of his laughter and wiped a tear away, he looked her dead in the eyes.
"No," he said.
"Malfoy," protested Hermione.
"NO!"
"Now see here-"
"NO, YOU SEE HERE! One of the last times that ticking time bomb of a twat pointed a wand at me I ended up in the infirmary cut up from head to foot. OR DID YOU FORGET?!"
Draco was simply furious that she would even suggest such a thing.
"Malfoy, listen-"
"THAT FUCKED UP SPELL OF SEVERUS' NEARLY DID ME IN!"
"MALFOY-"
"I'M NOT GOING TO JUST ROLL OVER AND LET CHOSEN WANKER FINISH THE JOB!"
"MALFOY, NO WANDS!" she yelled in exasperation.
"NO WAY AM I...wait, what?" a confused Draco asked.
"NO WANDS! I'm not talking about a wizard's duel."
Draco was beyond frustrated at this point.
"THEN WHAT THE BLEEDING BOLLOCKS ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!"
Hermione took a deep breath as though she knew that Draco was bound to be even more difficult once she fully explained herself.
"Remember when you told me about your nanny Zelda? How she used to give you fencing lessons?"
Draco stared at her, mouth agape. She couldn't possibly mean what he thought she might mean.
"You're having me on!"
"No," she said despairingly. "I'm afraid I'm not. I need you to teach Harry how to wield a sword. I'm talking a real sword. I'm talking Godric Gryffindor's sword."
"WHY?!" Draco asked, aghast.
Hermione let out a long dramatic sigh before she spoke.
"I need you to teach Harry how to fight with Gryffindor's sword so he can use it to kill Riddle. There, are you happy now?"
Draco blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he started a renewed round of frantic pacing.
"HAVE YOU PEOPLE LOST THE BLOODY PLOT?!"
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco cut her off.
"NO, SERIOUSLY, HAVE YOU?! You're telling me that you want to try and destroy Voldemort... greatest dark wizard of all time...THE PSYCHOPATH THAT MAKES GRINDELWALD LOOK LIKE A BLOODY SCHOOL TEACHER...WITH AN OVER LARGE TABLE KNIFE?"
"I'll have you know that Harry used that overly large table knife to kill Slytherin's pet basilisk," she said tartly.
"He did what?!"
"He did. Back when he was only a Second Year."
"Well there you go then, he already knows what he's doing," Draco said.
"But he doesn't," she countered. "That was blind, dumb luck that saved the day back then. Eventually that kind of luck runs out. If Harry is going to take on Riddle with the sword he is going to have to learn how to handle it like a pro."
She shuffled over to the desk again and hopped on. She patted the spot next to her. Draco got the clear invitation yet hesitated.
"Well I won't bite."
He still was unsure.
"Hard."
She said it with such a stoically straight face, that against his wishes, Draco felt the left corner of his mouth tug upward. He walked over to her and leaned back against the desk near her side.
"What I'm about to tell you very few people know, but I have to make you understand how dire this all is," explained Hermione.
She had Draco's rapt attention.
"Harry and Voldemort's wands share a common core," she straightforwardly told him. "They both were made with a feather from the same phoenix."
"They're both phoenix feather? That's supposed to make for a very powerful wand."
"It does. But they don't work when two brothers are pitted against each other."
Draco looked at her, shock covering his face.
"Great Grendelwald's Ghost! Do you mean to tell me that Quibbler article was...was real? That really happened?!"
"Yes," she answered. "Harry was very lucky to escape with his life. Because the two wands are brothers they cancel each other out. Harry is as good as a sitting duck if he uses his again."
"Well let him get another. Let him use yours."
"Did you learn nothing when you got your wand First Year? Wands are very specific enchanted utensils. They choose their owner for life. Sure Harry would be able to use my wand, but not that well. And that's the last thing we need."
"Can't he buy a new one?"
"Where would we find one, Malfoy?" Hermione queried. "Mr. Ollivander is probably dead somewhere in a ditch. And we can't take the chance to pop off to Bulgaria or somewhere and hope that Harry is able to find another wand that is to his liking. No. The sword might be the only chance we have."
Draco dropped his head to his palms. He felt weak and lightheaded.
"That's a pretty big chance," he said as he lifted his eyes back to hers.
"What else do we have?" she asked.
He couldn't give an answer.
"The way I figure it, Harry and Dumbledore already destroyed two Horcruxes. I took care of one and..." she paused, biting down on her lip at the painful memory of just how the next Horcrux got destroyed. "That leaves two more," she finally continued when she could go on. "The Locket and the G-Gryffindor Horcrux."
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. For weeks Draco had come to suspect that Potter and Hermione knew exactly what and where the Gryffindor relic was. They always would stop talking when he walked into the room. They would also steal glances at each other when he was in their company. Yet they hadn't made a single move to claim it and get rid of it. This hesitancy greatly disturbed him. However every time he asked her about it, Hermione would tearfully avoid Draco's question. Draco hated being out of the loop! But he would rather eat dung than beg Potter for answers.
"Then all that's left is the last bit that's still stuck in Riddle himself. Right now he should be feeling pretty vulnerable. Harry might be able to take him on. But in order to do so, you need to teach him how to use that so-called table knife the right way!"
"And you trust me to go at your precious Potty with a sharp instrument?" Draco asked half-jokingly.
Hermione obviously didn't get the joke because she looked at him as if he were babbling.
"Of course I trust you. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't trust you."
Draco, unwillingly, was touched by the assertion. He tried to brush the emotion off by making a joke.
"I'm probably the only idiot you can get to do the job."
"Well, there is that too." She winked at him for good measure.
Draco let out a hearty laugh at that. It felt good to laugh. He had done so little of it these past few months.
"So what does precious Potty have to say about this plan?" he asked.
"I haven't told him yet. I wanted to wait to see what you said first. Are you in?"
He curtly nodded and she delightedly clapped her hand.
"Good!"
"Yeah, but Potty is going to be none too pleased," he said. "Of that you can be certain." Just the thought of how shirty Saint Potter was sure to be actually made Draco smile a little.
"Oh Malfoy, don't be silly. There's nothing certain but death and Ministry warnings. Don't you worry about Harry. I'll handle Harry."
"Kinky."
"Perv. Listen, there are times that I leave Harry to do what he thinks is best. And then, there are the times, where I get him to do what I know is best. Malfoy, this is one of those times."
She hopped off the desk and made for the door.
"I better go see about Ron."
Draco felt a scowl fast approaching.
"Yes, I wondered just when you were going to continue your bedside vigil with the vegetable," he said snarkily.
She turned back round to face him, frowning at the dig to the Weasel.
"I left Harry with him. I told him I would be gone for only a moment. Harry will probably come looking for me any minute. I need to let him know about this new development."
She was at the door frame when Draco called for her to stop.
"What is it now, Malfoy?" she asked; a trace of irritation in her voice.
"Well Granger, if you're going to ask me to risk getting my bits and pieces hacked off so that near sighted bastard you call a best friend can get in target practice, you could at least call me by my forename."
Hermione looked at him searchingly for a moment before she nodded.
"Duly noted," she said before shooting him a toothy grin. "Draco."
And like that she was out the door.
Of course Potter wasn't as easily convinced as Hermione thought he would be. The two of them had a simply fabulous row right inside the Infirmary. Right next to Weasel's bed no less! Draco could hear clear across the castle shouts of "blond git" this and "ferret faced bastard" that. Pomfrey had to throw them out, they were so loud.
Hermione ended up dragging Potter up to the Room of Requirement to finish their "discussion". Draco never found out was said, but whatever it was found him being collected from the dungeons, and escorted up to the seventh floor room twenty minutes later by Hermione.
When Draco walked through the door he did a double take at what the room looked like. The floors were cushioned with a blue mat, while on the far back wall stood a rack that displayed several dozen different swords. Along the right wall was a small brown bench, he assumed for Hermione to sit on. Draco took all this in, then turned his eyes towards Potter. The Gryffindor teen was not happy. At all! Draco could see the lightning bolt scar, the scar that started this whole mess, on his head through his fringe and it seemed to be pulsating. In fact Scarhead seemed to be just this side of towering rage as the Slytherin walked in. Draco swallowed. The fact that the git was also carrying in his right hand a very large sword, Gryffindor's he wagered, did not help ease Draco's apprehension. But Draco was bound and determined not let Potter know how intimidated he was.
"Potter," Draco sneered as he gave a mocking little bow to him.
Potter threw a furious glance at Hermione who ignored the look, and instead walked to the wall and chose a sword for Draco. She handed the silver hilted blade to him. With that done she walked over to the bench and plopped down, looking at both boys expectantly.
"Well," she said motioning her hand at them, "have at it."
He and Potter turned to face the girl, both bearing perplexed frowns.
"No need to worry about dicing each other up. I put dulling charms on all the swords in the room. Harry's too."
Potter stifled a startled cry. She must have not told him that last part.
"And here I thought you trusted me," drawled Draco arrogantly.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I do trust you."
She then turned her head and stared at Potter directly.
"I'm just not too keen on him presently," she said reproachfully.
Potter grunted at the remark
"Listen Ferret, I'm not pleased about this little idea of Hermione's here," Potter said focusing his gaze on Draco. "But since she is pretty brilliant, I'm going to go along with it for now. I'm only doing this for her."
"My, my, someone should alert Witch Weekly. The great and powerful Potter is being told what to do by a girl," said Draco acidly. "And here I thought it was only the little She-Weasel who could lead you around by the willie."
Like a shot, Hermione was out of her seat and placing herself between the two young men. Potter had already raised his sword and was advancing on Draco, eyes snapping dangerously. Hermione's body was facing Potter as she tried to push him away from the other boy, but she had her head turned towards the Slytherin. Judging by the look on her face, she was not pleased with his childish taunt.
"DRACO!"
He could hear the rebuke and the embarrassment in her voice. But he hardly was paying attention to that. Instead he was enjoying the reaction that Potter was having to Hermione calling him by his first name. Interesting, Draco thought to himself. I'll file that away for further study and analysis. Hermione was so engrossed in trying to push Potter back and conveying to Draco by just a look how displeased she was at him, that she missed the whole thing.
"IF YOU TWO DON'T STOP RIPPING INTO EACH OTHER, I'M GOING TO HEX YOU BOTH INTO PYGMY PUFFS!"
"YOU WOULDN'T DARE!" Potter retorted.
"I DON'T KNOW, TRY ME!" she challenged back.
The two of them were staring at each other heatedly. The atmosphere in the room felt charged. Draco felt even more of the outsider than usual. There was something between these two, Draco detected. Some type of inexplicable force of nature flowed from one to the other. It was almost as if...
Draco shook his head. He didn't have time for this.
"See here, wee willie Potty, I'm not going to sit here all day while you have some stupid tantrum."
This only succeeded in making Potter's green eyes blaze brighter as he gripped tightly to his weapon, but Draco ignored that as he continued.
"We need to get this over with. You say you're only willing to do this for her," Draco said as he looked point-blankly at Hermione, oddly enough making her blush. "Well I'm doing this for me. Some sick twist of fate made you the person responsible for saving our world, our lives. Well I rather like my life, thank you very much. So if making sure my arse stays out of the bloody fire means that I have to let you swing that thing," he pointed at the ruby encrusted sword in Potter's hand, "at my head 'til you get it right, so be it! By the might of Salazar, once I'm done with you Potter, even the Muggle ponce who took the sword out of that stone will have nothing on you!"
Draco had gone almost rigid due to his impassioned speech. He didn't know what came over him to say such things, but the way that Hermione was looking at him in unabashed admiration made him not regret a word of it.
"So are we agreed?" he asked offering his hand, not for the first time, to his black haired foil.
For a moment Potter stared disdainfully at the hand as though it were covered in bobutuber puss. Draco briefly wondered if he had gone mad to make the offer, but at the time it had felt right.
"Agreed."
Potter took his hand in his own and gave a short, yet bruising squeeze.
"Good," said Hermione, eyes welling with relief, looking at both of them with a very satisfied and almost smug smile on her face. "Let's get to work then."
Draco and Potter trained for nearly three months. Usually they would meet up in the Room of Requirement, but sometimes they would go to the Astronomy Tower or outside near Hagrid's hut for a change of scenery. Hermione always accompanied them. At first Draco thought it was to ensure that they didn't kill each other. The blades on the swords might have been blunt, but they were still heavy enough to give a nice bonk to the head.
Draco soon realized that like most things in life, Hermione saw this as a challenge to learn something new. Her eyes would follow every move of his and Potter's closely. She even took notes a few times. He asked her once; one day after Potter went off to check on the Weasel, if she wanted him to teach her too. She just smiled at him shyly, yet appreciatively.
"Harry is what's important. I want you to concentrate all your time and energy on him."
This earned her an eye roll and he got his very first smack to the head.
She needn't have worried. Potter turned out to be a natural when it came to sword play. Draco found himself both admiring and being highly annoyed at the git's burgeoning skill. Ruddy prat turns everything to gold, he was known to mutter. In fact, by March Potter was taking down Draco far more times than he would have liked. This forced Draco to up his game. The two of them wound up going at it for hours, wet with sweat, dressed in little more than their skivvies. Their knockabouts were monstrous. Hermione had to call a draw most times just to get them to stop. And even then they would beg for ten more minutes.
Each boy drove the competitive nature in the other, and as a result two highly skilled swordsmen emerged. Which was lucky since Potter lost his marbles soon after and practically delivered himself to the Dark Lord's door. Draco wouldn't have been so bothered if Hermione hadn't gone chasing after. Thankfully everything worked itself out in the end.
"Where'd you go to just now?"
Draco felt shaken out of his reverie by the calm cool hand that Luna laid on his neck.
"Nowhere Loony Love, just thinking some things through in my head."
He smiled reassuringly at her.
"Well as long as you don't hurt yourself," she said sweetly as she patted his cheek and removed herself from the settee.
She walked back over to her desk, sat behind it, and took up the parchment she had been dictating when he walked in.
"So did you and Linus come to an agreement?"
"Yes, fortunately. I explained to him how ridiculous we would look if we ran with that Stimpson nonsense. We'd be no better than the Prophet."
Draco tittered.
"There are some who think that the Prophet is the epitome of serious journalism."
"Maybe once upon a time, but now it's no more than a tabloid."
"Still sore about that Malfoy/Lovegood ticker?" he asked teasingly as he got up from where he was seated and placed himself sideways on her desk.
When the two first got together, the Prophet ran stories daily speculating on just how long he and Luna would remain an item. There was actually a counter that ticked off the days as they went. Luna, who was usually quiet and laid back about most things, would get steely eyed at the mere mention of the Prophet. Like now.
"I'm not sore."
"Of course you're not," he said dully. "But look at the bigger picture. They stopped that nonsense after our second anniversary."
She smirked.
"They stopped after we got caught celebrating our second anniversary in the cloakroom of Presto's."
"Ah yes. Now I remember. If I didn't know any better, I would think that you meant for Daph Greengrass to walk in on us," he said smiling enticingly at her.
"I don't know what you mean," said Luna innocently.
Draco believed other wise.
"But I tell you what; if I didn't know better, I would think Greengrass had a thing for you."
Before Draco could ponder the oddness of the statement and ask her what she meant, he glanced down and saw that all this time she had been diligently writing.
"I thought you finished your article?"
"I did," she said. "This is just a fluff piece I'm doing for Ginny. She asked me to sneak in a little mention of the party if I could. She said that Lavender would fall to pieces if her engagement isn't the talk of the town tomorrow. Daddy won't mind."
"WHAT?!"
Luna was so engrossed in the little write-up that she mistakenly thought Draco was merely being curious.
"I know it seems a bit dishonest to write about how utterly wonderful a party is sure to be before you even get there, but really once you've been to one Commencement you've been to them all. All you have to mention is that the future bride glowed, the mother of the groom cried, and how they all ate treacle tart afterward. See, if I write it now, I won't have to rush back here to file the story. Aren't I clever?"
As Luna finished her article, she looked up at Draco. But her smile vanished as she noticed the outrage that was beginning to cloud his face.
"THE NERVE!" he shouted jumping up from the desk. "HOW DARE THE SHE-WEASEL ASK THAT OF YOU?!"
Luna was clearly confused to as to what had Draco in such a state. She did know that Ginny was not one of his favorite people. Luna always figured that her boyfriend had come on to the striking redhead once in their younger days and got shot down for his troubles, but she never asked either of them for confirmation of this theory. Luna just took it as a matter of course that two people that she dearly loved could not stand each other.
"I'm starting to think that you don't like any of my friends," said Luna glumly as she sat back in her chair and rested the palms of her hands flat against the desk.
"That's because all of your friends are enormous prats!"
"Draco, it's really not that big a deal. I'm a journalist. This is what I do."
"Listen Loony Love, Ginny Weasley-"
"Potter."
"Whatever! She's uppity-"
"She's nice."
"She has a right nice narsty sense of humor, always putting others down."
"Hullo, Mr. Pot!"
"And she treats you like rubbish. This is just another example!"
"Ginny is one of my dearest friends."
"That's bollocks! That bird goes through friends faster than most women change their knickers."
"That's not very nice."
"No, but it's true. She's probably priming that Brown-Pye hag right now to take your spot."
Draco and Luna often argued over Ginny Potter's presence in their lives. Draco couldn't stand her! Sure she was drop dead gorgeous with a nice little fit body, but in his opinion all of that didn't matter. She had all the subtle charm of a lethifold; harmless looking, but would swallow you whole and leave no remains if given the chance.
Draco knew her type well; brought up with very little, feeling they have to over-compensate to prove something, and never above putting others down if it would puff up their own over inflated sense of self-worth. Draco thought that Ginny was a real piece of work, especially after she became Mrs. Potter. She was all fur coat and no knickers. The word superficial didn't even begin to cover it. She was smart lipped too. Draco couldn't count the number of times he'd drawn his wand on her after she had come over to the house and criticized Luna for any number of things. The little bitch acted as though the very fact that she had snowed Potter into marrying her somehow made her special.
Draco also didn't like the woman because of some unknown crime she had committed against Hermione some years ago. As far as he knew the two girls had been the closest of friends before the War. But after the final victory, the two began to drift slowly apart. Not so much to cause fanfare, but just enough for Draco to notice.
He suspected it was because the two of them no longer had much in common. Hermione was just one of those girls who didn't seem to take to other women that well. If anything else supported this conjecture it was the fact that her two best mates were men. She also had a very strong relationship with Draco, himself.
It wasn't that Hermione didn't have any female friends, though. She seemed to enjoy spending a lot of time with that last flat mate of hers, the Indian bird that ended up marrying one of the Weasley twins. She told Draco that it was such a nice change of pace to get to just be a Muggle sometimes with someone who didn't know what the flying fuck a Voldemort was. Hermione and Luna also became close after the younger girl graduated from Hogwarts and took her first real job as a secretary in the MMBA Office. In fact, according to Luna, Hermione encouraged her to go after Weasleby numerous times.
But her relationship with Ginny Weasley just never seemed that cozy to Draco, not like in their schooldays. That's why he was shocked when he found out that Hermione was going to act as Ginny's Maid of Honour. Draco knew that in some wizarding traditions a Maid of Honour had more importance than its Muggle counterpart. The Maid of Honour actually planned the wedding for the bride. Of course it could stand to reason that Hermione was an obvious choice; Ginny's brother's longtime, off and on girlfriend, as well as her fiancé's best friend. Then there were the organizational skills that had to be taken into account. You could not ignore the organizational skills.
But Draco still didn't think it a good fit. If judging by her woebegone expression when she mentioned the news to him, Hermione didn't think so either. But like any task set before her the woman tackled it diligently and with relish. By all accounts Ginny couldn't have made a better choice for her Maid of Honour.
Then one night Hermione showed up at the door of his Highgate flat a teary mess. It was around seven on a Tuesday evening in March. Draco had made plans to meet Pristy at his mother's for a late supper. When he opened the door to see who was ringing the bell relentlessly, he was astounded to find Hermione standing before him. Her massive head of hair had been coaxed into an Oriental hairstyle that gave her an exotic, unfamiliar look. She was wearing a blush hued ballerina styled cocktail dress that came mid calf. It was a fairy tale dream of a dress and seemed to flair out as if supported by yards and yards of crinoline. The delicate little puffed sleeves of the gown were merely there for show as they hung low on her shoulders exposing all of Hermione's lovely skin from her neck down to her cleavage. She was a vision.
Only Draco didn't feel any of his usual lustful feeling arise because the vision before him was weeping as though she'd sprung a leak. Oddly enough her make-up was immaculate; her face looked like a flawless painted doll's. Must be a charm, Draco figured. How else to explain that despite the waterfall of tears running down her face there wasn't even a smudge? Draco didn't like it. The Hermione he knew wore make-up very sparingly. This Hermione looked somehow fake, unreal; a carbon copy.
He chewed on all these thoughts as he ushered her into the flat, ironically enough the flat she had helped find for him. She was the one who convinced him it was time to move out of the Manor. Now she was curled up in his arms, bawling like a baby, as they sat on the very expensive toffee colored couch (she picked it out, though he bought it), in the similarly colored lounge she had helped decorate.
He knew that the Potter Ending Party should still be going on, that's why she was all dolled up. But for some reason the Maid of Honour had skived off the reception that she had planned herself. Draco tried to ask her gently what the matter was, but all he got from her were jumbled ramblings of "Ginny" and "fight" and "can't stop". Draco didn't have a clue what it all meant, but he deduced that somehow Ginny Weasley, the future Mrs. Harry Potter, had caused Hermione to be in the state that she was in. Draco wondered what the two women could have fought over. Did Hermione order pink carnations for the hall instead of white? He wondered all this as he felt Hermione's body slacken in his arms and her head nod on to his shoulder.
After he judged that she was fully asleep, he gently lifted her up in his arms and carried her groom-like into his bedroom. He walked over to his black satin covered bed and placed her down on it as though she were made of fine china. He then removed a flimsy stiletto from each foot. They looked very scuffed and worn. She had walked a great distance in them if the condition of her heels were to be judged. He briefly wondered why she didn't just Apparate in, she was his FailSafe, but brushed the thought aside as he attended to the rest of her needs.
Once she looked comfortable, he crawled on the floor by her side and rested his chin on the bed. She looked so tiny just lying there. His bed was a large ornate curiosity that he had bought from an antique shop. The owner of the shop bragged that he had found the brass monstrosity in a whore house in Dublin that was used only for visits from members of the peerage. Draco thought it was perfect for him! Hermione called it tacky and claimed it was fit for a giant. Draco suspected that she didn't like it because it was the only piece of furniture she had no say in.
As he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, Draco wondered if she would be disgusted to wake-up and find she had actually slept in "the whore bed", as she had oh so cleverly dubbed it. If he had been in a more jovial mood he probably would have joked that this would be the one and only chance he had gotten Hermione Granger in his bed. But he wasn't in that kind of mood. He was worried about his friend. Ever since the horrors of the War Hermione wasn't the kind of girl who gave into tears easily; at least not when she was around him. She didn't cry when her precious ginger cat went missing. She didn't cry over the end of any of her relationships. Draco couldn't even recall her shedding a single tear at her parents' funeral. But whatever had worked her up this time had her crying in her sleep. As he watched a lethargic tear roll down her cheek, an overwhelming, all consuming sense of hatred towards the Weasel-bitch blossomed within him.
"What did she do, Pet?" he asked as his thumb lightly dabbed the droplet away. "What did she say?"
Getting no answers from the sleeping woman, he moved himself to the lounge and quickly floo'ed the Manor to tell his mum that he wouldn't be able to make it for supper. He did promise to come by later for cocktails. He quickly cut off the floo connection before his mum could lecture him or Pristy could chew him out. He then went to his comfy couch and laid himself out on it.
As Draco folded his arms behind his head, his mind began to race as he pondered the night's events. Hermione was hurt and upset over something...and she came to me, he gleefully thought to himself. Not Potter. Not the Weasel. But me! He almost clicked his heels at the thought of it. That only had to mean one thing, right? That she finally was falling for him. Subconsciously she knew that he was the only person she could turn to. There could be no other explanation, he told himself. She wants me!
Like I've wanted her all of this time.
Draco knew it had to be true. One day while he wasn't looking he had fallen hard for this girl, this woman asleep in the next room. Feelings he'd written off as only lust and desire, even though he knew they were too strong to be that simple, were suddenly made understandable. He was jealous of the few men who had been in her bed not because he wanted to be there in their stead, though he really wasn't knocking it, but because he wanted to be the only man in her life. He had retained the hope that one day she would look at him the way he had been looking at her these last couple of years. Now it looked like he would finally get his wish. He could barely contain his smirk.
A Malfoy does always get what a Malfoy wants!
For the first time in Draco's life he loved someone who was completely autonomous of himself. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He almost wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, "I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH A BLOODY GRYFFINDOR", but somehow managed to restrain himself. Hermione was still sleeping and he didn't want to disturb her.
"We'll talk in the morning," he sleepily murmured contently to himself as he drifted off to sleep. "I'll tell her in the morning."
But Draco never got his chance. She was gone by time he woke up the next day. If it wasn't for the jasmine scent that still lingered in the air, Draco would have thought the whole thing had been a dream.
At first Draco was worried over the fact that Hermione had gone off without so much as a by your leave. But then he looked at the calendar on the nightstand by his bed and remembered what the date was, Potter's wedding day. Of course, he chided himself; she had to go be in the wedding. She was the Maid of Honour after all. Even if Hermione and Ginny had a falling out, Hermione would never shirk her duties.
As Draco slinked his way into the shower he wondered how long the wedding would be, and just what time Hermione would come to him afterwards.
Draco spent the day at his mum's soothing her hurt feelings over his no-show from the night before. He told her that he'd decided to stay in because he was still suffering slightly from a stinging hex he had gotten earlier in the day. She immediately began to coddle and baby him and pleaded with him to leave the Department so he could come back home and manage the Malfoy estate. Not bloody likely, he thought to himself. Narcissa mentioned that Pristine was also disappointed that he couldn't come. The poor girl waited for him for hours, she told him. I bet she did, a little voice said in his head. His mother couldn't understand why he didn't have the common courtesy to floo again and tell them that he wasn't going to be able to make it at all? He didn't dare tell her it was because he had been too busy taking care of Hermione (The Mudblood, as his mother called her unsparingly).
After he had done his familial duty, he Apparated back over to his place to wait for Hermione to floo or drop in. By a quarter to eleven he hadn't heard from her. Draco began to worry. He was about to floo her flat when he realized that she was probably still tied up with wedding business. Of course, that was it. Even though the happy newlyweds were probably already off on their way, there would still be tons of loose ends for the Maid of Honour to tie up. She'll probably come by tomorrow, he assured himself.
But she didn't. By seven o'clock that next evening Draco was starting to get really worried. He had even had a repairman come over to make sure his fireplace was still connected to the Floo Network properly. After he was assured that it was working perfectly, he Apparated over to the Brixton neighborhood where Hermione lived. After buying some wildflowers from a vendor, he was at her flat in a matter of minutes. As he prepared to knock, the door swung open and out came a gorgeous, very tall, dark skinned woman. Her silky ink black hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head. She would have been quite svelte if not for the large Quaffle she seemed to be smuggling under her dress. Those damned Weasleys breed like doxies, he thought snidely to himself.
"My, you're blond," said the woman as she nearly ran into him.
Draco tried to keep the eye rolling to a minimum. He tended to get that comment a lot.
"I'm sorry...Glynnis is it?" Draco asked as he tried to get a peek around her shoulder.
"It's Glinda, actually. Glinda Weasley. You're Drake aren't you?"
She stuck her hand out to be shaken and he politely did so.
"It's Draco, actually."
"Oh sorry," she mused. "It's just that you hardly ever came by when I lived here."
"That's quite alright. Listen, I was hoping to speak with Hermione-"
"Oh good, I was hoping to do the same thing," she said pertly.
Draco wasn't sure he liked this bird's cheek.
"Excuse me?"
"Hermione's cleared off. We realized so this morning when we took a look at mum's clock. With Harry gone, I was the only person who could get in the flat."
She held up a set of keys and jangled them in front of him.
"She had the place warded so tightly, you know."
For all Draco understood her, the woman could have been speaking Gobbledygook.
"You mean she stepped out for a moment?"
"No, I mean she stepped out for good. At least that's the thinking. All her clothes are gone as well as her trunk. She even took her computer."
"Maybe she just went on holiday," Draco said, willing the cold wave of fear that was sweeping through him to cease.
Glinda took a moment to ponder this idea before she shot it down.
"That could be true. But why would she take all the photographs off the wall, and her books, if she were only going away for a spell?"
"She took all the books?" he asked in disbelief.
Glinda looked just as heartbroken as he was feeling.
"She took every single last one, even the Quidditch manual. Ron, Arthur, mum… everyone at the Burrow is in a state over this. The last time anyone saw her was right after the wedding. That was yesterday morning."
She glanced down at the flowers in his hands as if noticing them for the first time.
"Wildflowers, Hermione's favorite..." she said thoughtfully. She was still looking at the bouquet. "When was the last time you saw Hermione?" she queried in a slightly leery tone as her eyes rose to meet his.
"Ages ago," said Draco before Apparating right before the Muggle woman's eyes.
"I just wish that my boyfriend and my best friend could be in the same room with each other long enough to not hex each other out of existence," Luna said despairingly as she pulled her chair closer to the desk and dropped the parchment about the party into her print basket. Instantly the parchment was vanished.
"Fat chance of that," Draco said meanly. "Ginny Weasley-"
"Potter, Draco. It's Ginny Potter now. The two of them have been married for quite some time."
"Oh trust me, I know. The woman walks around with a little self-satisfied smirk on her face all the live long day because of it. 'I'm Ginevra Potter'," he said in a mocking tone. "Bah! I tell you what; I don't envy Potter that harpy. Not one bit! She would dress him up in a little jacket and trot him around on a golden chain if she could."
"Why don't you like Ginny?" Luna asked with unease.
"She annoys me," he said snottily.
She tried again.
"Why don't you like Ginny?"
"'CAUSE I THINK SHE'S A RIGHT SLAG!"
"Why don't you like Ginny?" she asked again, folding her arms, staring him down.
Because she made Hermione go away.
Draco spun his back to her. He didn't want Luna to see the hurt, anguish, and most importantly, the rage that still engulfed him whenever he thought of the subject. The Weasel Bitch did something, or said something to Hermione that sent the normally stable young woman running over five years ago. At least that was Draco's understanding of the whole sordid state of affairs. Whatever happened, it was so traumatic that Hermione had to leave the only home she had ever known and the only family she still had left.
Sometimes Draco wished that he could take back that night and force Hermione to tell him what had upset her so. Whatever it was, he would have made Ginny Potter pay! Then Hermione would still be here. He laid all the blame at the Weasel Bitch's door taking none of it himself. He couldn't. The thought that Hermione did not return his feelings for her and left to get away from him was an idea, however extreme, he would rather not consider.
"I just don't like her, Luna. Can't that be enough please?" he begged of her.
Luna didn't move her eyes from her boyfriend's back. She could tell that he was upset, even though he liked to pretend that he was tough and uneasily affected by most things. Luna didn't get Draco's dislike of Ginny. She couldn't quite comprehend his wishy-washy feelings towards Harry. Although she perfectly understood his hatred of all things Ronald, she usually brushed that aside. Like in instances when she asked him to accompany her to gatherings where he disliked more than half the people in the room, like she was asking him to do now. And although Draco would complain, and carry on, and kick up a fuss, he always went with her because it made her happy. He was a good boyfriend. Luna felt like this was one of those times when she should be a good girlfriend.
She climbed up on the desk and got on her hands and knees. She then crawled close enough to the edge that she could throw her arms around Draco from behind. He was startled for a second, before sinking back into the embrace appreciatively. As she trailed kisses down the side of his neck, he laughed huskily in the back of his throat.
"Mmm. Keep that up and we're liable to miss the party," he mockingly chided in a dreamy tone.
"Sod the party," Luna said in her best impression of a pureblood, spoiled prat. This only caused Draco to laugh harder.
He turned to face her and pulled her body flush against his own.
"You're my favorite girl, you know. I love you."
She gave him a tender, dreamy smile.
"I know."
He kissed her forehead.
"Good. Now about this desk, how long have you had it?"
"Daddy bought it for me when I won that award. Said it's the best that galleons can buy. It's supposed to be indestructible."
Draco gave her a cocky grin.
"I don't know about you, but that sounds like a challenge."
"Ok but we have to be quick-oh sweet Circe..."
Draco had snaked his tongue in her ear.
"...about it."
"Quick, but brilliant?" he asked as he began to kick off his shoes.
"Is there any other way?" she answered as she tried to get his clothes off him. "But we have to be quick so we can go back to the house and get the present."
By the devilish look in Luna's eyes he figured that she wasn't talking about the statue.
"Now you're reading my mind."
Her eyes melted into his.
"I know."
A/N: Next up is Harry's POV. Things to look forward to: Harry finally gets the sense knocked into him, the gang learns info on the Ravenclaw Horcrux, and a surprise guest drops in at the end of Ron and Lavender's Commencement ceremony.
A few more points of interest...
1) All characters other than Kirby, Sidimund Bonneville, van Louhten, and Givens are canon.
2) Albion(a word I've used before in this fic) is an archaic term for Great Britain, but usually refers to England. It's often used poetically.
3) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a diricawl is a magical bird that Muggles call the dodo and think is extinct. A lethifold is a dangerous beast that resembles a half-inch thick black cloak that moves along the ground at night and attacks sleeping humans by smothering them, then digesting them whole.
4) The Dragon's Egg diner, the Veneficium bookstore, and the book Sanguen Albion are all original to this story.
Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.