A Lion's Pride
Earlier in the week, Hermione had taken Pansy to the muggle shops to get final approval on a gown. The arguments of blue versus gold had made her head spin but she prevailed and purchased a beautiful shimmery blue fabric that reminded Hermione of the sky over The Fores of Dean.
“I look nice in blue, stop sneering at the seamstress like she is personally killing off each of your prized peacocks or whatever it is you rich people have galavanting around your manors.” Hermione stared down her petite friend. She wanted a blue dress. She did. It made her feel safe and protected. She could pretend this was any other gala she was forced to go to, shed the dress at night’s end and never think of it again.
“Nice is for the Yule Ball. This is a Yule Gala, Granger. There is a difference, even if the event wasn’t held in honour of Nev and me. Also, Malfoy’s have peacocks. Parkinson’s don’t need to flaunt our wealth so flamboyantly.” Pansy sank back in her overly plush chair and continued to pout of the dress. “The dipping back is a nice touch. I am sure more than one wiz–man, wise man, will be drooling.”
Hermione internally groaned. This was the third time Pansy had almost broken the Statute of Secrecy. She silently begged the raven-haired woman to hold her tongue while the dress was fitted. She had originally planned on classic dress robes, but when Pansy Parkinson had her mind set on something, sometimes it was easier to go along with her. She was so caught up in Pansy’s near miss she did not make a remark about Pansy’s insinuation. What could be said anyway? In a week’s time, she would be married to Malfoy.
As the pair of witches escaped the dress shop, Hermione could not help but laugh at the absurdity of the moment. Dress shopping for an event at Malfoy Manor, a place where she was relentlessly tortured during the war by a mad woman, with one of her school bullies. Hermione looked at her arm linked through Pansy’s and knew that younger Hermione would be rightfully appalled to know where her life had led. Pansy Parkinson was close enough a friend for Hermione to stand at her side during her summer nuptials and give her blessing on her marriage. Of course, in typical Parkinson fashion, she had not been asked but ordered to stand with her, yet somehow, Hermione didn’t find herself annoyed with the demand, just oddly touched. While it was unheard of for a man to stand beside the bride during a wedding, Hermione had presumed Malfoy would have been the obvious choice.
That final year at Hogwarts did mend a lot of broken bridges, even if some were only to break again.
“Ah, darn it. Parks, I have to go. I forgot I am meant to be at Flourish and Blotts. Greg and Theo are waiting.” Pansy leaned it, kissed her cheek, and smirked at her before waving her off.
“Go. Do nerd things. I will manage this.” She lifted the multitude of designer shopping bags with a smile, leaned in and whispered, “Good thing we have a featherweight charm!” Hermione groaned and pushed the witch into the Leaky Cauldron.
✧✧✧
CRASH!
BOOM!
Meow
BANG!
Hermione put her head in her hands as she sat slumped over an armchair in the middle of a full attack. She did not move lest she be the next target. There was screaming and the smoke! The smoke was unbearable, her eyes stung and her lungs were starting to burn. Just as she was about to take charge, Harry came into the parlour, his head wrapped in a bubble charm.
“Who would have thought that fourth year would have taught me practical spellwork for raising UNRULY witches and wizards!” His voice warbled around the charm as he flourished his wand and ceased all movement in Grimmauld. He held the spell while Hermione cast a quick augmenti on the burning sofa and carpet. When she finally gave him a nod, Harry released the six children from the magic and let go of the bubble head charm.
“Hermione, you will just have to tell Neville and Parkinson that I won’t be there tonight. I am truly sorry, but I must bury some children in the backyard and will be too busy creating my alibi to attend.” He grinned menacingly down at little Eugenia who simply blinked back up at him. Henry Rosier and Teddy wrapped themselves around Harry’s legs, begging him to save Edwin.
“Edwin is on the ceiling!” Teddy cried. Hermione’s eyebrows shot up as Harry calmly pried each boy from his legs.
“And how did he get there I wonder?” Harry stared down at the blonde girl with a smattering of freckles across her nose. Her pigtails bounced as she shrugged but her eyes never made contact with her surrogate father. Hermione chuckled at the exasperated sigh that escaped from Harry as the group made their way up the stairs. The three children so reminded her of a certain trio she had known. Once they had made it out of sight, Hermione calmly called out.
“You may come out now, Harry has gone to rescue poor Edwin.” Two girls who were close enough in colouring and countance they could only be related, slinked out from behind the heavy curtains across the room. Hermione had spotted slippered feet when she had come through the floo into the disaster.
Della and her younger sister Scarlett immediately started to cry.
“We didn’t know this would happen! We just wanted the younger kids to stop going into our room!” Scarlett wailed. At 13, everything was life or death in a way Hermione was not familiar with.
“Alright then. It’s okay. Just take a breath.”
Della stared down Hermione, her gaze unwavering.
“It was me, Scarlett didn’t want to do it, but I made her. The spell called for two to cast it.” There may have been a tinge of remorse in her tone, but Hermione knew that the fierce edge to her voice was in protecting her sister. The two had come to Harry older than most of the children in his care to muggle parents who refused to believe magic was real. They had tried to send the pair to a muggle hospital for psychiatric care before Harry and Minerva intervened.
“Where did the spell come from?” Hermione was unfamiliar with any incantation that resulted in several small fires and a floating boy. Both Della and Scarlett exchanged a look as Scarlett tightened her arms around herself. Sighing, Hermione angled her wand at the girls and summoned the small green book tucked into Della’s pocket. Inscribed in silver on the cover was a monogram Hermione was intimate with.
R.A.B
Just as she was about to crack the cover, Harry had returned, hair even more unruly than usual.
“Girls? I thought you were studying with Ross?” He narrowed his eyes as Hermione chucked him the book. Watching Harry go full dad mode was a little scary sometimes and Hermione found it hard to reconcile the man in front of her with the reckless boy of her youth.
“What is rule number 3 for this home?” His voice was gentle but his eyes and jaw were clenched.
“Do not trust books that can talk back to us.” The girls chanted in unison. Harry determinedly did not meet Hermione’s eye as she held back a full laugh. The tips of Harry’s ears were turning red and she knew they were both having flashbacks to Hogwarts. The warmth of victory rose through Hermione, but she decided to keep that win to herself.
“Harry, you have to go. You promised!” Hermione was not trying to protect the girls from punishment, but the clock moved ever closer to the time of their doom, not doom. Well, yes, but not truly. The Gala was approaching and Hermione did not want to be late, well she did. But her anxiety would not allow her to arrive a minute after the designated time. She would go and she would dance with Harry, Fred, and Neville. Charlie even promised to be there though he could not fathom why he had received an invitation at all. She would not be alone. She could do this.
Harry must have noticed the cool facade she put on slipping because he quickly told the girls to go help Andromeda in the kitchen and that they would discuss ramifications tomorrow.
Hermione’s hands trembled as Harry sank to his knees at her feet. He grabbed her hands firmly in his and squeezed. He took a breath in and she did as well. He exhaled. She exhaled. Breathe in. Breathe out. When her heart stopped racing, Harry tipped her face to his.
“Listen to me, Hermione Jean Granger. You can do this. But you do not have to do this. We can stay right here. The kids were going to pop on the telly after supper and we can join them. Nev and Pansy will understand. No one needs you to do this.” His voice was soft and in another life, Hermione could see the allure that was Harry Potter. She gave her best friend a watery smile.
“I need me to do this, Harry. I should have done this ages ago.” She blinked, dispelling the tears that had threatened to spill over. She straightened her shoulders and nodded once. No, she would do this. She would not allow the past to dictate where she could go. Walking through the Great Hall years ago was difficult, but she came through the fire of her 8th year mostly unscathed, she could handle Malfoy Manor. If Luna Lovegood, a witch who had been held captive in dank Malfoy dungeons could return with a smile, Hermione could as well.
Hermione stood, her midnight blue gown dripping to the floor. The neckline swooped just below her clavicle down into full sleeves. The dress was a simple sheath dress, understated elegance until she turned. Her back was fully exposed down to the small of her back, the tops of the dimples above her arse almost visible. Pansy had insisted that the dress needed some form of dramatics and Hermione had to agree that it was the right decision, especially when Harry could be heard sputtering from behind her on the steps of Grimmauld.
“Blimey Hermione! If a bloke is tall enough, he could see down to your toes!” He held out her winter cloak and draped it over her shoulders, whether to keep her warm or to cover her, she did not bother to ask.
“You’re being ridiculous, Harry. The dress is fine.” She grabbed his arm unceremoniously the moment they were past the wards and the familiar grip of apparition tugged her through space and time.
✧✧✧
They returned to the world at the edge of a meticulously groomed hedge row. Two solid rows of bobbing lights directed guests up through rows and rows of winter flowers, the only ones Hermione could identify were the pink and red pansies, but scattered through were white flowers too. Large evergreen trees were decorated with lights and baubles reminding Hermione of the trees Hagrid would decorate for the holiday season at Hogwarts. Snow fell in large chunks overhead, swirling in elaborate patterns that Hermione knew there was charmwork in the air. Hermione and Harry moved towards the Manor with other guests as they popped into existence. The path was warm enough that most had already removed their cloaks, choosing to either send them home with a quick spell or to carry them. Hermione kept her cloak on, her skin grew clammier as they approached the wrought-iron gate. The gate of her nightmares loomed ahead of them, gates pushed to the sides. She attempted to focus on the inviting nature the Malfoys (and Pansy) sought to create. She shivered as they stepped over the gated line. Her skin crackled as they crossed the warded property line, it did not hurt but she knew she was being probed for ill intent. She used a similar spell in her warding at the cottage.
“Still time to go home,” Harry’s breath blew tendrils of baby hair loose as he spoke into her ear.
“You are just afraid of all the mothers about to force their darlings onto your arm tonight.”
“I would never use your trauma to guarantee that I never have to dance with Daphne Greengrass again.” He paused. “Alright then, I would. But it would just be a bonus, not the main reason. Not sure why any of these women would want a man with a dozen children anyway.”
“You only have,” Hermione pretended to count on her fingers, “Well, if we include Eugenia, Henry, and Teddy as two each, twelve would be accurate.” She leaned into Harry as they handed their cloaks to the small house elf standing at the ornate entry doors. The elf stood straight-backed, with a spectacular red bowtie on prominent display and a small smile on his leather lips as Harry gave their names to be checked off a list.
“Yes, yes! Missus Granger! Welcome, Mistress is wanting to see you. Yes, she is! BRISTEL!” The sudden bellow jolted Hermione, causing her to blink rapidly. “Apologise miss, Bristel is old, needs louder voices.” That last bit was whispered loudly to Hermione and Harry.
“No need to shout, Fidel. We have more manners than that.” Narcissa Malfoy never ceased to astound Hermione with the way she exuded class. Her white gown was elegantly draped and her alabaster skin and hair made her look like a living statue. The effect was quite ethereal.
“Lady Malfoy, thank you for inviting us to your home.” Harry’s voice was an elegant draw and for a moment Hermione was taken aback by Harry’s introduction. “Your sister sends her regards and best wishes for Yule.” Narcissa gently inclined her head at his greeting.
“My, My, look at the Potter boy, all grown up. Playing house with all those children does seem to have done you some good.” Her words were blunt, but Hermione could not discern any ill intent in the tone. Narcissa guided the pair further into the foyer and away from the growing line behind them.
“Miss Granger, I had planned to meet you at the hedge row, however hosting comes with many drawbacks. I hope the walk to the Manor was infinitely more enjoyable than your last…visit.” Narcissa’s nose crinkled into a familiar sneer. She did not plan to shy away from the topic then.
“It was lovely.” Hermione tried to keep the anxiety from her words. Narcissa stood before two doors, both carved with intricate flora and fauna. She did not remember that detail. Most of the moments leading up to writhing in agony on the drawing room floor were lost to her these days, even their escape and Dobby’s daring rescue were a blur. Hermione reached out a hand to grip Harry’s.
“Miss Granger, what lies behind this door will not define you for the rest of your life. Seeing you here in these halls proves that. Your bravery in returning to the Manor is commendable, though I wish you had done so sooner and I could properly explain. Maybe another time. Until then, I will leave you two here. You do not need to cross the doorway. You can go to the ballroom or you may choose simply to return home. Neither of those choices will be held against you, Miss Granger.” And with that, the pale visage of Narcissa Malfoy retreated across the hall to receive more of her guests.
“Min—” Harry meant well, but Hermione shook her hand from his and pushed the dark doors open. A small gasp escaped her perfectly painted lips as she peered into the room that haunted her nightmares.
Instead of marble columns and a matching cold floor, the room was covered in brightly coloured rugs and tapestries. It was a sea of jewel tones everywhere she looked. Gone was the empty space and small windows, in their place were cathedral windows almost floor to ceiling, allowing the moon to shine into the room. Hermione couldn’t help herself as she felt compelled deeper into the chamber. It felt smaller with the bookcases, furniture, and decor. Several paintings were also in residence, whispering as she moved to the closest bookshelf. She touched a hand to her lips, her eyes wide as she motioned Harry closer.
“Hemmingway, Woolf, Shakespeare, Austen, Dickens, Orwell, Dahl…they are all muggle authors.” Harry leaned over her to pull a blue clothbound book from the shelf. “This one has a mouse with a sword!” He flipped a few pages before returning it to the shelf. “Henry would love that one. Why would Malfoy…” His voice trailed off when he noticed Hermione’s tears. They did not spill, Pansy would kill her if she ruined her makeup, but they were there.
Hermione did not answer the rest of the unspoken question, she did not have an answer to it anyway.
“Let’s go to a party, Potter. I am in the mood for a drink.” She hooked her arm through his and then without a backward glance, they retreated into the boisterous hall.
The party was lively as they entered the ballroom. A string quartet was positioned in a corner, a sonorous charm acting as speakers. Trees and garland spilt over and down from every surface, making the entire room smell like winter. Candlelight made the ballroom glow warmly as fire roared in several large hearths. Couples in muggle suits, dresses, and dress robes moved gracefully across the dance floor, many of them Hogwarts Alumni. Hermione spotted the Patil twins and a few Weasleys right away. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a lone figure at the edge of the room, blonde hair pushed back as he surveyed his kingdom. Hermione refused to turn her head, she would eventually have to face him, especially if they wanted to create a narrative around them. She was not looking forward to it and hoped there would be no reporters creeping about.
“Do I still smell like smoke?” She leaned towards Harry, indicating he should sniff her. What was the point of having a male best friend if he was not willing to do weird things? He leaned in and his breath tickled her, causing her to giggle.
“You don’t stink, of smoke anyway.” He grinned down at her as she moved to swat him in the stomach. “Ah! Ah! Manners, Hermione!”
“Hermione! Harry! About time, thought the two of you decided to sit this one out. George and I had a bet! Well, can’t be helped. You’re here now.” Fred Weasley chose a deep blue set of dress robes that made his blue eyes even brighter. She watched as he had elbowed his way through the crowd until he stood before them. “And we match! This of course means I am owed the first dance of the night!” Fred winked at Hermione. “I’ve heard several blokes in the loo already talking about who gets to bag Granger tonight. Figured if you stuck with family, you can scare most of them off.”
Hermione smiled at Fred, grateful for the support. Her muscles already felt tense and on edge, so she felt no need to add the drama of male egos to the equation. Placing her hand in his scarred one, she let him lead her onto the floor, waving a small wave at Harry and pointing behind him as Hannah Abbott and her mother approached.
“Alright?” Fred brought her attention back to him, as he pulled her into his chest. She gave him a small smile in return as they began to move about the floor, his large hand at the base of her spine hovering just above her skin. The heat radiated into her skin anyway.
“Managing.” The best thing about Fred was how he never pushed for more than she was willing to give. He accepted her and her answers at face value and allowed her to divulge when she was ready. This close, she could count the constellation of freckles on his face, muddled along the left side of his face and slightly down his neck. This scar was why he never demanded she speak to him, or forced his way into her thoughts the way Harry, Ron, or even Ginny would. Fred knew what it was like to suffer from insane cruelty better than most. A chill ghosted over her body as Hermione thought about Remus finding Fred sprawled across the stone of the courtyard, face held down by Amycus Carrow’s boot. He had already shattered Fred’s wand hand, the 20-year-old was no match for the death eater. If Remus had not deflected most of a reducto curse, Fred would have been scattered amongst the rubble of Hogwarts.
Hermione trailed a finger against Fred’s scars, his hand catching hers against his cheek, reading her in a way only her closest friends could.
“I am here. We made it out. Asking for more would be selfish when we have already been given the gift of climbing out of the debris.” Her eyes softened as he twirled her around in a practised move. She couldn’t help the girlish giggle that escaped as he brought her back into his chest. The laughter shook something loose in her though, just as he intended. They spent the rest of the song making a mockery of the traditional dancing around them, ignoring the glares from the older generations.
Hermione danced with Fred and Harry. She mingled with Ginny and Luna, the pair trying to stay to the edges of the room, avoiding as many people as possible. The Harpies played in two days and it seemed everyone had advice for the Chaser. Greg Goyle nearly shoved Marcus Flint away when Flint propositioned her for a dance, Greg drawing her into the throes of the dancers. As the night progressed, Hermione could feel that tightness in her chest dissipate.
Hermione danced again with Harry when he angled her closer to the musicians. They had changed out over the hours, from three older gentlemen to a small band of 20 something year old wizards.
“I would put a sickle down they are playing Elton John. Aunt Petunia used to complain about him all day, but at night I could hear her in the kitchen singing to Rocketman.” Harry chuckled. “Did I tell you Dudley finally proposed to Mary? Vernon raged for weeks when they started dating. ‘No son of mine is going to mix races!’” His voice dropped into a growl. “Sometimes I think he just looks for problems to be mad about. Dud is happy and he is trying to ruin that. If muggles had dementors, Vernon would be comparable.”
Hermione was one of the first to encourage Harry to try to renew a relationship with his biological family after the war, Dudley was the only one who stayed in contact. But he did keep Harry up to date on his parents as well.
“Some people will never change Harry, no matter how much we want them to.” She turned out of his arms and looked over her shoulder, “Elton John? At a wizard gala? I think it's time for you to drink some water.”
The song shifted as she turned back around to the rest of the ballroom. Before she took a full step, Malfoy materialised in front of her.
“Potter has occupied your time enough tonight, let me show you how to enjoy the music properly, Granger.” He smirked down at her, a challenge in his grey eyes. She turned back to Harry but he was already conversing with Neville, Dean, and Seamus Finnigan. All three of the former Gryffindors were gesticulating wildly and Hermione could only surmise they were talking sports. Neville glanced over and gave a wave but did not come to intervene.
She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and looked at Malfoy’s outstretched hand.
“I don't want to dance with you.” She tried to step around him, however, his agility from his quidditch days kept him in front of her.
“One dance. That is all I am asking.”
“For you to ask, there has to be a question.” She gritted her teeth.
“Ah, will you dance with me?” His hand was still right there, a breath away. Just his face made her stomach squirm, but if they were going to start this narrative, she knew they would need to lay the brickwork.
She placed her hand in his and his slender fingers curled over hers. The same buzz from the wards zipped over her skin. Her brown eyes locked onto Malfoy’s to see if he felt it too. His eyes were wide and his lip curled at the edges, as he looked at their joined hands. He walked to the centre of the floor and pulled her into an easy position, his left hand hovering slightly above her hip as he drew hers to his shoulder.
“What are you doing, Malfoy?” She hissed as he began to guide her into the dance.
“For a witch projected to be the Minister of Magic in ten years, you are being dim. We are dancing.” Malfoy placed his hand firmly on her hip and twisted her through the sea of jewel tones.
“Everyone is staring at us.” Her hand tightened in his as several wizards moved towards them. “You’re going to sully your family name.”
“Granger. I am a convicted Death Eater who was tasked with killing a man at 16. My father is in Azkaban for life, he will never see daylight again. The Ministry is legally stealing from us, slowly draining our vault for their ridiculous spending. My reputation was ruined the moment Voldemort disintegrated.” When she did not respond, he continued. “If anything, having The Golden Girl on my arm right now is doing wonders for me. Your reputation on the other hand…well, that is probably going to take a hit.”
His eyes bore into her, willing her to understand what he was not saying. But before she could reply, Harry and Padma were behind them, Harry slowly singing along with the music. Focusing on the violin swiftly moving across its strings, Hermione’s brow furled. They were definitely playing muggle rock music.
”That's me in the corner
That's me in the spot-light
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no I've said too much
I haven't said enough”
Hermione moved her attention back to Malfoy as he smirked down at her.
“I told you back at Hogwarts, I quite enjoy muggle things now.”
The words paired with that damnable smirk made her add a meaning she knew he hadn’t intended but Hermione could not help the way heat flooded her body.
“So, Granger. Have you figured out how we get out of a marriage with that big brain of yours?”
Hermione glowered up at him. She tried not to notice how good his suit looked stretched across his shoulders, so she pushed back at his ego.
“I thought you wanted to pretend we were together to improve your image, or did you decide that tainting yourself with mudblood filth was too much for you?” She gave him a smile that was far too many teeth. Malfoy’s cheeks flushed as he leaned down, his breath whipping into her ear with a growl.
Hermione- 1
Malfoy- 0
“I have moved past such disgusting quantifiers more than 7 years ago. I suggest you do the same, Granger.” His lips nearly grazed her lips as he spoke into her ear, causing the flesh on her arm to rise.
Hermione- 1
Malfoy- 1
Thankfully the song slowly faded and a livelier one began. As the guitar picked up speed, more of the younger guests crowded the floor, the classic style of dancing giving away to more hands in the air and hips swaying as others jumped. Hermione could not stop the smile when Malfoy remained next to her, his head bobbing to the beat, but his feet firmly on the ground as Theo lost himself in the music. She watched as Ginny and Luna grabbed his hands and led him into a hyped-up free-for-all, limbs swaying in time with the music. She was pulled into the frenzy by Charlie Weasley who spun her around and around. She was passed back and forth between friends as they melded together, their bodies moving with the music with abandon. Neville and Pansy were soon shoved to the middle of the floor for their final dance as Hermione and her friends cheered, Neville tipped Pansy back with a dramatic flair she didn’t know he was capable of performing.
“Now I know this is Billy Joel!” Harry hollered over the crowd. Hermione couldn’t even argue with him as Dean Thomas started shout-singing the lyrics to Uptown Girl.
As her misfit mix of friends came together on the edge of the dancefloor, Hermione noticed her gown was now liquid gold, melting to the floor. She was panting heavily from dancing but still had enough air to set her sights on Pansy, tucked under Neville’s arm in her pink dress. Pansy lifted her champagne flute in salute.
“I like the dress change, Granger. Gold suits you just as I knew it would.”
“I liked my blue dress thank you!” Hermione pulled her wand from her spelled pocket and cast a colour-change charm, but nothing happened. She attempted again.
“What is the matter, Golden Girl? Can’t perform? I’m sure one of your many suitors here tonight would help you had you not shown me that sticking charm and how to apply it to spells as well.” Pansy cackled as Hermione stamped her foot. She should have known that Pansy had given in too easily on the dress. This would explain Pansy hugging her last week outside the dressmaker shop. She must have spelled the fabric then. She should have known the Slytherin girl would not willingly give out affection so easily.
“Haven’t you heard it’s rude to mess with a lady’s dress colour against her will?” Hermione asked sweetly.
“Can’t say that I have. Must have missed that one in the etiquette book. Is it a muggle rule?”
“Must be.” As Neville pulled Pansy away to talk to another couple giving their congratulations to them, Hermione vowed revenge. She did not know when she would enact it, but one did not grow up with the Weasley twins without learning a trick or two. Something on her face must have given her thoughts away because Pansy blew her a kiss over her shoulder. Why do people keep challenging her today?
The rest of the night moved in a blur of dance partners and laughter. As she slipped on her winter cloak to leave, Hermione found her cheeks hurting from the merriment. So much trauma had occurred here, but so much joy could also bloom. She moved towards the entry way as Ginny and Luna were saying goodbye to Malfoy and Theo. The redhead walked over to her as her partner spoke softly to Malfoy.
“I did not realise they were so close,” Hermione remarked as Luna pulled out a parcel and unfurled a monstrosity of threads. From a distance, blues and greens wove together in no discernable pattern but bleeding together on the creator's whims.
“You know how Luna is. Mum has been showing her how to knit and she got it into her head that Malfoy could use a blanket. You should see the scarves she started with.” Ginny suppressed a shudder. “She means well, but they are ghastly. Do not tell her I said that, it would break her heart.” Luna handed what Hermione assumed was a blanket to Malfoy, pushing it back into his hands when he tried to give it back. There was a pained smile on his face as she crossed her arms and refused to take it from him. Hermione felt her lip twitch when Malfoy’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh, then he pulled out his wand and shrunk the blanket, tucking it away in a pocket. Luna threw herself in his arms and Ginny outright laughed at the pained expression Malfoy was giving her.
“Oi! She-Weasel, come do your duty and take Lovegood home. She is weeping on my good suit!” Draco pleaded.
“You mistake our dynamic, Ferret. Luna gives me the orders if you know what I mean.” She gave him a cheeky wink before retrieving the witch and bidding goodbye.
✧✧✧
After the holiday, Hermione went back to work. Sort of. She was still barred from her cubicle, however, the Archives in the lower levels were still keyed to her wand. Each morning, she would gather her lunch and notes, bid Crookshanks goodbye, and spend the next 10 hours buried in dusty parchment. Instead of charming the scrolls and books kept in the archive, the room was spelled to stay cool, much like muggle archives. Hermione searched the shelves for hours under the dim candlelight, praying that she would find anything that would tell her it was all a mistake. She and Malfoy were not bound. There was a deep sensation in her gut that told her a simple divorce would not release her from their childish vow.
Hermione researched for days to no avail. Stacks of books littered the kitchen floor and the table around her. She had cobwebs in her hair, dust on her cheek, and a scowl creasing her mouth. It was New Year’s Eve. A few minutes to midnight and for once Hermione Granger had no answer to the problem in front of her. She picked up Crookshanks and cuddled him to her chest.
“Bedtime Crooks. I am starting to get a headache staring at all this.” Hermione waved her wand and the piles straightened themselves, discarded papers settling neatly into a pile next to several stacks now placed neatly on the table. Shoving the wand back into her hair in a haphazardous way that would leave McGonagall in a fit, she started to trudge up the stairs. She paused. Her ears straining in the silence. Her wand buzzed in her curls, indicating her wards had been triggered.
“What now? It is nearly midnight!” Hermione put the orange beast down and lightly moved to the front door, wand in hand. She cautiously opened her powder blue door a crack. The sight before her stole her breath.
“---to Merlin, Theodore Nott. I will murder you! Not even an Avada is good enough! I will strangle you with my hands and you can go out like the rat did! Bring me back now!”
Just outside her garden wall, Hermione watched as Draco Malfoy, naked as the day he was born, cursed at the stars.