Conflicting Feelings
Hermione doesn’t know when her own birthday falls, but she knows that Draco’s ninth birthday is the event of the century. Beating out last year’s festivities by a kilometre. She can only imagine what Narcissa will plan for his eleventh birthday.
There have been dozens of people weaving in and out of the manor and the surrounding grounds for a week.
And Draco has been intolerable.
Apparently, the seeker for the Falmouth Falcons would be making an appearance at his birthday party.
Hermione wasn’t even invited. She was told that she would spend the morning in her quarters practising her controlled transfiguration and then after Severus made an appearance at the party, he would take her away for the afternoon.
Honestly, it was much preferred to spending the afternoon being toted around as the Malfoy pet.
“Mudblood, shouldn’t you be in lessons,” Lucius comes around a corner and sneers.
It isn’t a question, so she doesn’t bother answering.
Rather, she lets the vines she had been growing wrap higher around one of the pillars of his perfect manor.
A stinging jinx hits her in the side and she jumps back, glaring.
“Did you hear me, Mudblood?”
Lucius cocks an irksome brow and Hermione inhales.
“Yes, Lord Malfoy.” She bows her head and swallows down everything she’d rather say to him.
He smirks in that annoying Malfoy manner that both he and his son are so proud of.
Hermione stops her magic from growing the vines.
“Though I’m not sure there is anything more for me to learn about cutlery,” she can’t help herself.
Lucius lifts his wand and Hermione lifts her chin.
She can’t keep living like this. Under his heel.
“I’d suggest you learn as much as you can. That way someone might be able to one day look past your parentage and take you as their wife.”
She apparates away before he finishes speaking.
Her entire being is shaking with rage.
He killed them and still thinks he has the right to speak about them. To call them lesser.
She hurls the first thing she sees, a priceless sculpture of what she assumes is supposed to look like a hippogriff.
It shatters against the wall but it doesn’t satisfy the ball of rage that has been growing ever since Lucius ordered her to use her magic to take a life.
Dobby appears opposite the room and just blinks at the shards strewn across the floor.
“Are you alright, Miss?”
She isn’t, and tears stream down her face without her consent.
“Oh Miss.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need a minute. I’m sorry about the mess,” she chokes out the words.
She waves a hand and the figure reforms, sitting atop a pillar as though never touched.
Hermione collapses on the edge of her bed and reaches for Tom’s journal.
She reads the promises that he had written. The only words that they had exchanged that had not faded into the pages of the leather bound book.
When I return, you will be at my side.
And Lucius?
You may do as you wish.
By the time Severus comes to collect her, she has collected herself. They go to London, have tea, walk down a street and watch muggles act without a care in the world. Hermione spends the entire time thinking about ways to kill Lucius Malfoy.
And then Severus reminds her that they are due at Draco’s birthday supper.
When they return to the Manor, the party has ended. No chance of Draco’s little friends seeing the mudblood.
Severus joins them for dinner, gifting Draco a bound journal for tracking the growth of plants that he promptly leaves on a table.
The meal is fine. Hermione barely says a word. Draco goes on and on about his gifts, and his friends, and his impressive flying during a children’s match of Quidditch.
It isn’t until the end of the meal that Draco’s father gives his son his gift.
She watches as Lucius hands his son the box she’d seen him with earlier.
Draco beams, taking it carefully.
He waits a beat and then pulls at the ribbon tied around the box.
Hermione squints, trying to make out what it is.
Luckily, Draco loves the sound of his own voice.
“Tickets to the World Cup? Thank you, Father!” He smiles like an idiot, showing too many teeth.
Quidditch. Of course.
“Happy Birthday, my love,” Narcissa says.
Draco preens beneath her attention and shows her the tickets for the World Cup.
Hermione rolls her eyes.
“There are four tickets. I thought you could invite a couple of friends,” Lucius says.
“Vincent and Gregory,” Draco nods, agreeing with his father’s plan.
Of course Narcissa doesn’t want to attend the World Cup.
Hermione doesn’t either. Even if she were invited she would insist that she was simply too busy for such a juvenile event. She would never want to go.
“Or maybe Theo and Blaise. Blaise just got the new Cleansweep. And Theo has been saying all along that France would reach the cup this year,” Draco rambles on about his many options for invitees.
Hermione wonders if he would take her, were she to ask.
Lucius would never allow it.
“You have a few weeks to decide, Dearest,” Narcissa reminds him. Dearest.
“And perhaps I could find a couple more tickets before then,” Lucius grins, probably thinking of how he could spin having two more little lords at his son’s side.
“Really?” Draco asks, a slight whine to his tone.
“Perhaps,” Lucius repeats, his tone more serious.
Draco thanks his father and tucks the tickets back in their box.
“I got you something as well,” Hermione says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the small box she’d transfigured out from a piece of parchment.
Draco reaches for it, but Lucius intercepts him.
“I didn’t know you got Draco a gift,” he says, the threat clear.
Hurt my son and I will hurt you.
“It isn’t anything dangerous. Just a small token,” she assures him.
Lucius passes it to Draco, anger still in his face.
Draco doesn’t seem to notice as he pulls the lid from the box.
He pulls out the marble and frowns.
“What is it?” he says, not masking his disappointment at all.
“It is a stone imbued with the Felix Felices potion. It is diluted though so it is basically a good luck charm that actually works without posing the risk of some great misfortune down the road. I made it,” she explains.
“It’s good luck?” Draco asks, holding it in the palm of his hand.
Hermione nods.
“That must have been quite difficult to make,” Lucius notes, apparently pleased with her gift, even though she hadn’t run it by him first.
“How does it work?” Draco asks.
Hermione rolls her eyes.
“Has anyone got a coin?” She asks, thinking of the simplest way to show its use.
Severus obliges, reaching into his robes and pulling out a galleon.
He hands it over and Hermione looks back to Draco.
“Wizard or dragon?” She asks Draco.
“Dragon, obviously,” Draco says, still holding the marble in his palm.
Hermione flips the coin and shows him that it is indeed the dragon that has been selected.
“Do it again,” he demands.
She is going to regret this gift. Maybe she already does. He already gets his way with everything. What was she thinking giving him even more luck? Severus had been right when he’d insisted Draco wouldn’t appreciate the value of such a gift.
She flips it and again the dragon sits on the back of her hand.
“Wicked,” Draco grins, promptly pocketing the marble.
“Happy Birthday, Draco,” Hermione mumbles, taking note of the fact that he hasn’t said thank you for the gift.
She excuses herself from the table and heads to bed, wishing she had someone who cared about her the way Draco’s parents do about him for the millionth time.