Chapter 12
“I’ve worked for the Malfoy family for more years than I can remember, nothing but fond memories with them all,” mused Mrs. Fitz, a warm smile creasing her kind face. Her weathered hands gently combed through Hermione’s curls, applying fragrant pomade.
“Of course, young Master Draco has become the apple of my eye, whether he cares to accept such a position or not,” she chuckled, her torso shaking with carefree mirth.
“You, ma’am, are the first lady I’ve seen properly hosted here since Mr. Malfoy’s father became riddled with scandal.” She raised her brows conspiratorially. “God rest his troubled soul.”
Hermione sat patiently before the vanity, observing the matron’s mannerisms through the mirror as she worked.
So, Lucius Malfoy was dead in this time. She pondered.
The cause of his demise remained a mystery to her curious mind.
“Mr. Malfoy does hold you in high esteem, I’m sure, even if he is the most stoic man,” Hermione ventured politely.
Mrs. Fitz beamed, patting Hermione’s shoulder fondly. “He’s a good boy underneath the solemn exterior. Just takes time earning his trust, is all. Glad to see he’s making an exception for you, dear.” She gave a playful wink.
"I apologize Mrs. Fitz, but I do not know what you mean," Hermione demurred. "Mr. Malfoy holds no regard for me other than as the object of his ire."
"I'm sure his dismal opinion must be why he brought you here," the matron replied sarcastically, her dark eyes twinkling.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the padded vanity chair, inhaling the soothing honeyed scent of the pomade as Mrs. Fitz worked it through her curls. "Mr. Malfoy brought me here injured after an accident," she countered evenly.
"You're right dear, forgive my prying," Mrs. Fitz relented with an understanding pat on Hermione's shoulder. "I hope your bedchamber is appealing. I haven't been able to properly arrange it since Mrs. Malfoy passed. She was such a lovely woman."
Hermione noticed the matron's faded eyes grow misty at the mention of the late Lady Malfoy.
There was a story there, she sensed.
"You've done wonders with the room," Hermione assured diplomatically.
She studied Mrs. Fitz's lined face in the mirror. Decades of memories and secrets were etched upon it.
"You're too kind, Miss," Mrs. Fitz smiled warmly, giving Hermione's now smoothed curls an approving look. "There now, lovely as ever. I best be off now, my son has arrived with the ingredients for tonight’s dinner."
With a soft nod of acquiescence, Hermione took her leave of Mrs. Fitz. Now alone, she sat facing the vanity's ornate mirror and observed herself as she slowly donned the pale pink gown.
The soft cotton whispering against her skin felt decadent, the tiny pearl buttons cool under her fingertips as she fastened them. Her usually unruly curls had been tamed into sleek ringlets by the matron's careful attentions, framing her face becomingly.
She felt beautiful in a way she rarely experienced, strangely comfortable instead of alien in her own skin.
Hermione almost felt a sense of belonging taking hold of her.
This unfamiliar reality was changing her, opening her mind to a world once unknown. Yet with each morning she awoke here, fear grew that her true world was lost.
Had she died there, been forgotten, dismissed as unimportant?
She had no way of knowing.
But it was a relief to simply be an ordinary woman after the war. The turmoil had hardened her, the public's gaze turned harsh.
She became an object of desire, the girl who fought for Hogwarts reduced to scandal in tabloids, paraded town to town, city to city with her classmates - a symbol of victory over Death Eaters. But inside she knew the war still raged silently.
It never truly ended amongst them.
Hermione would always be plagued by those ghosts.
She could still hear the echoes of screams and smell the acrid smoke, feel the pulsing darkness seeking to consume all hope. The memories lurked, waiting to torment her during unguarded moments.
Seeking higher education at Hogwarts was what she’d always wanted, aching for normalcy. But the hallowed halls no longer felt like home, filled with lingering shadows.
Working on a potion meant to bring her peace had launched her instead into this strange new reality.
How ironic, she mused.
Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Nobody called from the other side. Wiping a stray tear, she stood and slowly opened it to reveal Mr. Malfoy looming above her.
His piercing silver eyes met hers, but no words came as usual when she was near. He simply stood in imposing silence.
"Mr. Malfoy, I intended to apologize for the sunroom incident," Hermione offered timidly, heat rising to her cheeks as she recalled her near nakedness before him.
"The rain - it was improper of me," she muttered, dropping her gaze to her feet.
"No need to apologize, it's already forgotten," he replied plainly, though the words felt hollow even to him. Nothing about her was forgettable since the day they'd met, her presence a constant annoyance in his mind.
Her rain-soaked form was seared into his memory.
"Right," Hermione responded quietly, a pang of unwelcome disappointment hitting her chest at his dismissive claim.
Silence enveloped them once more until she glanced back up. "Did you...need something?"
"I wanted to show you something, with my permission this time," he stated evenly. "I would rather you see it now instead of poking around come dusk."
His steely gaze bore into hers, making it clear he had not forgotten her previous sneaking about his private quarters. Hermione flushed under the intensity of his stare, the memory of their tense confrontation still fresh.
Silently she stepped into the corridor beside him, the scent of his cologne enveloping her senses. His presence felt commanding and yet oddly comforting as they walked wordlessly through the manor halls.
Their footsteps echoed faintly on the marble floors, the only sound in the stillness.
Hermione's nerves thrummed with anticipation, wondering what he intended to disclose. She glimpsed the rigid set of his jaw, his discretion coming at some cost.
At an ornate door he halted, the thundering clouds carving his features into severe lines and hollows.
"You speak of this to no one, are we understood Miss Granger?" Draco grated out, his low voice exposing his sincerity.
Hermione glimpsed the threatening promise in his eyes and nodded. "Yes."
Malfoy pushed the heavy doors open with ease, the flex of his arm apparent as they shifted under his weight. As the room revealed itself, Hermione could not suppress a gasp.
It was the brightest chamber in the entire estate. Soaring arched ceilings and intricate marble detailing lent an aura of imposing elegance. Dotting the open space stood various breathtaking marble sculptures.
Toward the center, rising figures of the Malfoy family commanded attention - Draco front and center, parents flanking behind. While Draco's statue gleamed pristine alabaster, his mother and father had darkened, their forms now a grey tinge.
The Malfoys were surrounded by other stunning works of diverse origins and styles, but this room clearly honored their memory. Hermione's heels clicked softly on the polished marble floors as she drifted toward a sculpture of a seated woman.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, recognizing the British Museum's Rodin piece in her true timeline.
Bright afternoon sun had been shrouded by an aggressive thunderstorm that filtered through high windows, bathing the room in coldness. She trailed gentle fingers over the smooth cool stone, admiring the artistry.
Inhaling the faint scent of fresh flowers, she noticed small bouquets ornamenting the base of each Malfoy effigy, except for the heir’s. Draco's pale eyes tracked her slow circuit of the space, his tall frame silhouetted against the minimal light.
Shadows shifted across the floors, the only movement in the still solemnity. A strange intimacy clutched at Hermione's heart.
She had been permitted somewhere deeply personal, a sanctuary of memory.
"Why have you brought me here?" Hermione asked, turning to face him as curiosity flickered in her eyes. "You barely tolerate my presence, yet felt compelled to bring me to this sacred place."
"It's true, I find you infuriating," Draco scoffed, raking a hand through his platinum hair in frustration.
"Then why?" she insisted, searching his stormy gaze.
Draco exhaled sharply, glancing away. "You were exposed before me, in the sunroom. Whether intentional or not, your most intimate form was almost completely revealed." His jaw tightened. "I thought if I did something similar, you wouldn't feel indebted."
Understanding dawned on Hermione.
She sensed an unexpected kindness in Draco, seeking to make things even between them.
"Thank you," she whispered sincerely. "But I hardly expected such a gesture from you."
"Why not?" he asked coldly, eyes flashing.
Hermione hesitated, carefully considering her response. Draco's temper was mercurial, his goodwill fragile. The growing storm outside seemed to match perfectly with the building tension.
"I only mean...you do not appear as a sentimental man. This room clearly holds deep personal meaning for you," she explained, eyes scanning her surroundings. "That you would grant me access, despite misgivings, reveals a thoughtfulness I did not expect."
His family's statued eyes seemed to bore witness, striking Hermione with their silent judgement.
"You consider me heartless, Miss Granger?" Draco stated stoically, though her words had struck an unseen nerve.
Shaking her head in confusion, she replied, "No, that's not what I meant at all."
Hermione stepped toward him, attempting to empathize and touch his arm soothingly. But he recoiled sharply before she could make contact, withdrawing into himself.
"You are the strangest woman," he spat accusingly. "Forcing your way into my life, injuring yourself through idiocy, disrespecting me in my own home." His words lashed out like a whip.
"You are unfathomably unladylike. Such beauty gone to waste on dreadful manners." With another flick of his hand, the remaining candles snuffed out, plunging them into darkness.
Hermione froze as his venomous words pierced the tender olive branch she had extended.
The warm intimacy of moments before vanished, leaving behind only cold shadows. She searched the blackness, straining to see Draco's face.
His tall silhouette was rigid with scorn, all traces of vulnerability sealed away once more. Hermione's outstretched hand faltered, then dropped limply to her side.
Rejection stung bitterly.
Draco's cutting remarks echoed in the gloom between them.
Try as she might to empathize, he twisted her efforts into offense.
Attempting to show her sincerity, Hermione gently grasped his forearm as he turned from her. At her touch, his eyes flashed angrily, a dark mercury swirling in their depths.
"Do not touch me. Get out," he gritted out, wrenching his arm from her light hold.
Irritation brewed in Hermione's chest as hurt bloomed. She had only tried to offer empathy and connection. Yet with his biting words he twisted her gesture, reverting to the callous Malfoy she once knew.
"I am unladylike? You are the most awful man I've ever met," Hermione spat, anger blazing in her eyes. "What are you without wealth and imposing airs? Nothing but a coward, afraid to care, as you've always been. Speak truths about yourself instead of hiding behind coldness," she challenged.
"You are afraid."
Draco's mouth twisted in an angry grin, her words striking a nerve. "Of what could I possibly be afraid of?" he mocked.
Hermione held his gaze unflinchingly. "Of being alone," she answered, words heavy with meaning.
Rage flashed across Draco's face at her perception. He braced an arm against the doorframe, using his height to loom over her.
"You're the one afraid, knowing Krum only wants you for the Weasley estate," he hissed venomously.
Hermione faltered. "What do you mean?"
Draco's smile turned cruel, smelling victory. "Krum is nearly penniless himself. His father's inheritance will run dry soon. What does a spineless man do when he wants money but has none?"
He leaned closer, breath hot on her skin. "Marry into it, of course."
Dread clutched Hermione's heart as understanding dawned.
"Who inherits Auburndale after your sister marries Potter?" Draco prodded ruthlessly.
"Me," she whispered, the word a death knell.
Krum was using her.
Draco looked satisfied at shattering her illusions. "Precisely. You're a means to an end for him."
Tears burned Hermione's eyes but she refused to let them fall. Draco searched her face, something shifting behind his cold facade. For a moment she thought he might apologize for his cruelty.
The whisper of her dress against the marble floor seemed deafening in the ringing silence that followed. Lightning flickered erratically, casting wavering shadows across Draco's hardened features.
His jaw was granite, eyes shuttered as he glared.
Hermione's fingertips still tingled from where they had met his arm for the briefest moment. She could recall the heat of his skin beneath the fine fabric, the taut muscle and thrumming pulse.
"I hate you," Hermione whispered, her voice thick with emotion as tears glistened in her eyes.
Gazing back into her eyes, he responded. “And I you.”
Hermione inhaled a shuddering breath, wrapping her arms around herself. "For a moment, brief as it was, I thought you could be more than what everyone says," she admitted softly.
"For a second, I believed you were a good man."
Draco's stony expression faltered almost imperceptibly at her words. But just as quickly his mask hardened once more.
Hermione searched his shuttered features, willing him to prove her fleeting faith deserved. But his eyes remained remote pits of mercury as he turned his back on her silent plea.
Blinking back useless tears, Hermione pushed past him with trembling limbs. Her skirts whispered across the cold marble floors as she fled the memorial chamber's oppressive shadows.
Draco did not call after her or give chase.
He remained a statue amidst stone effigies, encased in unbreachable defenses.
As Draco made his way from the memorial hall, an unfamiliar emotion tugged at him - regret.
Hours crept by as Hermione sat curled before the fireplace, its crackling warmth barely penetrating the chill that had settled in her bones. She clutched the woolen blanket closer, sighing deeply as she collected herself. Though her pride smarted, she knew an apology was necessary if she hoped to remain in the manor through the storm's fury.
Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, she rose on quiet feet to search for the elusive Mr. Malfoy. The ancient marble whispered faintly beneath her steps as she traversed hall after shadowy hall, finding no sign of life.
Only two places remained unsearched - his bedchamber and the statue room.
Remembering the path to the distinct black door, she traced her way through the maze-like corridors, straining to push open the heavy oak and slip inside. The same awed hush greeted her, the beauty of this sanctum even more apparent in the velvety darkness that now enshrouded it.
"Mr. Malfoy?" she whispered, listening as her voice echoed faintly off the soaring ceilings. No reply came except her own footsteps clicking softly on the marble floors.
She was on the verge of turning back when a flash of white caught her eye - the imposing statue of Draco Malfoy.
As the sounds of rain pattered against the glass aggressively, she simply stopped thinking.
Compelled by instincts she did not understand, Hermione's breath quickened as she drifted toward it through the stillness. The statue's aristocratic face was thrown into slight brightness by the flickering firelight, so achingly lifelike that she half expected those marble eyes to turn her way.
Unable to resist, she reached out to touch the smooth cold cheek, imagining that the stone might warm beneath her palm, sense her proximity. Their earlier fight felt trivial in this hallowed place.
She gazed into the statue's lifeless eyes, a feeling in her heart secretly wishing it was truly him.
Hermione hated him, thought him the most disruptive and unwelcoming man she'd ever met. But in this weighted silence, she considered things differently - the way his eyes conveyed what his stoic face did not, the sandalwood scent of his cologne, the definition of muscles beneath his shirts.
The unfair effect his stormy gaze had on her.
Thought abandoned her as she rose onto her tiptoes.
Firelight danced over the marble contours of the statue's face, smoothing its impassive hardness. Hermione's breath caught at the nearness, her body swaying as if pulled by some unseen force.
She imagined the cool stone warming beneath her touch, his pulse leaping to meet her fingertips. Dangerous, irrational thoughts for a man she despised.
Yet in the midnight hush of the memorial hall, such distinctions fell away.
Her lips grazed the statue's mouth in the softest kiss - tentative, trembling. The barest contact, but it roused unfamiliar feelings that both frightened and exhilarated.
She lingered there, wanting and not wanting, the crackling fire the only witness.
At last she pulled back, nerves alight.
With a final remorseful caress of the effigy's cheek, she turned, shaken by her own audacity.
A gasp caught in her throat as she saw Draco filling the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted against the firelit hall.
How much had he witnessed?
His face was cast in shadow, eyes glinting darkly as he watched her frozen form. Hermione's heart hammered, heat flooding her cheeks at being discovered in such a compromising position.
The statue now seemed to loom over her, more imposing than before.
She had allowed forbidden thoughts to override propriety, let down her guard for an irrational moment.
Draco stepped into the memorial chamber, moving with predatory grace. The firelight carved the hard lines of his face as he prowled closer, though his expression remained unreadable.
Hermione backed against the effigy as if it could shield her. The cold marble at her back served as a bracing reminder of reality.
Draco halted mere inches away, the heat of his body palpable, his scent enveloping her senses.
She dared not breathe.
Time stretched taut between them. At last Draco reached out, long fingers ghosting over the stone lips she had dared to kiss moments before.
"Interesting," he uttered, voice low and silken.
Hermione shivered beneath his piercing silver gaze, pinned in place by the turmoil of unnamed desires.
Draco's eyes drifted down to her parted lips, lingering there. Her breath caught at the smoldering intensity of that look.
Slowly, deliberately, he closed the scant distance between them, the heat of his body now flush against hers. Hermione's pulse thundered at this sudden intimacy.
Draco's stormy eyes, full of hunger, fixated on Hermione's mouth.
He drank in every gasp that escaped her lips, every tremor that danced across her face, relishing the power he held over her in that moment. He had caught her in the act.
Just as she thought she could bear the ache of anticipation no longer, a single finger glided along the fabric on her shoulder, teasingly close but not quite touching her skin. The mere whisper of contact sent an electric shock coursing through Hermione's body, igniting every nerve ending in a symphony.
Her lips tingled and burned under Draco's piercing gaze, secretly yearning for the touch that seemed so close yet agonizingly out of reach.
Finally, his eyes ascended to meet hers once more, a silent question hanging in the air.
Draco's voice, a dark murmur, brushed against Hermione's cheek, his breath hot and intoxicating as he leaned in close. She froze, pulse quickening at his sudden nearness.
"Do you want to know what it's like?" he whispered, his words dripping with promise, an aching wanting implied in each syllable.
Her lips parted, but before she could form a coherent response, Draco's mouth claimed hers in a soft kiss. She gasped against him as their lips touched ever so slightly, the contact electric, forbidden. As he pulled away, her eyes fluttered open, beautiful chestnut orbs gazing up at him in surprise and undisguised longing.
Something primal flashed in Draco's stormy grey eyes at her response.
"Fuck it," he grunted, his composure unraveling all at once. Taking her face in his hands, long fingers threading into her soft curls, he lowered himself again.
Draco's lips descended upon Hermione's, claiming her with a fervor that defied reason. It was a collision of passion and repressed want, a dance of tongues that ignited a fire within them both. The taste of firewhisky lingered on his lips, adding an intoxicating depth to the kiss, as if the very essence of his desires had been distilled into that potent liquor.
Their lips moved in perfect synchrony, a symphony of desire and hatred.
Each brush and caress sent tremors of pleasure coursing through their bodies. Hermione's senses were overwhelmed, her mind consumed by the taste of Draco, the mingling flavors of firewhisky, mint, and something undoubtedly his.
His kiss consumed her, a dizzying taste she knew she would forever associate with the intoxicating allure of Draco Malfoy.
"Wait," she gasped, pushing against his firm chest for air. Her eyes traced over his kiss-swollen lips. "Stop."
At her words, his body froze, his darkened eyes searching hers questioningly.
"We can't do this," Hermione whispered, though her entire being screamed in protest. She could still feel the heat of his mouth, the pounding of his heart against her palm.
Draco regarded her silently, his chest rising and falling with ragged breath.
He made no move to pull away, her body remaining trapped in the cage of his arms.
"This wasn't meant to happen, we despise each other." she insisted weakly, trying to cling to the last fraying threads of reason.
But logic was no match for the fire coursing through her veins.
A wry smile crossed Draco's face at her half-hearted protest. He knew desire, recognized its fever when he saw it. Dipping his head, he traced a slow, deliberate path along her jawline with his lips.
"Say it again," he challenged in a low voice.
"Say you want me to stop." He nipped at the sensitive skin below her ear, sending sparks down her spine. "And I will."
Hermione trembled, eyes sinking closed as she struggled within herself.
She swallowed thickly. "I can't," she admitted at last.
Draco's mouth found hers again, a pleased rumble rising from his chest.
This time she did not resist, sinking into blissful surrender.