Chapter 31
“Men often act knowingly against their interests.”
David Hume
Since the tea party, Hermione had woken to gifts nearly every morning, with some arriving in pairs to make up for lost time. Decadent necklaces, a diadem that was certainly worn by some royal at some point, magically enhanced shoes, flowers to fill every room, and more trivial items that were enhanced by magic, such as quills and journals.
The latest rested on a desk in a carefully crafted black box beside a stack of invitations.
The gifts were constant and abundant. She didn't know what to make of them, and the scents of the flowers adorning the manor followed her from room to room. She tried to wear some of the necklaces to show her appreciation, though she had no idea when or where she could wear the diadem. When she had gotten dressed and returned to the study, she looked over the box on the desk she had been working from. A lot of the preparation had been done. The dresses had been fitted, the menu selected, the sashes, and all place settings were decided, but she had yet to send the invitations. There had been so many names on those envelopes she hadn't wanted to see but tried not to focus on them.
Opening the box, she carefully removed its contents. It was likely another of the gifts Draco had given her. On its plush black cushion sat an ornate metal item. With a comfortable palm-length handle and a thick puck of metal with the Malfoy crest carved into it, the stamp was sleek. It seemed to fit in with everything else allowed in the manor.
Carefully, she picked up the wax seal with a faint smile and lined up the invitations. Slowly, she set up to start sealing them closed to send off, not wanting to harm the wax while it melted in its half-sphere spoon. As she waited for it to be ready, she wrote more notes down in her notebook, eager to cross one more item off her list. Crookshanks curled up between her legs, batting at the hem of her skirt as she worked. She was mindful as she poured the wax on the back of the envelope and picked up the Malfoy crest to press it into the envelope.
She pressed down firmly into the wax, knowing how best to leave an imprint. The harder she pressed into the wax, the hotter the burn at the small of her back grew. A tinge of burnt skin searing just at the band of her knickers. Like a hot poker meeting flesh and burning into it the very same crest that rested atop the wax of the envelope. It was cursed into flesh, the skin going from raw to black as if it had always been there.
As soon as that burning began, she shrieked and dropped the crest seal, shoving out of her chair. The cat yowled, noticing Hermione's distress, and stayed close to her. Her face paled, and she lifted up the blouse in the back with a curse, not wanting the fabric to touch the burnt and tender flesh to the small of her back. Cursed. She should have checked the damn thing for curses...but it looked like so many gifts her betrothed had set out for her.
Before her, the invitation was ruined, wax smearing across the back, and the seal toppled over to the table with a thud. With watering eyes, she tried not to scream again. The audacity of such an item in her reach...rage boiled through her as hot as the curse had burned, helping her focus on something other than the pain.
Theodore Nott had been stationed outside the room. He rushed through the double doors as soon as he heard them, wand at the ready. Noting a lack of an enemy, he moved closer to the lady of the house.
"What happened?" he asked gently. She looked on the verge of tears, and he knew better than to ask people if they were okay, especially in such a situation.
She let her breath out on a bit of a hiss, gesturing at the desk with her free hand before she drew her own wand to try and see if she could do anything about what was on her back. Afraid to touch where the pain still radiated. "Cursed... Can't see what it did... Did something," she explained curtly, voice strained from the pain, but she managed not to cry.
With where she touched and what she pointed at, Theodore knew this was way over his pay grade. "I'll get Draco," he tried to be reassuring. He didn't want to lose his eyes for helping the wizard's wife with whatever that was.
"Fine," she hissed sharply with another curse. She wasn't mad at Theo, but she was mad at herself for not checking things. How had Draco not noticed something being delivered in here that wasn't his? Had it been something he had gotten that he had overlooked?
When Nott caught up to him, Draco was too pissed to chide him. In a puff of smoke, he was in his study, rushing towards the desk to examine the item and the witch he had claimed for his own.
"Show me," he asked, hoping the time Theodore Nott had taken to find him hadn't ruined any chance of fixing whatever curse she had triggered.
The pain throbbed across her back, though she was grateful that it didn't still feel like a hot poker was pressed against her back. It reminded her of how Bellatrix's wand had felt as it burned those scars into her arm—carving her up to try and get information out of her.
Turning around, she lifted the blouse a bit higher along her back and shifted the skirt down, trying not to curse.
Draco took a careful step, looking over the damaged skin. It wasn't just a burn. It looked more pristine, and yet the black wasn't a tattoo either. He had known of a number of Malfoy artifacts, but none that branded people. He supposed it wasn't far-fetched given his family's history.
"Who gave this to you?" He demanded, trying to stay calm as he used a few diagnostic spells. It was a nasty piece of work. He knew that much, but before he would even try his hand at it, he wanted to get a look at the offending heirloom.
Keeping her clothing from touching the damaged skin, she took in a slow, deep breath. "It was packaged like any other gift that you've been showering me with. It was on the desk next to the invitations," she almost snapped the words. If she knew who had done it, wouldn't she have said it?
Logically, she knew that the start of those vows would make it harder for them to hurt each other, which is why she was given her wand back, but pain and anger did not make for a suitable environment for thinking things through.
"I can assure you, I didn't send it," he snapped back, holding back his own ire. Whoever it was, they were going to rue the day when he found out. His breaths fell heavy as he tried to remember he could have vengeance later.
He moved onto the desk to look at the item. A stamp. Though it carried his family crest, he couldn't say he'd ever seen it. "Get to bed; don't touch it or put anything on it until I figure this out," he lifted the item with his wand to better assess it. There were so many layers; some he recognized, but others he did not.
Hermione tried not to swear before she gave a curt nod of her head. She plucked up her notebook and went right back to her quarters, where she stepped out of her shoes and moved to lay on her stomach on the bed with a grimace. She looked over her shoulder, trying to look down her body to see exactly what had been marked — not daring to go to the mirror.
It was tempting to touch it, but would touching it spread the curse and make the mark bigger? Would it burn her hand? She swore under her breath, keeping her skirt and knickers low on her hips to keep it from touching the mark, and went ahead and stripped off the blouse, not risking anything touching her marred back.
Draco spent some time handling the length of silver. There were definitely Malfoy curses and wards. He could almost feel the familiar pattern and then something jarring. Like someone had forced something into it, altered it.
Scratching a note on a loose piece of parchment, he made a curt request for his mother to relocate his father to a different property. Until he could get to the bottom of this, he couldn't fathom how he would react to seeing his kin. His father hadn't exactly been welcoming. Among his men, he had the means and the motive.
Eventually, he entered her chambers, where she lay half naked on the bed, looking over the things in the notebook she had been using for wedding planning. A book on magical theory had also been summoned to her side. A chance for some light reading that wasn't some technical text to which she wouldn't be able to pay attention at the moment. The sort of distraction she'd welcomed in her youth.
Taking a seat, he eyed the family crest on her skin. "From what I gather, this was an altered heirloom," he announced. "Whoever did this..." his jaw clenched. He had much to say about whoever had done this, which he swallowed down. "Disabling it is likely going to be worse than receiving it, but I think I can heal it," he was almost afraid to touch her. Even if he wanted to call a healer and pawn her to more capable hands, the truth of the matter remained the same. "Only a Malfoy can remove it from."
Crookshanks had nearly jumped up onto her, resulting in her holding the cat with one arm against her side. He didn't stay there long, now curled up in her closet on top of the bags that were still in there. He glared, looking at Hermione and Draco with a rather critical-looking expression.
"Do I want to know what was branded into my skin? Didn't want to look in the mirror and see how bad it is," she grumbled. Looking up at Draco, though, she studied his face, watching as he worked through whatever was going on in his head. "...Can't hurt worse than a cruciatus curse, Draco," she offered as a small consolation. They'd hurt each other worse over the last seven years than this was likely to hurt. At least, she hoped so.
"The Malfoy family crest," he traced the skin around it as he occluded his mind, stamping down the feelings that had caused him to flush. As much as he would rip whoever had done so limb from limb, he wouldn't lie that the sight wasn't unpleasant. There was a part of him that wished he had stamped it there himself, making her scream for him so beautifully. Thoughts that shattered through entire walls of his inner maze. He took a breath and shrouded himself in anger instead.
"Of course that's what it is," she almost growled the words as her head fell forward against the bedding. Whoever had done this to her was going to pay. Even with her face pressed into the bedding, she ensured she was loud enough to be heard. "....You find out who sent it, and don't let me help you deal with it, and I will never forgive you, Draco Malfoy." At least she could take out some of her anger over everything happening to her on whoever had branded her with the Malfoy crest.
"I suppose that can be arranged," he steadied his tone. He hadn't even considered that she might want her pound of flesh. "But it's going to be slow," he vowed. Whoever did this would suffer this a thousand times.
She laughed, the sound bitter and cold. "I'd be disappointed if it wasn't." Did he think she'd want them dead? This hurt. It added even more layers to feeling like, in some way, she was owned and possessed by the Malfoy name. The crest seared into her skin just seemed to be marking her as a piece of property for the man she would be wed to.
Wand in hand, he ran a few more diagnostic charms. "I can get you some potions... dull the pain," he offered, frowning slightly. "I think I have to cut it out," he wrinkled his nose at the idea. If her carving into him the other night had been any indication, he'd equally be hurt in the behind doing so. "I'll have to disable it first," he warned.
Hermione let out a slow breath, closing her eyes. "A potion to dull the pain would be appreciated. Especially if you're going to have to cut it out..." Someone had a strange sense of balance, considering she'd had to dig and cut that mark out of Draco.
Pausing his diagnostics, he summoned a few vials forward. "This one will reduce pain, and this one should make you numb," he offered them. "There's some kind of hex added to this. It feels cutting and explosive," he tried to describe it. "I'd rather get some more potions and salves before I start this..."
Picking up the vials, she picked her head up from the bed, pulling one arm under her to rest on as she took the potion to reduce pain, knowing that it would likely erase the pain she was already feeling and hopefully make when he started cutting less painful. She kept the other vial close at hand. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll wait to take this one till you're ready to begin.'
Draco went straight to his quarters, where he kept most of his personally brewed stash. Once he’d begun feeling better, he’d gotten a few small batches done. Some Hermione had done. He didn’t discriminate in his selection. Truth was, as knowledgeable in the Dark Arts as he was, this felt like a trap.
Taking in a deep breath as he left the room, she mentally prepared herself for what would happen. The curse would be deactivated, the mark would be cut off of her body, and she would have something to help grow the skin back smooth so nothing scarred. A Malfoy crest tramp stamp was not something she wanted to carry around for the rest of her days.
Once he came back, she let out a slow breath as she uncapped the vial and downed it. Folding her arms, she rested her head down on them and closed her eyes, trying to will herself to relax.
When he returned to her side, he summoned her nightstand and enlarged it to accommodate his arsenal.
“Tell me, are you the countdown or the just get it over with type?” He asked, rolling up his sleeves, encasing them in a layer of spells, tugging at the wards of his ancestral home, and expanding them to focus around them. Whatever happened, it would be contained.
"Countdown allows far too much opportunity for me to tense up...Just get it over with." Tensing up could make it worse. She had wanted countdowns in the early days of the war. She learned better.
Either way, he wouldn’t have honored a countdown. She was right. It would only make it worse. And though he didn’t care about others, she was his betrothed. Rules didn’t apply the same way.
With a flick of his wand, his probe to the network that wove the curse sizzled and sliced back, fighting him as he dug out its weaknesses and found the source. It wasn’t a sigil he knew. Curly and pointy. When he finally untangled it, it blew back on him, and though he was quick to contain it, it wasn’t without some cuts to his forearm.
The probing at the curse had her tense. The numbness had helped at least numb the surface of the skin, but the sparks of magic seemed to burn deeper than that. Letting out a slow breath, she forced herself to relax, tightening her hands against the bedding as she took in a slow breath, held for three seconds, and then exhaled for three seconds.
A flash of burning pain felt almost as if the mark was sizzling again as he untangled the sigil. She gripped at the bedding in a white knuckle grip before it was untangled, her grip loosening just a little.
A quick flick of his wand and a muttered spell had bandages wrapped over his arm. If he were to carve her flesh, he wouldn’t risk adding other issues. Gods knew what would happen if he tangled his own blood into the curse. He’d deal with the aftermath later. Pulling a numbing salve, he paused shy of her mark.
“I’m going to apply something to help numb locally.” Whether he was talking himself through it or her, he wasn’t sure.
She nodded her head at his explanation, letting him put that salve over and around the mark to carefully help her deal with this. She had no clue how deeply the salve was going to help, but it distantly made her wish that she had gotten something like that for him.
Settling his wand down, he lifted a sanitized knife. “Can you feel this?” He let the sharp point poke an area near the offending crest. And then again, on the crest itself, drops of blood remaining as bubbles on both spots he had pricked.
Staying as relaxed as she could, her brow furrowed a little, and she shook her head. "No...I'd say it's pretty numb," she offered, not sure just how bad this would hurt during or after. At least the start didn't hurt.
“Okay,” he sounded, getting a firm hold on the hilt of his blade to start cutting around as closely to the marks as possible. It wasn’t his first time doing something like this, but usually, the point was to hurt the person. Violence was something he knew intimately, unlike this. Mercy wasn't in his nature. Instead, he felt a distant prickle on the small of his back. Like a scratch, Crookshanks might have managed if it were dull. Once he’d gone all around, he held a breath. This was where it could get ugly.
Wedging the edge of his knife at the freshly cut seam, he pressed a hand to the flesh as he pared it like one might a fresh fish for its filet. He kept steady, steeling himself as he tried to keep the flesh as thin as possible.
The cuts around the edge just prickled. Nothing sharp or sudden despite the blood that slowly escaped onto parts of her flesh that hadn't been numbed. Crookshanks watched them both from the closet, puffing up a little bit when Hermione gave a sharp inhale as the knife was pressed under the skin to start slicing the whole mark off of her.
It was deeper than a mere surface-level brand as if an actual hot iron had been placed on her skin. It didn't hurt as badly as it would have without the salve or the potions, but it still wasn't a pleasant feeling.
“Made any progress with your…” he needed her to keep him grounded. Needed something because the moment he started pulling flesh, his ring burned with a vengeance. As he filleted the small of her back, he might as well have been digging into his own flesh. It made keeping his arse down and still as he worked harder.
“Shit,” he cursed, grabbing at a towel to catch the pool of blood slipping, gleaning more of the curse below. He hadn’t gone deep enough.
As he started to pull, that hurt a bit more, and she winced slightly. Letting out another breath, she kept herself still rather than looking over her shoulder at him. "Dress? Yes. Astoria helped...as did Pansy...she would have had it much more scandalous than I would have liked..." she breathed, trying to make herself relax. The sting was getting a bit sharper.
The prick of the knife a bit deeper had her grip tighten further on the bedding. Staying still was important, or she'd make him dig into her skin even more. And here she thought she wouldn't get cut up in the Manor again.
He bit back the words more scandalous than a tramp stamp. The constant pain in his back as good as anything to prevent something so mean from escaping as they shared the pain. Rather than go back, he angled deeper, pulling more thickness from the rest. There was no point in prolonging things.
“Scandalous huh?” He teased. “Might have to get the other version made for a more private affair…”
It was easier to jest than focus on vanishing the chunk he’d chiseled and looking at the small pieces that remained. He beckoned those pieces with his wand, prying and vanishing, banishing them into the abyss. It was tedious. A constant removal of fresh blood, slowing it to ensure every last bit was gone.
It was beginning to throb and burn as he had to cut deeper. Her hands gripped the bedding more tightly. She snorted slightly at his words. "You would just love seeing me in a nearly see-through dress, wouldn't you?" She shot back, keeping herself incredibly still so that the knife wouldn't slip.
Her knuckles were white, and the urge to squirm remained. She'd managed through a cruciatus curse to stay still. She hadn't thrashed under Bellatrix, and it made it worse when the marks were carved into her forearm.
As everything was vanished and she felt the blood getting cleaned up again, she slowly started to relax under him as he started to mend. It was tender and though it didn't feel pleasant, it didn't hurt like it had earlier.
Then he began to mend. Using chanted spells to encourage the knitting back of her flesh. Soft whispers against her skin, willing it back to health. “It’s looking better,” he offered gently, a bit of sweat veiling over his skin, pearling on his forehead. Exchanging wand for salve, he slowly soothed the tender pink before him. Hopefully, in a few days, it would be fully healed.
"Well, that's a relief. Wouldn't want it to scar from the branding of the damn crest..." her voice was a little uneven, the only betrayal of the pain that had come through the potions she took and the salve he applied.
It was hard to tell what would come of it. For now, he had to trust his work. With another bit of wand work, he sealed the salve in place, allowing air but preventing unnecessary erosion.
“You said see-through?” The question had him slicking his bottom lip, his mind not quite having let go of that image. “Now I will definitely have that commissioned,” he teased as he quietly began to send things back and clear the mess he had made.
Slowly letting go of the blanket, she looked over her shoulder at him, still paler from the pain, but she rolled her eyes. "Mostly, I said. But I'm sure that would be something you'd have commissioned."
She was going to have to design other things since they were having an actual honeymoon, wasn't she? Focusing on that rather than the subtle throbbing in her lower back, she slowly closed her eyes on an exhale.
“Something that would suit you? Definitely,” he assured in a velvet undertone. She couldn’t say he had been distasteful in her wardrobe. If anything, it suited and highlighted while never demeaning or revealing. The laces and silks she wore beneath them, however, fit her tastes and sated his with a range left for discovery.
The way he looked at her, even after what he just had to do? It almost made her shiver. All of her clothes were tasteful, but everything underneath spoke to a more adventurous side that she'd only explored in books. Or with him, if she was honest. "I worry about what thoughts might be in that mind of yours now." And she was sure she'd find out eventually.
"Most are how I can literally call you a pain in the back now," he chuckled, slowly stepping away from her. His other ideas were just a distraction. And with their healing, it was likely just a way to keep warm at night in a haze of dreams.
A sigh left her lips at that, and she shook her head. "One of us was bound to say it eventually and mean it literally," she muttered, wishing she could sit up a bit more. But he also didn't want anything to touch her back while they let it heal.
“Rest, I’ll reapply in a few hours, see how it’s healing,” he added. "Once I’m sure it’s mending properly, you can shower or bathe; the charms I put in place should keep it dry."
There was a vulnerable part of her that wanted him to stay. If someone had gotten into his study to curse her, someone could get into her rooms. "Sooner rather than later?" She couldn't ask. Even after helping him, she couldn't ask him to stay. Not in so many words. Hopefully, he just read between the lines.
A few more spells and her night table was back in place and to its normal size, a few salves and potions left behind for her. "Do you need anything?" he asked, not wanting to just leave her there if she planned to stay there.
"Water...someone to send lunch later...and a book or two from my bag in the closet?" There were only a few things she didn't want him to touch of hers, and those items were nothing close to books.
That he could do. Walking to the closet towards the bags she had brought. He hadn't gone through them, but now, with permission, he couldn't prevent himself from a look. He knew his elf had vanished the tattered clothes. Beyond that, he hadn't allowed any other interference.
He sifted through, focusing on books. Noting an old copy of Hogwarts: a History, he grabbed it. How often had he seen her read it in school while pretending not to care? A few covers with racy titles had him perk a brow. Probably not the best idea, given she was recovering. Instead, he settled on some theoretical tome and brought the box for a daydream. At least she'd be still for half an hour.
When he returned, he set all three within reach and summoned an elf to set a tray with finger foods and fresh water. Within a few moments, a plate of small sandwiches and some of the canapes they'd been preparing for a menu tasting appeared alongside a tall glass of water.
"I'm sure you can summon a different title if those won't do. Titles like Bound by Temptation seem very foreboding..." he gave her a wink and slicked his lips.
Hermione moved, grabbing a few of the pillows to carefully position herself, making sure nothing touched the tender flesh of her back. She didn't think he'd go digging through her things, but there weren't many things in her bags she'd be embarrassed of. But as he returned with Hogwarts: A History and another theory tome, she started to smile just a little bit more, reaching for the book that had brought her such comfort when she was stumped or needed a break.
The finger foods smelled good and almost made her mouth water. Before she could say thank you, though, he gave that teasing comment, and she felt a little bit of color returning to her face. Pink, to be precise. "These will do fine. Are you going to tease me about any racy title that is in that bag?"
"Only the ones that seem to hint at our current predicament," he retorted mirthfully. Sometimes, fate had a twisted sense of humor. It was one thing to read about enemies to lovers or forced proposals and another to go through them. Where for some, it was merely a taboo and a fantasy, it was a reality he'd always braced himself for.
"Though, if you ever need to try something you've read," he added with a look over her, pausing as if considering a few ideas. "I'm sure I can help make that happen."
"If I had known I would end up in such a predicament, I'd have found other books to read," she drawled, blushing a bit brighter. Forced proximity romances had always been tropes she enjoyed. Enemies to lovers was a guilty pleasure. This was nothing like she would have expected. Him. All of this. The new kind of danger that she found herself in. "And give you even more of a thrill? You might have to wait awhile on that, Draco."
Letting him in on some of the romantic fantasies she read was not a good idea. He would have even more power over her than he did now. He was already temptation. Her body already responded way too well to him and what he could do.
A wicked smile spread on his lips, not quite exposing his teeth. "And here I was offering thrills for you," he answered, feigning offense at the implied accusation. They had years ahead, he hoped. Eventually, even they would likely fall into a routine, which he planned to delay as best he could.
"Suit yourself," he shrugged, settling his hands in his pockets and crossing that threshold.
Pausing a moment as she picked up Hogwarts a History, she glanced over at him and debated, just not saying anything else about letting him go without a smart remark or even an acknowledgment that she might enjoy any of that. Letting out a slow breath, she turned to the beginning pages. "...Maybe."
If she got bored or wanted to push things into more intense territory between the two of them. She wasn't sure if she'd want to. But she was certain if she did, he could likely help her forget that anything else existed. If only for a little while.