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Though Draco had apologized profusely, it didn’t help settle Hermione’s nerves.

An entire 36 hours had passed from the time Draco first mentioned her meeting his mother to now. Hermione looked through the iron gates of Malfoy Manor. A chill went down her spine as she stared at the 8-story mansion.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

“It’s just my mother,” Draco said lightly.

She shot him a frosty glare.
“I don’t even know which part of that sentence to be irritated at first.” Hermione said.

“What do you mean?”

“This is a delicate situation anyway, because our relationship is a farce. I don’t want to mess it up or hurt your mom because of it. And besides that, it’s not just your mother, because your mother is not just anyone. She’s important to you. She’s important in general. She is also likely to highly disapprove of you dating me. I could go on.”

Draco was quiet for a moment.
“I don’t believe she would disapprove as much as you might think.”

Hermione’s eyes squinted at his response earning her a dramatic sigh from Draco.

“Just trust me.”

He began walking down the lane to the front door of the house. Hermione jogged carefully in her little black dress to catch up with his long strides.

“I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for this. I’m n-“

Draco stopped and turned to her. “Hermione.”

He caught her attention at the use of her first name.

“You have a wealth of knowledge on pretty much any subject known to the wizarding world, or mankind for that matter. You excel at Transfiguration and Charms and bossing people around. You literally destroyed a horcrux, bringing down one of the darkest wizards of all time. I think you can handle a visit with my mother.”

Hermione blinked.
“Well when you put it like that…”

Draco let out a breathy laugh. “Shall we, then?”

In no time, he was opening the front door of his mansion for her.

“Thank you,” she said.

He had opened her door numerous times, but something about the door to his home struck a chord with her. But she had no time to examine the thought, because Narcissa Malfoy was standing in front of her.

“Hello, Mother,” Draco smiled. “This is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy.”

Hermione dipped her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well, Hermione. Please, call me Narcissa.”

Hermione offered a polite smile in return.

“Draco dear, check on the dining room. I’d like to show Hermione around the ground floor.”

Hermione gulped. She didn’t like the idea of being away from him right now. Their eyes met. Draco hesitated, but obeyed his mother’s request.

One he’d gone, Narcissa turned to Hermione and gestured they walk together.

“I know your last visit here was, well, hardly a visit at all. But I wanted to personally show you the renovations we’ve made since the war.”

This snagged Hermione’s interest. Much of her underlying apprehension had to do with the reasons for her last “visit” to the Manor.

They started with the drawing room.

Narcissa wastes no time in getting to the heart of things. Hermione thought to herself.

She noticed Narcissa’s expression shift ever so slightly and briefly wondered if she could read minds.

“Here we are,” Narcissa said.

The space had been altered from a dark, ominous space to a cheerful cozy one. Natural light flooded in from the windows; the walls and ceilings were redone in a light grey. A pale blue area rug covered the expanse in front of the fireplace. Sofas and accent chairs, pillows and lanterns filled out the rest of the space. In fact, the entire room was staged with areas to sit and take tea or read. A soft throw blanket covered the arm of a wingback chair.

“It’s lovely,” Hermione breathed. “I wouldn’t have even known it was the same room.”

Narcissa smiled. “That’s what I was hoping for. Come, let’s move on to the music room.”

The music room was simple and elegant. A piano sat near the window inviting Hermione towards it.

“May I?” she asked.

Narcissa’s head tilted, her expression unreadable. “Of course.”

Hermione began to play. The enchanting sound spilled from her fingertips like a light waterfall, her fingers dancing across the tips of the keys.

“Chopin?”

“Yes! Nocturne in C Sharp Minor…it may be a novice piece for some, but it’s one of my favorites.”

She played through the end of the section she was on, then sat back.

“Beautiful piano. I haven’t played in so long.”

Narcissa didn’t respond. Hermione was unsure if this was a good sign or not.

Next, she was shown the lounge, the billiards room, and the study. They were in the ballroom when Draco found them to tell them dinner was ready.

--------------------

The meal passed with little fanfare. They discussed Hermione’s work, her favorite books, and her success in school. Narcissa mostly asked non-intrusive questions, making Hermione feel more comfortable with each minute that passed. Until…

“Which reminds me, I’m sorry to hear about your cat, Hermione.”

At this, Draco’s head snapped up. His eyes sharpened at his mother. Narcissa shrank back just enough for Hermione to notice.

“Oh, um, thank you,” she said. “I’m just glad he’s not suffering anymore.” Hermione sipped from her glass.

“That’s very wise of you.”

“I’m not sure of that, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Really, please call me Narcissa.”

“Narcissa.”

Narcissa looked thoughtful and touched her napkin to the corner of her mouth. “I think it is wise. People do not often consider the anguish they put someone else through apart from what they feel themselves.”

Hermione did her best to navigate a worthy response to the ominous comment. “Er-yes. I would never have intentionally hurt him.”

It was quiet, as if Narcissa was waiting for her to keep going. Hermione glanced at Draco before continuing.

“Once I knew how serious the pain was, it was easier to do what was best for him. Even though it hurt me in the process.”

Narcissa gave her a knowing look.

Hermione panicked. Were they still talking about Crookshanks?  

She never get a chance to find out. Draco redirected the conversation, leaving Hermione to wonder at Narcissa’s words. Dinner wrapped up soon after, and Narcissa offered to give the rest of the ground floor tour to Hermione. She agreed and the pair left Draco once more.

They went to the sitting room, followed by the morning room, and the conservatory. Then, Narcissa led her outside to the rose gardens. The sun was drifting off to sleep, casting a soft glow on the flowers.

“I’ve enjoyed meeting you,” Narcissa said.

“Likewise.” Hermione hoped she sounded sincere. She truly had enjoyed the evening, certainly more than she had expected to.

Narcissa clasped her hands in front of her. “My son does not attach himself so easily to anyone. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Hermione met her eyes. “I have.”

Narcissa began to move along the pathway in the garden, leaving enough room for Hermione to walk beside her. She continued.

“His interest for you does not surprise me. From everything he has told me, and from what I have seen tonight, I’m only surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

The comment caught Hermione off guard. She fidgeted with the hem of her dress and forced her breaths to stay calm. Surely, Narcissa was misled by Draco’s acting. She must be seeing something that wasn’t there. Draco had no real interest in her. Did he?

“Do you doubt his affection?” Narcissa asked.

Hermione didn’t know how to answer that. Denying the doubt would lead Narcissa to further believe her and Draco were in a real relationship. And they weren’t. But confirming the doubt might leave room for error of being found out.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione answered honestly.

“I see.”

Hermione wished Narcissa would elaborate, but she didn’t.

Narcissa moved on to discuss the gardens: when they were built, the process of getting everything planted, and her favorite areas of the space. The sun was gone by the time she was finished.

Near the end of the walk, Narcissa said, “I don’t know if this will bring you any comfort, but I once heard it put: flowers show.”

Hermione let the words sink in. Flowers show.

“Flowers show,” she whispered, trying to pick up the end of whatever thread Narcissa had just laid before her. 

Back inside, they found Draco in the foyer. He was ascending the staircase that led to the first floor. Narcissa bid them goodnight, whispering something to Draco before she left for her bedroom. Once she had gone, Draco smirked at Hermione.

“I have something to show you.”

He led her to the far wing of the ground floor, near the study she had seen earlier.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

“So bossy.”

Draco chuckled.
“Your mockery is getting better.”

She let out a small gasp as he took her by the hand. Tingles raced up her arm.

They moved forward at a gradual pace, Draco stopping her once they reached a set of doors.

“Keep them closed,” he said as he pushed one door open and helped her inside.

He continued to lead her, his hand never leaving hers. When it did, it was sudden, and Hermione immediately missed the contact.

“Can I open them now?” she asked.

“Now.”

When Hermione opened her eyes, her jaw dropped. Usually someone opens his or her eyes to wake up from a dream, but Hermione had fallen into one.

It was a library.

An eight-story high library. Books upon books upon books looked back at her, as if in greeting. Hello, Hermione. We’re so glad you’re here to see us. There were rolling ladders, comfortable chairs, and elegantly carved shelves. She raced to the nearest one to feel the books beneath her fingers. Her hand was mid-air when she hesitated. She knew of dark magic books specially designed to shock or burn any muggleborn who touched them. She looked back to him in question.

Draco understood; his voice was firm. “No books here will harm you.”

She smiled, and felt of the covers of literature on the row in front of her. It was then that she noticed the musty scent in the room.

“How am I just now smelling the books?” She asked.

Draco smiled and lifted his wand in explanation.

“Ah. Smart.”

He shrugged, “I was second in our class after all.”

Hermione smiled. “So you’ve said.”

She continued exploring the ground floor of the library. She rushed from section to section, inspecting everything her eyes and fingers could reach. She, very carefully, flipped through a first edition tome from the 12^th century.

“So beautiful,” she murmured, her back to Draco.

“I agree,” he said.

But he was looking at her.