Chapter 7. Not my Grainger, not what are
you doing here? Draco groaned as he stepped into
his private study. Nice to see you too, old friend.
Theo was leaning on the desk, arms crossed and dressed quite
concernedly in a dinner jacket, the black polo neck underneath
framing his lightly stubble jawline.
He looked like a model. Out of which weekly centre
pages? Draco rolled his eyes.
Malfoy Manor is meant to be on lockdown, no Death Eaters
allowed. That includes you, doesn't it?
Your mother invited me. Theo slulked.
Said you could do with a friend. He traced an invisible tear with
his finger down his cheek. You mean you convinced her to
add you to the ward list under the guise of being there for me,
but really you were just trying to get into a widow's pants?
Ouch. Theo brought a hand to his chest
dramatically. I am mortally wounded.
You'd ever suggest such a thing of your sweet, innocent, devoted
friend, Theo? He said impishly, a roguish grin
plastered all over his face. Theo lay back on the chaise
lounge, kicking up his feet. You know, not even the house.
I was coming here without my supervision.
Draco prowled the room and sat at his desk.
You've got everyone handled that right, Malfoy?
Mm, hmm, Said Malfoy, rubbing his temples.
Even the golden girl. No one can know she's here yet.
Draco said sharply. Yes, yes, you quit safe with me,
hidden away in a tidy little box under 10 meters of cement and a
poncey Persian rug. And just like you taught me,
Theo, you're a shit Ochlemans and you know it.
I can barely spend a moment in your mind before I'm assaulted
with visions of my naked mother. Nah, I just bring those
fantasies to the FAW Prince. So you learn to practice your
nosy legitimate skills on someone else.
He said, tapping his own temple cleverly.
You've got to admit though, she looks banging.
Draco breathed a sigh of exhaustion.
Theo could be a wildfire, but he was glad his mother had had the
foresight to include him in the Manner's protections as a
schoolmate, not had always strayed away from contributing
to the pure blood rhetoric of the Slytherin common room.
And to Draco's knowledge, he'd never sympathised with the Dark
Lord's mission. Despite this, the two of them
had still received their marks on the same day their fathers
had each thrust out their son's arms for the Dark Lord before a
congregation of Death Eaters offering their heirs for the
slaughter. Draco's jaw went tight
momentarily at the memory. If Theo could indeed keep his
mind to himself, he would be a welcome brain.
Draco was going to need a sparring partner while he
figured out what to do about Grainger.
A question in his mind bubbled back to the surface.
How has your tinkering been coming along?
Any new advancements in the schematics ever since?
Not had heard of the fight in the Department of Mysteries.
He'd been obsessed with a personal project that Draco had
yet to pry out of him. Making some real headway.
Theo responded casually while he leafed through a book on astral
projection he'd randomly picked from Malfoy's bookcase.
Figured out the celestial part of the equation just last week.
Draco crept into Theo's mind before being assaulted by a
barrage of voluminous pale breasts and he cringe.
I can feel you, you know that Tickles.
Draco was making an internal note to add a hidden back door
to Theo's mental defences in one of their next Occlimancy lessons
when his friend piped up. Oh, Granger, you're a vision.
Hermione had followed the jovial back and forth from the
stairway, something about the playful jibes relaxing her tense
muscles. Peeking around the door, her
eyes locked on Draco as he rose from his chair and stood stiff
like an Italian bust, all hard lines and searing gaze.
He looked at her as though he were Galileo, philosophizing and
solving the mysteries of the universe.
His sutorial choices were as striking and impeccable as ever.
Black on black on even darker black.
Crisp, clean cutting. Her eyes travelled the length of
him, halting shortly at the bulge pressing hard against the
fabric at the apex of his thighs.
Heat travelled down from her chest, past her navel, and
pulled in a place it had no right to pull.
She blinked away rapidly, choking slightly on a lump in
her throat, before turning to Theodore Knott, who lay lazily
across Malfoy's furniture. Hermione had always thought he
resembled a Cocker spaniel, a loose mop of chestnut curls that
bounced as he spoke with a wide, charming grin.
She hadn't noticed him much at school.
Her eyes had always tracked to the platinum hair and the
striking cheekbones of the boy by his side, but if she could
have picked a favorite Slytherin, it would have been
him. He never once called her
mudblood nor joined in with the tricks his fellow Slytherins
would play on her, but the bar was pretty low.
Thank you Theo. Said Hermione patting down the
skirt of her dress. I hope it will do.
How are you? Oh smashing deathy to by knight,
clandestine operator by day. Nice to see you alive and
kicking. The last time I saw you I was
staring at your Pretty Little behind as we smuggled you
through the portrait of the one eyed witch towards Honeydukes.
Goddrick. Bless Theo, he'd given her all
the information she needed for a firm social footing.
She felt herself ease into the scene.
Clandestine Operator Draker came to stand by her, glowering at
Theo. Theo, you're not telling me that
in the midst of the fall of Hogwarts, you had time to take
in Granger's backside? He hoofed a laugh as he brought
himself to his feet. And you're telling me you
didn't? Shortly after, the three of them
found themselves seated among a banqueted black glass table, its
surface laden with expensive tableware of silver and green
and lit black tapered candles. Draco held out a chair on one
end of the table for her like she was some treasured guest and
all she could do was scowl a thank you, shaking her head with
a tut. I can't work.
Any of this out? Draco the perfect host.
Drako the murderer. It infuriated her intensely.
Nasisa joined them, along with the house self that had greeted
Hermione nervously that morning and took the other head of the
table. Bobby, please go ahead.
Nasisa permitted the elf, who beamed back at her mistress
proudly. Poppy is serving a foie gras
torchen for appetizer on a bed of microgreens drizzled with
black truffle honey and a sprinkle of mould and sea salt.
Began the elf, while Kip, whom Hermione had deduced was Poppy's
daughter, served the first dish to each of their plates.
Hermione cringed, but Narcissa only continued to smile proudly
at Poppy. She felt Malfoy smirk from where
he sat midway down the table. Next, Poppy will provide a trio
of oysters, each with its own unique preparation.
Poppy. Trilled on, describing in vivid
detail course upon course of rich, elegant dishes along with
the wines they paired with. Something quivered in her
stomach, the excitement of the day boiling over into full
blown. Nausea.
Finally, to end our meal, Poppy offers a selection of petty fall
delicate macron chocolate truffles, a miniature fruit
tarts accompanied by age cognac port and an array of herbal
liqueurs selected by Poppy's companion.
Gregor Poppy gestured to the edge of the room, where a male
elf rocked contentedly on his feet by a tall beverage cabinet.
Poppy. Hopes all enjoy this feast as
much as Poppy enjoyed preparing it for you.
Bon appetit. She said with a bow and scuttled
off to stand by her partner. Narcissa pulled from her
reverie, looked across the table to Hermione and with a small
nod, lifted her cutlery to begin.
Is this how they were expected to eat every night?
It was only a Tuesday. Narcissa, thank you for inviting
me to dinner and Poppy seems to have outdone herself this time.
Theo purred, to which Narcissa rolled her eyes, trying to hide
A signature Malfoy smirk behind her fork of foie gras.
Any friend of Draco's is a friend of ours.
Is that so? He said conspiratorially.
Theo. Draco warned darkly.
What? Theo raised a fork instantly
with a shrug of his shoulders. A playful glint danced in his
dark eyes. Hermione got the impression
they'd played this game before. And what about more than
friends? He continued with a waggle of
his thick eyebrows. A blush on Missus Malfoy's high
cheekbones betrayed her stern expression.
Theo, eat your dinner or play elsewhere, I'd rather play with
you. He teased and Hermione looked to
Malfoy who was trying to act so controlled despite the fact that
she could see his knee shaking through the glass table.
Theodore. Not if you cannot behave
yourself. I will have to show you how.
Oh God's, please. He almost moaned and Hermione
snorted so loudly the whole table stopped to stare at her.
Sorry. Hermione squeaked with her head
down. No, dear, I must apologise.
I had thought only gentlemen had been invited to dinner to night.
Narcissa admonished, but when Hermione looked up, she saw her
host's face alive with a peachy glowing complexion.
It struck Hermione that perhaps Narcissa wasn't used to the
adoration and attention of other men while Lucius Malthoy had
been alive. She was not sure anyone would
have dared. And hadn't they been together
since Hogwarts? She heard the echo of footsteps
and turned to try to find the source, but couldn't find the
origin. Instead, Kip popped up beside
her and plated second course. Trico's eyes bore into her.
Do I have something on my face? She asked, not entirely
sarcastically, pulling him out of whatever pervasive thought he
was having. What?
No, you're perfect. He shook his head quickly as
they're trying to shake away the errant words as they came
tumbling out of his mouth. Steady on Malfoy, gofored, Theo,
she's only been here a day. We know she's yours now and
everything, but you can't jump straight to you're perfect.
You've got to warm them up with stern glares and condescending
quips first. And who did you learn such
scintillating advice from? Mr. Knott?
Inquired Narcissa playfully, pulling their attention away
from her blanching son. I have a great teacher.
He smiled a wide grin at Narcissa and winked at her as he
slurped down an oyster. The sound was wholly intended to
be erotic, and Hermione knew it. She'd been staring at Malfoy,
watching his jaw tense, wondering what his mouth would
sound like against her. OK, stop.
She could feel herself succumbing to the arousal that
had pooled earlier in Draco's study, her clit wet, sliding
against her underwear. This won't do, she thought,
closing her eyes for a moment. She made a snapshot of Miss
Memory, her heated sex sitting by the table with Malfoy, him
looking unbelievably fuckable. She took to the memory under the
mattress in her mind, right next to the old broken time Turner.
She felt movement in her mind, space.
Shooting a look around, she cut the flicker of a shadow quickly
rushing away out of the corner of our eye.
She returned to the moment and immediately glowered at Malfoy.
He had his head face to his mother, but she was sure she had
felt his presence in her inner space.
Was he a legiliments who adored him?
Snape? She knew that he was trying to
get into her mind. It wouldn't have been anyone
else, certainly not at this table.
She looked to Theo who was giving take me to bed eyes to
Malfoy's mother. Hermione wrung her napkin
tightly on her lap. She'd had enough of games.
I need to know what you intend to do with me here.
She declared, cold and firm to Draco, constructing a glacier
around herself in her mind, protecting her.
What I intend. He looked at her bewildered, his
gravelly voice ricocheting off the glass topped table.
Yes, what you intend? Hermione's voice began to rise
and Narcissa placed her cutlery down with a sigh.
Theo shifted in a seat to face the head to head instead of
towards Missus Malfoy. His interest piqued, Hermione
stared icy daggers at Draco. I'm here in your home, aren't I?
Eating your food, wearing your mother's clothes, sleeping in
your guest room. Yet you seem to also think you
have free reign to root around. In my mind, that is private.
I'll have you know. The look in Draco's silver eyes
was Dante's Inferno. White hot, it blazed like hell,
melting her cold facade. It terrified her just as much as
it fired her up. The glacial walls around her
were puddles of water, fizzling in the heat.
As Lord of this manner, I'll take it upon myself to scour the
mind of whoever shows up within its walls, especially those who
come from the enemy. She was a witch on the stake,
all eyes on her, burning at one with the flames.
If you don't trust me, then why treat me like a guest?
Why not just lock me up with a dungeons?
You've done it before. Draco rose and stormed towards
her, manly hands on the table edge.
Veins lifted, she could almost see them pulse.
He leaned over her, looming, leering, livid.
Is this what you want? He lowered his mouth close to
her ear. For me to lock you up, tie you
down, make you mine? His voice, almost at a whisper,
was delicious. Danger, deception.
Or perhaps you'd rather not be around me at all, considering I
killed your boyfriend. Hermione felt him steal the soul
right out of her body. A dementor's kiss.
She pulled away, disgusted. The blow of his words was a
stunning spell to the chest. It sucked any rising rebuttal
away. All she managed was a lost,
broken squeak. Her hand went to her mouth.
The nausea frothed up Hermione's throat.
She was going to be sick, to be honest.
His voice went even colder. I'm more surprised you even
showed up for dinner. What does that say about you,
Grainger? Eager to be a Death Eater's
whore? Do you really give in that
easily? I was hoping to play with my
meal a little before devouring it, Draco.
Narcissa cried out, looking mortified.
Hermione's cheeks burned red. Narcissa, I beg to be excused.
Hermione stood up from the table, slamming her rung napkin
down with much more vigor than intended.
The glassware chimed a frenetic note along with her fury ringing
out around the room. If you wouldn't mind, I'll take
the rest in my chambers. I'd hate for Poppy's hard earned
efforts to go to waste. Her voice trembled with a fiery
rage that fizzled, the tears daring to well, he'd set her
ablaze. Hermione was already halfway out
of the room when she heard nurses's cracked response.
Of course, dear fucking hell. Dinner and a show, Master, Sir,
you should sell tickets. Theo's laugh echoed off the
marble, and Hermione stomped away.
Draco. Lucius Malfoy, Draco's mother,
rounded on him once Hermione was sufficiently far enough away and
the chimes of the glassware had settled.
What demon possessed you to act in such a manner at my table?
His head hung low, staring through the table to his leather
shoes. He ran a hand through his hair.
Granger didn't even know why she was here.
Has the Order done this? Erased her memories.
Her mind was organized, too organized, and there was so much
missing. Nothing of why she was here,
what they had been working on. Not an inkling of Avada Bombada.
He was used to the organised chaos of her mind, everything
looking like it had been haphazardly placed but had a
hidden order that wasn't too difficult to decipher.
Yes, the communication lines had been closed, but he needed to
get a message to Red or Mcgonigal.
If she continued to look at him like he was nothing more than
the Death Eater that murdered her boyfriend, then she wasn't
his Granger. He knew she'd never actually
been his. It had been silly to even think
that was a possibility. But the last time he saw her,
when she smiled at him sadly, resigned in the library, both
knowing what they needed to do, he'd felt a small glimmer of
hope. Hope for a better future.
One where they could right all the terrible wrongs.
One where she was by his side. But seeing the way she looked at
him at dinner, that future was truly dead.