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Standing proudly behind wrought-iron grates under a slate-grey sky, his ancestral home beckoned to him. Had it always been so… imposing ?
Christmas at Malfoy Manor. Oh, joy.
It’s just one night, a night he would have happily declined if not for the insistence of his father that he had ‘big news, that Draco simply couldn’t miss.’ It’d been five years since the end of the war, nearly five since his mother up and left and took up residence at Black Manor and promptly divorced his father. Good on her, really.
Five years that had changed everything. For starters, he was happy, against all odds; he had completed his potions mastery and started an upscale apothecary that he ran with Theo. That meant that he could hide away over his cauldron, blissfully unaware of the world that still hated him.
Not everything was right; he still missed her , still felt desperate to be near her. Her wild curls would bob past the shop window on her way to work and his heart would ache for her. But he’d mucked up his chance in the spring of sixth year. Fucking Dumbledore — actually, fucking Voldemort.
A drizzle began to fall from the thick, overcast sky, and Draco sighed loudly, pushing the grate open. Having stared for the better part of five minutes at his childhood home, he supposed it was time to just bloody do it.
He didn’t ring, instead heaving the grand doors open. Upon crossing the threshold, Draco paused, checking over his shoulder to make sure he’d walked into the right English Manor.
The foyer was done up in a way that he’d never seen in his life, not even when his mother had been in charge of such trivial things as Christmas. A dozen evergreen trees lined the walls, each lit brightly and boasting thick strands of garland and a unique star sitting proudly on the top. Across the banisters were coils of twinkling fairy lights, elaborate wreaths hanging on the walls.
“Father? Poppy?” In a nearly silent pop of magic, their head house elf arrived, staring up at him with big, baleful eyes and pink cheeks.
“Master is home! We missed you!”
“What’s going on here, Poppy? I knew Father’s mental health has been declining, but since when does he do shite like this?” Gesturing to the insane display of Christmas cheer, Malfoy couldn’t help but balk.
“Well, it wasn’t so much Master Lucius as it was—”
“Poppy!” Lucius’ cold drawl slithered through the foyer, and the house-elf went mute, ears tucking in. “Prepare tea for Draco and I, will you? In my study.”
“Yes, sir,” she said brightly, not a hint of a tremble to her voice, and for the first time, Draco noticed that the little thing was in clothing. Lucius Malfoy wasn’t capable of freeing an elf, and his hackles rose as he stared back at his father.
The last he’d seen him had been several months back now. Hell, had it been Draco’s birthday? Then, he’d been gaunt, nearly gray, hair brittle and dirty. But now, he’d returned to his aristocratic stature, platinum white hair long and silky, tied back neatly with a small black ribbon. His robes were immaculate as well, black velvet lining his jacket and waistcoats. The walking stick he depended on was new, thick ebony wood, adorned by a snake with ruby eyes staring back at Draco.
“Father? Didn’t realize how much you loved Christmas… certainly didn’t when I was a kid.” His voice was nearly a grumble, but, as always, Lucius was unaffected by his son’s mood, laughing brightly and clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“This year we have something to celebrate, my dear boy.”
A wrinkle formed on Draco’s brow, and tension rippled over his shoulders where his father’s firm grip still rested. “ Celebrate ?”
“ Yes, celebrate indeed.” They worked their way towards Lucius’ study off the main room and with a giant grin—that was so outrageous and out of character that Draco actually laughed—he pushed the door open.
Everything was as he remembered, rich furnishing in deep emerald and charcoal, a wide desk the shade of onyx neatly organized with a thick eagle feather quill in a holder. Certainly nothing to be so horrendously giddy about.
Turning towards the seating area with a skeptical brow, Draco froze mid-step. There, outlined by a brilliant fire in the grand fireplace was his witch—or well, his used-to-be witch. Her curls were wild, cascading over her shoulders and down her back, and a soft smile pulled at her lips as her gaze rested on them.
“There you are,” she crooned, reaching her palm out towards them. Panic and disbelief coursed through his veins, mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety. Not only was she here, but his father knew she was here. Had he— had he talked to her on his behalf? Figured out a way to mend the irreparable damage he’d caused all those years ago?
But then, in an even wilder turn of events, Lucius stepped away, his hand curling around hers, bringing her knuckles to his lips. Ice thrummed over Draco’s skin, bile rising up his throat as slow, painful disbelief melted over him.
“The fuck is going on here?” Draco spat, lip curling as his gaze snapped between their faces, now hovering a breath away from each other. Granger had neatly tucked herself into his father’s side, fingers splayed over his cravat, and when he noticed his father’s hand curled around her bony hip, he nearly lost his fucking lunch.
“I’d introduce you, but from what Hermione tells me, you two are already quite familiar.” Something dark and dangerous flashed behind his father’s grey eyes, and Draco’s hand tightened into a fist.
Draco took a few impassioned steps forward. “Yeah, obviously I don’t need a fucking introduction! What the hell is she doing here—on Christmas of all bleeding days—and why are you touching her?”
“Draco, your father and I—well, you see…”
“We’re courting,” Lucius purred, his lips pursed in a Cheshire grin. “I didn’t know how you’d take it, so I thought it best to tell you in person.”
The air around Draco stilled, his gaze flickering back and forth between the two of them, waiting. Surely one of them would crack, would cave and begin laughing and explain that really she was here for him, to forgive him and make things right.
But nothing fucking happened.
Groaning loudly, Draco buried his face in his hands, finally peering through his fingers at them and watching as discussed him in hushed tones, Granger with a worried brow. “Please tell me this is some kind of fucking prank. In what world —” Words failed him. “ How in the fuck —”
“Watch your tongue in front of a lady!” his father hissed, glowering at his son as he pulled his witch tighter
“ Lady?!” Draco shrieked, pulling at this normally perfectly styled hair. “Granger, do you have any idea what he’s called you while standing in this very room? What in the actual fuck is happening!” If he wasn’t quite certain Hermione Granger was in grave danger, he would have already stormed from this house for the last damn time in his life.
With a pitying sort of smile, Granger left his father’s side, fingers trailing away from his chest as she tilted her head sadly in Draco’s direction. “I know your father’s not perfect, but he’s changed Draco.” Her eyes were round and full of that warmth and forgiveness she used to reserve for him in the quiet corners of the Room of Requirement.
Over her shoulder, Lucius’ eyes narrowed, his lips tight and pulling to one side. Draco had no idea what the fuck the old codger was thinking—he’d lost his mind years ago— clearly , but Draco had to get Hermione Granger out of this house.
xXx
Despite the opulent, festive decorations around the main hall, dinner was a fraught affair, mostly silent and teeming with rolling animosity, and of course a delicious four-course meal. Hermione stared doe-eyed at the senior Malfoy, cradling her chin in her palm as she fussed over his day and the things he’d done to keep himself occupied… while on house arrest… for the past five years.
When she leaned over, lifting her crimson napkin from her lap and dabbed it at the corner of Lucius’ lips, Draco accidentally exploded a vase at the far end of a table, shards of glass bouncing from the wall and across his great-great-grandfather’s portrait.
Draco sliced into his roast, his cutlery grating against his ancestral china as he grumbled and growled. “So, tell me how you two got together? I find it quite odd, as you can imagine since my father is barred from leaving the property.” The words left his mouth through gritted teeth.
“Well, we—” Granger stated, leaning excitedly across her plate when suddenly a dark cloud of confusion settled over her, twisting her features as she sat back in her chair with a huff. “Darling, would you tell him? I can’t rem—”
“Of course, pet.” Lucius’ eyes brightened, and he turned to his son with a wicked smirk. “She came by at my request. You see, I desperately wanted to make amends for my actions during the war, and she was gentle enough to forgive me of my sins.”
Draco’s gaze narrowed, and his lip twitched.
“Seeing that I was in such poor health—and abandoned by my family—” He spit the words into the air. “—she nursed me back to health, and the rest, as they say, is history. Isn’t that right, dear?”
A wrinkle formed between Granger’s brow, and she quickly averted her hazy stare back to the wizard holding her fingers in his palm. “Right—yes, of course.”
“So, Granger, you’re telling me that even though you and I were intimately together for the better part of a year, and I fell on my knees apologizing for my actions no less than—oh, I don’t know—half a dozen times, you’ve decided that he—” Draco paused to point a weighted finger at the head of the table. “—deserves your forgiveness? He murdered people you know—kids.”
Bristling, Granger lifted her chin in that hoighty fucking way that set his teeth on edge. “Well, he never lied to me about it. And no need for the melodrama, Malfoy ; I told him all about our relationship.”
With an audible exhale, Draco’s jaw fell open as he stared back at her. Clearly, she was under an Imperious or some other equally horrible curse. And when his father had the audacity to mutter something along the lines of told you he wouldn’t take it well, Draco snapped.
Lifting his wand from its holster, he pointed it directly at his father’s face, the tip crackling with magic. “End the spell, now.”
“ Draco! ” Hermione gasped, splaying her fingers over her chest in horror.
“End it, now. I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing, but cast the Finite before I kill you on the fucking spot.”
“I’m not under Imperious ! Draco Malfoy, lower your wand!”
“Yeah? Prove it. Cast. The. Spell.” His wand sizzled, magic begging to be used and unleashed on this monster. Lucius merely shrugged and abided, flourishing his wand through the air and casting effortlessly. Incredulity painted over Draco’s features as their dinner companion narrowed her glare and chastised him.
“Honestly, Draco…”
His hand fell uselessly to his side, thudding against his chair as he stared at them in complete astonishment. There was no Unforgivable at play here. Was Hermione Granger really in love with his father?
“Well, in the spirit of honesty, telling you about myself and Miss Granger is not the only reason I’ve invited you here this evening, my boy.” Rising on shaking legs, his palm gripping hard into his walking stick, Lucius came to stand by his witch.
A violent tremor worked its way up Draco’s spine, and he shook his head back and forth, again and again and again.
“My darling, I have come to love you as I love no one else, and it would give me the greatest honour if you, Hermione Granger, would become Lady Malfoy. Will you marry me?”
A high-pitched and completely out of character squeal rang through the room, and Granger was out of her chair, crushing her body into his father’s weak frame and shouting her agreement. The warmth drained from Draco’s face, his hands trembling at his sides as he watched the girl he’d pined for all these years agree to marry his father.
From deep within his robes, Lucius procured a massive diamond ring, at which Hermione jumped up and down and kissed him squarely on the mouth. Bile tickled the back of Draco’s throat, but he swallowed it back down.
“Oh! This is the most wonderful news, Lucius! I can’t believe this! When should we have the ceremony?”
Lucius’ eyes danced, his grin widening until it nearly split his face. “The sooner the better, love. By the new moon, I should think?”
“Oh! That’s just a few weeks away! Oh, I’ll have so much to do!”
Draco watched in horror as Hermione Granger began prattling off wedding plans and staring at the glittering diamond on her third finger, his grandmother’s ring, the one he would have given her had anything in his godforsaken life ever gone right.
Hermione fluttered from the room, saying something about needing fresh air; Draco couldn’t hear, couldn’t fathom anything past the blood rushing in his ears.
So slowly it must have been intentional, Lucius took his seat, folding his long fingers over his chest as he stared gleefully at his one and only son.
“I hope you will understand; I do this for your benefit.”
The sound of his fork crashing into antique china echoed from the room, and every muscle in Draco’s body ceased to work, freezing just as they were.
“You almost ruined your life over the dumb bint years ago, and if you think I’ll have you doing it again now that you’ve actually accomplished something worthwhile—” He paused, huffing out a condescending breath. “You’re mistaken, my boy.”
Snapping his gaze to his father’s, his lids narrowed into slits as he stared at the man he once deemed a hero. “ Excuse me?”
“ She’s mine. I won. You may leave.”
Draco didn’t need to hear another fucking word; he was shoving away from the table with too much force and was nearly across the room in a few short strides.
“Oh, and Draco?” For some reason, he paused, snarling over his shoulder at his father. “This is what you get for abandoning family. Witches come and go, but blood is meant to be forever. She’ll be pregnant within the year,” he said offhandedly, “and I will write you from our family’s histories. The Malfoy line is, and always will be, what I say it is.”
The rage that bubbled over and threatened to push through his wand was too great, his vision darkening and twinging crimson around the edges. Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck everything.
xXx
A few weeks later, after the nuptials had been finalized in a private ceremony on the Malfoy grounds (which Draco did not attend, instead lighting his invitation and the entire rubbish bin in flames) his father was once again a married man.
Apart from his trust at Gringotts and his mother’s alimony, if something were ever to befall dear old Lucius Malfoy, the estate, Manor and all the many galleons stowed away would fall to the new Mrs. Hermione Malfoy. His stomach roiled.
His London flat was too quiet. The wide wall of windows staring out at the glittering city made his loneliness louder, screaming at him until he needed to drown it with whisky. Running his fingertip across the lip of the crystal tumbler in his hand, he rested one palm against the window.
A hard, almost panicked knock rapped against his door, and he reeled, brow wrinkling as he stared at the entry. No one arrived by the bloody door . Blaise and Theo by Floo, his Mother by Apparition, passing witches to keep his bed warm on his arm—no one by door.
Draining his whisky he set it down too hard on the drink cart and stormed across his vast flat, a heavy, drunken weight pulling hard on his steps. In the centre of the door was a small hole filled with a concave glass; Draco had never used it before. Peering into it, he startled to see a small frame hidden by a thick black cloak, hood drawn. From its confines, thick chestnut curls spilled out, and in a frenzy, Draco ripped open the door.
“Granger, is that—”
“I need to come in.” Her voice was shaky, chin still tucked so he couldn’t see her face. Without awaiting a proper invitation, she shoved past him.
Having her here felt decidedly off. The pressure in the air sank in around him, and his whisky-addled mind couldn’t make sense of it. She didn’t turn. Didn’t move.
“Your father was dosing me with a love potion. Did you know that?” Her voice rang out, nearly clear as a bell with just a hint of a tremble at the end.
“ He what? No, of course I didn’t know! I would have had him fucking arrested, Granger. How did you—”
Snapping her head over her shoulder, he could just make out the outline of her lips hidden in the shadows of her hood. “You want to make amends with me? Want to make things right after what happened between us?”
His shoulders sagged, and a desperate huff escaped him. There had been nothing he’d wanted more, just a chance, a chance to make things right. “You know I do. Anything you need, Granger—hell, anything you want. If I can give it to you, it’s yours.”
A sharp inhale dragged through her mouth, her chest filling with a long breath as shaking hands found the edge of the fabric. “Good, I need your help.”
“Anything.” He took an impassioned step forward, hands balling into fists. But when the hood fell loose around her shoulders, he staggered back, his hand flying up to cover his unhinged jaw. “Granger… “ His breath hitched, sticking painfully in his throat as he gaped at her. “What the fuck happened?”
She was still there, chestnut curls and toffee-coloured eyes, a fire burning in her gaze that had been missing over Christmas roast. That wasn’t what struck him though; it was the purple bruise blossomed over her left cheek and its twin on her right eye. More so, it was the blood splattered over her face and staining her tiny hands.
“You said you wanted to make it right?” Slipping the knot of her cloak free, the heavy fabric pooled at her feet exposing her dress, soaked with giant splotches of wet blood. “Okay.”
“Wh-whose blood is that?” The warmth slowly drained from his cheeks as he collided with the wall behind him, chest heaving.
She snorted, in that way that only Hermione Granger could, a practiced noise that could take a man from proud to simpering in a single breath. “Whose do you think?” Her brow inched towards her hairline, chin tilting. “My dear late husband, Lucius Malfoy.”