Back to Hogwarts

After Lucius left, Draco and Hermione spent their time before dinner... well, shagging. As they hurried over to the Slytherin table, they were clean but rumpled, pulling on the day's clothes after quick, cold showers. Luckily, the Great Hall was mostly empty by the time they got there; dinner was almost over and very few Slytherins remained to notice their very late arrival.

Only Blaise dared to snicker at them, especially as Hermione ravaged a turkey leg covered with gravy, followed by mashed potatoes, and some winter berries for dessert. She maintained her manners, glaring at Blaise even as her cheeks flamed.

Draco, sitting beside her, kept his left hand on her back. He was quite amused, and he liked that his friends felt comfortable with Hermione.

When they were finished, the three meandered to the common room, Draco standing between Blaise and Hermione, his fingertips knotted with hers. Draco and Blaise were talking about the Quidditch match the next day, weighing the odds and trying to lure Hermione into a row by picking on the Gryffindor team.

As they passed through the door, Hermione looked at Blaise and said, "Ron will guard the posts and Harry will catch the snitch, and we'll be up by two hundred when he does."

"That sounds like a bet, that does," Blaise tested as he imagined what he could bet the naive Gryffindor for.

Hermione smiled, turning her head toward Draco, who had slid his fingers down to her Imperviused hip marks. "I don't make bets with Slytherins."

"Besides, you'd lose, Zabini," Draco drawled as he led Hermione to a short sofa in a darker corner of the room.

Blaise feigned hurt, clutching his chest. Then he turned to sit across from Vince, who had set up a game of Wizard's Chess. All the furniture was low, modern looking, black leather couches and arm chairs. Hermione sighed.

Claiming the match against the winner, Draco pulled Hermione into the crook of his arm. Then he dropped his lips to her ear and whispered, "When Potter gets the snitch tomorrow, we can go up to the party."

Hermione smiled up at him before her brow furrowed. "You don't have to, I mean, I can just go up for a little while in the morning or something."

"We'll call it my apology for not suspecting my father would come at the first possible moment. I'm surprised he wasn't here before breakfast," Draco grumbled. His father held fast to traditions that should have stopped long ago. The more Draco had learned about them over the summer, the less he liked. He'd have to figure something out for the ritual, but he wasn't quite sure of anything yet.

"Why are some of the clusters in the corners of the room, and some in the centre?" Hermione whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Draco smiled. How had he ever thought her questions were annoying? "For the most part, we stick with our year, and only first, second, or third years sit in the centre of the room."

Hermione nodded. "When a class graduates, the new fourth years take their spots."

"Unless they are ousted. This is the best corner, we took it our fourth year from the fifth years."

Vince added quietly, "They've never gotten over it, three years later and all." He chuckled softly, as he put Blaise into checkmate.

Hermione watched the king beg for mercy from the newly placed rook and nodded.

Draco gave Hermione's hip a squeeze as he moved to sit in Blaise's vacated chair. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione frown, then stand. She climbed over the back of the chair, it being broad enough to perch on, especially with Draco at the front of the cushion, sorting out chess pieces.

Scanning the room, he saw more than a few sideways looks. They were under serious surveillance, most notably from Elsworth and her coven. She must be ready to have kittens by now, watching Hermione be so uncouth as to climb over the back of a chair. Draco turned and pulled Hermione into his lap, chuckling at her surprised 'oomph'. He began to play with her hair as it hung down from her pony tail.

"Merlin, get a room, you two," Vincent muttered as he planned his first move.

Draco gazed around the room for anyone who was still so foolish as to be watching them. After staring down a couple of seventh years and a fifth year, he focused on the game. He absently pointed the wand at the chair so that it grew wider, wide enough that he could sit with Hermione and not be distracted by having her in his lap.

"Draco, who's that?" Hermione whispered, trying not to draw too much attention to a chubby little girl sitting by herself.

"A runt."

"What do you mean 'a runt'."

"Someone of no importance whatsoever."

"But why is she all alone?"

Draco looked up at the girl as if seeing her for the first time. She was so plain, with a terrible haircut that looked like she'd seen more than one badly perform sheering charm. He knew all about the younger boys in his house, but nothing about the girls. That's what the older girls were for. He simply shrugged and turned back to his game.

Hermione stood up and went to their room. Draco was more than confused, feeling suddenly cold now that she wasn't near him. He couldn't believe that she was daft enough to walk through the common room without him near her, but it wouldn't do to chase after her at this point. She disappeared behind the door to the Head's suite and came back a moment later with a stack of messy notes in her hand.

Draco watched, his face calm, and even made his next move of the game. However, everyone turned to look when Hermione started talking.

"Oi! You there. You a second year?"

The little girl startled. The other girls in her year tittered maliciously. Hermione gave a long suffering sigh before looking at the other girls impatiently. They immediately clammed up, barely keeping the fear from their little faces. The girl squeaked and said, "N-no. I'm a third year."

Hermione's face softened, and she said, "I need someone to organise these notes; they got mixed up when the elves moved my things into the Head's suite. Bring your things over to our corner and do this, and you can study there too."

Hermione walked behind the young girl back to the cluster where Draco and Blaise were playing chess. Hissing whispers began to flicker as students watched the proceedings, although they went dead quiet when Hermione walked passed Draco.

He stole a caress off the side of her hip, and she smiled at him. Then, she sat at the opposite end of the couch from the girl who was busily working her task and began to read. It only took a few minutes to straighten things out.

"Where's your homework?" Hermione demanded as the girl passed back Hermione's notes.

Still stricken with awe and fear, the girl dug out her homework and passed it to Hermione with trembling hands.

"You have Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms tomorrow?"

The little girl barely nodded, and whispered, "Yes, Missus Malfoy."

Her words rippled through the room, and Draco felt his heart race. What had petrified him a few months ago seemed like the most natural thing in the world now. Hermione Malfoy. He liked it. A lot.

Hermione smiled down at her. "Then let's check your work." Hermione looked over the Potions assignment, one that she had helped a couple third year Gryffindors with already, and pointed out the ones that were entirely wrong.

Draco barely noticed when Vince put him in checkmate; his mind was focused on Hermione and the girl, as well as actually marrying her. The tiny protests of his king went unheard. Instead, like most everyone else in the room, he was watching Hermione. He couldn't believe that she was just helping this girl who had never said two words to her before. When she passed back the Potions assignment, she did the same review of the Transfiguration and Charms assignments.

Finally she finished and looked up at Draco. He raised his eyebrows at her and shook his head.

Suddenly nervous, Hermione looked at Vince and said, "Let everyone know that she's allowed to sit here when she needs to study." Then Hermione looked down at the girl and smiled. "I don't want to see any of your little friends over here when you study. This does not mean that third years are allowed to sit with us. Just you."

"Hermione," Draco interrupted trying to keep his impatience out of his voice. He hadn't really meant to stay in the common room as long as they had, and he really wanted to be alone with her again, as of at least thirty minutes ago. All of these thoughts of everyone knowing she was his and his alone made him want to take her to bed as soon as possible.

She smiled up at him and held her hands up so he could lift her off the couch. Without another word to anyone else, they walked to the Head's suite. Once the door clicked shut, Draco had her body pressed against his, ending the spells on her body. They barely made it to the couch before Draco's mouth was on her neck, and they were lost in each other.

Draco was listening to Hermione's slow breathing as he was curled behind her on the couch, staring into the fire. She was dozing, and a large part of him felt at peace. His father's plans worried him, though. He couldn't think of anything short of fleeing that would get them out of it. A life on the run from his father and their Veela clan was not what he wanted.

A laboured sigh passed through his lips, not that he noticed. There just had to be another way.

"Are you going to just sigh all night long, or are you going to tell me what's wrong. Is it because I helped that girl?" Hermione asked sleepily, startling Draco out of his thoughts. She tried to turn around and look at him, but Draco stopped her with his hand on her ribs.

"Of course not," Draco whispered as he began to play with her hair. Steeling himself to brave her answer, he asked, "What was it like for you when you were alone with my father?"

"It was...," Hermione trailed off. She hesitated a minute and then said, "It was like with you, the tingling and the smell, but... wrong. Well...not wrong, just... not right."

"It's because he's my father, the closest male to me in the clan. Did you read about bonding rituals?" Draco brushed the hair away from her shoulder and kissed her there.

"We have to do a bonding ritual? I thought those became really unpopular at the turn of the nineteenth century."

Draco closed his eyes and smelled her skin. "They did. However, my father, as you know, likes to hold fast to tradition, however abhorrent." He continued to trail his nose across the top of her back. She wasn't relaxed anymore. This time, when she tried to turn, he didn't stop her.

"Your father wants to make me part of his clan?" she asked incredulously. "Lucius Malfoy wants to make me, a Muggle-born, part of his clan. Forever."

"I'm going to figure something out, Hermione, I swear. I'm not going to let him do that to us, to you." Draco looked her straight in the eye.

She looked back at him, her eyes covering every millimetre of his skin...his nose, his mouth, his eyes. "When?"

Draco swallowed. They didn't have much time. "The summer solstice." They looked at each other, each blinking slowly, as the date loomed between them. He thought for a moment that he could see her calculating.

Then, Hermione shrugged her shoulders and said, "Fine."

He couldn't believe his ears. She obviously didn't understand what was happening here. "Hermione, if anything happens to me, you'll be his. He wouldn't let you go back to your parents. You'd have to do as the clan wants, what my father wants. He'd use his pheromones on you like he tried to earlier, and he wouldn't think twice about making you do what he wants. This is absolutely not 'fine'."

"Well, not fine, but totally handleable." She was smiling at him. Then she rolled off the couch and walked to a bookshelf. What was she up to?

He watched her standing there, naked as the day she was born, looking over the shelves. She was beautiful, and Draco's bewilderment was lessened as he looked at the curves of her calves, thighs, arse, and waist until she was hidden by her hair. He was tempted to just walk up behind her and press against her. He had just convinced himself to do it when she pulled a thin book off the shelf and turned to walk back to the couch.

Draco sat up, and made room for her to sit. "What's that?"

"A gift from Fleur Weasley. Ginny told her about us, and she sent it by owl months ago."

Draco didn't know why it even mattered. What could a Weasley send her that might help them now? "So?"

"So, I just need to confirm what I read."

Draco was confused and losing his patience. "Hermione, what are you talking about?"

"You don't remember Fleur, Fleur Delacour, from Beauxbatons?"

"The 'half-Veela'?" Draco snorted. "There aren't half-Veelas. I asked my father about that. He said they weren't really Veela; it was just their shoddy claim to fame."

"What, like Muggles can't have magical children? Or children of Muggles can't do magic like children with magical parents." Hermione gave him a pointed look.

Draco felt his guts clench a little.

"The voie de la femme, Draco. It's the answer," she replied, still focused on her book.

"Fine, what's the voie de la femme?"

"It's the answer." Hermione asserted and smiled, and then she began reading.

"This is the story, told to me by my grandmother, as her grandmother had told it to her, as it had been told by matrons for hundreds of years..."