Chapter 40: Walk The Nine Mile
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Center Stage: Draco and Hermione
Setting: WWW
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Draco and Hermione's heads snapped in unison in the direction of door.
"Your mother?" Hermione gasped, covering her breasts with her hands as if his mother were in the very room with them. "I thought she'd never be caught dead inside an establishment like this."
"You and me both."
They dressed quickly, muttering only to offer pieces of clothing. When she had her dress completely on, he remembered his rip-job to the slit of her dress and hemmed it with a spell.
"Your tie," Hermione commented, pointing to Draco's half-assed attempt to knot it.
"Bugger it." He unlooped it from around his neck and tossed it to the ground. Now was not the time to feel suffocated; his mother would do enough of that. "This is proper illtiming on her part."
"Well, when ever is a good time for your mother to show up right after sex?" Hermione quipped back, obviously attempting to lighten the mood as she slipped into her heels and transfigured them into a pair of flats.
Draco let out an uneasy sigh. "Guess we should go and see what the bint wants." He reached over, slipped an arm around Hermione's waist, and gave her a featherlight kiss on the forehead. It was all he needed to say; words weren't enough at this point. He'd put her - put them all - through so much, and it was finally coming to a head. All he could do was attempt to be strong and fight.
They exited out of the storage room, following Lavender to the front. What they found surprised Draco: his mother stood at the corner of an aisle toward the front, observing a pair of ruby-red pumps. Her eyes studied them with scrutiny, down to the stitching. Draco had seen that look before when he'd accompany her to the many dress shops around Diagon.
Weasley (the git, Ron) stood next to Astoria at the counter, bewildered and undaring to move, lest they draw her attention. As Draco glanced around, he noticed something peculiar. The shop was empty, save for its employees and volunteers. Two burly looking wizards stood outside, blocking the doors, while George argued at them with explicits. A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, but thanks to silencing charm, all Draco could do was pick the slur of curse words from reading lips. Amongst them were 'fucking hell', 'pricks', and 'unicorn shite.'
Blaise stood near the front door, petrified, as Narcissa set the heels back down on the display table. For all of the talking that fool could do, even he knew not to dare speak in that moment.
Only Hermione, brave soul that she was, dared to address the intimidating witch.
As she cleared her throat, she asked, "May we help you? Perhaps you're searching for one in your size?"
Narcissa's body stiffened, but she didn't give Hermione the decency of eye contact. "I doubt you could fit me - I've been told I have the feet of a ballerina."
"Broken and misshapen?" Draco offered, bearing some courage. "Or perhaps I'm getting that mixed up with your heart."
His mother chuckled, surprising them all. "My son, ever the quipper." She turned to face him, and as her eyes bore into his, he felt two feet tall. "Tell me, Draco. How are sales?"
Unsure, Draco bluffed. "Spectacular."
"Mmh. I'm sure they are," she replied, strumming her fingers along the display shelf.
"What are you really doing here, Mother?"
She didn't answer, simply staring at him.
After a time, Draco began again. "Truly! You make a spectacle of yourself, block off all paying customers, and now you have nothing to say? That would be a first."
Plucking the pair of heels she was looking at earlier, she muttered casually, "I suppose I can always size them with magic." She ignored her son, strolled up the counter, and said, "How much?" Weasley and Astoria didn't answer, too taken aback. "Oh, never mind it." She rolled her eyes. "You probably wouldn't have change for what I carry with me." An entire coin purse landed with a clank onto the counter. "Call it...an investment." Then, and only then, did she turn to Draco and curl a finger in his direction. "Come now, darling. You won't want to miss this." She eyed Hermione. "You as well, Miss Granger."
Draco and Hermione exchanged careful glances. Automatically, his hand traveled to his neck, where his tie used to be. Damn it. Now he had nothing to fiddle with. He reached for Hermione's hand instead, and she took it, a soft look on her face. One that could melt his icy heart. Together, they followed Narcissa toward the front doors.
As soon as the doors were opened, cameras began to flicker, and reporters' shouts rang their ears numb. Draco noticed the way his mother kept her composure and attempted to mimic her blasé expression as they eased their way through the crowd.
"Missus Malfoy! Narcissa! Any comment on this morning's festivities?"
"Is Malfoy Industries still holding patent clients under outdated bylaws?"
"Draco! Draco, over here! Any word on your status at Malfoy Industries?"
"Miss Granger! Is it true? Are you and Draco Malfoy together? Can you confirm the rumors?"
The shouting, the flashing lights, it all sent Draco back to the abysmally dark day in his past: the hearing of the Malfoys after the War. Instinctively, he reached over and covered up his already-sleeved forearm, releasing Hermione's hand. The Mark, though it couldn't be seen, forced Draco into a self-conscious state he couldn't shake himself of.
"No comment," Narcissa chirped. Draco watched as Hermione's head whipped behind her, and she faltered for half a moment.
"They're flooding in," she whispered, eyeing the shop. When she drew her gaze back around, her eyes fell to his clenched arm. "Draco? Are you alright?"
Draco could feel the panic setting in, even with the small relief of knowing the reporters dared not follow them. People on the streets veered around them, afraid to step too close. The atmosphere was thick with tension; anyone could taste it. Draco's heart began to race. His hands became clammy. He could feel a pressure building in his throat. Soon, his head was light, and he paused, taking slow, deliberate breaths. Hermione stood beside him, rubbing up and down his spine in comforting circles.
"You can do this," she encouraged. "I'm right here beside you."
With a nod, they pushed further on down the street. Draco tried to make sense of where they might be going, using it as a distraction to take away from the panic attack. For now, however, it remained a mystery.
A few passersby stopped to talk in hushed whispers as they passed; it triggered another memory, this one of the onlookers that gawked as Draco and his family were brought to the Ministry, in cuffs, to await trial.
"Mother," he finally managed, straightening his posture and releasing his forearm, instead slipping his hand into Hermione's once again. "What are we doing?"
"What indeed," Narcissa replied, smirking. She stopped at the corner of a cross-section and snapped her fingers twice. Out of the shadows, a familiar face appeared - Draco recognized the petite woman as his mother's secretary. In her hands rested a silver chalice, of which she politely handed to Narcissa. "Wonderful. The time?"
"One minute to go, Miss," her secretary replied.
"That will be all," Narcissa said dismissively, and her assistant nodded, disapparating on the spot. Turning to her son, she said, "Now then: touch the cup."
Skeptically, Draco eyed the chalice as if it might melt his hand off, but it didn't take him long to figure out what sort of object it was. He reached out and touched the tip of the cup with his pointer finger. Hermione did the same.
"A portkey. Really, Mother?" His brows furrowed.
Narcissa said not a word, simply continuing to look smug as they waited. The seconds drew to a close, and then they were whisked away.
They landed not in a home, or an office, but on soft earth. It took Draco a moment to gather his wits (he never did enjoy portkeys) but when his eyes focused, he was hit directly in the chest with confusion. They stood on a weathered path, surrounded by stone markers, leading up a hill to a grand mausoleum with marble columns.
This is..." He choked on his words. "Mother?"
Narcissa closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nose, chest puffing out as she took in the morning breeze. The wind picked up, throwing her perfectly kempt hair this way and that, but she paid it no mind. When her eyes finally reopened, they set themselves on Draco and Hermione, softer than she'd appeared in years. "Your father deserves to hear this. Let's not keep him waiting, yes?" She began trudging up the hills in her stilettos, never missing a beat.
A thousand questions raced through Draco's head as he and Hermione followed his mother in silence. However, he knew the only one who could answer them was going to keep him in suspense until the last possible moment.
He was thankful for Hermione's presence; it meant he didn't have to endure this alone. He couldn't remember the last time he'd visited this place...years, perhaps. It simply had been too painful, and what good did it do anyone? He wasn't here anymore. He wouldn't have approved of Draco's behavior, anyway. Perhaps that was his mother's angle: humiliation.
When they finally reached the top of the hill, Draco and Hermione paused, watching as Narcissa walked up to the stone door of the mausoleum and touched it, almost fondly.
"I saw your performance this morning," she admitted quietly, her back to them both. Then her head turned toward them, hand still perched against the door. "Your father would be proud."
Stunned. Draco was completely stunned. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it surely wasn't this.
"You were there?" asked the inquisitive Hermione at his side.
Narcissa nodded slowly. "Of course, I had a polyjuice potion." Her fingers brushed along the Malfoy family crest etched into the stone. "Couldn't let the presses get their way, could I? What transpires here is between the three of us."
Nervousness crept its way up Draco's shoulders and settled on them like a cat, there to stay. "And...what will transpire?"
Narcissa turned completely toward them now, her hand finally removed from the door. "You've been reckless. Acting before thinking. You weren't raised to be a Gryffindor, so I suppose we have Miss Granger to blame for your actions as of late."
Hermione quickly stepped in front of Draco and snapped back, "He's not reckless! All he's done has tried to make up for his mistakes. If you'd only open your eyes and see him for who he truly is-"
"And who are you, Miss Granger, to lecture me on how to parent my own son?" Narcissa snipped, raising a calculating eyebrow.
Draco could take the degradation when it was sent his way - but he would be damned if he would stand for it when it was aimed at Hermione. "I don't need parenting, Mother." He took a step forward beside the woman he loved, gripping her hand tighter. "I'm not a child anymore."
Narcissa laughed flippantly, but it didn't deter him.
"I make mistakes, yes, but everyone does. Punishing others for my shortcomings? That's yours. If I've been reckless, it's only to protect innocent lives caught in the crossfire of some outdated traditions that you can't part with." His heart began to race with purpose. "I'll admit to being irresponsible. Not caring how my actions hurt you. But I was in pain. Father died, and I...I stopped caring altogether. And this blasted scar!" He jutted his arm out, furling up the sleeve. "This scar just followed me around to top it all off!" He waved it in front of her, watching his mother flinch. "And as much as you want it to work, Astoria and I will never. Because she and I just don't get on. Why can't you see that? I don't love her. Not the way..." He paused, glancing over to the stunning witch beside him. When their eyes met, a warmth pooled in his stomach, and he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles - a silent assurance. He turned his attention back to his mother before he lost his train of thought. "Not the way I love Hermione."
There was a drawn out pause, where time seemed to stand still.
And then, slowly, Narcissa's lips cracked into a smile. "Oh, I knew that already, dear."
Draco blinked, stunned. "...You did?"
"Of course. You see, while you've been acting like a Gryffindor, I've been working like a Slytherin." She tilted her head slightly, taking them both in her gaze. "You needed a push, you see. Motivation to grow to your fullest potential. Of course, at first, I did want you to wed Astoria. She's your equal in every way - or so I thought." Her eyes fixated on Hermione for half a moment before flickering to Draco. "But then you came to my office that day - the first day of your protest. Something about Miss Granger slapping some reality back into you? And that's when I saw it: my son, motivated, for the first time in his adult life."
What was said next wasn't very pureblood on Draco's part, but he didn't care. "Pardon the language, Mother, but that is royally fucked up."
Narcissa shrugged. "Nevertheless, it produced results." She waved her dainty hand, and a scroll appeared, floating in midair beside her. "Oh, do quit giving me that look, Miss Granger," she said, noting Hermione's sour expression. "I've actually grown rather fond of you." She waved her palm, and the scroll floated over to the pair. Draco only had enough time to notice it was their wager contract before it ripped itself into shreds and fell to their feet. "Congratulations, Draco. You've won me over." Narcissa gave a real, genuine smile, clasping her hands together.
"...What?" Draco asked, gobsmacked.
She continued. "When I saw you dance on that stage today, all I could see was the way you two looked at each other. And it reminded me...well, of your father and I. It's when I knew that this wasn't just my son being his stubborn self. For the first time, I saw my son give his all to something - or rather, someone else."
Taking a step forward, and then another, she walked to Hermione, cupping the younger witch's cheek. "Thank you, Miss Granger, for bringing my son back. Without you, I doubt he would have ever gotten out of his own self-doubts long enough to see what was inside him all along." She stepped back, turned to Draco, and cleared her throat. "As of midnight tonight, Malfoy Industries will no longer have me as the head of the company. That responsibility will fall to you. I suppose, if you wanted to pardon the Weasleys and approve their new patent contract-"
Draco lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his mother in a vice-like hug he hadn't done in years. He felt like a child and a man all at once, but he didn't dwell on it. The knot in his chest fell apart, and for the first time in weeks, he could breathe again. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Your father would be proud of you," she whispered back, her arms folding around him. "I'm proud of you."
Draco chuckled. "You know, this doesn't mean you're getting out of having dinner with Hermione's parents, right?"
Narcissa released something between a laugh and a sigh. "Damn. I'd hoped you'd forgotten that part of the wager." They pulled apart, a mess of emotions. Hermione stood just a yard away, hands over her mouth in the way women did when they were entirely too happy about something but were trying to contain it.
"You tell anyone about this part, and I'll personally hex you," Draco threatened, knowing it was empty.
Narcissa swatted him on the arm, enough to hurt. "Hush." She smiled to Hermione. "I've never dined with muggles before."
"Well," replied Hermione, reaching over and grasping Narcissa's hand, "there's always time to try something new."