He reread her note for the tenth time, the elegant script blurring with nervous sweat. Tonight had to be perfect. He couldn't risk losing her trust again, not after the revelations that still hung heavy between them.
The guilt gnawed at him as he meticulously arranged takeout containers and candles. Each flickering flame seemed to cast grotesque shadows, taunting him with reminders of his past actions. He paced the room, desperately trying to shake the feeling of dread that coiled in his gut.
A sudden green flash from the fireplace jolted him. Hermione. He plastered a smile on his face, hoping it reached his eyes.
"Draco, what's all this?" she asked, a surprised smile curling her lips.
"I wanted to do something special for you darling," he replied, walking over and taking her hand. "I've been thinking a lot about us lately, and I wanted to show you just how much you mean to me."
Her eyes softened, and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You didn't have to do all this, but it's lovely. Thank you."
They settled down for dinner, the tension in his shoulders easing as the evening progressed smoothly. They laughed, shared a bottle between them,reminisced about old times, and talked about their future plans. He found solace in her presence, her laughter like music to his ears.
After dinner, they moved to the living room, where he had set up a cozy spot by the fireplace. He poured them another glass of wine, and they sat together, the fire casting a warm glow around them.
"Darling," he began, his voice serious, "I know I haven't always been the best at showing my feelings, but I want you to know that you mean a lot to me. You're incredibly important to me, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy."
The atmosphere shifted. His possessiveness sent a jolt through her, a surprising mix of emotions swirling within her. She recalled his challenge to Ron, a memory both alarming and strangely alluring. "Draco," she murmured, her voice husky with a tangle of unspoken desires. She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the warmth of the fire. "Thank you. You've done so much for me already."
They shared a quiet moment, and for a while, all of his worries melted away. He knew that as long as they had each other, they could face anything.
But deep down, he couldn't shake the nagging fear that Ron might remember something. He would have to stay vigilant, ensuring that his secrets remained buried.
He needs to pay a visit to the Weasel just to make sure he is trained correctly.
As the night drew to a close, he held her close, cherishing the peace they had found together.
"You know that I'll never let anyone touch you again, right?" he murmured low into her ear, his breath warm against her skin. His voice dipped to a possessive growl. "No one," he stressed, his fingers tightening around her thigh, "gets to touch what's mine."
"Yes, Draco," she replied, her words slightly slurred from the wine. "You already showed me that with how you handled Ron the other day."
His grip tightened around her waist as he pulled her gently into his lap. "I will do anything for you, love, anything."
She leaned her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "You don't have to fight my battles for me. But... thank you for always being there."
His hand stroked her hair softly. "I can't help it. The thought of anyone hurting you... it drives me mad. You mean everything to me, love."
She smiled, her eyes fluttering shut as she snuggled closer. "I know, Draco. - she smiled like a schoolgirl having a crush.
They sat in comfortable silence, the crackling fire casting a warm glow over them. She felt safe in his arms, her worries melting away. The wine had made her more relaxed, and she enjoyed the rare moment of vulnerability they shared.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Let's just stay like this a little longer."
"Let's," she said while clinging to him. She began leaving tiny kisses on his neck, her lips warm and soft against his skin.
His breath hitched at the unexpected affection, his hold on her tightening slightly. "Love," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion.
"Shh," she murmured against his neck, continuing her delicate trail of kisses. "Just let me..."
He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, his heart pounding in his chest. Every kiss felt like a promise, a reassurance that they were in this together. His hands moved to gently cup her face, tilting her head so he could look into her eyes.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he said softly, his thumb brushing over her thigh.
She smiled, her eyes shimmering with affection. "Maybe I have some idea," she teased, her voice barely above a whisper.
His lips curved into a smile as he leaned in, their foreheads touching. "Darling, please stop teasing me," Draco pleaded, his voice low and strained.
She didn't stop at all, her kisses becoming more insistent, trailing along his jaw and up to his ear. "But I like teasing you," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin.
He groaned softly, his hands gripping her waist. "You're going to drive me mad," he murmured, though there was a hint of a smile in his voice.
"Maybe that's the plan," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes, continuing her kisses, each one sending a shiver down his spine.
He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together, his resolve weakening with every touch. "You're impossible," he said, but his tone was affectionate.
"And you love it," she countered, finally pulling back to look at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.
He couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I do," he admitted, leaning in to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, no longer resisting the pull between them.
She rolled her hip, causing him to hiss. "Please, darling, stop," he pleaded. "You're a tad drunk, and if you keep doing this, I have no willpower to stop." He was rock hard at this point, and she knew exactly what she was doing.
"I am not drunk, Draco," she whispered. "I'm relaxed."
She left wet trails of kisses down his collarbones. He pulled her closer, holding her firmly against him, the tension between them growing with every passing second.
She moaned into his mouth and at that moment Draco Malfoy was pronounced dead. The sound of the women he had pinned over for a decade took his breath away.
If he had known this was the sound she made, he would have personally petitioned for all magical beings to be freed and for the marriage law to be enacted immediately.
He took a deep breath, trying to regain control. He felt how hot and needy she was as he rocked her harder on his aching cock.
"Darling please tell me to stop"-he pleaded with her. She was frantic at this point. She made a mass on his pants, and he's definitely not going to wash that suit ever again.
"Don't stop draling, please it feels amazing." She was a panting mass at this point. With one swept motion she removed her blouse, baring her skin to him.
His eyes darkened with desire as he took the sight in before him, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to touch her.
No, this was the moment that he died.
He tentatively reached out to unclasped her bra, and her heavy breasts fall free. The most stunning sight he ever seen. With his thumb he circled her nipples and they hardened immediately.
"Please Draco" She pleaded, her voice like a siren's call, pulling him in with an irresponsible force.
He couldn't stop himself from coming closer and finally took a nipple in his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.
No, no this was the moment that he actually died.
Playing with her gorgeous peony colored nipples, no wonder that was her favorite flower. She pushed her breasts into his mouth and he locked her legs around his waist. Picking her up with one swift motion, he maneuvered her down on her back.
This green couch was finally good for something
He peeled off her skirt and immediately threw himself between her legs.
"Draco, please..."
He heard that one though. Loud and clear. It ignites a fire in his gut and sends a jolt to his brain, and he remembers that this is about making her forget everything except his name.
"Fuck –" he sucked in a breath and she felt his lips pinch against the skin beneath her thigh. "Tell me what you want, darling... because right now I think I'd give you anything, just to feel you come apart from the touch of my own fingers." He murmured, licking and nibbling along her thigh. She knew he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop himself even though he knew he should.
He leaned over his forearm, his fingers ran up her mold, finding it slick with the unending amount of arousal she seemed to be capable of.
"All for me?" he murmured.
"Yes," she whispered back.
He was surprised he hadn't died from arrogance yet.
He slid two fingers into her, loving the moan that spilled out of her mouth. His fingers slipped in and out of her as she pressed back into him, trying to get him to relent and fuck her.
He dropped to his knees and turned, sliding his arm under her as his mouth found her clit. There wasn't a taste in the world that could compare to her.
Her cunt definitely tasted like his amortentia, dessert to the highest level.
His mouth closed around her clit, his tongue flicking across. She let out a strangled moan that went straight to his cock, his already agonizing hardness reaching new heights.
"Please"- she pleaded, her fingers buried into his head.
He couldn't bring himself to respond. That would involve moving his mouth away from his favorite treat, and he wasn't overly interested in that. He slid his fingers out, desperate for more of her as his mouth moved down, his tongue pushing into her with a groan that he didn't bother trying to stifle.
He pressed his thumb against her clit, loving the way she jolted, hearing the pained moan that tore out of her throat.
"Draco, please."
His other hand gripped her thigh hard enough to leave bruises under his fingers. Every mark was just another reminder that she was his.
His.
He could feel her legs shaking, already approaching the edge. Gods, he loved how easy it was to make her come for him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A week had passed since that night, and they fell into a quiet domestic routine. The initial intensity of their newfound intimacy settled into something warm and comforting. Little gestures of affection were exchanged throughout the day, each one a silent affirmation of their growing bond.
In the mornings, he would wake up first and brew a pot of coffee, setting a cup on the nightstand for her before she even stirred. She'd smile sleepily at him, a simple "Thank you" and a kiss on his cheek becoming her morning ritual.
Hermione, in turn, found herself more and more attentive to his needs. She learned how he liked his tea in the afternoon, always bringing him a cup when he was buried in his work in the study. She'd sneak up behind him, press a kiss to his neck, and feel his muscles relax under her touch.
He felt like he was the happiest person alive. The contentment he found in their shared moments was something he never imagined he could have. Every smile, every touch, every whispered word of affection made his heart swell with a joy that was almost overwhelming.
One evening, as they sat together on the couch, she resting her head on his shoulder, he couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed. He gently kissed her forehead and whispered, "You know, I never thought I'd be this happy."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining with love. "Neither did I," she replied softly. "But I can't imagine my life any other way now."
He smiled, pulling her closer. "I don't want to imagine it any other way either."
They sat there in comfortable silence, the warmth of their shared moments wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. They had found something special in each other, something worth holding onto. And as they continued to build their life together, both knew that this was just the beginning of their beautiful journey.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
June 5th. A day that once held the promise of extravagant gifts and childhood indulgence for Draco Malfoy. Birthdays were momentous occasions, overflowing with presents meticulously chosen to fulfill his every whim. But one particular birthday, a single gift shattered his carefree world, leaving behind a haunting memory – a gift no child would ever desire.
Getting branded like a domesticated animal was life-changing for him. While getting your first tattoo is a big deal for many, he had no idea what muggle tattoos felt like, but muggles would definitely not piss themselves in pain. What he did know was that the experience of receiving the Dark Mark in the 'throne room' was far from anything he could have imagined. He didn't just endure the physical pain; he pissed himself, vomited, and cried. It was a moment of utter humiliation and terror. The carefree birthday boy was gone, replaced by a terrified pawn in a sinister game.
Since that moment, birthdays became a painful reminder, following him like a dementor. Sometimes, he wished an actual dementor was following him, because the unrelenting despair that accompanied the Dark Mark was a daily torment. There were days he wished he had died at that very moment.
He often felt pathetic, wallowing in self-pity, despite everyone around him insisting it was a great honor bestowed by Voldemort. His father's words still echoed in his mind, that this was the moment he would finally make his family proud.
But he found no pride in it, only a deep, scarring regret. Thank Merlin his daddy was rotting in Azkaban, and the Dark Mark was nothing but a curse that continued to weigh heavily on him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His beautiful wife left for work, completely unaware of the turmoil churning within him. As he stared out the window, a familiar silver owl appeared, carrying an envelope with elegant initials he didn't need to inspect. It was obviously from his mother.
He took a deep breath and opened the letter.
Dearest Draco,
The news of your marital concord brings me immense satisfaction. To commemorate your forthcoming natal day, I extend a formal invitation for you and your wife to grace Malfoy Manor with your presence this evening.
I trust Mrs. Malfoy subscribes to the tenets of equitable recompense and regulated leisure time for domestic house-elves. You may assure her that the resident elf population is demonstrably well-treated, adhering to established principles of remuneration and furlough allotments.
Furthermore, I have undertaken significant renovations throughout the residence in an effort to cultivate an ambience conducive to Mrs. Malfoy's comfort and aesthetic preferences. It is my fervent hope that any lingering negative associations she may harbor regarding the manor have been effectively expunged.
With unwavering maternal regard,
Narcissa Black Malfoy
He reread the letter six times. A fresh wave of disbelief crashed over him. How could his mother be so utterly clueless? Did she honestly believe a lick of paint could erase the bloodstains and screams that echoed in the very stones of Malfoy Manor? Did she think Hermione, with her brilliant mind and unwavering principles, could ever feel at ease under a roof steeped in such darkness?
The disbelief was laced with a flicker of something unexpected. Narcissa, ever the pragmatist, wasn't known for emotional flourishes or olive branches. The memories bound to the manor were undoubtedly horrific, etched into the very fabric of the place. Yet, here it was, a tentative bridge constructed in her elegant script, an attempt, however awkward, at reconciliation. He couldn't help but acknowledge, with a wry twist of his lips, that at least it wasn't an overtly poison ivy.
The invitation ignited a complex web of emotions in him. Yearning to see his mother battled with the sheer impossibility of her ever setting foot back in that den of prejudice. There was a sliver of a chance, he mused with a dark glint of humor, for Hermione possessed an almost masochistic streak when it came to societal expectations.
"It is your birthday, darling," she said, her voice firm but laced with a hint of amusement. "We can certainly explore alternative options if a trip to Malfoy Manor isn't your ideal celebration."
"Many years have passed since the war. I've seen your mother three times, and once we even had a brief conversation. "You know I vouched for you both at the trials," she reminded him, "and I held no personal animosity towards her then, either."
A flicker of surprise danced in his eyes. "You have no ill will?" He knew she was a far more forgiving soul than him, but even her infinite well of empathy seemed to have a limit.
A hint of amusement danced in her eyes. "Not towards your mother, Draco. Like you, she was a product of a certain environment. Besides," she added with a sly arch of her eyebrow, "wouldn't it be perfectly Slytherin of us to use your birthday as an excuse to infiltrate your childhood home and reclaim it, at least for an evening?"
He raised an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Conquer it, huh? I wouldn't call it conquering, more like… surviving another Malfoy family gathering."
"Survival is a noble pursuit, especially when faced with questionable food and your mother's passive-aggressive commentary," she conceded with a chuckle. "Besides, a part of moving forward is facing the past, even the unpleasant bits."
"We can leave any time, darling. We don't have to stay a second longer than necessary." he was so anxious about the whole ordeal.
He studied her, a mix of admiration and concern warring within him. He knew she wasn't a masochist, not in the way he might have initially feared. This was an act of love, a willingness to face his demons alongside him
Did she have other kinks, besides being masochistic? Time will tell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The weighty oak doors of Malfoy Manor groaned open, pivoting on centuries-old hinges. Bibsy, the house-elf, hovered nervously in the threshold, her large, liquid eyes flitting betweenthem. A spark of curiosity flickered within them as they alighted upon her emerald robes, a vibrant counterpoint to the manor's usual austere tones.
"Welcome back, Master Draco," Bibsy squeaked, her voice barely a whisper. Hesitantly, she added, "And welcome, Mistress." The last word held a tremor of tentative excitement, a departure from the usual monotone of house-elves.
He offered a curt nod, his voice strained. "Thank you, Bibsy. It is good to be back." His gaze darted sideways, seeking a silent reassurance from her.
Hermione, in turn, met Bibsy's earnest gaze with a small, sympathetic smile. "Good evening, Bibsy," she greeted warmly, her voice a soothing balm in the tense atmosphere. Shifting her attention to Narcissa, who stood stiffly in the entrance hall, an unreadable mask on her face, she continued, "Mrs. Malfoy, it is a pleasure to see you again."
The icy veneer around Narcissa faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of warmth softening her usually stoic features. "Dragon, darling," she addressed him, the endearment a stark contrast to their years of estrangement. It hung in the air, a jarring note amidst the formal greetings. "It is a pleasure to have you visit, and an honor to host you here, Hermione."
Last time she was here, this house was not famous for its hospitality.
He felt a cold twist in his gut. The scene was surreal: the two most important women in his life, their carefully constructed politeness, a mere veil stretched taut over a chasm of unspoken tension. Years of war, betrayal, and simmering resentments permeated the air, a tangible weight threatening to shatter the fragile truce. He plastered a smile on his face, feeling like a tightrope walker precariously balanced above a churning abyss. "Indeed, Mother," he replied, his voice strained and uncharacteristically high-pitched. "It's been a while. Thank you for the invitation."
The air itself seemed charged, a volatile mix of anticipation and apprehension threatening to overwhelm the veneer of civility. This visit, intended as a bridge, now teetered on the precipice of disaster. The flicker of warmth in Narcissa's smile, a fleeting sunbeam in a blizzard, only served to accentuate the frigid tension that gripped the entrance hall. Draco, caught between the two most important women in his life, forced a smile, the effort as precarious as a tightrope walker inching over a churning abyss.
She responded in kind, mirroring Narcissa's gesture with a practiced smile, a tightrope walker mimicking a casual stroll. "Thank you, Narcissa, for inviting me. He has spoken of your… interest in creature welfare as well." Her voice was a carefully calibrated instrument, neutrality its melody, as she navigated the tense social dance like a diplomat forging a fragile alliance.
Draco, observing them with the intensity of a hawk, expelled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was a faint sound, barely audible, but laden with the weight of unspoken hope. Perhaps, just maybe, this carefully orchestrated reunion wouldn't descend into utter chaos.
The opulent feast that arrived was a testament to Malfoy wealth rather than warmth. Each dish, meticulously prepared and arranged, felt like a carefully placed chess piece on a tense board.
Conversation flowed, but it was a waltz choreographed on eggshells. Narcissa's inquiries about her Ministry work, polite but devoid of genuine curiosity, were met with equally measured responses. In turn, her attempt to find common ground by inquiring about the manor's renovations felt as transparent as a veil. The air remained thick with unspoken tension, a silent observer at this carefully orchestrated performance of civility.
Dinner became a bizarre verbal ballet, he the conductor desperately trying to maintain a semblance of harmony. Narcissa's casual jab about house-elves was expertly parried by Draco's pointed question regarding the promised reforms. He watched with admiration as Hermione, ever the diplomat, gracefully steered the conversation towards Hippogriff communication, a topic that thankfully piqued Narcissa's detached interest. Despite the tense undercurrent, a sliver of accomplishment bloomed within Draco. They were talking, navigating a minefield without setting anything off. Perhaps, just perhaps, this excruciating evening wouldn't be a complete disaster.
A sliver of hope, fragile as a snowflake, began to melt the iciness in the room. As the elaborate dinner progressed,he dared to loosen his metaphorical tightrope walk. Narcissa, for her part, seemed to be consciously thawing. Her inquiries about her work, though still polite, held a hint of genuine curiosity. Hermione, in turn, responded with more animated details, her voice losing its carefully measured neutrality.
A breakthrough arrived with a shared laugh. Draco, emboldened by the shift in atmosphere, recounted a particularly chaotic prank from his Hogwarts days. The story, delivered with his usual flair for the dramatic, elicited a surprised chuckle from Narcissa and a genuine smile from her. The sound, a melody long absent from the Malfoy Manor, echoed through the room, a testament to the tentative truce they were forging. Despite the weight of the past still lingering in the air, a flicker of warmth ignited, promising, perhaps, the possibility of a future where laughter wasn't a stranger at the Malfoy table.
A sliver of hope, fragile as a butterfly's wing, began to flutter in his chest. Narcissa, ever the picture of stoicism, betrayed a tremor in her hand as she poured the tea, a silent testament to the simmering tension beneath the surface. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was room for reconciliation after all.
Across the table, her eyes sparkled with genuine amusement. His voice, usually laced with a sardonic edge, softened as he recounted a particularly disastrous potions incident from his Hogwarts days.
The story, embellished with his usual flair for the dramatic, involved a misplaced love potion and a rogue infestation of pixies. Even Narcissa's lips twitched, a hint of a smile threatening to break through the carefully constructed mask she wore. It was a flicker, fleeting and almost imperceptible, but to him, it was a beacon of warmth in the otherwise frosty atmosphere.
The sound of laughter, a melody long absent from the Malfoy Manor, echoed tentatively in the grand hall. It was a fragile sound, easily shattered, but it held the promise of a future where laughter wouldn't be a stranger at the Malfoy table. The weight of the past still hung heavy in the air, a specter at their feast, but for the first time that evening, a glimmer of hope flickered, suggesting the possibility of a future where forgiveness and acceptance might one day thaw the icy grip of the past.
The shared laughter, light and unexpected, felt like a fragile bridge built over a chasm of mistrust. It wasn't much, but in the tense atmosphere of Malfoy Manor, it was a beacon of hope.
As the laughter subsided, a hesitant silence fell over the room. Narcissa cleared her throat, her voice regaining its usual composure, though a hint of breathlessness lingered. "Tea, anyone?" she offered, gesturing towards a silver tray laden with delicate china cups and a steaming teapot. Her hand, he noticed with a pang, still trembled slightly as she poured.
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Here they were, his wife and his mother, sharing a fragile truce under the same roof. It felt like a scene rewritten from a dream, a surreal tableau painted in shades of awkward civility and guarded optimism. Perhaps, a bizarre fever dream. But amidst the awkwardness, a glimmer of something else flickered – a tentative olive branch, an acknowledgment of a future they hadn't dared to imagine before.
"Thank you, Narcissa," she said, accepting a cup with a small, genuine smile. "It smells lovely." A subtle compliment, a thread carefully woven into the tapestry of the evening, a bridge built across the chasm that still separated them.
He took his own cup, the warmth radiating through the fine china a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. He stole a glance at her, her face a mask of quiet determination, her eyes reflecting the flickering hope in the room. They had come a long way, navigating a minefield of unspoken hurt and entrenched beliefs.
But the real test, the true challenge of forging a future from the wreckage of the past, was yet to come. The night, once a daunting prospect, now stretched before him, an uncharted territory filled with both the promise of reconciliation and the specter of old wounds. He raised his cup in a silent toast, a toast to the fragile hope that bloomed amidst the shadows, a toast to the uncertain journey that lay ahead.
Was this a fever dream?!
Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, he cleared his throat. "Perhaps you'd like to see some of the Manor, Hermione?" he offered, his voice softer than usual. "It's been… extensively renovated since the war." He met her gaze, a tentative smile playing on his lips, a mix of hope and trepidation flickering in his eyes.
Intrigued by the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a vulnerability that spoke of a desire to bridge the chasm that separated them, she readily agreed. "I wouldn't mind that at all."
He led her away from the formal sitting room, down corridors that, while still grand, felt less oppressive than she remembered. Gone were the cold, sterile walls that had mirrored the Malfoys' aloofness. In their place, a sense of history whispered from the ornately framed portraits of past generations, their eyes seeming to follow them with a curious detachment.
Moonlight streamed through high windows, illuminating the intricate patterns of the faded tapestries depicting fantastical creatures – a griffin soaring through a starry sky, a mermaid weaving magic from shimmering coral. A stark contrast to the Death Eater banners that had once hung like macabre decorations. In their place, a single, vibrant bouquet of lilies stood sentinel on a polished console, their white petals glowing softly in the moonlight. A silent promise of a new beginning, a stark counterpoint to the darkness she associated with this place.
As they strolled through the house, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "This is the library," he murmured, pushing open a heavy oak door. Inside, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves held a treasure trove of knowledge, their leather spines whispering stories of forgotten lore and ancient magic. A crackling fire cast flickering shadows on the walls, lending the room an air of warmth and intimacy.
"I spent countless hours here as a child," he continued, a hint of nostalgia lacing his voice. "Lost in fantastical worlds, far away from the..." He hesitated, his voice faltering. "The reality of my life."
She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her touch a silent understanding. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice infused with empathy. Here, in this quiet haven of stories, she glimpsed a different side of Draco—a boy yearning for escape, a yearning she understood all too well.
She noticed that there was a warmth here now, subtle but palpable. The once-intimidating grandeur of the manor had softened into something more welcoming. She noticed the care with which he had chosen the flowers, their delicate scent mingling with the old wood and polished stone.
They paused in front of a large painting, a serene landscape that seemed to breathe tranquility into the room. "My mother had this commissioned," he explained. "She said it reminded her of a place she loved as a child."
"It's beautiful," she murmured, her fingers lightly tracing the frame. "There's a lot of beauty here, Draco. It's... unexpected."
He gave her a small, hopeful smile. "That's what I wanted you to see. That there's more to this place, and to me, than our past. I saved this for last," he said, gesturing towards the library. "I thought you might want to spend some time here."
She stepped into the room, her eyes widening at the sight of the vast collection of books. It was even more impressive than she ever thought it would be. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes on every conceivable subject. A cozy reading nook had been set up by the window, complete with a plush armchair and a small table.
"Draco, this is amazing," she said, her voice filled with genuine awe. "You have so many rare books here, first additions."
He shrugged modestly. "I thought you might like to have access to them. You're welcome to read anything you want."
As they explored the library together, he pointed out some of his favorite books, and Hermione shared some of hers. It was a surprisingly comfortable moment between them, one that she hadn't expected to find with him.
She turned to face him, her expression thoughtful. "I think I might," she admitted. "Thank you for showing me this side of the manor. It means a lot."
"Anytime, darling," he replied, his voice sincere. "Anytime."
As they passed through the manor, she couldn't help but comment, "It's like the Ship of Theseus."
He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "How so?"
"You've replaced so much of what was here," she explained, "that it's hard to tell if it's still the same place. It feels different, yet it's still Malfoy Manor."
He nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips. "I suppose you're right. Maybe that's a good thing."
"Maybe it is," she agreed, feeling a strange sense of hope as they continued their tour.
They stood before the drawing room door, the words "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper" etched into the headboard.
His voice, laced with a vulnerability she hadn't seen before, stopped her hand hovering over the handle. "Please," he pleaded, "not in there, darling. Just... not tonight." he said, his voice filled with pleading, watching her hand already on the handle.
The heavy oak door groaned open, revealing a sight that stole the air from her lungs. Gone were the cold, unforgiving walls that had echoed with her screams. In their place, a vibrant winter garden bloomed, bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight filtering through a glass ceiling. A strangled sob escaped her lips as a torrent of memories, sharp and agonizing, flooded back.
This wasn't a haven of exotic flowers; it was a battlefield where her spirit had been broken. Each meticulously placed bloom, each carefully tended leaf, mocked her pain. Tears, hot and furious, streamed down her face, blurring the fantastical scene before her. Her legs gave way, and she crumpled to her knees, the cold stone floor a stark contrast to the feverish heat of her emotions.
Draco, his face etched with a mixture of dread and dawning comprehension, rushed to her side. "Hermione, love, please," he pleaded, his voice raw with concern. "Let's get out of here."
But she couldn't move. She was rooted to the very spot where her screams had once echoed unheard, where her pleas for mercy had been met with sadistic laughter. This wasn't just a room; it was a graveyard of her innocence, a monument to the terror she'd endured. Here, she had faced her deepest fears, and here, a part of her had died.
She walked through the middle of the garden, tears streaming down her face as she remembered the pain she had suffered here. She sank to her knees, overwhelmed by the memories flooding back.
This is a graveyard, and you will not dance on the bones they created.
Time seemed to lose all meaning. Hermione lay sprawled on the cold floor, her body wracked with silent sobs. Each tear was a silent accusation, a testament to the horrors she'd faced within these very walls. He knelt beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, offering a fragile haven in the storm of her emotions.
"I'm so sorry, draling," he whispered, his own voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm so fucking sorry."
She stood where she had once been tortured, she laid down on the exact spot that haunted her nightmares and cried for what felt like an eternity. His heart shattered into pieces as he watched her pain.
She leaned into his embrace, finding solace in his warmth. "It's…. okay," she murmured. "Thank you for being here with me, I needed it."
He held her close, silently vowing to protect her and keep her safe from any more pain. They stayed there together, in the quiet of the garden, finding strength in each I wish I was the one who got all the torture that day, Hermione.
"I'm so sorry, love," he whispered.
Tears welled up in his own eyes, blurring the vibrant garden into a kaleidoscope of colors. He wished, with a desperation that clawed at his throat, that he could take her pain away. He would endure a thousand Cruciatus curses, a lifetime of torture, if it meant erasing even a sliver of her suffering.
A choked sob escaped his lips, a sound so raw and unfamiliar that it sent shivers down her spine. "I wish to Merlin I was the one who got all the torture that day, love," he rasped, his voice thick with a weariness that went beyond exhaustion. " If I had died that day, all of the fucked-up inbreed Malfoy, Black, Rosier, and Lestrange lines would end with me. I felt like I would take millions of Crucio's instead of my alumni." His voice was thick with a weariness that went beyond exhaustion, a burden of guilt he'd carried for years.
"Every scream, every ounce of pain," he continued, his voice barely a whisper, "I would have taken it all if it meant you wouldn't have had to endure a single moment of it.
The raw vulnerability in his words cracked the dam within her. Tears welled anew, a mixture of sorrow and a flicker of something else, perhaps a sliver of understanding, a glimpse of the man he might have been. Leaning into his embrace, she found a different kind of solace in his warmth. It wasn't a complete healing, but a flicker of connection, a shared burden acknowledged.
Tears finally receding, she reached out, a beacon of comfort in the storm. Her gentle hand landed on his arm, grounding him as she met his gaze, a well of unshed tears shimmering within her own eyes.
"Draco," she began, her voice soft yet firm, a melody that soothed the tempestuous emotions churning within him. "I forgave you years ago. Not because you deserved it, not because it was easy, but because holding onto that anger only poisoned me. It kept me tethered to that dark place, a prisoner of my own pain. I forgave you, Draco, because of me."
A tremor ran through him, a silent echo of the pain she spoke of. The words hung heavy in the air, a weight far greater than any curse. Shame burned in his gut, a counterpoint to the sliver of hope that flickered within him.
"I knew you were a pawn, a child caught in the middle of a twisted game," she continued, her voice laced with a quiet understanding that tore at his already frayed heart. "The apology wasn't for my sake, darling, but for yours. So you could finally begin to heal."
His shoulders slumped with a relief so profound it felt like a physical weight being lifted. He let out a shaky breath, a single word escaping his lips, "You did?" It was a whisper laced with disbelief and a gratitude so deep it threatened to drown him.
"I forgave you years ago, yes," she clarified, her voice still soft but now imbued with a quiet strength. "Not because of you, but because of me. I knew you were caught between loyalty and..." She paused, her eyes searching his, a hint of a challenge flickering in their depths. "Whatever it was you felt for me then."
He flinched under her gaze, the weight of the past returning with a sharp sting. He clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes away from the vulnerability in hers. "It didn't matter then," he muttered, his voice tight. "Family comes first. That's what I was raised to believe." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, a truth he now questioned with every fiber of his being. Loyalty, the very foundation of his upbringing, had become a cage during the war, forcing him to choose between his family and the flicker of something more that he'd dared to feel for her.
His gaze softened, the challenge melting away into a well of understanding. "And now?" she asked, her voice laced with a gentle curiosity, a silent invitation for him to open up.
He met her gaze, his own filled with a vulnerable honesty that sent a tremor through her.
Years of carefully constructed walls seemed to crumble under the weight of her forgiveness and the undeniable bond that had grown between them. "Now…" he began, his voice rough with emotion, "Now it's different. You're my family, Hermione. More than that, you're…" He hesitated, searching for the words that could even begin to capture the depths of his feelings.
"You're the strongest, most brilliant witch I know," he finally choked out, the frustration of his inadequacy evident in his voice. "You challenge me, you inspire me, and you make me want to be a better man." He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with hers. "I would take a thousand Crucio curses, endure a lifetime under the Imperius Curse, and face down a dozen Avada spells aimed straight at my heart, all for you."
The raw vulnerability in his confession hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the arrogant mask he'd worn for so long. A single tear traced a path down her cheek, a silent testament to the depth of her emotions. Reaching out, she cupped his face in her hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through him.
"Draco Malfoy," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "you are a git. A stubborn, infuriating git. But you're also brave, kind, and the most loyal person I know."
The weight of unspoken words lifted, replaced by a fragile hope for a future yet unwritten. In the heart of the Malfoy Manor's winter garden, amidst the ghosts of the past, a love story bloomed, a testament to the enduring power of forgiveness and the transformative magic of a love that dared to defy all odds.
Chaos isn't a pit, chaos is a ladder.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They walked out of the Manor together, she leaning on him for support. Her body trembled slightly, and he could see the glistening remains of tears on her cheeks reflected in the moonlight. As they left Malfoy Manor behind, the weight on his shoulders didn't entirely vanish, but it had transformed. It was no longer a solitary burden, but a shared one, heavy yet somehow lighter because it was carried together.
He knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy, that the scars of the past wouldn't heal overnight. But for the first time, he saw a flicker of something new bloom amidst the lingering shadows – a hesitant trust in his eyes that mirrored the flicker of understanding in hers.
A silent vow passed between them, no words needed. They would tend to this fragile garden, this unexpected hope that had sprouted from the fertile ground of forgiveness. It wouldn't be easy, the ghosts of the past wouldn't be easily banished, but together, they were ready to face them. The grotesque winter garden, a monument to her pain, would forever be a part of their story, but it wouldn't define their future. They walked on, side by side, out of the moonlight and into the unknown, a testament to the enduring power of forgiveness and the hope for something new.
They aparated back into the warmth of the living room, her steps steadier now with him by her side. They headed towards the cozy sitting room, where a fire crackled invitingly in the hearth. He guided her to a plush armchair, pulling a small table close and pouring out steaming cups of tea.
The city lights twinkled outside the panoramic windows, a stark contrast to the grotesque shadows of the garden.
Oh darling all of the city lights never shine as bright as your eyes.
Silence hung heavy as they shed their cloaks, the weight of their unspoken emotions a palpable presence. He hesitated at the entrance to the living room, its modern furnishings bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace.
Settling into the plush cushions, she closed her eyes, the warmth of the fire seeping into her chilled bones. In her hand, a steaming mug of tea appeared, courtesy of him who now perched opposite her. She inhaled the fragrant aroma, the simple act grounding her in the present moment.
A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the gentle popping of the fire. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry you had to see that, love. I should have warned you, prepared you…" He trailed off, his words failing to capture the depth of his regret.
"It's alright, Draco," she said softly, her voice husky but laced with a quiet strength.
A watery smile flickered on her lips as she shook her head. Tears still clung to her lashes, catching the moonlight that filtered through the glass ceiling. "This isn't your fault. I…" She took a shaky breath, her gaze flickering back to the winter garden. "I needed to see it. Needed to face the ghosts of that room. And maybe," a hint of defiance crept into her voice, "Show her that I came out stronger on the other side."
She, as Bellatrix Lestrange, that bitch, was devoted to Voldemort almost to the point of fanaticism. For sure she sucked Tommy dry every day.
He nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. "I'm just glad I could be there for you," he said sincerely.
She smiled gratefully at him. "You have been in a few months now ," she replied, her voice soft. "Thank you."
They sat together in the warmth of the firelight, sipping their tea in a comfortable silence that spoke volumes. The shadows of their past lingered, like whispers in the corners of the room, but they were no longer alone in facing them.
A watery smile flickered on her lips as she added, almost as an afterthought, "Though it did rather dampen the birthday celebration, didn't it?"
His cheeks flushed a faint scarlet. "Merlin, Hermione. I—" he stammered, momentarily speechless. "Why would you say that, love?"
She took a deep breath. "Going back to that… that room… it brought everything back. The fear, the pain. I shouldn't have dragged you into it."
He cupped her face in his hands, his touch gentle but firm. "Hey, look at me," he said softly. "You didn't ruin anything, love. You faced a part of your past that you never had to. And I'm glad I was there for you. It may not have been a birthday cake and candles, but maybe facing those demons was the real gift."
His gaze softened further. "Besides, seeing you so... heartbreakingly beautiful when you face your demon is taking my breath away."
A weak smile flickered on her lips. "Always the charmer, aren't you, dearie?" She leaned into his touch, finding solace in his warmth
He didn't reply for a moment, his eyes searching hers. "Seriously though," he said finally, his voice serious, "We can talk about it, if you want. Or not. Just know that whatever you need, I'm here for you."
She nodded, a silent promise hanging between them. The weight of the past hadn't vanished, but facing it together, in the safe haven of their penthouse, felt like a small step towards healing.
Is the room still the same? Is Hermione still the same? What a fucking paradox.