Redemption

Author’s note: Thank you for reviewing and the kind words .Umm… I like reviews. Also, the first chapter isn’t a mistake. It is the same as Betrayal… but if you read it for the one-shot factor it ends on a playful note… if you continue with the D/Hr story this situation resolves in a more realistic manner. Sorry if I confused anyone. Also, I believe I saw modus operandi used in fan fiction so the idea to use it came from that.

Draco stumbled out of his bedroom’s floo, tripped over his earlier discarded cloak and promptly introduced his face to the floor. Groaning he rolled to his side and pushed himself up on his hands and knees and crawled toward his bed. The fall did little to help his already pounding head and the increase in pain doubled his nausea. He had really overdone the firewhiskey if he already felt this rotten. Leaning his head against the cool wooden bed frame he breathed slowly so as to quell the urge to become reacquainted with his dinner. Once he was certain his nausea was manageable he gripped the wooden frame and hoisted himself up.

He wouldn’t be able to wait until morning for hangover potion tonight; not this time. There was no way he was calling for a house elf. Their high pitch voices grated on his nerves when he felt well. He shook his head at the thought of retrieving the potion in this state but regretted it immediately as a wave of vertigo hit. He was certain his father’s medicine cabinet would have the blessed potion as he rarely got pissed himself; now, all he had to do was reach his father’s bathroom. Apparation was out of the question as he didn’t much fancy splinching himself. Although, in his current state, walking was almost out of the question simply because it seemed his limbs didn’t even deign to support him.

Clutching the walls for support he slowly made his way to his father’s room. He’d shag his own Grandmum before crawling. Pissed or not he had to maintain some semblance of pride. Apparently, gravity didn’t give a fuck about his pride and he spent almost as much time on the floor as if he had decided to crawl before he reached his destination. He pushed his way into his father’s room and hastily headed towards the bathroom ignoring his surroundings in favor of reaching his destination as soon as possible. Opening the cabinet he located the potion. He hoped it was still within date. When his nausea reappeared he figured it couldn’t make him feel worse if it wasn’t.

Realizing he wouldn’t be able to remain standing if he took both hand off of the sink he grabbed the potion in his right hand and brought the vial up to his lips; opening it with his teeth. ‘Bottoms up’ he thought as he quickly drained the vial. In mere moments he felt relief; though he was still tired from lack of sleep. He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping alone and so decided to crash in the guest room where Hermione’s scent tended to linger. As he left his father’s room he noticed what he hadn’t before; that it smelled decidedly like sex. A small smirk appeared on his face as he thought ‘good’; his father deserved to be happy. If he couldn’t be happy, Draco figured he could at least be sexually satisfied.

Draco entered the guest room and as he had figured Hermione was nowhere to be found. Grabbing the red, silk robe off of the floor he brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Her scent always calmed him and he relied on it to lull him to sleep when they were apart. Getting into bed, he laid down exhausted. Rolling over restlessly he sought out her scent on the sheets and froze. Her scent was there alright; but so was his father’s. His mind quickly recalled the state of his father’s room and he thought horrified ‘she wouldn’t’; but he couldn’t convince himself of that. Vowing to discover the truth he fell into an uneasy slumber.

Hermione apparated directly to her bed as Mr. Malfoy had left her sated; but rather tired. As she waited for sleep to claim her she wondered if she should be amused or offended that he thought she wouldn’t realize the difference. Of course she had recognized the difference. And if she hadn’t before they slept together she would have noticed during; considering they had been together the better part of a year. Before she could dwell further on the matter she fell asleep.

Hermione woke with the morning sun. Just as the sun ushered in a new day; it brought a guilty conscience. She washed herself and the bedding. She vanished the marks left behind. But, she couldn’t rid herself of guilt; only the evidence. Sitting down with a sigh she thought over her actions; ‘were they so terrible?’ ‘Yes,’ she reasoned. Although they had an open relationship, it didn’t extend to friends and it most certainly didn’t extend to his father. So when Draco invited her to tea that day she politely declined. When he invited her for tea again the next day she accepted so as not to raise suspicion.

She was understandably nervous. So, Hermione found herself immaculately dressed in a pretty lilac blouse, shark grey pencil skirt, matching heels and damp hands outside Malfoy manor’s front door. ‘He needn’t find out’ her mind reasoned. ‘It wasn’t as if he told her that he had slept with her friend’ her mind countered to absolve her of guilt. After a few calming breathes, Hermione raised her right hand and knocked. Draco, not Tippy, answered the door much to Hermione’s astonishment.

Draco noticed her confusion; but he didn’t think greeting ones girlfriend at the door warranted such a shocked response. She definitely had something to hide.


Hermione felt as if time had stopped; but at his questioning gaze she crossed the threshold to greet him. When he kissed her cheek in greeting she didn’t reciprocate. Instead he received a small, tight smile and a soft “hi” in response. Hurt welled inside him at her cool demeanor.


“We’ll be in the parlor for tea; is that alright?” Draco questioned concerned.

“Of course,” she replied politely, unfazed.


Draco noticed that she was avoiding looking at his father as if he was a Basilisk and not a word was uttered between them. They had always been cordial and their peculiar behavior was damning. Repressing the desire to clench his jaw he asked his father to tea.


“No, thank you Draco I’m quite busy today,” he declined. “Miss. Granger,” he said with a nod as he left the room.


Tippy popped in with their tea, set it on the coffee table, and left before Hermione could complete her thank you. Settling herself on the sofa, hands unnaturally still in her lap, Draco thought she was the picture of guilt. Leaning forward from his seat Draco poured one cup of tea; to his liking. Looking up at Hermione he asked, “How would you like your tea?”


“You know how I take my tea,” she said perplexed, a slight frown crossing her face.

“I wouldn’t assume that your tastes are unchanging,” he countered evenly.

“Sugar? Cream?” he asked lightly and added them at her nod.

“My father? He questioned in a hard voice, looking her straight in the eye, as he passed her the tea.

“Excuse me?” Hermione whispered in response; eyebrows rising in surprise.

“You slept with my father!” he accused heatedly; standing up.

“That’s preposterous,” she countered, standing up as well.

“You slept with him,” Draco repeated; hoping the accusation would prompt a confession.

“Where is this coming from?” Hermione queried, moving her hair over her left shoulder.


“Don’t lie…,” he began when she started to move her hair; a small, but telling nervous habit of hers. But quickly yelled, “You actually slept with him!” when he noticed the bite mark on the back of her neck.


“Of course no..,” she began to refute. But at her blatant lie Draco grabbed her roughly by the arm to drag her on unsteady feet to the mirror on the wall behind him. When he grabbed her suddenly she exclaimed, “What the bloody hell, Draco?” startled enough to use his given name.


Once before the mirror he harshly angled her head with his free hand so that she could see the bite mark for herself. As the blood drained from her face in understanding, he quipped dryly, “It’s my father’s modus operandi; I’ve seen it on all of his mistresses,” he finished with disgust; eyes hard.


He narrowed his eyes in question as her eyes froze on the mirror; an expression of panic on her features. At the sound of his father voice his silent question was answered.


“Draco,” he warned; clearly conveying his displeasure at the manhandling.


Glancing at Hermione he discovered pain in the depths of her eyes and he let go with a slight shove. She staggered slightly but braced herself on hand on the wall.


Replacing his hands with a voice full of hurt and betrayal he whispered, “My own father.”