Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (35/39)
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, voyeurism, oral, anal, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.

All hail kazfeist! Uber thanks goes to her for beta-ing this chapter, and for her help in the future!


Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Thirty-Five – Of maturation, regret, and reconciliation





“I am only allotting you twenty minutes of my time, Malfoy. And I do not care if you own half of Europe, I still make a living like most normal people, so, time is money,” Ron Weasley sneered as Draco Malfoy stepped into the offices of the Chudley Cannons.

Even years after returning to Britain, Draco still could not wrap his mind around the Cannons being in close competition with Puddlemere United. It seemed impossible that the team whose motto had been ‘Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best’ could actually have players on the National Team. Then again, Draco was slowly learning not to be surprised that so much had changed. Draco had had a vision of what the world would have been like after the defeat of the Dark Lord. He had thought that Harry Potter would be Minister of Magic for life…

However, Draco was surprised by Ronald Weasley. The ginger-haired man was dressed in robes that would have cost as much as Arthur Weasley made in a year, and the office was decadently filled with Italian silks, antique Victorian design, and velvet (a blaring orange) wallpaper. Even the rugs underfoot were imported from Persia with floral designs that moved, weaving flowers and vines as a person walked atop them. There was no longer anything cheap about Ronald Weasley, nothing to berate.

“Twenty minutes will be sufficient, Weasley.”

Ron moved to sit behind his large mahogany desk, which were littered with game rosters, statistics, and even the business sections of the Daily Prophet and British and American Muggle papers. Draco sat in the adjacent chair, noting the comfort of the chair and the quality of the silk.

“Well then, speak. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ron uttered with sarcasm.

Draco arranged himself, crossing his left leg over his right knee and steepling his fingers, flesh, and silver.

“Where is Hermione Granger?”

The room fell eerily silent, and Draco watched as Ronald Weasley’s eyes moved to the papers before him. Draco had anticipated Weasley’s apprehension, so he sat patiently, waiting…

It was literally many minutes before Ron spoke, his voice suddenly very small.

“Why do you care, Malfoy? When did you ever care before?”

“Those questions are irrelevant, Weasley, but if you really want to know, I will tell you,” Draco drawled, resting his chin upon his fingers.

“That’s not necessary, I’d rather not know the lurid details,” Ron muttered. Clearing his throat, he continued: “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you much, even if I felt the urge to do so…”

“What will it take to convince you that I need to know?”

Ron stiffened, his blue eyes meeting Draco’s. Ron blinked once and then let his face break into a predatory smile.

“The truth. Why do you want to find her?”

“Do you really want to know, Weasley? I know you have held a strong attraction to Granger for years, even after the War and your falling out. What I mean to say is: you may not like what I have to say.”

Ron smirked. “I have never liked what you had to say about anything, Malfoy. In fact, I have never liked you, period. But I am the judge here, and I will decide whether I should tell you anything about Hermione. I know enough to know that I wouldn’t tell you anything to do with her…”

Draco chuckled. “You still hate me so much, Weasley?”

“Why shouldn’t I? You were a bully, a wanker, a coward… You did everything in your power to make me and my family appear to be less than dirt. Blood traitors… What do you have to say to that now…now that your father was executed for his crimes and Voldemort is rotting in hell?”

Draco said nothing.

“You may have charmed your way back into the good graces of the Wizarding world, but there are still many of us who remember what you and your family were…inbred murdering Death Eaters!”

Ron had turned red in the face, but he maintained his seat. Draco could feel the waves of pent up anger roiling off the wizard, but Draco did not move. Draco understood Ron Weasley’s anger, Draco had even understood the ginger-haired man’s reaction to seeing him at Frank Longbottom’s naming ceremony and the vicious attack on his person. However, Draco wondered why Ronald Weasley, the owner of the Chudley Cannons, well-to-do wizard and war hero, was still so angry over something that had happened when they were not even out of their teens.

“Then you have my apologies, Weasley; that is all I can offer you now.”

Ron’s brow furrowed immediately, and the red drained from his face.

“You do realize that you were a horrible and foul git, don’t you?”

Draco nodded. “To some, I still am. But my twenty minutes are passing us by. I will ask again…”

“And there is nothing you can say that will make me tell you anything about Hermione, Malfoy.”

“Then we are at an impasse.”

“It seems so.”

“Pity.”

Ron smirked, sitting back into his chair, mirroring Draco by steepling his fingers as well.

“Why do you want to know?”

Draco licked his lips and let his arms fall to the sides of the chair. “It is a personal matter.”

“And I am the one who has the information.”

“Yes…”

Ron crossed his arms before his wide chest and sighed. “Tell me then. Make it quick, won’t you?”

Draco nodded. And so he began…

A half hour passed by the time Draco began telling Ron Weasley about his foray into Northern Africa.

“I had traced the last artifact to Tunisia. The cuirass of Athena, once thought to be the aegis of Jupiter or Zeus…a piece of armor constructed by the god Vulcan… It was a piece to be worn as a breastplate with the face of a gorgon. This piece held immense magical powers, invulnerability being one such ability. I could go on and on about the mythological history and significance, but the point is that it exists and I found it.

However, upon obtaining this artifact from the tombs beneath Carthage, I learned its more recent history. Grindlewald had tried to obtain the piece, much like he had with many dark artifacts…collecting them to boost his arsenal. He failed to locate the artifact, and we know now that it was perhaps best he had not found every dark artifact hidden away in the tombs of the Ancients.

But the aegis’ most recent history, I learned from the goblins at Gringotts, had much to do with my father. Lucius was escaping to Tunisia after the War to find the aegis…to use it as the ultimate defense against those who sought to harm him. It seemed that my father knew more about Vulcan’s artifacts than even those who possessed them…Divina, for instance.

Luckily, it is only a strange coincidence that my father and I are tied to Vulcan’s existing paraphernalia. I have taken pains to protect these artifacts, the aegis and manacle are warded and locked deep in fortified vaults in Gringotts, and the Arm…well, you can see for yourself.”

It was at that point Draco fell silent, studying Ron Weasley’s face for some indication that the man understood. Finally, Ron spoke, slowly at first.

“You’ve spent the last few years, in and out of madness, to secure these artifacts. My real question is this: for what gain, Malfoy?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Power, you have got…prestige, and everything you would ever want. And now you’re looking for the one thing you cannot have…Hermione?”

Draco said nothing and made no indication that Weasley had seemed to understand a little too well. In one instance, Draco felt relief that someone seemed to understand, but in another instance, Draco hated Ron Weasley for seeing something apparently so simple, something, which Draco had taken years to realize fully.

“Fancy baubles, magic manacles and the lot are not going to get you Hermione Granger, Malfoy. I hope you know that?”

“Of course. She’s no simple creature.”

“True.”

Draco found it strange to be agreeing in any fashion with Ronald Weasley, but it was not an unpleasant feeling…smiling at the ginger-haired man.

“If you did know where she was, what do you propose to do, Malfoy?”

“You are reconsidering then?”

“No, don’t be stupid. Just sate my curiosity.”

Draco sighed. He knew he could not rouse Ronald Weasley; agitation and intimidation would not work on the hot-tempered man, now that all the pieces were revealed. And Draco regretted not realizing this fact sooner… There was so much Draco had been regretting, he realized.

“See her. Apologize, reconcile our differences, if possible. And if she is not adverse to the idea, at the very least be a friend to her. She had been more than kind to me…”

“You love her?”

The question seemed so plebian, but Draco nodded slowly, despite himself. He watched Ron’s face flush, not in anger, but something Draco could not identify. Envy, perhaps?

“I cannot think of anyone else who I l-love…” Draco stuttered, the word ‘love’ sounding almost too trite for what he truly felt.

“Don’t go off singing about how you had never loved before, how she completed you…I know that is a bunch of rubbish.”

Draco smirked. “Do you think I would be the sort to start something like that?”

Ron chuckled, “I don’t know, Malfoy, you’ve changed, and I don’t know if it is for the better or not.”

The two men fell silent again. Over an hour had passed since Draco had sat down, and considering how Weasley had felt about him, Draco was surprised.

“If I cannot reconcile, I would want to be free of her…” Draco whispered. “And I would want her to be free of me…”

Ron sighed and crossed his arms tighter before his chest, but said nothing as Draco continued more to himself than to Ron.

“I’ve done too much damage to ever expect her to want to even see me. But I know I cannot stop until I know where she is, how she is, and if something can be said or done to bring a peace to my soul. I know it sounds weak, hackneyed even, but she is like an itch in the back of my brain…an itch I cannot scratch.

I do not expect her to ever forgive me for the things I have said and done. She has no reason to. But a truce…a truce would suffice. I need it. I need it to move on.”

With a flick of a wand pulled from his sleeve, Ron summoned a decanter of brandy and two snifters. Draco paid no attention as Ron poured them both a glass, pushing Draco’s toward him across the desk. It took a few moments for Draco to realize that he had a brandy before him, and he quickly lifted it to his lips and sipped. Just like Ronald Weasley’s robes and office, the brandy was high-priced and superb.

After a content sigh, Ron said softly, “Hermione is in Japan. She is working there under an alias. She has offices with a Mr. Watanabe in Edo. That is all I can really tell you, Malfoy.”

Draco downed the last of his brandy and rolled the snifter in his silver hand, thinking. It seemed all too simple, so simple that he had not even managed to imagine it… Japan, and the Matsumotos…

“Is she…is she well?”

Ron frowned. “Well enough. It’s complicated, Malfoy, and that, sir, is all I will say on the matter.”

* * *

Draco had had offices in Edo ever since establishing the Ryu Zaibatsu, and it had been far too long since his last visit. His Japanese assistant was shocked to see his employer stroll past the desk outside the CEO’s door. With a bit of kow-towing and apologies, the assistant informed that Draco’s office was in order, as well as his rooms in the same building. However, Draco paid the small man no mind and growled in perfect Japanese that he wanted any and all information on a certain Mr. Jin Watanabe, his address, his business, and most importantly, his acquaintances. With a deep bow, the assistant left Draco alone to look out a large plate glass window over Wizarding Edo. The enchanted roof of the city was reflecting the dreary and gray sky many hundreds of feet over head.

Draco sat down in his leather office chair and waited, he had time.

Exactly one hour later, the assistant returned with a thick file of documents and a tray with tea and biscuits.

“Mr. Watanabe is a developer and supplier of Asiatic herbs and plant species to the West. He has no ties to our organization, and all attempts to recruit his expertise have been turned down. He has offices in Edo below and Tokyo above.”

Draco listened attentively to the assistant, noting that all the surprise of his arrival had seemed to disappear. Draco could not even remember the assistant’s name, but marveled at the man’s cool demeanor. Perhaps it had been the reason Draco had hired him?

“Mr. Watanabe is very secretive, and our own investigations have shown that he has close ties to the Longbottom Apothecaries in Britain, and with a certain Mr. Neville Longbottom. In the past two years, Watanabe’s business has thrived and expanded to high-rent offices just down the street from our own.”

“And what of his acquaintances?”

The assistant smiled shortly, “Not many. He has several foreign employees, mostly from China and Korea. There are two British names to note when I began investigating. A Mr. Felix Topper and a Ms. Jane Rochester.”

Draco smirked.

“Will that be all, Mr. Malfoy?” the assistant asked laying the file upon Draco’s wide ebony desk.

Draco nodded, his smirk spreading into a grin. Hermione was in Edo, and Draco had to grasp his left, silver hand to keep it from twitching uncontrollably. At moments of great anxiety, stress or excitement, Draco had found that the fingers of his left hand spasmed, a lingering effect from the true intent encased in the mysterious metal, he assumed. The assistant did not seem to notice, and made his exit.

Alone again, Draco sighed, the spasms quieting. Time had flown by him, and he felt old. In the two years between that very moment and the night Hermione Granger had refused his plea for her help, Draco had thought of how he would approach her again. The fact that she had left Britain did not surprise him as much as he had originally thought. In fact, a part of him had almost expected her to run.

There had been so many moments that Draco felt a wave of self-loathing, thinking of how he had botched up his chance at having her for all time. His quest for the manacle, the quest for the aegis, and in the end it had only ended up in spending more money than he would have liked on a vault strong enough to contain high concentrations of dark magic. Although, when combined with the Arm of Vulcan, the artefacts had been tainted by its own powerful attraction. The power of the manacle and aegis was a power that would have suited Lucius or Grindlewald, but not Draco Malfoy. Darkness could not hold him or love him. The thought that he now had three of the most powerful dark artefacts in the world brought him no closer to peace or even completion. Power, yes, but contentment, never…

In the two years, realizing his mistakes, Draco knew not to expect anything good to happen in his life. He was rich; and a target of gold-digging debutantes, pureblooded widows and their bigotry, and most of all the press who were looking for anything to bring the highest man low. It had mattered almost not at all to him while sleeping under the desert skies of the remains of Carthage during his search for the aegis, the Mediterranean Sea sparkling green even in the moonlight. Even when he faced his death several times trying to open the tomb in which the aegis rested for millennia, nothing about himself mattered, only her…and how to obtain her.

True clarity came when the goblins of Gringotts closed the vault deep in the bowels of London’s underground and the influence of Vulcan’s wares was cut off completely. Draco realized how wrong he had been about a great deal of many things. He could not ‘obtain’ Hermione Granger, he could not buy her, tempt her, or even woo her. He had destroyed any hopes of her trusting him the moment he asked for her help in acquiring the last piece of Vulcan’s magical triumvirate. All he desired now was closure. It was too much to believe that she would ever love him or need him, and Draco was tired of wanting someone who would not want him in return.


* * *

Jin Watanabe could only imagine he appeared like a gasping fish as Draco Malfoy leaned across his desk, his mercurial eyes piercing him like a fisherman’s barb. There would have been no manner of prognostication to inform the aged man that the powerful head of Ryu Zaibatsu would be standing in his small office in Muggle Tokyo, dressed tastefully in an Armani suit and silk tie. For three years, a subordinate would occasionally come to Jin’s office to attempt to intimidate him to sell his business to be absorbed into the Zaibatsu, but for the head to come himself was almost like a nightmare.

“Hermione Granger, Mr. Watanabe, how can I reach her? Must I keep repeating myself?” the well-dressed Westerner growled again.

Jin was afraid. He had been told before that this day might come, the day that Draco Malfoy would come inquiring about his friend and colleague, but Jin could not expect the horrible presence that truly was Draco Malfoy.

“I cannot…” Jin began, his mouth dry and his tie choking him. Draco Malfoy had not laid a hand on Jin, but his aura was suffocating, powerful and frightening. “I cannot divulge that information, Mr. Mal-Malfoy.”

The pale man stood to his full height, his silver eyes gazing down at Jin like cold and sharp daggers. Jin could hear his secretary shuffling just outside his office door, also disquieted by Draco Malfoy’s sudden and overwhelming appearance in Jin’s Muggle offices. Jin wondered for a moment if he should call for the police, Muggle and Magical. The man’s abrupt arrival had been nothing short of invasion.

“And what will it take to loosen your tongue?”

Jin felt sweat running down the sides of his face, but did not have the nerve to move for fear of pain.

“Money, perhaps?”

Jin managed to shake his head. “No…no money will ever…”

“Physical violence then?”

The secretary, a petite girl barely out of high school, squeaked, apparently listening from outside the office.

“No…no, Mr. Malfoy. There is no need for that!” Jin squawked.

Draco Malfoy sighed, crossing his arms across his wide chest, his eyes moving to take in the décor of the office and the various plants sitting on a low bench below a tiny window overlooking a Muggle shopping district.

“What is there a need for, Mr. Watanabe? I will not leave this office until I receive the information I have come for…”

Jin shivered at the icy tone emanating from the pale man. There was a hint of a threat in those words, but Jin knew that even if he wanted to avoid a confrontation his tongue would not move to form the words that might save him.

“A vow, Mr. Malfoy…I cannot…” Jin managed, his tongue threatening to strangle him.

“I see.”

Draco Malfoy appeared to be a statue standing over Jin’s desk, motionless by all outward appearances. However, behind the argent eyes, Jin could tell that something was moving, a whisper of a thought that quickly was building into a realization

“A Fidelius Charm…then…”

Jin could not move or speak: his desire not to say anything as a clue to what the man wanted kept him immobile. Jin had taken the vow two years before, and even the true name of the woman Draco Malfoy was searching for was taboo. The secret would be kept, Jin knew, but he had never expected that he might be harmed in the process.

“Send a message to the Matsumoto household, Mr. Watanabe.”

Jin blinked. “Pardon?”

“A message, sir. I know that any correspondence I send will be ignored. Do this and I will spare you and your business from being consumed by the Ryu Zaibatsu.”

Jin flushed. “You cannot do that, Mr. Malfoy. There are laws protecting small businesses in this country!”

Draco Malfoy turned to face Jin fully once again. “But if you do not do as I ask, you will be in no position to file a complaint to your Ministry, Mr. Watanabe.”

Jin spluttered. “How…how dare you!”

The pale man smiled, baring his teeth, his eyes gleaming.

“You do have a spine, how surprising!”

Jin was sweating profusely and his breathing was fast and shallow. Fear had quickly transformed into anger.

“I will send a message, if you wish, but if you ever set foot in these offices, Mr. Malfoy…or any of your subordinates, I will petition the Japanese government for the dissolution of your company. I know of many people would like to see you fail, Mr. Malfoy,” Jin growled, his anger energizing him to stand quickly so that he no longer felt so small compared to the Westerner.

“If that is what you desire, Mr. Watanabe, then you have my word.”

* * *

Lying in bed, Draco Malfoy languished over the thought that his bed high in the penthouse of Ryu Zaibatsu was far too uncomfortable for him to sleep upon. There had been so few beds in which he had felt comfortable, and only the simplicity of a futon at the ryokan had felt so soothing to him. As deft as he was with transfiguration, he simply could not imitate the comfort of the futon. Besides that, Draco had never slept well since leaving Hokkaido. He loathed Sleeping Draughts, and therefore tossed and turned most nights wherever it was he laid his body down.

It was perhaps the fact he was still awake that he realized that a sheaf of rice paper had popped into existence next to the bed, processed from an aviary somewhere in the building, and sent to his room very near him. Draco rolled in the bed, willing the candles to light so that he could examine the sheaf of paper.

It was a neatly folded envelope by which Draco could see only a few words written by brush on the inside. Unfolding the delicate paper, Draco scanned the characters and frowned.

‘Two weeks, Utoro, bring nothing, expect little.’

Crumpling the note in his silver hand, Draco growled a ‘Nox’ and fell back into his bed again. ‘Expect little,’ what did that really mean? Draco sighed, throwing his silver arm over his silver eyes. He knew he should be happy that there was even a response from Hokkaido, but it did nothing to soothe his anxiety. Two weeks seemed like two years, and Draco swallowed his regret down again.

* * *

Draco had had no real recollection of Utoro, and the wet springtime streets of the small town seemed the most foreign to him as any place in Japan. The concentration of Muggles did not bother him, and the seamless melding of Muggle and Magic was more natural to the people there…it was not like the secreted Diagon Alley or Ministry of Magic in London. However, the scarcity of people on the streets made Draco feel vulnerable and exposed. If it had not been for the hat on his head and long raincoat over his suit, he was sure he would elicit more than a glance from the people. Draco Malfoy stood out even in Wizarding Edo…

A light rain was coming in from the sea, but there were errant rays of sunlight breaking from the clouds, illuminating random spots upon the main street from where Draco had emerged from the secluded Portkey depot. He moved slowly, his senses keenly aware of the passing of eyes over his body and the quick comings and goings of thoughts about his appearance upon the street. There was no danger in this small town, and the vague traces of remnant magic were benign…small nature spirits, Kappa, a few lesser ghosts. Draco felt at ease, the air so clean, and the sea breeze refreshing, even the rain blowing against his cheeks like a lover’s caress.

Moving across a vacant street, Draco entered a small café, slowly removing his hat while standing in the door. Before seating himself in a window booth, he slid out of his raincoat, folded it over his left arm, and sat down to watch light curtains of rain fall upon the cement and pavement outside. A waitress approached hesitantly, but smiled when Draco asked for coffee and the time in well-enunciated Japanese.

Ten A.M., Draco wondered if he would have to wait all day for someone to come from the ryokan. Just as the note had instructed, he had brought little. Several thousand yen were in his wallet, along with several thousand pounds and a couple galleons. He wore only his dark colored suit and included a coat and hat since he remembered that springtime in Hokkaido could be rainy. The only other thing he brought with him was a small spark of hope…hope of some form of relief.

Three hours passed, as did several cups of coffee. And when the Muggle waitress ventured to ask Draco if he were waiting someone, the girl recoiled strangely when Draco smiled and answered that he would wait all day if she did not mind. The waitress tried to smile in return, but the intensity of the man’s eyes made her wish she could tell the man to leave… Akuma…demon. Foreigners were not rare for Utoro, gaijin came and went, but this man was not a tourist, and not a stranger…or so the girl felt. And so, Draco was allowed to wait without bother.

Patrons came and went, but none of them were whom Draco Malfoy was waiting for…none of them familiar, and all Muggle. And when the sun began to set, Draco considered finding a room for the night. There was no way he could simply arrive at the ryokan, he had to be escorted. Rising from the booth and throwing down more than enough money to cover his drinks, Draco considered taking a Portkey back to Edo.

The bell on the door sounded just as Draco finished arranging his coat across his shoulders, and he felt the air in the café change. He slowly raised his hat to his head and turned, coming face to face with Toku Matsumoto. Draco paused in placing his hat upon his head as the man approached, dressed in a formal black Matsumoto yukata with geta on his feet. The older man had little changed since Draco had seen him last before leaving the ryokan as a free man. The neat beard and the silver lined hair were the same, and Draco felt a wave of nostalgia sweep through him, lowering his hat to let it fall against his thigh.

Toku Matsumoto glanced about the café, noting that none of the other patrons or the staff had noticed his entrance. He nodded to himself, and motioned for Draco to sit again. Draco moved stiffly, paying no mind to his coat and sitting across from Toku. The Japanese gentleman did not speak for some time, but scrutinized Draco’s face, his clothing, and the silver left hand that peek from the expensive suit, resting on the tabletop.

“Mr. Jin Watanabe has become an important acquaintance to the family, Ryu. Please do not threaten him again.”

Having not seen Toku Matsumoto for many years, Draco was surprised that the first words from the gentleman’s mouth were those of a warning in perfect English and not greeting.

“I only did what I had to do, ojii-san,” Draco said quietly, addressing Toku as he had many times with the Japanese name for grandfather, a reference to the man’s status and age.

“Your manner and methods are unwelcome. I will only ask you once, Ryu, to stop inquiring about matters in which you yourself have conveniently excluded yourself from…you have no right to disturb the Matsumoto family or its wards.”

Draco could not help but smirk at Toku’s cold and firm words. “She is at the ryokan then?”

“As you have deduced, yes. However, your incessant inquires have only led to disquiet in my house. It will end now.”

Draco sat back into the booth and crossed his arms before his chest, the gesture of indignation not lost on Toku. Toku’s face remained impassive, but his eyes flashed in warning.

“The question is now, ojii-san: why even meet with me? Surely the lady I seek knows of your coming to meet me?”

Toku looked to the tabletop between them, his face softening. Draco let his arms unfold, his hands resting on the booth seat.

“You are a powerful man, Ryu. You have remade yourself into something that even I could not have imagined. In so many ways, my memory of you has kept me from realizing that time can change all. But being as powerful and important as you are, why seek her out? Why now?”

Draco sighed at the question and his body relaxed so that he seemed more human in Toku Matusmoto’s eyes. No longer the cold silver idol, no longer the mad and broken wizard…

“I must know that she is well…and if possible, have a means to forget her…and move on.”

Toku frowned. “In the meantime, you desire to pursue her, if only to ease your mind?”

Draco said nothing, but met the older man’s eyes. The early memories Draco had of Toku Matsumoto were fragmented, but memories that Draco cherished. Toku had been very kind to Draco, like a father who kept a respectful distance, but made his power and influence known when the time was correct to do so. Whatever feelings of sentiment Toku had for Draco were a mystery, but there was something in Toku’s eyes, and it was something more than pity.

“Your desire to pursue her is selfish, Ryu. If she had wanted you to know where she was, or to even supply a method of open communication, she would have done so. But, if your wish to see her is true, I have been asked to convey her wish and her serious request,” Toku said, his voice loaded with a gravity that had Draco’s heart beating madly.

Draco’s mind was filled with a sudden rush of satisfaction, akin to glee. She wanted to see him!

“A vow.”

The rush of energized emotion dissolved as quickly as Toku’s words registered in Draco’s brain. A vow?

“A vow that you will not pursue any legal action against Miss Hermione Jane Granger, and that at her wish you will cease and desist your efforts to locate or harass her. This is a vow you are to make in two parts, the first being an spoken vow with me, at this moment, as part of the condition that I lead you to the Matsumoto ryokan where Miss Granger has been a resident for these two years. The second part is a written statement that you absolve yourself of any right to pursue legal action of any form against Miss Granger. I have the documents with me. You have until tomorrow morning at nine o’clock to sign. If you have not signed after that time, you will never see Miss Granger while she is under the protection of the Matsumoto family.”

Draco blinked at Toku whose face was stony and grave. His words were in no way rehearsed or forced, but came naturally as if he were reading a passage of the Genji Monogatari. A spoken vow between wizards was no trivial matter, and of course, legal documents had their own weight. It was not a blood oath, nor was it an Unbreakable Vow. The whole affair was so like Hermione Granger, modern, efficient, and all too easy to overcome if matters demanded Draco use more drastic measures to have access to her…

Toku remained silent, watching Draco’s face and the distance in his eyes. It was obvious to the gentleman Draco was weighing his options and calculating and possibility of risk, either personal or financial. This was a Draco Malfoy Toku Matsumoto did not know, and it made the gentleman wary.

“I will admit I do not understand why such measures are necessary. My only wish is to see her…to end it, or to begin something new, if she wished it. I have no wish to harm her in any way, physically, financially, or emotionally. All the same, if she requires that I make a vow, I will do it. I want the last chapters of my life to come to a close, ojii-san, I need to move on from the damage I have done willingly or unwillingly…”

Toku closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.

“I do not know you, Draco Malfoy. The boy I knew is gone as if he had never existed. I do wish you would not see my aloof nature as a sign that I did not care for you in the past.”

Draco tried to smile. “I was a burden to you, ojii-san.”

“Yes. But to see you now, my burden, and the burden placed upon my family has grown into a person in which we can lay our hopes…”



tbc.........