Happenstance

The evening meal was taken in the small dining room, an intimate chamber for little parties of only dozen or so. The house elves had set two places; one at the head of the table as befitting the scion of the Manor and one on his right hand for his lady. Out of respect for Draco, none of the staff had turned their noses up at Hermione. He would not have stood for it. The novelty of having three infants to care for also kept the staff amenable as did the absence of Master Lucius.

Hermione, for the sake of hospitality and courtesy, refrained from commenting unfavourably on Draco’s father. They did not discuss him at all, which was fortunate as there was very little she could say that was not unfavourable. And Draco had heard it all before. Lucius could be understood but he would not be forgiven.

She sat down as always feeling underdressed. When she had finally been allowed back into her house and realised just how much of a maelstrom had been made of her wards, Hermione had conceded she would not be living here any time soon. So she had packed everything she thought she would need. That had not included couture evening gowns, which she did not own, or cocktail dresses, of which she owned two.

In deference to the season, Hermione was wearing a green sweater knitted with holly and black slacks without cosmetics, jewellery or a bra. She had to restrain her bust at work but the nursing bras she had bought dug into her shoulders. A singlet was much more comfortable. However the lack of formal undergarments made her even more conscious of the sneering looks of Draco’s forebears in their portraits.

“Can’t we have dinner somewhere else? You have a dozen rooms for meals, not including the kitchen.” Hermione tried to keep the irritation out of her tone. “There is just the two of us. Why don’t we eat in the breakfast room? It has a lovely view of the garden.”

“It’s the breakfast room.” Draco sat down with the smile of a man getting what he wanted and the prospect of getting it again shortly after midnight. Hermione usually returned horny after giving the babies their night feed. His sarcasm got him a vexed glance from the witch, who was visibly trying to be a good houseguest. Something was bothering her. He decided to let her talk rather than distract her.

“I know it’s the breakfast room. You have a luncheon room, a tea room, a supper room, two dining rooms and feasting hall.” Hermione had investigated such parts of the Manor as seemed polite. She always took a house elf with her as chaperone and guide if she got lost in the labyrinthine house. “Not to mention all those little parlours.” She felt like she should be wearing a crinoline and be expecting Queen Victoria for crumpets. “I’m stuck here and this is not a friendly place.”

“The Manor is designed to awe.” Draco poured Hermione a glass of pumpkin juice. She watched her alcohol consumption carefully, limiting herself to two glasses in the hour after she had nursed in the evening, no more and no other time. That sort of care boded well for his children. But that would not happen if she left his home because it was not affable. “I have never considered it a pleasant place to live. It’s comfortable enough. That is all I require.”

“Who are you trying to impress? I found a room with shelves of periwigs when I was looking for the library. Even Bertie looked surprised.” Hermione toyed with her cutlery, realised she was fidgeting and sternly told herself to stop. At this point, Bertie the house elf, arrived with the first course of the meal. He served Draco then Hermione before excusing himself before the witch could thank him.

“You would like to make some changes.” He hid his smirk in the dark recesses of what was probably his soul. Draco addressed himself to his salad to give her time to formulate a polite response. She did not want to ask a favour of him or presume on his hospitality. He watched her out of the corner of his eye.

“I shouldn’t complain. You have been very kind.” Hermione began. He had been kind but the Manor was intimidating. “But I think it would be more sensible to only use a few rooms. There is just the two of us here.” She moved on hastily from that lest he think she was trying to move in. “And once I am home there will just be you so perhaps if we could relax the formalities a little?” She stopped before she added something like ‘we are living in the twenty-first century’.

Draco could not resist a smile this time. He made a mental note to buy something expensive for the Grangers in thanks for ensuring their daughter was such a nice young woman. Hermione fought back annoyance and tears. Bloody hormones. She could not do anything without risking an emotional scene. She took a long drink. Draco was amused at her reticence, which made annoyance win the race through her veins.

“I am not a formal person, you know that. I don’t want to disarrange your system however.” Hermione managed that without sounding temperamental. She felt a headache build. Magic was tied to emotions. She had been lucky during her pregnancy but now Hermione wanted to stamp her foot and crack the floor. A new wand made her lack of control worse. She had split a ream of paper at work trying to do her screen-capture charm.

“There is no system per se.” He did not smirk but he wanted to. He reminded himself not to overplay his hand. She was quick to notice details. “Draw up a list of the changes and we’ll go over it but no more business at the dinner table.”

Draco considered what he would get out of her by agreeing. It was not a matter of saying outright ‘I did this so you do that’ he was much more subtle. She saw him cooperating and being the fair-minded woman she was Hermione would want to reciprocate.

He wanted to know her, not just Biblically. The more she told him the easier it would be to steer her where he wanted. It was creeping up on him that where he wanted her was at his side. His infatuation, as Narcissa termed it, was not waning. Because he had not felt this before he had checked he was not under a glamour or love spell. Hermione had not used any magic on him. No one else had either.

He was simply getting to like her, nearly unheard of in a spouse in pureblood circles. Draco stabbed an asparagus spear, dimly aware he was eating his second course and he had scraped his plate in an infraction of dining etiquette. He was thinking of her as a wife. There was no ‘if only’. He had schemed to marry her if she made herself useful by getting pregnant. Now he was manipulating himself. Well, he wanted her. So that excused everything.