Holy Water

Warnings: Brief description of torture.

AN: My life is slowly coming back together. I've got up to 8 chapters written, and what's there can prove to be a decent stopping place, perhaps with a second story as a follow-up. I'm still debating.


Hermione decided to go see Harry and Ginny. It had been two months since Severus’ death, and she felt like she’d said her good-byes. She wasn’t fully reconciled the conflicting sides of her relationship with both Draco and Severus, but her rational side was coming back – it didn’t matter. However she felt about Severus, he was gone. Draco was here, and if she wanted, she could give him the chance he’d wanted. A real chance, not just a quickie in the heat of lust.


Upon arrival at their home, Ginny immediately sent the twins to her mother’s, setting tea to boil. Harry hugged her tightly, not saying anything. He had no idea what was wrong with his best friend, and didn’t understand why she took Severus’ death harder than all the others who’d died in this war.


Ginny, however, knew it all, and it was her look that almost undid Hermione. Tears stung the corners of her eyes, held back only by her firm resolve to not cry. They settled into the living room, nobody sure of what to say.


“I guess I’ll go first,” Hermione said, almost hollowly. She examined her hands, turning them over and running her fingertips across the skin. When did she lose so much weight? Her skin looked and felt like paper. “I’m sorry I’ve ignored you guys. Severus’ death, obviously, hurt more than anyone knows.”


She looked away, having decided to come out with the truth to her closest friends, so they would understand her need for solitude. “I loved him, more than anyone I’ve ever known. I didn’t realize that, until I realized he was gone. We were together for a while before Draco and I married.” She bit her lip, meeting Harry’s eyes, praying to whatever deities she could that he wasn’t horrified.


Instead of the revulsion she expected, she found sadness. Harry reached out and gripped Ginny’s hand, swallowing loudly. “I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he whispered. “I just thought he was a mentor to you, like he was to the rest of us. Why did you keep it a secret?”


Hermione smiled a bit sadly. “There wasn’t anything to tell. The only details were ones you never needed to know. We always joked that we were better… well, that we would’ve made a horrible couple, and would have probably killed each other.”


The room was silent again, and Hermione gathered her scattered thoughts. It had taken a while to realize that she did love Severus, not just what she imagined could be between them. Drawing in a deep breath, she shifted, smiling. “I’m doing okay, though. Draco owled me and said that if I didn’t come out of hiding by our one-year anniversary, he was going to torture my apartment complex out of someone, and come hunt me down the muggle way.”
Ginny’s eyes widened, and she glanced to the calendar. “Merlin, has it really been a year since you married him?” Hermione followed her gaze, nodding.


“In three days, I’ll have been Ms. Malfoy for a year.” She glanced to the ring, nestled on her hand, letting out a short laugh. “It doesn’t feel real. I have been thinking about moving into the Manor. My apartment has too many memories of Severus in it. I’m safest there, other than Hogwarts.”


Harry nodded, standing, dropping Ginny’s hand. He paced over to the window, glancing out.


“Do it,” Harry said, turning to her. “I need you safe. Albus and I have had nearly round the clock watch on your apartment, but it’ll be nice to free those schedules up.”


Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Since when?” she exclaimed, indignantly. Harry gave her a small smile.


“Since Severus died. We thought Voldemort might come for you. You went weeks without letting us know you were alive, and this is war. We were worried that he would retaliate against Bella’s death, and you make the easiest target, living amongst muggles.”


She shot him a nasty look. “That’s good to know, that someone’s keeping an eye on me. Well you can tell them to back off-”
Harry held his hands up. “Hermione, don’t get mad. You have to realize, you’re one of the most important people to the Order. You keep everyone’s spirits high. Things have been pretty shitty without you there.”


This was news. She sat back, glancing to Ginny, who nodded a bit. “Everyone’s getting depressed. People are trying less and less. They skip training a lot more, and fights result in people seriously injured, from sloppy work. Nobody’s been able to take the instructors again, even with Severus and Lucius gone.”


Hermione clasped her hands together, crossing her legs. “I’ll make more of an effort to come back to training. If my presence means that much, then by all means.” She didn’t complete her sentence, but they knew what she meant.


Talk moved to the progress of the Potter children, and Hermione was happy to see Ginny’s face light up with joy when she talked about the two. She was itching to get back to her training, and Hermione nearly laughed at the pained look on Harry’s face.


“Please, Ginny,” he muttered. “This isn’t up for discussion.”


“You’re right, it isn’t, because I’m not going to let myself be a sitting duck. I’m starting training, and that’s final.” Harry pursed his lips, but didn’t dare defy the redhead. When she put her foot down, there was no changing the situation.


Hermione made sure to stay for dinner, pushing the conversation to lighter topics. She found herself laughing, a few times, and it felt good. When it was time to go home, Hermione gave them both hugs, and promised to open her floo, as well as allow apparation into her place.


Once she finally came home, Hermione glanced around, and knew that she was going to move to the manor. There had to be an area she could stay out of the way, and still maintain some semblance of herself.


The wards were dropped, and almost as if by magic, Draco appeared not a minute later. Hermione took in the black robes and the white mask he tore off, and her heart pounded to a stop.


“Thank Merlin,” Draco muttered. “Will you let me in?”


The wards were gone with a soft click, and Draco limped in, collapsing on the couch, his robes in a heap on the floor, revealing blood soaked clothes. Bruises were already forming on the flesh that wasn’t tattered. Hermione went to grab her wand, and startled when it wasn’t in her pocket. As she gathered supplies, the wand floated into the room along with bandages, and she set it to record, pushing the odd occurrence out of her mind.


Draco’s story spilled out. Voldemort had finally summoned the Death Eaters, and had ranted and raved over Bella’s death for hours. His magical backlash riled up the men and women there. When he realized Severus was missing, he immediately called his servant, finally understanding that Severus was not responding. He assumed his Potions Master had been killed as well, given the public search that was still under way, and sought out the only person living that could be linked to all of the recently deceased – Draco.


He demanded to know the last time Draco saw his godfather, or his aunt and uncle. Though he never doubted Draco’s story, he vented his frustration on the blonde.


Draco let her finish healing him in silence, his eyes covering every inch of her flesh while she wasn’t looking. She seemed a bit healthier than the last time he’d seen her. She had gained some weight, and the color had returned to her cheeks. She sat up, meeting his gaze, shaking her head.


“Draco, you have to let me be. I’m okay, I promise. I won’t waste away, I won’t kill myself. I don’t like company when I mourn. Nobody had been privy to the relationship between Severus and I, why would they be included in its end? I needed to let him go.”


He sat up, gingerly stretching his muscles. She joined him on the couch, settling into his arm, leaning into him. “I felt guilty. I know I never promised him anything, but somewhere, I loved him. And I feel like I betrayed that when I had sex with you. I know it isn’t true, but I can’t change what I felt. I’m coming to terms with the fact that it doesn’t matter anymore. Severus is gone,” she took a deep breath, continuing in a whisper, “and you’re still here.”


Draco was silent. Of course she would feel guilty. He didn’t. Frustration mounted, suddenly, consuming him. He shifted, and Hermione moved to grab her cup of tea. The frustration bubbled, and Draco could feel it turning to anger. There was nobody to blame, of course. Except maybe Voldemort. But if it weren’t for the Dark Lord, would he be married to Hermione? Draco didn’t delude himself with thoughts on soul mates and the like. He felt like the two of them fit well together, but they weren’t exactly trying. He wanted his fair shot, and just when it felt like she would give it to him, all of this… this bullshit popped up.


Hermione was looking at him. “What’s wrong? You look annoyed.” He pulled his arm back, and she sat up, looking back at him, dubious. “Draco?”


“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, quietly. He wasn’t the type to spill his feelings, and didn’t know just how hard it was for Hermione to divulge hers. “There’s a lot going through my head. Good thing you don’t wear the charm anymore,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I think we would both drive each other insane right now.”


She laughed, relaxing. “I think so too. Between my maudlin wallowing, and whatever you’re thinking of right now, we’d wind up at St. Mungo’s.” She quieted. “How’s Lucius?”


Draco shook his head, examining his hands. “He is at home, figuring out how to function without his arm. He curses a lot, and blows everything up. It’s been difficult, because he can’t ride anymore, and that used to be the best way for him to get his frustrations out.”


Hermione startled. “I didn’t know your father rode. Horses, right?”


“Of course. My father never held the passion for dragons or other creatures of that nature. He has three horses, though two were my mother’s. I rode as a child, but outgrew it.”


“Has your father ever tried to ride western? It really only requires one hand.”


He stopped, pausing. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll mention it to him.”


Hermione nodded, before glancing around. “Would your father mind if I moved into the manor?” He stared at her, surprise and curiosity on his features. “I don’t feel safe here anymore. I know you think Voldemort bought your story, and I doubt he will look to punish you again for their deaths, but I think I’ll sleep better there. Or at Hogwarts, but that would raise too much suspicion.”


Draco nodded. “Of course you’re welcome there. I can have rooms ready for you tonight.” While he was outwardly calm, his mind was a mess inside. Yet another piece of his plan falling into place. This way, it would become as natural as breathing to see each other throughout the day. Plus, when the war ended, she would have hopefully made the manor her home. She wouldn’t keep this apartment, it would be a huge waste of money to continue to pay rent.


“Thank you.” Draco stood, knowing that, if he was to have Hermione in the manor tonight, he’d need to get moving.


“I’ll go let the elves know to prepare rooms for you. Don’t worry about your furniture, they will shrink it and move it.” Glancing at the TV, he paused. “I don’t know if your TV will work in your rooms. We have converted the sitting room into a living room, and my dad made sure that the TV would work there, but I can’t guarantee it working anywhere else.”


Hermione shrugged. “I’ll bring it anyway. I don’t want to get rid of it, since I’ll probably need one when I move back out.”


He scowled, making sure to turn away so she wouldn’t see. Stepping into the floo, he spun away in a flash of green flames.


It took very little time for Hermione to have her personal effects packed. Everything fit into two boxes, after being shrunk down to a more manageable size. Her kitchen things were packed away in boxes the muggle way. She had a feeling that the manor’s elves wouldn’t welcome the additions, and didn’t trust her shrinking charms to last more than a few weeks.


The elves showed up as the sun was setting, mostly ignoring her presence as they popped in and out of the place. Hermione had gotten over wondering how elves got by wards, but they always did. None of them could give her a straight answer, and it grew tiresome asking.


By the time midnight rolled around, her apartment was bare. A few cleaning spells cast, and Hermione stepped into the foyer, purse in one hand, wand in the other. Tomorrow, she would alter the landlord’s memory. While she didn’t like playing around with Obliviates, it was necessary. If anyone came for her, they might come for him, in search of her. His best chance of survival was if he had no idea who she was.


Draco was there to greet her when she apparated. He showed her around, pointing out the rooms of importance. Hermione made note of where the library, sitting room with the TV, and her rooms were. Her living room furniture had been set up in the room immediately off the hallway, though she knew that some rearranging was in order. Beyond that was her bedroom, and it was quite grand. She resolved to marvel at it later, when no one was watching. Her bathroom lay just to the side, complete with a luxurious bathtub that rivaled the ones in the prefect baths at Hogwarts.


His rooms were right across the hall. Though he showed her its location and stepped briefly inside, he didn’t elaborate further and pull her into his bedroom. She felt that would be too uncomfortable. Lucius stayed in a wing off to the side, and Draco didn’t drag her down there either.


He bade her goodnight, giving her a tight hug. “Come find me if you need anything,” he whispered, before striding off, away from her room. She stepped into the living area, shutting the door. The living area could be rearranged tomorrow. For now, all she wanted was a hot bath and some sleep.


Her things were quickly unpacked, and Hermione gratefully sank into the tub, allowing the water to help her unwind.





Waking the next morning was strange. She stared around her, briefly panicking until she realized why her surroundings were unfamiliar. A house elf appeared a few minutes later, letting her know that breakfast would be soon, making sure she knew where to go.


Hermione rolled her eyes. She wasn’t intending on becoming a part of this household, taking family meals together. If anything, she would spend as much time at work and at Hogwarts’ as possible. This palace was cold and dead to her, and Hermione could just feel Narcissa, staring down at her, disapproving. She had never met the beautiful woman on good terms, and so her only image of Draco’s mother was not a positive one.


Hermione dutifully stepped into the dining room, annoyed. When she saw the small, round table, the annoyance faded, slightly. It wasn’t the lavish, twenty person table she had been expecting. She saw three places at the table, and wondered if Lucius would join them.


Draco smiled, brilliantly, to which she grimaced.


“Morning,” he said, pushing a steaming mug of coffee her way. She wordlessly sipped at it, relishing the warmth that spread through her body.


After half of it was gone, she was able to converse civilly.


“Draco, I’m not trying to turn this into a family affair,” she said quietly. “I mean, thank you for inviting me to breakfast, but I don’t want to intrude on you and your father.”


Before he could respond, Lucius strode into the room, nodding at Hermione.


“Did you settle in well last night?” he asked, his tone hoarse.


“Of course. Your home is beautiful,” she murmured, shifting so that eggs and toast could be set on her plate, followed by small helpings of bacon, sausage, hash browns, and half of a grapefruit. The elves then brought a bowl of sugar, as well as shakers of several different spices, including salt and pepper, all of which they informed Hermione of. Her brow pursed together, hoping she wasn’t expected to eat everything.


“Eat,” Draco commanded, stabbing his fork at her plate. “You’re too skinny.”


She glowered at him, biting back a nasty remark. Instead, she lifted the coffee to her lips, choking when the hot liquid hit her throat.


Lucius laughed, giving her the most ridiculous look ever. Draco joined in, and she just scowled at the two of them.


“Good lord, why does everyone concern themselves with my body? I’ll eat as much as I damn well please, thank you. If I ate this breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t need to worry about weight gain, I’d be a cow in less than a month.”


She stabbed a piece of egg, ignoring their roaring laughter.


When breakfast ended, Lucius excused himself. Draco watched his father walk away with a smile.


“It’s good to hear him laugh like that,” he said quietly, pulling her along with him. He led her outside, down to a barn. She was introduced to the three horses, while a young man came, greeting her shyly and stepping around to muck a stall.


“Who was that?” she asked when they’d left.


“Dan. My father hired him to help around the barn, since he no longer has the ability to muck stalls.”


Hermione stopped dead. “Your father cleans horse shit?”


Draco turned, rolling his eyes, grabbing at her arm to pull her along. She stepped away from him each time, waiting for a response. “Sometimes. My mother never allowed magic to be done in the barn, she said that the horses didn’t respond well to it. So, when she died, my father continued the tradition of mucking the stalls, though I think it’s because my mom put wards around the building that cursed him whenever he tried to use magic in here. He could have the wards removed, but I think there’s some sentimental value in leaving them up, even if it’s just so he can feel her magical signature. When I was bad, as a kid, I used to have to come muck the stalls. Can we move on?”


Next came a garden, though Hermione knew it had seen many better days.


“This was my mother’s pet project. The elves weren’t allowed to come here while she was alive. Neither of us knows a thing about it, and so the elves take care of it. They try, but something just isn’t going well.”


Hermione glanced around, wishing she knew more about plants, then chided herself. This was not her place, nor was it her business.


“What happened, with your mother?” she asked quietly, sinking onto a bench. Draco stopped cold, stepping back a bit.


“Why?” He was defensive.


Hermione just glanced up at him. “I think I understand you, and I’m coming to understand your father. But Narcissa, she’s this big blank hole. Or, to be more precise, she’s still in my memory as a bad person. I know there’s more to her than that. I’d like to reconcile my image of the Malfoy family completely. I know the Death Eater parts, but I want to know what made you leave.”


He took a while to respond, and when he did, his voice was strained.


“She was never into the Death Eater thing. My dad was, in his younger days. My mother believed in keeping the pureblood lines pure, but realized that if muggles were denied entrance into our world, the population would die pretty quickly.”


He licked his lips, and slowly lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the stone bench across from her. “I joined after Hogwarts. She wasn’t proud of me, but she didn’t try to stop me either.”


Here, he stopped, and Hermione slid to the ground, taking his hand in hers. “Things turned ugly about seven years ago. I can’t describe it. My mother was disgusted, and she finally told my father that she wanted out. Rape was suddenly very popular, and the torture became a hobby.”


Draco looked away. “Trust me, back in my younger days, I was all for kicking the muggles out. And I’m sorry, for that. I was wrong, and it took me too long to realize it. I wasn’t a big fan of murdering people, but I figured that, with time, it would come. But I didn’t have the stomach for what was going on. My mother took me aside and told me that I needed to get out. From that day forward, she was changed. She only went to the necessary Death Eater meetings, and stopped socializing with them. She started the garden, and bought another horse. She and another woman bred and showed dogs, and she made my father take her dancing at nearly every occasion.”


Hermione’s stomach turned, and she forced the bile down. The fact that he had ever wanted to kill her made her head spin. She wouldn’t allow herself to wonder just what he willingly participated in, before he turned. “Long story short, I understood what she meant about four summers ago when I saw a little girl raped. I knew it was all wrong, the horrible acts they were committing, the muggle hating, everything. It was like a light was turned on. My father never had a problem with the murder, it was the rape and torture that bothered him. He didn’t decide to defect until my mother was killed. She tried to save a little boy who was crying over his mother’s dead body. She knew they both would die, but the only way she knew out was death. Voldemort murdered her, then the boy, and told my father to keep better control of his pets.”


He stopped there, and Hermione didn’t move. He was far away, right now. It was nearly ten minutes before he spoke. “That night my father told me he was going to Albus, and that we both were defecting to the old man’s side. I followed because this was my redemption. It took a few days, but my father had a plan. He sent you the offer, in my name. He knew that, of everyone in the wizarding world, there was no way you could remain neutral. You were as high up on the chain of command as he could find, and Albus would surely accept us then. Turns out it wasn’t necessary, but there you have it.”


They were silent for quite a while. Hermione turned so she could sit next to him, his hand held tightly in hers. It wasn’t until an elf came to remind Draco of morning tea time that he snapped out of his thoughts.
“So. My mother is the reason for most of this, in her own way. She loved beauty. She always told me to find the beauty in everything, even when I had long since grown up. Her favorite quote was ‘Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.’” Draco stood, pulling her up with him and planting a kiss to her hand.


“We’re a rather fucked up family, aren’t we,” he murmured, placing another one on her lips. Hermione returned it automatically, not knowing if it was because she wanted to, or if he needed it. Either way, he smiled against her lips, pulling her against him. “I think you would have liked her, the woman she became. She was always amazing, but in the end, she really became what she wanted to be, and it made her the most beautiful person I’ve met. It changed us.”


He planted another kiss on her forehead, inhaling deeply. The lavender she always smelled of had become like a drug to him; it helped calm his nerves and remind him of the good things he had.


They walked inside, lounging in the sitting room. Hermione went to seat herself on the chair, only to have Draco roll his eyes and pull her to him. “Merlin, you’re too proper sometimes. Come sit with me, on the couch. I won’t bite, I promise.” The elves brought them tea, chamomile. It was perfect for the warm summer day. The windows were opened, and the warm breeze swept in. Draco turned the TV on, pulling Hermione back in between his legs, wrapping an arm around her waist.


Talking about his mother had been hard, but Hermione’s lack of judgment made it easier. He didn’t make excuses for the times when they had truly believed Hermione was wrong, an abomination. It was the past. And so they sat, basking in each other and pretending to watch the TV for nearly an hour, until Lucius came and rolled his eyes.


“You two are sickening,” he said, without any vehemence. Hermione ignored the curiosity in his eyes, he had to be wondering what was going on with them. The cuddling was not what you’d expect from a political marriage, like theirs was. “Hermione, have you ever ridden a horse?”


She was bewildered. “Yes, about twenty years ago. Not since then.”


Lucius waved her up with his arm. “My trainer is on her way, the three of us are going to have a lesson. I’m sick of sitting around this house. Draco told me that you suggested western. While I find the idea a bit barbaric, I don’t want to wait until we fix my damned arm to get back on a horse.”


Hermione just raised her eyebrows. “Lucius, I don’t think-”


“Nonsense.”


And then she could see it, the plea in his eyes that mirrored the desperation in his voice. It was momentary, but when Draco’s hand clenched around her waist, she knew he’d seen it too. They agreed. Draco found an old pair of his mother’s breeches, which were a bit small, but Hermione could wear them.


Hermione was slightly nervous, but was reassured that she would be riding an older gelding. Draco would be working with his father’s horse, while Lucius would ride Narcissa’s mare, who, luckily enough, was trained in western as well as English.


When the afternoon was over, Hermione felt like her legs would fall off. Draco just laughed, poking her and muttering something about payback. Lucius was exhausted, but genuinely happy. The mare, Isabella, was quite a bit rusty on her western, but Kathryn was confidant she would pick it up again.


Hermione found it fairly easy to slip back into the rhythm she’d once had, though Kathryn was telling her every five seconds to correct her seat, or heels down, or hands still. They were congratulated on a job well done, and Kathryn apparated away.


Once inside, the elves served them lunch, which Hermione fairly devoured. Suddenly she sat up. It had been two months since she’d been to work, and she found that she had no idea what day it was. Upon asking, and learning that it was Saturday, she was relieved. Monday, she’d return to her research. She needed to get into Severus’ labs to grab his notes on their projects.


The rest of the day she spent rearranging her rooms. Draco didn’t come to check on her, which she was thankful for. The elves alerted her to supper, which Lucius didn’t attend. Just as they were finishing up, Hermione saw Draco stiffen, his arm twitching reflexively. He left the dining room without a word, returning with his robes and mask.


“At least I won’t have to apparate back to your apartment tonight,” he muttered, and then disappeared.





When he came home, Hermione worked on him in her sitting room. Lucius followed minutes after Draco did, watching them silently. They hardly noticed his presence.


Hermione set her wand to record, and got to work examining his body, pressing various locations, noting when he winced. She always tried to heal everything, down to the bruises that he’d probably accumulated during his everyday routines.


Her hands passed over a particularly tangled knot in the muscles of his stomach, which Hermione felt around for, smoothing out the bumps until it was one smooth line of sinew yet again. Moving on, another one, the underside of his arm. This time, it was a burn, that extended down so deeply that in places, she knew there had to be nerve damage. Instinctively, the first salve was in her hand. This one repaired the nerve damage. She cast the spell, waiting while the green liquid seeped in. Draco let out a shout, she was proud. She’d once had this done to herself, and had nearly fainted from the pain. Nerve reparation was a horrible process.


A clear potion this time, the consistency of Jello. It would repair his muscles, the ones that had been nicked in the process. She worked rhythmically, occasionally asking Draco questions, probing his story. The details flowed in and out, nothing really sticking to her mind. She would review it later, and then file it away.


She had invented something for this such occasion – since muggle devices were fairly useless in the majority of the wizarding world, she couldn’t convert it to an mp3 or something along those lines. And so she made a bowl sort of like a pensieve, but much smaller, and shallower. The recordings she made went in, each a different shade. A small piece of paper with a quill sat next to it, the quill springing to life whenever she laid her wand across the bowl. All she needed to do was tell the quill the date, time, and anything of importance, and it was recorded. The writing disappeared within a few minutes, and it was clued to only Hermione’s voice and fingerprint. Since the idea of fingerprinting was unheard of in the wizarding world, she hoped that nobody would figure out the simple key.


Hermione pulled her thoughts away from the invention, and back to Draco. He flashed her a small smile, and continued. Tonight was particularly nasty, and she could tell that it was taking a lot for him not to be ill.





Lucius stared at the two in wonder. The way his daughter-in-law worked, with such assurance and care. When he saw the bloody mess on his son’s arm, he stepped out of the room for a minute to regain composure. Hermione just continued her work, and he could hear her voice, asking Draco questions in a soft tone. She was brilliant, picking apart his story to get to the pertinent parts. Lucius knew she had been doing this for years, probably for Severus.


He didn’t tell anyone, but sometimes he missed Voldemort’s service. It was easy, serving such a master. Voldemort demanded nothing but loyalty. His devout followers wallowed in decadence, the higher ranking officers were royalty. Business deals always went their way, people stumbled over themselves to catch a bit of rub-off of their greatness. Lucius had been amongst the top. He loved the lavish parties, and exquisite liquor, the beautiful women. He’d never strayed from Narcissa, but she knew he enjoyed looking. They fawned all over him, and she would just roll her eyes, basking in pride knowing that she was the only one going home with the wealthiest, most attractive, and strongest man in the room. She had her own sea of admirers, and while he always felt the need to rip those men’s wandering eyes out of their heads, she would just laugh and tell him that if he wanted her to stop, he had to too.


His loyalty to Voldemort started to change when the scene changed. Parties were no longer about the men getting into rowdy drinking bets, clinking glasses and gulping shot after shot. They’d often enjoyed betting, and card games, things of the like. Those ended, slowly. The social gatherings still held the air of self-indulgence, but everyone was starting to watch their backs. People were fighting, using dirty tricks to bring others down, out of Voldemort’s favor.


Then the entertainment changed. Quite a few weren’t satisfied with the amicability amongst themselves and their families. People went out, drinking and shouting into the night, trying to find a muggle family to toy with. He didn’t care, even then. The muggles were lowly creatures, worse than house elves. Nobody really cares about stepping on a few ants on the sidewalk. When it became a contest, to see who could do the most disturbing things, he stopped having fun.


Their screams started to pierce into his head, the cries of families torn apart in the night. Women, raped, their genitals a bloody mess because some of the men enjoyed taking a scalpel to them. They’d leave the bodies decimated. Children, sometimes were torn apart, one limb at a time. Bellatrix loved to cut women’s nipples off, and would draw on the sobbing victims with her stupid fucking knife. She would use spells to keep them alive, not allowing them to pass out from the pain, or to die until she was finished.


Muggles might be as insignificant as ants that just happened to fall under his foot, but he had never enjoyed sprinkling salt on slugs, or stuffing explosives into cat’s mouths.


Lucius could suddenly understand why his wife hated them, and him. She had been growing distant, for years. Nothing he could do would appease her. They slept in separate beds, fought like enemies, and often resorted to curses to satisfy their need for each other’s blood.


He saw Narcissa, and Draco in a new light. His son was horrified. Draco had always been a good son, idolizing his father, mimicking his every move. But this, Lucius knew, would tear them apart. Draco would never take his place as one of Voldemort’s most honored. Narcissa would never touch him again, not until she stopped seeing the dead and bloody, hanging from his every limb.


He stepped back. Voldemort hardly noticed, and nobody really cared. The Death Eaters had spun out of control, and they were a wild orgy of blood and violence. It took a long time, for their family to come together again, but they did. There was a blissful period, just about two years, when things were whole again. Narcissa was like the woman he’d fallen in love with, playful, carefree, and beautiful. Draco was no longer sullen and withdrawn. He laughed, a lot more.


When Narcissa died, it tore through him. He realized that nothing would ever be the same, and he wanted Voldemort to fall. It wasn’t easy, deciding to change sides. He still was not a fan of muggle born witches and wizards, they left a bitter taste in his mouth. It felt like they were invading his world, they didn’t belong here. When the marriage law passed, he searched for a decent candidate for his son, one that would help them. When he stumbled upon Miss Granger, it clicked. She was the Potter boy’s best friend. She would be as tightly wound up Albus’ ass as one could get. She was a muggle-born, and hated Draco. She wouldn’t try and abuse the Malfoy name, as many women would.


His plan had gone better than he’d hoped. Aside from the horrible mistake that resulted in the loss of his arm, and Severus’ death, things were perfect. And, above it all, Hermione was slowly changing his perception of muggle-borns. They were quite innovative. The brunette approached everything magical from a different way than they’d ever thought of, because of her upbringing. She controlled magic in a way that few had ever done. She absorbed knowledge like a sponge, and Lucius knew that she wasn’t just retaining facts. The young woman understood it, all of it. Sometimes, you could see her working things out. She pulled and pushed on a problem until it bent to her will, and was learning to come up with answers in the most unique ways.


She was brilliant. While the marriage was only political, he’d hoped that the two of them could maybe reach an agreement – either mutually satisfying each other, or mutually agreeing to seek their pleasures elsewhere. Anyone could see, though, that Draco was falling for her, hard. She was much slower to follow, and Lucius had a feeling that Draco was dragging her there.


All in all, having the brunette in the manor didn’t feel like such a betrayal of who he was as it should have. His ancestors weren’t haunting them, though sometimes he felt like his grandfather was turning in his grave. She had kept to her own so far, though time would tell whether or not she really wanted to run the household. He couldn’t tell if he wanted her to or not, the Manor needed someone to look after it, but that would mean she was taking Narcissa’s place in this home, something he wasn’t sure he was ready for.


He went to bed that night, confused, hugging his wife’s pillow to his chest. All of her things had been packed away several months ago, but this was left. She loved pillows, and sometimes slept with them scattered across their mattress. The bed felt so empty now, but the pillows sometimes brought a bit of it back. Lucius didn’t cry, it wasn’t in him anymore, but he knew that, were he able, he’d be doing it now.





Hermione returned to training without much fanfare. She was no longer the flexible, lithe fighter she’d been. Her wand work was still deadly quick, though she couldn’t keep up with the slang her friends were using. She fought Neville, who bested her, though just barely. After speaking with the instructors, ready to throw herself back into her lessons, she apparated away.


Appearing at the gates of the Malfoy Manor, she glanced up the long drive, before resolutely glancing down to her training clothes. They were suitable for a good, long run.


It was exhausting, slipping back into her old routine. Her muscles were screaming by the end of her two mile run around the property’s edge, and she was breathing a bit hard when she stepped in the front door. Draco was sitting in the television room, giving her a curious glance as she walked by, stopping and resting in the doorway.


“Merlin, Hermione, what the hell happened to you?”


“I went running,” she said, exhaling slowly. “It’s been months since I’ve run.”


He wrinkled his nose. “You should go shower.”


She shot him a nasty look, and continued on, ignoring his laughter.





After a relaxing shower, she set off in search of Draco.


“Have you eaten?”


She shook her head, glancing at his meal, before wrinkling her nose. It smelled like fish, something she had never been a huge fan of. A house elf appeared at her side, setting a place at the table, asking her what she would like for dinner. Hermione paused, considering.


“Can you make panang curry?”


The elf cocked her head for a second, while Draco just furrowed his brow.


“Abby does not think so, lady.”


It was the first time Hermione had been addressed as lady by the elves, normally they didn’t speak to her. She froze, clenching her hands.


“Please call me Hermione, or miss. Either will do. And I will just have a salad, and if you have tomato soup and bread, that will be great.”


The elf gave her a horrified look as she asked to be called anything but lady, then disappeared without another word.


“What’s curry?”


Hermione paused, then tried to describe it. After a moment, she realized that her description was pretty dismal at best. “I’ll make it for you, tomorrow night, how about that?”


He nodded skeptically, before returning to his fish. Hermione shifted, the smell putting her off. Her food reappeared, and Hermione dug in with relish. The sparring tonight, and the subsequent run had left her exhausted.





The next day, Hermione met with Albus. He had a few things he wanted to go over with her, which piqued her curiosity.


He produced a parchment, talking in a low voice that Hermione could tell was meant to be soothing. It was Severus’ will. “-his companies,” Albus was saying, gently. “Of course, you will control them through an alias, so as not to draw attention. After the war ends, they’re all yours.”


She just stared at him, clenching her hands. “What? What are you saying, Albus?”


“His companies, his research, all of that is yours. After the war’s end, you can publicly take control of them, but we need to keep that connection under wraps for the time being.”


Hermione nodded, her toes and fingertips beginning to feel numb. Albus gave her a look, one completely void of pity. He was curious. Hermione pursed her brow together, wondering why he was looking like that.


“Hermione, if you don’t mind me asking, do you know why? You and the Malfoy family were the only ones to receive anything.”


She just looked at him, trying to gather the strength. ‘Gods, why is this still so hard?’


“I loved him. I don’t think he ever returned the sentiment, but we were lovers. For years.”


Albus simply nodded, before sliding several parchments to her. “This is the information on his companies. If you would like, I can be the go between. All the decision making will be up to you, but this way you can stay anonymous. We don’t want to draw any more Death Eater attention to you.”


“That will be fine, Albus.”


Hermione glanced over the papers, nodding to herself. He was in charge of two companies. One was for spell crafting, designing new spells to aid those brewing potions. Another was an apothecary. He held the patent for over two dozen spells. Some were brilliant, wards and the like. Others were frightening, like sectusempra.


“Let me take you down to his rooms. We’ll collect his notes. You can decide where to go from there.”


Albus led her to the dungeons, thankfully quiet. The old man had always understood when silence was the best route. It took nearly an hour to find all the parchments, but when they did, Hermione knew she would be up to her ears for years to come trying to complete his work.


The one she wanted to focus on, however, was their Wolfsbane. There was little he had that she hadn’t seen, though some of the pieces would come in quite handy. Her team was showing promise with several plants commonly found in the muggle world.


Hermione numbly left the castle, apparating home.


She noticed her use of “home” when thinking about the Manor, but it didn’t bother her. She had always been able to turn any place into a home, no matter how unwelcoming.


The ingredients for the curry dish had already been picked out, though she had to hunt down the elves, and then use her status as Lady to get them to let her into the kitchen to use the utensils. The creatures hovered, wringing their hands, lamenting that she didn’t think they did it well enough, that she had to cook on her own.
Hermione finally grew exasperated, kicking them all out. That night, Draco and Lucius tentatively took their first bite, while she watched with amusement. They examined the peppers, and chunks of chicken. After several bites, both confessed that they were completely shocked, and that it was amazing.


There was none left of a gigantic pot she’d cooked up. That night, she rearranged her furniture, pieces drifting around as ideas flew through her mind, colors swirling madly and patterns appearing and disappearing. She finally settled for a bathroom in sea blues and greens, while her living room was decorated in a distinctly country style. Her bedroom stayed with the deep blues she’d previously had.


Draco stepped into her room later that night, and she knew immediately what was on his mind. He played around the idea, though the elves brought a dish of exotic fruits and she rolled her eyes. Either they could feel the mood, or he was seriously hoping.


He was talking about some incident at work, and while she found it cute that he was trying to be nonchalant, she was relatively annoyed. With a flick of her wand, the door leading out to the main hallway was shut, and she straddled his hips on the couch, pressing her lips to his.


She was immediately pulled against him, groaning into his mouth and gripping his shoulders tightly. They quickly tore the clothes off each other, the taste of the fruits mixed with the heavy warmth of the night spurring each other on.


Hermione was still straddling his lap when she reached down, grinning at the noise he made when she grabbed his cock, running her hands from base to tip. Her own sex was positively running, and when she positioned him at her entrance, she could see his muscles tensing, holding back.


She slowly lowered herself down, kissing him deeply, unable to stop a moan as she took him in all the way. He didn’t have Severus’ length, but he was a bit bigger around. Hermione felt her head spin as she pulled herself back, speeding up and slowing down in a rhythm that was building her into a frenzy.


Finally, unable to hold back, Draco pushed them both to the floor, growling something that caused Hermione to laugh, eagerly pulling him to her. He began to thrust with earnest, turning her giggles into groans, and eventually shouts. Draco pounded relentlessly, something she eagerly took, begging for more. He was amazed at the witch beneath him, and he came with a shout, her walls tightening around him.


He sank to the ground next to her, one hand resting on her stomach as she gasped for air. Her fingers laced with his, and he slowly turned his head. She had her eyes closed, her mouth open, her skin flushed and covered with sweat.


“Come on, you need a shower,” he said quietly, slowly pushing to a standing position. A simple cleaning charm would do the trick, but nothing worked quite as well as a good shower. She followed him, still rather quiet, and he began to worry. She enjoyed everything he gave, that much he knew, but was she that weak that it exhausted her this much?


The warm spray from the shower hit both of them, and she turned with an evil grin, the soap in her hands. His cock twitched at the look. “You’re dirty,” she said, breathlessly. “You should clean up a bit.”


She went from top to bottom, scrubbing every inch of him but the one place he really wanted her hands. By now, his erection was straining, bobbing for attention. She glanced to it, kneeling down to finish soaping up his feet, before rising, looking up to his eyes.


Draco felt he could have come right there at the dark look, before she grasped his length in her hands, slowly moving up and down, cupping his balls. Her tongue darted out, licking the tip, once, twice, three times, before she grinned.


He heard her whisper a charm, and almost fainted. Where she’d learned something like that was beyond him, but could only mean one thing – she took him in her mouth, slowly working her way down until her lips rested at the base. The charm numbed her throat, and was generally used only for orally pleasuring a man. While she couldn’t feel anything, she wasn’t incapable of controlling her muscles – his knees grew weak as she began to suck, moving her head slowly.


She began to pick up the pace, cupping his balls, gently massaging them. His hand came to rest on her head, though she didn’t pause. After a few moments, she took him in, sucking as hard as she could, and he couldn’t stop from giving a little buck, pressing her head.


She coughed, but continued going, glancing up from under her dark lashes, one hand coming up to grasp his, pressing it down gently. He held on lightly, bucking his hips slowly, using every ounce of self restraint to not lose control and hurt her.


The closer he got, the more she backed off, driving him insane. The water was scalding his burning body, but he couldn’t move, didn’t want her to stop this wonderful torture. Her own hips were bucking, as his grip tightened, watching his cock slip between her lips.


Just as he felt his balls draw up, ready to come, she tightened her little fingers around the base, refusing him release.


“Damnit!” he shouted. She laughed, renewing her charm, once more pressing his hand on the back of her head. He was afraid the force of it would hurt her, but she continued moaning and sucking, her other hand playing with herself. He buried himself deep, finally allowed to spill himself. She swallowed it all without a face, though he knew she couldn’t taste. She continued fingering herself, though he quickly stopped her, grabbing the soap and ordering her to stand.


He slowly bathed her, making sure to play with her nipples a bit, enjoying the way her breathing sped up. He continued, the scent of her arousal intoxicating. One of her legs was pushed over his shoulder, and he slowly began teasing her with his tongue.


When she finally came, he grabbed her hips, steadying her, though he could feel her legs turning to jelly. The water was turned off, and both wordlessly dried off, getting ready for bed.


Hermione went to her dresser, not bothering to care that she was naked, he’d already seen her entirely.


“You want to sleep in here tonight?” she murmured, throwing on some boxers and a tank top. Draco pulled her to him, kissing her lips until he had to completely support her. She held on to his shoulders for dear life, letting herself be backed onto the heavenly bed.


“Of course. Let me grab something to sleep in.”


He returned in a flash, wearing nothing but pajama pants. The two collapsed into the bed, utterly exhausted.





The next morning, Hermione rose quietly, not wanting to wake him. She took stock of her condition, before deciding that last night’s shower was good enough, and she didn’t need a new one this morning.


Her clothes were changed, her hair brushed through and tamed a bit before being pulled back into a thick braid. The employees had been quite happy over her return, and their new findings took her potion in new directions.


One of the employees found that the spring water used as a base for Severus’ Wolfsbane was the culprit for the ability to skip a transformation. She briefly scribbled ideas across her chalkboards – they lined the halls, and every single room. All of the employees could read, write, and make changes to anything on these boards, as long as they didn’t disrupt another’s work or train of thought.


Spring water, she wrote, chewing on her lip. Then, a list: location, temperature, volume, mineral deposits, chemical make up. Hermione had been able to devise a way to test their potion, without so many human casualties as normal. While it wasn’t entirely reliable, and had been incredibly tedious and time consuming, she loved it. The spell worked much like lab work on someone’s blood, in the muggle world. She had listed all the characteristics that made a potion, such as volatility, strength, the strength of various components – for instance, the sole purpose of the Wolfsbane was to subdue the werewolf virus. The spell, when applied to the Wolfsbane, detected the strength of that quality – Severus’ version was much stronger than the old one, and held a longer time frame – but the potion’s strength and effectiveness came to a crashing halt just days before the second full moon, which led to the more violent transformations the second time around. A second potion was completely ineffective immediately after, because it needed to be taken two weeks before the full moon, and could not be taken while the previous one was still in effect.


Hermione spent the rest of the day talking to everyone in the office, asking for as much input as possible into this new piece of the puzzle. She had a list of all the different experiments she wanted done to test this new potion, gritting her teeth at the sheer cost of this one. The spring water was incredibly easy to get, and quite cheap, but some of the other ingredients grew to almost dizzying costs.


Her eyes immediately widened – she now owned an apothecary, one that specialized not only in potions, but also in ingredients. Digging through her files, she produced the paperwork on Severus’ apothecary. She had four employees in store there, and from what she could tell, their duty was to stock the shelves, man the register, and help customers. She smiled to herself when she saw where the majority of the expenses went – there were almost a dozen herbalists on payroll. She recognized almost all of the names, her eyebrows shooting up when she saw Neville’s name.


He had purchased an incredibly large plot of land with the inheritance from his grandmother, and had invested in the best greenhouses he could afford. Luna preferred tending to the plants, the solitude of the job afforded her time to think about her next article for the Quibbler. Neville did his best to devise ways to grow rare herbs in captivity, and with Hermione’s help, he had begun to produce Dragon’s Tongue, a pinkish leaf (shaped like a tongue, to Hermione’s disgust) that had been named so because it used to only be found in a dragon’s den. The mortality rate of gathering that herb was so high, that few potions included it, though it was the most effective thing available for several different brews.


Neville and Luna immediately patented their growing method, while Hermione held the patent for the potion necessary, keeping it so tightly under wraps that not even her employees knew a single ingredient in its brewing. Neville was her sole customer in that area, though several had purchased it to attempt their own growing, to no avail.


The Longbottoms had instantly been propelled to the forefront of herbology. Luna liked to work the books, though they eventually hired someone to help on that front. Their profits from the Dragon’s Tongue alone equaled the profits from all of their other endeavors. Hermione was immensely proud of the two. They were incredibly wealthy now, though you’d never guess. Luna still wrote for the Quibbler, which probably lost more money than it made, and Neville expanded his greenhouses. They quit commercial production of the more common herbs, and had spent the past five years trying to figure out how to grow a certain mushroom in captivity. It only grew on the face of cliffs, which in itself wasn’t dangerous to gather, but they were harvested so quickly that the sources were drying up rapidly, and what was harvested was almost too young to be potent.


Hermione looked at the shop’s inventory, before grinning. She’d patronize the place like any normal customer, but the profits would wind up back in her pocket. It was a bit risky, toying with money and multiple businesses like this, but perfectly legal. If her own research business came up short (as it almost always did), she just poured some of her own money back into it. That was what had led her to spell crafting, the loss of so much money and Severus’ constant chiding. Research businesses of that size were always double edged. Once they patented several important potions, they could profit. But until then, the owner or investors always needed to pour money into it. Because Hermione refused to allow anyone else to dictate to her what she could and could not do, she would not have investors – they would constantly demand to know where their money was going, and would use their influence to direct her research.


Hermione was seeing her books slowly creep towards even, though whenever she threw all her resources at something like this Wolfsbane project, the business slowly began going deeper into the red again. It was incredibly frustrating, to constantly be in the negative, but that’s how this business went. She needed good employees, ones who wouldn’t make mistakes, and employees in this field were costly.


She sighed, checked her checkbook, before rolling her eyes. Not having rent or bills helped, quite a bit. She hadn’t devised a spell in a while, though there was always a small trickle of residual income. Hermione preferred to invent the spell, patent it, and then go through a sort of broker, someone who, for a fee, leased the spells out. The lease terms were always a year long, and so she found her money coming in spurts. She’d get five or six companies leasing the spell every January, but they didn’t have to fork over any money until the following January.


Hermione quickly got up, scribbling down the amount of each herb she’d need, before apparating to the apothecary. The young boy at the counter greeted her, while another was lovingly tending to the stocks, making sure everything was fresh. The business smelled of herbs and decay, something she rarely enjoyed.


She glanced to the stock of potions, skimming the various types. Severus was smart, he stayed away from placing the extremely rare ones on his shelves – those were available on special order only. She also saw none of the extremely common. Some businesses made the mistake of marketing incredibly common potions, and often found that they lost money in that area. Quite a few people chose to brew their own home remedies, finding it cheaper and much more effective.


After picking out the necessary herbs, and making sure she had the proper containment items, she checked out, nearly choking on her gasp of air at the price.


Returning to work, she divvied up the experiments, letting everyone know what their new project was. Nods were seen, and Hermione dismissed everyone for the day. There was no way to begin tonight, and she didn’t really want to stick around and bullshit her way through the next two hours.


Heading back to the Manor turned her stomach. True, leaving so quietly this morning had been almost cowardly, but she didn’t want to face the morning after. It had been her personal motto throughout her adult life to never stick around. She’d had several one night stands, and a few longer relationships, but she never stayed the night. It frustrated her boyfriends, she wasn’t morally opposed to it, she was just… not in the mood for the cutesy couple-ness that came with waking up together.


The night she stayed at Hogwarts had been one of the few times, and last night had probably been number five or six.


Hermione was suddenly very, very nervous. She wondered the streets of muggle London, purposely avoiding going home. The air had begun to cool with the fall months, and she briefly wished she’d brought a light jacket.


Would Draco want to sleep together every night? She wasn’t ready for that, at all. They’d been together multiple times now, and Hermione had a feeling she wasn’t going to cut that off. She had a healthy sexual appetite, and Draco satisfied that in every way.


What would Lucius think? Did he care? She felt like a teenager, sleeping with a boyfriend while her parents were downstairs, watching TV, oblivious. Even though the Manor was massive, and she could go days without seeing a soul if she wanted, it still bothered her to have sex with him while his father just rooms away.


This whole married business was driving her nuts. While she knew that, as long as she was with Draco, she would never have to be the domesticated type, the cooking-cleaning-raising babies woman – Hermione panicked. They were married, he wanted to stay married, did that mean he wanted kids? She didn’t want kids! Not yet, anyway. She always wanted to adopt, though muggle children in this lifestyle wouldn’t work out at all, and nobody adopted out magical children.


She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Draco may or may not want kids, but not right now. They both played an incredibly precarious position in their lives, and neither had the time for a child. Nor was it a wise idea, with the threat of marriage dissolution looming in the future.


Hermione knew she was overreacting. If Draco wanted to sleep with her every night, she would just gently tell him that she wasn’t comfortable with that. She owed him nothing. She had given up her freedom to protect him, the least he could do was allow her a bed at the Manor.


Much to her relief, he wasn’t even there when she returned. The elves brought her a bit of the supper they’d made, leaving her to her desk and her notes. She jotted down several more ideas for the potion, before turning her attention to the two businesses Severus had left her. She made note of every single employee, though there was no need to check on them. Severus had most likely done a thorough job of searching his employee’s backgrounds.


The spell crafting company was much tinier, consisting of the owner, and a salesman, like Hermione did. The only reason for the company was to keep Severus’ name anonymous. Hermione didn’t know if she should publish her own spells through that company – it kept her anonymous, but anyone skilled enough would be able to detect the changes in the spells. Severus’ style was quite different from hers. Hermione decided to leave that company be, and simply collect the revenues from it. She could maybe hire one or two spell craters, but they’d be incredibly expensive. However, the thought of just assigning people to do her work made her almost drool. She enjoyed spell crafting, but it was much more of a hobby than anything else.


Hermione vowed to look into it.


Sitting back, she felt she had a clear path, and was happy.


Draco returned several hours later, though he only popped his head in to say hello, before breezing by to… wherever he went. She showered, and crawled into bed, alone.