Chapter Text
“Hermione, I need to speak to my friends,” Draco said, his eyes not even looking at her.
He had interrupted her explanation about the true nature of Merfolk and the way their songs worked in soundwaves underneath the water, and she took a deep breath, reminding herself to not snap at him for it, before finally looking up.
“That’s fine, I can hear what you have to say-”
“Alone.”
Hermione had been unaware, until that point, of his return to the Castle. She had thought he was gone for the entire weekend, on whatever business he had for his father. She tried not to ask questions, tried to understand all of the intricacies that came with being a Pureblood heir, but something was amiss with her husband and his father.
Dismissing her while she ate dinner with Theo and Blaise? Something was certainly the matter.
“Of course,” she said with a false smile, and she knew from the look in Theo’s eyes that he was aware of it. “I have some studying to do, as it is - after they have left, be certain to eat yourself.”
Her hand reached out to touch his lower arm, one of the few bits of kindness between them, and she could feel how tense he was, his jaw set, muscles tight, a sure sign that something was wrong.
She left their small welcoming room, which served a variety of tasks from eating to sitting before the fire to study, and turned to walk towards what should have been their studying area, but was instead his room - they had not shared a bed since the bonding ceremony, and Hermione was unsure as to when that would change. Rather than walking too far away, however, she stayed just in the shadows, watching and waiting. It took a few moments before she heard Draco speak.
“We swore to our fathers that we would do whatever it takes to keep our legacy alive. To do whatever it takes to keep our traditions alive. We’re going to have to break those vows.”
“What does he want? Why now? Does it have to do with Hermione?”
“Blaise, she can’t know about this-”
“Draco, you have to tell her-”
Whatever Theodore had been saying was cut off, as if by magic. A silencing privacy spell. He was shutting her out, keeping their conversation quiet. It was worrying - they both had their secrets, had their separate lives, him the Slytherin Prince, her a studious little Gryffindor, but at no point during their four-month marriage, nor the year-long betrothal before that, had Hermione truly been so worried.
When she had arrived at Hogwarts over six years earlier, everything had been like a dream, like it was truly magic. There were so many unimaginable wonders, so much to study, so much to explore. It had felt as though nothing could stop her, nothing could hold her back, not even the fact that she was not born into this world. An outsider she may be, but Hermione knew she would find her place in it.
It was not until the start of Fourth Year when the other girls in her year began worrying about boys, that she realized that a place may have already been chosen for her. Marriages between Purebloods had been ended after the Great Wizarding War, an effort to keep any issues of blood purity arising again, but in exchange, Muggleborns were no longer able to keep to those like them - if you wanted to remain in the Wizarding World, you joined a Wizarding family.
Suddenly, exams had no longer been the top of her concerns. She had always known that she was smart, the brightest witch some even said, but there was no way to study her way into a Wizarding family. She had had to look around, take stock, and as betrothal pieces began falling onto the wrists of so many girls around her…
She was forgotten. She was ignored.
It was at the end of Fifth Year that she found out why - The Malfoys were the best, and if their son was unable, by law, to marry a Pureblood girl, then they would have the best of the rest. And if a Muggleborn was the brightest witch of the age…
The contract was already signed before she had been told, the announcement was given to both herself and Professor McGonnegal at the same time, a representative from the ministry congratulating her on the promising match. Of course, why would her Magical Guardian, someone she had never even met, ask for her opinion? Why wouldn’t Hermione want to marry into the richest family the Wizarding World had ever seen?
One look from her favorite Professor told her her choices - accept the bracelet, or be obliviated here and now.
She had worn a bracelet with Green stones and a letter M charm ever since. Hermione Granger was a betrothed woman.
She had not returned to her parent’s home. Instead, she was collected at King’s Cross by a Witch in a very traditional set of robes, and whisked away to the country to begin her “education”. She had been met by one Narcissa Malfoy, who looked her over then gave a nod, confirming that she would do. What had followed was what Hermione could only assume to be hell.
She was taught everything from how to arrange flowers to how to plan a meal to how to perform beauty charms to how to read the stars so as to best have a perfect living child. There was family magic mixed throughout, one of her tutors whispering that it was both Black and Malfoy magic, and at the end of the summer, when she took tea with Mrs Malfoy, she had passed inspection.
It was the most rigorous bit of studying she had ever done, and she loathed the fact that she had somehow felt challenged by it. Perhaps it was the fact that Hermione had never considered any of it to be of any use, but as she sat, sipping carefully from a cup of tea with one ankle crossed behind the other, she felt oddly proud.
It was there that Hermione had been told more of what was to become of her.
Draco wanted the best - only the best. The boy that had antagonized her, teased her, tortured her all during the first three years of her education, who had ignored her for the past two, wanted her. Lord Malfoy had secured the contract. Lady Malfoy had provided the education. After all, if Hermione was in fact to wed the wealthiest Wizard from the greatest Wizarding family, she had to fit the part.
She had passed the test, and at the end of the summer, she was sent back to Hogwarts with a new set of rooms befitting her station. She had also been informed of her coming wedding - the following July, a month after Draco became of age. She would spend her seventh year as a married woman.
Whispers had become a cloak around her, rumors spreading as she walked the halls of Hogwarts in her sixth year. She had never necessarily had a number of friends, perhaps instead always a number of acquaintances, but now, no one spoke to her. She was utterly alone.
In July, they had wed, their souls bonding to become one until death parted them. She had felt her magic flow, flow from within her into him, and his magic into her.
He had been unable to take his eyes off her the entire ceremony, but once it was over and they had been left in the same room, his lips had brushed her hand, the same hand that wore his bracelet, that held his mark, that showed the world she was his, and then he had departed.
It had been quiet conversations for a few weeks, a few words here and there, with no one else ever showing up. They were in his wing of the house, he had informed her, and the food and cleaning were both provided by house-elves, who only appeared when she was not there. She saw no other, spoke to no others, and after a full month had passed, his mother had appeared.
The witch had looked her over once, then sighed before pulling Hermione from the seclusion she had been in, taking Hermione out into the brightness of the gardens to enjoy a cup of tea. It was over that cup that they had had a frank conversation, about what was expected of her, of what was to come.
Draco had the pressure of the world on him, and Hermione had been his dream - now that it was a reality, he was crushing under that pressure, unable to move forward with it. It was not her fault, of course not, but Narcissa would not allow her son to “ruin all of her work”.
When she had returned to her rooms later that evening, Hermione had walked in with a plan. Once they were back at school, she would not allow him to separate from her. It would start simply for now - she would invite him to study with her, to work on revisions together. Study partners at first, and eventually perhaps friends. She could befriend his friends, and then perhaps one night…
They were bonded for life, and while they had barely talked in the past month of their marriage, Hermione had never failed at anything in her life. Staying in the Wizarding World meant marrying a Pureblood, or someone with a family. If she wanted to effect change within this world, she had to marry someone with the funds, with the status, with the prestige. She had done all of that without having to do anything at all.
And now, to move forward, she had duties to perform. She had to become something, someone that her husband could rely on. She had to follow the actions of the Matriarch, had to learn from her how to command and lead without seeming to do much at all. If she wanted her voice to be heard, she had to make it heard, and being the loudest voice in the room was not the answer. She had married into a family of snakes, lived in a world where the snakes were ever-present and moving, and if she wanted to succeed, she had to become one like them.
Every morning, for the last month she stayed within Malfoy Manor, Hermione took breakfast and then a walk with Narcissa Malfoy. That decision had been met with surprise, that she had simply done so, but her husband had, at no point in time, told her she could not. The two women spoke of nothing at first, about the gardens, about the menagerie of animals on the property, about the teas and the parties… from there, they spoke of the leylines the Manor was built upon, about the Wards that strengthened the protection within, and finally, the spoke about what it meant to be Lady Malfoy, to whisper into another’s ear, to hold true power privately.
And each day, when they departed from one another, Hermione received a warm smile, a true smile - she had taken the summer of studies and had passed with perfection, but now, Hermione was following in the woman’s footsteps.
In the afternoons, Hermione found Draco and brought with her all of her books and studying tools. If he was in the stables, she joined him. The library, she joined him. Even if he was flying out around the grounds, she found a place to sit, to watch, and wait. Eventually, his afternoons aligned with hers, and they read together, passed questions back and forth. She knew he was intelligent, but they could easily spend hours discussing the same runes.
And with time, she learned more of Pureblood culture, she learned about the very magic itself that was within these stones, she learned of family secrets, of how blood magic was not really a taboo but something more natural - she learned the secrets that had been kept from her until now.
He never touched her, however. It was always her, each night, a soft touch to his arm, to the back of his hand, to his shoulder. He never went further, but she wondered. Every time, she wondered why he wanted her as his wife.
She was never brave enough to ask him.
And now, as she stood with her back against a wall, she knew tonight was the night she had to ask. Over time, they had become friends, had begun eating meals together, studying together, even sometimes falling asleep on the couch together… he still never touched her, but she was his wife, and it was time for her to begin asserting some of the influence that she, as Mrs Malfoy, rightfully should have.
It would all start with finding out what secrets he was keeping from her. What secret vow he had made with his friends… and what it had to do with her.
She waited until much later to make her move.
Blaise and Theo had left nearly two hours earlier, and after hearing her husband finish in the shower, Hermione had prepared herself, prepared herself mentally, prepared herself physically. Wearing the softest nightgown that had been part of her wedding presents from her mother-in-law, and wrapped in the most regal nightrobe, she had taken time to brush out her hair, whispering the charms into it that she had been instructed on hour after hour, day after day. Each curl lay perfectly on her shoulders, and when she looked in the mirror, Hermione had taken a deep breath, seeing for the first time what it was that she thought Lady Malfoy could see.
She looked like a witch. A witch in her bedclothes, yes, but a powerful witch. A strong witch that was the head of an influential and commanding Pureblood family. She looked like the bracelet, wrapped around her wrist truly belonged.
Never before had Hermione entered his room - she had, of course, knocked a number of times, but he had never invited her within, and she had never pressed it. Now, however, she opened it and strolled in, closing the door behind herself, although there was no real need. When she turned back towards him, he had risen from where he was before the fire, approaching, giving excuses.
“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier, but I-”
“I know you have no need for my counsel.” She would not allow him to speak, would not allow whatever awkward pleasantries he would offer her. She had no need for them. No, in this moment, she needed only truths. He had held onto his secrets long enough. And to gain his truth, to gain his trust… she had to give her own. “It’s true, I have seen very little of your world. However, a young witch in my current position is afforded a great deal of time to read, to form distinct opinions, and…”
She took a deep breath, pausing for a moment. She did not know for certain what it was that Draco had been talking about, did not know for certain what it was that happened behind closed doors… but while living in Malfoy Manor, there had been a great many closed doors, a great many secrets. Narcissa Malfoy had welcomed her, had trained her. Draco Malfoy had apparently wanted her above all others, even if he did not say so himself.
But Lucius… Lucius Malfoy looked at her as though he did not know what to do with her, but he simply did not like her. Hermione was more than aware that, whatever was happening behind closed doors, it was likely something she would not approve of. Something Dark. Something that was similar to his time with the Dark Lord.
And, it sounded as though her husband did not agree with the man. It sounded as though her husband would not stand for whatever Lord Malfoy was planning. It was an easy decision to make, where her loyalty would lie.
“... to draw her own conclusions about the nature of power.”
Somehow, as she spoke, Hermione had been approaching him, her husband, until she was just a breath away. He was looking right at her, directly into her eyes for once, not as though he was sizing her up, nor as though he was taking her in as a piece of art. No, he was staring into her very soul, as though he could see her for the first time… or as though he had been waiting a long time to see whatever it was he saw now. As though he had been waiting for this very moment, that she would come to him, that she would speak, and make herself known.
The summer after fifth year had taught her to hold her tongue, to carefully place her words, for fear that if she did not curb herself, she would lose her place in this world. No more, no longer, would anything hold her back.
He said nothing for a long moment, then gave a tiny nod. “Alright.”
“Power is making decisions.” She knew that well enough - Lucius was head of the family, and should have held all of the power - but Draco had chosen her, Narcissa had approved of it, and whatever role Lucius had played, it did not matter - the decision was made, and she was now a Malfoy. It was how things happened at the ministry, how things were changed within the Wizengamot.
“Power is not allowing yourself to be buffeted on the tides of history.” She could allow decisions to be made for her - and they had been, for a time, but she would allow herself to be pushed aside no longer. If Draco was breaking a vow… “Instead, it is choosing a boat, climbing aboard, and hoisting the sail.”
In truth, Hermione did not know whether or not Draco would understand the metaphor, but the look on his face told her that he at least understood her conviction. His jaw had dropped, just enough to show that she had caught him off guard, but that look in his eyes remained - he was seeing her, seeing Hermione Granger, the Muggleborn witch that he, the Slytherin Prince, had chosen as his bride. She could only hope that he approved of what he saw.
After all, he had been the one to choose her. And now, she had a choice to make as well.
“I choose you. And whatever course you are charting, I choose you. My husband.”
She had never said those words before, never to him at least, and never truly to herself… but that’s what he was. Draco Malfoy was her husband. She could feel his magic, feel their magic all around them, and she could feel herself shaking, shaking from anticipation, from worry, from nerves…
But she was making a choice, here and now. He had chosen her, of all the other girls within the school. It was not as though he would have been thrown out of the wizarding world - he could have waited a few years, seen what happened, perhaps waited to marry a Pureblood once the Wizengamot changed course again, but no, he had chosen her. And she was choosing him.
No more secrets. No more half-truths. She was coming out with it all. She didn’t love him, but Hermione could easily add the tag ‘yet’. She did not love him yet , but that did not mean she did not want to. He was handsome, he could be kind, he was brilliant, and he had chosen her above all others. Clearly, he had seen something in her that he could not allow to leave the Wizarding World. And so, she was choosing him in return.
Him. Her husband.
It seemed to take an eternity, and then Draco was taking three long steps to her, his hands never touching, never reaching out to her, but then he was over her, bending down, staring straight into her eyes. She knew he was tall, knew it from their bonding ceremony, when he had had to bend down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, the only kiss she had ever truly felt before, but somehow, he seemed to be looming. It should bother her, frighten her that he was so much taller, but instead, she just felt safe as she looked up at him.
He didn’t move, but she could feel his breath, feel it brushing over her eyelashes, across her lips. She could smell the firewhiskey he must have been sipping, could smell him, and she knew that smell. She remembered all too well the scent of her Amortentia, having brewed it the previous year. Draco… her Draco…
Spearmint, as though he used toothpaste, even though she was quite certain he cleaned his teeth the magical way. Parchment, likely all of the books that they spent hours pouring through. Firewhisky, but that could match any boy she was quite certain. And then… something else… something she suspected he put in his hair, to make it so soft. It was spicy, like cinnamon or cloves, and always smelled strongest after his showers.
She had chosen him, and as she stared into his eyes, she could tell that he was only just starting to realize it.
Her fingers brushed his forearm, the same place she had touched earlier, and she could feel the tension once more, but then she felt something else, something foreign. His other hand, it was hovering over her skin, just barely, but she could feel the ripple against her night robe as his fingers brushed her waist, as though he wanted to draw her to him, but would not allow himself.
She was a married woman and had never been kissed. She aimed to change that now. Hermione Granger was a woman that said what she meant and was not afraid to back it up. She had told him she was choosing him. It was time to show him.
Her lips pressed onto his, solid and firm. There would be no question in this - she was kissing him, kissing her husband, and her hand on his arm slid up, holding him closer. Free hand moving from between them to rest on his chest, she stayed there, waiting for another breath until she could finally feel it, his hand curling around her waist, fingers splaying out on her lower back.
They held, locked at that moment, neither moving to deepen it until finally, she had to pull away for air. Just a quick gasp, and then she was ready for another - but he had already pulled back, just enough she could no longer reach him, and she let it out, a soft moan escaping her. The hand on his chest pulled away, touching her lips - it was her first kiss, her first real kiss, and now her lips were tingling, as though magic itself had sprinkled sunlight on them for their actions.
Taking a step back, she smiled softly to herself, eyes darting off, away from him. She had done it, had kissed him, and he…. Her eyes flicked back to him, her husband, and he was still just standing there, watching her.
“Good night,” she murmured, mission completed. It would likely be a lot to think about - if Hermione was in his position, she would at least need a good night’s rest to form some sort of response. She had chosen him, however. Whatever was coming, she wanted to know, wanted to face it together. He was her husband, and she was bound to him. She was choosing him, above all else.
“Good night,” he whispered in response, still frozen in place.
Turning towards the door, she took the few steps, trying to remember to breathe, and opened it, ready to leave, to walk away, and let him process what had just happened. She expected at least 24 hours before he gave a response, if not longer.
A smile curled over her lips as she resisted the urge to look back at him. The door shut, and then she paused, hand returning to her lips, touching them softly. Oh yes, she had chosen wisely. The next move was all his. And then, they would go from there.