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“Mr. Rosewood, if I could just have a bit more time–”
“Enough.” The older gentleman removed his spectacles and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve tried to be delicate about this, Miss Granger, but that is my final word. You have three days. In three days, if you are not able to present a more suitable inventory, the Opal Hall will be given to Miss Greengrass. You are dismissed.”
Allenbor Rosewood picked up a quill and continued annotating the layouts. Hermione stood at his desk rather stunned, but didn’t dare say another word. Gathering her things, she left his office, a feeling of dread and despair washing over her.
Of course Rosewood would consider Astoria to curate the main exhibit. She was a pureblood with access to collections Hermione could only dream about. Like calls to like and proud bloodlines had flocked to her like moths to a flame.
Hermione’s reputation carried very little weight in the world of fine arts. She was still too small for these breaches, just like she had been when she entered the wizarding world. Perhaps this particular profession just wasn’t meant for her.
Walking down the ivory staircase and into the Opal Hall, Hermione looked around her, admiring what might have been. Her visions for this room had been slipped out from under her by a Slytherin, no less.
A Slytherin…
Hermione wasn’t without recourse.
She could forfeit the main exhibit to Astoria Greengrass, but since when had Hermione ever laid flat on the ground for anyone to walk over? Greengrass couldn’t possibly want this as badly as she did, no one could.
Hermione did have another option .
She could accept his offer. An offer that many potential clients refused to extend to her. Full access to hundreds of artifacts and rare pieces of artwork from all over the world, the likes of which have not seen the light of day in centuries. All he asked for in return was a date . More accurately, that he should accompany her, as her date, to the Grand Opening of the Rosewood Museum.
One look around the opulent room and Hermione was determined to claim it for her own, even if it meant walking into the grand opening on the arm of Draco Malfoy.
She sent the owl on its way the moment she arrived at her flat. If she only had three days, she had to make them count. And count, they did.
It was nearly eight at night when the familiar Eurasian Eagle-Owl swooped in through her window carrying a small box with a scrap of parchment rolled up at the top.
Hermione turned the parchment over in her hands but there was nothing else. Not even a time. She very nearly sent another reply before glancing over at the small box that had accompanied it.
Inside was a simple Gryffindor pendant, like the one she wore on her school robes. The moment Hermione’s finger touched the cool metal, her living room twisted around her, the couch vanished and she landed on a cold stone floor.
“Ungh,” she groaned from the unexpected impact, massaging her rear. Hermione had been transported, against her will, into a small circular room with nothing but a table and an arrangement of flowers. The wall, a textured cream color with gold crown molding, was devoid of windows or doors.
Hermione was trapped. She cursed her curiosity and tossed the portkey across the room, which only bounced back and landed by her feet.
“Damn you, Malfoy, ” she yelled into the tall ceiling.
Of course it was all a lie. Some kind of sick game. There was no way Draco Malfoy, the silver snake, actually had any interest in Hermione Granger, a mudblood. She was foolish to believe that he had grown out of his hatred and immaturity. This makeshift prison was proof that he’d never change.
It’s not like she cared anyway. So what if he’d grown into his features and had the face of an angel. So what if she’d actually started to like that stupid grin he wore so well.
Hermione contemplated all the ways she’d get back at him as she passed her hands along the walls, looking for any way out. Her heart rate increased as she was reminded that not only was she trapped, but she also didn’t have her wand. The air became thinner and it was becoming more difficult to breathe.
There was no hidden opening, or secret compartment.
Not a single way out.
“I have to say,” the familiar tone of playfulness startled Hermione. She whipped around to find Draco Malfoy standing across the room. He arched his brow with that mischievous grin she’d previously thought was attractive. “I really didn’t think that would work.”
“Where am I?” She breathed, trying not to sound frantic, her erratic heartbeat struggling to find a calm.
“Oh this?” Malfoy looked around the room, placing a hand in his pockets. “Some call it The Bank, or The Vault.” He began to pace the small room, rubbing his chin. “I like to call it The Hideaway. Has a sort of mystery to it, if I do say so myself.”
Chest still rising and falling, Hermione couldn’t fathom what game he had pulled her into. Did he intend to hide her here forever? Someone was bound to start asking questions. Malfoy would never get away with it.
“Relax Granger, I wouldn’t dream of harming you–well, not unless you’re into that sort of thing.” Another grin sparked a glint in his silver eyes that left much to the imagination. “I see I’ll need to spell it out for you. The Hideaway is where I store my more valuable treasures. After the war, when the Ministry raided my home and vaults, they saw fit to extract the more dangerous pieces. It’s taken me quite some time to reclaim them, and since you agreed to meet me, I can show you some of them.”
“I hardly call this a meeting, more like an abduction,” she said icily, standing up a bit straighter. He couldn’t possibly be serious. She calculated her chances of getting away as he circled close behind her, a low laugh in his throat. Her breathing finally settled, wondering if perhaps Malfoy was telling the truth.
“Of course you’d misconstrued my gesture. What’s wrong with a little spontaneity?”
“You and I have very different opinions of spontaneity, Malfoy. What do you want?” Her tone was cold, words clipped. She had to try and contain her emotions.
“For now?” Malfoy’s voice purred above her ear sending involuntary shivers down her spine. “Just your arm.”
Like a predator ready to pounce he loomed over her shoulder, so close she could smell the subtle notes of sandalwood, freshly stretched canvas, and the hints of varnish. These scents were familiar to her, being in the company of artisans and painters, it was enough to distract her.
Malfoy circled her once more, offering his hand to her, his eyes finally giving him away. Excitement.
What only moments ago was fear and panic, had transformed into something altogether different and new. Hermione had never trusted Malfoy before, but something about the look in his eyes was thrilling, mischievous and devious.
Later, when the ground beneath her feet stopped spinning, Hermione would wonder what made her lift her hand and place it in his. For now, she let him lead her through a set of heavy red curtains that had just appeared, and into his personal hideaway.
Displays of endless silver and gold awaited her, jewels in colors that couldn’t possibly have real names, and art that escaped the canvas, taking shape all around her.
Hermione was lost in the magic of his trove and there was no doubt she could spend hours within the confines of the gallery.
So they did, and a whole new side of Draco Malfoy unraveled with each passing moment.
“That was my great grandfather’s cane. The wand is still attached.” He pointed at a shelf holding all kinds of canes. Hermione recognized Lucius’ cane without its handle. She vaguely recalled that it had been destroyed by Voldemort around the time of the Battle of Hogwarts.
“This was my mother’s family tapestry, different from the Black Family tapestry. Like the tree, except this is a star chart. It depicts its members as their namesake constellation,” he said with pride and a genuine smile.
Malfoy showed her everything.
He showed her the last surviving vanishing cabinet, its twin destroyed in the room of lost things, the metallic Death Eater mask he’d ceremoniously worn a handful of times, he even showed her his family portrait that once hung at Malfoy Manor.
The irony had not escaped her, only moments ago Hermione had been scared he would keep her here, prisoner forever, and now she wished she didn’t have to leave. She could spend a lifetime here, locked away, and never uncover all the secrets this gallery held.
All the while Malfoy stood beside her, holding her hand. Hermione hadn’t realized that while she drank in every artifact, or living piece of art, he marveled in her beauty.
“What’s over here?” She asked, noticing another set of heavy curtains.
“It’s a surprise,” he said with a smile. Hermione bit the side of her lip, excited for more. “It’s my own personal art. Might not be as interesting to you,” he remarked nonchalantly. It only made her that much more curious.
Hermione tugged at his arm softly, squeezing her fingers between his, a silent request. Her eyes beamed at him, and something shifted between them.
“If you insist.”
Malfoy led the way, holding the curtain open for her with his free hand. Hermione could feel his steady gaze on her now, his fingers still intertwined with hers. They took a few steps in and it was evident that this room was different from the gallery they had just left. It was a simple art display, with white walls and canvases of all sizes.
Hermione gasped as she realized the subject of each portrait was the same.
Herself.
The art mediums varied wildly, some were simple sketches, others were intricate and detailed oil paintings. Some were on simple canvases, others encased in large gilded frames.
Versions of herself stared at her now, moving with elegance in their respective spaces and a soft hush of her own voice filled the room. Hair in shades of brown and gold shone so brightly that it refracted light. She was in awe of the detail with which the artist had captured her.
The artist.
“Did you make these?” Hermione asked, her voice falling into the abyss of quiet.
“Yes,” Malfoy whispered, as if he wanted to hold onto the secret just a bit longer. Hermione looked at him now and there were no words. What could one say when faced with–Hermione was overwhelmed and slightly self conscious.
“Do you like them?” For the first time in their lives, his voice sounded unsure. His confidence, replaced by vulnerability.
“Do I like them?” It was an impossible question. “They’re me.” She looked at herself. They were all her, but different. Some of them were depictions of her in school robes, reading a book or with a quill in hand scribbling on some parchment. In a few others he’d zoomed in and drawn just her face, her eyes different shades of chocolate and honey.
“Why?” Hermione whispered, looking back into his waiting eyes. He took a deep breath before answering.
“I always thought I knew everything there was to know about magic,” he said, his fingers gently wrapping around hers. “On rare occasions, like now, when I am lucky enough to look into your eyes, I realize I know nothing about magic. You’re a wonder, Hermione.”
Hermione had been stunned a few times in her life. Fighting for her right to exist in the wizarding world came with its dangers, but never could she imagine that she’d be stunned by words from the lips of Draco Malfoy.
Like standing on the edge of a cliff, he looked at her, waiting for a response, but what could one say when surrounded with a love letter in the form of art and a poem in the form of a confession?
Hermione didn’t say anything.
She pulled him to her, off the cliff and into her arms. His lips were warm and soft against hers. It was new and different and perhaps there was nothing wrong with a bit of spontaneity after all.
☙ 𓉼 𓍑 ⚜ 𓍑 𓉼 ❧
The gentle clinking of glass called the room to silence. The Opal Hall was packed with witches and wizards from all over the world, and they turned to face their host, Allenbor Rosewood.
Amid hundreds of displays filled with Malfoy treasures, Hermione, with Malfoy’s help, had worked endlessly to present the collection just right.
It was perfect.
“It is with great honor that I am able to present to you this rare and beautiful collection. Mr. Malfoy, we thank you for your exclusive contribution to our museum.” Rosewood and the guests lifted their glasses into the air toward Malfoy.
Abandoning his glass, Malfoy instead lifted the arm of Hermione Granger. Giving her a slow twirl, her golden dress glimmering in the soft light. The room resonated with a round of soft applause as he presented her, the true beauty.