They stood at the Hogwarts gates, which Hermione kept open. She was a couple yards off to the side, accompanying this student and parent but not intruding. Like any other professor should do.
Callie stroked the wrought-iron bar near her. No, she rubbed it like it was wood and she was daring the splinters. Draco took her hand and successfully made her look at him for the first time since... Since.
Merlin, she was brassed off at him. And would he ever get used to it? How would a father ever get used to it when he does his damndest best not to incur his daughter’s wrath at all? His only experience in this arena was his parents. And his mother never held back. She let him know and she let him suffer while in the process of knowing what he’s supposedly done or not done. His father let him know and let him suffer and feel lower than a house-elf in the process of knowing what he’s supposedly been or not been.
His only experience in this arena--where he was a limbless gladiator-- was his parents: Aside from Hermione, that was. He imagined she’d bleeding held back a lot and let him suffer and feel lower than a dust mite in the process, not to mention angrier than those lions that usually gutted those gladiators.
He’d had no success talking to Callie at all about the agreement (It reminded him of a similar non-success and a similar mulish stubborness from eleven years ago). That was what he and Hermione had agreed to do. To tell the twins about that blasted bespelled, binding agreement so neither of the girls would take the distance of one parent personally.
Too late, though. He and Hermione were now dealing with the distance of both children. Well, Hermione hadn’t talked to Lia yet. The child was still in her dormitories, but he’d bet his new cottage Lia, raised as she was by Weasleys and a Potter and a Granger, wouldn’t listen either.
What a bloody mess this had become. That they were able to tell the kids was no longer the blessing they’d thought it to be.
He stroked his Callie’s hand. He was so glad he’d been near yesterday. His eyes flicked to Hermione. In their talk last night, he had jokingly asked her if she always froze like that during crises. She’d surprised him with a candid answer: It was crippling, that fear for your children. It would probably take her at least another decade to steel herself at the thought of them being hurt. And then she’d told him of that time Thalia had knocked off a tooth playing Quidditch. When she was done, the handle of the delicate bone china teacup Draco held crumbled apart. He’d gripped it too hard in his belated ‘crippling fear’. Thalia had tried a roll and fallen off her broom. It was a miracle she’d only knocked off a tooth. And losing a tooth had always been showy. All that blood. He was glad he hadn’t been there. An iota.
Callie pretended to look at her watch, taking her hand away from his hold.
“Well, bye, Callie. I’ll see you when another classroom or office explodes. Nothing can keep me away.”
The corner of her lips twitched. But that was all. She didn’t even nod. Draco sighed and bent to kiss her.
“How could you be mad at me? Do you realize your poor father is in a corner in this one?” he whispered before pressing his lips to her cheek.
She turned away from him as if he was no longer there and--Merlin’s armpits-- casually took Hermione’s hand.
He jumped when Hermione gasped, ready to rush her and resuscitate her with spells, but she remained on her feet, only flabbergasted and probably steeling herself from returning or relishing Callie’s action.
She did move to retract her hand from Callie’s, but Callie held on and just swung their hands back and forth, like they were pals, by Circe. “I want to thank you for your concern for me yesterday, Professor. I imagine that must be how it’s like when a mother’s been afraid for you. I never had a mother, you see, so I have to imagine. Thank you for helping me imagine.”
Hermione shot him a look so despairing and despondent that for a second he wanted nothing more than to snatch Callie and hit her scheming behind with a switch. But then Hermione bit her lip and squared her shoulders, blinking fast, and Draco turned away, he had to get away from there.
She was right. They’d been selfish when they signed that blasted agreement. Selfish and bloody stupid. They should have known everything would backfire like this. Their children were their children, after all. A burst of unholy laughter threatened to erupt from him. He turned it into a cough, stepped past the Hogwarts gates and Disapparated.
When he was back in his tiny kitchen, he ran a hand through his hair. Please let him have at least one bottle of Ogden’s Finest in his tiny cellar. Please, Merlin.
Hermione led her child back to school, her hand limp inside Callie’s though she wanted to grip back, to pull, to squeeze, to kiss. Callie, who had been closed up the whole time they went to see her father off at the gates, was now a chatterbox.
“...said his potion does not create ashwinders, but it probably doesn’t countereffect spells shot into a fire. Anyway, I’m glad he’s sacked. We’ve all been getting tired of making Torch Potion. I wish the new teacher will be better. How long will it be before someone takes the post, do you think, Professor?”
A bleeding minute, Hermione thought darkly. Instead, she only shrugged. “It depends, Miss Malfoy. Often, teaching posts are by invitation only. The headmaster or headmistress selects someone very highly qualified from our community and queries if that person is amenable to teach.”
“Dimwit was-- I’m sorry, Professor-- I mean, Professor Demouit was invited?”
“No. He applied for the post. Rather vigorously,” Hermione spoke vigorously herself, anything to distract her mind from her daughter’s sweetness. “The headmistress said she couldn’t dish up an argument against his getting the post and Professor Libette, the former Potions professor, was in a hurry to go to her grandchildren in Ireland. Demouit had credentials. He is a contributor to the Potions page of the Profezia. He’s a member of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. He had a glowing recommendation from his former headmistress. It turns out that headmistress is his aunt.”
“You were a former pupil of our headmistress now. That’s why she knew you’d be good for Charms?”
Thinking of that doggone agreement and her position, trapped between two daughters and only able to love one of the two, Hermione snapped, “No, I’m not any good.” She immediately regretted her tone but could do nothing about it.
She didn’t realize the gates were this far from the oak front doors.
Thankfully, Callie talked on as if nothing happened. “I’m starving. I’m having s’mores with Lia and Dionelise. I have to get Kia. See you in class, Professor.”
And with that, Callie pulled the hand she held and the surprised Hermione bent and was helpless to the kiss bestowed on her cheek.
Callie ran off. That was just as well. Hermione’s knees unlocked and she plopped boneless on the wet autumn grass. Morgana help her. She’d given birth to devils. Hermione could already see and guess what the girls were doing. A giggle escaped her as she thought of Draco. Poor Draco. Her vixen would be out to get him.
“What are you and Calliope up to?”
Lia shrugged and continued feigning interest to the Silenced fwooper in its cage. They were in Hagrid’s cabin. The fwooper was beautiful but boring. Especially if you’ve been watching it for the past half hour.
They’d had tea and they’d talked. Well, her mother and Hagrid had talked. Lia crammed rock cakes in her mouth as an excuse to not joining in and just watched the fwooper. But now tea was over and done with and Hagrid had escaped her mother’s rising irritation. Lia was a little scared; she’d never baited her mum like this before. But it had to be done. And her mum deserved it, too. A taste of her own medicine.
“You will answer when you are spoken to, Thalia.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“And don’t mumble.”
“I won’t mumble.”
“What are you and Calliope Malfoy doing?”
“We’re not doing anything. I think she’s doing homework right now. I’m here talking to you.”
Lia drew back. She would have sworn her mother smoked at the ears. Her mum took a deep breath and the red in her face receded a bit. Lia breathed again. This was dangerous. But no, not very much. She shrugged inwardly. The kitchens here wouldn’t ever be closed to her and even if the elves were told to make the sweets repel Lia, she could get sweets from her sister and others easy. She was already sort of grounded; it wasn’t as if she could get on a broom here and there was only class to go to. What could her mother do? Coldshoulder her? That would be easier for this scheme. Haha.
She cried out in astonishment at the sting she received at the back of her hands. It was probably what being smacked by something leather felt like.
Her mother had hexed her.
“Get out of my sight, Thalia Maura Granger. I will not talk to you again until you apologize for being so impertinent and ill-mannered. You know better. I raised you better.”
Lia sprang from her seat and scurried off. Whew. She rubbed her hands alternately as she jogged back to the castle. If she just didn’t apologize, she’d be out of hexing range.
She looked at her hands. Oh, the red was already gone. Have to fix that.
Draco was sleeping off the half-bottle he’d downed earlier. He lay sprawled on his bed. Unlike the rest of the cottage, the master’s bedroom was not impervious to expansion charms. His mother had sent his whole suite from the chateau. He was comfortable. That was, when the thought of his children didn’t riddle his gut with guilt.
Sleep was escape, however, if only for a short time. He wasn’t happy when said sleep was interrupted. There was the sound of chimes-- his fireplace’s signal that someone was in the Floo.
And then he remembered his wistful habit of always naming a certain person as the one allowed access to the fireplace in his bedroom.
He bolted upright.
“What on earth? Why is your Floo fireplace in your bedroom? No, don’t answer. I don’t care about whatever sick reason you have.”
Draco shook his head to try to stop the room from spinning, and winced. “Back up a second, will you? I’ve been sleeping. Give me a moment to wake up properly. And don’t spout nonsense.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“How astute.” Draco squeezed his eyes closed and opened it again. That did the trick. There was one Hermione in the grate. Just one.
“Can I come through? Do you still have what you imbibed? I could use a glass.”
Draco raised his eyebrows and waved her over.
Now, Ogden’s Finest had always had a strange effect on Draco, perhaps on everyone. Instead of dulling the senses, they were sharpened. It was as if the winery wanted its imbibers to be sharp and alert even though sozzled. They might see double for a bit, but the double-vision was highly defined (doubly dizzying) and the nose, ears and touch were highly sensitive. As for taste... Draco made a note not to eat anything within the next two hours. Straight firewhisky always messed with the tastebuds.
“Merlin, you came from Hagrid’s cabin, didn’t you? What’s he got in there this time?”
Hermione bent her head and sniffed the collar of her robes, frowning at him. He could also smell her perfume, of course, but he had to depart from that pleasant smell if he didn’t want her hexing something vital off him.
She went to his side table where he’d left the bottle, and poured herself three fingers in the glass he’d used.
“You realize that we’re in a room with this huge bed, don’t you, and that if you drink yourself past your limit, I won’t be a saint?”
“Sod off, Malfoy.” She sipped, winced, and sat down on the edge of the bed, her back to him. “I put a Stinging Hex on Thalia.”
He pretended to scoot up to the headboard when he was really scooting left, nearer her. “Just one?”
“Of course, just one. She was so insolent earlier.”
She was whining, as though wanting something, probably wanting to be told the Stinging Hex was justified. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. He had to stifle a gasp. Blast the firewhisky. He doubted he’d be this sentimental and smitten over that casual movement if he wasn’t a little drunk. “They deserve a thrashing every now and then.”
She snorted and laughed. “I have never and will never thrash them! And I think you haven’t and won’t either. You’ll be putty in their hands.”
He did catch his breath now when she reached over and patted his cheek. “Poor you. Good luck for tomorrow. It’s Thursday so you have one day’s grace. And then it’s Friday and both of them will be there. Double Potions. Gryffindor and Slytherin.”
He raised his own hand and pressed hers to his cheek. “Tomorrow, they have Double Charms. Lucky you. I’ll be there to drink with.”
“You will not smuggle alcohol into school, Draco Malfoy.” She smiled, withdrew her hand from his hold, and gulped down the rest of her glass in one go. When she was done, she grimaced again, and tucked her lips into her mouth to lick them. They came out red.
She probably didn’t even know she was seducing him, but she was, damn it all to Hades. Draco closed the small distance between them, hooked an arm behind her head and pulled her close. When his lips mashed onto hers, he sighed in ecstasy and drew back a little, to turn the kiss into a kiss, not a devouring. He worshipped her lips from corner to corner. And when he suckled on her lower lip, it was like drinking life. She tasted heavenly. His soul bloomed again.
She was soft in his arms, her head lolling on his upper arm. At first, she tried to push him away, but now her hand was in his hair and one arm was around his waist. Draco pulled her closer and buried his face in her neck. He could stay there forever.
But his forever was over, it seemed. Hermione drew away and walked sedately to the fireplace. She stopped there. Without looking back at him, she said softly, “How dare you. If you ever come near me again, I’ll switch your brains with your gonads. You have no right to kiss me as if-- as if-- You have no right!”
She threw Floo powder in the fire and vanished in the flames.
Hermione wanted to fling hexes right and left when she arrived at the great hall that morning. She looked at Minerva, but Minerva only shrugged over her tea. Hermione glared at Hagrid, but Hagrid only looked confused and hurt, so she shook her head at him and smiled assuringly. As for the others, they all pretended like she wasn’t looking daggers at them all. No one moved to take the remaining seat beside Draco.
She gritted her teeth and went there, taking care not to let her robes go within an inch of him as she sat down.
“Good morning, miss priss. I don’t have a disease, you know.”
“Don’t speak to me.”
“Callie and Thalia are looking. Smile at me.”
She bared her teeth at him. He chuckled and waved toward the Gryffindor table. To Hermione’s astonishment, Thalia was right there beside Calliope. But no, they were the only ones not looking at the staff table. At the infamous couple on the staff table. Hermione felt the heat flood her face and began cutting up her flapjacks with a vengeance.
“...went right up to the staff table as we were all rising and embraced Draco Malfoy, saying she was immensely glad there was already a new professor because Potions was her favourite subject. Poor Hermione. And you should have seen the look on Draco’s face. He went white-- I didn’t think that possible. That’s right, laugh. I hope you’re happy, Dumbledore.”
“Oh, I am,” said Albus, calming down. “I love those girls. So devious and brave!”
Minerva rolled her eyes. “Thalia is not speaking to Hermione and Calliope is not speaking to her father. Calliope is doing everything short of clinging to Hermione like a limpet and Thalia is doing the same to Draco. I only see ingratitude and rebellion.”
“Ah, Minerva, you’ve lost your inner child! If I answer you, will you turn me back around? I couldn’t go calling with my frame like this.”
“No."