Snow in June
Chapter Four
Helen came down in a sky blue skirt suit, the blazer slung over her arm. She really was beautiful. Her peach sleeveless blouse and her skirt hugged her body, and Draco had to admit he couldn’t blame his father for marrying this woman.
“You look very smart in that shirt, dear, but don’t forget a jacket. We’re going to Le Gavroche.”
Draco grimaced inwardly. “That place again?”
Helen laughed. “Why? It has two Michelin stars. Used to have three! The food and service are excellent. And that’s where we told you and Hermione about” oh, there you are, darling. Let’s go.”
“How on earth do you always dress so quick?” Lucius said, scowling but thoroughly invalidating his grouse by kissing his wife.
“We’re going? What about Hermione?” Draco asked casually as he preceded them into the garage.
“She got an owl and left. She said she’ll meet us there, and that’s all she said. Didn’t even tell me where she was running off to,” Helen said, pouting again. His father shook his head at her and murmured in her ear, probably reassurances. Draco complacently summoned a jacket from his room. Hermione wouldn’t stand her own mother up, however much she currently hated one in the company.
“Oh, it’s convenient Hermione isn’t riding with us. Four can’t fit in the back seat.”
Draco, who was already lounging in the mentioned back seat, raised his head in slight alarm. “Four? Who else are we”? Not Edrina and Michael?”
Helen laughed. “They like you, dear.”
His father wasn’t laughing, and Draco smirked. Edrina and Michael liked him, but not Lucius. This was new to his father, non-obsequious in-laws.
Michael and Edrina Aston lived in Canterbury. It turned out that Hermione could trace her ancestry if she wanted, at least on Helen’s side, because both Helen’s parents were direct descendants of winners of something the Muggles called (and spelled) ‘the Nobel’. Draco had forgotten who won what or which, but no doubt the two Astons would enlighten Lucius about it again. They seemed to have sensed Lucius’s former obsession with ancestry. With everyone else, the Astons were fairly normal and modest Muggles.
They arrived in Canterbury in seemingly no time. There were kerfuffle, greetings and embarrassing cheek-pinching while the elders made Lucius wait in the car. Michael and Edrina had finally climbed in and Draco was about to join them when someone spoke behind him.
“Drake? Is that you?”
What was it with these women insisting on calling him a male duck? He turned around and lifted one corner of his lip infinitesimally in acknowledgment. “Julia.”
Helen was suddenly back beside Draco as though she’d Apparated. “Julia?”
“Helen, this is Julia Lynde. Julia, my stepmother, Helen.”
Julia dropped her reticule in reaching out to take Helen’s proffered hand. Draco rolled his eyes and acted as if he didn’t see it. His father, still seated in the car but with his door open, kicked the back of Draco’s knee. Draco stumbled and nearly landed beside the frigging reticule. He got the message and picked it up.
“My friends and I are holidaying here,” Julia was saying to Helen. “They’re showing American cousins around.”
“Well, I don’t see your friends and their American cousins.” Merlin, Helen wasn’t being irresistible right now. Draco wanted to grab her and stuff her back in the car before she did what he thought she was about to do. “Are you free? Would you like to join us? We’re having dinner at Le Gavroche. It’s our wedding anniversary.”
Draco groaned soundlessly.
“Oh my, congratulations. And thank you, but I don’t want to intrude.” Really? Why haven’t you so much as taken one step away by now, you damnable bint? Why did you call my name at all in the first place?
“Don’t worry about that, we’re having plenty of privacy later. We’re going to France. But tonight, we want to celebrate with our children and their friends. Come along, won’t you?”
“Well, if you insist, ma’am. Thank you again.”
“Thank you! Come on.” Helen halted when she faced her car again and remembered how small it was and how beefy her father was. Draco wanted to grin.
And then Helen was suddenly holding her arm aloft. A cab halted behind the car.
“There. Draco, take Julia in that, won’t you please, darling?”
Draco nodded glumly, but didn’t bother ushering Julia before him like a gentleman. He made the bint follow him. And follow him she did. She just couldn’t take a hint.
“Your stepmother is so lovely. You should have introduced us long ago.”
“What, like networking of acquaintances? I don’t do that sort of thing.”
This time, Julia understood the barb; she huffed and fell silent.
“How dare you tag along. How shameless are you?”
“Drake””
“Oh, I don’t care. Just keep to yourself so I can pretend you’re not there.”
Despite this blunt cut, Julia made several more futile attempts at conversation along the way. Until they reached Mayfair and got out at Upper Brook Street, Draco ignored her and wouldn’t even have saved the bint from falling on her face when she tripped on the steps if Helen and Lucius hadn’t been looking.
The Astons, astute as they were, quickly sensed that Draco was no longer connected to, and was outright disgusted with, the woman, and were unbelievably and entertainingly rude to Julia in consequence. They pretended to be too busy bickering when they were introduced to Julia, and led the way to the restaurant’s door taking Draco with them. Julia was left to tail their party like a lost mouse.
Draco recognized the maître d’s from his last dinner in Le Gavroche. The two women were twins.
They were led to the bar. Draco ensconced himself between Edrina and Michael in a booth, not bothering to seat Julia first and ignoring his father’s raised eyebrow. Once they were settled, Helen had a whispered conversation with her husband, and Lucius excused himself and went back to the reception desk.
Helen leaned back on her chair. “I wonder when Hermione will arrive.” She caught Draco’s eyes and grinned. “Doesn’t this bring back memories?”
“What memories?” said Draco, mocking bewilderment. Helen just laughed.
After some minutes in which Michael interrogated the sommelier while Edrina fussed over Draco and Helen and ignored Julia, his father came back. He had company.
“If you keep doing this, you will have to hire the whole blithering dining room, Father.”
“Taken care of. Will you stop sounding like you have something up your arse?” Lucius added the last in a disguised hiss, smiling as one of the maître d’s, the one wearing a pin on her lapel, had a server move chairs and a table to their party.
“Hello to you, too, Draco,” said Pansy.
“Introduce us, you rude git,” said Blaise.
“What are you doing here?” said Draco.
“We were about to have dinner here, what else? There’re slim pickings in our part of the world if you don’t want to be imposed on by nosy berks. We went here, ran into Lucius and he invited us to join you. A good evening to you all. I’m Blaise Zabini and this is my fiancée, Pansy Parkinson. We’re old friends of Draco’s. Though we wonder why.”
Helen introduced her parents, but left it to Draco to introduce Julia. Draco, however, was at that time absorbed in watching an approaching server. And then Helen gasped in her chair, making Draco crick his neck as he turned to her.
“Ron?” she called out.
‘Ron’ turned his bleeding streetlight of a head and missed a step as he and his companion entered the bar. Sod it all, what next? Or, more appropriately, who next? My Aunt Bella and the Dark Lord?
“Hi, Mrs Gr”I mean, Mrs Malfoy. How are you?” said Weasley, sounding like a goddamned teenager. At least, he was fodder for amusement. Draco exchanged a smirk with Blaise.
“I thought this was a Muggle establishment,” said Lucius over steepled fingers, smiling wide and managing to look as if he’d just been told his assets had multiplied.
“Well, it’s very well known! Ron, join us!” Helen sounded shrill when she was thrilled. “Who is your charming friend, then?”
“Erm, Luna. Luna Lovegood. Luna, this is Mrs Gr”Mrs Malfoy. You know, Hermione’s mum. You know the Malfoys. And oh, er, there’s Hermione’s grandparents, Mr and Mrs Aston. Hey, er, Blaise. Pansy.”
Pansy motioned for Lovegood to sit by her, and the blonde happily and too enthusiastically did so, sending her skirt frills flying. Weasley followed her and sat opposite Blaise, who raised an eyebrow and then laughed when Weasley’s ears reddened.
“Is anybody else coming, do you think?” said Lucius to Helen. “Where is your daughter? If she doesn’t arrive soon, she’ll come upon a Hogwarts reunion.”
“A what reunion?” said Julia. Everyone turned to her as if they had all forgotten she was there. Draco sniggered to his serviette.
“Are there wrackspurts in this restaurant or is she a Muggle?” said Lovegood to Pansy in a very audible murmur. Merlin, the oddball was priceless!
Edrina snapped this up and replied in a theatrical whisper, “That she is, I think.” She smiled warmly at Julia as though she’d just given the girl a compliment.
“Is she Mr Malfoy’s dinner then?” said Lovegood.
Weasley made a sound between a cough and a gurgle. It was like a switch. Draco, Blaise, Pansy and the Astons roared with laughter. Weasley belatedly joined in. Lucius rolled his eyes to Helen, who was amused by their rowdiness. Only Julia looked pained. The outsider.
And then Draco cut his eyes from the annoying bint and saw red. Literally. Not the walls of Le Gavroche’s bar. A red, svelte figure. Topped with untidily pulled-up, shiny brown hair. She wore pearls. And the dragonskin on her wrist and on her feet was very familiar.
“Did you lot get in before the temperature dropped?” she was saying to Helen. “We could see our breath out there!”
What was she talking about? The temperature dropped? Preposterous. If anything, the bar was suddenly stifling. Draco wanted to flap his shirt or pour ice on his head.
Draco was so busy staring at her, not missing a single movement (though missing everything that was being said) as she greeted everyone and sat down, that he didn’t notice someone had been standing behind her chair.
“I remember you. It is nice to see you again. Are you doing vell?”
Draco must have responded to this query, because conversation didn’t falter. But he was now seeing red. The figurative kind. What was the matter with him? And where was his drink? He downed a goblet of water.
“... a queue outside,” she was saying. “They seem angry. The manager is turning everyone away, saying the place is booked. But these people must have made reservations as well, or they wouldn’t turn up at all.”
People replied to that. Draco didn’t hear them. And then they were getting to their feet. The Bulgarian troll pulled her chair out and steered her toward the stairs, his hand on her back.
Something snapped in Draco. He stood up briskly and snatched Julia’s hand, putting it on the crook of his arm. Julia smiled at him. He bared his teeth at her likewise.
It was to be an interesting evening.
_________________
Draco picks up the teaspoon and studies the picture engraved on it. It’s probably what Weasley looked like when he was younger. He smirks at his errant thought. He returns the spoon to his saucer and looks at his watch. He’s early. But then, he has good reason for that. You simply do not arrive late when you are meeting Lucius Malfoy. Although, these days, his father is so changed Draco has been tempted to test the said changes by being late. But old habits and all that, and here he is in this Muggle restaurant, sipping cafe au lait, waiting.
The proportions of the place are not cramped but still tiny to his taste. The food has better be good. He’s already sampled the service, and he can’t complain. Le Gavroche. Judging by the boy engraved on his spoon, the place is named after that urchin in Les Miserables.
It’s curious that just at the precise moment he is thinking of a book, Hermione Granger is ushered in. At first, he blinks and thinks he is mistaken, this pretty brunette in the cashmere shirtwaister can be anyone after all, but when she spots him and jumps in her suede boots, well, it must be her. He raises a hand in greeting, just to astonish her more. She turns her head, looking behind her. This makes him laugh out loud. And this makes her join him, smiling and holding out her hand. Ever the diplomat, she is, isn’t she?
“Hello, Malfoy. It’s been some time. I hope you’re well?”
He takes her hand and for good measure, brings it to her lips. “Miss Granger. Lovely to see you.”
She uses the hold he still has on her hand to pull him to her in a hug. He gets the feeling they are trying to top each other in some graciousness meter. She presses her cheek to his. As if they are the best of friends, by Circe. Not to be outdone, he kisses that cheek.
“Okay, that’s enough.” She pulls away her cheek and her hand. Her face is pink. Draco is inordinately pleased with that. “Goodness, Malfoy. You can go to the lavatory now and spit.”
“Please, Granger. That’s old. Sit down, won’t you?”
She takes the booth and scoots until she’s right in the middle of it. And then she rests her folded hands on top of the table like some prim and proper grandmother. Draco holds in a snigger. Maybe she only does that when she’s disconcerted, the same way his foot is bobbing now on top of his other ankle because he is a little disconcerted.
Is her hair darker or has she been staying out of the sun too much?
Her eyes rove around the bar, appraising it and wondering at it at the same time. He has tried not to notice all those years ago at Hogwarts, but if someone wants to list Draco Malfoy’s failures, not noticing Hermione Granger will be at the very top, and he thinks now that she hasn’t changed, she’s still looking at the world the same way, taking things in and taking them apart, putting them back together and searing the image in her brain. As she sits there before him, her head swiveling gently right and left, he also discovers why he so easily recognized her. It’s her carriage. She holds her head up in such a way that spoke of her curiosity and confidence. Too high up for someone of her inferior birth, he has used to think.
Outdated and overturned codswallop aside, the manner she displays her slender neck is rather easy on the eyes.
She has two gold rings on her right troth finger. One an understated band engraved lightly with designs, the other with tiny rubies set in the center.
“Who did you marry, then, Granger?”
“Pardon?”
He nods to her rings. “Say it isn’t Weasley. You could have done so much better.”
She smiles but chastises him. “You’ve no right to say that about Ron. And I’m not married. This was my father’s wedding ring and this,” she says, pointing first to the gold band and then to the one with the ruby setting, “is a birthday present. My grandma’s worn it since she was sixteen until she married. It’s my turn to wear it, she says.”
“Is it your birthday today?” Is that why she’s dining out? But then, though her shirtwaister is worthy of his mother’s tastes, it doesn’t look like one she’ll wear for a special occasion such as her birthday.
“No. My mother asked to meet me here. She says I have to meet someone. I think she has a boyfriend.”
She says that without pause or doubt. It’s okay that her parent has a boyfriend, of course. What isn’t okay? So he also becomes okay with it.
“Fancy that. My father also invited me here. He says I have to meet someone. I think he’s gotten himself a bird.”
They grin at each other across the table.
“Really,” she says. And then her smile falters. “Oh, I heard when your mother died. I was sorry about it. It seemed such a waste. Just when your father’s served his term.”
Draco nods. But it’s old bones, old bones. “And your father? Where is he?”
“He died.”
“Fuck. I mean, forgive my mouth. But”Granger, I didn’t think” I just thought your parents are divorced.”
“That’s all right. Of course, anyone would assume divorce. He was too young.”
“You’re too young.” Me, too. Is anyone ever old enough to be orphaned? Draco swallows and leans forward in his chair. “Should I be apologizing? And not for swearing or in the condoling sense?”
She stares at him and then shakes her head, but more as if to dislodge things in her mind than to negate what he said. “He died in Australia. Heart failure.”
This is when the years sit with them, years of merely nodding at each other when they meet in the stacks of Obscurus and the shelves of the Apothecary, along with the years of... Hogwarts. Cold companions, those years. The silence is loud, and suddenly, Draco feels himself belatedly becoming mortified at having kissed her hand and cheek. He doesn’t know this woman though he does know her and even want to know her more, if truth be told.
“Hey, ferret, what happened to you since your name was last printed in the paper?”
At the word ‘ferret’, his embarrassment evaporates and it’s as if the far greater horrors after the ferret incident never happened. He turns his grin into a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Granger? Is this ferret’s life more interesting than yours?”
She kicks his shin under the table.
“Is it true you’ve been shunted from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?”
She laughs, immediately understanding his jocose effort to congratulate her under cover of an insult. What he’s heard is that the Ministry departments are frigging fighting over her. “Yes. Is it true you’re being deported from every country you visit?”
“Yes. Did you miss me while I’m being ‘deported’ from Britain to Italy and from there to the rest of Europe and Asia?”
Her eyes gleam with interest at that. He had travelled extensively. She taps a finger on her chin in mock thoughtfulness. He thinks she’s going to drop their game and ask him questions, but she only says, “No. Is it true you’ve given license for several non-Ministry organizations to rob your families’ vaults?”
This wrong-foots him and the riposte at the tip of his tongue dangles and falls off. He leans back, wary. How does she know that?
And then she befuddles him further by gasping. “It’s true?” she says, her eyes wide, a hand going to her mouth. “I was bluffing. But there you are, I’ve caught you.”
“What are you talking of, Granger?” He casually picks up his spoon again and drags it around in his coffee cup.
She leans forward and for all the world looks like she’s about to wring out of him every Knut’s worth he’s donated, but he is saved by his father’s arrival. Lucius has placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder. Granger looks up at Lucius and says, “Mum?”
How can his father be ‘Mum’? Draco looks up and around.
“Sweet Mary, they’re sitting together. This is better than we expected.”
There is a woman beside his father. Strawberry-blonde hair and brown eyes. Brown eyes. He swivels back around and stares at Granger’s eyes. They are the same as the woman’s. The woman standing beside his father. Standing beside his father and holding his father’s hand.
He grabs the Gavroche spoon again. Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, no.
His father ushers the woman to the chair on Draco’s left. She catches his eye as she sits down and smiles. “I’m Helen Granger, Draco. I’m so glad to meet you at last. I have heard about you long before your father and I crossed paths, of course.”
Draco nods, but he and Granger”Hermione Granger, that is” are gazing at each other mirroring hardly-disguised dread and shock.
“Erm, Hermione. Of course, you know me.” This is from his father. He looks as pale as his hair, the bleeding idiot. He bloody well should be. Hermione can curse his bollocks off in a second.
Draco wishes she would. But Hermione only just nods like Draco has done.
“Wait, no, you don’t know him, love,” says Helen Granger. “This is not the same man from your childhood. Trust me, I bludgeoned the crap out of that man. This man is an entirely different person, or else I won’t be here with him.”
“Mumiseethewanoowantedmetomeetaryumarringhim?”
Draco twigs what that Gobbledegook meant in a heartbeat, and so, it seems, does Helen. Lucius frowns in confusion and then in comprehension when Helen reaches out to her daughter with her left hand. Her ringed left hand.
“Darling, we’re not getting married yet. I’m not about to take that step and exclude you in it. We’re not even engaged. These are still my old rings, look, rings your father have given me. I love your father, but he’s gone, no matter how much we wish otherwise. It’s because of his love and the happiness it steeped me in that I’m able to love someone again. And here is that someone.”
“All right,” Hermione says to her lap.
“All right?” says Helen.
“Aren’t we eating? Let’s go.” Hermione stands up, goes to Draco’s side and pulls him up. And then she turns to Helen and his father and smiles like she’s delighted with the whole universe. “You can tell us how you met. Come on. I’m starving.”
She leads the way. All the while, her hand trembles violently in the crook of his arm. But her smile never falters, nor does the temerity in her spine. She even looks up at him and gives him a nod of encouragement, as if it’s him who’s about to make friends with a man who’s had her tortured in his house.
All those stories he’s heard even while still at school aren’t unfounded. And what he’s suspected right from the minute she slapped him for slandering her friend is confirmed. Hermione Granger is an astonishing woman. Draco pulls her hand further around his arm and squeezes it.
____________________
Julia’s grip on his arm was repulsive, reminiscent of a Tentacula’s. He immediately regretted his impulsive act, wanted to shake her off, but he’d have witnesses to this strange behavior to his ‘date’. There Weasley was. He had paused on the landing, talking to Lovegood.
“...drunk. I can tell. Don’t you see the skargles trailing her?”
“What in Merlin’s pristine white pants are skargles?”
“They’re cousins to nargles, except instead of inducing intoxication-like effects, they just follow drunk people around.”
“Who’s drunk?” Draco said, in between sniggers at the look on Weasley’s face. Draco liked Luna Lovegood.
“Hermione.”
“Oh.” So there was a reason for Weasley’s half-exasperated, half-entertained look. Draco nodded and continued downstairs. To his non-existent surprise, the bint on his arm tripped immediately. If the essence of her butterfingers and fishlegs could be bottled or canned, it would be a bomb to be dreaded more than those supposedly made in North Korea.
There’s a commotion lower down, and to his extreme surprise, it was Hermione. She’d tripped as well and had knocked into Blaise, who had knocked into Michael, who would have fallen down and knocked down his daughter if Edrina didn’t have a powerful grip.
“Are you all right up there, pet? Or did you mean to do that as a...?”
“No, Grandma. I’m sorry!”
Hermione didn’t sound drunk. She sounded properly mortified.
“Krum, hold on to her, why don’t you?” grumbled Ron behind them. “Is she wearing those ridiculous and fatal-looking heels?”
“I can hear you, Ron, thank you for concern, Viktor is holding on to me and I don’t have a ridiculous or fatal-looking anything!”
They reached the dining room at last. You forgot it was the basement, forgot any wishes for windows. Still tiny to Draco’s taste, but elegantly fitted up was Le Gavroche’s dining room. Where the bar had been red, here green was the dominant color. It was empty of patrons, of course, so it looked roomier as well.
They were seated at a large circular table, subtly provided with menus, and were left alone for the moment.
They all looked at each other. Well, except Draco and Hermione. The two of them never caught each other’s eyes.
“It’s cozy, not cramped, darling.”
“Lovely to have you here, Ron, I’ll say it again.”
“Are we having the duck, dearest?”
“I am hearing you vill soon be an uncle?”
“I’d love to see my breath in June.”
“I’ll be an uncle again, yeah.”
“Love”Luna, you absolutely must be one of my bridesmaids.”
“Miss Lynde, do you live hereabouts?”
A water goblet slumped and spilled on the table cloth.
“You can’t have tarts, Michael, haven’t I told you enough times? Will somebody pound sense into this stubborn old git?”
“Erm, what’s wrong with him having tarts, Edrina? Is he allergic to an ingredient or something?”
“Allergic, my foot. He can’t have tarts because he’s married, Lucius Malfoy.”
Draco kicked Blaise under the table, grinning. Blaise kicked him back. It seemed Edrina was warming up to Lucius.
Chatter quieted a little as they ordered. Draco was too busy watching Hermione (for drunkenness, he asserted in his own mind) to pay attention to much else. Julia tried to consult him about the hors d’oeuvre, but stopped talking to him altogether when he leaned to her ear lovingly, only to say, “Each item has descriptions. In English.”
As it was, he didn’t know exactly what happened to cause Hermione to get soused. She wasn’t jealous. Merlin, that was only wishful thinking on his part, and petty, and she knew better about how things stood between him and Julia. But Hermione was> pissed off. Of course, she was angry with him, but that was hours and hours ago. A reaction this late was ridiculous.
When did it happen? Between the Souffle Souissesse and their various main courses, she’d only ever talked to her Viktor”except when she’d softly asked her mother if they were expecting more people. Helen had said no.
“Then why did you hire the whole restaurant? And how did you cancel all those people’s bookings?”
Helen had looked apologetic and murmured, “I asked Lucius to do some you-know-what. Something to do with making the management think we booked double our earlier reservation. Only, well, Lucius doesn’t have a you-know-what, does he, so he overshot it, and instead of a table for twelve, we had the whole dining room. We only found out when you told us about the queue outside. The other patrons should be arriving soon if they want to take the free dessert course the management is offering as reparation for the mix-up. Don’t worry, we’ll pay for it.”
Hermione had seemed inordinately confounded by that. But Krum had whispered something toward her at that time, so the Bulgarian troll might be the reason instead. It was from that point forward that Hermione’s wine glass had to be constantly topped.
He sat beside his father, who sat beside Helen, on whose other side sat Hermione, so Draco wasn’t near enough to his stepbloodysmashedsister to ask her what the matter was, but not far enough to miss the pink tinge on her face. She was quiet and still herself, however, so that the others went on eating and chinwagging. And bickering, in the case of Edrina and Michael and Lucius.
“If people say, for instance, that they like my hair, I wouldn’t go about getting it cut and then flaunting it to their faces.”
“I didn’t know you liked my hair, Edrina. I had to have it cut because my skin had an adverse reaction to Muggle shamp””
“Who said I was talking about you, you vain peacock? Michael, was I talking about him? You tell him.”
“If you let it be, your hair would have reached your posterior soon enough. And then she’ll still call you a vain peacock.”
“I said I wasn’t talking about him, you great babboon.”
By the time they were waiting for their dessert, the rest of the dining room had been occupied. Hermione was noticeably pinker in the face, and in the lull of conversation while they all leaned back in contentment, Krum, bless his heart, took the opportunity to inform the rest of them about Hermione. He was subtle about it, too.
“She’s had enov vine. We’ff already had drink before ve vent here. That voz her limit. One glass. Please tell her, somebody, to stop drinking now.”
“What’s driven you bats tonight, Hermione?” Weasley said, grinning. Draco wanted to slug him. What was bloody funny?
Hermione was grinning back. “I’m not drunk. Viktor, you sweet plonker, don’t worry so. Everyone carry on. Where’s our dessert? I need chocolate something bad.”
She was almost convincing.
“I haven’t talked to Julia yet. What do you do, darling?”
That ‘darling’ clued everyone in. Even Lovegood was startled enough to stare. Hermione wasn’t the type to use endearments. She turned your name into an endearment instead. Meanwhile, Julia fumbled with her fork and knocked over her water glass again. It was the first time someone had remembered she was there.
“I’m in fashion retail.”
“Has that affected you then?”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s all right, I’m sure people are kind to you. If they’re not, they should be. You can’t help being monumentally graceless.”
Edrina was a tiny woman from whom Helen got the strawberry tinge in her hair. When she was picking on Lucius, she reminded Draco of a murderous red hen. She looked like a murderous red hen again just then. “Hermione Jean Granger! Where’s your grace, I want to know?”
It was a mark of how lost Hermione was that she didn’t cower. “Grandma, you have a piece of rabbit on your chin and Granddad and Mum doesn’t tell you so they can laugh at you later.”
Edrina got over her ire. Julia did not. After five minutes of stewing, she got up and left with barely a nod to Helen and his father. Draco was relieved. Too relieved, in fact, that he didn’t recoil in time to avoid Julia’s kiss. It landed where she’d aimed, for once in her miserable life. Draco barely waited for her to turn her back before wiping his lips.
When he looked up from his serviette, Hermione was dismembering him with her eyes.
__________________
“So that was Julia?” Pansy said. Under the coat Blaise had just draped on her, she shot her dress with a spell, and the streak of syrup on it disappeared, a streak courtesy of Julia accidentally letting fly with a piece of her dinner. “Is she always like that or is it only when she’s with you?”
“Can we talk of far more important people? My stepsister, for instance. She can barely walk straight, for Merlin’s sake. Look.”
“She’s important, is she?” said Blaise, nodding sagely. Draco ignored him.
“She’s walking fine. Viktor is a strong man.”
Both Draco and Blaise sneered at Pansy.
“Erm, who takes Hermione home?” said Weasley, joining them. Luna reached out and petted Pansy’s cloak. “I heard she’s staying with her mother, or is she back at her f””
“I’ll be taking her home, Weasley,” said Draco. If Krum objected, well, they’d see how strong the Bulgarian was, wouldn’t they? There was no way Draco was letting Hermione alone with any man while she was in that state.
“Er, right. Bye, then.”
“Bye,” said Lovegood, including Pansy’s mink in her smile and wave.
Weasley dragged the blonde to the rest of their party outside to say goodbye. Draco, Blaise and Pansy followed.
“Circe, it is cold,” said Pansy. “I’m glad I always bring my mink. Let’s be quick, Blaise.” They waved at Lucius and Helen and after ascertaining that no one was in the street because of the cold, Disapparated.
“...you fery much for the dinner.” Krum was extricating himself with difficulty from Hermione, who seemed to think her date was a post and was hugging it like a drowning cat. “Happy anniversary. I’ll send a givt. I haff to go, Hermione. I vill write.”
Michael stepped in and disentangled his granddaughter from Krum, beating Draco to the chase. Edrina met Draco’s approach instead and kissed his cheek. “Bye now, dear. Can you do what your friends just did, disappearing like that?”
“Sure. I’ll show you some time.”
“I’ve already seen it! You and Hermione should let me experience it!”
“Okay.”
Edrina grinned up at him, patting his arm. “You’re too nice. I’d rather you married into my family than your father.”
“I heard that, Edrina dearest,” said Lucius.
“Hah!” said Edrina. “Michael’s freezing off what’s left of his bollocks. Take us home! Michael, put that drunken ladette in a cab with Draco.”
And that was how Draco ended up being mauled.
___________________
Hermione had a violent dream. Or she was violent in her dream. Either way, being her proxy bed was a nightmare. She punched and kneed and pulled and nailed particularly delicate body parts. Draco wanted to shoot her with the Full Body Bind, but the cabby was very nosy and very sympathetic, scolding and coaxing Hermione by turns. They only realized Hermione had been asleep all along during her madness when she suddenly slumped on Draco’s chest, sniffled and then snored.
That happened for all of five minutes and Draco was ready for extensive healing at St. Mungo’s.
The cabby smiled and winked at Draco and went back to driving, thankfully wise to the fact that Draco was in no mood or state to discuss the crappy weather.
“What’s gotten into you?” Draco whispered to Hermione. He stroked her back and frowned when it relaxed at his touch, as if she’d been tensed for battle all evening and was only letting her guard down now. She was furious with him, no doubt, but what else? She could so easily pummel him, and she had, even if she was unconscious of doing so.
What else? Why was she whining softly in her sleep like an injured puppy?
As they entered Kent, Helen’s car met them. They’d already dropped off the Astons. Lucius must have used wandless magic again to speed things up. Draco was grateful. They could make Helen’s car nice and toasty.
Hermione didn’t wake up when Draco moved from one car to another with her in his arms. He steeled himself when they got settled, ready with the Full Body Bind in case her fit returns, but she just blinked her eyes open, realized she was snuggling up to his neck, and moved away.
She leaned her head on the other window and didn’t go back to sleep. Draco could see her eyes reflected on the glass when they passed unlit sections of Canterbury. He wanted to pull her back beside him, but her aura was forbidding.
“Had a nice time, you two? Your friends were there! It was much better than what we planned.”
Draco nodded affably. Hermione remained stone-faced.
Even Helen seemed too scared to pry.