Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The author notes that Section 102(b) of the U.S. Copyright Act makes it clear that copyright protection does not extend to ideas, procedures, concepts, principles or discoveries -- only the particular specific expression of them. See the Chilling Effects Clearinghouse for further information on copyright and trademark law as they pertain to fanfiction.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
| Title: | Possession |
| Author: | Cheshyre |
| Characters: | Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy |
| Summary: | Hermione Granger gets more than she bargained for when she buys Malfoy Manor. |
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| Length: | nearly 14,000 words |
| Dates: | conceived December 2003; abandoned August 2004; publically posted August 2006 |
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| Permanent URL: | ./Possession.htm |
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| Author's Note: | This is an incomplete story that I have abandoned as unworkable.
[See my concluding post-mortem for further explanation on how I reached that decision.]
However, there are enough worthwhile elements that I'm willing to share what I've got.
This is licensed under a Creative Commons License, so if you like what you read and wish to write your own continuation, be my guest.
This story was concieved and outlined before Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was released. Elements of this story may not be compatible with that book. [My backstory certainly wasn't, though I'm unsure to what extent that is actually evident to readers.] |
Possession
Draco walked through the empty halls of Malfoy Manor. Barely two decades ago he had been born within these walls. Like generations of Malfoys before him, he'd always expected that he'd live his whole life here, eventually to be buried in the family vaults below.
But apparently some things were not meant to be. The Dark Lord's downfall brought the Malfoy estate down with it. Mother was dead, father would never leave the walls of Azkaban, and between the Ministry's seizure of assets and reparations, Draco could no longer afford the upkeep and had been forced to sell his inheritance.
The wizarding community circled like vultures, greedily slavering over the opportunity to own a piece of him. Owls began arriving when the first hints of his financial troubles hit the papers, trying to cherrypick the choicest plums of the family collections, their piecemeal offers promising to dismember the generations of work by his ancestors.
Instead, Draco decided to try to sell the whole estate intact, with the condition that the assets would not be resold or dispersed. Even though the offer was less than market value -- Draco thought of a few rare heirlooms in particular that would bring more money on the black market -- in the end, he agreed to accept the sealed bid.
Had Draco known the buyer's identity ahead of time, he never would've consented. But the fates were cruel and chose to heap insult upon injuries. He stormed and raged for days once he found out, but his solicitors advised him the contracts were airtight.
And now, in a few short hours, Hermione Granger would own Malfoy Manor.
Of course she came out of the war smelling like a rose. Hero of the war, alongside Dumbledore and Potter and that traitorous Snape. For her work inventing new spells and counter-curses to defeat the Death Eaters, she was showered with rewards. And hefty reparations for the deaths of the rest of the Granger family made her a very rich witch indeed.
Draco's trunks were all packed and waiting for him outside, but he couldn't leave until the rituals to hand over control had been completed.
He took care of his portion early, hoping to finish before Granger arrived. The estate agent had set up a little table on the front drive and she made him sign paperwork until his hand cramped. The other wizards from the agency were huddled in a knot around a map of the property, still making final adjustments to their spell based upon the wind direction and temperature and whatever else they thought relevant.
Granger would be along soon for her share of signatures, but he saw no reason to hang around to watch her gloat. Instead he decided to take this final walk around the property before departing forever. The estate agent had the temerity to block the path to the front door, so he ignored her and stalked off around the side of the manor.
He'd been sitting in his old bedroom when he felt the ripples of magic surround him. So this was it, then. From the house elves in the basement to the magical security along the perimiter -- now it all belonged to Granger.
It was all over but the leaving, so he might as well make a clean break. He took one last look around, and began to make his way out. The grand portrait of Xavier Malfoy, who built the house, glared disapprovingly down upon him as he headed down the stairs. Draco smiled back at it, trying to maintain a brave face. "Give her hell for me," he said. But the painting merely watched and scowled.
Draco could hear Granger and the estate agent talking outside, probably walking through the back gardens. He cut through the morning room and exited the manor through french doors that would place him squarely in their path. He'd hoped to startle them slightly, to put Granger in her place one last time, even if she was usurping what should be rightfully his. But the estate agent's gasp was greater than seemed appropriate under the circumstances.
"You weren't inside the manor just now, were you?" she asked. Draco sniffed. This agent had been Granger's choice, and he held little respect for her. She was another Muggleborn -- poor, female, nervous, and apparently stupid as well.
"Didn't you see me just exit it?"
"But, were you there when the binding spells were cast?"
"Yeah. What of it?"
"Oh dear," the estate agent whispered, her eyes widening.
A matching look of horror dawned on Granger's face. "You don't think?" Granger seemed unable to complete the sentence.
The estate agent nodded, apparently understanding whatever it was Granger couldn't bring herself to say.
The women stared at each other, then at Draco, then back at each other. Draco's confusion at this behavior turned to annoyance. "What?" he snapped, breaking their silent dumb-show.
Trembling, the estate agent bit her lower lip, reminding Draco of the cornered rabbits he'd caught while hunting with his father. "Mister Malfoy," she hesitated, "maybe you'd better sit down for this?"
Draco advanced one step and she quailed at his approach.
Then Granger interposed herself with an exasperated sigh. "Oh, just sit down. Okay?"
Scowling, Draco grabbed the nearest chair and sat. "Well?"
The agent wrung her hands worriedly. "You see, because the wards on your house were so well-established and powerful, we enhanced the transferal spell."
"And..." Draco prompted?
"It was designed to affect everything in the house at the time."
Draco considered the ramifications of what she said. "Are you telling me Hermione Granger somehow owns me?" He couldn't help but laugh. "That's what's got you so concerned?" He shook his head at their foolishness. "Slavery has been illegal for centuries."
"Except for House Elves," Granger interjected, but he'd long ago learned to ignore that quixotic crusade of hers.
The estate agent continued, her soft voice capturing all of Draco's attention. "It's not ownership in a legal sense, but magically..." Suddenly this seemed a whole lot less funny.
Granger, ever the pragmatist, asked, "so what does this signify from a practical standpoint? I mean, is it just a technicality -- a minor inconvenience we won't even notice? Or is it something more substantial and obvious?"
The agent shook her head, "I don't know. I don't think this has ever happened before. Not that I've heard of, at least."
"But I thought wizards have performed these ceremonies for centuries?"
"Longer than that. But magic today is both more powerful and intricate than in times past. We're constantly innovating within that basic structure. For example..."
Trying to keep his voice calm and level, Draco finally said "Can we skip the lessons and get back to the point? Why don't you just call back your coworkers and undo whatever it was they did?"
"It's not that simple. The spell was tied up with all the contracts you signed. We can't just unbind everything without the proper paperwork."
"Well, what are you going to do? You can't expect me to just stand here and take this kind of abuse! It's inconscionable!"
"Shut up for a minute and let me think," snapped Hermione.
Draco glared at her, but she ignored it, turning instead to speak with the estate agent.
"Surely there are spells that can release one item from a set?"
"Well, yes, but those are generally for conveying ownership to another rather than total emancipation."
"What if I were to sell it all to somebody else? Could that break the spell?"
"I don't think so. If the spell considers him part of the property, then he might go with it."
Finally, Draco interrupted their little tête-à-tête. "What if," he said slowly and deliberately, "you sell everything back to me. Owning onesself is redundant. Then, once that's taken care of and I'm free of the spell, we can conduct a proper transaction and this time get things right!" He tried to intimate that such a course of action would involve a different and more competent agent. A different buyer as well, if he had his druthers.
The agent thought for a moment, and when she spoke, it was as much to herself as to Draco or Hermione. "That might work... I'm not sure whether the spell will recognize an object as actor though... I'll have to talk to the Research Department. Check whether the rules surrounding minors would be applicable... And of course Contracts will need to go over the paperwork to see what other avenues we might have... I don't even know what the Charm department schedule is like..." She suddenly remembered she had an audience. "I'd better get back to the office and start everyone working on this."
"And how long is that supposed to take?"
She reverted to her professional demeanor, "I'll get back to you next week at the latest. This is a complex situation. It may take a couple months to get everything straightened out."
"What? And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Well, Malfoy, you can do whatever you please," Granger said, turning to the estate agent, "but I'm willing to help with the research if you'd like." The other witch nodded gratefully. "Besides, I've been looking forward to exploring y..." She corrected herself with a smile, "well, I guess it's my library now."
Draco grit his teeth, staring up at the sky, his voice rising with every word. "What a fucking day. They've already fouled up one major spell, and now I'm expected to just trust my fate to a pair of incompetent Mudbloods? Why I..."
Granger slapped him, cutting off his tirade. "You arrogant, ungrateful ass. Don't you ever say that word around me again!"
Draco loomed over her in his most menacing manner. "Oh, and why not? Your side may have won the war. You may have managed to overturn the natural order of things, ruining a lot of good lives in your efforts to ape your betters. But that will never change the fact that you are a dirty... filthy... disgusting little..."
The word wouldn't come. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, but somehow his mouth wasn't working.
He paused and tried again. Nothing but silence. He could think the word, see it, spell it, define it, derive the roots... but he couldn't seem to speak it. Draco started to recite the old playground taunt: "Mud comes from the garden. Blood runs through our veins. Muggles got together..."
Given the company, best not to complete the rhyme.A So, he could speak each component, but uttering the combined form still escaped him.
Granger had stopped cringing, her terror turning into an expression of shock and then fascination.
Hoarsely, he whispered "What did you do to me?"
"You really can't say the word?"
He took refuge in sarcasm. "What do you think?"
"Then say it."
"Mudblood." Draco clapped his hands over his mouth.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Put your arms down." Draco did, letting them hang sullenly.
"What did you do to me?" he roared.
"Ownership," Hermione breathed. She took several steps back. "Would you like to come over here?" She waited a moment to see whether Draco would move. "Come here."
Draco stalked over to stand in front of her. "Well?"
"Don't you see what this means?" she asked excitedly. "Since the spell, you've obeyed every direct order I've given you. You sat down, shut up, lost the ability to say certain words... I wonder whether this can affect your mind as well, like if I said..."
"Don't even think it!"
Granger clapped her hands together. "Yes, exactly!" The implications took a moment to sink in. "I mean..." Her face paled, and she took a half-step back. "oh."
"Yes," Draco sneered, then with a mocking tone he mimicked her "oh." Then he whirled to face the estate agent, watching the whole exchange.
"You had better be able to undo this. Because I'm going to make your firm pay for what you've done, and the longer this goes on, the worse I'm going to make it. And as for you," he began to close in on her, "you're going to regret ever being born, you miserable excuse for a witch. I'm going to..."
"Stop threatening her!" Hermione bossed. "It's not her fault."
Draco opened his mouth then closed it again then turned to Hermione in frustration. "Would you stop doing that?"
At least she had the good graces to look chagrined. "Sorry."
Draco closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before he could continue. Speaking with exaggerated kindness, he said, "So. Now that you understand the situation, I hope you will find the counterspell with all alacrity?" She nodded. "And in the meantime, what do you suggest we should do?"
Her eyes flickered between them. "I think it might be best if you were to stay on the premises, Mr Malfoy. That is, if it's okay with Ms Granger."
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming at them. "Won't that just increase the potential for mayhem?"
"Perhaps, but having you both here will make it easier when we need to contact you. Besides, there's a possibility this spell could impose distance limitations as well. Better not to risk flying or apparating until we can be sure."
"So I'm to be a prisoner, as well as a slave?"
"Don't think of it like that!" The agent started to put her hand on Draco's before thinking better of the move. "I thought you'd said you wanted to stay."
"That's when it was my property and my decision."
The little witch didn't quite know how to respond to that, but seemed to take it as acquiescence. "Ms Granger? Will you be okay with these arrangments?"
"I think I'll manage." She turned to Draco. "You take..." she caught herself. "Would you like to have your old bedroom back for the time being?"
"Umm, sure." Even when he became entitled to the master suite, Draco never felt quite comfortable there, choosing instead to continue using his childhood room.
The agent clapped her hands. "Well, glad that's settled then. I should just nip back to the office and start the process rolling."
"Actually," Draco drawled, "there is one more matter to discuss before you go." He paused, relishing the way it forced them to hang on his words. "Confidentiality. If even a hint of this makes its way to the papers or rumor mills..." He tried to make the outcome sound menacing, even if he was the one most imperiled by it.
"Oh, not to worry, sir. Only those with a need to know will be informed. We'll keep a tight lid on it." He nodded gruffly. While this wasn't anywhere near as embarrassing to them as it was to him, it would still be in their interests to keep the matter quiet.
She took her wand from her satchel and nodded to them both. "I'll owl you both the moment anything turns up." And with a smile, she apparated away.
"Well," Granger said with a smile, "that was more excitement than I expected this morning."
Draco assumed she was trying to be polite and decided to respond in kind. "For you and me both." She smiled. "I think I'd be quite happy without that kind of excitement in my life."
She laughed. "By the way, I forgot to ask. Can you get along without house elves?"
"What? Why?"
"Because the first thing I intend to do is give them all their freedom." She reached into her bag and showed him a handful of tiny hats. "I'll offer a salary with reasonable hours and vacation time should any choose to stay."
Draco shook his head in disbelief. She headed for the doors. "Coming?"
Draco paused to make sure he could. "I'd better bring my trunks inside."
With a shrug, Granger headed into her new home. "Suit yourself."
And, for the moment, it did.
As Draco maneuvered the last of his luggage back into his room, he heard Granger coming up the stairs. He sauntered out into the hall just in time to see her disappear into his mother's bedroom. Figures.
He followed her as far as the doorway, and winced to see her bouncing gleefully upon the bed. It seemed a mercy that his mother wasn't there to see a Mudblood desecrating what she once called her private sanctum. "Can't you show the least bit of respect for other people's possessions," he said with disgust.
Hermione stopped and hopped off the bed with an abashed look. Then her eyes flashed defiantly. "In case you've forgotten, this is mine now."
"How could I possibly forget?" he sneered. "After all, I'm but one of your new possessions."
"That's not my fault!"
"Yeah, but I bet you're loving this. Having me at your beck and call?"
"You think I wanted to be stuck with you?" she screeched. "I was looking forward to never seeing your ugly face again!"
"If you didn't want to be surrounded by me and my family, why buy Malfoy Manor?" He tilted his head to one side. "Or should we call it Granger Manor, now?"
"I get to rename it, don't I?" she said with a start. "I hadn't thought of that."
Draco snorted quietly at her ignorance. "So, how did your little act of liberation go over?"
Hermione slumped back down on the bed giving it only a slight bounce. "Not so well," she admitted. "I thought they'd at least be grateful."
Draco looked at her incredulously. "You just took away their jobs and home and threatened to split up their families. Generations of their ancestors have lived and served here, and they expected to pass this on to their children. What possible reason could they have to like it?"
"But I'm giving them their freedom!" she protested.
"Only at the cost of their security. Freedom is a pretty cold comfort when there's mouths to feed and no money to spare."
"And what would you know about it?"
Draco muttered silently to himself, "you'd be surprised."
"At any rate," Granger continued, unaware of his comment, "I've left them some reading materials that might help. Maybe next week I'll invite Dobby to come around and talk with them. They'll come around."
"If you say so."
"What are you doing here, anyhow?"
He smiled sourly. "Just came to check how everything was going."
"I can manage perfectly fine without your assistance."
"Is that so?"
"Watch and you'll see."
Draco crossed his arms and smirked, "I thought that's what I was doing. I must confess, I'm not terribly impressed by what I've seen so far."
"Ooh..." It amused Draco to see Granger at a loss for words. "Just... get out of my room! And stay out of my way!"
"Fine!" Draco yelled as he stormed out. "I didn't want to stick around anyway."
He stomped down the stairs and into the business room. After all, he still needed to write a rather urgent letter to the family solicitors about the whole situation. See if they couldn't find a solution, and also start preparing possible lawsuits.
After sending off the owl, Draco suddenly thought that he might want a breath of fresh air and headed outside for a walk through the gardens. The weather had gotten chillier than he was dressed for, so he decided to return inside. But each time he was about to head back, something else caught his attention.
Finally, hunger won out over the cold and he wandered down towards the servants' entrance to see what was cooking in the kitchen.
The house elves were delighted to see him, even though they looked more awkward than ever in their new garments. He sat with them for a while as he ate, reassuring them that they weren't being sacked. Granger just had odd notions of what she wanted from her household staff. As far as he knew they could all keep their jobs, they'd just be getting wages for it.
They still weren't convinced, and begged his forgiveness that the welome dinner they were preparing for tonight would be more lavish than his farewell meal the night before. "Of course I don't mind! You served all my favorite dishes. Nothing could've been finer. I wouldn't've changed a thing."
Relieved, they began to describe their plans, asking him about Granger's preferences. The house elves really wanted to please her -- the menu certainly sounded ambitious, impressive and delicious. He doubted Granger ever dined this well before, and told them as much. He also warned them that he wasn't sure whether he'd be dining with her or separately up in his room. "That's entirely up to her." They said they understood, but Draco knew that only went as far as figuring out how to set the table and serve the food.
Eventually, he said his farewells, promising to keep checking in on them as long as he still lived in the manor.
He started up the front staircase, then paused. Something didn't feel right. Was one of the steps weak? It was entirely plausible; and of course the house elves weighed so much less that they'd never notice a problem. He went up the back staircase instead.
He wandered about the house restlessly, until he realized what he was doing. He wanted to go down to the library to conduct his own research into this condition. And just like this morning with speaking, he couldn't quite bring himself to do so.
He started thinking back over everything she'd said to him until he found the likely culprit.
Then, with as much will as he could muster, he chose a spot just outside the library entrance as his destination. He leaned against the wall beside the door, finding it a cool comfort against his back.
Just from the effort it took him to get this far, Draco knew she must be inside, but he listened a few moments to make sure. Maybe he could just wait for her to leave. Then again, knowing her, she'd stay there for hours. And besides, this stupid evasive game would have to stop sooner or later.
"Granger?"
"What is it?"
He took a deep breath to steel his nerves. "May I enter the library?"
She sounded surprised. "Well, of course. Why on earth wouldn't you?"
"You said to keep out of your way. I guess that had the strength of a command."
"Oh." He could almost hear her thinking. "If you want to come in, come in."
"Thank you," he said stiffly as he entered. She was curled up in his father's favorite chair, a large book in her lap and several other tomes beside her on the end table.
"As far as I'm concerned, you can go any place you please, regardless of my presence." She frowned slightly. "I hope that's sufficient."
Impressions of the estate agent's final warning and an image of her bedroom door flitted through his mind, making that promise rather unlikely, but politeness still seemed like the best policy. "Very magnanimous of you."
As he walked over to the bookcases, Granger chewed a lock of her hair and seemed to scrutinize him. "How does it work?"
"What?"
"The spell, or compulsion, or whatever. How does it feel to you? Is it like the Imperius curse?"
"Um. no. Not really." Draco paused, trying to figure out how to describe it, when half the time he hadn't even realized anything unusual had happened. He ran one hand through his hair. "Imperius gives you this relaxed and dreamy feeling; you have a sense that you're not in control, even if you can't do anything about it. Right?" Granger nodded.
"Well this doesn't give that impression. It felt like everything was entirely my own inclination. No sense at all that it was being imposed upon me. It's like my mind somehow rationalized your suggestions into something I wanted to do anyway."
"And when it affected your speech?" she prompted.
He sighed. "Have you ever been stuck searching for a word? You know you know it, but you can't quite say it? I suppose it could have felt natural if it wasn't derailing my existing train of thought."
"What about what you said coming in here?" she asked softly.
"That? I just kept finding distractions that involved being elsewhere. And when I started getting too close, I felt incredibly uncomfortable -- like there was something wrong in the environment. So whatever's doing this, it gave me a certain awareness of where you were, even if I didn't consciously know. The scariest part was how normal it all felt. It just made sense to give you a wide berth to avoid further conflict."
Draco realized he was trembling. He walked over to his father's decanter, grabbed a glass, and removed the stopper from the bottle. Then, remembering his manners... and the situation, he asked Granger, "do you mind?"
"Help yourself."
He poured himself a glass of scotch and sipped it slowly to steady his nerves.
After a moment, Hermione continued. "It might be helpful if we could do a few experiments..."
"No. Absolutely not!" Draco's hand clenched around his glass, digging his fingertips into the cut crystal pattern.
"It's really that bad?"
"You're messing with my mind. How would you like somebody doing that to you?"
"But this would strictly be for research; find where the limits are, perhaps some ways for you to resist."
"Look, Granger. I'm not stupid." He started ticking off items on the fingers of his free hand. "I no longer have a fortune to fall back on, my family name has beome a liability, and people pay more attention to a stupid feckin' tattoo on my arm than my exoneration by the Wizengamot. There's probably nothing left for me here in England, meaning I'll have to go abroad to earn any kind of a livelihood. When it comes right down to it, all I'll have to get by on are my wits and skill. And I can't afford to gamble with that."
Hermione considered what he was saying. She hadn't realized quite how dire his situation was. Then again, to be honest, before today she probably wouldn't've cared. "You really think it's that dangerous?"
"Don't you?" His voice rose. "As you just said, we don't know the extent of this spell. So far it's only affected my actions, but can it work on my memories? My emotions? What happens if you get angry and yell 'Drop dead'?" He paused for another sip of scotch and to slow his speech, which had been coming out in a rush. "Even if the agency can reverse the spell -- which I only hope they accomplish soon, though so far they haven't given me much confidence in their abilities -- we have no way of knowing whether that'll be sufficient to undo any changes that have already been made to my mind. I could be permanently crippled!"
"I won't let that happen." He rolled his eyes. "Before any handover, I could... I don't know... command you to revert to the way you were before the first spell."
"Oh, nice one," he sneered. "And then what? I'll lose all memory of the intervening time?"
"Well, that was just a first attempt," she retorted defensively. "I'm sure we can think of something!"
A quiet "ahem" broke the silence before Draco could reply. Kizzie, one of the house elves, stood in the doorway. She seemed to be drowning in an oversized t-shirt, and plucked uncomfortably at the fabric until she realized she had their attention. "Excuse me, Miss Hermione, but there's a Mr Ron Weasley at the door."
"Is it that time already?" she exclaimed.
Simultaneously Draco groaned. "What is he doing here?"
"Some of my friends are taking me out for a celebratory supper. Ron offered to pick me up." She turned to the house elf. "Invite him in. Tell him to meet me in the..."
As much as it amused Draco to watch Granger flounder around for the proper etiquette, it was clear -- to him at least -- that Kizzie was growing more and more distraught by the lack of clear instruction. "The drawing room should be suitable," he offered quietly. Of course, were he still running the manor, the Weasel King would be out on the kerb with the rest of the rubbish.
Granger flashed him a grateful smile. "The drawing room it is, then. Tell him I'll be out in a moment."
Kizzie nodded, curtseyed and then backed out of the room. Draco followed, quietly closing the doors to the front hall. "Probably best if he doesn't know I'm here. His brain might not be able to take the strain."
"Oh, good point," Hermione whispered, listening to the house elves take Ron's jacket and lead him in. "Stay out of his sight."
"Excellent plan, Granger," he drawled. "If you hadn't said something, I never would've thought of that."
She ignored him as she left the room to greet her friend. Draco opened the door a crack to listen in.
After greeting one another, he heard Granger say, "I just need a minute to get ready and then we can go."
"What about a tour?"
"What?"
"Show me around the place. You know I've been dying to look around." 'Oh, you ought to be dead, all right, you rude git,' Draco thought to himself.
"Okay." Draco smiled. Even Granger sounded exasperated with the Weasel. "But very quickly. I don't want to be late."
Fortunately, Draco played enough hide-and-seek within these walls when growing up. He had no trouble at all remaining within listening distance of the pair. In fact, it was almost fun, trying to predict their movements and always stay one step ahead or behind them.
"Find any skeletons in the closets yet?" Weasley was asking.
"No. Some really gorgeous things, but nothing terribly juicy."
"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "Must be a relief, though, seeing the last of Malfoy?"
"Actually, Ron," Granger began. Silently, Draco began to bang his head against the wall. 'No. No. No. She wouldn't.'
But she blithely continued. "Something went wrong at the closing. Malfoy's still living here for the time being."
"What?"
"It's just for a little while, as we straighten things out."
"Sure it is. He's probably had this whole thing all planned out for ages."
"No, it's not like that at all..."
"Oh come on. You know he's gotta be plotting something."
"Keep your voice down, Ron, he'll hear you!"
"You're telling me, Malfoy's in the house right now, as we speak?"
"Well yes, but it's no big..."
"Malfoy!" Weasley bellowed. "You slimy git! Show yourself!"
Draco snorted silently. 'Yeah, fat chance.' It sounded like the Weasel was strutting around the room like a rooster, his challenges growing more and more strident with every circuit.
Then Hermione called out to him. "Malfoy, Just come here."
Oh well, may as well get your jollies where you can.
Draco sauntered in and put one arm around Granger's shoulders. "Yes Weasley, it's true," he said sincerelyB. "We are shacking up together, and we just wanted to ask you to be the godfather of our first child."
Weasley's face passed red and turned a brilliant shade of purple. "Get your hands off her!"
"Are you going to make me?" Draco taunted. "Come on, Weasel. I've been itching for a fight all day."
Weasley was nearly pawing the ground like a bull about to charge.
"Simmer down, both of you!" Hermione shouted. The room went silent. Ron from surprise, Draco because her wording left him no other alternative.
"I hate you, Granger," Draco uttered softly. And from the slight increase in her frown, he knew she understood what she'd done.
But Weasley was back shouting in his face."Don't you threaten her!"
"For your information," Draco continued quietly, "that wasn't a threat. Merely a statement of fact. Now if you really want to see a threat..."
"Malfoy, stop!"
Draco froze, his wand halfway out of his pocket. And for the moment he remained still as a statue.
Ron gaped at him. "Bloody hell. Hermione, what did you do?"
She licked her lips nervously. "It's like I said. Something went wrong in the closing."
"It'd have to be pretty wrong to cause something like this. What happened?"
"Well..." Draco winced. She wasn't actually about to tell him, was she? But of course, she did -- every excruciating detail. And there was nothing he could do but stand there and listen.
"You mean you own him?" Weasley actually hooted with laughter when she finally finished. "Bloody brilliant!" Draco wished he were a basilisk and could slay Ron with his gaze.
But Weasley just grinned manaically, uncaring of the daggers Draco was glaring in his direction. "What else can you make him do?"
At least Granger had the sense to look uncomfortable about the situation. "Pretty much anything, actually."
"Go on, show me."
"We really should leave now."
"Come on. He's been putting me through shit for nine years now, the least you could do is... I don't know, make him cluck like a chicken?"
Cluck like a chicken? That's the first thing he came up with? Draco was so nearly amused that the prat showed an imagination as poor as his family that he almost missed Hermione's response. "Will you drop the matter if I do?"
"I suppose..."
She looked both dubious and apologetic. "I'm really sorry about this, but make chicken noises."
And, to his everlasting shame, Draco did.
After a few seconds, Granger waved a hand. "Okay, that's enough. Why don't you ..."
"That's all? It's been nine years Hermione." He held up nine fingers, pausing momentarily to make sure he got them right. "Nine years."
Draco seethed in impotent rage.
"I said, that's enough, Ron." To Draco, she said, "Just..." she waved her hands randomly for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. "Clear out until we leave; then you can do whatever you want."
Draco didn't hesitate, getting out of their sight as quickly as possible, before Weasley could talk her into anything else. He raced up the stairs, but could still hear their voices.
"It's not funny, Ron."
"Sure it is. Just wait until the rest of the gang hears about this."
"Oh no you don't!"
"Come on, he's been tormenting us all for years. You can't deny us news of his comeuppance, like this. You could sell tickets!"
They were still arguing when they reached the front door. Suddenly he heard Granger call up to him, "I'll be out late! Don't wait up for me!"
"Yes, mother!" he shouted sneeringly from the top of the stairs. Yes. Thank you ever so much for this.
* * *
Hermione was too sick with worry to thoroughly relax and enjoy the party. She put on a decent show of it for her friends, but left as soon as she was sure it wouldn't attract too much attention.
As little as she wanted to face Malfoy, this was her house now, and she couldn't give in to her fears. Still, walking in the door all she could think was 'don't be angry' repeating over and over in her head like a silent mantra.
To her astonishment, the library lights were still burning. Cautiously, she tapped on the door and peered inside. In a chair facing the fireplace, she could barely make out the top of Draco's head, colored bloody from the flames.
"I didn't think you'd still be awake," she said quietly.
"Well I wasn't staying up for you," he replied, but there was no heat in it.
She walked further into the room, standing beside his chair but out of arm's reach. "Are you... upset?"
She studied Draco's profile as he set down the slim green volume he'd been reading. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, somehow appearing much older than he had this morning.
"Not at this time, no." He sighed. "Disappointed. Humiliated. Tired..."
"I am so sorry about what happened with Ron."
Draco sipped at his Scotch, but made no move to reply. Hermione didn't like this quieter mood. At least when he was yelling, she knew where they stood.
"So, with how many people did you and Weasley share the news?"
"I told Harry, in confidence, but nobody else knows."
He raised an eyebrow at that. "No one?"
"I swore them both to secrecy." She saw Draco frown. "They know better than to cross me when I've put my foot down."
"If you say so." he replied noncommittally.
"It's true! You've got to believe me!"
Draco turned to face her, but his voice remained level. "Well, when you put it like that, how could I do anything but?"
She winced, but Draco had turned back to stare into the fire. "Don't worry," he said after a moment. "You're in no danger from me."
"I'm not?" she asked warily.
"Don't get me wrong, I did consider killing you earlier this evening." How could he say that in such a matter-of-fact tone? "But I really don't fancy another stay in prison."
Hermione wasn't sure how to react to that statement.
"Besides," he yawned. "I figure the only effective way to prevent you from issuing orders would be some kind of enchanted sleep, but that would still cause too many complications to be practical.
"And now, I'd best be off to bed." He stood, saluting her with the empty glass. "Pleasant dreams."
Shaken by Draco's almost-cordial demeanor, Hermione waited until she heard him close his door before returning upstairs to her own room.
She found one last surprise after she finished washing up and changed into her nightgown. A piece of parchment lay across her pillow. She recognized Malfoy's handwriting immediately, although the letters were scrawled more viciously than she'd ever previously seen. Some strokes appeared so violent, the quill nearly tore through the paper.
Picking it up nervously, Hermione began to read.
You hypocritical little mudblood,
Just couldn't keep your big mouth shut, could you? What part of confidential didn't you understand? Or did you just think those rules didn't apply to you?
You are, without a doubt, the rudest individual I've ever met. And I used to date Pansy Parkinson. But where she was merely mean-sprited, you are downright callous. Every sentence that comes out of your mouth is an order, did you ever notice that?
Was all that sensitive concern you showed in the library an act or are you just plain stupid?
As for your grandiose talk about the rights of the downtrodden...
I have spent my entire life surrounded by house elves, and I have never seen one of them as exploited and publically humiliated as what you did to me before Weasley this evening. That was just low.
In that vein, within polite company it's generally considered common courtesy to give the staff advance notice of any unusual circumstances they might need to prepare for, whether you'll be having guests over or missing a meal.
Before gallivanting off with your friends, did you ever stop to consider how it might affect the rest of the household, particularly those beloved house elves you can't stop talking about, but never seem to bother to get to know?
They worked their hearts out today to make a good impression on you. Not that you noticed or cared.
Your pointless power games left me with little appetite, but somebody's got to eat that magnificent dinner they prepared and assuage their disappointment, and I'm the only one left.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
With disgust,
Draco L. Malfoy
The anger and rage radiating from the letter left her shaking like a leaf. Hermione wanted to rush right back out and confront him, but it was late and nothing he wrote was so urgent it couldn't wait until morning.
Instead, she merely set the letter on her night table, crawled under the covers and silently cried herself to sleep.
When Hermione awoke, she discovered a silver tray beside her bed, with tea, toast and jam, and a delicate crystal vase containing a single pink rose. She nibbled at her food while she got herself ready and tried to figure out what to say to Malfoy when she saw him. Rereading his letter, she thought that maybe it would be better to just listen first.
As she came down the stairs, one of the house elves pointed her towards the dining room.
It was there she found Draco, seated at one end of the long table, reading the Daily Prophet and sipping some tea. Another house elf held out the chair at the opposite end for her. As much as she hated such pointless shows of chivalry, Hermione didn't want to start the morning by making a scene, so she sat down and allowed the elf push her in.
Draco folded the paper and placed it on a tray, which another elf picked up and carried over to her side of the table.
"Well, it appears that we have thoroughly failed to make the morning papers."
"That's what you wanted, right?"
"Well, yes," Draco conceded, "but I didn't expect to actually get it. What's more curious is that it's not even listed in within the transactions column, meaning the agency chose not to officially record it."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
Hermione had never been much of a morning person, and under Draco's gaze, she felt even more awkward than usual. Her typical breakfast was much closer to the tray she found in her bedroom. The table before her held a bewildering array of dishes and she didn't know quite what to do. She let the house elves pour her tea and juice, and portion out servings of eggs and fruit.
"May I suggest you try the kedgeree," Draco offered.
"Oh, no, that's okay..." she hedged.
"No, really." The suddenly clipped tones shocked her. Once Draco caught her eyes, he tilted his head slightly towards one of the house elves, who was wringing his ears fretfully. "I know I'm just a guest," Draco emphasized, "but I really must insist."
She caught the hint. "Well, if you put it that way," and allowed the house elf to add some to her plate.
Hermione thought she saw Draco smirk when she exclaimed, "Ooh, this is delicious!" but if so, it had none of its usual malice.
Draco opened a thin green book, took out a quill and began writing in it. Their seats were too far away for her to catch any details about the volume.
When he noticed her scrutiny, he set them down apologetically. "I'm sorry for the informality. I've been alone for so long that I forget my manners."
Hermione nearly choked at the concept. He considered this informal? She shook her head to clear it. "No, no. That's quite all right." Clearly she spent too much time around Ron and Harry, whose ideas of breakfast generally consisted of a bowl of cereal gulped down over the kitchen sink.
But Draco didn't resume whatever he was writing, and instead tried to start up a polite conversation. "They say the Appleby Arrows have a good chance at making the finals this year."
"I'm not really much of a Quidditch fan."
Draco frowned. "Have you been following the debate in the papers over readmitting flying carpets? I understand the Asians are quite keen on them."
"I don't know why it's even an issue, given the Minister's opposition."
"Now there's something I don't understand. You'd think with a family that size..."
Finally, Hermione couldn't hold it in. "Malfoy, about last night..."
His stern expression contrasted with the polite tone. "Can we discuss it later, please?"
"You're not trying to put me off, are you?"
"What are your plans for the day?" he sighed.
"I really hadn't decided yet."
"May I suggest, then, a walk about the grounds after you've finished your meal? The weather's supposed to be lovely and I could show you around."
"And we could talk then?"
He nodded tersely.
"Then that would be fine."
Hermione picked up the newspaper to read while she ate, studiously ignoring Draco who resumed his furious scribbling.
* * *
Draco set a brisk pace that might've annoyed Hermione, had he not accompanied it with a continuous stream of fascinating details about everything they passed. Every question that came to her mind from history and herbology to architecture and construction feats, if Draco didn't have an answer immediately he knew where in the library to look. And though Hermione knew intellectually how many acres she now owned, she hadn't really grasped what that meant emotionally.
Finally, Draco led her up a hillside where some benches offered a comfortable view of the house and its surroundings. He sprawled out on the grass and stared up at the sky. "So, you wanted to talk?"
Hermione was taken aback by the sudden shift in topics and sat down to collect her thoughts. Then, noticing Draco pull out that same little book he'd been carrying since last night, she asked, "What is that?"
"This?" He held it up, a slim volume bound in green leather with silver edges. "I decided to start keeping a journal. Last night while you were out. Thought it might be prudent to track what's happening and how I'm feeling. May help identify more of the spell's effects."
"Good idea."
"I was wondering whether some kind of Quick-Quotes Quill might come in handy to record everything you say, in case we need to cross-reference. Only I couldn't think of any discreet way for it to constantly follow you around."
Hermione started to consider the possibilities of shrinking solutions, when she realized she was getting off track. Draco didn't say anything further, but seemed to be studying her face, watching her reactions. She found it unnerving, but caught herself before telling him to stop staring.
"I found your letter last night," she began.
"I thought it might be something like that."
"Were the house elves very upset?"
"Devastated. I had to stop three of them from injuring themselves for failing to ask ahead of time about your dinner plans."
"Oh."
"And I hope you don't mind, but I told them to just leave your breakfast tray beside the bed rather than stay to help you dress. Truth be told," he smirked, "you could use the assistance, particularly with that hair, but the house elves are in a delicate enough state as is. I was afraid in your surprise you'd only make matters worse."
"Thank you."
"Of course, now that you know what to expect, you'll let Weezie resume her normal routine?"
"Actually, I think I'd prefer just taking care of myself in the mornings."
"Oh, really." Draco's familiar skeptical drawl returned.
"I've always prided myself on being self-sufficient."
"I see." His eyes flicked back to her face. "And how did you find breakfast?"
"Well, they certainly put out an impressive spread. I can't imagine eating like that every day."
"You'll get used to it."
"Oh no. I really don't need anything so elaborate. Honestly, what they served on the bed-tray was fine."
"So the house elves' fears are justified. You do intend to sack them."
"No!" Hermione protested. "Not in the least."
"But you don't want them to do their duties."
"That's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?"
"I've just got simple tastes."
Draco closed his eyes as if he were in pain. "Then why did you buy a manor house?"
"What do you mean?" Hermione wondered at the apparent nonsequitor.
"You knew it came fully staffed! What did you think that meant?"
"Well, I thought most of them would jump at the chance to go free."
"And that is precisely why I didn't want to discuss these matters indoors."
"And why is that?"
"Because you can't say these kinds of things around house elves!"
"Don't you tell me what I can and cannot do!"
Draco slammed his palms into the grass. "Fine!" he snarled. "If that's the way you want to play it, then we have nothing further to discuss." Draco stood up, brushed the grass from his robe and stormed back down the hill.
"Wait! I didn't mean it like that!" Draco ignored her and kept walking. "I'm sorry!" He didn't even slow down. "Look, you can say whatever you want around me!"
Draco paused and turned around. "Even Mudblood?" His eyes quirked. "I guess so."
As he returned, Hermione could hear him muttering "mudblood" over and over again, not with malice, but akin to an orator rehearsing an unfamiliar word.
He transfigured a pebble into a grey replica of his chair in the library and sat down, facing Hermione and putting them both at an equal level.
"You can't keep doing this."
"I said I was sorry."
"Sorry doesn't fix anything."
"So what do you suggest?"
"In regards to what?"
"The spell, of course."
Draco leaned forward, rubbing his temples. "Well, probably the safest course of action would be for me to move into the stables. I'd need to fix it up a bit to make it habitable. But maybe if I'm out of sight, you won't be quite so tempted to order me around."
"That could work," she nodded. "We can even set a schedule when I'll keep away from the ground floor, for any work you need to do."
"Only one problem. That leaves you alone in the manor most of the time."
"You consider that a problem?"
"Ohhhh yes. And it's a far greater one than I anticipated."
Draco leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
"Look, Granger. My whole life I've been trained how to run this manor."
"Oh, really?" she scoffed.
"What? You think it all comes naturally?" His eyes widened in mock-glee. "Well well well. So you finally admit that blood is significant. Imagine that."
"Why, you..." An angry flush spread across Hermione's features, but Draco held up his hands.
"Hey, I didn't mean to start a philosophical argument. Your lot won, remember?" Hermione thought she heard a tinge of bitterness in that remark, but let him continue. "Anyway, as long as I'm being forced to stay here, the least I can do is teach you enough of the rudiments to get along. After all, the only reason I accepted your bid was because you agreed to keep the estate intact. If you screw things up and are forced to sell it off piecemeal, I will have to kill you."
Draco said that last bit so casually that Hermione couldn't tell whether he was joking. She decided instead to ignore it. "What on earth could you possibly know that's worth learning?."
He shrugged. "Well, for one thing, why the house elves love me and are terrified of you."
She gasped. "That can't be true!"
"I'd suggest you ask them yourself, but I wouldn't want to traumatize them further."
"And what's in it for you?"
He began to tick items off on his fingers. "Preserving my ancestral home. A useful explanation for why I'm still staying here. More comfortable than the stables... Ooh, here's one. How about you stop bossing me around."
"I'm doing my best," Hermione protested.
"That's what I was afraid of," Draco muttered. "I'm sure I can think of something to make it worth my while. The question is, are you interested?"
"I'm not sure."
"What," he goaded, "the infamous Granger, balking at a learning opportunity?"
"I need some time to think it over."
"Fine, you do that."
"I will." Hermione glared at Draco, but she couldn't quite read the expression in his eyes. Anger and... something else.
The sun moved behind some clouds, and Hermione felt a chill. "I think I'd like to go back inside now."
Draco tilted his chin towards the house, visible in the distance. "Think you can find your own way?"
"You're not going to insist upon a chaperone?" she challenged.
"You didn't pay me enough to babysit. Besides I have some thinking of my own to do."
With a shrug, Hermione descended the hill and walked home. Unbeknownst to her, Draco watched the entire way.
* * *
All the way back to the house, Hermione's thoughts were in a whirl. How on earth could the house elves prefer Malfoy to her? It just didn't make sense.
During her sixth year, Hermione finally worked out that the Hogwarts elves probably resented her for unduly raising their hopes. As a student, she didn't actually have the power to release them, so all her talk of freedom merely made them more aware of their plight.
But here... She actually emancipated them all. So why would they favor their former oppressor?
He must've been lying to get her goat. That had to be it. He always did enjoy riling her up.
And yet...
Draco's behavior today was unnerving her.
Not in the way it used to when they were in school together, when he would taunt and tease and annoy. Back then, he seemed to actively seek out ways to demoralize Hermione and her friends.
But this was different. He wasn't purposefully trying to be provocative any more. Well, maybe his greeting to Ron. Malfoy always brought out the worst in Ron, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. But that was the kind of performance she expected from him.
What surprised her was his behavior since then. So calm and self-assured. She'd been so certain he'd be spitting mad when she came home last night, that she genuinely feared to face him.
And yet he maintained a perfectly civilised tone throughout. In fact, he'd been the portrait of a perfect gentleman. If she hadn't read his letter, she never would've realized the depths of his anger. Because he certainly wasn't showing it.
Maybe that was the source of her discomfort. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Because otherwise, Hermione levelled with herself, she was being incredibly irrational. Who ever heard of being upset with someone because they were trying to be polite?
Clearly, that was her problem. And she needed to determine exactly why Draco's behavior bothered her so.
Preoccupied with her thoughts, she let herself in through the terrace and headed straight for the library, waving off one of the house elves before it even had a chance to open its mouth.
Sitting in what she'd quickly grown to think of as her chair, she started to brainstorm.
< possible description of Draco's recent behavior. Adjectives that come to mind include poised, calm, self-assured, composed, secure Aside from his tantrum w/the agent (which, she reasoned, was reasonable) he hadn't seen the spoiled brat she thought she knew >
Could he have been like this all along and she never realized? She hadn't seen him since they left Hogwarts, and she was too busy during the war to follow the news. Even at school, they rarely interacted except when necessary. And most of that, she was just trying to avoid him.
If she had misjudged him this badly all along, what else might she be wrong about?
For a few seconds, Hermione genuinely worried. But too many people back at school had agreed with her assessment, including professors. Maybe the Slytherins saw a different side of him, but he wasn't like this at school.
Maybe he'd simply mellowed as he grew up. It had been several years and time does change one. Particularly the last several years, with the war and all. What had happened to Draco? She really didn't know, aside from the few cryptic comments he'd made since the closing.
Then again, it might just be that this was his home. For the first time, she was seeing Malfoy in his natural element. < possibly more here about it making her feel inadequate >
Those reasons were perfectly satisfactory explanations. And maybe she could think of others. Because, as long as she kept her mind busy, she could try to ignore the tiny voice offering a much darker possibility.
Maybe, just maybe, this man she was seeing today wasn't Draco Malfoy after all. Even though she'd said nothing aloud, could her fervent prayer last night been the catalyst for this change?
Had she effectively blunted his anger? She'd read his letter, and clearly he'd been fuming before she came home.
And if her thoughts could so radically change his personality, if the bonds of ownership were stronger than spoken commands or physical proximity, then this spell was deeper trouble than she'd possibly imagined.
She had no way of knowing whether this was true, but it did fit all the facts she had.
Of course, there was no way she could tell Malfoy any of this. Not only was there was no casual way to ask, "Pardon me, but what time did you lose your homicidal rage? I'm trying to determine whether I inadvertently altered your personality" but the gulf between them was too wide. Still, she wished he were back. She needed something to distract her from these thoughts, and he was certainly good at that.
Her interruption came in the form of a house elf, informing her the owl post had arrived. There wasn't much mail, and sorting it took only a few seconds. Most of it was addressed to Draco and appeared to be business or financial papers rather than personal letters, though she did recognize Snape's handwriting on one envelope. She got a few short chatty notes from friends for later perusal, but the main parcel that captured her interest was a large envelope from the estate agency addressed to both of them.
She sliced it open at one end and found a thick sheaf of papers, copies of the sale papers, copies of articles, what looked to be a bibliography... The top page was a short note from the agent herself, which Hermione proceeded to read.
Ms Granger:
Mr Malfoy:
Thank you for your patience.
After further investigation into the available options, we are currently pursuing Mr Malfoy's suggestion of reversing and then repeating the transaction: Ms Granger will sell the property back to Mr Malfoy to extricate him from the estate, to be immediately followed by Mr Malfoy reselling it to Ms Granger, according to the original terms. We have started to write up the necessary contracts. Given the complexity of this operation and other preexisting commitments, we estimate we will be able to complete the exchange in four weeks time.
Needless to say, you shall not be charged for any of this additional effort.
In the meantime, our Research department is continuing to explore other avenues that could provide a speedier resolution to your dilemma. They have already uncovered several historic accounts of similar situations. Regrettably, most of these involved purchasers who deceitfully intended to enslave the other party. We could find no evidence that any of these victims were ever freed, implying that emancipation requires the consent of the owner. Several cases concluded in marriage, which suggests they may have been attempts to circumvent familial disapproval. However, we are continuing to investigate these options.
Since you expressed an interest in assisting with the investigation, I have enclosed copies of your paperwork, along with other relevant materials from our library.
We apologize for any inconvenience this puts you through. Feel free to contact us at any time, should you need. We'll keep in touch when we have further news.
Hermione had to sit down about halfway through.
"Bad news?" Hermione hadn't even heard Draco arrive.
Numbly, she handed him the letter. She couldn't resist watching his face as he read. Draco seemed to grow less and less expressive as he moved further down the page. By the time he put the paper down, his face was completely impassive -- a perfect mask.
"If you don't mind," he said stiffly, "I came here to write a letter to my solicitors, which now appears even more urgent."
"Are you still planning to sue the agency over this?"
"Well, yes, but that has nothing to do with this."
She grabbed the papers. "I'll take these into the library to start reading. Here's your mail."
Draco idly flipped through the envelopes, checking the return addresses and nodding to himself as if they were expected. Snape's letter was the very last.
Draco briefly stiffened as he saw it. Then with a practiced hand, he flicked the envelope towards the fireplace.
"Incendio."
It didn't even hit the floor; only a few blackened ashes remained, to drift lazily onto the polished wood.
Draco noticed Hermione's stare and raised one eyebrow, as if daring her to comment. But the war had taught her when to hold her questions. And this was clearly one of those times. Wordlessly, she adjusted her grip on the papers and headed for the library as she'd said.
Still, she thought, it was mystifying. She vaguely remembered half-heard rumors about Snape acting to mitigate Draco's sentence. Maybe before the sale she should've caught up on his situation. Then again, she hadn't expected him to hang around.
Hermione shook her head briskly. Draco was a mystery for another day. She curled her legs up and began to sort through the documentation.
Eventually, Malfoy joined her. They didn't talk much, but spent most of the afternoon reading, supplementing the material sent by the agency with other titles from the library shelves. Hermione found the situation surprisingly comfortable, reminiscent of her wartime research projects. They weren't quite working together, but they were working in parallel on different aspects of the problem. Hermione quickly got caught up in the history and mechanics of the transferral spell, hoping that understanding the fundamentals would give her insight into its flaws. Malfoy, she noticed, was spending much of his time crossreferencing between histories, legal volumes, and tomes on the Dark Arts (which Hermione made a mental note to examine later). They ate lunch with their noses buried in books, and continued studying even as the natural illumination began to dim.
Just as the room was getting too dark to read clearly, Draco stood up and stretched.
He set his current book on the seat of his chair and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Dressing for dinner, of course." Glancing at her rumpled robes, he added. "You weren't planning on wearing that, were you?" Then he caught her startled expression and laughed. "You were, weren't you!"
"Are the house elves planning something fancy, again?"
"Don't worry," he smirked. "I already advised them you were simple-minded." And, shaking his head he left the room.
Hermione frowned. He did it again. In the last two years, she'd been heralded as a genius by much of the wizarding world. She'd made stunning breakthroughs in countercurses and her income from patent royalties alone would cover the upkeep for this place. So how did Draco always manage to make her feel so ignorant?
Sighing, she set down her book. Hermione never paid much attention to her clothes or hair. Aside from formal events, she tended to wear whatever was comfortable and clean, fashion be damned. Fussing and primping seemed like such a waste of time and money. She'd much rather be practicing other more worthwhile pursuits. Well-rehearsed arguments flitted through her mind, from the feminist to the practical to the petulant.
But that still left the question whether to change robes, giving Malfoy another victory, or stay as she was, risking yet another faux pas. Considering the consequences, she chose the lesser of two evils and went upstairs to freshen up. Nothing fancy, mind you, but changing into a clean robe seemed a reasonable compromise.
And maybe, after dinner, she'd take him up on his earlier offer.
"Conditions? You never mentioned any conditions when you suggested this!"
Draco chuckled, sipping his scotch. "And that's why you should have accepted it when I first made the overture. I've had a little more time to think it over."
Hermione crossed her arms. "What are they?"
With a flick of his wand Draco closed the library doors, ensuring their privacy.
"First and most important. If I'm to teach you how to run this manor in the few weeks we have allotted, then you must agree to follow all my instructions."
"All of them?"
"You have a problem with that?"
"You're a..." Hermione bit back the first word to her lips, which was 'Malfoy,' as unwise. "You're a Slytherin. How do I know you won't abuse the situation?"
"I suppose that depends on what you consider abusive." With a sadistic gleam in his eye, he asked, "How are your animal imitations?"
Hermione grimaced. "Touché."
"Keep in mind, I'm trying to ensure a smooth transition here. It would be against my own interests to take too many liberties."
"True," Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "Tell you what. I'll accept your instructions if they're part of your lessons and you explain their purpose to me should I ask."
"That's fine, but your disagreement or failure to understand will not exempt you from following them."
"Is there any appeal?"
"You can try to convince me, otherwise you break the deal and forfeit further instruction."
"Agreed."
"Second, you will work on some way of controlling your proclivity for issuing me orders. I don't care whether you find magical means or demonstrate a little self-discipline, but I don't relish being your little puppet for the next month. Understand?"
"Perfectly."
I thought I had a few more reasons when I first came up with this scene, but I can't recall them offhand. Placeholder...
Confidentiality!
"Finally, you will not invite Dobby into this house or let him communicate with the house elves." As she started to balk, he raised one hand. "At least not as long as I'm still living here."
"If I do that, will you do something else for me in return?"
"What?"
"Can you get the house elves to like me?"
Draco laughed. "I'm not a miracle worker, Granger." Then more seriously, he continued, "But hopefully when I'm through you'll understand one another and be able to work together. Is that sufficient?"
Hermione mulled it over for a few minutes. Then she held out her hand. "Deal?"
She noticed a momentary look of revulsion cross Draco's face as he stared at her outstretched arm. "Deal." Draco seemed determined to make the handshake as brief as possible, so Hermione took a page from the twins and grabbed his hand tight, shaking it as vigorously as possible until he pulled away. She grinned inwardly as she watched him oh-so-casually wipe his hand against one leg. Draco drained the last of his scotch and poured himself another glass. Then they settled back down into their chairs.
"I suppose I should begin by figuring out what you need to learn."
"Okay."
"For starters, why did you buy the manor?"C
"Well, it was on the market at the right time. It was on the upper end of my price range, but I liked the fact it came fully furnished..."
"And because it was mine?"
Hermione laughed nervously. "Actually, your father had more to do with it. You were always bragging about his library, so that's how I thought of it..."
"And what about the stipulation not to sell?"
"Well, it didn't say anything about not rearranging or putting items into storage. I've seen a few large estates opened to the public, so I could exhibit some of it in that manner. And," she said with a shrug, "my advisors suggested that loaning collections to museums would be permissible under the terms."
Draco frowned. He hadn't thought of that.
"And do you plan to work outside the home?"
"What kind of chauvinistic question is that?"
"Hey! Easy! I just wanted to know whether you intend to work full-time, or if you're going to become a lady of leisure. It affects how you'll be running the house and what I need to go over."
"Oh." After a moment, Hermione continued. "This is tough. I haven't really decided yet." Draco waited, studying her. "I'm on a leave of absence from the think tank. I've got enough money that I won't need a job." Draco nodded to himself. To afford this place, she'd have to. "But I don't want to stop reading and inventing. I suppose I'd like to see if I can't do most of that from the house, rather than working elsewhere."
"That could probably be arranged." Draco idly twirled his glass as he thought, staring at the swirling liquor. "Are you planning to move anyone else in? Any live-in lovers the tabloids aren't aware of?"
Hermione grinned. "Not in the least. For once, the papers were actually correct."
"Then last question for the night: what are your plans for the next few weeks?"
"Besides listening to you?"
"You're not Longbottom," Draco smirked. "Hopefully this won't be a fulltime chore. What else would you like to do?"
"You know. Unpack and arrange things. Explore. Make myself at home..." She smiled at Draco, "I suppose we can continue to research this spell. See if we can't find a faster cure..."
Draco gasped in mock-upset. "But won't that kind of change upset your revision timetables?"
Hermione made a rude gesture back. If they could tease each other, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. "Do you need anything else?"
"I think I've got enough to go on for now."
"So we're settled?"
"I think I know where to start, at least. My first assignment for you is to let Weezie attend you before breakfast. Without complaint."
"But I don't want..."
"What? Breaking our agreement already? I thought you Gryffindors were supposed to be brave."
"We are. And that doesn't mean just meekly rolling over."
"Look. Complain all you want to me, but only out of the house elves' hearing. As far as Weezie is concerned, you will follow her guidance and be happy about it. All right?"
"Fine."
"There, you see?" he smiled magnanimously. "I'm not so unreasonable."
* * *
Hermione entered the dining room nervously. Her hair had been piled atop her head in a magnificent updo and the chocolate-brown robes shone with just a hint of bronze. It all felt far too opulent for this hour of the morning.
Draco's eyes widened appreciatingly. With a finger, he gestured for her to turn around so he could see the outfit from all angles.
"Not bad," he nodded approvingly as she took her seat. "You look almost civilized."
Hermione patted her hair nervously. "I kept warning her that my hair never stays put in these kind of styles."
"Well, if you stop picking at it, maybe it'll have a chance." Hermione dropped her hands into her lap as Draco smirked. He folded the paper and passed it down to her. "After breakfast, I thought we'd start with a more formal tour of the ground floor. Make sure you know what each room is for -- where you receive guests, for example?"
Hermione sighed, trying not to let him goad her. She only hoped whatever he had to say would be worth it.
* * *
"And that is the drawing room. Now over here..."
Hermione, who had remained quiet for most of his presentation, interrupted. "Isn't there some kind of secret compartment under the floor?"
Draco turned, scrutinizing her face. "Oh for... How could you possibly know that," he muttered, "when fifteen minutes ago you weren't even certain of the room's purpose?"
"Well, is there?"
With a sigh, Draco rolled up the corner of one of the rugs to reveal a small trap door. Once it was fully uncovered, he gestured magnanimously, "After you."
"No, you can go ahead."
Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm not being polite. You are the owner of the manor. I can't open it without some serious countermagic."
"Oh." Hermione bent down and lifted the latch, which opened easily for her. The compartment itself was slightly larger than Snape's potions stores and was similarly lined with shelves. "Lumos."
"There's nothing in there. The Ministry was quite thorough."
But Hermione still peered into the corners, looking for any traces left behind. "So this is where your father stored his most valuable Dark Artifacts?"
"Actually, I believe this is where he hid our Christmas and birthday presents." Hermione brushed the dust off the front of her robes. "It wasn't until your lot made certain heirlooms too hot to handle that he moved them in here."
Hermione extinguished her wand and closed the hatch. The seams matched perfectly with the grain of the wood. With a gentle kick, Draco rolled the rug back into place.
"Satisfied?"
Hermione smiled. "Lead on."
He waited a second longer to make certain something else wouldn't distract her. "Now this takes us to the ballroom. The portrait here is of particular significance..."
Hermione stifled a groan. Draco must've spent at least half the morning providing biographies for the portraits about the house. Aside from the library, the walls of the manor were almost completely plastered with paintings. It was beginning to seem as though every Malfoy had their picture done at some point. And of course, Draco simply insisted on telling her their complete life stories.
"Your family wasn't too keen on landscapes, were they?"
"What are you talking about? Take a look at that!"
The frame he pointed out contained a large window. She looked out over a terraced path through flower beds and fountains.
"Who needs a painting, when the reality is so sublime?"
Hermione found her reprieve in the sound of flapping wings and headed into the business room.
By the time Draco entered, she had already divided up the mail and handed him his half. Then she took a seat and pretended to busy herself reading a chatty missive from the Patils, while discreetly watching Draco. One additional thing she learned from the tour was how fascinating she found his body language. He could be so... expressive... with the most minimal movements. She usually did a decent job at reading people, and yet Malfoy's reactions remained an enigma. Harry and especially Ron were all primary colors and broad strokes. But Malfoy presented in subtler shades. It was like getting a glimpse of a whole new language, one she definitely wanted to understand.
Draco dealt with most of it fairly quickly, barely glancing at each return address before moving on to the next. He only slowed his pace for one envelope, which he plucked out of the stack, tapped it twice on his thigh thoughtfully and then set it on the desk. No other letter got such attention, and he filed them all away with a comment that "we'll go over all the financials some other day."
With a rapid slice, he opened the last envelope, unfolded the paper within, and scanned the contents. With a slight intake of breath, he closed his eyes as if in pain. Suddenly, Draco crumpled the letter in his fist. For a second, it looked like he might incinerate this one too, but then he lay it back on the desk and smoothed it out. He removed the green journal from his pocket, turned to the back pages and placed the letter inside. Then, tracing the spine with his wand and muttering a spell Hermione couldn't hear, he bound the page securely into the book.
Noticing her gaze, he snapped the book shut and tucked it back out of sight. "Not every book is your business." She tried to school her appearance to one of polite interest as he glared. It was one of his icier looks, rather than a more heated one. "I'm going to check on lunch. This afternoon we should resume looking for a cure. We can continue with household management some other time."
He broke eye-contact more quickly than she expected, and left the room. Watching him depart, she decided that Draco Malfoy would make a challenging addition to her curriculum.
- Concluding line of the poem: "And gave you shit for brains"
- "Sincerity: if you can fake that, you've got it made." -- Daniel Schorr
- As Ian pointed out, the true reason why Hermione bought a manor is because the story demanded it.
This concludes the continuous material as written.
