Love Potions and Their Many Uses (Dramione)

Chapter 22 - Conclusion

The only nice robes Hermione owned were her dress robes for the Yule Ball - highly inappropriate for tea.

In a kerfuffle of nerves, she'd invited Ginny over to help her decide what was the most suitable to wear from her closet.

They'd opted on a simple yellow sundress which Ginny deemed was plain but passable.

"You are quite sure you want to do this? I personally think I'd rather eat four slugs than sit at a table with Narcissa Malfoy. I can help you fake your own death and move you out of the country instead, if you'd prefer."

"Ginny, don't be silly, I have to do this. He met my family, it's only right I return the favour."

"Even he doesn't want you to go. Say what you want about Malfoy, but his sense of preservation is sound."

"It's the right thing to do," Hermione insisted firmly, "if I have a horrible time, I just won't go back."

"Assuming you make it out in one piece," Ginny muttered.

Hermione scowled.

When Ginny departed later on, she shot Hermione a sympathetic grin that could only be interpreted as 'better you than me'. Hermione hardly felt reassured.

On Saturday, Draco came to fetch Hermione at the gates of the Manor.

He looked tense but very debonair in his usual pressed black trousers, black chemise and grey cardigan.

He eyed her up and down and suddenly she worried her sundress was far too casual. Hermione had also barely managed to tame her hair into a bun.

"You look beautiful," he murmured and offered his arm. She blushed at his compliment and let out a small breath of relief. She could do this.

"It's not too late to back out, you know. I'll tell mother you caught the flu," he drawled.

"I'm here now. May as well get it done. Besides, I'm sure your mother is very charming."

"I did warn her to behave."

Draco looked straight ahead, his jaw clenching. Hermione recognized this particular blank expression as nerves.

"I'll be fine, Draco. Don't worry."

He gave her a curt nod and led her up to the Manor.

Hermione's last memory of Narcissa Malfoy was at the Battle of Hogwarts. She'd sat next to Draco and Lucius in the aftermath. She'd fought tooth and nail to get her son back. Had defied Voldemort, defied her husband, defied her whole entourage and risked her life to bring Harry back in order to find Draco. Her son and her legacy had been more important to her than everything else.

Yet as Narcissa had sat at one of the tables, hugging her son, she hadn't been crying, nor falling to pieces. She'd remained poised, composed and in control.

Hermione could see where Draco had got it from.

Now that Hermione wasn't pleading for her life or being tortured, she could fully appreciate the ostentatious elegance of the Manor.

Rich carpets, ornate tapestries, black marble columns, artwork and statues and vases filled with long-stemmed cream-and-burgundy-colored flowers- the Manor supplied everything you could think of when it came to Victorian finery.

The lights were dim and the subdued color palette left the halls feeling somewhat cold. Indubitably done on purpose.

This home was designed to impress but also to intimidate.