Remain Nameless

Chapter 30

He was most vulnerable during sex. Every little breathless moan of "Draco" and he almost said it. Every time their eyes locked while she writhed beneath him he almost said it. Every time he came inside her he bit back the phrase he longed to throw out and instead gasped "Hermione." He spoke her name as a safeguard to prevent himself from saying the words that he'd never said to anyone.

Not tonight. No more running, no more hiding, no more pretending he didn't feel so much for her that not being in her presence resulted in a physical ache inside his chest.

Draco raked an anxious hand through his hair as his gray eyes swept along the dining room table. A niggling sense of doubt suddenly reared its head based on a conversation they'd had last week. Hermione seethed in frustration that some of the lands reserved for centaur herds and funded by private charities, instead of protected by Ministry law, were now being encroached upon by wizardkind. She'd ranted to Draco that government protection would have been more beneficial in the long run, since some of those charities' coffers had run dry.

"You can't simply throw money at a problem and expect it to be solved!"

Draco had shrugged and countered with, "Sounds like not enough money was thrown to solve the problem."

The glare she'd thrown him had been more than a little withering.

Oh fuck, is that what she would think about this fund for Muggleborn children?

I am okay with this.

No, he needed to have confidence in the judgment of Minerva McGonagall and the Board of Governors and his own ideas. If he could convince the likes of them as to the merit of this fund, then Hermione could be convinced too.

The dining room passed his inspection. He gave Crick and Watson the night off again, ordering food from the French restaurant he knew Hermione liked. He had just placed the bulk of parchment about the fund on Hermione's dinner plate when he heard the Floo roar to life.

Draco frowned and checked his watch. Damn, 15 minutes early. No matter, he would plunge full steam ahead and hopefully show her that he was more than a potions addict. More than an ex-Death Eater. More than his money, his name, his blood.

He loved her, and maybe he'd never ever be worthy of doing so, but she deserved to know how he felt.

He pulled nervously at the cuffs of his navy suit as he strode down the hall. Draco hadn't forgotten the time Hermione blurted that he looked good in the color blue. Tonight, he'd do anything in his power to tip the scales in his favor, including taking meticulous care to don a navy suit with a crisp, blue button-down.

"Hey, you're a bit early but we can—Mother!?"

"Hello darling!"

The woman striding out of the fireplace in his traveling parlor was not Hermione, but a thoroughly unanticipated Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco froze in the doorway and gaped openmouthed as his mother flicked her wand and several trunks appeared beside the door of the room.

"What are you doing here?" Not tonight, oh fuck, not tonight, I do not need any of this shit tonight.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow as if the answer were obvious and Draco's question impertinent. "You're being silly, dear, I know you received my letter." She crossed the room and pecked Draco delicately on the cheek in greeting.

"They must be keeping you busy at that office. Well, now that I'm here, have those elves of yours take my things to my chambers. I think I'll change my robes before dinner and have a bath drawn after."