They talked the whole way on the train back to Munich, Hermione scribbling notes in a little journal that he'd given her a few months earlier, leather bound with beautiful thick paper pages edged in gold. He'd known that as soon as he showed her the school she'd run with it, making plans and sharing ideas, offering opinions and criticisms and comparisons of how things were run at Hogwarts, not that it wasn't perfect, she uttered after every observation. Seeing her work, watching her figure and research and question was like flicking a switch, lighting her from within. Over the past year Draco had learned to love the dark and damaged Hermione, the shadow of her former self who, while still smart and funny and beautiful and sexy was a dull pebble compared to who she was when he'd given her the wand and set her magic free.
The portkey home to the mansion wasn't ready until the next morning and so they walked through Oktoberfest on its opening day and bought sausages and sugar roasted almonds. They watched the carts of beer barrels pulled through the crowd with giant black horses decorated with silver tack and blue flowers and Hermione stopped to pet their noses and scratch their manes.
The list of things he wanted to give her grew with every moment. Of course he wanted to give her freedom and choice and the respect of her people. He wanted to give her jewels and gowns, rare books and art. Now he wanted to take her riding, to see her flying free on the back of a stallion. He wanted to show her every country she'd ever read about, let her touch the statues she'd studied, sleep in the architecture she marveled at. Of course she would tell him she didn't need any of it, didn't want any of it, but he knew he'd happily work to please her for the rest of his life.
As the sun went down Draco was nearly dumbfounded at the bright, flickering neon of the midway and the giant terrifying rides with loud, pulsing music accompanying the screams of the riders. Hermione cajoled him into riding one, promising never to reveal to the rest of the world how he wailed like a child the entire time, fingers digging into her arms as the car spun and flipped, tossing them into the air. He derided electricity as a scourge against humanity, they made toasts under the stars and sang songs from their school days. They kissed each other in the open air, Hermione smiling against his lips as crowds of unknowing muggles swirled around them.
And on their final night in Germany they tumbled into bed together and made up for lost time; breathless, speechless, bodies sliding together with sweat and heat. Even while holding her down, his hands strong around her wrists, Draco worshipped her body, soothing her scars and painful memories with wet kisses and whispers of love. They twisted and rolled and Hermione went on all fours, Draco bent over her, his lips on her neck as he slid inside her from behind, his whole body pressed to hers.
"I love you," he said, thrusting at a steady pace, his hand wrapped around her waist as he teased her clit with his fingers, stroking her until she trembled. "I'm sorry," he whispered, nuzzling into the hair at the nape of her neck, holding her, covering her body as if he could shield her from the world. "I promise you'll never hurt again, Sparrow. I promise."
"Draco..." was all she could say, his name like a stuttered, breathy prayer as he kissed the bone at the top of her spine, pulling her back harder, deeper onto his cock. "Draco..."
"Never...hurt...again," he groaned, grinding against her, their bodies made one as if it was exactly what the universe had intended. "I love you."
Hermione cried out, her body clenching around him as her orgasm hit, a rippling white wave of pleasure that coaxed out Draco's own release, the two of them coming together for the first of countless times before falling asleep just as the sun was rising, Hermione stretched out across his chest with a contented sigh. She was spent, sore, but it was a comforting sort of exhaustion, the sort of let down that comes after finally letting go. It was a weight lifted from her mind and her shoulders, relief in the knowledge that she'd never be separated from him again, that she wouldn't be fighting for her life on her own, that she wouldn't have to run.
The Dragon seemed different when they got back, the porkey dropping them at the gate house at the front of the property. Draco took her hand in his and they walked up the gravel drive to the imposing front doors, the brass plaque that she'd examined with scorn on the day of her arrival. It occurred to her just then that she hadn't seen it since. As they stood on the front stairs she ran her fingers over the engraved letters of his name.
"Oh!" She said, reaching into the sleeve of her jumper and drawing out her wand. "I almost forgot." She'd dreaded the moment she'd have to relinquish it again, but understood why.
"Keep it," he said, standing at the front door and staring at the elegant vine wood in her hand. "I'm giving them all back today. You were right. We can do this. I kept finding ways to delay, to hold off on telling the girls, to hold off on exposing all of this to...everyone...my father, the Veritas, the Council...because as soon as we make a move we have to keep moving. As soon as we make a move we have to start looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. As soon as we do this...we have to start fighting."
Hermione smiled and lifted her wand to unlock the front door.
"It's nothing that I haven't been doing for years, Malfoy. Don't worry, I'll show you the ropes," she said with a wink. "...so to speak."
TWO MONTHS LATER
The loss of the Dragon was front page news for six days. The mysterious fire had started in Malfoy's office and ripped through the second floor, gutting the bedrooms of all of the girls. All of the records, financial or otherwise were reduced to ash and investigators found a pile of broken and emptied memory vials in the locked cabinet behind the charred desk. The fire was so devastating and the building so destroyed that they couldn't be sure if there were casualties. Clothes and shoes and personal items were found, but no bodies...a mystery that baffled ministry workers, as there had been no notification of mudbloods leaving the area. The Dragon had no floos and there were no portkeys found. It was as if everyone involved in the brothel had simply...
disappeared.
But Draco had enemies all over wizard England and the list of suspects, a comprehensive list of people who wanted to see the youngest Malfoy suffer for his sins, would take months, if not years to investigate. The list of pureblood patrons of the Dragon, men who had indulged their taboo fantasies and revealed their secrets was equally long and seeing the mansion burnt came as something of a relief to them. The wizard population in England was in a shambles in every aspect, including pressing issues of pureblood infertility, lack of work, and general political discord as more and more people realized that they'd put their loyalty and trust behind a man who had no desire to serve them. Under this cloud of unrest the people soon grew bored of hearing about Malfoy's mystery. It was just a handful of mudblood whores sacrificed to the flames after all, no real loss. First Generation Inspectors and Veritas reporters were uninspired to pursue any leads, particularly given the lack of gory details, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy mourned their son as if he were dead (although they refused to hold a funeral ceremony) and before long The Shattered Dragon's existence in England at all had been forgotten.
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
The Academy bustled with energy as the finishing touches were put on the dormitories, Sarah and Katie overseeing deliveries of food to the kitchens and Claire helping Professor Longbottom with planting in the herbology gardens and greenhouse. Hermione sat in her History of Magic classroom, standing proudly behind her desk, imagining what it would be like to have rows and rows of expectant children depending on her to fill their minds, to guide them; a daunting thought to be sure. She slid down into her chair and picked up her quill...at a loss of how to begin.
Draco had warned her not to put too much pressure on herself, not to carry the burden of every muggleborn wizard's future on her shoulders; but it was hard for her to shake off the feelings she'd had her first few months at Hogwarts, even with friends like Harry and eventually Ron it had been difficult and now they were going to ask children to leave their families in another country for nearly a year at a time and she didn't want to be responsible for their misery.
As the staff worked together to make plans for student life outside of the classrooms, she'd told Draco the importance of emotional support, particularly for children who may be war orphans, whose parents may have been torn away from them, who may have suffered at the hands of purebloods since birth. She wanted older wizards to mentor the younger, she wanted no one left out, no one bullied, no one hurt.
"You can't prevent people from being hurt, love," he'd told her as they sat in the Great Hall brainstorming about house colors. "I know...Believe me I know it was hard for you, and for the other muggleborn wizards at Hogwarts. I know that you don't want anyone to feel that way, but we could work every day for the rest of our lives to prevent it and kids are still going to be kids. There will always be bullies, and cliques and cruel nicknames and...boys...growing a girl's teeth too long because he has a crush on her."
Of course they couldn't prevent hurt. Just like they couldn't prevent homesickness or heartbreak or bigotry. But they were being given one chance to create a perfect school, a new shining beacon for freedom in wizardry, a place where halfblood, muggleborn, even pureblood wizard children could learn what the world was like BEFORE Voldemort took over, back when there was hope, when there was fun and when it felt good to have magic flowing through your blood.
She'd laughed and shrugged, running her fingers over a rich, pumpkin orange fabric that would represent the Historians Dorm. There would still be houses, but they wouldn't be chosen based on personality traits or flaws or genealogy. They would be broken into interests and focus of study; Healers, Historians, Artists and Potioners. There would still be competitions and points and Draco insisted there would be quidditch. But there would also be football, dueling, archery and intramural fencing tournaments. She wanted them all to love being at school. They deserved a bit of levity after a lifetime of being hated.
"Excuse me Professor, do you have time for a hopeless potioner who can't remember the exact year of the Great Mandrake Plague?" Draco said, slipping in to one of the desks.
"1834," Hermione said, looking up at him and shaking her head in disappointment. "I should make you write a thousand words on the Plague's effect on the development of healing potions in the early nineteenth century...considering potions are your specialty!"
Draco feigned falling asleep as she spoke, throwing his head back with a loud and dramatic snore. Even now, at nearly thirty years old he looked like a bored teenager in his tight dark jeans and black jumper that clung deliciously to his chest. While he'd told her that there would be occasions for formal wizard robes at the Academy, he'd forgone requiring expensive uniforms or house insignia.
"Some of these kids will have nothing," he'd told her as he prepared a series of secret owls to send out to various underground sources in London. "They'll be coming here from a safe house somewhere, or having been in hiding in the forest. I can't stand by and make them traipse through Diagon Alley looking for cauldrons and owls."
Even the instructors and staff could dress casually, although they'd jointly vetoed some of Claire's choices on the basis of "possible hormonal distraction".
Now he sat behind the front row desk and clasped his hands behind his head, looking confident and relaxed and doing an excellent job of distracting Hermione's hormones just with his smile. His hair was trimmed up short again, but he would sometimes go a few days without shaving and she found she liked the more "rugged" Draco, particularly when they were off the clock.
"Don't let me interrupt your work, darling," he said, smiling up at the professor in her sensible black skirt and pale green silk shirt, holding her wand between her teeth as she flipped through a heavy book. Her hair was pinned up in a wild knot on top of her head with three pencils stuck through the back and she was barefoot, her shoes kicked off into the corner. She was gorgeous. "Go on then, let's hear what you've got," he said. "I should tell you I already have third year potions lessons ready for the first three weeks...not that it's a competition, Sparrow."
She put her book down and flopped into her chair, letting her wand rattle across the top of the desk.
"It's going to be hard to tell them what happened," she said. "Telling them why their aunts and uncles, grandparents...maybe brothers and sisters are dead."
Draco nodded slowly, rubbing his left forearm through the fabric of his jumper. He'd briefly considered changing his name, dying his hair, using glamours to be someone else when he opened the school, but hiding for the rest of his life seemed exhausting. The children he was trying to save deserved to hear the truth of who he was, who Hermione was, how she was thrown out on the streets for doing the right thing, how he'd grown up under a banner of blood purity and how it had nearly destroyed him.
"I can't think of a better person to tell them about Harry," he said. "Or Albus, or any of the heroes and villains of Hogwarts. This is going to be a school of honesty. Fairness, truth and honesty, and I want them to know everything, even the ugly bits. It's why we're still teaching Dark Arts. It's why I have the vanishing cabinet on display, it's why the windows hold the names of the dead."
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip and moved out from behind her desk to sit beside him in the classroom. They both faced front and Draco shifted his chair a few inches closer to hers, his fingers creeping over to brush over her exposed knee.
"Draco Malfoy!" She gasped. "We're not doing schoolboy fantasies today."
"You're no fun," he whispered, brushing his lips over her temple. "All work and no play..."
There was a swishing and beating of wings behind them and a huge barn owl swooped through the classroom door with a heavy scroll, dropping it in front of Draco before perching at the edge of the desk.
"Thank you," he said, "Hermione do you have any snacks for the gentleman?"
While Hermione tended to the owl he opened the scroll. Blaise and Felicia had secured fifteen more students from Leeds and had successfully brought them to a safehouse in Exeter. The first year's attendance at the Academy was already up to over a hundred students. Draco was simply unable to turn anyone away, and foolishly promised everyone they'd be safe without having any way to guarantee it. Non purebloods weren't allowed to use floos or to apparate without a pureblood chaperone for each, and they hadn't secured a portkey safe enough for a group of more than five. He was still pondering the problem when Hermione came back, sitting beside him to read the scroll over his shoulder.
"We need to get them here in the next week or so," Draco said, picking at his cuticles. "Once they're out of England they're safe, magical refugees. It's a matter of one portkey that can bring a large group. A secure place for them to land. Bringing them one by one, or even a handful at a time would take forever and risks trouble with every trip."
"Something of that size would be expensive and certainly traced," Hermione added, taking the scroll and reviewing it on her own. "Why not a boat, just travel by muggle transport?"
"There are Death Eaters patrolling the channel. Not always, but it's too risky. A family was caught trying to escape a few months ago and they're still in prison."
The thought of it reminded Hermione of the family that had been in the cell across from her in the jail before Draco had pulled her out. She remembered the look on the older child's face, fear and confusion...absolute panic, something a child of six or seven should never know.
"I can create a portkey, but as soon as I activate it, it's entered into a book in the Ministry. I'm not even supposed to exist in England anymore," Draco said.
"What about Blaise? Or Pansy?"
"No, they've already done enough. I don't want to risk getting them on a list they'll never get off of."
They'd already taken tens of thousands of galleons from Blaise and even guilted Theo into funding a great deal of the school's construction. But it wasn't money they needed to get the children to Germany...it was secrecy. Floos and portkeys were all registered and published monthly with the owner's name. A few people at a time, staggered throughout the year with a suitable chaperone would easily go unnoticed, but if they were going to establish a permanent school and try and hide it from Voldemort, they would need to have dozens of children, staff, professors going through, a great deal of them being restricted from using portkeys at all.
"What we need is for the portkey to disappear," Hermione said, staring off through the stained glass window with Remus Lupin's likeness. "Not literally of course, but from the record. It needs to be a secret."
"We need a secret keeper," Draco said, "with an unbreakable vow."