Note: Let me know if I should bother continuing to post this here. Thanks, DDD.
Draco trudged into the manor library. He was still electrified from holding Psyche so close in the dawn light as she kept watch over her campsite. But he was faking intense fatigue so his parents wouldn't keep him too long after sending for him.
"Sit down, Draco," his father intoned. "Shut the door."
Draco collapsed into his usual chair, a tufted brocade with carved cherrywood legs. He pulled his feet up under his cloak as if intended to fall asleep immediately.
"Pay ATTENTION," Lucius said, kicking at a chair leg.
Narcissa laid a hand on Lucius's arm and shook her head.
Draco straightened his posture, scowling at the rug.
"Darling," Narcissa began. "There's beginning to be ugly gossip about where you've been spending your nights. Accusations of disloyalty to the movement. That sort of thing. We must agree on how to deal with it."
He huffed. "If you're asking me to stick around all night to become snake snacks, forget it."
"Of course we're not," Narcissa said, her hand on Lucius's arm to keep him from snapping at Draco. "We just need an explanation to give people. A harmless, believable story so our rivals in the don't spread any more suspicions that you're involved in – treason against our lord."
"Yes," Lucius sneered. "You've been so timid and avoidant there are rumours that you're untrustworthy, or enfeebled, even or dead. Ever since that disgusting outburst in the dining room."
Draco huffed again. "You want a believable story, yeah? If anyone must know, tell them the only thing that makes sense. How about that I'm a healthy grown man, sick of being locked in a house with a bunch of decrepit middle-aged creeps. Tell them I'm off with women my own age, doing what's natural and normal. Tell them I'm spending my nights doing my best to bless the wizarding world with our fine pureblood genetics."
For the first time in ages, Lucius looked almost pleased with him.
Narcissa clucked her tongue. "You're not doing anything of the kind."
"No, of course not," Draco said. "That useless device Snape gave me takes me to all the most deserted and unpleasant places in the country. I get there, to the middle of nowhere, and wait out what should be the best years of my life in darkness and silence. And then I scuttle back here."
"He's right," Lucius said. "The reality of his situation is too pathetic to mention. Just tell everyone he's in love."
Draco flinched. His lie about slagging around felt like it had nothing to do with Psyche. But his father's lie felt too close to her somehow, and she had to be kept secret. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he felt it strongly. He hardened his face. "I didn't say anything about love."
Lucius waved a hand. "They'll know it means nothing. No need to worry about anyone taking it seriously."
"Right then," Draco said, getting to his feet.
"Just a moment, darling," Narcissa said. "As you know, tomorrow is Christmas Eve. The Dark Lord will be spending the holiday abroad and has given us instructions to host a party here in his absence. Something to show off the sumptuous strength of this movement, and to confuse his enemies about his whereabouts."
Draco scoffed. "House full of fresh new guests. Should make fine sport for the snake."
"The beast will also be dispatched elsewhere," Lucius said. "You needn't know the details, just that we have been assured she will be gone whilst our lord is away. Bella and Greyback will remain to ensure the manor's safety."
"To babysit us, is more like," Draco said.
"Silence, you – "
"Lucius, please," Narcissa interrupted, breaking the dangerous line of sight between them. "Honestly, what's happened to the pair of you? You were once the same soul. I don't understand, but I do need you both on your best behaviour for the Christmas party. The model father and son pair, as you once were."
"Easily done, my love," Lucius said, standing up and pacing lazily toward Draco. "You can be assured Draco will be a vision of filial piety. Because IF he is not, I will do as I should have done to keep him from humiliating us in the dining room – "
"Humiliating YOU?" Draco burst.
Lucius went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I will petrify him and hold him by magical force until he learns to keep his composure. The Dark Lord will suffer no more outbursts, especially not now that, as you say, Draco, you are a grown man. Now off to bed with you."
—------------------------------------
The new campsite was the worst yet. It was in an expanse of marshland, and the first two sites they'd pitched the tent on filled with water and had to be abandoned. When they'd finally found a dry enough spot, Harry plucked up the courage to tell Hermione they needed to go to Godric's Hollow. When she agreed so quickly, he'd been surprised and bad at hiding it. But really, they had to make something happen. It had been weeks since Ron left and the quest had been as stagnant as the marsh water all around them since then.
Frankly, when she wasn't immersed in her research, Hermione was in danger of thinking of Malfoy more than anything else. It had to change. Making plans to look for the sword of Gryffindor in Godric's Hollow would keep her from dwelling too long on the heat of Malfoy's hands on her face, and his silky hair between her fingers, and the smell of his skin, and his ribcage between her knees when they fought, and...
A shiver ran through her as she settled onto a hummock of dry ground amid the dark marshes at the beginning of her watch. Tonight her umbrella spell was upside down, like a tiny, invisible boat beneath her as she made herself a spot where she could stay dry until morning. Malfoy would have his waterproof cloak. If only he'd appear. So many things could have detained him at Malfoy Manor, all of them ghastly, some of them unthinkable.
This was easier when she didn't care so much.
A splash announced he had arrived, followed by a hissing stream of profanity. Malfoy's Deluminator had dropped him knee-deep in a freezing pool of marshy water.
"Sorry," she said. "I didn't know how to warn you."
Malfoy sloshed up onto the hummock beside her, blasting his legs and feet with hot air from his wand. "Sorry I'm late," was what he grumbled, sitting next to her.
"Did something happen?" she said.
He grinned at the trace of worry in her tone. "You're really out of touch with the world, aren't you, Psyche. Christmas Eve happened – or, it will happen tomorrow, that is. My parents are going to need me at home for their happy-prosperous-Death-Eater-family nonsense, so I won't be coming to watch with you tomorrow. And that meant I had to bring Christmas tonight instead. It took some sorting."
Hermione's eyes were wide behind her mask. "They're hosting a party, with the snake on the loose?"
"Yeah, they say it will be somewhere else. I'll be watching for it all the same," he said. "It's nothing you need to worry about. Let's have Christmas."
She watched as he spread his cloak beside her, sitting in the centre of it and pulling it around himself like a sleeping bag. What luck, that he wouldn't be coming tomorrow night. It saved her the trouble of making an excuse for why she wouldn't be meeting him.
Wrapped in his cloak, he looked like a mound of rich black fabric with a head of white hair, the only cozy thing she'd seen all day. She smirked at him. "Oh yes, this is a scene from a Christmas card, to be sure." She waved one hand at the expanse of broken, dead reeds and fetid water all around them. The moon was almost full, making it easier to see than most nights. "There's no snow laying round about, deep and crisp and even. But we've got a bright moon and the frost is cruel."
His fingers closed around her wrist. "Why are you sat over there if you're cold?"
Hermione didn't resist as he tugged her toward himself, lifting the edge of his cloak so it folded over both of them. The mound of black fabric had two heads instead of one, and the warmth of him and his lush, magical cloak was driving away the chill.
Steady, Granger, she told herself. This is charming, but it's still Malfoy.
"Right," he was saying, looking for something. "First things first. Here is your Christmas orange."
In his fingertips was a tangerine, soft and fragrant. Such a small thing, but not this Christmas. With a little cry she took it from him, pressing it to her nose.
He nudged her with his shoulder. "You said you hadn't had much fruit lately. Let me remind you, you don't shove it up your nose. You eat it."
"It's just so perfect the way it is," she said, turning it to smell it from every side. "Look at the shape of it, the way it fits in my hand. Once I peel it, it will be less than this."
"Then allow me," he said, taking it back and tearing through the thin, dimpled rind with his thumbnail. The perfect outer form was breached but the scent from the broken peel hung in a delicious cloud around them. "Here's the best part: the tasting of it. All those juices and nutrients to keep you strong and clever. Do you need me to feed you again?" he said, handing her a section.
She took it, raised it as if to slip it into her mouth, but then, like Viktor Krum in a Wronski Feint, she mashed it between his lips. She expected him to resist, but after days of insisting he test all food from the manor first, he simply opened his mouth to accept it. She jerked her fingers away, their tips slightly wet from the inner edge of his lip, her pulse pounding.
"There. Now eat it," he said, chewing. "Don't waste any more on me. We've got bushels of them at the manor."
She enjoyed the first few sections without any remorse, but her guilt began to mount as she thought of Harry in the tent with only the sticky dregs of a jar of marmalade for fruit all week. Malfoy couldn't see the wistful expression in her eyes, but he could tell she was looking off toward what could only be her hidden campsite.
"I've brought you a little sack of chocolate almonds and raisins to save for later," he said. "I know you always like to take a bit away with you. And if anyone asks where it came from, you can tell them you transformed it out of the roots of these bullrushes. They're edible. Or at least, non-toxic."
"If anyone asks?" she repeated, her voice high, alarmed. "I told you, there's nobody – "
He hushed her, pressing a small wax bag into her hand. "I know, I know. But just in case. Take your chocolate. It's a gift for you to pass on, in case you need it."
The less they talked about this, the better. She sighed and pocketed the chocolate. Instead of turning back to him empty handed, she took a thimble from her pocket, flourished her wand, and transfigured it into a teapot and two small, handle-less cups.
He gave a wide smile, impressed. "Psyche brought me tea for Christmas."
She rolled her shoulders to show she was rolling her eyes. "It's the least I can do."
He cradled the warm cup in both his hands as she filled it. "No milk or sugar, I'm afraid," she said.
"Yeah, but look," he said, grinning into his cup. "My tea's got the moon in it. Yours will have it too."
There it was, reflected in the clear liquid, the nearly full moon, white and waving. At the sight of it, she gave a high, happy laugh. "I almost hate to drink it."
"Not me," Malfoy said, tipping his cup to his mouth. "Psyche's brewed moon tea on our fake Christmas Eve. I'm not letting it go to waste."
Under the cloak, she nudged him with her elbow. "Listen to you. Who'd have thought Christmas would make you so silly. And so sappy."
"Sappy?" he said, as if offended. "No, I was aiming for thoughtful, gentlemanly, endearing – "
"None of which are mutually exclusive from sappy," she said, smiling into her tea. "Really. It's all so lovely. Thank you. It's my first Christmas without my parents and – it's both easier and harder than I thought. Definitely not something I wanted to live through alone."
He tapped the end of her nose with his forefinger. "Now who's sappy?"
After tea there were tiny meat pies, delicate pastries, cheese and green grapes. Before long, Hermione's shrunken stomach was full. She fell onto her back, still folded in the cloak. "I'm stuffed as a goose," she said.
Malfoy lounged on his side, propped on one elbow. "Oh, there's one more thing," he said. "This thing isn't for eating, tempting as it may be."
Hermione sat up. "You got me a present? A real present, not food?"
Malfoy scoffed. "It isn't a big deal. Believe me." And with that he pressed a lump of tissue paper into her palm.
She opened it to find another lump inside. It was firm, but soft enough for her to carve a line into it with the edge of her fingernail. "It's soap," she said.
He shrugged. "Yeah. Told you it was no big deal."
She raised it to her face. "But it doesn't smell like yours."
"No, it's not for me. It's pomegranate soap," he said. "It smells like you."
"Oh, of course."
He reached toward her, carving an M into the surface of the soap with his own fingernail. "Di – did you – want it to smell – like – like me?" he asked.
She could hear his blush in his voice. How was she supposed to answer? Yes. Yes, she did like the idea of having something like a stolen bit of his presence, something that worked not on magic but on memory, on her senses and how they crackled and sparked when he was close like this, sweet like this. A simple bar of the right kind of soap would have done all that for her. What in the stars did that mean?
They sat in silence, the soap between them, both of them waiting for her to say something. And as she thought hard after the right thing to say, she heard footsteps. They weren't coming from the tent, and they weren't the quick, agile footfalls she'd recognize anywhere as Harry's. It was a heavy step, crushing the reeds and grass, stomping from hummock to hummock, fast and noisy, as if navigating by some sense other than sight.
She grabbed at Malfoy's hand as her blood ran cold. "Do you hear that?" She mouthed more than spoke.
He did hear it. His ears were more accustomed to monster sounds than hers and he held his breath, his mind filling with possibilities for who might have tracked him here, spying. It wasn't Aunt Bella. She would have flown in screeching and flaming. No, it was the other keeper of Malfoy Manor.
"Greyback," he said. "Don't let him see you."
She shook her head. "By now, he'll know I'm here anyway. My only chance is to stun him."
"Not yet," Malfoy said. For now, his parents wanted peace between themselves and their rivals. Only after they regained the Dark Lord's favour could they take risks like forcing open hostilities within the ranks. He couldn't let Psyche escalate tensions with an attack. They could be forceful, but violence was only a last resort. "Be hiding and ready. But let me talk to him first."
She opened her mouth to argue.
"Please, Psyche, trust me," he said. There was no more time. He clamped her in his arms and folded the cloak over her head just as Greyback came bounding into sight. His eyesight was not good, but his hearing and sense of smell were keen. Under the moonlight, he squinted at Malfoy over the marsh, listening and sniffing.
Malfoy took a huge breath. It was time to face the werewolf, a nightmare from his childhood, with the boldest bluff of his life. "What are you doing off your leash? The full moon isn't until tomorrow," Malfoy snarled at him. His voice was loud and cross, but with her face pressed to his chest by his hand on the back of her head, Hermione felt his heart hammering inside him.
Could Greyback hear it too?
He gave a low laugh, like a growl, as if Malfoy was nothing but a naughty child. "The full moon compels us to hunt. True enough. But some of us have urges for blood that can come at any time." He took a step forward, his boots squelching with the water he'd crossed to find them. "What are you up to, so far from your nice warm bed on such a cold night, Master Malfoy?"
"I should think that's obvious," he snapped. "Let's not pretend you can't smell her on me."
"Indeed I can," Greyback said with the same malevolent laugh. "Young and fresh. Soapy and well fed and..." He took an obscenely deep breath, and then another, releasing it with a lusty moan that made Hermione's skin prickle. Malfoy's arms tightened around her. "And she likes you. I can smell that too, Malfoy. Can you?"
Hermione held tightly to her wand, tapping it against Malfoy's ribs to signal that she was ready to attack. He held her still.
Greyback took another step closer. "Looks like your parents were telling the truth about you being a useless, spoiled brat out looking to get off with whatever slut you can find rather than being out to betray our lord. Ah well. At least let's have a look at this hussy."
Malfoy forced a loud laugh. "You will not. You've found out what you wanted about me. Now you can go back and report to Yaxley, or Dolohov, or whichever one of them was too cowardly to come find me themself. Tell them whatever you want about me. I don't care. But I'm not done with this girl and I won't turn her over to you. Hunt your own prey."
"If I want her, you can't stop me from taking her."
"Try me," Malfoy said, his voice low and cold in spite of his hot, shaking hands holding Hermione beneath the cloak.
Still hidden, Hermione blinked against his jumper. For the strangest moment, Malfoy had sounded almost like Harry – Harry, who got his bravery and strength not for pride and bluster, not from a greedy need for domination, but from a place of care and love.
She held her breath, ready to spring free of the cloak, hexes flying. Was there any way Harry could sleep through it?
But then there was the grinding of dry reeds under the sole of a boot as Greyback turned on the spot and disapparated.
Malfoy melted, all his strength spent. He threw the edge of the cloak off of Hermione's face and fell onto his back, chest heaving, panting up at the dark sky. His eyes were wide, finally revealing the terror he'd managed to keep back in order to hold onto Hermione.
She sat beside him. "You alright?"
He didn't look at her, only nodded up at the sky. "He's gone." He was still breathless. "When I was little, I used to see him in my worst dreams. Stalking me, covered in my blood."
She dropped a hand on his chest and leaned into his field of vision. Her voice was gentle. "You're alright," she said. "You're not the little boy you once were. Believe me. You did brilliantly, sending him away peacefully, keeping us both safe."
He was calm enough to look at her now. With the moon behind her, her face was complete shadow. And he didn't care. He raised his fingers to touch the mass of her hair curling around her like the illustrations of Psyche from the book.
Lying on his back, his face was lit with moonlight. He had always looked something like this but Hermione had only found him beautiful since she'd met him as Psyche, and he'd been so kind. Greyback's appearance in the marsh was like an ominous warning of how delicate their connection was. It could end any moment. With the break in their routine tomorrow night, it very well might. At the thought, her heart swelled with feeling – anxious and longing. This might be their last meeting like this. He could leave, like Ron did, and she'd be left with all her regrets – everything she never said, and never did to let him know how precious and happy he'd made her, for as long as it lasted.
And with that, with his hand still in her hair, Hermione Granger kissed Draco Malfoy. She bent over him where he lay beside her and pressed her warm, dewy mouth to his. His lower lip was full and soft, and it tasted like tangerines as she took it into her mouth. He opened to offer it to her, and nipped after her as she was already leaning away.
As she moved to sit up, his hands closed in the small of her back, holding her close against his side. He didn't speak, only licked his lips and continued to stare past her, almost frowning, as if considering an arithmancy problem.
She strained in his hold. Of course he was confused. He knew she was Muggleborn, and she'd told him she wasn't beautiful. Maybe he even knew who she was. She didn't mind any of it, but he was sure to. What made her think he'd want her to kiss him? Madness. She began her apology. "I – I shouldn't have assumed... Just because...Oranges – "
Quick as a tight turn in a quidditch match, he rolled over. She was on her back, his forehead pressed to hers through the swirling mist of her mask. "You're real. Under there, you're someone I can't see, but I can hear and smell, and taste and feel, someone who actually cares for me?"
She held his face in her hands, unsure of what to do but wanting to stay close. She nodded her head against his. "I'm not really Psyche. But I am real."
He came in slowly, breaking contact between their brows to bring his mouth to hers as she lay waiting, every bit of her thrilling toward him. Unlike the first kiss, it didn't end just as their amazed affection warmed into passion. They let it engulf them. Hermione let him lead now, opening as he advanced, answering his rhythm and friction, her voice in her throat. With one hand he held himself up, bearing some of his weight, and with the other he brushed his knuckles along her throat, palmed the nape of her neck, smoothed the round of her shoulder as she combed her fingers through his hair and clung to his arms and back.
It had been years since Hermione had kissed anyone, and it had never been like this. For days, she'd thought about kissing Malfoy, and expected it to be intense, like everything about him. And sure enough, lying underneath him was not altogether unlike their nights on the moor, when they fought each other in the dirt. But there was more in it than those early chemical flares. Malfoy kissed her to her soul. He was gentlemanly but incendiary all the same, possessing her completely with just his mouth on hers.
They were still young enough, inexperienced enough that kissing could be everything, lasting on and off for the rest of the three hours they had before daylight. Eventually she remembered that keeping watch meant opening her eyes and seeing past Malfoy's face. She shifted to lying on his chest and looking out over the marsh as his fingers combed through her hair. "Promise me you'll be careful at that party tomorrow," she said. "Don't drink. And don't let your guard down just because someone tries to seduce you."
He scoffed and plunged his hand to her scalp, pressing her closer.
"Don't give me that, Malfoy. I happen to know you are easily seduced," she said.
"That's what I'm not," he said, leading her by the chin up to where their faces were even again.
She sighed. "You are exquisite. But I know we're not together."
"Literally not even seeing each other," he quipped, fanning hopelessly at her mask with one hand.
"But," she said, catching his hand and laying it along her kiss-flushed cheek. "I would like to meet you again, like this, before things go and change. Which they will."
"Yes, they will," he said, his lips on hers. "But not yet."