Last Will and Testament

Chapter Six: Silent Observations

Hermione sighed, stepping onto the dock and rubbing her eyes. It had been a tiring week--that was for certain. What with the sudden affection Draco had for swing-dancing that kept them up until all hours of the night, and his popularity with the females onboard (which Hermione had found very unamusing, not to mention the fact that they would not leave him alone!), she had gotten almost zero sleep. After all, she knew that if she abandoned him for a single second she wouldn't be surprised if he werejumped--and she couldn't have her husband of little more than a few days being tempted by short skirts and tight blouses.

She had no illusions as to herself. She knew she was not beautiful, and that she was lucky to have had as many boyfriends as she had. Many of them, she knew, had used her as a rebound, Viktor chief among them. He had been with a lower-year Durmstrang girl who had dumped him when he'd made it into the big-times. Hermione had had quite a time attempting to comfort him, and it had been her first temptation to have sex.

However, logic, which she valued almost more than her honor and loyalty, had prevailed, and Hermione had slapped him for suggesting such a thing. He was shocked, but he didn't do anything. He had later apologized and asked if they could remain friends--she had agreed, and they were still corresponding today. He was settled down nicely with the youngest of a prominent Wizarding family--of all possible people, Aileen Zabini.

Hermione remembered the youngest Zabini, who had entered her first year at Hogwarts when Hermione had just become a prefect, and begun dating Ron. She had, like her older sister, been sorted into Slytherin. But Hermione had become quite close to the young girl after she began having trouble in Charms, and approached the Gryffindor prefect. She had been shocked that the girl had come to her, instead of one of her own housemates or prefects, but accepted it without question, giving Aileen the help she needed.

Later she had learned that it was her own quiet honesty that had attracted the young girl; or so Aileen had said. She had also said that Hermione's devotion to her studies had influenced her, despite their difference in Houses. (She had been especially impressed after hearing a rumor that she had taken nearly all the courses offered in her third year.) Their friendship still wasn't widely known, even to Harry and Ron, and Hermione wasn't certain why not. After all, Harry definitely wasn't prejudiced against Slytherins anymore and Ron... Well, maybe that had been it. Ron was rather prejudiced, silly so it may seem now that his best friend was married to what Ron would have termed 'the enemy.'

Then again...they hadn't seen much of Ron since Harry's relationship with Pansy had become widely known. Hermione frowned. What was that supposed to mean anyhow?

A bright flash jolted Hermione from her thoughts, and she looked up from the dock where she had been staring to a crowd of reporters all shouting questions, with "Mr. Malfoy! Do you have any comment on your relationship with Hermione Granger?" being the primary among them, and the one Draco answered.

"Actually," he said, "it's Hermione Granger-Malfoy now." Hermione had expressed her desire to retain her maiden name, at least hyphenated, while they were on the cruise. "And so it begins," he whispered into her ear, slipping his arms around her waist. She could almost hear his smirk as she stood stiffly in his semi-embrace. She still was not completely comfortable with the physical closeness he felt they had to exhibit as a married--and supposedly hopelessly in love--couple. For heaven's sake, they hadn't even kissed yet!

Not that Draco hadn't tried. No, he was ever the attentive husband, and there had been multiple times when she would have sworn that he was going to kiss her--but those moments always passed, and she was left with a deep feeling of disappointment. Of course, she would not admit this to Draco--she was still Hermione Granger, after all, and she would not admit weakness, least of all to her former enemy... No matter how close they had become in the past week.

And they had become close. Hermione freely admitted it...to herself. Draco probably felt it as well, but they had never discussed it. Hermione slept on the bed,and Draco on the couch (after she won a bet as to how many women would ask him to dance). Draco got up first, usually around six or six-thirty--without an alarm--and Hermione very soon after. However, because he woke up earlier, Draco was always the first in the bathroom. He would take about ten minutes in the shower (yes, Hermione had actually timed him) and then another fifteen minutes in the bathroom.

Draco ate quite a bit, but was a lot more casual about it then Harry or Ron had ever been, eating slowly, and thoroughly chewing his food. Mealtimes would usually take about an hour and a half, although Hermione always finished her entrees first. To fill the silence, she talked, and Draco inserted questions every now and then. Because of this, she was left feeling that Draco knew almost everything about her and she--she knew nothing of him.

Becoming aware of her surroundings again, as well as Draco's hand pressing on her back in an attempt to get her to move, she gave a small smile to the passing reporters and photographers as she walked to the waiting car, her heart beating against her chest almost painfully. Slipping into the backseat, she took a deep breath, sinking into the leather with a soft sigh and closing her eyes.

As the car door shut to the almost deafening din outside, Hermione allowed a small smile to flit across her face, and she opened her eyes, peeking at her husband. He was sitting in the seat across from her, staring at her with one blond brow raised, his handsome face melting into a soft smirk. His gray eyes were twinkling, almost as though he knew something she didn't. She scowled at him. "Why didn't you warn me?" she demanded of him, crossing her arms over her chest, not seeing that in doing so she caused the silky black material to tighten across her breasts.

"Honestly, Hermione," Draco smirked, pulling a bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket she hadn't noticed until that point. "Didn't it occur to you that the last heir to the Malfoy fortune and name, eloping with a Muggleborn, would be extremely newsworthy? The only reason we weren't bombarded on the cruise was because the Ministry probably wouldn't let the reporters and photographers Apparate into a situation where there were so many Muggles. And aren't you supposed to be Hermione Know-it-all Granger? Why didn't it occur to you?" he asked, looking positively bewildered, his brows furrowed adorably.

Hermione sniffed delicately. "It's Hermione Know-it-all Granger-Malfoy now, thank you very much," she said, the hint of a smile upon her lips. "And I was very...preoccupied on the cruise," she muttered, embarrassed that something so obvious should have slipped her mind. But she had been preoccupied on the cruise, what with the mind-bending reality that she was married to Draco Malfoy prevalent over all. There had also been the addition of finding jealously in her feelings associated with the other cruise patrons whenever they complimented her husband for one reason or another... Although most often they were complimenting his lean shape and fine physique, which, while Hermione did not mind admiring herself, she was not keen on having others do so as well.

Draco raised a brow, leaning forward and pouring her a glass of the now-bubbling (and open) champagne. He handed it to her, saying, "And what was it you were so preoccupied about?"

Hermione took a sip of the light-colored alcoholic beverage, swirling it absently while searching for a plausible excuse in the roof of the car. She wasn't even entirely sure why she had been so preoccupied, although she knew it was because of Draco. But she didn't want to tell him that, for some inexplicable reason. She shrugged, attempting to brush it off. "Oh, you know, just the usual reasons. Besides, I was trying to have fun. How can you have fun while imagining all the reporters that are going to hound you in just a few days?" She laughed nervously.

Draco watched Hermione, leaning back in his seat. He didn't want to accept it, because there seemed to be more to what she was saying, but he wasn't sure he wanted to push the issue. They had made leaps and bounds in their relationship, and now could at least joke comfortably with each other, but he wasn't certain she trusted him--and that was extremely important, not only for their relationship, but also...

Well, he wanted her to trust him. He wanted her to know that he was something more than just a former Seeker, Slytherin, and Prefect--note that all were former. She probably didn't know very much about him, about what he was right now, and he couldn't blame her--they had talked mostly about her life at mealtimes, and the rest of the time had been spent shopping, dancing or sleeping. He'd found he much liked swing-dancing, although after Hermione's fall their first night he had been very careful. He'd taken a liking to the Muggleborn, whether he liked it or not.

"All right," he said, sinking into the cushions and closing his eyes. If she didn't feel like sharing her thoughts, that was fine with him. But he wasn't going to make conversation where it wasn't wanted, so he made no further comments, deciding instead to drift off into a weary, restful sleep.

***

Hermione sat slumped in the backseat of the limo, her eyes heavy and her breathing slowed. She wasn't yet asleep, but she would be in a few minutes the way her eyes kept drooping. She supposed that Draco had fallen asleep, as he hadn't said anything in at least two hours. Who knew it would take so long to get to the manor?

Unfortunately for Hermione, just as she was drifting off into a very easy sleep, the limo stopped moving and Draco jerked awake. He glanced out of the tinted windows and the ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "We're here," he whispered, glancing at her closed eyelids and hearing her heavy, even breathing. The smile widened and he leaned over, brushing a lock of brown hair out of her face. He shook her slightly on the shoulder and she frowned, mumbling, "I don't want to get up yet."

"Hermione," Draco said, smiling, "we're at the manor."

Hermione jerked awake, and upon opening her eyes was startled to see Draco's face mere inches from her own. She froze, staring at his lips, cursing her mind for going straight to the gutter, no stops beforehand. She smiled shakily, forcing her eyes to move to meet his. The skin around his eyes was crinkled, and she realized in shock that he was grinning; she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him do that before.

Draco pulled away, his knees practically jelly. If just being that close to hermade him feel that way, what would happen when they finally kissed? Or, on a more advanced note, made love? Or, taking a step back, when they embraced? They'd never embraced before; they'd had almost no physical contact besides in public and on the dance floor. But enough with the what-ifs and the maybes. It was time to introduce the new Mistress Malfoy to her home: Malfoy Manor.

***

Hermione was having a hard time standing. Besides the fact that she was extremely tired, she was in what had to be the largest manor-house she had seen since visiting Italy with her parents--and no one had been living in that one. She was expected to live in this humongous, old, odorless, simply... magnificent house? Hold that thought. It could not be called a house--mansion was much more appropriate. Or, perhaps castle. Yes, castle fit quite nicely, considering it was made of stone.

She was standing in the entrance hall, and already it could fit the whole of the Burrow with room left to spare. A spiral staircase only helped to accentuate how grand it all was, and she was almost positive the whole thing was marble--and the floor! Who knew that a floor could be so utterly magnificent? It was an extremely dark black with veins of what could be silver running through it, and it was polished to an extremely high sheen. She was afraid to walk on it for fear of slipping and making a fool of herself.

Then she looked up. It was an extremely large chandelier, probably made all of pure crystal by the looks of it, and weighing in the range of a thousand pounds--and probably more. No wonder the Manor was Unplottable... If any collectors got a whiff of what was here, it would be gone before you could say "Accio!"

But the chandelier didn't even begin to describe the ceiling. With marble edging connecting the walls and ceiling, there was a magnificent painting. On the ceiling. Hermione knew her mouth was gaping open, but she couldn't do anything about it. It was just so utterly magnificent. The closest she could come to describing it in her shocked state was that it looked quite a bit like Michelangelo's painting on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. "What on Earth..." she whispered, mesmerized.

She could almost feel Draco smiling beside her, as she couldn't will up the strength to move. "It was painted in the mid-1500s by a contemporary of Michelangelo. My great-great-great... you get the idea," Hermione nodded, "grandmother commissioned him, wiping his memory later." When Hermione finally turned her head away from the painting to raise an eyebrow at him, he held up his hands, attempting to look innocent. "What? He was a Muggle. If it helps, he always had bread on the table after that, though he wasn't sure all the time where it came from. Not all of my ancestors were horrid to Muggles."

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. "I imagine you have plenty more stories about this place," she said, sighing.

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "My father always told me about them. He seemed to be determined that I would be as famous as every single thing in this house. The funny thing is that I am; just not for what he would have liked."

She nodded, suddenly thinking about how difficult it must have been to go against his father like that, to go against everything he had ever believed in, or been taught to believe in... She blinked back tears, surprised. Why was she getting so emotional over that? Must be PMS, she supposed. The bloody thing got annoying at times... Funny how that could be taken literally. "Well," she said brightly, how about you show me to my room?"

A corner of Draco's mouth tilted up and he nodded his head. "Of course; you'll probably want to unpack."

Hermione followed him as he began up the staircase. She had actually completely forgotten that she needed to do that. After all, she'd had a lot of other things on her mind... Like trying to figure out what it was she was feeling for Draco. It had been simple when dislike had been the multitude of the feelings, easier when it had been hate. It had gotten more difficult after his role as a spy had been revealed, of course, but now...

Now it was just...

Very, extremely, undeniably difficult to sort out her feelings. On the one hand, he was still Draco. He was still prejudiced against Muggleborns, at least politically speaking, he probably still didn't like the Weasleys, and... He was just... Draco. Draco Lucius Malfoy. Wasn't he, most likely, his father's son? Granted, she had never met Lucius Malfoy; but Harry had, and he had said what an utter... something... he was.

On the other hand...

"Hermione?" Draco prodded. "We're here..."

Hermione smiled at him, looking around the room. Thankfully, it wasn't quite as large as the entrance hall, the emphasis being on quite. The ceiling was only one and a half stories, probably around fifteen feet, and the floor was wooden--granted, it was a highly polished mahogany-colored wood, but it was wood--as opposed to the marble in the entrance. Thankfully, she thought, glancing up, there was no painting on the ceiling... Although there was a window nearly as high as the ceiling--and it even had a window seat.

There was very large, probably king-size, canopy bed in the middle of the room that made Hermione wonder whether she would get lost in it; it certainly had the look of a comfortable mattress. The sheets were in a dark evergreen color--her favorite, despite its association with Slytherin.

The rest of the room was rather plain--at least compared to the entrance hall and what she had seen on the walk from there to her room; which, admittedly, wasn't much. She'd been too absorbed in her thoughts to notice much besides the basic splendor of what she would probably refer to--at least in her mind--as a castle.

"Thanks," she said, walking up to the bed and running a hand over the sheets. Not silk, as she had first assumed, but a very delicate cotton; better, in her opinion. "Thanks," she repeated, finishing, "for everything." Hermione walked back to him, where he stood at the door. She glanced to the right; there were three doors. "What are those?" she asked, heading towards them.

Draco's mouth tilted upwards slightly on both sides as he followed her. He opened the first door; "Your closet," he said, barely giving her time to take in the largeness of it--luckily, it was very simple, with a wood floor like the room and wood paneling on the walls. Moving to the next door, "This is connected to a sitting room, and the sitting room is connected to my room." Hermione flushed, hoping he didn't notice. She peeked through the door as they began to move to the next one; it was decorated much the same as her room, in green, and the ceiling height was the same, though the room was maybe half the size of hers.

"And," Draco finished, "the water closet and bathroom, all in one." Noticing the question that she was ill-prepared to voice, the smile on his face became more pronounced. "Yes, it is connected to my room." Hermione blushed a deep red this time, knowing he saw, and, no doubt, enjoyed. The ceiling was definitely not as high as either the sitting room's or her own, but it was a large and roomy bathroom--the best she had seen in a good long while.

Draco closed the door and stepped towards her. "I'll go to my room while you unpack. Dinner should be ready in--" hechecked his silver watch--"about an hour. I'll come get you, alright?"

Hermione nodded, trying to ignore how close he was. There was something so amazing about how she could feel his presence; she didn't have to see him to know he was there. Getting caught up in the moment, she closed her eyes just to test the theory. She was therefore quite surprised when she felt his lips on her forehead--it was just a light brushing that was over in less than two seconds, but it stayed with her as she opened her eyes, watching him leave through the sitting room door; she never noticed the slight falter in his step.

***

Draco swept through the sitting room without giving it a second glance; he had been in it too often not to know its exact setup. Green sofa against the wall next to Hermione's room, bookcases along the wall next to his room and the other two walls, three other upholstered chairs interspersed throughout, also green, a coffee table in front of the sofa, a long table to his left that was usually covered in books and two chairs for it, and a gray carpet running from one door to the other. The only entrances to this room were through one of the master bedrooms, and there were no windows or fireplaces.

He had lived in the master suite since his father had been sent to Azkaban four years previous, though when he was feeling moody he would often retreat to what had been his room for twenty years. It was smaller than the master bedroom, but it was his. He didn't always feel that way about the master suite, but stayed there because he knew it was what was expected of him. Funny that he could throw what was expected of him out the window so easily for some things, but for something as small as this... he couldn't.

Or maybe it was just that he wouldn't. It was a matter of principle, he supposed.

Draco shook his head, stopping at the door to his suite. He didn't particularly want to go in there. Glancing back into the sitting room, he turned around. It wasn't as though he had to; he could just stay here, in this room. Glancing to his right, the glimmer of a smirk appeared on his face. He did have plenty of work to do. It seemed Mr. Janis had dropped off the paperwork for all the estates... He certainly didn't remember leaving that much work on the table.

He walked over and sat down at the head of the table, pulling the closest book to him and opening it. Financial records of the Hostern Estate. Another book--financial records of the Evergreen houses in northern York. The Thomas Andrews fund--a "charity" devised by his grandfather to scam Muggles out of their money. History of finances at Gringotts...

***

Thirty-three minutes later, Draco began to wonder why his father had never handed his finances over to someone who probably knew a lot better what they were doing.

On second thought, there was probably a rule against that somewhere in What it Means to Be a Malfoy: Rules of Conduct. He glanced across the room, squinting. There it was; second shelf from the top. He would have to use the ladder; not that he minded, really. It had been a while since he'd looked at the thing--besides, he could use a good laugh after looking through all those books.

After retrieving the book from its place and brushing off the dust that had accumulated over the years, Draco cracked the cover for the first time in what had been a very long time.

What it Means to Be a Malfoy: Rules of Conduct

Written by Xavier Thames Malfoy, II

Revised by Thames Lucius Malfoy

Draco sighed; his great-great-great-grandfather and his great-great-grandfather, both, of course, on his father's side. Xavier had died at the beginning of the First War with Voldemort when he had refused to join the Dark Lord, and Thames had been assassinated a few days later for reasons--and causes--unknown. Brushing the history from his mind, he turned to the contents.

Introduction................................................................................................ p. 1

Chapter One: Associates.............................................................................. p. 3

Chapter Two: Finances.............................................................................. p. 29

And on and on it went. A Malfoy cannot hold a job and still be respectable... A Malfoy cannot associate with those lower than himself... A Malfoy cannot sell property, no matter how dire financial straits might be... A Malfoy can never show emotion, especially in public...

Draco's lip curled in a sneer--the first in a long time--and he closed the book with a snap, placing it on the table.

"Draco?" Hermione asked, holding the door open and peering around it to look at him. "What was that?"

Draco looked up at her, feeling slightly foolish. Funny that he could get so upset about something so trivial... "It was nothing," he said, walking back to his seat.

Hermione walked farther into the room and closed the door, walking over to him. "What are you working on?" she asked, eyeing the many books in front of him with obvious curiosity.

"Mr. Janis must have dropped them off while we were gone," he said distractedly, watching her as she brushed a stray hair out of her face. "They're the finances of all the properties I now own, as well as the history of our accounts at Gringotts."

"Finances?" Hermione asked, suddenly looking very interested.

"Yes," Draco said. "Why?"

"Oh," she paused, "nothing."

Draco eyed her for a second before shrugging. "Well, I think I'm going to have to hire someone to keep track of all of this; I can't make much sense out of it. I was never very good at numbers."

"I am," Hermione said quickly.

"Oh?" Draco raised a brow.

Hermione nodded. "I love numbers. I do my own finances right now--not to mention the firm's--and I used to do Elizabeth's, too."

"Elizabeth?"

"She was my roommate," she explained, still looking at the books in front of Draco with what could almost be termed hunger.

"Well..." Draco said slowly, "If you're that good at numbers, you can see what you can do with them. It will probably be better than me, at any rate."

Hermione finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes with longing in her own. Draco suddenly had a fierce desire for her to be looking at him the same way, but for different reasons--basically, nothing to do with finances. "Really?" she asked.

Draco's mouth quirked wryly. "Sure," he said.

A smile blossomed on Hermione's face that indicated her pure pleasure, bringing a strange feeling to the pit of Draco's stomach. He shook it off, sure it was only a sign of hunger... for food, of course.

***

Hermione leaned over the books, her eyes flying over the numbers with nary a pause, except to make a note on the parchment Draco had found for her. He was sitting on the couch to her left, reading...something. She hadn't actually checked; she was much too busy doing what she loved: accounting.

Had Hermione never found out she was a witch, she was almost entirely certain she would have gone into accounting. Not only did she like it, but she had a knack for it--something that many people had told her was not usual. Of course, she liked law almost as much, which was probably why she had decided to apply for a job at the Department of International Magical Cooperation in the International Magical Office of Law.

"Hermione?" Draco asked.

Leaving her thoughts abruptly, Hermione was surprised to see that Draco was only a few feet away from her.

"It's time for dinner," he said, nodding at the clock to her right.

Hermione looked at it with surprise; it was 8:00--dinner time, as Draco had mentioned earlier. She closed the books sadly. She honestly loved working on them, though she knew she really should think of her health--it wouldn't do well to starve. She also had her work, no matter she hadn't been promoted since... Alright: she had never been promoted. She was still working in one of the worst jobs, and definitely one of the worst-paid jobs, in the International Magical Office of Law.

Standing, Hermione followed Draco out of the sitting room and through her room, making so many twists and turns that she soon stopped trying to figure out where they were heading and began paying attention to what was there. Statues were plentiful, as were photographs. After she asked a few questions, Draco began to explain nearly everything they came upon. Though he did so in a voice that portrayed just how much it bored him, Hermione didn't care; she was too busy absorbing all of the history of the Manor and its former inhabitants.

Surprisingly, not all of the Malfoys had been "evil," as she often termed Draco's father. Many of them were pacifists, though some had "sat on the fence" about the larger issues, and all of them had been Slytherin. When Hermione stated this, Draco frowned and said, "You know, Hermione, Slytherin isn't necessarily an evil house. If you remember from our first year, the Sorting Hat said that those of great ambition would be placed in Slytherin--not those who are evil."

Hermione stayed quiet after that, feeling ashamed. She prided herself on being unprejudiced, but apparently, even after her best friend was married to one, she was still prejudiced against Slytherins. If she thought about it that way... Well, she was surprised that she hadn't ended up in Slytherin. Or even Ravenclaw for that matter, what with her love of and thirst for knowledge. Ambition, Draco had said. Well, she had certainly had that in spades. And yet the Hat had been quite certain about its choice...

She shook her head, knowing she shouldn't question a decision that had been made nearly thirteen years earlier.

Dinner was wonderful. Catfish with a touch of lemon, rice, salad, sun-dried tomato-basil bread, and a wine Hermione was certain was aged at least twenty years. She said nothing when she caught sight of a house elf hurrying to serve them, still feeling embarrassed. She didn't think she should defend prejudice against house elves when she couldn't even accept that she was prejudiced against Slytherins.

There was no conversation beyond the usual pleasantries; "Oh, the food is wonderful." "Thank you." "It was my pleasure."

Hermione kept her eyes on her plate nearly the entire time, only glancing up at Draco twice. The rest of the time, she looked around the room. The table they were sitting at was wood, of course, but highly polished and carved on the edges, as were the ten chairs sitting around it. Hermione and Draco were sitting across from each other in the two center chairs, as opposed to the opposite ends. There was a chandelier decorating the ceiling, which was a plain white, and the walls were a deep green color--Hermione was starting to sense a pattern.

And then, just as they were being served dessert (a wonderful to-die-for double-chocolate pie with whipped topping), the door to the dining room burst open.

"Draco!" a young, feminine voice shouted.

"Alicia," Draco said softly, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, as he closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

***************

"It is better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt." -Mark Twain