My Own

The Unloved

Such was the fate of the unloved of Hogwarts.

She sat alone in the back of the Quidditch stands, watching the red and blue dots flit about the field, fighting against the brisk chill wind. Ginny was off with her current boyfriend, whatever his name was, a rather bright Hufflepuff. Ron and Harry's girlfriends of the week were in the front row, cheering obnoxiously. The other Gryfinndors of her year were scattered around, none anywhere near her.

She was bundled in her thickest robes, with three scarves and two sets of gloves, all with warming charms, and she was still cold. Oh, not really physically. It was just that heart-coldness that came over her now and then. Being the bookworm of Gryfinndor tower did have its downsides, and one of them was that she often ended up watching the games like this, as everyone else was always paired off with their significant other of the moment.

And she was left alone.

A solitary pale figure in black was moving around the edge of the top of the stands, watching the game intently, coming towards her. He would sit down every hundred yards, and then get up and move again after five minutes or so. She recognized the figure as Malfoy while he was still fairly far away from her, and briefly considered moving to avoid him. No, she shouldn't give him the satisfaction. She stayed where she was and tensed for the inevitable confrontation.

Finally he was standing over her. Silence reigned for a few tense moments, and then he cleared his throat, prompting her to look up to him.

"Is anyone sitting here?" he asked abruptly.

She shook her head, confused and waiting for the insult she was sure would follow. But it never came. He sat down next to her and watched the game like any aficionado would, or any other captain. He was not quite touching her but was close enough so she could have felt his presence even if she couldn't see him. He had always been like that, a slight aura exuded from him that made him impossible to ignore.

She realized after a moment that he wasn't going to say anything more and that staring at him was definitely a stupid plan. She went back to watching the game, though she was concentrating on the tense figure next to her. In addition to the aura of... mystery? power? hubris? or whatever it was, he also gave off just a bit of warmth, and as it really was a bitterly cold afternoon, she found herself instinctively leaning into him. She jumped up ramrod straight when she realized what she was doing, prompting him to do the same, which made her realize he had been leaning into her as well.

The sheer oddity of them sitting in silence together was eerie enough, without the implied camaraderie of sharing body heat. But she found, much to her surprise, that she was rather enjoying it. Silence was not something she was used to sharing, as it was a quality of life not really appreciated in Gryfinndor tower. And the body heat was certainly welcome.

Something within her made a decision, and she leaned into him, gently but purposefully, and found she was rather gratified when he leaned back into her.

It was nice to finally have someone to sit with.

Gryffindor Courage

"Draco! We can't!"

"What, the great Gryffindor Hermione Granger afraid? C'mon! We're almost there."

"But... we'll be seen! They'll know!"

He turned to her, and tilted her chin up with his index finger to look in her eyes. "You embarrassed of me, my own?"

She blushed slightly at the use of his nickname for her (it hadn't taken him much time of playing with her name to come up with it) and gulped. "No, of course not, Draco, it's just that.... Well, what will people say?"

"Hermione, I have made it a habit to not worry about what other people think. If you do anything for reasons other than your own then you shouldn't be doing it. That takes care of most of Hogwarts. Potter and Weasley don't worry me, and as they supposedly only want your happiness shouldn't worry you. And the professors will be so happy that Gryffindor and Slytherin have proved that they can actually get along that they won't care."

She looked more confident and he smirked. "Besides, we're promoting inter-House relations. Maybe they'll give us house points."

Laughter bubbled out of her before she could stop it, and he embraced her lightly.

"You're right, Draco. It's just the Astronomy Tower." She murmured into his chest.

They pulled apart and they went up the stairs. Hermione held tight to Draco's hand as he opened the door.

She heard several gasps, and smiled.

Comfort

Hermione was curled up in her favorite oversized squashy leather armchair in the library. It was in a back corner alcove that very few people had ever bothered to find, and she was particularly fond of it because there was a decent-sized window to one side and a tiny fireplace before it. She had a plate of peanut-butter cookies on the end table beside her and was re-reading Hogwarts: A History.

This was somewhat drastic action, but as her innards were taking similar drastic action against her it was warranted. She had learned the painkiller charms as soon as she hit puberty, out of self-defense, but there was nothing to combat the other monthly symptoms that left her cranky and depressed. She had found, however, that a cheery fire and some comfort food and -reading helped tremendously. Maybe this month she wouldn't knock Ron's goblet of pumpkin juice over and then let him think it was an accident. Maybe this month she'd have the energy to tell him it was on purpose.

She looked up from her reading for a moment to stare out the window. There was a slight snow flurry falling, and it was relaxing to watch. The library was silent, it was the very beginning of second term and no one needed to do serious studying quite yet.

She felt his presence before she heard him.

"Good evening, Draco." She turned to face him and gave a weak smile.

"Hello, Hermione. Why hiding away like this?" He reached out to caress her cheek, and she sighed a bit. This was not a welcome subject.

"I'm not feeling that well. Nothing to worry about. Pull up a chair." He seemed to be in a quiet mood, and a bit of company, quiet company, would be welcome, as well as unusual.

He followed her advice and stole a cookie. He noted her reading material, the fire, the food (she normally didn't eat in the library), and most of all the slight pallor to her face and fatigue in her manner, and did the one thing a boy his age normally doesn't. That is, he came to the right conclusion without it having to be spelled out for him.

He took out his wand and stole another cookie, and after quietly muttering a spell he handed the cookie (which was now a hot water bottle) to Hermione. "It will stay like that for an hour."

"Where did you learn to do that?" She had looked for a Transfiguration of that sort, but hadn't found one, and never remembered to ask Professor McGonagall.

"My mother taught me some years ago. It was an easy way to cheer her up." He didn't elaborate, but instead taught Hermione the spell. In return, she graced him with her first real smile in a day and a half.

They stayed there for another few hours, he told her amusing "fairy tales" from the wizarding world, which often had really happened. There was gentle laughter and the warmth of the fire, and Hermione found the evening much more pleasant than she had expected.

He walked her back to her tower at the end of the evening, and when he kissed her forehead she reminded herself for the thousandth time that saying yes had been the right choice, all those months ago.

S.P.E.W. and Malfoys Don't Mix

"Your mother wants us to what?"

"Oh, honestly Draco, don't be a ninny. It's only an attic."

"And I'm only a house elf?" Draco cringed to himself. That had been unusually stupid on his part.

"Draco, you should know better to make comments like that. After all, house elves are people too! I--"

"Yes, my own, I'm sorry. I do know better. Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me?" He dramatically dropped to his knees for the last bit. Sometimes outright groveling surprised her so much that she dropped the whole thing.

She smirked. "Hmm.... Well, now, that would depend."

That smirk did not bode well for him. He raised his eyebrows in a hopeful, yet pitiful (he hoped desperately) way. "What might your forgiveness of my outrageous, offensive and unprovoked action depend on, my love?"

"Well, understanding a house elf's plight is important to gaining sympathy for their cause. So, for example, doing some sort of difficult work without pay--"

"Such as cleaning an attic." Pitiful apparently didn't work. Draco stood up and pouted slightly, less for effect than it was genuine expression of emotions. Hermione had been working on that sort of thing with him lately, and it came much easier to him than it had in the past.

"Why yes! That's a wonderful idea. I'll phone Mum at once and tell her we'll be happy to help. Oh, and nice pouting. Very convincing." Hermione patted his cheek and flounced towards the telephone (hidden behind a stack of half a dozen books) in her small flat, cheerily ignoring his apparent emotional state.

A thought occurred to him, and he perked up a bit. "Can we at least use magic?"

She stopped and thought a moment, then turned towards him again. "I don't see why not, just as long as the neighbors don't notice. Which means we'll have to take a few hours and look dusty, tired and rumpled when we're done."

It was his turn to smirk. "I wonder how we could possibly achieve that state."

She turned to him, horrified. "In my parent's attic with my mother home? Are you out of your mind? Certainly not!" She calmed herself and dialed her mother's number.

Draco quietly sighed to himself. The park idea was out, he'd have to find another point during their anniversary to propose. He was certain the band he had been going to hire wouldn't Apparate into a Muggle's home, and that attic wasn't very romantic anyway. Back to the drawing boards.

The Proposal

It was precisely midnight of the last night of the new moon. It was overcast, not a star was visible. That particular spell would last only a few more minutes. Draco led Hermione gently by the hand, holding his wand before him, the source of the only visible light. He had blindfolded her most carefully and it made it difficult for her to board the small rowboat, but they managed it silently. He extinguished his wand.

She sat a bit primly in the little rowboat, hands folded carefully in her lap. As he had asked, she didn't make a sound, but simply waited. He treasured the trust she obviously had in him, and he couldn't help smiling to himself as he rowed to the center of the small lake.

Finally he stopped rowing and took out his wand again. He whispered a word, "Candela" and checked his pocket watch (charmed to be readable in any condition). He waited a few moments, and his face now solemn, he took a small box out of his pocket. He held it in the same hand as his wand, and reached forward to undo her blindfold, tucking it in his pocket.

He knelt before her in the darkness, and heard her gasp as the charm he had cast on their eyesight expired and they could see the stars again. As close to that same moment as he could manage, he whispered "Candela, aduratis!" and the hundreds of tea lights upon the lake, charmed there only moments before, alit to match the stars above. Now he could see her face clearly, she had her hand over her mouth and her eyes were shining with tears held back. He put away his wand and opened the box in his hand.

"Hermione, my own, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Her hand dropped to his cheek as she nodded, and suddenly his eyes also began to shine.

Blindfolds and Malfoys Do Mix!

"Are we there yet? Can I open my eyes?"

"Not yet, my own. Wait just a few more moments. Now, stay here and don't move. No peeking!" Draco took his hand away from Hermione's gentle grasp and she heard the swishing of his robes as he moved about the room. Where they were, she didn't know, but that was normal, she hadn't yet learned her way around the Manor very well.

She heard the movement of heavy cloth and turned her face to the warm sunshine she felt from her left. Draco must have opened a set of draperies. Then more warmth came from her right, and then from directly before her, and she heard more drapes open with the new sensation.

"You and your surprises. You were almost as bad when you proposed! Come now, let me open my eyes?" She pouted a bit and let her last words slide into a slightly plaintive whine, hoping to hurry him. No luck, though, as usual. Draco always did have the most infernal habit of ignoring her when she tried to cajole him.

Finally she heard Draco mutter "Incendio!" and his hand was holding hers again in a moment. "Are you ready to see, my own?"

"Yes!"

He untied the blindfold and let it fall from her eyes, watching her face stumble headlong through a multitude of emotions with barely repressed joy. He did so love giving her gifts, especially when he got to watch her "open" them.

This, however, was one of the best ones yet, though not quite as good as the engagement ring had been. Her mouth had finally settled into a small, stunned "Oh!" of surprise, and she was turning slowly, window to fireplace to window and all things in between, to get the full effect. He was beginning to feel a little smug when she finally turned to him, coherent again.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy, you... you... you're wonderful! Thank you!" She flung her arms around his neck and gave him a most resounding kiss. That was how he liked to be thanked.

Finally, she pulled away from lack of air. "You are very welcome, Mrs. Hermione Malfoy. I hope you realize the great self sacrifice on my part that this represents."

She looked at him quizzically. "Oh, because it took you so much effort to tell the house elves to clean up in here?"

He smirked. "No. Because from now on, it is going to take quite a bit of effort on my part, I imagine, to see my new wife at all, as I'll have to pry her out of here first!"

Hermione laughed, and then smiled a different, but very familiar smile. "Oh, I doubt you'll have to go to too much trouble, love...." She let her fingers trace his collarbone and smirked a bit at his intake of breath.

"You know, my own..." he began with a certain breathlessness to his voice, "it isn't as though you've never seen on of these before."

"No.... I suppose not. Do you have something new to show me?" It was a definite smirk on her part now.

"Well, perhaps not exactly new, but I can certainly think of some things to show you." He caught her hand in his own again.

"Then by all means, lead on, husband mine!" She giggled at his eagerness as they rushed out of the Malfoy Manor library.

Slytherin Pride

He stood, in the rain, head bowed as it normally never was, shoulders slumped, breathing heavily. The Manor loomed behind him in the darkness. Thunder rumbled in the distance, lightning making the shadows of the trees around him jump out at him, seem like they were moving. He paid them no mind.

He was staring at the granite in front of him, delicately engraved. His eyes blurred, and he let the tears fall and mingle with the rainwater that ran down his face and his robes, since no one was there to see, in any case.

"Why, oh God, why?" His voice broke, he fell to his knees hard and reached out with one hand to caress the gravestone. "I need you, my own, my own, why did you leave me? Why were you taken from me? Oh God, why?" He let his head fall, and closed his eyes to the memories.

Three weeks ago, they had been walking in the Manor's orchard, enjoying a warm summer's day. Fitzwilliam was with her parents and they had a few days to themselves, a rare treat. They were nearing the edge of the property, they had just turned back towards the Manor when she gasped, and fell, the dagger in her shoulder incongruous with her light summer robes.

The next few moments were not clear to him. An eternal moment of staring in shock, then lifting her and running to the Manor, too distraught to be able to Apparate properly.

Then, St. Mungo's, and the mediwitches, and her family and friends. And Fitzwilliam. Oh, Fitzwilliam. And her parents were frantic, and he was so stunned he could barely stand, and then the woman coming out of her room and telling them... telling them.

He had known from the outset why it had happened. He had been there for the reading of his father's will. There was the standard clause, the "Pureblood" clause, as it was called. Any Malfoy marrying a Mud-, a Muggleborn would be cut off, totally. Luckily, the will could be changed by the senior heir, and Narcissa had always loved his wife.

Nevertheless, the clause was not the end to it, as he and his mother knew. They had told her that night. His father was never happy with just one back up plan. Narcissa had actually been there when he had hired the man, just in case. They had expected it someday, but had thought themselves safe at the Manor. At his Manor. On his own land, they had killed his wife!

Not outright. No, of course not, that was too easy. Instead they used slow poison, excruciating. Almost as painful as the Crucio curse, as he knew well, having suffered both at the hands of his father. But then the antidote had been available. Now, with Father's stock destroyed and the recipe never known to any but a now dead man, there was no hope. Snape, without needing to be asked, had worked day and night searching, everyone helped. But it never came.

It took her eleven days to die.

He would never see her face again. She would never smile at him again, never laugh, never scold him again. He would never see her with their son, see the joy that he gave her again.

Their son. Oh, Fitzwilliam, their son. Again, the Malfoys had a single heir, as it has always been, and now would be again.

She had been pregnant. That was why Fitzwilliam was with her parents, she wanted them to be alone when she told him. Then, she had lost the baby after three days of agony. Their son would be an only child for the rest of his life, and never know his mother.

He calmed himself and stood, erect and with an emotionless face. His son would not see him in this state. He could not bear that, he had that much sympathy, he had that much pride. His pride would get him through this, as it had for so many years.

So many years before her. He took one last look at the gravestone, and turned towards the Manor. He spoke quietly to her as he walked, and made the second most important oath of his life. "Eleven weeks, my own. I swear with all of my heart, my powers, my life, and my being, my own, that he who did this will suffer what you suffered for at least that long in payment for his crime."

Eleven weeks. Until then, until he could watch that worthless rat beg for mercy at his hands, he would hold himself up with pride. With his pride, that had never failed him before, and could not fail him now.

Eleven weeks and Slytherin pride. And his son. He could live with life.