Inevitable Lovers

Chapter 13:

'Ooh Miss Granger, you are a naughty girl! Wait till old Peeves-y tells everyone about this! Imagine the looks on their faces! Hahahaha!'

'No, Peeves, no, you can't tell them! You can't tell them! You can't...'

'Oh, you don't know me then, Miss High and Mighty Head Girl, do you? What a treat! It's about time Peeves made some mischief around here, he's been a bit jittery lately. This'll be a smashing jaunt!'

'No, it's a secret! A secret, you mustn't! Please, please don't tell them...'

Hermione woke with a start. She sat up. A dream...a frightful dream, that's all it was. She could still hear Peeves' taunts echoing in her head, and her own panicked pleas. She fought the urge to run to Draco's room and ask him if anyone knew about them. That would be childish and preposterous. And besides, her hair was a sight.

***

Christmas had crept closer, almost unnoticed by the hard-worked seventh years, and only the decorations strewn about the castle in the preceding week really gave a festive atmosphere. Judging by the lists tacked onto the notice boards in all the common rooms, most students were going home for Christmas. Harry had seemed particularly happy about his invitation to the Burrow, which had also been extended to Hermione herself. She was of course, upset at the thought of parting with Draco, but going to the Burrow was a far better option than staying at Hogwarts - her parents surely wouldn't miss her that much.

So, on the morning of the last day of term, Hermione found herself facing the prospect of saying goodbye to Draco and taking the Hogwarts Express with the others. Being Hermione, she had already packed and organised her holiday belongings, and all that was left was to supervise the younger students onto the train after the dreaded goodbye. However, her mind was still on her dream as she put on her clothes and gathered up the presents, which she had deftly wrapped for her friends. The last thing to go in her bag was her diary; much too precious to be left at school.

Draco had woken much more serenely than Hermione, of course unaffected by nightmares. He was not particularly looking forward to going to the Malfoy Manor for Christmas - not that he had a choice, there was just nothing to look forward to. Except maybe the food; there were always exquisite dishes on special occasions that topped Hogwarts' by miles. Draco shoved the items - clothes, special dragonhide gloves and a few other things that he needed into his bag. He left out a small, fragile package for later.

The train was to leave after breakfast, so it was then, by the common room door, that Hermione and Draco were to part.

'So, this is it then,' said Draco levelly. He wasn't very good at saying goodbye, which explained the detached tone. 'Have a nice time. Don't get to close to Potter - or the Weasel.'

'Don't you get too close to Pansy at this Christmas ridiculous ball you're having,' Hermione replied. 'I'll be thinking of you, Draco. I'll...I'll miss you.' She looked down, then up again; he saw her eyes were rather bright and hoped she wasn't going to cry.

'Hermione, you're meant to be the Head Girl of the school! Don't look so sad!' Draco chided gently, lifting her chin. 'I got you this.' Here he produced the small present from earlier, delicately wrapped in layers of tissue paper. 'Happy Christmas.'

'Draco! Thank you,' Hermione exclaimed, and stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. 'I'll open it later, I want to savour it.' She smiled.

'And I'll be savouring yours, when I write. You will write, won't you?' Draco was referring now to the exquisite eagle-feather quill that Hermione had bought him for Christmas, although it would only add to his collection.

'You know I will. We'd better go, the train...'

'First, I think I need another kiss, seeing as I won't be even near you for ages,' said Draco. The kiss, though quick, was delicious, and Hermione ended up in a tight embrace with the Slytherin.

'Draco, don't forget, all right? Don't forget what we did,' she said into his neck. 'I'll see you...' The tears were going to be real soon, if she didn't leave. With a fleeting backwards glance, she picked up her bag and left the tower, to join Harry and Ron in the Entrance Hall.

***

The short train journey passed quickly with the usual bantering between friends in Hermione's compartment. However, each time she gazed out of the window at the rolling hills, her thoughts dwelled on Draco's face; so she immersed herself in lecturing Ron about teasing Crookshanks, and tried not to think about the Slytherin boy seated just a few carriages away.

There were plenty of distractions on meeting with the rest of the Weasleys when they were met at the station. By the time they had actually arrived at the Burrow, late afternoon, it had begun to snow lightly, making it look even homier. The delicious warm biscuits Mrs Weasley had baked for their arrival caused steam to rise out of the many twisted chimneys. The cosy clutter of the inside of the house made Hermione to feel at home almost at once, and she hoped Draco's Christmas would be going as well.

***

In actual fact, Draco's arrival was rather different from his girlfriend's. Coated with snow, the Malfoy Manor looked even more imposing from the outside, its large plated door cold and uninviting. Inside, nothing had exactly changed since he had last been there; if possible, it only looked more elaborate in comparison to Hogwarts' shabby interior. His mother was busy in the west wing of the Manor, while his father commanded his study in the east wing. Draco was apparently free to roam around after short greetings with his parents, although he avoided certain areas - such as the large expanse of dungeons, and the dark attics.

During the rest of that day, he was haunted by the old feeling he got of being alone while he was there. Indeed, there may have been a lot of idiots at Hogwarts, but at least he was never bored. He longed for Hermione in this cold, forbidding house, the atmosphere of which only grew more intense as the dark stole through the windows.

His father sent for him by way of a very timid house-elf that night. Draco obeyed, hoping he wasn't in trouble. The house-elf's steps pattered unevenly in front of him as he led the way along the flickeringly candle-lit corridors, and Draco tried to compose himself. The heavy mahogany door to the master study was closed when they arrived, and the house-elf slipped away. Draco knocked.

'Enter.'

He carefully pushed the door, and it creaked ominously. The fire blazed in one panelled wall of the room, yet it did not feel warm. Tension hung in the air.

Draco's father was seated behind a heavy wooden desk, and did not look pleased.

'Evening, father,' Draco said tersely.

'Draco.' His father's thin mouth curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes. 'I think it's about time we exchanged words, for I have had some enquiries about your...recent behaviour, for some time.'

'Yes, father.'

His father studied some pieces of parchment on the desk, and began moving them about. 'Certain informants have reported something of a personality change in you, Draco. This does not please me. Maybe you would,' he looked up at his son now, 'care to explain this to me in your own words?'

Draco swallowed, desperate not to make his situation worse. 'I think maybe they've got it wrong, father,' he began. 'I-'

His father suddenly slammed his fist on the desk, causing things to rattle. 'Do not make excuses with me!' he hissed. 'Do you not think I know what my own son is doing at school? Do you not think I care about the Malfoy name to keep tabs on it? Or do you not realise your are my only son and heir to my wealth?'

He fired the questions in a way that Draco could not respond, so he merely looked down. God, if you knew the half of it, you raving git. Of course, my falling in love may as well mean "premature dementia" to you, he thought to himself, although he did not dare test his father, knowing it was not good when he became enraged.

'I don't understand, Draco. Anyone else would be proud to uphold this name, but you - look at me, boy!' Draco raised his eyes. 'Maybe it is magical punishment you desire. Would a good sharp shock bring you to your senses?' His fingers closed around the wand, lying a few inches away on the desk.

'N-no, father. I don't need a shock,' said Draco hastily. He had been subjected to "a good, sharp shock" in the past, and had no intention of repeating the experience. His father spared no mercy on him for being his son, and he had a feeling it would not take much to be put under the Cruciatus Curse for a spell. He wished to leave the room, but stayed rooted to the spot.

'One more thing, Draco. I know your disrespect has had something to do with Miss Pansy Parkinson, and it is this that angers me most. You are meant to be courting the girl, not avoiding her! The Parkinsons are a very well established family, and I will not have you forsake this opportunity to unite names. This reflects badly on all of us, and I will not have my personal rivals mock me because of it.' He paused. 'Of course, you know of the Christmas ball we plan to hold here, in two days time?'

'Yes.'

'Well then, I expect you to behave in a fitting manner. And that does not mean ignoring Pansy. Remember, I will be watching you, and there will be...consequences if you do not obey.' After a short silence, he said; 'You may leave.'

'Yes, father. Goodnight.' He did not slam the door, although he would have liked to, and began to walk back to his bedroom. He felt angry, mostly, but was also again haunted by the unavoidable loneliness that came with this very place. His mother would come to see him, he supposed, but until then he may as well go to his room. There he slammed the door hard, fuming about Lucius, and dreading the ball.

Lucius. How could a man be so cruel and cold in any position of power, and yet beg for mercy, disregarding all dignity, in front of the Dark Lord? It didn't make sense. One thing did, however. People, obviously Slytherins, were spying on him at Hogwarts. One of them must have been Pansy, but his father had mentioned "informants". Who else could it be? Draco listlessly reeled through names in his mind, but did not come to a definite conclusion.

He wished Hermione would write to him, that very moment, knowing how unlikely it was. It was getting late. The bedroom was vast, but not comforting. It was decorated in much the same way as the rest of the house, with lots of deeps greens and a luxurious four poster bed in the centre, even finer than his one at Hogwarts.

As predicted, his mother paid Draco a visit, as he was going to bed. It was her soft words that upset him the most, far more effective at evoking emotion than his father's harsh admonishments. Narcissa Malfoy adored her son, although open affection was somewhat restricted at home, due to his father's distaste for it. His mother did not speak about Draco's "shortcomings". She only cautioned him that the ball would be important, and gave him a mug of warm milk tea to sip, which had not happened since he was younger. He was grateful, although he did not truly express himself with her. When she left, shutting the door behind her, Draco finally covered his face with his hands and let out the choked sob that had been welling steadily up inside him.

***

It was Christmas Day. Hermione had settled wonderfully into the atmosphere of the Burrow, and had been getting on with Ginny splendidly, as they shared a room. They giggled and talked late into the night, although Hermione could not discuss everything on her mind. Ron had been in his element with his brothers, especially Fred and George, and was constantly making jokes with them and Harry. Even Bill and Charlie had popped in for a visit, far away from their respective jobs.

On Christmas morning, Ginny was the first to run downstairs, leaving Hermione in their bedroom. For this she was grateful, as she could finally open Draco's present. She had saved it, putting it away to not be tempted, but now she very carefully peeled away the individual tissue paper layers, to reveal two small, delicate, jewelled hair grips. They were really little combs to hold the hair back, and each was decorated with tiny gems. They were lovely, Hermione thought, touched. There was a note with them.

Happy Christmas, Hermione. I hope you like them, they would look nice in your lovely hair. Thinking of you, love Draco xxx

She grinned, putting them back in the packaging. Better not wear them right now. Then she went downstairs to join the others in some real present opening. Christmas Day was sure to be great at the Weasleys', especially if Mrs Weasley's cooking was anything to go by. Being surrounded by all these people was almost Hermione's idea of perfect happiness, although one very important link was missing. Thankfully, she was never alone long enough here to feel truly lonely - and on cue, Ginny put her head around the door, telling her to come downstairs with the others.

***

Meanwhile, in a very different situation, Draco selected another of the fizzing "after dinner" goblets lined up along one long table, and took a long sip. Conversations took place around him, accompanied by many laughs and pretentious tones. Other people had taken to the centre of the huge ballroom to dance. On the whole, he thought it was very stuffy and boring. Some of the Slytherins were there; Crabbe and Goyle, on the plus side, but they were "dancing" with some haughty looking girls a way away to the lilting music. Draco looked around. Magnificently grand chandeliers lit the room, laden with candles and sparkling with diamonds. More trays of drink and enchanted candles floated around the edges of the room. The wall-length windows were adorned with deep red velvet curtains, and everything was pristine and elegant. The guests had all turned out in fine dress robes and garments, and everyone seemed to blend in. Lucius Malfoy appeared to be consorting with all the powerful wizards in the room.

Draco downed the rest of his drink. Pansy was clad in extremely becoming; deep scarlet dress robes, which contrasted perfectly against her dark hair, piled up on her head extravagantly. Her lips, ruby-red, matched the robes. I can definitely see why I fucked her, thought Draco. Shame she's a conniving little bitch, really. They're all boring, fat-headed idiots. I mean, I think I could even stand Potter here, if it meant Hermione coming.

'Hey.'

Blaise Zabini had approached, clutching her own drink. Draco raised his eyebrows in greeting. Zabini wasn't wearing anything particularly amazing, but he supposed she was quite pretty in her own right. Her loose hair was decorated with a glittering hairband.

'Where's Theodore?' asked Draco non-commitally.

She waved a hand carelessly. 'God knows. Where's Pansy?'

'Pansy?' He shrugged. 'Who cares?'

'Well, I know she's annoying Draco, but you'd have thought you'd have sounded a bit more enthusiastic about your supposed girlfriend. Are you pissed?'

'No, actually. Just bored. I probably will be pissed soon, though,' he said, taking another drink to prove it.

'You look depressed, not bored. What is it?'

He stared at her and shook his head quickly, raising his eyebrows again. 'Nothing!'

'Your face; like a lovesick animal.' She grinned, although Draco's eyes widened slightly at the word "lovesick". Blaise changed the subject. 'This party is full of pompous old bags, isn't it?'

'Rather,' said Draco in his most affected voice. They laughed. 'I want to get out of here,' said Draco. 'Fancy a tour?'

'Oh, okay-' Blaise was swiftly cut off by a bustling figure intercepting.

'Draco, dear!' the woman gushed, parting Draco and Blaise.

Draco smiled thinly. 'Mrs Parkinson, afternoon.'

Penny Parkinson was a very persuasive, often over-bearing woman who simply didn't listen to what she didn't want to hear, in Draco's experience. She was a little shorter than Pansy, and quite plump. Her hair had been curled and pinned elegantly up; earlier she had been wearing a fashionable witches' hat.

'Oh, honestly!' Mrs Parkinson looked to the heavens and then smiled indulgently at Draco. 'How many times must I ask you to call me Penny?' She gave a silly little laugh, not waiting for a reply, and then beckoned Pansy over, who had been watching all along.

Oh fuck, thought Draco despairingly, and glanced at Blaise, silently urging her to stay. She turned back to the table behind them and reached for another drink, stationed to watch the exchange.

'Draco, hello!' said Pansy in a falsely surprised voice. 'What a fabulous ball this is!' The similarities between her and her mother were suddenly striking. 'And - Blaise,' she continued after an interminable pause. Penny Parkinson intervened.

'Why, Pansy was just saying how much she loves this Manor; so different from our estate. Perhaps you would enjoy taking her around? Or a dance?' She laughed again. 'Silly me, what am I thinking to make such propositions? I'm sure you've plenty of ways to entertain a young lady! Be good!' she trilled, and departed.

There was a stony silence, in which Pansy smiled sweetly. Blaise murmured some excuse and left. But then - before Draco could say or do anything, the music was silenced, and the main door to the ballroom thundered open. Horrified, Draco froze at what he saw.

***

It was dark outside. Situated in the library on the first floor of the Manor, Draco paced up and down between the bookshelves, passing leather-bound volumes and dusty tomes. Hermione would love this place, apart from the fact that most of the books were full of dark magic. He bet the Weasleys didn't have a library. Or anything necessary for a degree of comfortable existence, for that matter. These and other detached thoughts swirled through his mind, as Draco tried not to relieve the events of the afternoon. Still, fresh images of the flashed in his memory. Pansy, simpering. The doors being thrown open. Missing guests, Death Eaters, arriving. And in the centre, a figure to chill the blood and set the teeth on edge, even amongst some of his followers. That the sight of them; the infamous Peter Pettigrew, the sneering Antonin Dolohov and two others that he did not register once Lord Voldemort spoke, sickened him. Draco shuddered. He should probably feel spooked, hiding here alone in the half-dark, but he had found being in the Dark Lord's presence far more disturbing.

It was the sight of his father that had also perturbed Draco. Far from the masterful, commanding autocrat he had been earlier, Lucius had transformed into a yielding, reverential servant, in a way that repulsed Draco. In fact, the whole party had behaved in much the same way, although some of the women had looked alarmed. Draco was just very, very glad he hadn't been near his father to remind him of initiation. Perhaps Pansy's encounter had been a blessing in disguise. Because as Voldemort dictated, future plans and "arrangements", whatever they were, had come first, and no one ever disputed.

Draco had felt immense relief when a select group, including Lucius, had filed out of the ballroom into his father's private study, and even more so when everyone, including Voldemort, left the Manor. As his father hadn't summoned him, Draco was obeying the 'be seen and not heard' rule, keen to keep out of his way. He did not know where his mother was. Although she would have affirmed support for the whole business, she was really much more on the sidelines, bound only through her marriage. Draco swallowed as he contemplated how unhinged his family unit was. Then he suddenly felt sick, and exited quickly as the bile rose to his throat.

***

Hermione had thoroughly enjoyed Christmas that year. Keeping secrets was much easier when Draco was not in close proximity. Harry and Ron were keeping her entertained, and it was good to have a friend like Ginny. The only awkward times had been when Harry and Ginny disappeared together for hours at a time, for what reason Hermione had a fair idea (although Mrs Weasley might not), and she was left with Ron. However, being totally neutral seemed to help, as Ron was far too shy to admit his feelings otherwise.

That evening, Hermione was sitting up in her shared room while Ginny was downstairs by the fire, taking a moment to write her thoughts in her diary. As she dated the latest entry, she thought about how good it would be to see Draco again. Parting had been sad, but soon she would return, and could only wait until then. A tapping at the window abruptly interrupted the quiet atmosphere, and Hermione opened it to reveal what she knew was Draco's unmistakable eagle owl. She smiled freely, feeling a warm feeling spread through her as she untied a little roll of parchment from its leg.

'Thank you!' she whispered happily, fastening the window shut, then sat down to read.

The letter was odd. Hermione was sure that Draco had not fully expressed himself, as some things seemed difficult to make out even in his legible gothic script. She frowned. Obviously, the ball had not gone so well; that was evident from the harsh words. But what was the "something horrible", that had happened? She didn't understand. Perhaps he couldn't say it in a letter, Lucius may have been there. Hermione hoped there hadn't been an incident with Pansy.

That night, she re-read the letter several times, wrote a short reply back using Hedwig, and anticipated going back to Hogwarts, for a real conversation.