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Forgiven	By : Tassanaburrfoot Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 18105 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned Harry Potter or the books or contents. This work is purely for my own pleasure, no profit to be made.

Chapter List
- 25
- 26
- 27
“Oh God! Oh yes! Oh, oh, oh!” Hermione shouted as Draco pounded into her.
His trousers were pooled around his ankles and her skirt was hiked up around her waist. He had her sitting on the very edge of the dining room table as he fucked her mercilessly. Their lips would crash and then break away as she threw her head back and held his shoulders as though her life depended on it. It probably did, too, as she was nearly falling off the table. At one point, her legs had been wrapped securely around his waist, but not so much anymore. Draco had clumps of her skirt clenched in his fists as he thrust into her over and over again.
“Do it, love,” he growled. “Come for me.”
The Gryffindor screamed and she fell back onto the table. Draco came with a grunt and a snarl. As he emptied his seed into her, he slumped over her. “This,” he panted, “this… is how… we should… spend our lunches together.”
She chuckled. “I think your father would be peeved if we did that.”
He groaned as he pulled out of her. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. “Perfect way to end a moment, love,” he joked. “Just mention my father.”
She grinned. “Well, you are learning the trade, aren’t you? If he found out you were shagging your wife instead of focusing on your work…”
“He’d want to know when the baby is due,” the blond wizard retorted. He bent down to pick up his trousers and refasten them.
She sat up on the table, allowing her skirt to fall over her knees. “I swear that man’s baby fever is worse than ours,” she huffed. “He asks me almost daily if I’m pregnant, did you know? Of course, your mum isn’t much better. I…”
At that moment an owl flew into the dining room and deposited a letter into Hermione’s lap. It didn’t stay for a response, which the Muggle born found odd. Draco frowned, “Probably from Father, wanting to know where I am.”
“That wasn’t an eagle owl,” the witch commented as she glanced down at the letter. She immediately recognized the messy handwriting. “It’s from Harry!”
Sliding off of the table, Hermione opened the letter, it hadn’t even been sealed – she would have to talk to him about that – and read the contents. Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, no! Ginny!”
She flew past her husband to the stairs, pulling out her wand in the process. “Hermione?” Draco questioned, following after her. “What is it, love?”
Fear filled her eyes as she summoned her cloak. “Ginny’s been brought to St. Mungo’s,” she told him.
Draco frowned. “What for?”
She shook her head. “Harry didn’t really say.” She handed him the letter. “You can read it.”
As Hermione’s cloak drifted down the stairs, she snatched it up and threw it over her shoulders. Draco scanned over the contents of the letter and, for a moment, he actually felt concerned. Sure, Draco did not get along with or even particularly like the Potters, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything to happen to them.
“I’m going with you,” he told her, summoning his own cloak.
The Muggle born gave him an appreciative smile and nod. “Thank you,” she said and taking the hand he offered, they Apparated on the spot.
(II)(II)
They stopped at the front desk and the receptionist glanced up at them. “May I help you?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, we’re looking for Ginny Potter. She was brought here moments ago…”
“Down the hall to the left,” the receptionist said with an air of boredom.
“Thank you,” Hermione said as she began walking down the hall.
Draco kept pace with his wife, staring at her confusedly. “Did you hear how she spoke to you?” he asked a bit affronted.
“Right now, I don’t really care,” she told him. “My main concern is Ginny.”
They rounded the corner and several Weasleys were sitting in the waiting room. Molly was the first to spot the Malfoys and quickly walked up to them, throwing her arms around Hermione. For a moment, the two just held one another, Molly’s face buried in Hermione’s hair. The Muggle born whispered soothing words to the woman she had always loved.
For his part, Draco stood to the side a bit awkwardly as Arthur Weasley approached him. Draco held himself proudly, doing his best not to come off too disdainful. “I do hope everything turns out alright, Mr. Weasley,” he said, breaking the silence.
Arthur looked tired and it was the first time Draco realized just how old the man was. “So do I, Mr. Malfoy,” he responded. “As soon as we heard, we came as quickly as we could. Harry hasn’t come out yet so we’re not sure what’s going on.”
Molly pulled out of the embrace, but did not let go of Hermione. Instead, she absentmindedly, played with the Muggle born’s hair as she added, “I tried to go in, but they wouldn’t let me. Said I wasn’t allowed.”
“Who’s with her besides Harry?” Hermione asked, looking between the two.
“Ron,” Arthur answered. “He was there when it happened. He tried to stop it. He did manage to soften her fall, thankfully, but falling from that high up…”
Hermione nodded. She remembered when Harry had fallen off of his broom back during their second year. “What are her injuries? Do we know?”
“A broken tibia, a few cracked ribs, and a shattered wrist,” George told her as he joined his parents. “But that’s not the worst part.”
“She’s pregnant,” Draco commented.
Hermione gasped as she stared at her husband. “What?”
He shrugged. “Why do you think she wanted to just drink water at the wedding? What was she doing playing a game while pregnant?” he asked, frowning at Arthur.
The man shook his head. “She wasn’t playing a game,” he answered. “They were just practicing.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t really make it any better,” Percy said, leaning against one of the waiting room chairs. “What’s the point of practicing if she can’t even play?”
“Exactly,” Draco agreed. “Potter should have taken her broom…”
The blond wizard stopped as the door to the ER opened and Ron walked out looking haggard and disbelieving. Tears were in his eyes, but had yet to fall. As soon as she saw him, Molly abandoned Hermione to hug her son. It was then that he finally began to cry.
No one said anything, though Draco could see they were all fearfully watching the youngest of the male Weasleys. He drew his wife to him, embracing her so that he could be prepared for whatever the ginger said.
“Ron?” Hermione whispered, just loud enough so he could hear her.
He glanced up at the Muggle born and she could see how broken he was in that moment. “She… lost it,” he managed to choke before grabbing his mother tighter to him.
The Weasleys gathered around the mother and son with tears in their eyes. Hermione buried her face in Draco’s chest and cried. He didn’t say anything, just held his wife, rubbing her back in an effort to comfort her.
Potter entered the room then and, pulling away from Draco, Hermione hugged her friend. “Oh Harry,” she cried. “Oh, God, Harry.”
The bespectacled man wrapped his arms around the only sister he had ever known and held her. “I know,” he whispered to her.
The moment Molly heard his voice, she pulled away from the Weasleys long enough to draw the two dark haired people into the group. Draco stood there, unmoving. It was an awkward situation for the blond wizard, but he was there to support his wife, so he stayed. After what seemed like an eternity, the Weasleys finally pulled apart.
That was when Hermione asked Ron, “So, what happened?”
He shook his head. “I’m still not entirely sure,” he told her. “They were running through their usual routines, tossing the Quaffle, etc. Then this Bludger came out of nowhere and hit her smack in the side. I did what I could to stop her fall, but…”
“Why didn’t anyone go to help her?” Hermione questioned.
Again, Ron shook his head. “I don’t think they saw her. Once she had tossed the Quaffle, everyone was heading towards the goals. You know how brutal Quidditch practice can be at times.”
“Yes, it’s almost as bad as playing the game itself,” the Muggle born sniffed. “What was she doing up there, knowing she was pregnant?” She had rounded on Harry when she had asked this, but the black haired man just shrugged.
“Hell if I know,” he said. “You know how hard headed she can be. She didn’t want to stop going to practice, even though I warned her about the dangers. Said she had a handle on it.”
“Well, we see how well that worked out for her,” Draco snarked, looking annoyed.
All eyes turned to the Pureblood and Harry frowned. “Normally she does well. They weren’t even supposed to be practicing with the Bludgers today.”
“They weren’t,” Ron agreed. “No idea where that thing came from, because both of the Bludgers the Harpies own were still in the box.”
Draco sighed. “There are rules for a reason,” he said. “’No woman should be on the field if she is with child.’”
“’With child’,” Ron repeated. “That phrase is so outdated I swear my Auntie Muriel doesn’t even use it.”
The blond’s eyes narrowed. “I was quoting from the actual rulebook, you twit. If it’s found out that she was even practicing while knowing she was pregnant, the Harpies could be put out for the entire season,” he growled.
“Again. Outdated, ferret,” Ron spat. “She’s allowed to practice. They just aren’t allowed to use Bludgers, which they didn’t.”
“So, you’re saying that someone had released a Bludger without anyone’s knowledge?” Draco asked, folding his arms.
“Oh, look! He does have a brain underneath all that white hair,” the ginger haired wizard declared sarcastically.
“Ron!” Hermione gasped.
“Where’s your proof?” Draco asked, ignoring the jibe.
“What? That you have a brain?” Ron questioned with a smirk.
The blond Slytherin rolled his eyes. “I was talking about the Bludger, but if you’d like to question my intelligence, we could do that another day. Right now, my concern is your sister and how an unknown Bludger entered the field. Where is the proof that the Bludger wasn’t one from the Harpies?” he glanced at Harry. “Did they manage to capture it?”
The bespectacled man nodded. “It’s being tested as we speak,” he explained.
“Why do you care anyway?” Ron asked, earning a slap upside the head from his mother.
Draco stared at the freckled man for a long moment. “I care because my wife cares. Or have you forgotten that I married Hermione?” he hissed. He remained as calm and cool as he could, not allowing the ginger haired man to anger him too much. “Mrs. Potter is one of my wife’s closest friends, next to Potter. They’re like sisters.”
“Oh, Draco, you are such a loving husband,” Molly gushed, then glared at her own son, popping him again. “You would do well to learn how to be a better brother and friend, Ronald Weasley. He’s showing concern for your sister, who cares why?”
George shrugged. “If anything, I would’ve thought the opposite,” he commented. “Especially given how she acted at his wedding.” He glanced at Hermione. “No hard feelings?”
The Muggle born gave the wizard a soft smile. “Of course not, George.” She glanced at Harry. “When will we be allowed to see her?”
The Boy-Who-Lived sighed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. “The healers will let us know,” he told her. “They might keep her for a day or two for observation, but her bones are healing well.”
Hermione nodded. “Have they said anything about… well…?” She pressed a hand to her stomach and Harry gave a nod in understanding.
“She’ll still be able to have children,” he told her and there was an echo of relief through the Weasleys. “Though, it might not be for a while. She’ll certainly need therapy.”
The Muggle born raised an eyebrow and gave a bitter smile. “Don’t we all?”
“Heh… Yeah,” Harry replied and fell exhaustedly in a chair. “I’m just glad that she’s ok.”
Hermione joined him, sitting in the chair beside him. “Have you heard from the owner of the Harpies yet?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s been by,” he told her. “That reminds me, I need to send her an owl with an update. She said that if the baby survives, then Ginny will need to sit out the rest of the season; no practicing. However, since the baby didn’t survive…”
“You’re not honestly considering the idea of allowing her to continue to play?” Draco asked, his eyes widened in surprise.
Harry snorted. “I’d like to see the bloke who tries to stop her,” he said. “Ginny’s a stubborn witch and, if she wants to play, you can bet your last Knut that she’s going to play.”
“That stubbornness almost got her killed,” Draco pointed out.
“Try telling her that,” Harry said with a look to Hermione.
The Muggle born rolled her eyes as Draco responded coolly, “That’s not my responsibility.”
“Merlin’s beard, Hermione,” Ron stated. “You left me for this joker?”
Hermione glared at the redhead. “I didn’t leave you, Ronald,” she said. “You left me. Remember?”
He shrugged. “True, but I also didn’t get with some Slytherin creep a day after.”
“Weren’t you shagging some slag before you broke it off with Hermione?” George asked as Percy asked, “Aren’t you dating that Greengrass girl?”
Ron’s face turned almost the shade of his hair as Draco’s eyes glittered maliciously. “Astoria Greengrass?” the blond asked curiously as he glanced at the older Weasley.
Percy nodded thoughtfully. “Though I do think it’s the same girl George is talking about.”
Draco’s chest filled with giddiness, but he kept it from showing as he casually stated, “My father had wanted me to marry her, but I wasn’t interested. So glad you managed to pick up my trash, Weasel.”
Ron pulled out his wand and pointed at Draco as Hermione grabbed Draco’s sleeve and tugged at it. “Draco!” she reprimanded. “This is not the place.”
He stared at her hand for a moment before looking up at her with a raised eyebrow. “He’s the one who started it,” he said.
Harry stood and blocked Ron’s path. “Let me at him, Harry,” the redhead snarled, glaring at the blond wizard.
“Ronald Weasley, put your wand away. This is a hospital, not a pub,” Molly scolded as she turned to George and Percy, “And you two would do well not to antagonize your brother.”
“I wasn’t antagonizing him,” Percy defended. “I simply pointed out a fact.”
The Weasley matron glared at her son. “Percy Ignatius Weasley, you deliberately handed over information of your brother to the very man you know he doesn’t care for, thereby adding fuel to the flames.” She glanced at Draco. “I’m sorry, my dear, but it is true.”
He gave her a slight nod of acceptance. “It’s alright, Mrs. Weasley. The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you.”
Hermione tugged at his sleeve again. “We’re leaving,” she told him and turned to Harry. “You’ll send word when she’s better?”
Harry nodded. “And I’ll let her know you came.”
“Thank you, Harry,” she said, pulling more insistently on Draco. “Let’s go.”
He allowed her to pull him, watching the ginger through narrowed eyes as they began walking. There were a million and one things Draco wanted to say, but he didn’t. Suddenly, he stopped, grabbed Hermione’s wrist, and pulled her to his chest. She opened her mouth to protest and he kissed her. The kiss was deep, full of passion and need. Turning her slightly, Draco opened his eyes and, still kissing her, he stared at Ron.
The youngest son of Arthur made to lunge at Draco, and it took both of his brothers and Harry to stop him. “You’ll pay for that, Malfoy!” he shouted.
Breaking the kiss, Draco glanced down at the shocked face of his wife. “Let’s go home,” he said with a smirk.
Then, taking her hand into his, he walked with her towards the entrance of the hospital.
(III)(III)
Hermione yanked her hand out of Draco’s the moment they entered the Manor. “I can’t believe you did that!” she hissed.
He shrugged as he walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a finger of firewhiskey. “Why?” he asked calmly as he turned to look at her.
“Why? Draco, you embarrassed me in front of everyone!”
“Not everyone,” he corrected. “It was just the Weasleys and Potter.”
“The Weasleys and Potter who are my friends and family,” she snapped. “I bend over backwards to try and get along with your family and friends. The least you can do is show me the same curtesy.”
He pointed at the door. “That Weasel is not your friend!” he growled. “He cheated on you, Hermione. He cheated on you and then left you the moment it was convenient for him. How much do you want to wager he’d been shagging Greengrass the entire time you two dated?”
The Gryffindor shook her head and sat down at the bar. Silently, she commended Draco for his protectiveness. However, “Today isn’t about my relationship, or lack thereof, with Ron. Ginny’s in St. Mungo’s, but instead of focusing on that, both of you decided to make it into ‘who can give the best cheap shot’ competition! I get it, Draco. You married me. You won! Why can’t we just drop it and move on? What do you have against him so badly that you have to throw it in his face every time? Why do you hate him so much?”
His eyes narrowed. “That night you came down by the lake,” he said. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make you more upset. You were already cursing Weasel’s very existence, but you were also crying. I saw the tear tracks, Hermione. Then in sixth year, I may have been preoccupied, but I’m not an idiot. I saw him with that Brown girl and I saw how it affected you.” He took a deep breath. “I knew you were crying over him, though I didn’t witness it first-hand.” He looked at her, then, meeting her large brown eyes. “And then just recently in the Ministry, the way he spoke to you… Let me ask you a question, love. In all the years we were at Hogwarts, have I ever made you cry?”
She pinched her lips as she thought it through. “No, but you tried to,” she answered. “That day in our second year on the Quidditch pitch. You had called me a Mudblood with the intent of hurting my feelings, but I didn’t know what the word meant, so it didn’t bother me like you thought it would.”
He frowned as he tried to remember that day. Realization made him nod silently. “It wasn’t the last time I used that word in reference to you,” he admitted.
She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. You said it again our third year, but it had just as much of an affect.”
He glanced up at her again and lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “I can’t say I never used that word again. Nor can I say I never used it in reference to you,” he told her truthfully. “What I can say is that I never meant it after that year. In all honesty, it’s possible I didn’t mean it when I said it the first time…” He thought about it and shook his head. “No, that’s not entirely true. I knew what the word meant, even if I didn’t understand the significance of it.”
“The war brought out the worst in all of us,” Hermione said, staring at the bar.
“It did,” he concurred. “But I’m talking about after the war, too. Before you and I married.” When she glanced up at him in bewilderment, he explained, “I had to figure out how to convince my mother to allow the marriage. I knew that if I seemed too excited, she would suspect something was up. So, I gave her the impression that I wasn’t thrilled with the idea.”
“And you called me a Mudblood to emphasize your point,” she surmised.
He closed his eyes and nodded. “It’s one of the many things I hate about myself, Hermione. What I’ve done…”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she commented causing him to open his eyes and look at her. “Why do you hate Ron so much?”
His eyebrows furrowed. “Because he made you cry,” he answered simply. “He made you cry so many times and you still tried to make things work with him.” He shook his head. “I may be a fool in thinking that you somehow deserve me, but you certainly did not deserve him.”
“What makes you think I don’t deserve you?” she asked.
In response, he placed his hand over his left arm, covering his Mark and looked away from her. “No one deserves me. Not really.”
Hermione had seen Draco’s depression and regret before and every time, she felt pity for him, though she didn’t say so. She knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and touched the hand covering the Mark. “I have scars of my own,” she said as she lifted her hand to uncover the mark Bellatrix had made on her arm.
He took a deep breath and glanced at the mark. “I wish I had had the courage to force her to stop,” he whispered, his voice thick with remorse. “If Dobby hadn’t been there, she would have killed you.”
“Do you really hate Dobby? Even now knowing the sacrifice he had made?”
He touched her cheek. “Not really,” he admitted. “I never did care for the elf, but hate is such a strong word. Too strong for someone like him.”
She gave a small smile and nodded her agreement. A large eagle owl swooped into the room then and dropped a letter on the bar. It then landed next to them and screeched.
“Oi! Bloody owl!” Draco cursed, glaring at the creature angrily.
Hermione picked up the letter and, breaking the seal, opened it and read aloud:
Draco,
Your mother has asked me if you and Hermione would like to join us for supper tonight. It will be at the usual time. Please send your response with Hercules.
Your Father
The Muggle born glanced up at her husband. “Should we go?” she asked.
Draco shrugged. “If you want to,” he said. “We’ll need to get dressed properly, though. Father does not like us wearing our casuals to supper, even if it’s at home.”
The witch nodded. “Yes, your mother told me as much before,” she admitted. “Well, if we’re going, we better get ready.”
(IV)(IV)
They arrived precisely two minutes before their scheduled time. Draco proudly excused the “lateness” with “we’re just an Apparation away” while Hermione shook her head, secretly knowing the real reason they were late. The Muggle born glanced at Lucius who was giving her a look that told her that he, too, knew the real reason. She blushed furiously.
“You would never know we were ever in a war the way many people go about their business,” Narcissa commented as they sat down at the dining table.
Lucius nodded. “No doubt they are trying to forget, my dear,” he said as a goblet of wine appeared in front of him.
Hermione picked up her own goblet and gave it a cautionary sip. She licked her lips curiously and sipped it again.
“Is the wine to your liking, pet?” Lucius asked, looking at the girl.
“I’m not your pet,” was the automatic reply. The Gryffindor witch nodded then. “It’s fine. I just… It has a very smooth taste.”
He smiled. “I take that to mean it meets your approval?”
The newest Malfoy gave a nod and offered him a soft smile in response. “Was it made here?” she asked curiously.
“Naturally,” Lucius said as the first course appeared on their plates.
“Everything is made here,” Draco told her. “The wine, the food… We take pride in what we produce and don’t often indulge in that which is not ours.”
Hermione smirked. “Yet, we’ve been to restaurants, you and I.”
“I said ‘often’,” he pointed out. “There are occasions when it is fitting, but for the most part…”
Hermione glanced down at her plate, surprised to see three stuffed… mushrooms? At least, she thought it was mushrooms. As she wondered how she was mean to eat them, she saw Draco pick one up from his plate and pop it in his mouth. Expecting him to be chastised, the Muggle born was baffled as she watched his parents do the same. Shrugging, she picked up a mushroom herself and bit into it. She wasn’t expecting fresh out of the oven heat, though, and covered her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting it out. Keeping her mouth closed, her shoulders wracked with her coughing as she quickly chewed and swallowed the mushroom.
Draco looked at her with concern and patted her back. “Are you alright?” he asked.
Her eyes watered as she tried to bring her coughing under control and she nodded. She took her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. She took several breaths before picking up her glass of wine and sipping it. She gave her husband a sheepish smile as she explained, “I wasn’t expecting it to be hot.”
He cocked his head to the side and looked down at his plate. “The elves didn’t put jalapenos in this, did they?” he asked his father.
“No, no,” Hermione said, letting out a small giggle. “I mean it’s very fresh.”
It was Lucius’s turn to look at the girl curiously. “Are you not used to dining on fresh food?”
She sighed. “I am, though it’s usually the entrée that’s fresh, not the appetizer. It just caught me off guard, is all. I’m fine now,” she told them.
Draco rubbed her back once more and, assured that she would be alright, he turned back to his own plate. Hermione took a deep breath as she looked down at the other two mushrooms. She didn’t really get the chance to taste that first one and she was determined she would taste these. Mustering up her Gryffindor courage, the young witch picked up the second mushroom and, blowing on it a bit, placed it in her mouth. She chewed carefully, not wanting this one to burn her mouth as the other had done. It was an interesting taste for the Muggle born. A mixture of mushroom, cheese, onions, and something else that she couldn’t place, but decided she liked. Once she was finished with that one, the last was much easier to get through and relatively enjoyable.
Once the Malfoys were done with their appetizers, small bowls of scented water appeared before them. Hermione glanced at Draco to see him dip his fingers in his bowl and wipe them on his napkin. She was quick to mimic the Pureblood.
It wasn’t that Hermione had never experienced fine dining. Indeed, her parents had often taken her to high class restaurants, but she had never experienced this kind of dining with the Malfoys. She knew this wasn’t the norm, though she had no idea of the reasoning behind it. Once their hands were properly cleaned, the bowls disappeared and four plates of steaming shrimp scampi appeared before them. Hermione’s mouth watered at the sight and smell.
Again, she glanced at Draco, waiting for his unspoken signal. As he picked up his fork, however, the most unusual ringing filled the room. Startled, he dropped his fork. For their part, the two older Malfoys remained calm, though they looked at Hermione. The Muggle born blushed.
“Sorry!” she piped as she took her wand out of her pocket. She scooted her chair back and stood. It did not escape her notice that both Malfoy men stood as well, but she didn’t pay them much mind as she drew a phone in the air and grabbed it. The phone continued to ring as she walked quickly out of the room and answered it. She didn’t see the other Malfoys follow her.
“Malfoy Estates and Corporations,” she greeted into the receiver. “This is Hermione Malfoy speaking, how may I direct your call?”
The voice that came from the other end was one she hadn’t heard in years. Closing her eyes, Hermione sat down on the arm of a chair as she heard, “Yes, this is Wendell Wilkins speaking. My wife and I received a package this morning from your estate stating that we won a six day, seven night stay at the Malfoy Manor…”
Hermione nodded and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Yes, Mr. Wilkins, congratulations.”
“We never entered any contest, Ms. Malfoy,” he stated.
The Muggle born frowned and, propping the fake phone up to her ear with her shoulder, she wiggled her fingers in front of herself as though she were typing. “Are you sure?” she asked, sounding confused. “Our records indicate that you entered on the 5^th of June. At least, that is when we received your entry.”
“What was the contest?” he questioned.
“Oh! Well, the contestant had to write an essay on why they love the English countryside and why they feel as though they deserve to visit the estate,” Hermione explained. She noticed Draco leaning against the doorframe and gave him a nod before turning her attention back to the “phone”.
“But we never wrote any essay,” the man on the other side of the phone told her.
Hermione shrugged. “Perhaps a relative or a friend entered for you?” she suggested.
“Perhaps,” he conceded. Hermione heard another voice in the background and she choked.
Biting back her tears, the witch nodded again. “So, should we be expecting you, Mr. Wilkins?” she asked.
“What exactly is Malfoy Estates and Corporations?” he queried.
Hermione smiled. “I’m sure you read through the package, sir, but it’s over two hundred acres of lush, fertile English land. During your stay here, you’ll be treated to a tour of our vineyards and a behind-the-scenes tour of our warehouses and factory lines. You’ll dine on the most exquisite cuisine served with the freshest of ingredients cultivated from our very own gardens. You’ll be pampered by our professionally trained staff treating you to relaxing massages and a spa treatment.”
“Yes, I read all of this in the brochure,” he told her. “That still does not tell me what exactly it is that you produce. I even tried searching for your corporation online, but found nothing. It’s almost like you don’t exist.”
Hermione silently cursed to herself. She knew she had forgotten something. She glanced at Draco angrily and, folding his arms, he lifted an eyebrow at her. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “Yes, sir,” she said. “We’re currently renovating the website and so had to take the old one down. It should be up in a few days.”
“Can we be giving a few days to think about it?” he asked and Hermione smiled in relief.
“Yes, of course, sir,” she told him. “And I’ll be here to answer any questions you may have. Please, feel free to call us at any time. Our number is available 24 hours.”
“Fair enough,” the voice on the other end said. “Thank you, Ms. Malfoy.”
Hermione smiled as her eyes watered up. “It is my pleasure, sir, and thank you. I hope to hear from you soon.”
As soon as he had hung up, Hermione’s “phone” had disappeared. She sat there for a moment, staring at nothing, as she tried to pull herself back together. She had heard her father’s voice. She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to the heavens above that he would call again, this time to make arrangements. She was so close to getting her family back.
She opened her eyes and looked back at Draco. She gave him a watery smile before standing up and approaching him. She wrapped her arms around him and began crying when she felt him do the same. They held one another, Hermione softly crying into his chest, for a long time, neither daring to move.
“Hermione, darling,” Narcissa finally said, breaking the silence, “your food will grow cold if you don’t return to finish eating.”
Nodding silently, the Muggle born straightened and turned back to the dining room.
“They’ll come home,” Draco murmured into her ear reassuringly.
“I hope so,” the young witch said sadly.
Draco frowned. “Hey,” he whispered, stopping her and turning her to face him. He lifted her chin up so he could look her in the eye. “I won’t have that, princess,” he warned. “None of this moping around. You’ll see them again and one day, you’ll even get the chance of calling them ‘Mum and Dad’ again.”
She smiled softly at him. “You don’t know how much it meant to hear his voice again. After so long…”
He lifted an eyebrow. “How do you think I felt when I saw my father again?” he asked. “I’m not exactly an unfeeling person, love. Trust me. I know how much that meant to you just now. And I know how much it will mean to you when we finally have them back.”
He kissed her gently on the lips. “Come on. Chin up, shoulders back, and show us some of that Malfoy confidence I know you have.”
She giggled. “I’m only a Malfoy through marriage,” she argued.
He smirked as he pulled her chair out for her. “Give me a bit longer, princess,” he whispered suggestively. “Soon you’ll have a little Malfoy inside you.”
Hermione’s eyes widened as Lucius gave a loud sniff. Narcissa had her hand to her chest, looking mortified. “Draco Lucius! How dare you speak of such things at the table! I know your father and I raised you better than that!” she scolded.
Baffled, Draco moved to his own seat. “What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” he asked curiously.
“I think you know what she is talking about quite well, son,” Lucius said as he lifted his glass and took a sip. “It is inappropriate to speak of what goes on behind closed doors.”
Both of Draco’s eyebrows shot past his hairline and his cheeks flushed bright pink. “What goes on…? Good God! I was talking about a baby, not that! I have better sense than to bring those things out to the open. I’m not some two Knut pauper.”
Hermione’s cheeks reddened and she bowed her head, but neither of the older Malfoys seemed the least bit remorseful for their outbursts. “You’ll apologize to your mother,” Lucius said as he stabbed a bit of shrimp with his fork. “And next time, you’ll be more obvious with your words.”
The younger wizard glowered, “I’m sorry, Mother… that your mind immediately went there,” he added after a pause. He picked up his own fork and began tangling some linguine into it. “It’s not my fault that your mind was in the gutter.”
Lucius slammed his fork on the table, causing it to shake slightly. He stood and leaned forward. “Your behaviour is inappropriate and I will not tolerate it. Do you understand me, boy?”
“Yes, Father,” Draco said as he stared at his plate.
“Now. Apologize to your mother again, and this time do it properly,” the patriarch ordered.
Draco sighed and looked to his mother. “I’m sorry, Mum. I… I crossed a line and that was wrong of me.”
She gave him a single nod. “Apology accepted.”

Author's Note: Another chapter just before Christmas. I hope everyone has a Happy Holiday, no matter which you celebrate. As always, I love my rates and reviews.
Today, I only have one reviewer, Trelweny. Like you, I do love a good Lucius and I enjoy writing him. He's a family man, but he's also snobbish with some back woods ideals. I think Hermione will come around with time. Can't wait to write Narcissa with a grandbaby. (That will come with time, ladies and gents. Just be patient.)
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