30

Chapter 30

Sunday 09 March 2003: PM

"Are you certain that my presence at supper will be tolerated?" Hermione represses her smugness at Draco's uneasy query.

It's my swain's turn to steel himself for an uncertain reception – should I let him dangle over the abyss a little longer, or assuage the fears he believes he's masked with that practised haughty façade? Hermione covers her mouth to hide her smile.

The man in question is scowling at his reflection in his hallway mirror. He has already precisely combed and re-combed his argentine hair twice; Hermione suspects that he would have also changed his pristine navy chinos and matching button-down shirt and blazer, had they not been strapped for time after her extended perusal of Malfoy Manor's glorious split-level main library.

She'd been oblivious to the passage of time until Draco had bluntly informed her that it was past four o'clock. Lulled by the incredible tomes and relaxing atmosphere, Hermione had shucked almost all her remaining misgivings about venturing inside the mansion. Narcissa had led her swiftly through the side door from the rear gardens, sparing her any glimpse of the gloomy room in which she had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange.

Unable to stifle her gasp of sheer awe at the thousands upon thousands of precious books lining the vast interior, Hermione had immersed herself in the library's treasures within a matter of minutes. After carefully processing Narcissa's detailed explanation of layout and facilities ("Simply speak aloud the desired category, genre, title, or author and the catalogue will send up a shower of sparks to lead you to the correct designation – or you may save yourself the trouble of collection and 'Accio' the texts straight to you"), Hermione had traced leather-bound spines with reverent fingers as she'd explored the boundaries of the welcoming chamber.

Dimly, she'd been aware of Narcissa and Draco conversing behind her: Narcissa's tone had been amused, Draco's resigned. "I've seen this before – Hermione won't willingly surface unless a fire flares up around her… even then, her attention is not assured," he'd grumbled.

Narcissa had excused herself; Hermione had recollected her manners long enough to thank her for brunch, and for the invitation to investigate the library. After the Malfoy matriarch's departure, Draco had firmly towed Hermione to a cosy nook behind the primary stacks, seating her in a two-seater brown leather Victorian love seat. He'd settled in behind her, encouraging her to lean her back against his front as she'd hummed and hawed over which books to summon first.

It hadn't taken long for the nearby coffee table to become piled with a wide array of variously sized tomes. Draco had spurned choosing his own reading material, instead preferring to occasionally peer over her shoulder. He'd slowly stroked her waist and nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, untying the thick pink ribbon holding her ponytail in place so he could lightly card his left hand through her thick curls.

Her inner nerd had protested the distraction, but fortunately her desperate need for the beautiful blond wizard's touch had overridden that grumpy bitch. 'Accio-ing' book after book, Hermione had loved Draco's calming yet stimulating caresses. His hands had eventually ceased their motions; she'd turned her head to note that Malfoy was fast asleep, his blond head supported by a velvet cushion. He'd not relinquished his possessive hold of her waist though, as she'd contentedly kept reading about the phenomenon of magical cores uniting. Draco had awoken when Narcissa had returned with a light afternoon tea of coffee and buttercream macarons, and eventually Draco had pointed out the time and instigated their departure.

But: back to her lofty lover. Hermione decides to gift him a much-needed warning.

"Malfoy, if Hagrid offers you any of his infamous stoat sandwiches at supper – it might be best to claim an allergy to rodent meat," she informs. Their eyes meet in the mirror as Draco's widen in unfeigned horror.

"You're joking… aren't you?" he pleads.

"Not at all. Hagrid considers it to be one of his specialties." Hermione laughs at Draco's stricken expression. "Also, avoid the rock cakes – they are aptly titled – and any home-brews or mystery liquors he's sourced at The Hog's Head Inn."

"I don't drink, so that shan't be a problem." Draco's tone is clipped. He plucks at his blazer sleeve, eyes averted as he asks, "Must we take Macdolas with us, Granger? His jubilation over Ruibby's softening has been nigh insufferable."

"Luna included Mac in the supper invitation, so yes. I think he's been adorable. And he listened to your advice, and didn't come on too strong with her today," Hermione reminds Draco.

"You're adorable – Macdolas is a brazen crawler," Draco gathers her into a clinch, sliding his palms up over the sides of her neck and cupping her cheeks as he kisses her passionately.

He tears his mouth away to gripe, "We should have been doing more of this today, ma petite. But you were utterly winsome with your consummate worship of the library, so I am unable to truly complain." He lowers his plush lips to hers again, crowding her against the hallway wall and wedging his muscled leg between her slim thighs.

Do we really have to attend supper? Hermione muses dazedly. Perhaps it's not too late to send an apologetic owl? Her self-serving ruminations are interrupted by an animated little voice.

"Macdolas is ready and asks if he may wear the sabre scabbard for this outing, Master Malfoy?".

The high-pitched request has Draco growling in irked frustration. Hermione thinks she hears him scathingly mumble "cock-blocker" beneath his breath, which she ignores as she pushes off the wall.

"Best to leave it behind, Mac. But let's get moving, we don't want to be late." Joining hands, the trio prepare to Apparate to the outskirts of Hogsmead.

Draco needn't have worried, Hermione concludes, with amusement and satisfaction. Judging by the strength of the hug the hairy half-giant throws around an alarmed Draco, Hagrid seems to have well and truly left behind any animosity about the Malfoy heir's prior poor behaviour.

Coughing, Draco emerges from the bear hug looking chastened, his once scrupulously-combed hair now sticking up in asymmetrical spikes.

"Yeh've grown up righ' tall an' strong, young Malfoy," Hagrid beams approvingly, his weighty paw still gripping Draco's tensed shoulder as the fair-haired wizard winces and produces a weak smile.

"'Course, yeh were always a fine one for sports – shame yeh didn' have the chance ter ride Bucky, yeh would've been a natural, like as no'." Hagrid's dark eyes gleam as Draco shifts uncomfortably at the mention of his chequered history with the hippogriff.

"Eh, I'm jes' having some fun wi' yeh, lad. I got yer letter, an' all's forgiven an' forgotten as far as I'm concerned," Hagrid rumbles as Draco's stiff posture relaxes.

Letter? Another apology letter? Hermione parts her lips to interrogate the pair, but her words are crushed against her huge friend's broad chest as Hagrid pulls her in for an affectionate hug.

"Hermione love, yeh're as pretty as a picture! So young Malfoy's the reason behind yer special glow these days, eh?". Hagrid loosens his hold as Hermione tries not to pinken. "Well, he always did carry a secret torch fer yeh, since yeh were little tykes."

He turns his head to sternly address her boyfriend. "Yeh're a lucky bloke though, young Draco – there's no' many witches what'd forgive yeh fer summat the things yeh said… though yeh prob'ly didn't know no better, I'll grant yeh that. Jus' be sure ter treat Hermione like yer queen, an' yeh won't have no bother from me."

Draco makes a noise that sounds like "Yark?" to Hermione's reddening ears. Fortunately, Luna rescues them from their mutual embarrassment as she moves in to side-hug the pair.

"Hullo, Hermione, Draco – and Mac. Hagrid, this is Macdolas, he's Malfoy Manor's chief steward and our friend. Macdolas, this is Professor Rubeus Hagrid."

"Enough o' that Professor business now, Luna – jus' call me Hagrid, little fella. Scottish, are yeh? Yeh're a fine folk and clever ter boot. Fancy a wee dram of Glenfiddich? It's jus' the thing on a nippy spring evenin'…"

Hagrid turns to rummage on a high shelf in his cluttered kitchen, stopping in bemusement as Hermione and Luna yell, "No!" in unison. They share a look of panic as they jointly remember the disastrous results of Macdolas's last sampling of high-proof alcohol.

"Thank you, Hagrid, but Macdolas had a little trouble with an excess of wine at our girls' night in recently," Hermione diplomatically explains as Macdolas's elastic ears droop in disappointment. "I'm sure we'd all love a cuppa though?".

"S'alright, laddie – yeh won't be gettin' 'blootered' tonight, but I migh' Irish-up yeh tea when the lassies are lookin' the other way!" Hagrid winks as he booms out an 'aside' that can probably be clearly heard in Hogsmead. He busies himself with preparing the tea.

Hermione chuckles to herself as she notices Draco carefully running his heather-grey eyes over the supper fare; she places a hand on his knee as they perch on the high stools, Luna on Draco's other side.

"Looks like you're off the hook, Malfoy – Luna's prepared our meal tonight," Hermione whispers. He smiles gratefully and brings her hand to his mouth for a quick kiss to her palm.

Macdolas foregoes trying to climb up via the spare stool's tall ladder rungs, instead magicking himself into the chair as he cheerily scans the interior of the hut. His eyes enlarge when he spies Fang and Crookshanks curled up before the steady hearth fire.

"The Crooky is here – he tames a Hellhound!" the house elf gasps.

"No, Fang is a boarhound, Mac," Luna corrects. "He lacks the traditional glowing red eyes of the standard Hellhound, and the foul odour. It's an easy mistake to make, of course." She picks up a tray of crustless sandwiches. "Mashed swede sandwich?".

Hermione and Draco each take a few triangles of the yellowy-orange vegetarian sarnies; Macdolas helps himself to four. They each pass around the hot pumpkin scones with cream and apricot jam, mini Dirigible plum puff pastries, and moist squares of carrot cake as Hagrid brings over the giant homely teapot.

"Is it just me, or is all this food orange?" Draco murmurs as Luna slides off her stool to collect another teaspoon.

"I believe Luna is starting an 'Enhanced Vision' Food week," Hermione asserts. "Don't look so frightened – she's an excellent cook. And the Dirigible plums probably don't contain actual hallucinogens, if that's what's worrying you," she reassures.

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind until you just mentioned it," Draco hides his grimace as Luna returns to her seat. The little blonde Ravenclaw watches approvingly as Draco munches on one of the dubious pastries.

"I'm glad you're enjoying those, Draco – Father and I have fine-tuned the recipe over the past few years; hardly any of the adverse side effects manifest anymore," Luna proclaims, biting into one of the delicacies herself.

"Side effects?" Draco audibly gulps down the last morsel.

"Well, occasionally some wizards have spoken in tongues for a few hours after consumption – but that's not necessarily due to the Dirigible plum factor. We haven't run enough clinical studies to be sure. But the diarrhoea almost never presents anymore. It was just a matter of getting the perfect balance of fruit to lemon juice."

Luna pops another orangey puff pastry onto Draco's plate. He stares down at it as though it may detonate at any moment.

Macdolas has no such qualms, scoffing down a goodly quantity of everything on offer as Hagrid slyly slips him a spiked cup of tea. Hermione decides she'd best divert Draco's disapproving attention away from the elvish glutton.

"How are your classes progressing, Luna? Anything new happening at Hogwarts?" Hermione asks her friend.

"Oh, yes – Headmistress McGonagall is frantically trying to find a replacement professor for Arithmancy. Professor Dankworth quit in a huff last week and has already decamped back to Ilvermorny," Luna calmly discloses. "Cleo said she'd rather teach a passel of plague-riddled Doxies than waste another moment with the current lot of slug-headed students.'

"I think it would depend on the particular plague though; and whether the Doxies were fitted with appropriate muzzles during class," Luna prosaically offers her take on the matter.

"Arithmancy?" Hermione echoes, pausing in the act of liberally smearing apricot jam on a pumpkin scone. "Has Minerva reached out to Beauxbatons yet? I've heard that they have a strong program in place."

Luna shrugs her petite shoulders. "I believe she's waiting to hear back from them. At the moment, Minerva is instructing the classes herself, but she already has too many plates spinning in the air."

Hermione looks down at her own crumb-filled plate and chews her bottom lip, lost in thought. Hagrid's jovial voice dispels her introversion.

"That was a jolly good beano, Luna love! Thank yeh kindly fer providin' it, an' next time I insist on treatin' yeh all ter some of my 'signature dishes'… I reckon yeh'll enjoy 'em, lil' Mac." Hagrid gazes fondly down at the diminutive elf; the ecru vest beneath Macdolas's Redcoat soldier's jacket is distinctly distended. Macdolas blinks sluggishly as he nods his agreement.

"Well, I'll jus' clear this lot away an' then give Fang an' Crooky their dinners – best ter feed Fang outside, he does tend ter take offence ter Crooky tryin' ter steal his bones… ". The regular-sized plates Hagrid begins to assemble look like doll's crockery in his giant mitts.

"Let us do that, Hagrid," Hermione intervenes, as Draco gathers their own plates. "Perhaps Draco and Mac could help you outside?" She nudges an elbow into Draco's muscular side.

"Love to," Draco deadpans, as Fang pads eagerly forward upon hearing the magic words. Yawning, Crooky strolls up and effortlessly launches into Macdolas's skinny lap, indolently waving his marmalade brushtail to and fro in the elf's pointy face as Macdolas struggles to keep his balance.

"You alright there, mate?" Draco moves to take custody of the Kneazlecat, but Macdolas manages to secure his equilibrium and adjust his hold.

"Macdolas is friends with the Crooky now – the purrs tells him so! Lead the way, Master Hagrid!" he enthusiastically chirps. The unusual trio trudge outside, after Hagrid puts down a bowl of wet food for Crooky and hoists a large battered tin bucket into his left hand. The big cat springs down from Mac's tenuous grasp with alacrity as the other males leave the hut.

Luna and Hermione clear the table and set the dishes to wash with a few quick spells. They move to the begrimed window to watch as Draco gingerly reaches into the bucket, retrieving and tossing a massive bloodied bone. He flings it like a discus as Fang avidly chases it down. The two women burst into mutual laughter at the pained moue of distaste on Draco's comely features as he gropes into the bucket for another lump of gristly meat. Macdolas gleefully claps his twiggy hands as Fang catches the next hunk in mid-air, his powerful jaws and teeth making short work of it.

"Poor Draco; I bet this is the first time he's ever fed a boarhound," Hermione chortles. She spontaneously hugs her fabulous friend.

"Luna, I can't thank you enough – I finally found the guts to talk with Draco last night… and he admitted that he has similar feelings for me… and, well, we're officially 'boyfriend and girlfriend' now." She cannot contain the joyful smile that spans her face.

"Good. All you needed was a push. Your magnetic polarities were temporarily misaligned," Luna tranquilly expounds.

"Draco said something similar to me once…" Hermione reminisces. "Also – Blaise Zabini very nearly fouled up my plans to invite Draco to the Spring Equinox Ball! He'd coerced Draco to agree to accompany Astoria Greengrass instead, by calling in a favour Draco owes him. I lost my nerve when Draco told me that… Luna, I was so hurt.' She scratches absentmindedly at her left forearm through the dusk pink cardigan sleeve.

"But then… I reminded myself of everything you'd drilled into my head on over the past few days, about how Draco has been showing me how he cares for me all along, though he hasn't said it. And I figured, well – I won't die wondering. And Draco gave me nothing at first: I was seconds away from bolting into the Floo and emigrating to Timbuctoo – you've no idea. When he finally confessed that he 'wanted and needed me more than his next breath' – I could hardly breathe myself. I still can't quite believe it." Hermione lapses into a reflective pause.

"Was Blaise trying to push Draco into declaring his true feelings for you, Hermione? He didn't take Draco's self-esteem issues and stubbornness into account, if that were the case," Luna tranquilly observes. "I knew that your courage wouldn't desert you; that's why I told Hagrid that you two were in a proper relationship, as soon as I returned yesterday. He didn't seem surprised."

Beetle-browed, Hermione slowly says, "I don't mind at all that you told Hagrid, Luna. I was expecting much more of an inquisition when we arrived tonight… thank you for bypassing that uneasiness by informing Hagrid – even though it wasn't quite official then!" she gently chides her chum. "As for Blaise's motives, I don't know him well enough to decide what he was about. I hope he can accept Draco's decision to partner me instead," Hermione shrugs philosophically.

"Anyway – you're simply the best, Luna. I really appreciate your help. Thank you." Gently squeezing Luna's slight form one last time, Hermione glances out the window again.

"It's a huge relief that Draco is relaxed here – I was worried how he'd react to coming back to Hogwarts after all this time," Hermione remarks.

"Oh, he's been back plenty of times over the past four years, Hermione. It took him a while to properly set up the scholarships with Headmistress McGonagall. He always took pains to keep his visits secret, of course." Luna drops the bombshell with her usual placidity, her pale blue eyes focused on the antics outside.

"'The scholarships'…" Hermione repeats slowly. "Which scholarships would they be, Luna?" It is an effort to keep her voice steady.

"The memorial scholarships he's funded, to honour the lost and the wronged. They're named for students and professors alike: Fred Weasley, Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Cedric Diggory, Vincent Crabbe, Katie Bell; Severus Snape, Charity Burbage, and Remus Lupin, among others. I believe Draco also has arranged an inviolable trust fund for little Teddy Tonks, and he paid for a goodly chunk of the castle's repairs and renovations."

Luna appears mildly annoyed. "I really thought he would have told you this himself by now… but I suppose he did insist on utter anonymity when I first helped to facilitate the negotiations," she sighs.

Throat clogged, Hermione's eyes begin to water. My foolish, conflicted, amazing boyfriend. Forever concealing the best of himself. And yet, he calls himself selfish and arrogant. Her heart swells like a water balloon as she tries to sniffle away her tears.

Luna lays a comforting small hand on her back as the males re-enter the dwelling. Draco rushes over, stuffing a blood-ruined handkerchief into his pocket. He wraps his arms around a silently crying Hermione.

"Granger – what on earth has happened? Has one of the Dirigible plum pastries had a detrimental effect on you? Tell me, ma petite," he pleads. Hermione chokes out a half-laugh as she tilts up her face to tremulously smile at her beau.

"No – I'm just being mushy. Ignore me," she allays his concerns. Hermione wipes beneath her leaky eyes before Draco links his hands at the dip of her back and declines his ash-blond head to softly kiss her Cupid's bow mouth.

"My gooey little Gryffindor," he whispers, before kissing her more deeply. She gladly returns the caress, pushing as much of her overspilling emotions into their lip-lock as she dares.

When they breathlessly come up for air, Hermione slants her eyes to their audience; Hagrid, Luna, and Macdolas are sporting identical expressions of indulgent approval.

Hagrid coughs discreetly as he notes Draco's hands have moved further south than their original placement. "Migh' be best if yeh took yer leave soon, I reckon. I've no' got no hairy heart, but there's some things a man don' need ter see up close, if yeh catch my drift?"

Luna and Macdolas laugh as the young lovers immediately break apart, awkward discomfiture writ large upon their faces.

Hermione recovers first, smiling happily at her treasured friends. They beam back at her with equal delight.

She snuggles into her handsome blond wizard's side, knowing herself to be the most blessed witch in the world.

"Let's go home, Malfoy."