A Forbidden Birthright

Chapter Ten

Hermione did not invite Draco into her house. No, he was not welcome to see where she thought her most private thoughts, where she penned them while sitting on her over-stuffed couch, her bookshelves lining nearly every wall, her half-mussed bed or half-drank tea. He was not welcome to see what she had been in the middle of, as though her thoughts had been halted. She would not allow him any more glimpses into who she was as an adult.

Instead, they begrudgingly agreed to apparate to a muggle café. Neither of them was particularly interested in being seen together in the wizarding world, as it would be equally inconvenient for both of them. Hermione certainly didn't need his name lopped with hers in the tabloids, political or no, and Draco was no doubt disinterested in being thrown in the public eye, a view he had managed to avoid for nearly the past ten years.

The Malfoy name was assumed to have descended into disarray after their part in serving the Dark Lord, and once Lucius Malfoy had been sent to Azkaban, Draco was rarely seen. Narcissa had also been sentenced, but unlike her husband, it was due to her part in Dumbledore's death. Despite this, the charges were dropped due to her risking lying to Voldemort himself about Harry being dead. Narcissa was a proud woman, a Black, and she did not scuttle into the shadows. Instead, she chose to hold her head high and had begun to rebuild her family's reputation, no matter how quietly it was done. Their name still commanded attention, fear, and respect, but it was now not just her married name they whispered about, but the Black blood that ran through her veins, through her son's. The bloodline was a lethal one, and still carried power even without the backing of Voldemort's name.

Rumors had circulated that Draco had also been sentenced alongside his father, but was only kept there for a year. Because of the speculations, he attended painfully few high-society social events. To be seen in public was to be prepared to weather the storm of reporters eager to his face and name splashed on the front page of the newspapers they worked for.

Draco Malfoy: A dark recluse or a failed wizard?

Draco Malfoy: The son of a Death Eater

Draco Malfoy: Secrets revealed!

The two of them took their seats by a bay window, an unsweetened coffee in Draco's hand. Hermione opted for a steaming cup of tea. His lip crinkled in disdain at her choice of drink but he made no comment. She almost barked out a laugh when she realized him to be a coffee snob.

"Well?" She asked after minutes of him regarding her with distaste.

He didn't reply. Instead, he took a sip from his mug. If it burned his tongue, it didn't show.

She leaned across the table and said in a lowered and harsh voice, "Look, I hate sitting at the same table with you just as much as you hate sitting with me, so the sooner you speed this shit up, the faster we don't have to look at each other."

He took another swig. "I wouldn't have expected such a dirty mouth on you of all people, Granger. But then again, you are a-"

"Don't you dare say it," she hissed. "I will hex you with the worst thing I can think of."

"And what might that be?"

Her mind went blank. She had books upon books of hexes and their origins. She'd even developed her own. And yet none of them surfaced in her thoughts.

She'd hesitated too long. Her silence gave her away, and his lips tugged into the kind of smile Hermione imagined a wolf might make. Maybe a werewolf who had been lost in his moon-cursed mind.

"Want to tell me what you're doing with a dark grimoire?"

No, she thought. I don't particularly want to tell you a damn thing, you arrogant, loathsome bastard.