In These Silent Days

Chapter 8

Saturday evenings look a little different now. They begin with dinner at Malfoy Manor, with an arrival and departure so precise, Hermione wonders if Draco has a timer set.

Narcissa has clearly had words with her husband since that first dinner, because Lucius no longer says anything at all unless it's to bark an order at an elf. His surliness seems of no consequence to Narcissa, who rules the conversation with a bright and commanding air.

She peppers Hermione with questions, clearly trying to draw as much information out of her as possible. Hermione suspects this is for Draco's benefit, given what she overheard that first time. Draco's mother is doing her best to ensure her son has all the facts required to woo her.

Sometimes during these polite interrogations, Draco catches her eye and offers a subtle, apologetic grimace for Narcissa's thinly-veiled nosiness. Hermione's lips always twitch in amusement, and convey what she hopes is an unbothered expression.

Now that she knows the impetus behind Narcissa's actions, Hermione finds it quite comical and a little sweet. But what Draco's mother doesn't understand, and won't because Hermione has no intention of telling her, is that Draco knowing trivial things like her favorite color or the name of her pet hamster as a child will hardly be what wins her over.

What Hermione keeps to herself, nestled in the deepest recesses of her mind and heart, is the truth. That it's Draco as he is now: a self-possessed, quiet, serious man with a passion for magical artefacts that Hermione's come to regard with affection.

Pride is a shared trait among the entire Malfoy family, though it manifests in different ways.

Narcissa prides herself on being a good mother and wanting what's best for her son and his happiness. Or rather, her perception of what would make her son happy.

Lucius on maintaining his family legacy of purity in all forms.

And Draco, Hermione's learned through quiet observation, on being his own person—distinct from Lucius's insidious shadow.

But as satisfying as the schadenfreude of seeing a cowed Lucius may be, these dinners come with a cost: Draco' mood. He doesn't drink much and only contributes to the conversation if directly addressed by Narcissa. He's a tense, coiled spring, constantly on edge with his father sitting—and sulking—just at his side.

Once they leave the Manor, Hermione notes the immediate changes in him: loosening shoulders and softening features. They always part ways at this point (she to her friends, he to his), but then, secretly, she awaits her new favorite part of the evening.

Hermione will get home first and put a kettle on, an especially helpful ritual if she's had a bit to drink. After Draco returns minutes later, they settle on the sofa with warm mugs and exchange stories about their respective evenings.

"Oh my God, Ginny and Harry had such a row because James was crawling away too fast and Harry used a Summoning Charm on him."

"Blaise brought wine but it had turned, which we only found out because Greg chugged half his glass and almost vomited."

"Ron, bless him, is trying to grow a mustache, and I don't mean to be unkind, but it looks too much like a caterpillar for me to take seriously. Luna seems to appreciate it, so I suppose that's just as well."

"Theo is having Celine teach him French and he insists on practicing in almost every conversation. You've never heard a more offensive pronunciation of 'merci' in your life."

Tonight, though, Draco is a few minutes later than usual. Hermione has already finished half her drink before she hears a pop of Apparition, a loud swear, and the foyer table wobble.