A Forbidden Birthright

Chapter Twenty Four

Apparating as far as they did, especially for the person doing the apparating, takes an immense amount of energy and magical skill. 

When they laded amongst the fallen leaves in front of Hermione's house, she was livid. Shaken both by what had just happened in her hotel room and his decision to risk both their lives had her voice rising, but her legs wobbled beneath her. Draco was barely able to stand but managed, and reached into his robes for a recovery potion. When he uncorked the vial and tipped it back, nothing came out. He cursed. 

She flung the door open angrily and demanded he sit, summoning her cauldron to her kitchen table. While he waited inside, she went out to her garden and picked the herbs she would need to brew a potion that would help restore energy and strength. Setting them in a basket, she continued to gather her cuttings and then made her way back inside where she was greeted by Merlin. His tail wrapped around her ankle as she yanked open the doors of her cupboard where she kept all her other herbs and ingredients that she couldn't source herself. 

Setting vials and jars on the table, she uncorked and unscrewed them all, shaking out dried lavender, moondew, and ground asphodel powder. She measured out the powder and added it to her cauldron, already bubbling. She added in one fairy wing, a pinch of salt specifically with her left hand, and several other ingredients. Luckily, the potion was easy and relatively quick to make. The whole time, she glared at the bubbling contents, muttering about how they didn't even have their bags, how dangerous and stupid Malfoy had been, and that they both could have been splinched. 

In all truthfulness, however, she was shaken. 

She had almost kissed Draco Malfoy. And she had practically initiated. Or did he? She didn't know, couldn't think clearly; her thoughts were an electrified jumble and she felt as though she was ready to jump out of her skin. And there was this pressure in her head, another weight besides her own thoughts. Besides her own consciousness. 

And Malfoy, although clearly tired, had taken on his familiar expression of infuriating amusement. He sat wordlessly, his lips twitching in a suppressed smile. It tugged at the corner of his mouth and he sat back with his arms crossed. 

Hermione wanted to hide. Wanted to tell Ginny. Wanted to curl up in bed with her cat and sort her thoughts out for herself. But no. Instead, she had to sit here across from him, forced to act as though nothing had happened. 

Is that what he expected her to do? To not say anything? Or did he want her to? 

She hated this. 

She had no idea how to navigate him. He was like a map designed to lead her in the wrong direction. 

A thud sounded outside her door and she grumbled as she opened the door and picked up the rolled newspaper, tossing it onto the table haphazardly. It was already early morning. In a maddeningly relaxed manor, Draco swiped the paper from the table and folded it open to read while she continued working on the potion. She glared at him as she stirred counter-clockwise, hoping her stare would burn holes through the Daily Prophet. 

He then lowered the paper to his lap and said casually, "Do you remember when I mentioned us being on the front cover after that dimwitted photographer snapped a picture of us?" 

Hermione stilled and felt her heart rise into her throat. "Why?" She croaked. 

He grinned and tossed the open paper onto the table so she could see it. There, on the front page, was a black and white photo of the two of then standing incredibly close on the Stairway to Heaven in the Louvre. Even though the photo was a loop, they barely moved. She hadn't realized they stood still for so long as they looked at each other.