Lost Image | dramione

8 | the potion on the nightstand

It was well past ten, now. Their rings were stuck to their fingers, and were not coming off anytime soon. Most people had until midnight for the contract of marriage to become active, but because they had opted for an actual ceremony they had been legally married since that afternoon.

Which meant that they had until around four-thirty tomorrow to consummate their new partnership.

Hermione's stomach dropped, watching as the last guests started to trickle out. Her and Malfoy had not danced. They had not so much as left their table since Harry left, but no one seemed to mind. Narcissa was doing most of the hosting, greeting people and making sure everything ran smoothly from the kitchens. No one noticed how miserable the bride and groom were, sitting side by side at their own table.

Harry's words had touched her, but they seemed to have had little effect on Malfoy. If anything, he seemed even more abrasive than usual, answering any comments she bothered to make with silence or snippy comebacks.

She cleared her throat, and when Malfoy didn't look at her she cleared it again almost comically loud.

"What?" he asked, his head resting on his hand.

"I... I want to get this night over with," she said, trying to sound much braver than she felt.

He blinked, and seemed to suddenly come out of whatever dark thoughts had been plaguing his mood the whole evening. He shook his head as if trying to clear it, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. "You're right. Let's go."

She had been the one to suggest it... so why did his final words feel so cumbersome, like a gavel falling down heavily upon the table?

Malfoy stood up, and without a word Hermione followed. Servants had already begun to clean up after the party a little, but the moment the two walked towards the door they descended on the place, pulling up table cloths and shrinking tables.

The path Malfoy was walking was ridiculously complex. It was like first year at Hogwarts all over again... okay, maybe not that bad. Malfoy Manor wasn't that big, though it did seem to include a few moving rooms if the reception was any indication.

They went up a staircase, down a hall, turned right, walked through a sunny open space that seemed to function as some kind of trophy room, went through a door, walked past a series of portraits that sneered at her in a very familiar Malfoy-way, and finally arrived at an ornate door that opened to admit the two of them.

This could not be a bedroom. It was just... massive!

There was a four poster bed at the center back of the room, areas for brooms and quidditch gear, a large wardrobe, and a plush green rug near the bed. Hermione was fairly certain this room was as big as the Weasley home's ground floor. For a moment she nearly forgot where she was and why she was there as she tried to imagine growing up in such luxury.

Hermione gulped, trying to control her rebelliously shaking hands by taking a turn about the room, looking at Malfoy's keepsakes.

That was what really intrigued her. Not the expensive furniture, but the small things that made him almost seem like a normal boy. Hanging Quidditch posters, framed moving photos of his friends on the walls, a couple of books by his bed... all very humanizing objects. This house was downright creepy- it was nice to see the small lived-in touches that made it seem less cold and lifeless.

She walked over to the bed automatically, drawn to the books. She inspected the covers, and felt an odd comfort from the cool leather bindings. One was a biography of a Quidditch player she had never heard of, and the other was an Arithmancy N.E.W.T.S study guide. "Christmas break reading?" She asked, holding up the Arithmancy book.