Narcissa's Time Turner

Chapter 11: Lavish Clubs and Lion Cubs

Two days after the full moon, Draco Malfoy was seething in his room. Draco had heard there was already a Slug Club meeting one week after that notable potions class, but he wasn't invited. His father was imprisoned, after all, so he had begun to lose hope. However, right after Draco had these depressing thoughts, an invitation for that very night arrived at the Slytherin rooms via his owl from Slughorn. 

Draco surmised the meetings were about every other week, and usually on Saturdays. That was interesting, he thought, since the Gryffindors always took the quidditch pitch right about then. Captain Potter had the power to set when practices were and so must be avoiding Slughorn's ever-spinning web of connections. Draco had also heard interesting rumors among the boys of his year, namely that McLaggen had his eye on his mate. He growled under his breath, pulling his fancier robes hurriedly over his silver-blonde locks. Blast those little lion cubs, McLaggen, the Weasleys, Potter, and anyone else who wanted to keep him away from Hermione, regardless of their intentions. 

In truth, Slughorn had gone back and forth in his mind many times about whether to invite Draco. He had been in such a good mood after receiving those ashwinder eggs more valuable than gold, more valuable than unicorn hair, that the words inviting the youngest Malfoy just tumbled from Slughorn's mouth. After much deliberation, he decided to see how Draco acted at a single dinner before accepting him fully. If he so much as uttered his father's name he wouldn't be invited back, but Draco's extraordinary proficiency in potions and fantastic grades in general could not be fairly ignored. Either way, Slughorn would keep his word of inviting him at least once as repayment for those shining fire-born eggs. 

Draco entered Slughorn's room wearing forest green robes fastened a silver broach in the shape of a leaf. The large circular dinner table was surrounded by ornate wooden carvings on the walls and intricate (or from another view, garish) bronze chairs. There were three empty chairs, one right next to Hermione, one a few seats down from her, and one directly across. Draco chose the one across from her, the closest to Slughorn, so as to be within her line of sight as Slughorn would surely be talking most of the evening. 

Slughorn droned on about the families of various young witches and wizards. It seemed he had a deeper purpose than to simply make himself seem well-connected. He was demonstrating to everyone else at the dinner exactly what they could gain from their fellow attendees. Hermione caught herself looking in Malfoy's direction often. The golden hues in his hair stood out ever so slightly compared to usual. There was no sunlight to wash out his pale skin, but the soft glow of the table's candelabras made him look even more entrancing.

Ginny entered during the dessert of pumpkin custard after quidditch practice ended, and her eyes rather red. Hermione whispered into Ginny's ear, and graced her with a reassuring look when she sat down beside her fellow Gryffindor. Draco dug his nails into his palms and maintained his serene smile. He knew she had fallen in love with Ron once, so he had assumed she was attracted to men, but what if she just really liked redheads? The thought made it more difficult, but of course not impossible, to keep up the facade he had perfected practically since birth. 

MacLaggen sat on the other side of Slughorn, so it was difficult for Draco to keep a good eye on him given Slughhorn's rotund nature. One time when he caught a glance, however, McLaggen was licking chocolate sauce off his fingers and making direct eye contact with Hermione. Draco had now drawn blood from his palms. Draco felt prickles on the backs of his shoulder blades. His veela was screaming in his ears despite the fact that the shattered feeling in his chest had lessened with Hermione's presence. She shuddered visibly, and got so distracted she didn't answer Slughorn's question. Hermione shook her brown curls from side to side as if clearing the image of McLaggen from her mind. 

"I'm sorry, what was that, Professor?"

"My dear girl I was simply wondering where you got that name, such an unusual name. Is it perhaps common among muggles?"

"No it isn't, you see my parents love reading about other cultures. My name is taken from a myth about-"

Draco cut in, "The daughter of a king and the most beautiful woman in the world."

Everyone turned to look at Draco. He had been silent all night, and it was no accident. Slughorn of course did not ask him about his ministry connections despite the large number he had, as it was all tied to his father. Even his mother was not a safe topic due to Aunt Bella. 

Hermione asked him, perplexed, "How do you know that?" 

The words tumbled out before she could stop herself. She regretted them immediately. She was really asking him, why would someone like you look into any part of muggle culture? The truth was that he had dived into muggle culture after the war ended, hoping to find some escapism in a world untainted by pureblood versus mudblood, phoenixes versus death eaters. He loved Greek myths because he related to them, as immodest as that might sound. Draco felt that if these beings could make so many mistakes and still be worshipped, maybe he too could be redeemed. 

"I have found muggle cultures...interesting...lately."

Slughorn beamed. The youngest Malfoy was less like his father than he had previously imagined! 

"Ah, Draco, so true, so true! Do you happen to know the rest of that tale?" 

Slughorn couldn't be sure that he really did read into muggle cultures beyond the surface level, and so he asked this of Draco rather than Hermione who would surely know. Hermione's face would tell him whether Draco had really gotten it right. Draco then looked deep into Hermione's eyes for the first time that night, rather than stealing glances. Tonight they looked less like liquid mercury and more like hard steel. 

"She was engaged to Prince Orestes since her youth, but the King needed help in a great war and so promised her to a man named Neoptolemus. Hermione's new fiancé died in that war, and so she married her original betrothed at last. Her story is about how fate will always come to pass, regardless of even the will of kings."

Slughorn looked to Hermione and she seemed shocked, indicating Draco was indeed correct.

"How profound! What wonderful tales they come up with. I may have to look into it myself. Now, McLaggen..."

Slughorn's speech became distant in Hermione's ears. She felt that Malfoy's words were indeed profound, but what was more unsettling was that his eyes now looked bottomless and she couldn't pull her own away. He spoke with such earnestness, such conviction, such faith, that it slightly scared and impressed her. Maybe he was more philosophically inclined than she previously believed. Little did she know, she was spot on. He had hoped so strongly she would grasp the depth of his affection. His veela had been yelling in his ear, that was why he had piped up at all. 

He was trying to tell her, you're my mate. Fate wants us to be together, you will never escape it. The three fates that not even Zeus can defy have let me undo all of time, let me undo entire lives, just to claw my way to you. Hermione of lore almost ended up with the wrong man, too, and I will never allow you to slip from my grasp in this lifetime. I will win your love as Orestes did, and I will pry you from Neoptolemus with my dying breath. Draco had never wanted anything so strongly as this:

Your namesake will be my salvation, your namesake will be our destiny.