Chapter Text
Chapter 6 Audio:
Hermione didn’t get the best night’s sleep that evening. Draco stirred in the middle of the night and roused her for another round. They lost themselves in each other’s touch and explored the depths of their desires.
In the morning, Hermione woke with Draco’s head between her thighs, his tongue doing tantalizing circles around her sensitive clit that quickly had her screaming.
As it was, she walked into Harry’s office the next day looking like she’d been fucked six ways from Sunday... which she had... So all in all, things were okay. She couldn’t complain.
Except someone had tried to kidnap her yesterday.
“We interrogated all the culprits. There were six of them. I’m very impressed you two took them down.”
“Anyone we know?” Draco seated himself opposite Harry’s desk, Hermione taking the remaining chair.
“You may know more of them than I do, of course. Not to suggest any offense, you just have more history with those people. Not that I’m classifying them or anything—I’m sure you understand. It isn’t like I’m accusing you of being in line with their organization. I wouldn’t think that! I mean, you protected Hermione—”
“Harry, get to the bloody point!” Draco said. Hermione’s lips twitched with a hint of a smile.
“Right, well, there was Daphne Greengrass, Goyle, Mundungus Fletcher… didn’t know the other three.”
“Daphne?” Draco frowned.
“Yes, she was the one that investigated Astoria’s presence at the ball. Had suspicions. They figured out it wasn’t her and it didn’t take them long to establish who was really in disguise.”
“I hadn’t expected that,” Hermione said. “And Goyle?”
“Goyle Senior,” Harry clarified.
“Oh, good.”
They both stared at her. She said nothing more, so finally Harry asked, “Why do you care?”
Hermione shifted in her seat. “Gregory Goyle is my inside contact. Well, he’s not really inside, but he was close enough where he would overhear information.”
“Greg did that?” Draco asked, surprised.
Hermione nodded. “Part of his agreement after getting caught doing some petty crimes. But he seemed to embrace the role. I think he liked the intrigue.”
“He was always a fan of excitement,” Draco agreed.
“Did any of them talk?”
Harry grinned. “Mundungus did. Bloke is only in it for himself. He has no loyalties—though I suppose he had some to Dumbledore once. He was in the Order—”
“Harry!” Hermione snapped.
“Mundungus was on the bottom rung of the organization known as the Dark Ravens. He said the leader is referred to as The White Raven. He also revealed the location of their base.” It was then that Hermione noticed a map of England open on Harry’s desk.
“Here.” He pointed. “On the edge of Lake Windermere. We sent some Aurors, but we encountered a problem. Apparently it’s heavily warded. We couldn’t even see the place.”
Draco examined the map. “You sure it’s there, this exact area near the lake?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll be able to get in and can dismantle the wards from the inside.”
That got Harry’s attention. He leaned back in his chair and inspected Draco. “It will probably take us days to bypass the wards, and there may be nothing left to show for our efforts by then. They would be fools not to evacuate. What makes you think you can do better?”
“That’s a Malfoy family property. The magic should let me through, since I am the owner.”
“Your property?!” Hermione gasped, looking back at the map.
“Yes. I’m not sure how they got their hands on it.”
“Perhaps another Malfoy,” Harry suggested.
“My mother is in France and would never get involved in something like this. And I heard Lucius died.”
Harry nodded. “They released him nearly a year ago, but someone killed him shortly after. It happened to a lot of the Death Eaters when their sentences were up. People still angry about the war.”
Hermione’s eyes darted to Draco, wondering how he would take the confirmation of his father’s death, but his face remained a mask of indifference.
“Regardless, I can undo the wards so the Aurors can infiltrate. All Malfoy properties have anti-apparition wards against non-Malfoys, so we should round up a lot of people there.”
Harry agreed. “We need to act quickly, Draco. They may move once they realize we captured some of their members.”
“You’re right. I’ll go after sundown.”
“Wait!” Hermione stood abruptly, startling both men who appeared to have forgotten she was there. “What about me?”
“You’ll stay here,” Harry said, as if it was obvious.
“I think not!”
Harry sighed. “Hermione, don’t be difficult—”
“This isn’t about being difficult! This is my case! I put everything I had into this investigation! And besides, there will probably be house-elves there so I should be present!”
“You will be safer here,” Draco said.
She scoffed. “Since when have I been concerned about what is safe?”
She could tell she won based on the expressions that crossed their faces. Finally Harry sighed, and said, “fine.”
✧❅✦❅✧
Draco stood at the edge of Lake Windermere, staring at what appeared to be empty space. To anyone else, there would be nothing here but rolling hills and mist. But he could feel the magic—old magic that sang in his blood. Malfoy magic.
“Are you sure about this?” Hermione asked quietly beside him. A dozen Aurors waited in the shadows behind them, Harry among them.
“About dismantling centuries-old family wards that probably have extremely nasty consequences for tampering? Not remotely.” He flashed her a grin. “But when has that ever stopped us?”
She rolled her eyes, but he caught her smile. He wished she had stayed behind where it was safe, but knew she would never be content to wait on the sidelines.
“Draco… before we do this, you should know that I love you, too.”
He stared at her.
“I heard you yesterday… but you fell asleep. Then I couldn’t find the right time.”
“This is far from the right time.”
“But it could be the only time, so you are going to hear me tell you I love you, regardless.”
He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. “I love you,” he whispered.
“As touching as this moment is,” Harry said behind them. “I would prefer not to puke on my new Auror robes. So if we could just get on with it.”
Draco responded with a rather rude gesture and started towards the wards.
They shimmered as he approached, recognizing his magical signature. Ancient spells woven by generations of Malfoys parted like a curtain, revealing a sprawling estate he hadn’t visited since childhood.
“Show-off,” Harry muttered as the mansion materialized.
“Jealous, Potter?”
“Of your family's obsession with peacocks? Never.” Harry nodded toward the albino birds strutting across the lawn. “But I notice these have their feathers.”
Draco ignored the jab and began the complex wandwork to dismantle the protective barriers. It was complicated magic. Intricate details and weavings. “The wards are tied to blood magic,” Draco said. Sweat broke over his brow. “I’ll try to keep the apparition barrier up.”
He ground his teeth. It felt like an eternity passed as he put all his magic into dismantling the ancient barriers around the property. But since he owned the property, and was a proper Malfoy, the magic gave way to him. A weight lifted from his shoulders as the ward crumbled. “They will know the wards are down. We will probably have thirty seconds before—”
A curse flew past his head.
“Or they could just start shooting at us now,” he amended, diving behind a decorative fountain. “That works, too.”
Chaos erupted. Dark-robed figures swarmed from the mansion while curses lit up the night sky in a deadly display that would have put the Weasleys’ best fireworks to shame. Hermione’s shield charm crackled as it deflected a nasty hex aimed at Harry, who returned fire with the kind of accuracy that made Draco secretly glad they were on the same side now.
“Dawlish is down!” someone shouted. An Auror lay motionless, blood seeping into the manicured lawn that Draco’s mother had once been so proud of. Another Auror fell, caught by a curse that turned his skin to stone.
“Some backup would be nice!” Harry called, ducking behind a hedge that immediately tried to strangle him. Because, of course, the garden had murderous shrubbery.
Two more Aurors fell in quick succession. The Dark Ravens were well-trained, moving with military precision that spoke of something far more organized than simple trafficking. This was an army.
Then, Draco spotted him - a tall figure in white robes standing on the balcony, resembling a twisted angel of death. The White Raven. Even at this distance, he’d recognize that stance anywhere—the same pose his father had struck before delivering punishments in his childhood.
“No,” he breathed, his world tilting sideways. “It’s not possible.”
“Draco?” Hermione called, diving behind the fountain beside him. She threw up a shield charm so powerful it vibrated in his teeth. Her hair crackled with energy, little sparks dancing along her curls. “What is it?”
He couldn’t speak. The man wore a white version of the raven mask, his chin lifted in that familiar aristocratic tilt. The long blond hair that fell down his back was unmistakable.
“It’s my father.”
The figure raised his wand, and suddenly the ornamental peacocks weren’t so ornamental anymore. They swelled like balloon animals from hell, growing to the size of hippogriffs. Their feathers gleamed like metal blades.
“Oh, come on!” Harry said, narrowly avoiding decapitation by a razor-sharp tail feather. “Is peacock cruelty part of the Malfoy bloodline?” He blasted a bird while simultaneously evading a spell, which conveniently hit another bird about to charge Harry.
“If we survive this,” Hermione panted, sending a barrage of spells at the advancing birds. “We’re having a serious discussion about your family’s decorating choices!”
“I’ll have you know those peacocks were Mother’s idea,” Draco replied, somehow finding humor even now. “Father just wanted attack snakes like a proper Dark wizard.”
A curse hit their fountain, sending marble shrapnel flying. Hermione’s shield caught most of it, but a piece grazed Draco’s forehead. He barely noticed. His focus remained on the white-robed figure now sweeping back into the mansion like some dramatic specter.
Draco ignored the chaos and sprinted toward the house, ducking and weaving through the battle. Spells singed his clothes. He avoided a rampaging peacock and blew the bird into the fountain with a flick of his wand.
He burst through the front doors, taking the grand staircase two at a time. His father’s study—that’s where he would go. Some things would never change.
The door was locked, but it recognized his magic just as the wards had. It swung open to reveal Lucius Malfoy, very much alive, standing by the window.
“Hello, son.”
“You’re supposed to be dead.” Draco kept his wand trained on the older Malfoy.
“Yes, well,” Lucius examined his own wand with casual interest. “I found that rather inconvenient.”
“So you faked your death and started trafficking house-elves?”
“I had to restore my fortune somehow after you so thoughtfully cut me off.” Lucius’s smile was bitter. “And Flint was so accommodating with his own wealth. Desperately looking for a father figure. Who am I to refuse?”
Draco gripped his wand tighter. He knew what sort of ‘father figure’ Lucius was—cruel, vindictive, and punishing. He had twisted Draco in the palm of his hand through fear. If it wasn’t for his mother, he may have gone insane in that household.
Lucius stepped closer. “Though I must say, I’m disappointed in your choice of... companions. A Mudblood, really?”
Draco’s hex caught his father by surprise, slamming him into the wall. “Don’t call her that.”
Lucius recovered, retaliating with a curse that Draco barely deflected. “I taught you everything you know about dueling, boy!”
“Not everything,” Draco said, and launched into a combination of spells that would have made Hermione proud—if any of them had landed.
They traded curses, destroying the study in the process. Family portraits fled their frames as spell-fire scorched the walls. A nasty hex from Lucius shattered Draco’s shield and caught him in the chest, sending him staggering.
“You’ve grown soft,” Lucius sneered. “Weak. Just like your mother.”
“Mother was too good for you!”
He cast a spell that hit his father’s wards and exploded against the wizard. Lucius fell to the ground.
Draco lowered his wand with a satisfied smirk.
“You seemed to have forgotten some of your lessons,” Lucius muttered. “Never lower your wand unless your opponent is dead!”
A light flashed, and Draco dropped to the floor, screaming. It had been years since he felt the Cruciatus Curse. The waves of agonizing pain washed over him, unbearable. His body contorted. He howled. Every muscle clenched. The pain was a searing, white-hot agony, far worse than he had remembered. He couldn’t think. Somewhere in his mind, he noticed Lucius pick himself up off the ground, holding his wand out—maintaining the spell.
“You’re a disappointment!” Lucius shouted at him.
Draco was in no position to respond.
“You know, I’ve been thinking of expanding my trade. Young witches fetch a nice price and I know for a fact, Greyback would pay a pretty penny for your Mudblood.”
“Nooo!” Draco managed through his screams. Not her. He wouldn’t let his father lay a hand on her. And Greyback?! Draco would rather die.
The curse ended, but the pain continued to spasm within him. He couldn’t stop shaking. The aftermath was almost as bad as the torture itself.
“Transfer the Malfoy holdings back to me and I’ll spare your Mudblood that fate! You remember the spell of transference? Perform it now!”
Draco glared at his father despite the aftershocks of the Cruciatus and his body trembling. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Still trying to control everything through fear.”
“It worked well enough when you were young.” Lucius circled him slowly, like a predator. “Though I suppose I should have been harder on you. Clearly, I was too lenient.”
Draco laughed—a harsh sound. “Lenient? Is that what you call it?” He pushed himself to his knees, fighting through the pain. “Tell me, Father, was it lenient when you let Aunt Bella ‘teach me discipline’? When you stood by and watched Voldemort mark me?”
“I was protecting our family!”
“No,” Draco spat, gathering his strength. “You were protecting yourself. Mother protected the family. She lied to Voldemort’s face to save me. What did you do? Hide behind your precious pureblood ideology!”
“And now look at you,” Lucius said. “Consorting with Mudbloods, betraying everything I taught you—”
Draco moved faster than his trembling muscles should have allowed, sending a blasting curse that caught Lucius off guard. The older Malfoy staggered back, his perfect composure finally cracking.
“Everything you taught me?” Draco advanced, his wand work precise despite the lingering pain. “You taught me that power comes from fear. That love is a weakness.” Another spell, forcing Lucius to dive aside. “But I’ve learned differently.”
“Crucio!”
Draco conjured a shield—not the standard Protego, but something older, darker. Something from the Black family grimoire his mother had secretly shared. The Unforgivable bounced off it, scorching the wall.
“Mother taught me that actual power comes from love,” Draco continued, pressing his advantage. “From protecting what matters.”
His next spell shattered Lucius’s hastily raised shield. “From choosing what’s right over what’s easy.”
“Sentiment,” Lucius snarled, but there was uncertainty in his eyes. As if he no longer recognized Draco. His father would never pressure him again. “I’ll give you one last chance—”
“No,” Draco cut him off. “I’m giving you one last chance. Surrender now, or I’ll show you exactly what else Mother taught me about the Dark Arts. The Black family specialty curses that you never knew about because you thought she was worthless.”
“You wouldn’t dare use Dark Magic. Not with your precious Auror friends—”
“Try me.” Draco’s voice was ice. “You threatened Hermione. You think I care after that?”
For the first time, genuine fear flickered across Lucius’s face. He raised his wand—
The door burst open. Hermione and Harry rushed in, followed by several Aurors. But Draco’s eyes never left his father.
“It’s over, Father. Your operation is finished. And this time,” his lips curved in a cold smile, “make sure you actually die in Azkaban.”
“This isn’t over—”
“Actually,” Draco said, “it is.” He cast his mother’s spell—ancient Black family magic that cut through Lucius’s defenses like they weren’t there. His father froze mid-motion, genuine shock on his aristocratic features.
As the Aurors moved to secure Lucius, Hermione reached Draco’s side. She steadied him as the last of the Cruciatus tremors worked through his system.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
He looked at his father—the man who had shaped his childhood through fear and manipulation, now brought low by the very family magic he had always underestimated.
“I am now.”
✧❅✦❅✧
“Draco, are you ready yet?”
Hermione paced their bedroom while he spent an extraordinary amount of time on his hair in the bathroom.
“Hang on!”
“You’re the one who said we had to be somewhere at seven!”
“And we will be!”
“Maybe I should just meet you there,” Hermione grumbled. She thought she said it quietly enough for him not to hear, but apparently she was wrong.
“You don’t even know where we are going!”
She rolled her eyes, knowing he couldn’t see it. She wore the gold dress he got her a year ago, never having an occasion to wear it until now. Though she still wasn’t certain what they were doing.
Mippy had pinned her hair and applied her makeup flawlessly. Draco insisted he had to do his own hair as it was a delicate process.
“You’re not taking me to any undercover illegal operations, are you?”
He wandered out of the bathroom, looking breathtaking in his deep green robes and his perfectly mussed hair. “As romantic as that sounds for our first Valentine’s Day as a couple, I leave it to you to make such elaborate plans.”
She didn’t reply, too busy gawking like a concussed flobberworm.
“Ready?” he asked with a knowing smirk on his annoying gorgeous face.
She snapped back to reality. “I’ve been ready for fifteen minutes!”
“Great! So we can go, then!”
He took her arm and apparated them out of the bedroom, landing on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.
“The restaurant we never went to for our first date?!” Hermione squealed.
Draco grinned. “I made reservations.”
“On Valentine’s Day?” Hermione could hardly believe he managed it.
“You told me I couldn’t buy you a gift.” He shrugged.
Hermione remembered. He pouted about it for weeks. “You bribed them for a table, didn’t you?”
“Now, that makes it sound seedy. What I did was dignified and classy.”
“I’m sure it was.” Hermione snorted—an action that was decidedly neither dignified nor classy.
A couple exited the restaurant ahead of them, spotting them together. “Hermione!” A voice rang out.
“Luna!” Hermione grinned, running up to hug her friend. “I didn’t know you were back!”
“Oh, yes. We finally managed to find a shitwagon in Peru!” Luna sounded positively delighted. Astoria stood behind her looking mildly disgusted by everything but did manage to do it while maintaining perfect posture. Hermione knew she didn’t mean it offensively—she just had one of those unfortunate resting faces.
Luna reached into her bag and extracted a large, empty jar.
Hermione stared, unsure what to say.
“Um… that’s great, Luna,” Hermione said.
“They are exceedingly rare! Astoria and I had to go on nearly a hundred dates until we finally managed to have one bad enough that we could see them!”
Astoria nodded, looking at Luna fondly, with a faint smile on her lips.
“Congratulations,” Draco said, though he appeared to be questioning if that was the appropriate sentiment.
“Thank you!” Luna’s smile widened as she tucked the jar back in her bag. Hermione wanted to ask why she carried it around with her, but decided not to question Luna’s logic.
“We should be going,” Astoria said. “But it was great seeing you guys!”
They said their goodbyes and parted ways. When Draco and Hermione were alone, he turned to her. “Did you see anything?”
“Nope.”
Draco smirked, bending down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Neither did I.”