The Gloriana Set

Storm Clouds

I have a special fondness for chapters like this—just Hermione and Draco alone in a room. Such scenes have always been so intimate, even in the very beginning, when they were fencing in the Charms classroom.

Only two more chapters after this one (final chapter and an epilogue), which I will post on Sunday. Have fun.

Thebe

The Marauders' Map made navigating the Slytherin dungeon fairly easy, although Theo took a ridiculous amount of time to leave his room and head off to dinner Tuesday evening. Hermione waited in the alcove behind the Merlin tapestry for him to pass, then tripped up to the Snake Charmer portrait.

"It is not titles that honor men," the Charmer said, setting down his flute. The cobra bobbed hello.

"It is men who honor titles," Hermione answered. Niccolò Machiavelli had obviously been a Slytherin.

"Well spoken, little Hellebore," the Charmer said as the portrait opened.

Draco's door opened easily to her Alohomora, revealing the spotless, gracious room. A lace-covered table glittered with crystal and china and covered dishes. Hermione's lips tightened. It was outrageous, really, Draco's little lap of luxury here. The blue velvet curtains, embroidered with gold fleur-de-lis, were tightly closed. A silver tea tray graced the desk, its teapot embossed with the Malfoy crest and the words "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper." Purity Will Always Conquer. There was no sign of the French prince in residence.

Very well, she would wait. Hermione poured herself a cup of tea and stirred in two sugars. As she reached for the cup, her eye was caught by three silver picture frames lined up in a fussy row. She picked up the first picture: Draco and Narcissa at Platform 9 3/4. It was obviously First Year, and Draco's little pointed face looked at her curiously, his hair slicked back. Narcissa's smile didn't reach her blue eyes. The second picture showed Draco and his friends cheering at a Quidditch match, all wrapped in green-and-silver scarves. Probably singing "Weasley Is Our King," she thought waspishly. Draco's arm was around Pansy, his face flushed. Hermione was startled to see Theo on Draco's other side, his face so bright and young, black hair flapping. She'd hardly noticed Theo back then.

A movement in the corner of her eye drew her to the third frame, this one oval-shaped with entwined silver roses. The frame held a Prophet photo of Hermione herself, shot at Azkaban Pier of all places. Hermione held a half-dozen daisy bouquets, her hair wild from the North Sea wind. She was smiling, for the first group of released muggle-borns was walking (or limping) off The Charon. It had been the day after the Battle of Hogwarts and the first time that Hermione had felt they had truly won, that the sacrifices had been worth it, to see all those muggle-borns freed and back in the arms of family and friends. The photo didn't show any of that, only Hermione smiling again and again, clutching the daisies as a long curl whipped into her eyes and she shook it back impatiently. How long had that picture been on Draco's desk? Hermione didn't remember it from her first visit, but she had been ... distracted.

The silver teapot suddenly flashed an eerie green in the darkening room. Other objects also briefly glowed green: the china, the carpet, even a silver-backed hairbrush on a chest of drawers. Draco's silver-chased jade clock and the table's candlesticks also glowed.

Hermione looked around the room with a frown, but suddenly was all as before. She hastily set down the picture of Draco and Narcissa. Did the family objects not like her there, touching Draco's things? Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, after all.