The Gallows Chapter 7

That evening, Hermione once again found herself standing before the connecting door, carrying a tray of food. This time it was bone broth with a nutrition potion mixed in, with hearty rye bread and some blanched veg. The little elf had informed her in the early afternoon that Malfoy had managed to eat the entirety of the food Hermione left him last night, though he’d eaten nothing for breakfast or lunch.

Hermione knocked, wincing at the sound before calling out that it was her and she was coming in. Of course there was no answer, and she wasn’t altogether surprised that the room was virtually untouched, save for the pile of books that had been left outside the cracked door of the closet. She tilted her head as she slowly put the tray on the floor and lowered to her knees.

Moonlight, Myth, and Madness: A Werewolf Anthology

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

Vanity, Veins, and Vengeance: Understanding the Modern Vampire

Pride and Prejudice

She frowned at that last one, wondering who it was that might have left him Jane Austen, before carefully opening the closet door. Malfoy was still where she’d left him last night, knees pulled tight to his chest, clad in the same clothing they’d arrived in yesterday.

“Are you hungry?” She tried her best to make her voice soft, but still he winced, eyes squeezing shut.

Scooting in a little further, she pulled the door closed behind her, allowing just the crack to stay open. A small bit of tension released from Malfoy’s shoulders, though his hands stayed clenched around his shins.

“No.”

She hummed her understanding, reaching through the crack in the door to slide the pile of books in. They were well loved, these books, spines cracked (to her dismay) and pages worn. As she laid them on the soft rug beneath them, she thought she might have just learned a little more about Malfoy.

“Do you like magical creatures?” When he did not answer, she picked up the closest book and flipped open the cover to the initials written beneath the title: D.L.M. “Vanity, Veins, and Vengeance: Understanding the Modern Vampire. Is this your copy?”

Softer than the flutter of a bird’s wings, Malfoy sighed. “Yes.”

Right. Of course. Hermione shifted, getting a little more comfortable and grateful that Malfoy had chosen a semi-spacious closet. Scooting the tray a little closer to him, she settled the book on her knee and opened to chapter one: The Beauty of the Immortal Gift.

“It is no mistake that vampires are beautiful. That is part of their allure, like a poisonous flower, their resplendence is there to lure their prey…”

Something of a ritual began between for the rest of the week. The Slytherins would arrive in the morning to spend a few hours with Malfoy. She knew from their conversation at lunch that they were trying to encourage him to step outside, to bathe, even just to change his clothes, but he did little more than stare at the wall, barely acknowledging them. They debated how he was taking care of his bodily functions, whether by magic or other means, but all agreed that they felt helpless in the face of his apathy.

She spent the majority of her day in the garden, or else reading the books Neville owled her. It had taken her two days to build up the courage to start pruning the ivy and weeds. But she found she liked gardening and enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing the impact she could make upon the word in a tangible way. Something positive… something meaningful — something she hopefully would not regret.

Each night Hermione would carry a tray into Malfoy’s room, slide it into his closet, and pick up from wherever she left off in the book. By Sunday, they’d finished Vanity, Veins, and Vengeance and were just starting on Moonlight, Myth, and Madness. Malfoy did not speak to her, whether to stop her from reading or to encourage, nor did he move. Only stared at the wall of clothing before him, but on occasion she’d watched him drift to sleep, his mouth growing slack and brows smoothing.

“I go back to work tomorrow,” she said, marking her place with a summoned bookmark.

Malfoy tensed, his slow breathing quickening. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, fiddling with the edge of the cover.

“I’ll leave around six-thirty and should be home around eight.” Strange that she thought of the manor as home after barely a week.

“That’s a long day.” The words were a rasp, but Hermione froze. It was the most he’d said to her in days, since he’d pointed out that she was not truly his wife or caretaker.

Hermione forced herself to chuckle. “I suppose. Ron said that someone has been managing my cases while I’ve been gone, so I’m hoping I won’t be late. Would… would you like me to let you know if I will be?”

Malfoy’s throat bobbed with a swallow before he gave the barest of nods. Warmth bubbled through her chest. That nod felt more like an embrace but she bit back her excitement, smoothing her hands over the cover of the worn book and letting her shoulders drop.

“All right then. Perhaps while I’m gone you could think about taking a bath… or changing your clothes.”

He did not respond and finally Hermione got to her feet, sliding the tray closer to his side and leaving the closet door cracked behind her.

…

Monday arrived and with it the nightmare of returning to work. Hermione hadn’t realized that all week she hadn’t received or seen a single Prophet, as preoccupied as she’d been with Malfoy and the manor. But now, she wished she had as eyes followed her through the atrium, wizards and witches stepping out of her way to whisper behind their hands.

“Blimey, Hermione, you should have told me you were coming in today.” Ron’s hand curled around her arm, holding her as he caught up.

She frowned. “Of course I’m coming in today, Kings only gave me the week and Harrison wouldn’t appreciate me getting behind on my cases.”

Ron grumbled something unintelligible, shooting a look over her shoulder that sent a wizard stumbling back. He and Harry had both filled out since their time on the run, Ron’s shoulders growing steadily wider as Harry grew taller. It was to his advantage, she knew, out in the field where size and strength mattered just as much as magical ability.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Hermione hissed as they skirted around a large group gawking at her.

Ron tugged her forward, sliding into an empty lift and shutting the grate before anyone else could enter and hitting the button for level two. “According to the Prophet, popular opinion is pretty split on the matter.”

“What matter?”

He rolled his eyes. “Harry’s new haircut — honestly, what do you think? On the matter of you marrying Draco bloody Malfoy. Which reminds me, are you changing your name?”

She blanched. “W—what?”

Waving a hand, Ron shook his head. “Never mind, not important. Anyway, for the last week the Prophet’s been running a column discussing the marriage. They’ve gone so far as to speculate between a secret romance, a lovechild conceived at Hogwarts—”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“—and the imperius,” Ron finished with a grimace. “It hasn’t been pretty.”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn’t surprised that the marriage — her marriage — had been the subject of gossip within the Prophet, nor was she truly surprised to see the gawkers within the atrium. It was the Triwizard Tournament all over again.

“It will pass, Ron,” she soothed as the lift came to a stop.

The doors opened with a ding and Ron wrenched open the grate, guiding her down the long rows of cubicles and to her office settled in the back. Harry jumped up from her chair, running a hand through his hair.

“Bloody hell, Mione. You should have told us you were coming back to work today.”

Brows pinching, Hermione skirted past them to hang up her jacket and eyed her in-tray. “Yes, Harry, just as I told Ron: Kings only gave me a week off. Of course I’m back today.”

“But… the Prophet—”

“Does what it does best: gossips. But I will not cower in the face of a wannabe Rita Skeeter looking to compare the Golden Girl to a Death Eater Slag.”

“Oh, so you’ve read the headlines,” Harry deadpanned.

She shrugged. “No, but perhaps I’ll cancel my subscription.”

Ron peered through the threshold of her office, watching aurors and other advisors pass. “Gin already did.”

Oh. Well that explained why she hadn’t gotten a newspaper since last Monday.

“Wait… Harry how did you know I was returning to work today?”

A blush darkened his cheeks and he suddenly became very interested in pinning his auror badge on just so. “Theotoldme.”

“Sorry, what was that?” She leant closer, cupping her hand around her ear.

He sighed, meeting her gaze. “I received an owl from Theo that you were returning to work today, but I didn’t get it until this morning since I was on an overnight.”

There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, the shadow of a beard crusting on his cheeks.

“Oh, Harry you need to go home and get some rest.”

He nodded. “I think you should go home too, Mione. I… people are getting really heated about you marrying Malfoy and I don’t know if it’s a good idea to be in the public eye right now.”

An incredulous laugh bubbled out of her. “The public eye? Harry, I’m at work. The most dangerous thing here might be either a papercut or a verbal lashing from Harrison if I don’t finish my casework on time. Which reminds me: where’s Dean, I need him to catch me up.”

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance and she didn’t need to hear the words to know the debate bouncing between them.

“I am a fully grown adult woman, Harry James Potter. Either give me solid, substantial reasoning as to why I should return to the manor or let me get to work.”

Dean skittered to a stop before her office in the next moment, catching himself on the frame. “Oh, hey, Hermione, you’re back. Great, got a mo’ for me to catch you up?”

Throwing her boys one last exasperated look, she grabbed up the files in her in-tray and followed after Dean towards the conference room at the end of the hall.

The rest of the day passed without note and if anyone lingered at her door or shot her dirty looks as she rushed down to the cafeteria before running back to her desk, she didn’t notice. But she had to admit it was a relief to return home and fall on the couch beside the roaring hearth.

The usual tray appeared with a pop on the table before her, this time with two plates and two glasses. Malfoy’s usual broth, this time with bits of meat and veg, and a dish of pasta for her complete with a glass of water for him and wine for her.

“Merlin bless Lottie,” she breathed, slipping off her heels and grabbing up her tray before crossing the room.

There hadn’t been a moment really until now to think about what she would find on the other end of the door, though thoughts of Malfoy had lingered in the back of her head like an itch she couldn’t scratch. But she tried to convince herself it wasn’t disappointment as she made her way through the untouched bedroom to the cracked closet door.

She almost dropped the tray when she found Malfoy, though in his usual position on the floor, dressed in fresh clothes, his white blonde hair fanned out behind him on the rug, freshly washed and gleaming.

Before his head turned and he looked up at her.