To Brew A Scandal by stars_in_motion

Chapter 19

- NOT MY STORY!! ALL CREDITS TO @stars_in_motion ON A03!!

There was a short knock at the door, what Hermione assumed to be Mr. Crookshanks with her morning tea. Though she did not get up, nor welcome him in, he opened the door and stepped inside anyway, as was routine.

"Your grace," he greeted. Rather than a tray of tea, held in his hands was a small wrapped parcel with an envelope attached. "His grace has requested I deliver this to you."

Hermione mustered what little emotional energy she had left to form a scowl. "I thought I made it clear that I did not want to hear of his grace's requests?" Despite her tone, her heart clenched painfully in her chest.

"I think her grace should have a look at its contents and judge them for herself this time." Mr. Crookshanks cast a worried glance at the fireplace. "He would have sent it to you directly, but he worried you might toss it into the flames before opening it."

Hermione reached for the package. "Why shouldn't I?"

"His grace mentioned it holds great importance to him." Then, Mr. Crookshanks gave her a small look of sadness. "And I believe you would regret it greatly."

Mr. Crookshanks dismissed himself with a bow of his head, his warning enough to make her reconsider tossing the parcel into the remaining embers.

She hesitated over the letter perched atop the box. Remembering the Dark Mark burned into his skin, and his own frustrating lashing out at her, her anger toward Draco felt righteous at the time.

While she had not been interested in his reasons as he made them; there she was, in her childhood bedroom over a week later, her eyes still sore from the tears and her chest aching. The Amortentia she brewed in class smelled as it did before she learned the truth. Like his bed sheets, and the summer grass from her memories. Reading her name written in his damned perfect script across the envelope was enough to call her to open the letter like a siren song.

Hermione,

I owe you an explanation and many apologies, that is the truth. The morning of our engagement, you told me that I needn't marry you if I could not bear it. I did not answer you then, because if I had, I would have only asked if you could bear to be married to me instead.

If you cannot, know that I would understand. I will do whatever it is you require of me to go about your life peacefully.

But if you can, I will wait patiently for your return, just as I always have.

Yours eternally,

Draco
Placing his letter to the side, Hermione raised the parcel in her hands. It weighed far too little for it to be any sort of jewellery, and did not rattle. She pulled at the ribbon that held it together, the paper falling open across her lap. As she examined it closely, the cloth shook faintly in her grasp.

Inside was an immaculately pressed handkerchief—the one from all those summers past.

She would be the first to admit she was never a grand artist, but it had taken her months to embroider it during her fourth year. The meticulous research she had done on the constellation Draco in the Hogwarts library. The weeks spent plotting out the pattern of the stars and sketching the dragon until she felt certain she had done the constellation justice. The glittering gold and silver threads meant to mimic starlight. In her letters to her parents, she had requested her mother to send her the fine stitching materials she would need to make it before the school year ended. It had to be perfect.

For years, Hermione worked to separate all the different Draco Malfoys she knew, to compartmentalise him inside her memory. There was the young boy, hidden away by the water and trees, followed by the cruel boy in the bookshop. And now, her mysterious husband, the Death Eater, who had gone above and beyond anything she asked of him.