Title: Out of the Silent Planet (26/39)
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, voyeurism, oral, anal, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.




Many thanks to kazfeist for improving this chapter!





Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Twenty-Six – Of information, resentment, and dinner.





Millicent Longbottom was only two weeks away from her due date, but it did not stop her from showing up to work the day after the Ministry’s Autumn Gala. She had much work to do before she took her maternity leave, and she wanted to speak to her best friend, Hermione Granger.

Millie was nervous, which was something very much unlike her character, but as she slowly walked down the corridor to Hermione’s cluttered office, she hesitated before knocking. She had been one hundred percent sure that she had seen him, and even more sure that Yuki Matsumoto had been speaking to him when Millicent had noticed his presence. However, whether or not to tell Hermione was really the matter at hand.

Lingering before the large oak door with Hermione’s name incised on a silver nameplate, Millie frowned. She knew that Hermione had somehow gotten to the point where she seemed to have forgotten Draco Malfoy entirely, and Millie remembered how heart-wrenching it had been to see Hermione grieving over a man who had perhaps done more harm than good in Hermione’s life. However, it was obvious to Millicent that Hermione had started to fall into deep and desperate love with her old Housemate, and the tragedy of it all was that Draco seemed to honestly care for Hermione in return.

Draco had always been one to hide his deeper emotions beyond those of loathing and hatred. In fact, it had always seemed that his venomous attitude regarding most things was a smokescreen to divert the things he loved, enjoyed, or cherished. Millie knew Draco was not forthcoming with his feelings after having lived under the tutelage of Lucius Malfoy, bastard extraordinaire. Emotions were a sign of mental weakness; even Millie knew that this was one of Lucius’ basic teachings. Even with Lucius’ death and Draco’s estrangement, it was a tricky task to know what Draco was truly feeling. Nevertheless, Millie could always see Draco’s true feelings manifesting themselves through his actions. This was how she knew that Draco Malfoy cared for Hermione Granger…

The night before was proof that even after two years, Draco still wondered about Hermione, ‘at the very least. Millie had seen his eyes…

Draco Malfoy’s eyes were also part of why she wanted to speak with Hermione. It was not just to inform her that Draco had returned to Britain, but that once again, the Malfoy heir had changed into something alien and new.

After that day when Draco had come to Rowena’s Respite for tea, he seemed to disappear from the face of the earth once again. Millie was shocked that her owl post to Draco was returned unanswered and that when she came to call on Draco at the Manor, she was turned away. After contacting his solicitor, the newly-hired Cormac McLaggen, Millie learned that Draco had left Britain for America on an extended business trip. It was not until almost a year after the tea that Millie had read that Draco Malfoy was suddenly the richest man in Britain. He had acquired his wealth by bringing Japanese shareholders into Britain as well as creating a firm to adapt Muggle technology for Wizarding uses. Somehow, everything the name Malfoy stood for was turned on its head and heading in a very different direction.

All of this information even Hermione knew, as it was a running theme on the business section of the Daily Prophet, along with the rising success of Longbottom Apothecaries, now an international business. The Firedrake Group, as it was called in Europe, New Zealand, Australia, and America; also had the name Ryu Zaibatsu in the East. Millie often caught Hermione muttering under her breath when reading the business section of the Prophet, especially if the stocks of the Firedrake Group went up, thus making Draco Malfoy a richer man.

“Ridiculous name… Presumptuous git…” she would mutter.

And that was all that was ever said when it came to Draco Malfoy. Millie had heard nothing more about the man from Hermione, for Hermione would never discuss anything that had happened while she had been away in Japan and Italy. All that Millie knew about Hermione’s travels proceeded from the time Hermione came from Italy with a raging Draco and a guilty-looking Viktor Krum. After the procedure on her leg, Hermione’s mouth shut tight about Draco Malfoy, and soon it seemed that the pale man slipped from time and memory once again. But Millie knew this was not truly so… Even without speaking about Draco, Millie knew that Hermione grieved his over absence from her life.

With a quivering hand, Millie knocked on the door she had lingered before nervously. A muffled voice bade her enter and Millie complied, the early morning sunlight blinding her as she identified Hermione’s svelte silhouette before the large plate glass window behind a massive office desk.

“Why are you here, Millie, you should be on leave!”

The hiss of shades slid down the windows and slowly Millie’s eyes adjusted to the figure that was moving around the desk to clear papers and books off a chair. Hermione’s voice was one of reproach, but Millie ignored it and manoeuvred herself to sit in the proffered chair that Hermione had set to rights.

“Tomorrow, I think. And good morning to you too, Hermione,” Millie growled harmlessly, thankful that Hermione’s office chairs were, at the very least, supportive of the lower back.

“I thought Neville said you were not coming in today,” Hermione sighed, stepping back to sit on the edge of her large and overflowing desk, a pile of parchments about to tip from the surface as Hermione scooted onto the desk. Millie studied Hermione’s pale face, finding that her eyes were smudged darkly from lack of sleep and that her hair was greasy from the hair products she had applied the night before. Millie would not have been surprised if Hermione had been wearing a cardigan over her evening dress, but Hermione had changed into a pair of slightly dusty jeans, a casual tank top under surprisingly, an ancient green cardigan.

“Never mind that, Hermione, I wanted to talk with you…” Millie started.

“I know. I was going to pop by this evening, but since you’re here now…” Hermione trailed, her eyes growing distant. “I’ve been worried about something, but I cannot put my finger on it…”

Millie tightened her lips together. Hermione’s empathy and sensitivity was a bit outrageous at times, and Millie considered not telling Hermione what she had seen the night before.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the discomfort in her back, Millie resolved herself and said: “Draco Malfoy was watching you last night. He was at the gala, and I saw Yuki Matsumoto speaking with him. Their conversation did not appear very friendly.”

Millie sighed when she finished having said almost everything she had wanted to say…and then prepared herself for Hermione’s reaction.

“Oh?”

Millie blinked; noticing that Hermione’s eyes were millions of miles away and so were, perhaps, her thoughts. Slowly, like a clarity potion taking hold, Hermione’s eyes moved to Millie’s.

“He was at the Gala?” she asked, in little more than a whisper.

Millie nodded; taking note that her friend seemed to pale in the face and her breathing became shallow. Rising to her swollen feet, Millie moved to Hermione’s side, wrapping an arm about her shoulders to keep her steady. Worst-case scenario, Hermione would hyperventilate and pass out, but Millie knew that Hermione was far stronger than that…

“And Yuki spoke with him?”

“Yes, but there’s more…”

Hermione fell against Millie’s shoulder, her entire frame trembling.

“What is it?” Hermione asked softly, her voice trembling as much, if not more, than her body.

“He seems different…his eyes are different…and I almost thought for a moment that it was not Draco, but it was, I have no doubt about it now.”

Hermione seemed to shake uncontrollably, but after a moment, she was still and pulled away from her friend. Wiping a hank of her hair behind her ear, Hermione slid down from the desk as if Millie’s words were simple greetings of ‘hello.’ Hermione smiled and moved around her desk to sit in her office chair while Millie scrutinized her friends’ face with worry.

“It is good that he is back in Britain, I suppose. It was a shame he did not come to speak with us, but I’m sure that he had plenty of more important people to speak with than old schoolmates,” Hermione enunciated brightly, her face very mask-like and her amber eyes again distant.

“Hermione…” Millie whispered with a hint of pity and exasperation. This had not been the reaction Millie had been expecting…at all.

Hermione fell silent, the mask beginning to crack.

“Why didn’t Yuki mention talking with…with Draco?” Hermione asked aloud, staring at the assorted pieces of parchment on her desk as if searching for something tangible underneath the chaos of her desk.

Millie bit her lip and then answered: “He probably did not want you to know. He probably did not want to mention that Draco was there because Yuki Matsumoto knew that it would take your attention away from him…”

At that, Hermione glanced up at Millie, her eyes wide. Hermione began worrying her lower lip between her teeth; a familiar gesture that Millie knew her friend was working some problem out in her head. “You’re more than likely correct, Millie.”

The two women stared at each other for a long moment in silence. It was no secret that Millie did not care much for Yuki Matsumoto, but as far as Millie knew, the man had been nothing but kind and true to Hermione. However, there was something imperceptible that kept Millie on edge any time the dark man was around, and it had nothing to do with the fact the newly-appointed Transfiguration professor at Hogwarts resembled her former Head of House. Yuki Matsumoto had insinuated himself into Hermione’s personal life, or so it seemed to Millie. From Hermione’s telling, Yuki was the sort of man who would be a friend, but in truth wanted to be a lover. Hermione called Yuki’s interest an infatuation, but to Millie it seemed more like an obsession. Instead of dating new people, Hermione went out with Yuki Matsumoto as friends, but everyone around Hermione believed the two to be lovers…

“What can I do, Millie? I cannot…” Hermione began, falling back into her chair; her arms limp at her sides.

Millie frowned. “You can do whatever you want, Hermione… Just because he left at the end of your agreement does not mean you have to pretend he does not exist. Obviously he was interested enough in you to spy on you from a distance…it’s just like school when he would stare at you across the Great Hall…” Millie trailed, her memory of those times before the War catching up to her.

Hermione said nothing more and after several minutes, Millie knew that nothing more would be said. With a huff and one last glance, Millie left the cluttered office. Standing just beyond the closed door, she clutched her fists and furrowed her dark brow.

“For such an intelligent woman, Hermione, you really are an idiot…” Millie muttered under her breath before waddling down the corridor to her own office, intent on writing a few letters to select people. The madness, pain, confusion, and subtle manipulations had to stop or Hermione Granger was going to crack. Millie could see the emotional exhaustion clearly on her friend’s face and it was time for intervention.



* * *


With a flash of green, Hermione terminated the Floo call with Yuki Matsumoto. She had said nothing of the fact that she knew Draco had been at the Gala, or that Millie had seen the two men conversing. Once again, she had to fend off his relentless and at, most times unwanted, insinuations and attentions. There had been so many times Hermione had almost given in, taken Yuki Matsumoto as a lover, and willingly tried to forget Draco Malfoy. She had dared herself to try Yuki, to see if he would be the type of lover that she had always dreamed of having…kind, considerate, protective, witty, and, most of all, sane.

At night, lying in her large bed in her little cottage, Hermione tried to fantasize raven hair streaming over her thighs and dark eyes gazing up at her from tasting her core, but always…always the strands of hair faded into silver and the eyes to the colour of a winter sky. Even the hands that touched her changed, one hand of flesh and the other of platinum metal… And it was always that image that pushed her over the edge into the chaos of climax.

Sometimes she thought she would go mad if she did not see him again, have him touch her again, and she wondered if somehow he had lied and had not released her from their oath. Her chest hurt dreadfully when she allowed herself to wonder about where he was, and if she had meant anything to him at all.

After his departure that night in her flat in London, she had received two more letters from Gringotts informing her that Draco had deposited money into her accounts, and that was the end of it. She did not see Draco, read about him in the papers, or hear any sort of gossip at all. The only thing that let her know that he was active at all was the sudden emergence of the Firedrake Group/Ryu Zaibatsu in the wizarding business world. The CFO was none other than Draco Severian Malfoy, and Hermione shuddered to think about who he had become in the world. He was powerful, and Hermione wondered if it had more to do with the parasitic artifact that served as an arm, or if Draco Malfoy was truly the one who was slowly financing the world, as witch and wizard knew it. It was a frightening line of thought for Hermione, and she slowly stopped paying such close attention to the Business section of the Prophet.

In the meantime, Hermione was busy with seemingly never-ending potions trials, testing, retesting, carefully examining her experiments for possible failures, analyzing and synthesizing new treatments for spell damaged nerves… It was her career, but sometimes, she wished she could go back in time to the point where she and Severus had holed themselves away in the tiny laboratory at the cottage, bantering back and forth about the arithmetic properties of the latest happy accident and the monotony of the method of replication in experiment. The stress factor in her current life was so significant that Hermione considered early retirement and isolation…she was not made to be a Potions Mistress and an administrator at the same time.

She had just turned thirty-one years old and yet she felt twice as old. It was the chill of an early autumn, she thought, and psychologically her leg tingled anticipating an ache which would never come again. It was a relief to be able to move again, but now she had no real excuse to refuse invitations to formal functions or informal ones as the result of’ a leg that ached constantly… Hermione sometimes wished she could still viably use the excuse to refuse Yuki.

Sitting back into her wing-backed chair before the large fireplace, Hermione summoned a glass and the bottle of Severus’ old brandy from the kitchen, and poured herself a generous portion. Mulling over what had to be done in the coming days, serious thoughts as to simply sending an owl or showing up on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor crossed her mind.

Now that Hermione knew Draco was in the same country, and only the night before had been in the same location, she was sure that something new was going to happen. There had been so much left unsaid, and so many questions unanswered.

Sipping on the brandy and trying not to cough, Hermione settled back into her chair, pulling her legs up under her, curling in on herself for added warmth. She was lonely, that much was undeniable, but she was not going to lower herself and her standards by accepting Yuki Matsumoto simply to relieve the itch in her libido. Yuki was too close, thus any sort of sexual liaison could not be possible without personal consequences. Besides that, Hermione could not imagine having any man other than the one who had left her tend her own broken heart.

Perhaps it was her own brand of vindictive madness, half of her wanting to see Draco Malfoy just to prove that she had successfully moved on without him, the other half wanting to throw herself at his feet and beg him to touch her… It was indeed a sort of madness when she thought about it long enough…this need to continue the twisted love/hate relationship between herself and a man she had loathed to varying degrees most of her life. Hermione Granger did not beg, she demanded.

And as she finished the last of the brandy in her glass, Hermione sighed. There was no demanding when it came to Draco Malfoy. If he wanted to look at her across crowded rooms without her notice, then so be it… What was the use in driving herself mad with wondering and impatient waiting for something to happen in her life? Just the mere mention of Draco Malfoy had shaken her to the core, and she refilled her snifter and began sipping anew.

As the warm and full flavour of the brandy filled her mouth and began to be absorbed into her blood, Hermione came to a half-drunken realization. She had spent so much of her time thinking of Draco Malfoy and all the impossible possibilities, the ‘what ifs,’ and ‘ ‘if onlys.’ She had given Draco Malfoy too much power, thus proving that she had somehow begun to depend on him, or at least on the idea of him.

Hermione let her empty glass roll from her fingers and to the floor, the glass clinking on the stone tile, and rolling toward the grate of the fire. She had depended on Draco Malfoy during those weeks while travelling, depended on his personality to infuriate her, puzzle her, tempt her, and charm her. He was mad with thoughts of the past and visions of the future, but he had also been one of the more interesting figures in her adult life. And no matter what she decided to do with herself, she was inevitably and irrefutably in love with Draco Malfoy now…and it was causing her more pain than she cared to experience ever again.



* * *


The reply to the letter came very early in the morning while Millie was having breakfast in the parlour of her home. Neville had left early for the office, hoping to be home before dinner. Millie had finally relented to staying home, so close to term was she was, that everyone was merely waiting for her labour pains to start at any moment. The problem was, or so Millie thought, that her child was in no hurry to be born.

“And no wonder,” Neville had said many times, “look how busy his parents are and how hectic our lives are…do you think that our son wants to be born when we are so obviously unprepared and preoccupied?”

Millie could only smirk. She was growing tired of the swollen belly, the swollen ankles, and the swift kicks to her diaphragm. But the letter, sitting just by her cup of weak tea, was pushing all thoughts of the child in her womb from her mind.

Tentatively, Millie snatched up the letter and did not bother to open the letter neatly or think about how nicely the green wax seal with the Malfoy crest complimented the cream colour of the high-priced stationary. Instead, she unfolded the single sheaf letter without preamble.

Eyes scanning the sharply penned writing, Millie huffed as she read the sender’s name.

Draco Malfoy was coming to dinner, and Millie only hoped that Neville would keep a civil tongue and demeanour. Her husband was just as concerned about Draco Malfoy as Millie was…perhaps not so much for the sake of their good friend, Hermione Granger, but for the fact that Draco Malfoy was becoming powerful, so powerful that there had been rumours that the Firedrake Group might buy Longbottom Apothecaries. It was rumour and rumour alone.

Millie turned her mind back to the letter she had sent. After so many letters, Millie finally received a response and now she wondered what to expect. She now had to make quick arrangements, give quick orders to the elves and send a quick note to Neville to expect a guest.



* * *


Neville sighed when the knock sounded on the front door. Nodding to the house-elf, Simsky, the front door of Rowena’s Respite opened, and an icy pre-winter breeze blew inside the entryway and around Neville’s face, ruffling his tawny hair. In the doorway stood a black-cloaked figure, hooded and appearing to be more Dementor than man. However, as the figure stepped inside and the door was shut to the cool wind of the outdoors, the hood was pushed away and Neville’s eyes narrowed.

Draco Malfoy stood as regal as ever with silver hair, pale skin, patrician nose and powerfully built figure, but as Neville met his old schoolmate’s eyes, the Gryffindor felt all of his innate courage and power drain from his body akin to losing all air from his lungs and strength from his limbs. Draco Malfoy was Draco Malfoy, for the most part, but Neville felt as if he were staring eye to eye with a monster. It struck Neville Longbottom at that moment, as Draco doffed his cloak to pass it to the trembling elf; that it was no wonder Draco had become so powerful financially…he was a singular presence, demanding one’s total attention, compliance, and obedience.

“Good evening, Longbottom,” he said softly and so unexpectedly that Neville had to catch his breath. This was not the man who had come to his home two years before. Neville felt as if he should draw his wand to defend himself, however he also felt cowed to acquiesce to every soft word that fell from the pale man’s mouth.

“E-evening, Malfoy, would you care for a drink before dinner? I do not think the dining room is quite ready to receive us, and Millie is still fussing with her hair…” Neville said just as softly, only to blink rapidly at how articulate and how artificial his words sounded.

Draco merely nodded as Neville found himself leading the way into his personal study. And by the time the drinks were poured and Neville stood by the fire, he felt his strength return, having not realized how cold he had become…as if his soul had been sucked from his body by a Dementor. Now, with Draco Malfoy scanning the titles in the shelves along the walls, Neville could assess the man and as he watched his old schoolmate and house rival, he concluded that Draco Malfoy had somehow magically modified himself. Draco did not appear to be thirty, nor did he appear to be any younger than thirty. Neville had always thought that Draco Malfoy had a strange fey quality about him, but he felt this peculiarity more so now than ever before. His eyes were the point in which Neville was certain to see a magical change of sorts. The orbs that scanned the spines of Neville’s books were in most instances the familiar Malfoy gray, however, they glowed red or amber as they moved from place to place, luminescent and strange. It was a warm amber that gazed at Neville now, suffusing to the cold gray of slate that Neville remembered all too well from his school days.

“I hear that soon you are to be a father, Longbottom,” Malfoy commented before throwing back the last of his drink, his shaggy silver hair rustling as he moved. “Congratulations.”

Draco’s eyes fell to the empty glass in his gloved hands, and it was the first time Neville noticed the thin black leather gloves that seemed to mould to Malfoy’s slender hands and forearms. The more Neville studied Draco Malfoy, the more he noted how peculiar his clothing was…a mixture of Wizarding and Muggle fashion, and though it suited the pale haired man, it was odd all the same.

“Have you decided on a name?” Draco continued, his eyes flickering across Neville’s blank face.

Neville straightened; his guest’s attempt at conversation was unsettling. Draco Malfoy had never been so civil and suddenly Neville felt very uncomfortable, he was not being much of a host. Feign civility if he had to, that was what Millie had commanded.

“Frank…after my father. Millie was the one to pick it out, she thought it would be a fitting homage,” Neville said after a moment, wanting to gauge Malfoy’s reaction but not look into Malfoy’s eyes.

The platinum head moved to nod in agreement, and suddenly Neville no longer had to struggle to talk to his guest for Simsky announced that Millie was waiting in their humble dining room…dinner was served.