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“So, today’s the day?”
Hyacinth hums in confirmation, not taking her eyes off of the athame that she’s been twirling between her hands for the past ten minutes. There is no part of her that wavers or flinches away from what she’s about to do, but ever since she received her parents’s permission to act and been gifted the Potter family Offering item, an incessant build-up of apprehension has begun prodding at the back of her mind.
If the person of her desire doesn’t reciprocate her feelings, she can—and will—live with that. What she doesn’t think she can accept so gracefully is if this upcoming revelation ruins the current relationship she has managed to hold with him after spending their first several years of knowing one another locked into a rivalry that always teetered the edge of genuine enmity.
In essence, today…well…
Today will make or break her. Even if she doesn’t stay broken, she doesn’t know if she has the same strength of will as her father; who fearlessly withstood her mother’s scrutiny during the entirety of their time together at Hogwarts and tirelessly worked towards his own personal growth until he could become a man worthy of being her lord-husband.
“You’re going to do great.”
The sheer steel behind those words, almost turning them into an order that Fate isn’t allowed to tamper with, is what invites Hyacinth to look up and face her present company.
Hermione, who has been letting Hyacinth stay with her in her Prefect’s Suite so that their other dorm mates can’t gawk at the sight of the Potter Offering item or start gossiping about who it could be for, stands from her desk chair. She makes no move to join Hyacinth at the edge of her bed, just stands in place and offers the ravenette a small but encouraging smile.
“And everything will work out. I’ve stood at your side for the past six years; witnessed the antics you two get up to no matter who can see you, witnessed your relationship evolve, watched you two grow—trust me, contrary to what your younger rivalry may suggest, you two are well suited for one another.”
Well, at least her friend has confidence in her.
“Let’s hope he sees it that way as well.” Hyacinth smiles back. She can feel how shaky it is, especially compared to Hermione’s expression, and she hates it.
She’s the sole heiress to the Proud and Honorable House of Potter, damnit! The ferocity of the Potters’ devotion has been imprinted into her very soul since she was conceived in her mother’s womb and the boldness with which Potters gift their hearts has been something she’s taken pride in since she was old enough to truly comprehend what loving someone truly meant. She is also praised as a child of love—raised in a household where it was a sword and a shield; bred from a bloodline that literally lists ‘love’ in their family motto; and surrounded by kin who would burn the world down for each other and for her.
Love shouldn’t frighten her! Even though she acknowledges that admitting to your own love can be a scary thing at times, she still despises how that fear has the potential to get in the way of her mission.
She can’t let any uncertainty stop her from pursuing her current interest. She just can’t! She knows herself well enough to know that she’ll never forgive herself if she lets fear—as understandable and unmistakable as it is—keep her from reaching out.
Hermione nods, her smile turning the slightest bit wicked as she adds: “If he doesn’t, and he’s foolish enough to break your heart, I’ll have no problem Transfiguring him into a ferret for Buckbeak. It’s been a while since we’ve found time to visit Hagrid for something other than class work anyway.”
Hyacinth can’t help it; she bursts out laughing, both at the thought of what Draco Malfoy would look like as a ferret (unfairly cute, most likely) and at the knowledge that Hermione wouldn’t say such a thing unless she absolutely meant it. Her friend, who is arguably one of her closest and most treasured confidants after all of the time they’ve spent together in school and as a result of the Proud and Honorable House of Potter Sponsoring Hermione, is fully prepared to assassinate an heir of a respected Ancient House to protect Hyacinth’s heart.
It’s not humorous in a traditional sense, just heartwarming. Something Hermione seems to catch onto as well, if her quiet accompanying chuckles are anything to go by.
“Thanks for having my back, ‘Mione.” Hyacinth wheezes out as her laughter dies down. Replacing the uncontrollable fit is a soft, earnest tone that she hopes conveys the true depth of her gratitude.
“Always, Cyn.” Hermione’s eyes shine with her own sincerity. “How could I ever not?”
Hyacinth has no answer. No answer that words can properly express, at any rate. The only thing she can bring herself to do is set aside the Offering athame and push herself up from the edge of Hermione’s bed. She crosses the distance between it and the desk within seconds, and doesn’t wait for Hermione to fully lean forward before reaching out and dragging her into a hug. It’s awkward with the desk still between them, but Hyacinth doesn’t care. She squeezes Hermione with as much strength as is safe for a hug, and lets herself relax in her friend’s hold when Hermione immediately reciprocates.
“We’ll always have each other’s backs.” Hyacinth whispers. It’s not a magical vow, but a promise in its own way.
“Always.” Hermione nods into the little juncture between Hyacinth’s shoulder and jawline.
With her best friend at her side, the fear that Hyacinth despises so much suddenly feels much smaller.
∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾∾
Hyacinth remains with Hermione until lunch is upon them. At which point, she slips the Potter family Offering item into the right sleeve of her robe, keeps it pressed right up against the holster-bracelet securing her wand to her person, and joins the other girl in journeying to the Great Hall. Neither of them speak during the whole trek. Hyacinth takes the time to banish any and all remaining thoughts of hesitance or doubt from her mind, and Hermione remains a sturdy presence at her side.
When they reach the double-doors, an abundance of voices—conversations, jokes, complaints, laughter, groans, grumbles—can already be heard from the other side. Hyacinth prays that her desired one is part of that cacophony. She cannot bear to wait too long to present herself to him and bear his judgment.
Hermione is the one to push one of the doors open, and upon leading Hyacinth inside with a gentle hold on her left wrist, she directs both of their attention to the Slytherin table with a subtle turn of her head.
Hyacinth’s prayers must have been heard and answered, for Malfoy is sitting in his usual spot. He’s surrounded by his chosen court and smirking as he no doubt regales them with a recollection of the latest drama that he’s gotten his hands on or something he’s been a part of.
He’s as handsome as ever, the spoiled prat. While his blonde hair is no longer gelled back as it was during his First and Second Year, it still manages to sweep neatly across his forehead as if it’s been purposefully styled. In the castle’s lighting, it has a clean shine, looking as if he’s found a way to start storing magic inside of the locks despite having no way of doing so. To this day, only witches—either born or having transitioned—can do such a thing.
His face has lost a lot of the harsh pointiness that once made him appear more gaunt than any child should, though it retained its more defined and matured features. He has a sharp jawline and flawless cheekbones, accompanied by the fairest of complexions and cool grey eyes that turn to liquid silver whenever his temper flares or his competitiveness peaks. It truly is the face of an aristocrat.
Hyacinth is unashamed to admit that his face has caught her eye many times. Even when she was still battling through the various thoughts and non-romantic feelings she possessed for him, she wasn’t so blind as to deny that there was something about the turn of his face that caught the eye of many passerbys.
Though, that isn’t to say that it’s his face—or even his overall appearance, as fit and powerful as years spent on the Quidditch pitch has helped make him—that has managed to tug at her heart after years of knowing the Malfoy heir. Since the start of their Fourth Year, coincidentally a time when their once childish and petty rivalry turned into something more respectful and (dare she say it) fun, Hyacinth noticed that the way she perceived their interactions was much more flattering compared to previous confrontations.
These days, Malfoy’s eagerness to challenge her or accept any challenge she poses to him isn’t about putting her down or completely destroying her self-confidence. It’s not a battle of self-esteem, where malice is thrown between them more intensely than a Quaffle is thrown around the pitch in a Quidditch match. It’s not a game of who can hurt the other more.
As of Fourth Year, Malfoy’s constant need to seek out Hyacinth’s attention for something or other has felt like a beckoning. It has felt like a call that he knows she won’t deny, and a bid to hold her attention for as long as possible. It has felt like a mutual exchange of skill and deference; a constant push-and-pull that’s (in its own way) forced Hyacinth to push herself past her full potential should she want to keep up with Malfoy.
More than that, it has felt freeing. It has felt like she’s been invited to stand by someone who understands all aspects of her character. Malfoy has seen her at her best and her worst—something that only her bloodkin and Hermione can claim. He’s seen her triumph and approved of her tenacity (any congratulations could be argued to have been done begrudgingly even if they were sincere). He’s seen her fall and urged her to get back up; in his own unique ‘Malfoy way’, of course. He’s seen her bulldoze her way through the many obstacles she’s been presented with during her time at Hogwarts, and often joined her as a spectator whose mere presence helped hone her drive or a companion who advanced with her. He’s seen her on the rare occasions where giving up was a tempting option, and refused to watch her stay down. He’s seen her rest and offered her the courtesy of peace in those still moments.
Most importantly, he’s seen her when she wasn’t the Gryffindor Golden Girl. He’s seen her when she was behaving particularly naive, foolish, vindictive, even dark when the situation demanded it from her. He’s seen her fight for second chances when it was a widely-held belief that traitors and disgraces deserved none. He’s seen her get lost in the passion of the fight—to get lost in the rigidity of what she thought to be true—only to later realize that she had been wrong. He’s seen her rage and scheme and avenge loved ones who have been wronged.
Be it dousing all of Zarcharias Smith’s clothes with so much Everlasting Itching Powder that he ripped his own skin off while trying to bring himself relief after she caught him trying to sabotage Neville’s Herbology project back in their Third Year. One that her Godbrother had been working on since the start of that summer, one that Professor Sprout was excited to hear about, one that Neville was proud of! It was unfortunate that Lord and Lady Smith pushed their son to be the ‘perfect’ Hufflepuff—which must have translated into being the best student in the class literally taught by their Head of House—but that didn’t give Heir Smith the right to mess with Neville’s passion project.
Be it by sneaking into the Dungeons with the use of her Invisibility Cloak and leaving so many Dungbombs behind that breathing had been difficult for the entirety of Slytherin House for a whole month. She didn’t care that Goyle didn’t mean for Ron to fall off of the moving staircase when he shoulder-checked the redheaded Gryffindor. Poor Ron’s whole arm, from shoulder to wrist, had been broken after landing on it wrong! The end result ‘being an accident’ didn’t change the fact that the action itself was done purposefully.
Be it breaking into Ravenclaw Tower so she could curse Marietta Edgecomb and Cho Chang with excruciating boils that lasted a year after hearing of their latest actions against Luna. Merlin and Morganna knew that they deserved worse after what they’d subjected the blonde girl to, and what they let other Ravenclaws do to Hyacinth’s innocent friend. She hated bullies, it was that simple.
Be it issuing an Honor Duel in the middle of an important gala at the Ministry because some upstart who thought she was way more important than she actually was dared to try to talk down to Hyacinth’s mother on account of her being a muggleborn. Hyacinth didn’t care that she had completely shattered Dolores Umbridge’s hopes of ever showing her face in the Ministry again, or that she had technically eviscerated someone who was old enough to be her grandmother. So long as the humiliation of her shameful defeat kept Umbridge from bad-mouthing anyone, especially someone from the Proud and Honorable House of Potter, Hyacinth refused to feel a lick of guilt for any harm she caused.
And Malfoy, who has either heard of her deeds through the Devil’s Snare vines or been there as a witness to her ‘vigilantism’, knew that. He knew that even if she tried not to rely on the darker urges that promised vengeance, she still refused to mourn the loss of her innocence should she be called to act.
He’s seen all of her, and he accepted it. He accepted all of it.
His ability to give her that type of freedom and acceptance had been the final nail on the coffin when she had finally taken the chance to sit down and sort through her feelings. On top of everything else she noticed about him and their interactions.
“Go get him, Cyn.” Hermione squeezes Hyacinth’s hand once and offers the shorter girl a wink when she turns to glance at her friend.
Hyacinth nods, then allows Hermione to separate from her and find a good seat for her meal.
Here goes nothing.
Taking a deep breath, Hyacinth glides towards the tables and benches that the Slytherin House usually claims during meal times. She has to walk around the head of the table to get to the right side, where she eventually finds her way to Malfoy’s left. A Gryffindor making their way to the Slytherin table is already noteworthy enough, the fact that it’s Heiress Potter seeking out Heir Malfoy makes it all the more difficult for students to want to ignore what could be happening.
Malfoy most of all. As soon as she starts her journey to the head of the Slytherin aisle, his eyes are on her. They may have even glanced at her when she entered and she was too lost in thought to notice it. He abandons the conversation he’d been a part of entirely, and follows her with his gaze. It’s a heady feeling; knowing that she’s the one who commands his attention. More than that, seeing that his attention is bathed in visible excitement as she rounds the head of the table and starts towards him. There’s a distinct gleam in his eye, one that she’s seen several times when they were racing against one another in a Quidditch match or were locked in a stimulating discussion that only seemed like an argument to those who didn’t understand them and their way of interacting.
He’s waiting for her to do something. He wants her to do something.
Coming to stand slightly behind him, she waits until he turns to fully face her before taking the lead.
With the speed of a striking viper, Hyacinth allows the Potter family Offering item to slip from her sleeve until she can grab the handle. Then she stabs it into the table, right next to Malfoy’s plate and where his left hand had been resting seconds ago. She releases her hold on it as soon as she’s confident that it will remain stuck in the table, and holds his shocked gaze with her own determined one.
“Your move.” She murmurs, taking care to only speak as loudly as she needs to in order for Malfoy to hear her. Everyone else’s reactions and commentary are irrelevant, and likely will be for the foreseeable future.
Malfoy remains shocked for a handful of minutes. Though his eyes never leave hers, she can see the fingers of his left hand twitch from where he’s allowed his hand to rest in his lap after turning to face her. At first, she doesn’t know what he’s trying to communicate with his rapid gestures. It looks like he’s fidgeting, but that’s always been something she’s more likely to do than him. She’s seen him hold himself to the same discipline as a marble statue during times of great stress. Plus, she can almost sense an intention behind the way his fingers curl into talon-like formations before releasing the tension, and then repeating the process.
It’s what she’s seen some people do when they’re preparing to draw their wand. Usually for a duel, but occasionally for more trivial reasons as well.
He’s…he’s not actually going to…to…
Malfoy’s not actually going to draw his wand on her, right?
Even rejected Offerings don’t usually end in fights. Not unless the person making the Offering behaves extremely crassly during the process, or foolishly offends the person they’re Offering for.
Both of which Hyacinth is not guilty of. At least, she’s pretty confident she’s not guilty of offending Malfoy in how she’s gone about her declaration. Then again, hmmm…
Would he have wanted something more private? Hyacinth had debated it when she committed to owling her parents about her intention to Offer for him, but decided against it. One, as a way of proving how serious she was about her interest in him and how she was unashamed of admitting her feelings about him, regardless of whether or not he returned them. Two, at the time, she hadn’t thought he’d be overly bothered by it. Malfoy, in an endearing way, acted like the peacocks at Malfoy Manor. He called for attention and basked in it, as a growing expert in working the room and a dutiful heir who knew he’d one day be the face of the Cunning and Ambitious House of Malfoy.
Was she wrong in her reasoning? Would Malfoy have actually appreciated something more private and intimate?
Had she accidentally made this about showing him off rather than-?
“You choose me?” Malfoy’s voice snaps Hyacinth back to reality before panic can overtake her. There’s an awed quality to his tone that is simultaneously wonderful to hear and painful to accept.
She doesn’t think he doubts the sincerity of her Offer. The number of people who have ever doubted the genuinity of a Potter’s devotion can be counted on one hand, and that encompassed the entire history of their bloodline. So, in that regard, she’s safe in the knowledge that it’s not disbelief that acts as the root of his awe.
(Her fondness would turn to indignance if she thought, for even a moment, that he was entertaining the idea that she’d fake this type of interest in anyone.)
On the other side of things, there’s something almost, dare she say it, insecure about his words and his timbre. Even if he doesn’t doubt her and her feelings, it’s almost as if he lacks present confidence in himself. Whether he actually IS the wixen who’s captured and held her favor. Whether he actually IS the wixen who’s earned the right to her first Offer. Whether he actually IS the wixen she’s marked as her equal. Whether he actually IS the wixen she’s singled out as someone who could potentially be her future lord-husband.
All of that in three words. All of that in one question.
“You really choose me?”
“I do.” Hyacinth nods sharply. No questions, no hesitation, no regrets. And, if Malfoy is amendable, she plans to leave no room for wasted time either. “I’ve already worked with Mama and Papa to draft up a contract. If I receive your permission, I’ll ask them to send it to your parents for review.”
Malfoy nods slowly, his awe losing the uncertain element it hid from the common eye and leaving behind only the pure wonder of someone who’s been amazed.
His left hand leaves his lap and quickly grabs at the Potter athame. Getting it out of the wood of the table takes some rough handling on his part, but once it’s free, he treats it with the same reverence that an Offering item from a the Olde and Divine House of Emrys would receive. His gaze is respectfully solemn as he alternates between staring at the stainless blade and marveling at the handle, where everyone knows the Peverell Blood Diamonds reside. The fingers of his right hand delicately dance across the surface, starting at the sharp point of the blade’s tip and migrating down until he can trace the starry pattern the Peverell Blood Diamonds have been designed to mimic. His body shields it from the view of other students; even his own Housemates, his council, are intentionally blocked from ogling the Potter Offering item as he handles it.
Less than a minute of having it in his hands, and he’s already possessive of it.
Hyacinth has to bite her lip to keep herself from giggling at the sheer adorableness of Malfoy’s behavior.
She has no way of keeping track of how long Malfoy gapes at the athame, it could be five minutes more or an hour more. All she knows is that it’s just long enough that she’s allowed herself to relax into tranquility before he makes his next move.
Head leisurely tilting up, Malfoy brings the athame up with him until he’s sitting straight once more. Eyes locked onto Hyacinth, he continues to raise the Potter family Offering item until it matches the height of his lips. There, he promptly kisses the edge of the blade, refraining from cutting himself on the metal but unafraid to touch it and the protective magic enchanted into it.
He doesn’t blink.
His eyes turn to that liquid silver that Hyacinth has always associated with anger or competitiveness. It burns with passion now; with want, with need, with hunger.
“Send the contract.” His whisper bleeds of impatience, though his words aren’t sharp enough to be an order. In fact, his delivery reminds Hyacinth more of a plea. “Tonight. Please.”
Hyacinth raises a brow teasingly. “Can’t promise you’ll get it tonight. That’s a little soon, don’t you think?”
Malfoy shakes his head a little too aggressively. “Not soon enough.”
Ugh, this demanding, adorable little brat.
“Tomorrow morning at the latest.” Hyacinth promises. “That’ll still give us plenty of time to make plans for next weekend, hmmm?”
Malfoy’s responding nod is as aggressive as his head-shake was. In that moment, it occurs to Hyacinth that, perhaps, she should refrain from admitting that she’s been brainstorming potential courtship dates ever since she realized she’d truly be Offering for Heir Draco Malfoy. He might just fly out of Hogwarts and to Malfoy Manor on his broom if she does, if only so he can be there when his parents get the contract.
And as cute—as sweet—as that image is, it won’t do. He can save his excitement for when their first courtship date is actually upon them.