"It's not hurting me and I'm definitely not complaining about my hair or any of this," Hermione replied. "But honestly, I'd feel better if I knew why and to what extent it's going to affect me."
Harry pulled her back into his arms. "Okay, we'll send the owl tomorrow, but for now I'm just glad your feet are better."
"We'll see if they stay that way when we're running again tomorrow."
"Do we really want to meet this Marl person?"
"Mr. Delacour trusts him and he seems to know his stuff."
"Yeah I guess," Harry replied. "It's just... I don't want you or Fleur or Gabrielle hurting because of me."
A flash of hardness appeared in Hermione's eyes as she sat up and stared at Harry. "And how much hurt would we suffer if something happened to you and a few blisters would have prevented it? If this Marl person can make me better in preventing anything from happening to you or Fleur or Gabrielle, then I'll suffer whatever it takes just like you would and so will Fleur and Gabrielle. We are all in this together. We know it, we accept it and you better too."
Harry was caught off guard by the resolve in Hermione's voice and could only nod.
"Besides, I am muggleborn and Fleur and Gabrielle are Veela. All of us would be persecuted by the pureblood sentiment that Voldemort believes in," Hermione put her head on Harry's shoulder as she continued in a softer voice. "Even if we weren't bonded with you, we would need something like this to fight back. I think that is what Professor Dumbledore is thinking when he made that offer to Fleur. Even as she teaches others to defend themselves, we can keep practicing what we learn this summer and learn more."
Harry pulled Hermione tighter into his arms. It seemed impossible that he was the one that must kill Voldemort, but he did truly believe the three women he loved were brilliant. If anyone could help him do it, it would be them. He found himself stroking her hair. He let out a sigh. "I just wished..." his voice trailed off as Hermione put a finger on his lips.
"Don't fret about what we can't change," Hermione whispered softly. "You will do it. I know you will and we'll be there helping in whatever way it takes."
"But how?"
Hermione shrugged. "We'll find a way, but I know that you are going to have to believe in yourself as much as we believe in you. Now enough about that, you don't want to spoil my night with you do you?"
"Definitely not," Harry replied with a smile.
"Good," Hermione replied as her hand started running across his chest as she laid her head on his shoulder.
After several minutes of caressing they finally drifted off to sleep with Hermione snuggled into Harry's chest breathing in the smell of the man she loved. A very large smile was upon her lips.
.....
In a small fenced plot of land on a large estate, a young man sat staring at the headstone of his father. Tears threatened to come through his stoic exterior facade as he continued his vigil. Finally as the light started to fade the young man made a quiet vow to his departed father. With one last glance he turned and walked slowly out of the small family cemetery toward the large Manor House. Behind him the final rays of sunlight seemed to linger on the white marble monument that read.
Lucius Malfoy
Beloved Father and Husband
1954-1995
Inside the Manor home, Narcissa Malfoy sat in her music room drinking a cup of tea as she listened to music that reminded her of years gone by. This was the only room in the large mansion that did not have reminders of her husband. The last week had been very rough as she found out just how loyal her friends were. She and Draco had stood alone while her husband was lowered into the ground. Though several business acquaintances and people she once considered friends were there, none of them offered anything beyond a simply worded condolences and then departed as soon as the dirt was in place over her husband's grave. Since that time no one had been by to check in on her or to offer any support. As she absentmindedly stirred her tea she thought. "Only when you are in your deepest needs do you find out how shallow you life really is."
Narcissa heard the back door open and soon she saw the blond hair of her son pass by the doorway.
"Draco," she called.
It was several moments before he returned and entered the room. "Yes?" He asked in a cold voice.
"How are you?" She asked softly.
"Fine."
Narcissa tried to engage her son in conversation but he continued to give one word answers. Finally she got to a point she had been thinking of. "I've been thinking that we should move," She started. "This place..."
"No," Draco responded, still in the cold emotionless voice. "This is my father's home and I will not leave it."
"But..."
"I said no mother," Draco's gray eyes still help no emotions. "My father was a great man. I will do what he set out to do. You can go where you wish. I can take care of myself," He turned and left the room without another word.
Narcissa stared as she watched her son leave. She tried to see through the words and figure out what her fifteen year old son meant. She sighed as she brought the tea cup to her lips once more. "He saw only the best of his father. He never saw the grovelling at his master's feet or the wickedness Lucius did when he wanted something. Now I fear Draco will follow his father on the same path that led to the grave Lucius now lies in."
....
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