Lady Malfoy

[Julia Darline Evans]

“Those?” Ron asked, wide eyed. “I’m not wearing Malfoy’s underwear.” , eritihea osa

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Humm, mulle järsku käib see fic närvidele. Mitu osa sel on üldse ?

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Järsku? kahju..see on kirjutamisel, tehtud on 21 osa.

[Lana Marye Allen]

Ainult 21 osa? Mulle meeldib nii et pane seda ikka edasi üles

[Lissandra Sylvania]

In this chapter: Hermione discovers that her stay at Malfoy Manor may be cut short while ghosts of Draco's past come back to him.

Chapter 12 : Trust Issues

“So, she’s a ghost?”

“Not really… it’s hard to describe…”

Hermione and Ron sat beside each other on the huge canopy bed in her room. It was almost three in the morning and neither of them felt the least bit sleepy – all their attention and energy was devoted to this mystery that lay within the mansion. Eli had long retired to bed after cleaning up dinner and after wishing them both good night, set up Ron’s room right across the hall from Hermione’s.

“Well, it does us no good unless we know what she is,” Ron said, stating the obvious.

“Not necessarily,” Hermione disagreed.

“What do you mean?” Ron said, squinting to get a better look at her expression.

The light in the room was dim, faint enough that the room wasn’t black but not bright enough that Hermione and Ron could see each other clearly. “I mean,” Hermione began, “that maybe… maybe if we know how to stop her, we can figure out what she is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All creatures, ghosts, whatever you call them… they all have special characteristics that define the way they live, the things they do. Right?” Hermione looked at Ron, though for the most part she was trying to convince herself that her thoughts sounded coherent.

“Right,” Ron agreed.

“And when you destroy someone or something,” she began, struggling with the words and trying to make sense of them in her own head. “When you destroy them, you essentially try to take away those very characteristics, reducing the creatures to nothing but shells after which, you can just dispose of them.”

Ron’s expression became confused. “What defines this woman?” he asked.

“The flames,” Hermione answered. “The flames leave distinct marks unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.” She placed her hand over her burns and rubbed them gently.

“She inhabits the darkest parts of the mansion,” Ron said, remembering the story Hermione had told him.

“And, she’s vengeful. I don’t think she has any consciousness or a mind of her own – just the basic animal instincts, just the thought of survival.”

Ron folded his legs on the bed and placed his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on his legs. “That is unusual,” he agreed. “But where does that lead us?”

“If we backtrack from the spells that Malfoy used to try and stop her,” Hermione stared, “then we can figure out what characteristic it was that he was trying to destroy.”

“If at all,” Ron finished.

“What do you mean?”

“What if he wasn’t trying to destroy her?” Ron asked. “What if… he was trying to ward her off? Scare her away?”

The faint candles flickered gently as a gust of wind blew in through the window. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to warm herself while Ron got up and shut the window, loudly. “You said it yourself,” he told Hermione. “You told me that both times you got caught up in this mess, there was a white light so we can assume that the same spell was used. But she came back the second time, so that spell doesn’t destroy her.”

“Well that leaves us with two options: either he was trying to save himself and her or she just can’t be destroyed. I guess the spe-”

“What spell did Malfoy use?” Ron asked, suddenly.

Hermione felt a lump in her throat. Her story had been edited out extensively for the purpose of Ron’s sanity and the imperius curse was one of those edited out details. “I don’t remember,” she said finally.

“But…you were…there, right?” he asked.

“Well, yes. But I didn’t hear him…” she said, trying to mask the shakiness in her voice. “He was just really far away.”

“Oh,” Ron said quietly. “Alright.”

“But I know it was dark magic,” Hermione said, immediately after. She tried to strain her memory into remembering the words Malfoy had forced her to say but her mind came up blank, the imperius curse was too strong.

“Well that doesn’t really help.”

“It does,” Hermione said quickly. “Think about it. If it takes dark magic to destroy then there’s a very good chance that it’s not listed with the Department of Magical Creatures’ regular threats. So that eliminates over half the possibilities – including a banshee.”

Despite Hermione’s adrenaline rush, her eyelids had begun to carelessly droop over his eyes and she knew that sleep was wavering over her. She turned to Ron and saw him yawning as well and felt a pang of guilt hit her as she realized that he’d been without sleep for over 24 hours because of her. The darkness in the room was now crawling over every inch of the walls as the candles were beginning to die out. The creaking of the branches was audible outside against the howling wind as Hermione turned back to Ron.

“That’s enough for tonight,” she said, placing her hands into Ron’s. “It’s time to sleep.”

“You’re right,” Ron agreed. “We’re getting way too worked about this.”

“I know.”

“It won’t even matter once you leave.”

“What?” Hermione asked, her eyes were sharp now as if it were broad daylight instead of early morning.

“When you leave,” Ron said, confused. “You don’t plan on living here, I hope.”

“No, no… I mean, I can’t just leave.”

“I spoke to Skeid a few days ago and he told me that there’s really nothing to worry about. Whoever it was that they were afraid of, well, he’s not coming. There have been no more killings.”

Hermione sat still for a few minutes. “That’s…great,” she said but couldn’t hide the uncertainty in her voice. Part of her wanted to return home to her normal life and finally put the whole Lestrange thing behind her but another part of her wondered if Lestrange would really quit so soon. And, another extremely tiny part – though she hated to admit it- of her felt the disappointment in leaving behind the unsolved mystery of Malfoy Manor.

Ron didn’t really notice Hermione’s pensive expression and got up off the bed to grab a blanket from the closet. “I’m not going to leave until the official release comes from the Ministry,” Hermione said slowly.

“That won’t take long,” Ron said casually. “A week, at the most.”

Why did she feel so upset about leaving? It’s not like she had planned to spend her life here at the Manor. Hadn’t she been so worked up a week ago about wanting to leave? Why now did she feel so indifferent to the idea of going back home?

The answer was, of course, clear in her head. The ghost. It wasn’t Malfoy, it wasn’t the luxurious existence and the constant pampering from Eli… it was the ghost. It was the hollow shell of a woman that patrolled the castle at all times, carrying with her the mystery of this ancient Manor.

Ron had grabbed a thick brown blanket that went so perfectly with the gold trimmings on the bed. As he climbed into bed and covered both himself and Hermione with it, she felt the warmth of the soft material against her skin and sleep clouding over her eyes.

“A week,” she mumbled to herself sleepily as Ron put his arms around her. That would be enough time. “That looks nice on you, by the way,” Ron said, gesturing at the small necklace around Hermione’s hand which she’d been holding subconsciously.

“Oh,” she said, realizing that she was still gripping it and released it. “It’s my good luck charm.”

The little rock in her hand fell loose against her neck and hung around the chain. She smiled, remembering the night her father had given her the little ivory rock and hung it in a chain around her neck. Tears fell out of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks and resting on her chin. The candles in the room blew out and all was dark, changing the environment into one that was conducive to the sleep that both Ron and Hermione had been deprived of.

Within minutes, both were in a dazed world of dreams.
---
“I’m afraid this is all the accommodation I can offer you,” Lestrange said, gesturing to an old bed frame with stacked cushions on top of it. “It grows on you.”

Draco looked at it sourly and pursed his lips slightly, thinking warily of his lavish, king-sized bed with cushions made from the softest feathers in the country. “Right,” he grunted.

He grabbed his leather rucksack and placed it gingerly beside the frame where it stood out against the old, beat out furniture in all its elegance. “Get some sleep, kiddo,” Lestrange said in a dim voice. “It’s been a long night.”

Draco straightened up and faced his uncle carefully. Up close, he realized that he was much taller than Lestrange who seemed to shrink against Draco’s six foot tall body. Draco felt oddly reassured and cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” he started.

Lestrange flashed his rotten teeth in a smile. “Fire away,” he said darkly.

“Before, when you were in Austrailia,” he began, his voice was confident and bold without a single hesitation. “There were rumours…”

“Well there are always rumours, dear boy.”

“Well, these were more than just pieces of gossip: reports were filed and investigations issued.”

“Regarding what?”

Draco’s expressionless face drew out the moment before he spoke. “Hermione Granger.”

Lestrange didn’t flinch or become defensive in any where after hearing that name. “Ah,” he said with a foreboding smile on his face. “That’s just some unfinished business, Draco. Don’t trouble yourself with it.”

Malfoy became impatient and extremely offended. “Anything that you plan on doing within the next few months is my business,” he said, carefully adjusting his voice.

Lestrange looked at Draco for a second and cocked his eyebrow. “I suppose so.”

“Well then, it’s necessary that you do not do anything foolish while you’re under my roof.” Again, the rudeness didn’t seem to bother Lestrange. Oddly enough, Draco had the feeling that Lestrange only felt prouder as Draco got angrier.

“Don’t concern yourself with it, Draco,” Lestrange smiled. “I’ll be done with her in a few hours, a day at the most.”

“So it’s true then?” he asked, his voice completely steady as if he were in a casual conversation about the weather. “You’re planning on killing her?”

“More or less,” Lestrange shrugged.

“And how are you planning on finding her?”

“It shouldn’t be so hard, at least not when I’m back in England. A few contacts here and there should be able to get that mudblood at my feet.”

“I’d be careful around her,” Draco warned. “She is close to Potter.”

“Then, more the reason for me to take her,” Lestrange mused. “Maybe that will teach him to back away.”

“He’d kill you.”

Lestrange laughed loudly and the hollowness in his voice surprised even Draco. “Now, come on Draco,” he said, amusement in his eyes. “When did we ever worry about things like that? Things in the past were always done without care of insignificant pricks like Potter.”

“Well, Uncle Ralph,” Draco began, his tone cold. “As you saw, things in the past didn’t turn out so well. Or maybe you didn’t hear about the darkest wizard of all time falling at the hands of the insignificant little prick.”

Lestrange’s smile was wiped off his face. “Consider me warned,” he said curtly. Draco nodded as he turned back to his rucksack and removed his watch, gingerly placing it back in his bag.

“Do you know where she is?” Lestrange asked unexpectedly.

Draco paused for a moment and turned back. “Last I heard she had fled to some deserted town in the outskirts of London.”

“Keep a watchful eye out for her, will you?” Lestrange asked. “I’m sure I could pass her death off as an accident, if the need arises.”

Draco’s eyes immediately flooded with irritation when Lestrange suddenly spoke again. “I have heeded your warning,” he cautioned. “I won’t go around the city shooting spells! But…” his voice grew colder. “I am not leaving her alive.”

Draco paused and eventually shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Excellent,” Lestrange said, his tone was light and casual again. “I’m going to go get some sleep now, you should too.”

Draco eyed the stack of cushions on the wrought iron frame and shook his head. “Right.”
---

The morning at Malfoy Manor was dimmed by the clouds overhead, hiding the sun. Ron’s face was twitching slightly as he slept calmly through the morning while Hermione watched him with amusement and worry.

A week. That was all she had.

Ron stirred very slightly, angling his body against the sheets. He squinted his eyes against the dim rays of sunlight that fought their way through the clouds and into the room. Hermione grinned and placed her fingers against Ron’s cheek, stroking it slightly.

“Hermione, stop it,” he mumbled as he drew the covers over his head.

“Ron, it’s morning,” she said in a sing song voice. “Time to get up, sunshine.” Her mocking tone seemed to irritate Ron more as he threw a pillow towards her and fell back under the sheets.

“I’m tired,” he said blankly. “I’ll wake up soon.”

“Right,” Hermione said, knowing well that Ron wasn’t going to wake up for another few hours.

“Mhmm…” he said. “Soon…”

Hermione rolled her eyes and came out from under the covers, scratching her bushy hair and looking down at her flannel pyjamas as an odd memory struck her.

“It means what it means. In the state you’re in, Granger,” Malfoy began. “No one’s going to want to try and sneak a look at you.”. These were the same set of pyjamas she’d been wearing that first morning at Malfoy Manor when she’d dreamt of Ron. She felt guilty thinking about that now - realizing that she’d been so angry at him that night – and turned to Ron to kiss him on the cheek.

“Bloody Malfoy,” she whispered to herself as she sat down quietly on a thick-cushioned arm chair with her legs outstretched on the floor. Of one thing she was convinced: no matter how dangerous, no matter how stupid and no matter how difficult the circumstances were, she was going to figure out the truth behind the ghost of the Manor. She had a week, at least, before any word from the Ministry reached Draco but given the extreme precautions around the Manor, maybe it would take longer. Her nerves began to calm down as she thought of the many possibilities that would prolong her stay at the mansion. If Skeid was to send any sort of letter to Draco, she assumed it would take a week, then it would be necessary to gather all sorts of legal papers that released her officially from Malfoy’s custody.

That was good, another two weeks.

Of course, she could make a fuss and insist she didn’t feel safe. That could buy her another week, after which she was sure Harry, Ginny and Ron would begin to suspect something – following that, she’d have to leave.

She sighed to herself, happily. She had bought herself another four weeks which meant that she had almost a month to figure out anything she could about that ghost and she knew just the place to start. She looked over at Ron who was snoring inside the covers and reassured herself that he’d be out for another two hours.

She had no time to waste. She grabbed a blue collar shirt, a pair of black pants and a thin notebook from the top of her desk, heading towards the bathroom.

As she reached the magnificently furnished washroom, she locked the door and turned on the marble taps, allowing the water to run a little. Within minutes, she had washed her face, brushed her teeth, combed her hair and dressed herself in her pants and shirt. Without a second glance in the mirror, she went downstairs, running down the spiralling staircase and through the huge oak doors.

She entered the dining hall and took a second to relax, gathering her breath. Grabbing one of the chairs, she sat down and grabbed a piece of buttered toast from the huge array of foods that Eli had served this morning.

“Good morning, Ms. Granger,” Eli said, appearing at the doorway. “Up so soon?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, trying to smile.

“Is Mr. Weasley awake?”

“Uh, no…no, he’s still asleep. I’d imagine he won’t be up for another few hours.”

Eli nodded slightly, his forehead creased with wrinkles and his bright eyes sharp and alert. He reminded Hermione so much of Dumbledore.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked, keeping her tone casual. She’d noted in the past how observant Eli could be and she wondered if maybe her attempts to play it cool were failing.

Eli pondered her question for a moment and then seemed to make a decision, grabbing a chair and sitting down beside her. “Yes.”

The sunlight in the dining room hit the floor at angles, creating odd shapes against the expensive tiles. Eli looked older now and the wrinkles that Hermione had noticed a few minutes ago seemed to be lines of fatigue rather than age. “What is it?”

“Ms. Granger,” he said slowly, as if unsure where to begin. “I am fully aware of your curiosity with regards to this…ghost, shall we call her that?”

Hermione nodded very slowly. She was tired of pretending that she didn’t care about what was happening. She looked at Eli and tried to put on an expression of determination. “Yes.”

“I believe- as I have come to know you this past week- that you are a resolute young lady and dissuading you would be only futile.”

Hermione’s lips twisted into a half smile as she acknowledged the compliment and agreed. “I’m not going to give up on this.”

“Nor should you,” Eli said, taking Hermione by surprise.

“What?”

“Malfoy Manor has kept too many secrets for too long now,” Eli said, his pale hands on the table were still. “It’s time that the ghosts of the past were buried.”

“But…but your loyalty is to the Malfoys,” Hermione said, still utterly surprised. “Why would you want me to uncover this?”

“My loyalties still lie with Master Malfoy,” Eli reassured her. “But I feel that sometimes he does not know what’s best for him.”

“And, me figuring out what this ghost is… that’s best for him?”

“Your assistance is what he requires, though he doesn’t know it,” Eli said softly. “He is a man of obstinacy and he has undertaken this secret unto himself, refusing the help of anyone else.”

“He would never accept my help, Eli,” Hermione said slowly.

“Much like you would never have offered it, if you hadn’t been attacked yourself?” Eli suggested.

Hermione sat still for a moment and nodded, agreeing with him. “But now your interest is peaked,” Eli continued. “You want to understand this creature; you want to figure out what she is because she has left her mark on you.”

Hermione felt Eli’s eyes move over to her arms where the burn marks still lay fresh. “It’s self-interest, Ms. Granger, that has you chasing this ghost around the castle.”

She couldn’t help but feel a little offended that Eli had referred to her as self-interested… selfish. But then again, he was probably right. If nothing had happened to her, she may not have taken the same level of concern. “What’s your point?” she asked.

“You and Master Malfoy are more alike than either of you realize,” Eli said, with a slight hint of amusement in his voice that was quickly covered up by the gravity of the situation. “He, too, has a personal connection to this ghost… this creature and much like yourself, he will not relax until he has put her to rest.”

“So, what you’re saying is…”

“Master Malfoy may not accept your aid directly but if given enough of a reason to trust you, he will take your theories seriously.”

“A reason to trust me?” Hermione asked, arching her eyebrow. “I don’t have to justify myself to him.”

“I know,” Eli said, quickly. “But there are certain pieces of information without which you can’t understand this ghost, pieces of information that only Master Malfoy can offer you.”

“But, you know them too.” It wasn’t a question or a passing thought. Hermione knew that Eli had as much information as Malfoy did.

“It is not my position to divulge them,” Eli said and she could tell that he really did want to reveal them.

“Why not?” Hermione asked but immediately regretted doing so. Her insistent tone reminded her so much of the girls at Hogwarts who would pry for gossip from other students.

“First of all, there are certain details that even I am not aware of. And secondly, they aren’t my stories to tell.”

Hermione sighed softly, enough only so that she could release the pent-up pressure inside her without Eli noticing. “You’re a smart woman, Ms. Granger,” Eli said, smiling now. “Your curiosity and your intellect are very rarely seen nowadays and I know you can put them to good use. You’ve already got a good start.”

Hermione looked up and her eyes suddenly dawned with comprehension. “You were listening last night?” she asked. To her surprise, she wasn’t angry.

“Not I, personally,” Eli mused. “Espionage was never one of my talents. But a house elf was kind enough to keep watch.”

“On whose orders? Malfoys?” she asked, irritation beginning to take over. She stood up loudly, knocking her chair back a few inches.

“No, mine.”

Hermione was taken aback. “Yours? Why would you want to hear what I was talking about?”

“I was sure last night that you’d discuss your ideas with Mr. Weasley and I wanted to see what you may think of,” Eli began, his tone was apologetic but at the same time, steady. “My original theory was correct: you caught on to some correct ideas very quickly.”

“Eli, I-”

“Ms. Granger,” Eli said, in his usual cool tone, also standing up. “I see in you the hope of burying this past. I cannot tell you anything but I can help you.”

“And how can you help me?”

Eli reached into his pocket and drew out a small envelope with a large red seal imprinted on the back: the Ministry of Magic. The writing on the front of the envelope was scripted elegantly with a small phrase: Draco Malfoy, from the desk of Henry Skeid.

“Skeid?” Hermione said, her voice going weak. This was the letter she’d feared, the letter that would end her days at Malfoy Manor and any hopes of solving this mystery.

“Yes, Mr. Skeid. My guess is that he would like to inform Master Malfoy that there is no longer any immediate danger to you and that you may leave his custody.”

Hermione sighed. “And how are you going to help me?” she asked.

Eli smiled very slightly and placed his second hand on the envelope, ripping it in half. “By buying you more time.”

“Wh-?” Hermione began, unsure of what to say.

“Good luck, Ms. Granger,” he smiled. “I’d start with the library – books are always a good place to begin, wouldn’t you say?”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something else but Eli interrupted her. “The third floor of the West Wing – right past your room, you’ll find a spiral staircase made of marble.”

He smiled at her one last time before patting her hand and walking back towards the kitchen. Hermione couldn’t help but stand idly, trying to intake all the information. Before he’d left, she was sure Eli had winked at her.

---

Draco leaned back against the velvet fabric in his lavish coach. The deep purple cloth brushed against his skin with gentle pressure, relieving him off the discomfort he had had to endure on Lestrange’s wire frame last night.

His visit with Lestrange was now over and millions of thoughts were circling his head, threatening to collapse his mind. Ideas, plans and details needed to be pondered, arrangements made and many other factors considered. He sighed and placed his fingers on the bridge of his nose. Things were beginning to fall in place.

His eyelids weighed down heavily on his grey eyes and he knew that in a few minutes, sleep would take over him. He tried to resist. He sat himself up straight and ran his fingers down his face, trying to waken the numb muscles. Then, he reached for a dark goblet that lay on one of the tables and overturned it, allowing his cupped hands to hold some of the water that fell from within. He splashed it onto his face and rubbed his eyes with is smooth fingers, trying to make himself alert again.

He would be back at the Manor in a few hours and he’d be able to rest then. But for now, he needed to stay awake. Placing the back of his sleeve against his forehead, he rubbed the remnants of water off his face and began to look out the window. He took his right hand and pressed it against his flesh, allowing the stinging feeling from the burnt leftovers to trigger his senses and wake him up.

“It’s getting darker, isn’t it?”

Draco closed his eyes as the voice sunk into him. It happened every time he felt pain – not only physical but emotional. The burnt flesh reminded him of Adria, of his past and the voice was growing stronger, as it always did.

“It’s only midday,” Draco replied, in barely a whisper.

“I wasn’t talking about the day.”

“Things are getting better,” he assured the voice. “It will all work out.”

“For whom?”

“You,” his voice was encompassed by the infinite pain being produced by his scars and yet, he didn’t want it to stop. He wanted to hear her.

“I’m dead.”

“Don’t remind me.” The pain had penetrated his mind.

“Stop doing this,” the voice said.

“It’s my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault but his.”

“I left, I shouldn’t have left.” The numb feeling had now centered itself on his legs and he couldn’t move.

“Stop doing this.”

“Master Malfoy!” Draco’s eyes flew open as he heard the oddly familiar voice. “Are you alright, sir?”

Draco sat himself up – with pain – and looked around. They were on the roof of the Manor and by the looks of the worn out tiles and coarse peddle marks, they were on the roof of the North Tower.

“I’m fine, Eli,” Malfoy said, reassuring the worried old man.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said, getting out of the carriage and stepping down on the hard rock. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Your scars have reopened,” Eli said in a concerned tone as he pointed to Malfoy’s tan shirt through which a faint shade of red could be seen.

“How do burns reopen?” Draco asked as he grabbed a towel from his bag and placed it against his chest, allowing the blood to seep in.

“They’re more than just burns, sir.”

“I have to get inside,” Draco said, his breathing was now heavily irregular and he could feel his pulse starting to race.

“We’ll go through the North Tower,” Eli said, making his way towards the entrance to the cold set of stairs, holding the door open.

“No. Granger will see me.” Malfoy grabbed his bag, swung it carelessly against his shoulder and pressed the towel even harder into his chest. “I’ll go through the South Tower.”

“The South Tower is on the other side!” Eli protested.

“Right,” Draco said, making his way through the deserted roof. “Get to my room; I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“This is insane! How do you plan on making it across this mansion while losing blood?”

“We’ll find out,” Draco called back as he became smaller and smaller in the distance.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Dracost on kahju :/

[Lissandra Sylvania]

In this chapter: Hermione's research continues as Draco, wounded, tries to get back to safety without catching her eye.

Chapter 13 : The Unexpected Visitor

The walk back to Ron seemed a lot longer than it should have been. Thoughts were circling Hermione’s mind and picking at her brain with an unusual amount of persistence.

there are certain pieces of information without which you can’t understand this ghost, pieces of information that only Master Malfoy can offer you

There were particular things that Eli had been sure she would need from Malfoy -things that no one else could provide her with and that she couldn’t find anywhere else. What sorts of things? Any factual information about the creature’s being was definitely documented somewhere in some book in the Wizarding World – surely it wasn’t something scholarly that Malfoy was withholding from her.

Maybe an experience?

Maybe Malfoy knew how this creature became what she is today; maybe he understood the reason behind her rage. But why would that be necessary to stop her?

Thoughts like this swirled through Hermione’s sore head and she began to feel a sharp, throbbing pain in the side of her temple. By the time she had gotten to her room, she felt glad knowing that Ron would provide a distraction for her from these incoherent ideas bobbing around her mind.

She entered the bright bedroom and smiled to see that Ron had finally woken up but grimaced at the signs of the unmade bed and unfolded sheets.

“Hey,” Ron’s voice came from down the hall. He was wrapped in a towel from the waist down and his hair was dripping wet from his shower.

“Finally awake?” Hermione said, grinning as she went inside her room. Ron followed.

“Well it had been a long two nights and say what you will about Malfoy, that arrogant jerk has the finest beds in the country.”

“I don’t say anything about Malfoy,” Hermione replied. “You do.”

“Well, can you blame me?” Ron asked, innocently. He was still wearing his towel as he sat down on the carpeted floor, leaning against the bed. “The man’s a total pain.”

“Well, I would know.” Hermione sat down beside Ron and looked at him curiously. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Good question,” Ron said as he pensively gazed down his bare chest and white towel. “I have no clothes.”

“You have Malfoy’s clothes,” Hermione offered in a motherly tone.

“I have no clothes,” Ron repeated.

“Fine, serves you right for running away like a hormonal teenager anyways.”

“That was harsh,” Ron replied, pouting slightly. “You should be nice to me before I leave.”

Hermione looked up instantly. “You’re leaving?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said glumly.

“But…why?”

“Well for starters, I only have one pair of pants,” he said, grinning. “And, I came by to check on you and you’re fine.”

“That’s it? You’re going to leave me?” Hermione asked, startled by her own surprise. Having someone she could talk with, especially Ron, had been a drastic change from her week of isolation.

“Skeid’s letter should be arriving within the week and once that’s done with, you’ll be back home.”

Hermione’s eyes suddenly narrowed at the mention of Skeid’s name as she remembered Eli ripping the letter in half, her mind listening to the creaks of the fine Ministry paper. She felt guilt overwhelm her; she was prolonging her stay here, worrying Ron, for her own selfish reasons and an irrational persistence to solve some stupid mystery.

“Hermione?” Ron’s voice came. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hermione replied quickly. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too,” Ron said leaning his cheek against Hermione’s head. “If it were up to me, I’d stay with you the whole time but I have to get back to the Ministry tomorrow for work.”

“Work?” Hermione asked, feeling suddenly stupid. “Right, work!”

“Yeah,” Ron replied. “Harry and I are supposed to go to Salisbury at the end of the week to round up some guys who’ve been selling illicit potions.”

“That sounds…exciting.”

“It’s never the same kind of fun anymore,” Ron said, heaving a sigh. “No more chases, fights and the like.”

“Would you prefer that?” Hermione asked, smiling.

But Hermione never found out the answer. Her pleasant conversation with Ron had been interrupted by a tiny little knock on the door which Ron got up to answer. As he moved aside, Hermione saw a tiny little house elf bobbing his tiny head up and down as he walked into the room.

“Sir, your clothes is ready,” he squeaked, holding out a pile of neatly folded fabric.

“Thank you,” Ron said, taking the clothes from him and admiring the fine job the elves did with cleaning his filthy old sweater.

“Your carriage is here too,” the elf said happily. “They is on the tower.”

“Thanks.” The elf left the room as Ron turned to Hermione.

“You’re pretty organized,” Hermione said, sounding impressed.

“Not really,” Ron confessed. “That butler of Malfoy’s arranged for everything. He told me to be by the rock garden at three o’clock. Do you know where that is?”

Hermione shook her head and shrugged. “We’ll ask a house elf, I’ll walk you.”

She smiled and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her to give Ron some privacy to change into his jumper and jeans. As she waited, she heard the muffled sounds of things being moved in a room not far from hers and she followed the noise to its source. She arrived at a stone-cut door that was opened on a slight angle through which the various voices could be heard. Not bothering to knock, she gently pushed the huge door inwards and saw the large room’s dark green walls that seemed were all centered by a ceiling that extended into the darkness above. In one corner of the room, two huge velvet arm chairs lay on a round Persian rug, each with silver embroidery of the letter ‘M’. Most of the room, however, was dominated by a huge canopy bed adorned with black sheets and silver cushions over a dark wood bed frame.

Hermione’s amazement at the extravagance of the room did not stop her from seeing the source of sounds – house elves. Four of the creatures were making their way around the room, bringing out new sets of sheets, polishing the ornaments and readjusting the huge paintings of some distant country.

“Miss?” a small voice came from beside Hermione.

Hermione turned and saw that one of the elves had come beside her with an inquisitive look on his face. “Can Bumble help you?”

“Yes!” Hermione said suddenly, remembering why she was here. “Do you know which way the rock garden is?”

“On the other side of the Manor, miss.”

“All the way on the other side?”

“Near the South Tower.”

South Tower. She couldn’t quite place her finger about it, but something about that place sounded oddly familiar.

“Thanks,” Hermione said as she turned back towards the huge door. “What’s all this for?” she asked, ushering to the room.

“Master Malfoy is having guests,” the elf squeaked.

Hermione angled her head slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Guests?” she wondered aloud. “That’s odd.”

“What is?” a voice said suddenly and Hermione saw Ron appear in the doorway with his green jumper and faded jeans.

“Hm?”

“What’s odd?”

“Oh it’s nothing,” Hermione muttered, thanking the elves one last time and leaving the room with Ron. “Let’s go.”

“Did you figure out where we need to go?”

“No, but we need to find our way to the South Tower to get to the rock garden.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

“Let’s just keep walking; I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

As they walked through the long, cold hallway, both she and Ron began examined the various huge portraits that hung on the walls along with the occasional marble or granite statue.

As they strode by a marble carving of a woman with a snake curled around her body, Ron turned to Hermione with a sickened look. “I could think of a million other things to spend hundreds of galleons on instead of that stupid piece of rock.”

“It’s their family symbol,” Hermione replied. “They like it, I guess.”

“Yeah but that’s all you see most of the time…snakes.”

Snakes! The word rung a few times through Hermione’s already overfilled mind and she sprung up so quickly that Ron had to duck to avoid her hand hitting his face.

“What is it?” he asked, flabbergasted.

“There’s a passage by the main entrance,” Hermione said excitedly. “There’s a statue there of a snake coiling around the Slytherin emblem. It leads to a passage between the ground and it’ll take us straight to the South Tower… that’s why it sounded so familiar!”

Ron had a dumb expression on his face as Hermione sighed, remembering the day when Malfoy had shown her the statue and she’d seen the burnt painting for the first time. “Malfoy told me about it. It’s the quickest way to go to the South Tower.”

“Whoa.”

“Come on, Ron!” Hermione said, grabbing his hand and taking him towards the main entrance.

---

“Venio!” Hermione said quietly as the tip of her wand touched the cold, stone fang of the snake carved around the Slytherin emblem.

The ground shook beneath their feet and a small square passageway appeared on the floor as the tiles receded. Beyond the small opening, nothing but endless darkness was visible and Hermione heard Ron twitch.

“It’s not that bad,” Hermione offered.

“It’s a bloody dungeon down there!” Ron protested. “How do I know this isn’t some sort of a trap set up by Malfoy?”

“Because I wouldn’t lead you to it, idiot.”

“Maybe because you don’t know it’s a trap either.”

“Ron, will you stop being so irritating!”

“If there’s one thing I learnt from Hogwarts, it’s that going into dark, creepy places underground leads to nothing good!”

“But going into creepy, dark places in the Astronomy Tower to snog Lavender Brown is okay?” Hermione shot back.

Ron’s expression went glum. “You know, we almost went 2 years without mentioning that.”

“Are you coming or not?” Hermione said, stepping onto the shaky set of wooden stairs that led into the darkness below.

“Like I have a choice.”

Ron followed closely behind Hermione and as his head reached below ground level, he reached over and pulled the passage door shut, blocking out any source of light.

“It’s dark, Hermione,” Ron stated bluntly. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Yes, Ron, I’m thrilled.”

Hermione heard Ron take out his wand and within a few seconds, its tip was illuminated with a faint blue light. She reached for her own wand and pointed it upwards, whispering, “Lumos!”

With two lit wands, the pair made their way down the cold corridor, their feet aching against the uneven, rough surface. For the first three minutes, there was an eerie silence as they walked beside each other but conversation was inevitable.

“Malfoy saved you?” Ron asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Last night, Malfoy said he saved your life… when I got here.”

“It wasn’t him,” Hermione said knowing well that Malfoy would probably have left her lying there in the dungeons.

“He lied?”

“I guess so,” Hermione shrugged.

“Figures,” Ron said, hissing swear words under his breath. “And even after that, you can’t bring yourself to hate him?”

“I dislike him beyond all human capabilities,” Hermione said in a disgruntled tone. She didn’t like acknowledging such negative feelings. “I’m just not as… vocal…or physical about my dislike like you.”

“You should try it,” Ron said, smiling. “Punching and cursing feels good!”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

Their walk was shorter than expected, though a full 25 minutes, and they emerged at the foot of the South Tower after climbing another set of stone steps. The rock garden was nothing like Hermione had expected; she had nightmares of vicious, man-eating plants, huge, ogre-sized boulders and creepy little insects wandering around. Instead, she saw probably the most beautiful garden she could remember seeing as her eyes flew from the huge, grey rocks embedded into the ground like icebergs, to the blooming flowers and shrubs growing in the little crevices and around the stones. The rocks dominated most of the soil and the shrubbery grew around it and sometimes over it but there was a distinct pathway between them all that led down to the centre of the circular array of nature where a shallow, round pond lay. Under the afternoon sun, the pond and the blue and yellow flowers growing around it shone brightly like the sun itself.

There weren’t that many animals in the rock garden apart from some exotic fish swimming in the pond and two hummingbirds and a sparrow on one of the larger trees. It was odd that the one place where Hermione expected snakes to be found, there were none.

To the side, well away from the flowers, a large carriage stood; it was poised carefully within view, balancing itself on its magnificent wheels. At the front, two large thestrals stood motionless, staring forward like statues.

“I guess that’s my carriage,” Ron said, unable to hide his amazement at the extravagance of his travel accommodations.

“I’ll write to you,” Hermione promised.

“About everything, please,” Ron pleaded. “Just so that I don’t accidentally intercept wrong messages and come flying down here to save you only to realize that you’re fine.”

Hermione smiled and took Ron into an embrace, leaning her head against his chest. “You’re too tall,” she muttered. “I have to reach up to kiss you.”

“No, you don’t.” Ron bent his head down and kissed Hermione gently, though she could feel the impatience in him as she placed his arms around her waist.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, his face barely three centimetres from hers.

“Me too.”

“I left you a present upstairs,” Ron whispered in her ear. Hermione looked up instantly.

“What present?”

“It’s a broomstick,” Ron said. “An authentic Viktor Krum!” he joked.

Hermione laughed. “And why would I need that?”

“In case you can’t stand another week here with Malfoy,” Ron said, winking. “Besides, a little flying practice wouldn’t kill you, you’re terrible at it.”

“Shut up,” Hermione said, playfully scowling.

“Okay,” Ron grinned and kissed her again. He held onto Hermione’s hand as he walked towards the large carriage and finally, as the door opened for him, he let go of her. “I’ll see you soon.”

Hermione felt guilt riding over her - why had that become such a familiar feeling? “Bye.”

With one last kiss, Ron sat down on the velvet seat and the doors closed. The thestrals trotted forward for a few seconds and then majestically took off into the air, soaring into the clouds and disappearing within a minute. A second sparrow emerged from the clouds and within moments, Hermione turned and ran.
---

Her footsteps echoed throughout the hollow passage as she forced her feet to move as fast as possible. She checked her watch and saw that it was almost four thirty in the afternoon and Malfoy would be back at any moment. Hermione’s steady hand held her wand tightly, allowing the path of illumination in front of her as she made her way through the criss-crossed tunnels. Without the conversation with Ron and the patient steps, she managed to make it back to the North part of the castle in ten minutes, emerging in front of the same snake statue.

She leaned against the wall for a minute, allowing her burning legs to recover from the run and then turned back towards the long stretch for doors in front of her. As she made her way towards her room, the huge portraits of Malfoy ancestors could be heard huffing and voicing their displeasure at her shabby, worn-out appearance and Hermione couldn’t really blame them. Even in the worst of conditions, Malfoy always managed to look composed and elegant whereas she managed to appear much worse than she felt.

In her room, she quickly grabbed a second shirt and squeezed little rock around her neck. please delay Malfoy she pleaded. There were no magical properties in her necklace but she hoped nonetheless that her good luck charm would pull through for her. She left her room and walked down the hall, entering a large room with brick red stone walls, a huge fireplace by one of the walls and a large rug in the centre. Past the fireplace, Hermione saw the marble staircase and darted towards it.

And before she knew it, she was on the third floor of the Manor. This floor was much darker, illuminated by candles because the sunlight was blocked out. She made her way towards the only set of doors visible: a huge stone door with carvings in it. She rolled her eyes when she saw what they were: snakes, again.

Pushing the doors, she entered the room inside and her heart skipped a beat. Even in the hurry she was in, she couldn’t help but stare. The walls of the large room were lined, from the ground to the ceiling with books; there were thousands of books, including titles that Hermione had only dared to wish she could read. She took in a sharp breath and smiled, this was heaven.

But before she could get any more carried away, she quickly reminded herself of why she was here.

Eli said that the library was the best place to look. She scanned the mountainous piles of books and wondered if perhaps he had gone a little crazy. There was no way she could find any information in here.

Dark creatures That was a start. She went over to a random shelf and began looking through books. By the time she had finished scanning that one shelf she was certain that the only place else she could have found these books, was in the Hogwarts Restricted Section. She moved on to the second shelf, encountering such titles as “Perfecting the Unforgivable Curses; their history and practices” and “Potions to die for”. Finally she came across a book that didn’t advocate death in its title.

Within the Shadows: A Comprehensive Guide to Dark Creatures

“That looks safe,” Hermione said to herself, grabbing the thick book and slamming it into an old oak table in the centre of the room. She pulled up a chair and began to flip through the pages frantically. She stopped when she saw the first image of a woman.

Hags

First seen in both Ireland and Scotland, hags are often seen as personifications of the elemental powers of nature, known for their grudges and unforgiving tempers.

“That sounds familiar,” she mused, taking out a piece of parchment and scratching some notes into it with a quill.

Hags are most often seen in the form of old, beat out women with deceptive charm. They are cunning creatures, known most for tempting young travellers in the countryside and then feeding off of their corpse. [See the story of Gildehert in Volume 5]. Destroying them is a simple matter – easier than most other creatures. A body binding curse will restrict their movement but the only sure way to destroy them is through the use of fiendfyre which produces defined burns that feed off the corpse for hours straight.

Hermione frowned. Was the creature an old woman? She strained her thoughts to remember, but her mind failed. “They are cunning creatures, known most for tempting…” she read aloud.

That didn’t sound right. This creature was a lot more animal like, with nothing but the basic instincts of survival. It wasn’t a hag, she moved on until she found another female dark creature.

Banshees are known as the lamenters of death. Their presence is a forewarning of bereavement, a fact often forgotten when onlookers hear their high pitched screeches. They are generally a more restful dark creature, appearing only when death is imminent but in the times of You Know Who, when death was a much stronger occurrence, their numbers increased greatly. They often rest in heavily wooded areas and are easily set off when they sense an intruder in their territory. Their main source of food is human shells (the body once the soul has departed); though in recent years they have been known to feed off the shells of animals as well.

Aside from their piercing screams, their fluid movements and alluring appearance strengthen them as predators as well as their ability to bind with dark magic.

Hermione scrawled some more notes. The screaming was the only thing that fit with the banshee because as far as she knew, nobody at the Manor was dying. Banshees were also never offensive – they only attacked once they’ve been attacked and if that had been the case, why hadn’t Draco destroyed her?

No, banshee wasn’t the answer either.

It was then that the doors to the library burst open and a pale Eli entered hurriedly. “Ms. Granger,” he said, his voice strained but still calm. “I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Master Malfoy.”
---

Draco released the pressure alongside his wounds as he leaned against the dark stone walls at the bottom of the South Tower. His breaths were becoming more irregular and rapid, creating a piercing pain in his lungs. His walk from the roof across the mansion had been bearable but as the blood kept soaking the towel against his chest his mind began to feel lighter. There was blackness forming around his vision and he knew it would only be a matter of minutes before everything went dark. In these moments of desperation, the darkness seemed friendly and inviting. In darkness there was peace, there was serenity and most of all, there was silence. The ringing in his ears began to recede and the hot, sticky feeling of blood on his chest had become numb.

What reason was there to live? He had no family left, no love in his life and his huge manor only made the feeling of emptiness hollower. And worst of all, a dark shadow of guilt had been lying mercilessly over his already cold heart, eating away at him.

He pressed the towel deeper into his chest, feeling the sudden surge of pain. He would hear her voice soon, and it would all be okay.

“You’re wrong.” The voice was smooth and soft.

“About what?” Draco asked, the words escaped his mouth much more easily than he would have imagined.

“About life.”

Draco paused. “It’s not worth living.”

“It’s also not worth losing like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re giving it up.”

“I’d deserve it – I have no reason to live.”

“Then find one.”

Draco felt a hollow laugh escape his lips. “Easier said than done.”

His body began to feel light and airborne and gusts of air flew beneath his arms. All pain had escaped from his body and his face felt relaxed and completely free of pressure – soon, the stillness would come.

“This feels nice,” Draco whispered to himself.

The stillness did not come. Instead, a head splitting scream filled the air. The scream was followed by a series of deep breaths and shouts of help. who was this?

“Draco!”

The pain resurfaced, first deep in the pit of his stomach and then slowly made its way through his veins and up to his skin where the burning began again. Draco could feel his heavy, unsteady breaths as they escaped his mouth and the sticky, warm feeling of blood against his hands.

“Draco…” the stranger’s voice had grown weak. “Say something!”

He felt a weight on his chest which went as fast as it came. His consciousness was coming back to him slowly and the blackness began to descend into a cloud of blurred colours.

“Can you hear me?” the frantic voice called.

The colours began to clarify themselves into shapes. Draco still couldn’t move but his marginally open eyes blinked twice to acknowledge the question. “Oh, thank goodness…” the voice cried, relief sweeping over the woman. “I’m getting Eli, just keep breathing.”

The lines around objects were becoming more distinct and Draco opened his eyes completely, glancing up at the frightened face of Pansy Parkinson.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Pansy tuli, Pansy tuli!
Mulle meeldib Draco enesekindlus ja iseloom (l)
DRACO ! (L)
Noh, ta on üldse super
Ja hea asi veel *grin* Nüüd on huvitav kuidas Draco ja Hermione kokku peaksid saama

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Mmmmm. Tõsi, kas see autor updateib tihedalt, et me 21 osaga jänni ei jääks ja seda täiega ootama ei jää?

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Nooh, need tulevad mitte just väga kiirelt aga keskmise kiirusega. Hetkel on alles veel 21 osa ja üpriski hea koha peal on pooleli...loodetavasti teeb ta kärmelt, ma saatsin talle kirja, varsti peaks vastuse saama. Anyway, see story peaks üsna pikk olema, tema sõnade järgi...

Aga nüüd siis uue osaga edasi.
Selles osas: Draco's interesting recovery and Hermione's fearful confession.



Chapter 14 : Wasteful Dreams

“Draco…” the dreamy voice called to him. “Rise and shine, beautiful.”

Draco opened his eyes quickly and saw the smiling face of Pansy Parkinson in front of him. “Pansy…” he began weakly.

“Yes,” she replied, in a childish voice.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you recover, silly,” she said, playing with a strand of hair on his head.

“I see that,” Draco said, “But must you lie on top of me?”

Pansy grimaced slightly and rolled off Draco onto the empty side of the bed. “You used to enjoy that,” she said irritably.

“Right,” he said and looked around him. He was in his room, tucked under his silky green covers with the back of his head against his soft pillows. The curtains were drawn but Draco could see the moonlight washing in through the lace. “What day is it?” he asked.

“It’s been thirty hours,” Pansy replied, answering the question he was leading up to. “You were out for most of it.”

“Most of it?” Draco asked. He put his elbows against the bed and pushed himself up into a seated position, leaning against the headboard.

“Eli mentioned that you were talking for a while, though I guess you don’t remember.”

Draco turned to look at Pansy and saw the extreme difference in the face he’d seen that very afternoon. Her straight, shoulder length black hair had been let down and hung neatly behind her ears and her fearful eyes were now cool and playful. She was thinner than she’d been back at Hogwarts and her off-shoulder orange sweater emphasized that.

She was lying on her stomach beside Draco and was propped up on her elbows. She reached for his bare shoulder and began tracing little shapes on them with her finger. “You gave us quite a scare,” she said darkly.

Draco took a minute to figure out if he was wearing any pants and after being satisfied that he was, he moved the covers down just a little so his bare chest was exposed. They were there. The burns had now become more defined than ever with a crescent shaped scar dominating the mass of healing flesh. The burning sensation wasn’t as strong when he pressed his fingers against the wounds and the redness had faded.

“Is it as bad as it looks?” she asked casually, eyeing the scars.

“It’s fine,” Draco lied emptily. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Anytime,” she said, smiling.

“What were you doing in the South Tower?” Draco asked suddenly. “…that was where you found me, right?”

“Yes, you were crouched away in some obscure corner,” she said. Her face had become more serious. “I heard your breathing and then you said something and I saw you.”

“So, why were you here?” Draco asked again, changing the subject as quickly as he could. He didn’t need Pansy questioning his sanity.

“A visit,” she shrugged casually. “You haven’t talked to me in months.” A mischievous grin appeared on her face again as she leaned in closer to Draco. “I missed you.”

Draco didn’t feel the need to shift away from her – this is how it usually was with her. “It was good you came by,” he answered.

Pansy sensed his indifference and playfully pouted. “Oh come on, Draco,” she whispered, edging in closer. “Didn’t you miss me at all?”

“Pansy, I don’t think now is the right time.”

“It’s the perfect time,” she said, bringing her red lips close to his ear.

“I’m injured,” Draco said.

“You look fine to me,” she replied. “You can talk and move about easily.”

Draco stared at her for a second. She was right. He had just had a fairly simple conversation with Pansy and he had felt no sharp pains in his chest. He had even managed to move the covers off of himself without feeling the familiar burning sensation. His mind took him back to the day he’d fought Adria in the North Tower. When he’d woken up, he had barely been able to speak, let alone have a full-on discussion.

“What’s wrong?” Pansy’s voice came.

“Were there a lot of healers?” Draco asked suddenly.

“No,” she replied suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just curious,” he said, feigning breeziness.

Her smile reappeared as she placed her hand against his face. “You should get your mind off of what happened,” she said, her black eyes dancing with delight. “Let me help you.” She rolled herself onto Draco and began to play with his hair again.

“How many healers were there?” he asked, looking into her eyes.

“That’s not exactly the kind of thing you’re supposed to be talking about now,” she sighed vehemently.

“How many?” Draco urged.

“Just Granger,” Pansy replied.

She saw the colour drain from Draco’s face as he sat up completely, causing her to fall back onto her side of the bed. “What?”

“It was just Granger,” she repeated, clearly annoyed.

“She saw me?”

“She healed you,” she said. “I would imagine she’d have to see you to heal you.”

“She couldn’t have…” Draco said, more to himself than Pansy. “I was in the South Tower…”

“Eli brought her in,” Pansy responded. “You were barely breathing when I found you and so I began to shout for help. Two house elves came by and I told them to go find Eli, one of them went and the other conjured up a stretcher and took you inside. By the time we got to your room, Eli and Granger were already there.”

Draco squeezed his hand into a fist and slammed it against the headboard, muttering a string of creative swearwords that Pansy hadn’t heard before. “All that for nothing,” he breathed angrily.

“Stop tensing yourself,” Pansy said, resuming her light tracing of Draco’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

“This is not the time,” Draco repeated tersely.

“Let me prove you wrong,” she said, placing a cool hand over his neck and running it along his collarbones.

But before he could respond, the door slowly creaked open and a preoccupied Hermione stepped in and suddenly stopped at the scene before her. Her jaw fell slightly as she eyed Malfoy, lying bare-chested on his bed, with a very comfortable Pansy running her fingers along his body.

“I’ll come back later,” she said awkwardly, rushing back out the door.

“Hold on!” Draco called, moving Pansy off of him and stepping onto the cold floor. Hermione stopped halfway and turned slowly.

“It’s fine,” she said, avoiding his eye. Clearly, she felt a lot more awkward than either he or Pansy did. “You can… get back to doing what you were doing.”

“I doubt it,” Pansy grunted from the bed. She sat up straight and put on her shoes, sighing irritably. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Ask Eli to give you a room,” Draco said to her.

“Alright.” She left the room and shut the door behind her, leaving Hermione and Draco face to face.

“I’ll get a shirt, if it makes you uncomfortable,” Draco said, turning towards his bed to find a covering for himself.

“No, don’t!” Hermione said, slightly louder than she had intended and Draco turned to her with a smirk on his face.

“Oh, grow up!” she snapped. “I meant that it’s important for the wound to stay exposed for a few hours. That’s why the windows are all opened; the cold air helps soothe the burns.”

Draco turned towards his windows and noticed them all propped open behind the curtains. It was then that he saw Hermione wearing a lavender sweater over her shirt and goose bumps along the sides of her neck.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“It’s freezing in here,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “But you probably don’t feel it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. He sat himself back on his bed while Hermione remained standing.

“You’ve spent the last eight hours with an abnormally high body temperature. It’ll take a while for you to feel cold the same way we do.”

“How did you know all this healing stuff?” Draco asked her.

“I learnt it,” she said slowly, as if examining a mental patient.

“When?”

“When I was training to be a healer…” she said, confused as to why Malfoy was asking her this.

“You’re a healer?” he asked suddenly.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, curiously.

“You never asked,” she replied with a certain amount of oddity. “And I’m sorry about interrupting you and Pansy before.”

“Nothing was happening,” Draco shrugged.

“Well it certainly didn’t look like that.” Hermione mumbled, more to herself.

“We’re not together,” Draco said.

“Oh,” Hermione said bluntly. “I’d never seen her around here before, that’s all.”

“We have sort of… an open relationship.” He looked at Hermione to see if she understood what he meant but judging by her perplexed look, she didn’t. “It’s just that… often I find myself preoccupied with things and Pansy provides a good distraction for me.”

The lines on Hermione’s forehead creased as she tried to understand what he was saying. “It doesn’t really matter,” she said quickly. Clearly, she didn’t get it. “What things do you find yourself preoccupied with?”

Malfoy suddenly felt himself remembering why he had been angry with her in the first place. She knew. She knew that he had gotten those scars from saving her and she knew that he had done it twice – her curiosity was, no doubt, peaked and she would soon be asking more questions that he needed.

“These burns,” he said slowly. “I-”

“Eli told me,” Hermione responded. “You got them when you were trying to save yourself in the North Tower.”

Malfoy couldn’t help but smile inside. Thank goodness for Eli. “Yes.”

Hermione scanned him silently from head to toe and then suddenly opened her mouth. “Take your pants off,” she said. Malfoy gazed at her with a startled expression.

“Excuse me?” he said, that familiar grin reappearing on his pale face.

Hermione looked confused for a second and realized how her comment may have sounded. “You’re really a child, you know,” she grunted. “The blood seeped in through your leg, and you’re still wearing the same bloody pants.”

Draco glanced down at his legs and noticed the blood stains around his waist, staining his perfect brown pants. “Oh,” he said and reached out for a pair of grey trousers lying on a velvet armchair near his bed. “Turn around.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“You’ve seen enough for a day,” he muttered as Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to face the wall, away from Draco.

“So, what’d you do to me?” he asked, trying to fill the awkward silence as he unbuckled his pants.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what did you do that five of the best healers in the country couldn’t?” he asked.

“Let me ask you something,” Hermione said, still staring at the wall. “Would it be easier for five of the best hunters to catch a wolf while blinded or for a newly trained one with exact knowledge of what the wolf looks like and where he is?”

“Are you implying that my healers were handicapped?” Draco asked. He pulled the grey trousers over his legs.

“Not handicapped,” Hermione said coolly. Clearly, she was proud that she had managed to do what some of the best men in the country couldn’t. “Just un-informed.”

“I’m done,” Draco responded quickly and Hermione turned around. “So what was it, Granger?”

“Fiendfyre,” she said, reaching into her pocket and producing a parchment with scribbles over it.

“Cursed fire?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

Hermione nodded. “I came across it while reading something about hags. It’s used to destroy them; it produces burns that feed off of their corpses, eventually killing them.”

“How charming. But that is useless, seeing as I am not a hag.”

“The effect is different on humans,” she offered. “I did some research after Eli brought you in and it’s more painful to us. But it also kills instantly if the exposure is long enough.”

“So I wasn’t exposed long enough to die? Just long enough to suffer pain and torture.”

Hermione nodded. “Lucky me,” Draco muttered.

“Once I knew what it was, I made a potion. It was complicated and called for some pretty rare ingredients – your potions cupboard is well stocked, by the way, I got all the materials easily.”

“Yes, my ancestors were a weird bunch. They liked to brew potions and feed them to muggles to see what happened,” he said pensively. Hermione flinched.

“Am I healed completely then?” he asked, turning to face her.

“Fiendfyre is dark magic,” Hermione said incredulously. “There’ll still be a sizeable scar and some occasional pain, but it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.”

Malfoy stared at Hermione for a second and couldn’t hide his amazement. Despite his dislike for the bushy haired, bossy, know-it-all, she had saved him and he felt indebted to her and slightly ashamed, knowing that he probably wouldn’t have done the same. He had saved her, twice, but that was more out of obligation than care. He didn’t really have a choice; it was either save her or have the entire ministry come down to the Manor led by the Potter Posse. Hermione’s actions were totally voluntary – she didn’t need to save him. He would have lived, regardless but probably in more pain and discomfort.

“Thank you,” he said after a while.

Hermione was caught by surprise. “Malfoy, did you just thank me?” she said, a cocky smile appearing on her face.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said as he raised his legs up on the bed and leaned his head against the pillow. Unwillingly, he smiled too. “But I suppose I do owe you.”

Instantly, he regretted his words as a knowing look flashed across Hermione’s face. “Do you mean that?” she asked.

“I don’t like where this is going,” he muttered. “But, yes, I did mean it. If you ever need anything, you can ask.”

“I do want something,” she said as a glimmer of hope flashed across her face. “Answers.”

Draco’s expression twisted into a frown. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask!” she protested.

“I can guess,” he snapped. “And I’m not answering your questions.”

“Let me help you!” she wailed.

Draco looked at her with a maddened expression as if he was staring at a lunatic. “Stay out of this, Granger,” he retorted, his voice was harsher now. “You’re here for a few more days; can’t you just shut that stupid mouth of yours up?”

“A few more days?”

“You will have to leave eventually.”

“You can’t make me leave until you get Skeid’s letter, and I know you haven’t gotten that yet!” she yelled.

Draco froze and his eyes narrowed. “How do you know I haven’t gotten it yet?” he asked.

Hermione faltered and her guilty expression gave it all away. Malfoy jumped out of bed and his eyes were fearless and cold. “I can’t believe you’d resort to that!” he spat angrily. “Hiding my mail?!”

“You need my help!” Hermione said. “You know that as well as I do. Without me, you’d be writhing in pain in your stupid bed.”

“I didn’t ask for your help then and I’m not asking now! Stay out of this, Granger!”

“You are so d**n stubborn!”

“How is minding my privacy stubborn? If anyone is stubborn, it’s you, you stupid –”

“You’re stubborn because you won’t accept my help!

“I don’t even understand why you want to help! Nothing good has come from any of this!”

“Haven’t you ever just wanted to know?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide with anger. “And don’t tell me that this is none of my business,” she added, rolling up here sleeves to expose her circular burns. “This is my business too!”

“Like those hurt as much as mine do,” he spat, staring at her thin burns and mentally comparing them to the cooking flesh on his chest. “You need to leave,” Draco said heatedly. “Tomorrow, we’re going down to the bloody Ministry and getting all that paperwork done!”

“Don’t you see? The fiendfyre is a piece of the puzzle! It’s unusual for any creature to have that kind of power…”

“That doesn’t matter,” Draco replied. “I know what she is!”

“No you don’t,” Hermione corrected him. “You know who she is! If you knew what she was, you would have figured out a way to save her by now!”

The words hit Draco like a knife and his gaze became colder. His body was stiff and his grey eyes held nothing but anger and frustration. He saw Hermione recoil from his sharp gaze as well, instantly regretting her outburst. “Pack your things tonight,” he told her, holding the door open. “You’ll leave straight from the Ministry tomorrow.”

---

Hermione stalked down the carpeted corridor from Malfoy’s room with extremely flushed cheeks. Her constant trips back and forth between the Potions cupboard and Malfoy’s room in the past day had given her enough of an idea of the layout of this part of the castle.

She turned down the familiar marble stairs and walked past the huge row of windows that opened up onto the path of roses in the garden below. Her legs were detached from her mind, leading her carelessly through the maze like twists and turns until she reached the only place she knew how to get to. The Potions Cupboard.

She threw the door open and inhaled the familiar scent of rancid dust and dead flowers, leaning against the walls. She stood under the dim candles in the large room that hid most of the ancient jars, cracked bottles and towering shelves, making the place seem more unfamiliar to her.

Within moments, she felt the door to the Potions cupboard open slowly and a dark figure materialized. She didn’t bother turning to face the old man but when she spoke, her voice was still shaky.

“I assume you heard?” she asked harshly.

“It was hard to ignore the screaming,” Eli acknowledged.

They stood in silence for a few minutes and Hermione had the distinct impression that Eli was letting her vent all her anger out before proceeding. She did so gladly: taking in deep breaths and clenching her fists the side of her body.

“I underestimated his reaction,” Eli said slowly in an apologetic tone. “I didn’t think he would be so surprised at your eagerness to help.”

“He knew what I was going to ask him before I got the chance,” Hermione said, reflecting. “How surprised could he have been?”

“He was prepared for your questions, but I believe it was your offer to help him that caught him off guard.”

“I guess I can see that.” The stillness in the cold air was extremely favourable right now.

“Curiosity he was prepared for… camaraderie is something still beyond his grasp. I think he always assumed the burns would scare you off, that they were enough to dissuade you from pursuing this subject any further.”

“Much to his disappointment,” Hermione finished.

“Oh, yes,” Eli said, letting out a dark chuckle. “So now he has resorted to the only thing he can possibly do to keep you away.”

“He was just bluffing, right?” Hermione asked, not bothering to hide the strain in her voice. “He really can’t just drag me to the Ministry tomorrow and pack me off.”

“He can and as far as I know, that’s his plan.” The candles flickered gently and illuminated the hollow appearance in Eli’s face, making him seem older than he was already. He seemed worried.

“I guess saving his life wasn’t enough of a reason to trust me,” Hermione shot back, coldly and bluntly. “Clearly, I need to march into his bloody room with the entire mystery as good as solved for him to even consider my assistance.”

“That’s not true,” Eli corrected. “His anger, though surprising and extremely unexpected, is a good sign.”

Hermione looked at Eli like he was going crazy. “I meant it,” Eli continued. “Haven’t you ever wondered why he’s such a calm person all the time?”

“I never considered him calm – just emotionless.”

“He doesn’t display his emotions as readily… he’s in control of himself because he knows what he needs to do and how he needs to do it. You, on the other hand, Ms. Granger have startled him and shown him something very important that he hadn’t found before. Your discovery, might I add, was greatly impressive. You managed to figure out a very central and elusive piece of the puzzle.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Hermione added, though still beaming at the compliment. “I mean, fiendfyre is a very out of control curse and a lot more… theatrical, like it has a mind of its own. But with this creature, she had the fiendfyre under control very easily and the curse didn’t waver for a second.”

“What could that mean?”

“That she is more powerful than I had imagined because to be in control of such a dangerous curse… it’s remarkable. It requires dark magic beyond recognizable feats.”

“Well, I suppose there was no question of her power.”

“But the way she moved… she had such animal instincts but with such control over her attacks?” Hermione’s brain was beginning to hurt. That was never a good sign.

“The problem at hand is that you will be leaving tomorrow morning,” Eli said, registering the pained look on Hermione’s face. “And I don’t think we can afford to lose you just yet, Ms. Granger.” He formed a gentle smile on his face.

“I’m not ready to leave,” she agreed. “But I doubt he’ll see it that way.”

“Give me some time,” Eli said, his eyes focused on an indistinct object. “For now, is there anything in particular you need?”

“Some more information on Fiendfyre,” Hermione said, shrugging. “I checked in the library again while Malfoy was unconscious but there’s only so much I can find.”

“Ah! Now that I can help you with.”

He gestured to one of the floating candles in the Potions cupboard to follow him as he exited the dark room, leading the way down the narrow passageway. They walked for a silent ten minutes through woven passages and wide hallways until Hermione saw a familiar room with brick red walls and a large, stone fireplace, all encompassed by a circular Persian rug on the floor. Eli led her up the marble staircases and back onto the third floor of the Manor – the darkest floor, aside from the dungeons, that she’d seen. Despite the faint, floating candle, Hermione felt extremely blind and uncomfortable until they reached the large oak doors with the snake carvings. Pushing it aside, Eli made way for Hermione to enter the gigantic library of Malfoy Manor first.

Though this was the second time she saw it, she felt an elated jump in her throat as she found herself surrounded by the things that comforted her the most: books. Lined from the endless ceiling to the cold floor, the thick pages of knowledge -of which many were illegal, she was sure – made her feel serene and at peace.

Eli sensed the sudden lift in her mood but did not allow her to experience it any longer as he reminded Hermione of the limited time they had. He led the way past the books and ushered her over to a large shelf with only four titles.

Eli moved the four titles off the shelf carefully, exposing a small door knob behind the second book. He reached behind and turned it carefully, opening the door without the slightest bit of sound.

They entered a slightly smaller room that contained about one-fourth the books that were outside. Instead of large, soft chairs in the centre, there was a round wooden table surrounded by four thin framed chairs.

“This is a slightly more precarious room,” Eli warned. “No one outside the Malfoys knows about this.”

“My lips are sealed,” Hermione said, unable to contain her amazement.

“As you can see, the titles here are a little more…”

“Illegal?” Hermione finished for him. “I recognize some of these names,” she began. “A lot of these books have been banned by the Ministry.”

“All known copies in existence are to be destroyed,” Eli agreed. “But we can’t let such useful knowledge be wasted so easily.”

Hermione smiled. “How did the Malfoys come by all these books?” she asked.

“It’s a collection of generations,” Eli explained. “Malfoy Manor was always a much protected place and people often came here to hide their precious possessions. A lot of them never made it back to claim their belongings, so the items were placed around the manor. Most of these books were acquired as such.”

“So you think any of them have information on Fiendfyre?”

“You can check,” he offered. “If anywhere, the information would be here. If there is any record of a creature using dark magic as their offence, I doubt it would be in Ministry hands.”

Hermione nodded to Eli and then made her way to one of the bookshelves, running her hands across the books. “Good luck,” Eli said to her.

“You’re not staying?” she asked, suddenly turning around.

“Someone has to keep Master Malfoy busy,” he said, smiling as he turned away. “Let me know if you need me, Ms. Granger.”

And with that, he was gone.
---
The huge grandfather clock in the hall outside Malfoy’s room struck four in the morning. The bells echoed their way through the stone walls and distracted Draco for the length of the four chimes before he resorted back to worrying.

He hadn’t slept at all since his conversation with Hermione but his mind wasn’t strained or tired in any way. It was just filled with worries and thoughts. She knew a lot more than he had anticipated – or hoped. The one thing that had struck him more than anything else though was what she had said before he kicked her out.

If you knew what she was, you would have figured out a way to save her by now

Save her.

She had figured out that he wasn’t trying to kill Adria, that he was trying to save her. It would only take a few more hours of prodding around for her to figure out who Adria really was and her whole story. That would, undoubtedly, lead to more complications that Draco didn’t need to deal with. Lestrange was arriving in a week and his arrival required extensive physical and mental preparation which did not allow time for babysitting a stupid mudblood.

Draco paused suddenly and gazed out of the window onto the moonlit courtyard. A stupid woman, he corrected himself. Despite everything, she had saved his life. The antidote to the fiendfyre had managed to spare him hours more of unbearable pain – pain which, as he remembered his trip in the carriage back to Malfoy Manor, had almost driven him to killing himself.

And that was the other problem. The voice. The overwhelming temptation to hear that sweet, glossy voice often led to self-inflicted pain. Pain was the only way he ever heard her and it had taken him a while to realize that in his most excruciating moments, he found himself at the threshold of death from where she spoke to him. And more than once, he gave himself into that sweet temptation and allowed the pain to sink in deeper until the comforting sound of her words engulfed him. Once Adria’s story was discovered, it was only a matter of time before Hermione would find out who Natalie was and that was something that she could never know.

His body began to shiver and he looked down at his bare arms where tiny little goose bumps had begun to form. Hermione had been right; his body was becoming more accustomed to normal weather conditions. He put a black t-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and muscular build but hid his scars.

He needed a distraction right now. Something, anything that would take his mind off of Natalie, Adria, Granger or Lestrange.

He knew just the thing.

Slipping out his bedroom, he walked down the carpeted hallway until he reached a huge set of marble stairs that led both upstairs and down. He went down another floor, past a dining hall, a winery and into a corridor with multiple doors. He knocked on the one closest to him.

There was a rustling and a bit of confused muttering from inside but within a few minutes, the door had been opened by a very tired Pansy Parkinson.

“Draco?” she asked, her eyelids adjusting to the bright light of the candles behind him. “What is it?”

“I need something from you,” he asked, placing his arms in the frame of the doorway, leaning in.

“What?”

“A distraction.” And with that, he placed his pale lips against her pink ones and took her face into his hands, pressing himself into her. Her confusion melted away as she locked her arms around his neck and pulled him into her room, shutting the door behind her.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Pansy is sleeper ._.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter 15 : The Clock Chimes

Hermione’s eyes flew open suddenly as the huge grandfather clock of the Manor began a series of six chimes, indicating that it was six o’clock in the morning. She looked around her surroundings slowly, allowing her hazy vision to adjust and saw that she was still in the library. She had been sleeping with her head on the wooden table, folded up in her arms.

“d**n,” she cursed, getting up quickly. The blood rushed and she had to hold on to the chair to allow herself to regain her balance. The last thing she could remember was reading the book ‘Newcastle’s Tales of the Forest’, a handwritten journal by a traveller named Henry Newcastle who had wandered the deepest part of the forests in Europe, detailing the many dark and illegal things he dabbled in.

As she scanned the room, she saw the book lying at the edge of the table and a crease in the page where she had stopped reading and fallen asleep. Would Malfoy already be awake?

There were no windows in this room but she knew that the sun was probably not as bright, giving her maybe less than an hour before she had to go back to her room where Malfoy would surely look for her.

Her head was pulsing slightly where it had touched the rough surface of the table and she placed her hand carelessly over it. She didn’t have any time. Grabbing the closest book she could find, she sat herself back down and began reading.

Dark Hearts

As she skimmed through, she saw references to werewolves, vampires and their curses, experiments detailing unusual effects of mixing wolf hair with human blood and snake venom. She sighed and shut the book, reaching for another.

As she skimmed through, she saw references to werewolves, vampires and their curses, experiments detailing unusual effects of mixing wolf hair with human blood and snake venom. She sighed and shut the book, reaching for another.

Grimoire: Shadows of Immortality This was a detailed explanation of the seven different ways to attain immortality. Hermione cringed slightly at the mention of Horcruxes and she couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved that such a book was trapped within the walls of this Manor.

Nothing in that book either.

Her hopes were beginning to sink as she felt herself running out of time. She put it back on the shelf and searched around frantically for anything that hinted at Fiendfyre as a weapon for creatures. Most of the books were either handwritten journals of criminal witches as they dabbled in the deepest of the dark arts or books that contained a little too much information about illegal magical objects and curses. She suddenly caught sight of a leather bound book plastered against the wall with the title, ‘The Flames of the Fiend.”

Fiendfyre

She grabbed the book hastily and began to flip through it excitedly. The book was another collection of memoirs of a witch named Matilda Frogwart. Her eyes began to scan the first page that described the details of the rest of the book and her mind focused on the words in front of her.

December 23rd 1615
Mother has locked me in the closet again but this time, she didn’t see me sneak in the parchment and quill. Father is sitting by the porch steps; I can see him from the small window in the attic. Of course, he doesn’t ever stop mother when she tries her experiments on me – today it was a bite in the leg. It’s still bleeding but the experiment didn’t work again and now I have to sit until the stinging stops.
Light hinders the progress, my mother says, so I cannot sit outside with father or with the other girls on the street.

Soon, I will.
Soon, both mother and father will realize they were wrong.


The page ended and Hermione felt a knot in her stomach as she realized the Matilda Frogwart was a little girl. How did the diary of a 12 year old girl make its way into a collection of illegal dark magic books?

Soon, both mother and father will realize they were wrong.

Those words began to hold a darker meaning and the knot from Hermione’s stomach rose up to her throat. She reached forward to turn the page when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said quietly, praying it wasn’t Malfoy.

It was Eli. “Master Malfoy is looking for you,” he said quickly. “Hurry, Ms. Granger.”

“I’m not done,” she said.

“That bears no importance right now,” he replied. “If he found you here, your chances of staying at the Manor would be reduced to nothing. Please, hurry!”

She shut the book reluctantly and looked at the door. “Alright,” she said and left her unfinished research on the wooden table.

As she walked down the dark passageway on the third floor, the numbness in her head from sleeping began to feel more evident. “Why don’t we just apparate?” she asked exasperatedly. Her legs were sore from sitting on the chair all night and she was in no mood for long journeys.

“Only people of Malfoy titles can apparate within the grounds,” Eli said casually.

Hermione remembered the night Draco had whisked himself to the North Tower and that made sense to her now. “You can’t?”

“Not exactly,” he said deferentially. “I can apparate because I serve the Malfoys, as can the other house elves. But I cannot do it with as much ease as Master Malfoy himself – only to places that I’ve seen before.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “There are places in this castle that you haven’t seen?”

Eli laughed slightly. “I’ve seen more than Master Malfoy has but there are certain passages in the dungeons I’m sure, that I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing. The more familiar I am with a place, the easier it is for me to get there. I serve the Malfoys and so that is my title, no matter how inferior. Now, you and Ms. Parkinson for instance, cannot apparate within the grounds at all.”

“Pansy’s still here?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson will be visiting here for a few more days I imagine.”

“How many more?”

“I’m not quite sure. I haven’t had the chance to ask her; I saw her only when she brought Master Malfoy in after his injury and then I showed her to her room, that’s been it.”

They were on the second floor and Hermione felt relief as the first rays of sunshine shone through the slightly open windows, illuminating the beige walls.

“Eli!”

Hermione froze as Malfoy’s voice echoed throughout the passage, ringing in her ears. Eli’s expression didn’t falter for a second as he made his way past the many doors and down another flight of stairs into a room Hermione had never seen before.

This room was about as large as all the others. It had bright white walls and intricately carved crown mouldings at the top, decorated with thin gold paint. There was an ivory couch in the middle of the room between two angled loveseats but the centre of attention was the dark oak grand piano sitting in the corner, majestically glowing in the sunlight from the oncoming windows.

Malfoy was sitting straight on the couch with a glass of water in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other. His expression hardened as he saw Hermione cowering slightly behind his aged butler.

“What took so long?” he asked irritably, sipping his water.

“Ms. Granger was packing her things,” Eli said gently, bowing slightly and ushering Hermione into the room. “Have a seat.”

She looked around awkwardly and finally parked herself on one of the loveseats, sitting as far from Malfoy as possible without being too obvious.

“Doing it the muggle way?” he scoffed, raising his eyebrow.

Hermione’s forehead creased in anger as she sighed heavily. “You’ve called me that so many times, it’s getting old!” she snapped.

Draco’s expression changed into one of surprise. “What?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just stop calling me that!”

“Calling you what?”

“You know what!”

“No, I don’t,” he hissed.

“A mudblood!” she retorted. Suddenly however, she felt something wrong. Both Eli and Malfoy were staring at with confused expressions.

“I called you a muggle,” he said coldly turning his head back to Eli. Judging by Eli’s slightly amused eyes, Hermione guessed he wasn’t lying. This was probably the first time he’d spoken to her and used the word ‘muggle’ instead of ‘mudblood’. How odd.

“Ms. Granger’s luggage is packed and I’ve put it on the carriage,” Eli said obediently, breaking the awkward silence.

“Why on the carriage?” Malfoy asked. “Send it over to that shack of hers.”

The surprise of the word ‘muggle’ was now fading away rapidly as anger boiled inside her again.

“Most of her luggage has been sent off but I thought she might want an extra pair of clothes or some food. I’ve packed that in a knapsack.”

“Yes, we want this journey to be as convenient as possible,” Malfoy replied sarcastically. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” Hermione jumped up.

“Yes.”

“Breakfast first, Master Malfoy?” Eli insisted gesturing down the hall where Hermione suspected the second dining hall was. “It’s a long trip.”

“Fine,” Malfoy rolled his eyes.

The three of them walked two more doors and entered the second eating room in Malfoy Manor. This room was a little fancier with huge bouquets of flowers decorating each corner of the dark grey walls. At the centre, a long table dominated the room with chairs surrounding it and of course, it was covered in bowls full of luscious food. Pansy was sitting on one of the chairs with a plate of poached eggs and sausages in front of her. A smile crept onto her face when Draco walked into the room and she ushered to a seat beside her.

He looked at Hermione for a second and sat down beside Pansy, grabbing a bowl of milk tarts from the centre. Hermione, feeling awkward enough, sat herself opposite both of them and grabbed some French toast.

“It’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” Pansy said, looking striking in her bottle green cardigan.

“Not so much,” Hermione mumbled.

“Oh right, you’re leaving today, aren’t you?” she asked, though it was clear that she knew. Her voice wasn’t the same malignant and spiteful tone it had been at school but Hermione still felt an icy twinge when Pansy looked at her.

“Yeah,” Hermione said, prodding her breakfast with a fork. Draco seemed oblivious to the conversation, chewing his milk tarts silently.

“It’s a pity you can’t stay any longer,” Pansy said, her eyes focused on Draco.

“A terrible pity,” Hermione agreed, the sarcasm subtle.

“I can only imagine what it must feel like; having to go back to that little house of Weasley’s…what’s it called again? The Barrel?”

“The Burrow,” Hermione corrected, through gritted teeth.

“I’m going to have to be leaving soon too,” she said, sighing dramatically. “Being a reporter for Witch Weekly is no easy task. I mean, I had to be in Paris, Venice, Russia, Bulgaria, Germany… so many places! It’s a good thing I decided to drop by for a visit, or I may have been halfway to North America before Draco decided to invite me.”

“Glad you came,” Hermione muttered.

“Draco was surprised though, weren’t you?” she said, giggling at Malfoy. “A few unexpected visitors always keep things exciting. That’s exactly what I said to Samuel Davidson last summer. You know the Quidditch player?”

Hermione was beginning to get irritated right now. “Tell me, Pansy,” she said, feigning interest. “Was that before or after your father was sentenced to Azkaban as a death eater and your family’s house was seized by the Ministry?”

Pansy’s expression faltered and that familiar malice glimmered behind her tight mask. Hermione saw the slightest smile edge onto Malfoy’s lips but it went as soon as it came. Pansy had now turned away from her food and was twirling her finger gently around the back of Draco’s hand while he ate his breakfast.

Hermione felt sick just looking at them but Malfoy seemed so indifferent, as if he barely sensed the touch of her skin against his. He seemed almost bored and Hermione remembered what he had said yesterday.

Pansy and I have an… open relationship

The thoughts suddenly clicked into place and her stomach almost leapt out of its place. She felt nauseated looking at Malfoy and she let go of the French toast in front of her, trying to avoid all eye contact. Draco seemed to sense the sudden shift of the mood from angry to uncomfortable and his eyes shot up to Hermione’s.

She glared at him with cold eyes and he dropped his fork on his plate gently, standing up. “I’ll be by the carriage,” he said, looking at no one in particular but Hermione knew he was referring to her.

He walked out of the room effortlessly, shutting the door behind him. Hermione knew she couldn’t prolong the moment anymore and got out of her chair as well. It was time for her to leave.

“I’m sorry about your parents, by the way,” Pansy called. Hermione tried to hear the mockery in her voice but she heard nothing this time.

“Thanks,” she replied vacantly.

“I mean it,” Pansy urged. “It’s difficult to lose your parents and especially at the hands of such a high profiled killer.”

Hermione turned her head slowly and examined Pansy. “How… how did you know?”

“Draco told me,” she shrugged. “Last night…”

Hermione scowled at the expression of sudden triumph on Pansy’s face as she mentioned ‘last night’. “Right… well, thanks.”

That made sense now. She had wondered why Pansy hadn’t been shocked or even the least bit surprised at her presence at the Manor. Draco had told her that she was running from the grasps of a madman… great.

“Bye,” Hermione said blankly as she turned the knob and opened the door, looking at the beige hallway for the last time.
---

The thestrals began to glide forward slowly, effortlessly pulling the weight of two fully grown wizards, a huge carriage stuffed with velvet cushions and an old rucksack containing clothes and food. As Hermione felt her stomach lurch, she closed her eyes slightly, remembering the feeling of fear she got when the creatures took flight.

Malfoy was sitting across from her but instead of looking amused like he had done the last time they were here, he had a troubled expression on his face. Hermione figured that she really had startled him yesterday with her sudden outburst.

The thestrals were now in mid-air, soaring sumptuously through the clouds as the two strangers in the carriage looked away from each other. Hermione couldn’t help but look behind her at the opulent mansion behind her that was fading into the distance. Her eyes could still make out the North Tower on which she had first landed and the beautiful rock garden by the South Tower. And of course, somewhere within those very walls, a creature wailed in the darkness, pleased that its secret was to remain buried forever.

She closed her eyes and let the memory of the mansion fade into her mind. Despite the irritable company she had had to deal with, her stay at Malfoy Manor had ignited the same familiar spark in her that she had felt when at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron; the spark that ignited into a fire of mystery, adventure and curiosity… a fire that she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

And of course, there was Eli. As she had boarded the carriage, he had held her hand gently and placed a fragile kiss on it. It wasn’t the kind of heartfelt moment that she had been expecting, but then again, the twinkle in Eli’s eyes told her that maybe this wasn’t the last time she’d ever see him again.

“Granger?”

Hermione’s eyes opened as Draco called her name. “What is it?” she asked irritably, still not looking at him.

“I sent Weasley an owl last night,” he informed her. “We’re supposed to be done with all the paperwork and at his place at 5 p.m.”

“Great.” She turned back out to look at the window.

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked. “Your luggage has all been sent back.”

Hermione looked at him with bare eyes and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he replied coldly. “I figure we might as well get a head start on the paperwork.”

Hermione scoffed. “Yeah, we don’t want to prolong this happy journey together,” she snapped.

Malfoy reached into his briefcase marked with an ‘L’ and produced a stack of papers with the official Ministry emblem on them. “Do you have a quill?” he asked.

“No,” she replied flatly.

He reached into the briefcase again and produced a well-trimmed feather quill, handing it to Hermione. “Read through them if you want, it’s all basically the release forms.”

“Right.” She began to skim through the paragraphs of official jargon until her eyes could no longer bear the words on the page in front of her. “Where do I sign?”

“Wherever there’s a blank with ‘Hermione Granger’ under it.”

Hermione sat up suddenly and let the last sentence register into her head. This was the first time that Malfoy had ever said her name out loud to her. It sounded so weird when it was Draco’s bold voice delivering the name that she took a second to hear it again in her head. Unlike most people she knew, he over emphasized the ‘io’ part of her name, making it sound deeper and slightly fancier than it was.

Draco, too, seemed to have realized this peculiar fact but he didn’t look up from his papers. All Hermione could see was that his eyes, which had been scanning lines before, were frozen at one word. He wasn’t reading anymore and she was sure that he was repeating the words in his head as if he had just said something that was difficult to pronounce.

“Uh… yeah…okay,” she said, trying to mask the embarrassment that she felt. These were two people who had known each other since they were eleven years old and for the first time in over 10 years, one had said the other’s name… this had to have been some sort of record.

She grabbed the quill and scribbled her messy signature over the line on the first page, then proceeding to the second page. Malfoy seemed to have moved on as well from the momentary pause as his quill was scratching against the papers.

“If we’re doing all this paperwork here, why are we going to the Ministry?” Hermione asked.

“Standard procedures,” Malfoy said, not looking up. “Skeid needs to make sure everything is in order.”

“In order?”

Malfoy heaved an irritable sigh. Her curiosity was annoying him again. “The usual kind of stuff that he needs to talk to you about: he’ll thank you for bearing with the whole problem first, ask you about how you’re holding up after your parents’ deaths, explain any leads they have on Lestrange and the reason why they’re letting you go out of custody.”

“Oh… okay.”

“And then there’s some questions he’ll ask you and a medical exam.”

Hermione’s head shot up so quickly that she felt a moment of dizziness rush through her. She gaped at Draco with a horrified expression and even his perfect mask couldn’t hide his expression of worry. Suddenly Hermione understood the troubled expression he had been wearing at the beginning of the journey.

He was afraid. A medical exam would mean that she would have to be face to face with a healer who would check her from head to toe and ensure she was in fine physical shape, or at least as good as she was before. It would take a three year old with scissors two minutes to find the burns on her arms and legs and another three minutes to completely reveal the scars. It would take an experienced Ministry healer less than thirty seconds.

“A medical exam?” she asked again, confirming what she knew she had heard.

“Yes,” Draco replied, and though his voice was casual she could see the apprehension in his eyes. “I hope you’re not as afraid of needles as you are of heights,” he added.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his feeble attempt to hide his anxiety. “They’ll find the burns,” she said to him, choosing to be blunt rather than speak in code. Draco’s face faltered for a second but before she knew it, he had his mask back on. She had to give him some credit: it took a lot of effort to maintain such a blank expression.

“I’d assume so,” he agreed.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Why should it?”

“Because you know as well as I do that they’re going to ask questions.”

“And you will answer them,” he replied indifferently.

“But…? You know you can’t afford to have the Ministry know the truth…” Hermione began unconfidently.

Draco shoulders squared suddenly and his jaw clenched. Without warning, he reached behind him and produced a thick, brown palm-sized bad. “Is this enough?” he said icily as he handed her the pouch.

Hermione’s brown eyes widened. “What is this?” she asked quizzically.

Malfoy didn’t respond to her, instead choosing to stare out the window with a blank expression. Hermione could see past his transparent veil into the red fury in his eyes. She reached into the bag and felt her fingers press against something smooth and cold… there were many things in there. She looked up at Malfoy again and when she got no reaction, she overturned the bag in her lap.

A heap of gold coins fell onto her and by a quick glance over them; Hermione estimated there were over 1000 galleons in the pile.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Money,” Malfoy replied coldly, turning to face Hermione again.

“What for?”

“Your silence.”

Hermione now had a horrified look on her face. The coins on her lap were sparkling in the sunlight but all Hermione could do was focus on the perverse, cold man sitting across from her. “You… you…you” She couldn’t go on and her eyes welled up with tears. “You selfish, self-centered ass!” she screamed.

Tears were now mercilessly spilling over her face as she spoke to a startled Malfoy. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to think of me like that!” she cried. “You… complete… jerk!”

“Granger-”

“Shut up! Do you think I can be bought? After over ten years of knowing me, you honestly have the audacity to think that you can throw gold in my face and then order me around?! Those cheap tactics may have worked with your twisted friends but I… is that how I look to you? After all I’ve done against Voldemort and… and the death eaters, you still think that you can buy me?! ”

Malfoy was still staring at Hermione with a confused look on his face. “You can’t just assume people are lower than you because they’re poorer! I may not have your money or your stupid big mansion but I go home every night to a family,” she snapped. “When was the last time you sat at dinner with people who made you feel like no one else mattered but you? When was the last time anyone held your hand and looked at you like they could never stop looking?”

Malfoy looked at her with a blank expression. Hermione’s flushed cheeks and wet eyes were an overwhelming sight for the distant man and he could feel the heat radiating off her drenched face.

“I don’t want your disgusting money,” she said, as she wiped away her tears with her sleeve. “I don’t want your precious Malfoy gold. And I can’t believe you have the nerve to think of me as low as you. I don’t want to blackmail you… keep your filthy money. I hope someday you’ll come to realize that not all things are made of silver and gold.” She flung the gold coins off her lap and they cackled against the seats as they fell onto the plush carpet.

That was the last straw.

“If you don’t want the money then don’t take it,” Malfoy said, his fists tightened and his jaw clasped. “And don’t you dare think that just because you spent a few measly days in my house that you know me inside out. You think I’m narrow minded when you, with your haughtiness and pride thinking no one can be smarter than you, assume that just because I have money, I had no family.”

Hermione glared at him with livid eyes. “What do you think? That I wake up every morning and plan out all the awful things I’m going to do today to ruin peoples’ lives? I used to have a family!” he shouted.

His voice was shaking now and Hermione felt herself recoil slightly. “I had parents and friends and girlfriends and colleagues!” His voice was more controlled but Hermione saw the fury in his dim, grey eyes. “I used to have a family.”

The anger in Hermione hadn’t subsided enough to make her feel sorry for the livid man who sat across from her. She turned away, glancing at the grey sky and tried to distract herself with the indistinct shapes of the clouds. Despite her reluctance, he had shut her up.
---

“Ms. Granger! A pleasure to meet you again, my dear!”

Skeid came striding up the hallway as soon as his short, keen secretary had informed him that Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger were here. Hermione and Draco sat at opposite ends of a long stretch of chairs, each staring at the wall closet to them, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

“And of course, Mr. Malfoy! It’s been far too long, Draco!”

The tall man seemed a lot more enthusiastic since their last meeting but then again, Hermione reminded herself, he had been informing her of her parents’ deaths and she hadn’t been with a man whose name sent shivers down the spine of every Ministry official. His square spectacles sat on the edge of his blunt nose and his grey hairs seemed darker and better covered.

Malfoy got up slowly and shook Skeid’s eager hand with a short smile. “Let’s head on into the office,” Skeid suggested, holding his hand out to Hermione as he led the pair of them down the grey hallway into his large office. Nothing much had changed at all in these past three weeks; the oversized oak desk still sat in the middle of room, surrounded by three cushioned brown chairs, right beside filing cabinets and a huge stone fireplace.

“May I get you both something to drink?” he asked, ushering the two of them to the brown chairs and seating himself on the opposite side of the desk.

“I’m fine,” Draco said and Skeid turned to Hermione.

“Me too,” she said quickly.

“Very well, down to business already, I see?” he smiled hastily and reached out under his stacks of papers, pulling out a thin blue folder.

“Now before I begin, Ms. Granger, let me extend my thanks to you on behalf of the entire department for your patience in dealing with us.”

Hermione saw Draco from the corner of her eye as Skeid mumbled away a series of rehearsed gratifications. He was staring at him in a very professional manner though his expression was bored.

“-a hard time dealing with this, I’m sure. It’s truly a pleasure working with someone as cooperative and adjusting as you.”

Hermione nodded swiftly and flashed Skeid a quick smile. “Yes, right.”

“Once again, my sincerest condolences for your parents’ deaths,” he said, his enthusiastic voice turning gentle. “Are you holding up well?

“Fine, thank you,” Hermione said, still glancing at Draco’s unmoving expression. She felt a feeling of amazement as Skeid began to run through the agenda that Draco had guessed.

“That’s good to know. And you’ll be glad to hear that Rodolphus Lestrange has been tracked to somewhere in Southern Europe, much farther than we had originally predicted. We suspected he was lingering in Northern France.”

“Ah, okay,” Hermione said. Her responses were now automatic sounds that she made when Skeid paused.

“His distance and our forewarning of course, gives us a very good idea of the possible route he’ll be taking next. With no possible way of getting back in London, it is my pleasure to inform you, Ms. Granger, that you are not in any real danger.”

“That’s good to know,” she said, trying to fake enthusiasm. She was glad to know that Lestrange had no way of entering London but in all honesty, with Ron and Harry by her side, she had never really sensed the danger in the first place.

“-therefore, released from the custody of Mr. Malfoy and can return to your house,” he finished, taking a deep breath and clasping his hands together dramatically.

“Alright.”

“And now, unfortunately, we have the boring protocols to follow through upon – I’ll try my best to shorten them to the bare necessities.”

He opened his blue file and produced a sheet of parchment. “Ms. Granger, there’s a healer waiting in the second room down the hallway, to your right. She’ll just do a quick once over to make sure you’re healthy to go back.”

Hermione’s gaze met Draco’s for a brief second and she got up, sliding her chair back. “Sure.”

---

“And the protective measures undertaken?” Skeid asked, looking at Draco and then back at his paper.

“We had the perimeter secured with a variety of charms, including a Fidelus Charm,” Draco explained. This was the third question he’d had to answer as part of the formalities. “Ms. Granger was always under the surveillance of my reliable caretaker. She was informed of all possible exits that led out into the grounds and the conditions under which specific routes were to be chosen over others.”

“Were there any issues with that?”

“None at all,” Draco replied smoothly. “Ms. Granger was very compliant with the regulations and protective measures.”

“Excellent.”

Draco gazed out the translucent glass door to Skeid’s office down the hall. His mind had been preoccupied for the last 14 minutes as Hermione had made her way down the same narrow passage and turned on the right.

“Were there any problems with dark magic or the like?” Skeid asked.

Draco didn’t hesitate for a second. “None whatsoever pertaining to Lestrange.” He hadn’t lied.

“Right, right,” Skeid muttered, checking off things and writing notes beside them. “That sounds perfect, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco paused to give Skeid a moment to gather his papers and stuff them back into his blue file. “Is that all?” he asked.

“Yes,” he replied cheerfully.

“May I leave, then? I’d hate to press but I have somewhere to be tonight.”

“Once Ms. Granger gets back and I look over the report, that will be it,” he said, smiling nervously. “Would you like a glass of water?”

Draco didn’t have a chance to answer as a piercing scream rang through the hallway. Both men ran forward into the corridor and heard it again, the source of the scream was clear.

It was the second room to the right.
---

“Ms. Granger, what on earth happened?” Skeid cried, bursting into the room. The healer’s examination room was a small one with stone walls, a large examination table (on which Hermione currently sat) and a desk over at the corner with papers on top.

Beside Hermione, Malfoy saw a pale, old woman with curly dark hair and very pointed features. She may have been really pretty at another time but that was hard to see with the innumerable green boils on her face.

“Felice! My dear!” Skied said, looking at his bewitched employee. “What happened to you?”

“That girl!” the woman shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Hermione.

Malfoy turned to Hermione with a perplexed expression as she put on an innocent and fearful face in front of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. “I forgot to tell her, Mr. Skeid,” Hermione said in an apologetic tone. “Oh please, I’m so sorry!”

“Tell her what?” the frantic Ministry official said, leaning over the hysterical woman and mumbling soothing words to her.

“I’m hideous!” the healer cried. “I’ll never be able to leave my house!”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, you’re a healer, get it together!” Hermione said irritably and then quickly composed herself. “I mean, I’m so sorry!”

“Felice, what happened?” he asked the woman.

“I was doing my examination,” she said, sobbing. “I got past the face and asked her to hold out her hand so I can do an injury spell. I touched her fingers and then… oh! All these sick things started popping up on my face!”

She turned her head away, as if afraid that her face might repel others in the room.

“Why on earth did that happen?” Skied asked.

“It was part of the protection!” Hermione wailed in her dramatic apologetic voice. “Malfoy put the spell on me before we got to the Manor and I must have forgotten, oh! How foolish of me!”

She tried to produce a few synthetic tears but failed. However, her theatrical performance was enough to convince Skeid that this was all a misunderstanding. “It’s alright, dear,” he said sympathetically, placing his arm on Hermione’s shoulder. “What sort of spell was this, Mr. Malfoy?”

Malfoy was startled by his sudden inclusion in the conversation.

“It was a… Hornwart Charm…” Hermione said.

“I’ve… I’ve never heard of that…”

“Yes, it’s uncommon,” Hermione began. “Quite advanced. If anyone so much as touches me, they get green boils all over their faces!”

“Oh my!”

“It was a protective measure.”

Skeid turned to Draco and nodded fretfully. “You seem to have protected her very diligently, Mr. Malfoy.”

He didn’t pause to hear Malfoy’s response but instead, scrambled over to the sobbing healer at the desk and tried to comfort her. The healer however, seemed to be inconsolable and kept shoving Skeid’s arm off her shoulder as she howled overemotionally.

Hermione looked over at Malfoy with a knowing expression and nodded her head towards Skeid; he understood what she meant.

“We’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Skeid,” Malfoy said, feigning an impressive sympathetic tone. “And now with all that’s happening, I believe it’s time we take your leave.”

“Oh, yes, yes… I suppose that would be best,” he mumbled, standing up and straightening out his robes.

“And as you can very well see, Ms. Granger is in pristine condition,” he added. “So, I assume with an impaired healer hindering the examination, there will be no need to further pursue it?”

“No, no, that would be fine. She looks alright and… well, with all your protection I’d be surprised if she managed to get a scratch on herself.”

Malfoy let out a forced laugh as Skeid chuckled apprehensively. “It was a pleasure seeing you both again,” he said, shaking both Malfoy’s and Hermione’s hands. “Perhaps under less strenuous circumstances, a dinner would be in order.”

“Yes, of course,” Malfoy replied automatically. “Good day, Mr. Skeid.”

“Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger,” he said nodding politely to both of them as they exited the office.

The two had made their way back towards the main waiting room, past the hallway when Malfoy suddenly turned to Hermione with an inquisitive look on his face.

“What’s a Hornwart Charm?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged casually. “I have no idea.”

“Then what was that back there?”

She smiled mischievously. “It was an explosive pimple spell from the Weasleys’ Joke Shop.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Hahhahahahaa, next !

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter 16 : And so we part

The carriage landed with a thud against the hard pavement, waking Hermione. She looked out of the gold framed window and saw the familiar two storey house standing tall against the sky. The sun was beginning to set and its magnificent rays shone majestically between the light clouds, creating a dramatic orange streak across the blue sky. Slightly dazed, she looked around the carriage and saw Malfoy watching her patiently, his expression unreadable.

“It’s time to go,” he said impassively. “Your luggage is already here.”

He indicated towards the front porch where a huge bronze trunk with a black strip around it, sat.

“Oh,” Hermione said, sitting up quickly and readjusting her tangled hair absentmindedly. “Thanks.”

“Is there anything else you need?” he asked. His fingers were twirling distractedly over his briefcase while he gazed intently at Hermione. This irritated her very much; Malfoy was probably the most inscrutable person she’d ever met. He could be staring out the window with a vacant expression and then a second later, he could be glaring at her with fury behind those grey eyes. Unpredictable and unreadable Hermione sighed. A dangerous combination.

“No, I’m fine,” she replied.

“Good.”

There was a momentary pause as Draco pondered something in his mind, allowing Hermione a chance to gaze at his aged face. He was still pale and reasonably attractive but his features seemed to have aged a great degree to a point where the lines on his forehead began to look solid and deep. The circles under his eyes were faint but visible and his sleek hair had now begun to wear down at the ends, detracting from the polished Malfoy look.

“I appreciate what you did at the Ministry,” he said finally.

Hermione looked at him curiously. “Don’t take this as any sort of encouragement,” Draco added suddenly, as a warning. “I still don’t need you at my throat but I don’t like owing anybody anything.”

“What do you owe me?”

“You saved me before and now, you probably spared me days worth of Ministry inquiries and at least 10,000 galleons.”

“They’d fine you that much?” Hermione asked.

“That’s how much I’d have had to bribe them,” Draco said, shrugging mindlessly. It didn’t seem like that big of an amount to him.

“Is that your thanks?” Hermione asked, surprised by the tone of iciness in her voice. The mention of the bribe had triggered her irrational side and her eyes danced over the spattered gold that still lay on the floor of the carriage.

“Thank you,” Draco said, with a tone of finality.

Hermione turned her head towards the bottom of the seat and grabbed her bag. Despite her irritable mood, she had sensed the sincerity in Malfoy’s voice, or maybe he was just a really good actor. She’d had enough evidence to support both theories.

“It wasn’t so bad living at Malfoy Manor,” Hermione said, as she placed her hands on the edge of the door to descend the royal carriage. “The food was good and the distractions were… ample. It was nice to feel like I was back at Hogwarts for a second.” She formed a gentle smile at the edge of her lips.

“It’s better when you feel it for more than a second,” Draco said. “When you feel like nothing else matters other than torturing Gryffindors and ordering around two big thugs.”

He didn’t smile back at Hermione but the sharp look from his eyes had vanished, replaced with a nostalgic sadness that she knew was related to his outburst this morning. I used to have a family!

“Well, at least you have Pansy,” she said, trying to brighten the mood a little. No one, not even the most sardonic and embittered wizard on the planet, should have to feel like the way Draco looked like he felt right now.

This time he did smile, only it was a thin, forced smile that was followed by an empty laugh. “Maybe.” It was apparent from his tone that he didn’t believe it at all.

She stepped out of the carriage and she could hear scrambles from the Burrow as her feet touched the ground. From the top window, she saw two figures running down the stairs and she turned back to Malfoy.

“Stay out of trouble,” were his last words as the thestrals began their gentle ascension back into the air. Hermione blinked once and he was gone.

“Hermione!”

Ginny ran out the front door and greeted her startled friend with a big hug, almost lifting her off the ground. “It’s so good to finally have you back!”

Hermione smiled. “Was Ron really that bad?”

“Well, he was better when he got back but before… when you’d just left, it was like someone had stuck a dementor in the house.”

She laughed slightly at the dark joke and made her way to the front of the porch where her stuff was lying. “They just came a few minutes ago,” Ginny said, pointing to the trunk and bag.

The door opened again and this time, Harry came out with a wide smile across his face. “Thank you for finally coming back!” he joked. “I’d started to think that you were planning on living in that mansion forever.”

“Nothing could keep her there,” Ginny joked. “Come on inside, Ron’s going to be home in an hour or so.”

“Ron’s not here?” Hermione asked.

“Don’t worry, he got a call from the Ministry Owlery – apparently, there’s some package he has to pick up.”

Hermione came back into the Burrow and felt the warmth of the stoking fire and the smell of fruit and pepper fill her senses. “It’s so nice to finally be back,” she said, remembering the cold walls of Malfoy Manor.

“And it’s about time too,” Harry added. “I was wondering when we’d get some sort of letter telling us that you’d hexed Malfoy or accidentally beaten him to death.”

“Haha, very funny,” Hermione mocked.

“Oh come on,” Harry insisted. The three of them had sat down opposite the warm fireplace, on the living room sofa, which felt hard to Hermione after being spoiled by the lavish furnishings at Malfoy Manor. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of hurting him once… just once.”

Hermione smiled slyly. “Well more than once but I never did.”

“Good on you!” Ginny said sarcastically. “It’s a rather hard job, isn’t it?”

“Agreed.”

“Well, now you’re far away to cause him any harm,” Harry said lightly.

“How was the house while I was gone?” Hermione asked, ignoring the muffled laughter from both Harry and Ginny.

“Boring,” Harry sighed. “Teddy was here to keep us busy but Ron’s glumness brought the whole place down.”

“Teddy left?” Hermione asked with a twinge of disappointment. She felt an odd attachment to the little boy, especially now. She knew it was silly to think that the loss of her parents was similar to Teddy’s – she had at least had the opportunity to spend her early years with them by her side. Teddy would have to know his parents through others and Hermione empathized with him more than she had ever done before. And despite her irrational comparison, she sensed a tighter link between herself and Teddy, two people having lost a major part of their lives due to circumstances beyond their control.

“Well when Ron took off,” Ginny began, “we spent most of our time trying to track him so mum suggested that we drop Teddy back off with Andromeda until things got under control.”

“Oh I’m sorry about that,” Hermione said, her smile morphing itself into pursed lips. “I had no idea that the owls got mixed up an-”

“You’re sorry?” Ginny asked gaping. “We’re the ones who’re sorry! We should have rushed down there to help you together but Ron got a little carried away and he just ran off at night.”

Hermione felt herself reddening slightly at the fuss Ginny was making. “Did my letter really sound that ghastly?” she asked timidly. “I was very freaked out when I wrote that… and I wasn’t thinking straight. I made out things to be a lot worse than they actually were.”

“Ron told us your burns were bad,” Ginny said sombrely, eyeing Hermione’s long sleeved sweater.

“They’re much better now!” she insisted pushily but judging by the suspicious look on both their faces, Hermione guessed they wanted proof. She sighed and rolled up her right sleeve, allowing the warm air to touch the skin where the scars still remained.

Ginny’s eyes widened. “That’s much better?!” she half-screamed.

“Ginny, it’s alright!” Hermione insisted.

“It’s all swollen and… is that melted flesh?!”

“Ginny, please calm down… you sound like Ron right now.”

Ginny brought her face closer to the burns, placing her fingers gently over the seared flesh. Her eyes suddenly narrowed and Hermione knew that her fingers felt the faint throbbing under the red scars.

“Those don’t feel alright,” she said, calming down slightly. Her tone was dark and worried as she turned to Harry. “Take a look.”

“Are you sure it’s alright?” Harry asked Hermione, not going any further.

“Yes,” Hermione replied tersely.

“Then I believe you,” Harry said, turning back to Ginny. “Why would she lie?”

“It feels like a pulse!” Ginny said, squirming slightly.

“All injuries throb,” Hermione said defensively. “It’s part of the healing process.”

“She’s a healer,” Harry agreed. “Ginny, trust her.”

Ginny looked at Hermione with a calculating expression and then nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess us Weasleys do have a flair for the theatrical.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Hermione said, smiling at Ginny. She knew Ginny meant well – like Ron did. They were both overprotective and she often found that endearing but today, she appreciated Harry’s passiveness over Ron’s aggressiveness. Harry was the kind of person who would allow his friends to have secrets, trusting them enough to reveal them when they thought best. Ron was different of course; secrets, to him, were the foundation of betrayal and in all honesty, neither one was better than the other. It was just that today, she preferred one to the other.

The fireplace made a gurgling sound that made Hermione jump. The golden flames began to dim slightly and the cackling in the stone chasm became more pronounced as the colour changed green.

“Ron’s coming,” Harry said.

There was a flash of green flames and Ron popped out of the fire, falling on his back into the tiny living room.

“We also have a flair for clumsiness,” Ginny added as Hermione went over to Ron and knelt beside him.

“Are you alright?” she asked him, rubbing her hand against his shoulder. He was covered in soot from head to toe and that included the medium sized box in his arms.

“I am now,” he said, smiling at the brown haired girl; he leaned in to kiss her.

“Not in front of us,” Harry groaned, smiling.

“Spare the innocent,” Ginny agreed, making a sour face.

Ron scowled and turned back to Hermione. “This is for you,” he said, taking the box from his arms and laying it on her lap.

“You shouldn’t have,” Hermione said, blushing slightly.

Ron looked confused. “I didn’t,” he said quickly. “This is the package I picked up from the Ministry.”

“A package for me?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I got an owl this morning that said that I needed to pick up a package sent to this address –”

Hermione couldn’t hear what Ron was saying anymore. She ran her fingers over the address written on the box.

Hermione Granger the top of the address line read.

“-and that was it,” Ron finished.

“Yeah,” Hermione responded distractedly.

Something felt different about this package and it took Hermione only seconds to figure out what it was. There was a seal placed at the folded ends of the box and though the wax was moulded, her sharp eyes could clearly make out the snake entwining around the Celtic ‘M’ embedded in green.

“I’m going to open this later,” Hermione said, placing her fingers strategically over the wax seal so that her hand concealed most of it. She lifted it up gingerly and began to walk towards her room. “I’ll go put this upstairs.”

“Mum and Dad went out but they left dinner for us,” Ginny called from the bottom of the stairs. “Hurry back down!”

---

Later came at ten o’clock at night after Mrs. Weasley’s chicken pot pie, two hours of questioning Hermione (during which she carefully avoided mentioning the creature and her burns) and another hour of listening to the Weird Sisters’ new album. By the end, Hermione had managed to produce some faint yawns and excused herself from the others to go back to her room.

Now she sat, cross-legged, on her bed with the package in front of her. She had dimmed the lights slightly so that from the outside, the small crack under her door made it seem like the room was dark.

She grabbed her wand out of her pocket and undid the sealing charm placed on the box, after which the flaps shot open and the inside was visible. Hermione squinted slightly in the darkness to make out the contents and then reached in, allowing her sense of touch to discover them. She lifted out three heavy objects from inside and dumped them on her bed. With her illuminated wand, she moved in closer to see what these masses really were.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Dark Hearts, The Flames of the Fiend, Grimoire: Shadows of Immortality

The three books lay on her bedspread as Hermione’s wide eyes scanned their covers to make sure this wasn’t some sort of a joke. After a minute or two of just gaping, she became convinced that these really were the illegal books that she had been reading at Malfoy Manor this very morning.

She paused for a second and strained her ears, trying to pick out any sounds from outside. It seemed that Ron, Harry and Ginny were still all downstairs. Satisfied with the silence, Hermione reached back into the box and felt around for anything else. She pulled out a folded piece of parchment with only these words:

To help you continue your research – these were the books I found on the table this morning. I hope they are enough. I’m glad to help in any other way. Eli

Hermione suddenly realized why the package had been sent through the Ministry Owlery. The Malfoys’ owls were very easily recognized and it would have taken Harry all of two seconds to realize where this package had come from and another five seconds to open it and discover the illegal contents within. The Malfoy name was also very recognized and so it would have been fairly easy for the package to pass through Ministry inspections without having any questions raised and Harry and Ron would think that this was something from St. Mungos for her.

That familiar adrenaline rush spread through Hermione like wildlife as her eyes scanned the books. It wasn’t over.

She tossed the other two books back in the box and reached for “The Flames of the Fiend”, feeling her pulse race. Holding her wand to the page, she began reading from where she’d left off.

January 2nd 1616
Mother lost control of herself today in front of four muggles visiting in town. It was funny. I could hear her shriek from the street and then the muggles went crazy too… the yelling wouldn’t stop. But I liked it.

To calm her down, father let her do another experiment on me. This time it was the arm… the blood was not as thin today. This upset mother and she yelled at me some more until she went back downstairs.


Hermione kept on reading into the night. Matilda Frogwart spent another 40 entries detailing some more experiments that her mother did to her - though she never mentioned what they were exactly – leading up to September 1616. There was always mention of blood which scared Hermione but Matilda seemed almost apathetic to the experiments now, referring to them as though her mother was trying different dresses on her. Yet there was an undertone of darkness that Hermione felt; the darkness that was probably why this book was not published in a normal library.

There were footsteps outside the door; Hermione stuffed the book noisily in her pillow case and lay under her blankets with her eyes half closed. The footsteps neared and Hermione’s eyes sensed the door opening when the light from the hallway flooded the dark room.

“Are you asleep?” It was Harry.

Hermione felt the stillness in the room as she felt Harry scrutinizing her. “I’m awake,” she said quietly, trying to sound as if she had just woken up.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled.

“No, it’s alright,” Hermione said as she sat up against her headboard. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to see how you were. I mean, I know with Ginny fussing and everything, we didn’t really get to talk.”

“Harry, after two hours of interrogation what is there left to talk about?” Hermione said, trying to sound cheerful.

“Well, we couldn’t mention Lestrange in front of Ron.”

Hermione took in a deep breath. “I’ll tell him someday,” she said remorsefully. Lying to Ron was never a good idea but sometimes it was necessary.

“It’s not that,” Harry said, taking a seat on a chair by the bed. Hermione swung her legs over the side of her bed, sitting opposite him. “I tried to find out as much as I could when Ron wasn’t around but I didn’t get very far.”

“Skeid said he was somewhere in Southern Europe,” Hermione offered.

“Yeah,” Harry said pensively. His eyebrows were raised and his jaw was taut and Hermione could tell he wanted to say something.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry looked at Hermione with a worried expression that stiffened her body. She knew that expression very well; it was the same one he always had had at Hogwarts when he was hiding some vital piece of information he thought would disturb her.

“I heard those stories too,” he said slowly. “The sources that provided them were very… leery. I mean, they were two guys from Italy who claimed they saw Lestrange staying in some wizarding inn.”

“What’s the problem with that?”

“They didn’t speak Italian, first of all,” Harry said darkly. “And secondly, doesn’t the information just sound…wrong?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Harry,” Hermione insisted impatiently. “What’re you getting at?”

“Alright. Think of it this way: Lestrange is a death eater, right?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied bluntly.

“He was among the most loyal to Voldemort and he spent most of his time in close confidences with the darkest wizards and Voldemort himself. He’s got a pretty good idea of how to hide and stay out of the public eye easily.”

“Yes, yes, I get that!” Hermione was now beyond impatient.

“Well, what experienced death eater would choose to hide out in an inn flooded with wizards all year just a few hours from where the Ministry expects him to go?”

Hermione froze. “I checked with the inn and… they’ve got a pretty good reputation. I mean, there are Ministry officials from Italy constantly staying there,” Harry continued. “Lestrange is wanted as an international death eater – there are posters of him in hundreds of different languages plastered over the wizarding world.”

“You think it was a set up?” she asked, managing to squeeze some air into her constricted lungs.

“That’s what I’m not sure of,” Harry said sceptically. “There’s only so much searching I can do without calling attention to the entire thing.”

“What do you think?” Hermione urged. Her experience with Harry had proven that his instincts, sometimes farfetched, were usually right on the mark.

“I think he did set up those sources,” Harry told her truthfully. “The Ministry expects him to be in London right now but they get a tip that he’s hiding out in Italy at the moment. They hand over the case to the Italian officials and let their own guard down. And that’s-”

“The perfect time to sneak in,” Hermione gasped, finishing Harry’s sentence. “It makes sense.”

“And not to mention, they’ve let his target go free,” Harry said. Hermione felt herself exposed as Harry referred to her as a target and her eyes shifted over nervously to the windows as if she expected the crazed man to jump in right now and kill her.

“You’re safe with us,” Harry said reassuringly.

“But are you safe with me?” Hermione asked him. “If a group of death eaters bursts in right now, what happens?”

“We fight,” Harry said, “like we always do.”

“Who protects Molly and Arthur?” Hermione asked. “Who goes to save Victoire? Don’t you see? This was the reason I’d left in the first place. If the threat hasn’t diminished, why did Skeid let me go?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said truthfully. “But-”

He hesitated and leaned in very slightly, lowering his voice. “You didn’t see anything odd at Malfoy Manor, did you?”

Hermione withdrew back slightly and tensed her hands. This is what he’d wanted to say all along. “You think Malfoy had a hand in this?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s a theory,” Harry said hesitantly. “But it makes sense.”

“How?”

“Well, first of all he takes you in at his Manor so he can keep watch on you until Lestrange finds a way into the country. That way you can’t run away anywhere else. And then, once Lestrange does come back to London, he tells Skeid to let you go –assuring him, it’s safe. Skeid would think so too with the fake sources and he becomes convinced that you’re in no danger. Now, it’s too late for you to hide anywhere.”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath and looked at Harry with intense eyes. “I was with him for over two weeks,” she said. “If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it then.”

“No, no,” Harry corrected her. “When Voldemort was after me, what did he always say?”

Hermione knew instantly. “He said you were to be brought in alive… so he could kill you.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and Hermione sensed the slight darkening in his tone. “The pawns bring me in while he gets to finish me off.”

“You’re saying Malfoy is a pawn?” Hermione asked uneasily.

“We’ve seen him take orders from other death eaters before, what’s so different about this time?”

Outside the room, there were another two set of footsteps stirring. Hermione heard some muffled ‘goodnights’ and ‘sleep wells’ as the sounds receded. She guessed they were Ron and Ginny, who had finally decided to call it a night.

“You think Skeid would take orders from Malfoy? You think he would just let me go when Malfoy told him?” Hermione asked suddenly.

“Who wouldn’t? He’s got boat loads of money and his family name still holds a lot of power.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” she said finally. “I know… I know that it makes sense but…”

Hermione mind wandered over the many days she had spent in the Manor, trying to figure out exactly why Harry’s theory didn’t seem right to her. Had she been so preoccupied with the creature that she completely overlooked a plot that had been setup to kill her?

“I’m not sure about anything,” Harry said quietly. “It’s all speculation and I plan to check around more so don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Hermione assured him. “I felt safe there… from Lestrange, at least.”

“We all felt you were safe,” Harry agreed. “From what I’ve heard, Malfoy’s got every possible curse surrounding that castle…”

“Yeah, there’s a Fidelus charm too,” Hermione said.

“It’d be a miracle if his friends managed to make it in without getting killed by a curse,” Harry joked. “Quite a fortress, isn’t it?”

Hermione laughed slightly. “No unexpected guests at Malfoy Manor.”

As Harry chuckled lightly, Hermione froze at the sound of her own words. No unexpected guests at Malfoy Manor. There was a familiar ringing in her head – the kind of alarm that was set off when something wasn’t right. A hollow voice inside her head began to recite a familiar conversation to her:

It’s a good thing I decided to drop by for a visit, or I may have been halfway to North America before Draco decided to invite me. Draco was surprised though, weren’t you? A few unexpected visitors always keep things exciting.”

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face.

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson will be visiting here for a few more days I imagine.”

“How many more?”

“I’m not quite sure. I haven’t had the chance to ask her; I saw her this time only when she brought Master Malfoy in after his injury and then I showed her to her room, that’s been it.”

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” Harry asked the pallid girl. “What happened?”

Malfoy Manor is not a mansion…it’s a fortress.

In all her preoccupation, she had failed to notice something. Her acute and observant eyes had missed the obvious deceit right in front of her eyes. For almost two days, she hadn’t realized and now that she had, it might be too late.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, his voice was frantic and he was on the verge of yelling. “What happened? What is it?!”

Hermione tried to gather some air in her lungs and compose her voice before Harry yelled loud enough to wake Ron up. It was harder than she thought as she felt her throat open slightly and gather in the warm air from the room.

She finally spoke in barely a whisper so that Harry had to lean in to hear her. “Pansy.”

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Mulle meeldi Eli
Ja hakkab veel rohkem meeldima XD

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Nii põnev hakkas...edaassiiiiii!!!! ;D ;D