Lady Malfoy

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Asjad hakkavad nüüd põnevamaks minema jah.

Chapter 17 : Venturing

Hermione looked at Harry with a frightened expression. “Pansy,” she repeated slowly.

Harry’s confusion was further propelled into fear by Hermione’s terrified appearance and wide, brown eyes. “Pansy Parkinson?”

“Yes, yes, yes! How could I have not noticed?!” Hermione jumped up instantly and ran her fingers through her hair roughly. Her upper lip was curled and tense, like the rest of her face. “I should have seen it!”

“Hermione, you’re not making any sense,” Harry said. “Please, just sit down.”

She walked around the room, pacing impatiently and mumbling to herself as if she hadn’t heard Harry. “It doesn’t make sense though!”

“What doesn’t?” Harry urged. “What are you talking about?”

“But then… he said earlier…”

“Hermione!” Harry said roughly, standing up and grabbing her shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

Hermione collapsed against the foot of the bed and looked up at Harry’s shaken green eyes. “Pansy was at the Manor,” she replied unsteadily.

“Alright,” Harry said, calming down slightly once Hermione stopped talking to herself. He sat down beside her and placed his hand on hers. “Why was she there?”

“She… I think she said she was visiting Malfoy,” Hermione replied. She was trying to concentrate on the world in front of her but her mind kept wandering over the conversations of this morning.

“So, what’s wrong then?”

“She… she said she’d dropped by for a surprise visit,” Hermione answered with extra emphasis on the word ‘surprise’. “And well, she was talking to Malfoy.”

Harry’s face relaxed a little as he realized that the problem didn’t pertain to Lestrange. “You think that’s suspicious?”

“Well I didn’t really make much of it until you mentioned the curses and we were talking about the Fidelus charm. Only the secret keeper can unlock that charm and make the manor visible to outsiders.”

“Yeah, alright…”

“Harry!” Hermione growled at his slowness. “She said she came by for a surprise visit… do you really think she could have gotten past the charms and curses without attracting any attention?”

“Maybe Malfoy let her in?”

“No, no… he didn’t know. We were talking at breakfast and she kept mentioning how she was glad she dropped by uninvited…”

“Maybe it was Malfoy’s butler,” Harry suggested. “You said it yourself: he seems to be more than just a servant.”

“Well, that’s what I would have though too but earlier this morning he told me that he’d only seen Pansy in the morning when she met us in Malfoy’s room.”

Harry’s body became rigid and he sat up straight. For a second, Hermione felt glad that he understood the gravity of the situation but that glee faded when he turned to her with a puzzling look. “What were you doing in Malfoy’s room?” he asked with a slanted brow.

Hermione huffed angrily. “Harry! That’s not the point. Don’t you see? Neither he nor Malfoy saw Pansy come in or knew she was coming!”

“Hermione, this is not our problem,” Harry said impatiently. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Besides, if there was a problem, Malfoy and his butler would have realized it.”

“I have a feeling that they each think that the other let Pansy into the mansion,” Hermione said pensively. “Eli was under the impression that Malfoy had asked Pansy to come and I don’t see why Malfoy wouldn’t think the same thing about Eli. And then, they were both far too occupied with other things to really care.”

“Pansy can’t do any real harm,” Harry said carelessly. “We both know she’s a paper tiger. She claims to do more damage that she actually does.”

Hermione’s irritation was beginning to escalate. “We’re not back at Hogwarts, Harry,” she said shortly. “We don’t just shoot spells at each other or slip joke products in each other’s bags. This is serious.”

“I don’t see how it is,” Harry replied frankly.

“Do you have any idea of the kind of dark magic required to break through all those curses?” she asked anxiously. “Not to mention, the simple fact that overcoming a Fidelus charm is physically impossible for any person to do!”

“You’re overreacting. Your life is in danger right now and you’re worrying about Malfoy and Pansy?!” Harry asked.

“Eli and Malfoy could be in danger!” Hermione shot back.

“They’re capable of handling themselves.”

“And I’m not?” Hermione’s voice was sharp and steady. Harry immediately regretted his words but his expression of antagonism did not change. The kind green eyes were as determined as Hermione’s brown ones. “Tell me something. When we were in the Room of Requirement during the final battle, and the entire room was on fire, why did you go back to save Malfoy?”

Hermione’s gaze was intent and she saw Harry’s jaw unclench slightly. “Instinct,” he said sullenly.

“Because no one deserves to die when someone can save them,” Hermione offered.

“But does Malfoy need saving?” Harry said, straining his voice to show Hermione reason. “For all we know, this could be a trap leading you straight into Lestrange’s arms.”

“It’s not,” Hermione assured him. “I know that something’s wrong… and…” Hermione hesitated for a second. “I think it has something to do with the creature.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “So this is what it’s about?”

“I have to go back, Harry!”

“And how do you know this?”

Hermione felt the thick book under her pillow and she felt guilt riding over her again, this time though, it was heavier. A part of her was screaming loudly in her head, telling her to get a grip and listen to Harry, to see reason! But another part of her, the irrational part, was convincing her that the mystery was worth it; going back to Malfoy Manor was the right thing to do now.

“A feeling,” Hermione said slowly. “Trust me, please.”

“And what about Ron? Ginny?”

“You can take care of them,” Hermione said, softening her expression. Harry’s face immediately tensed and his body became rigid. He stood up off the ground and placed his hand on his forehead.

“You’re not going alone,” he said brusquely. “That’s suicide.”

“We can’t both just leave,” Hermione said. Now it was her turn to make Harry see reason. “Imagine Ron and Ginny waking up tomorrow and finding us both gone.”

“We’ll write them a note or something,” Harry said, his words were hasty and rushed as though prolonging this conversation would make Hermione change her mind.

“And then they’ll both storm their way to Malfoy Manor,” Hermione finished harshly. “That would be perfect for all of us.”

“I’m not letting you go by yourself, if at all!”

“Well I don’t need your permission, Harry,” Hermione said frankly. “I’m asking you as a friend, please stay back and take care of things here.”

“Hermione-”

“Harry,” she interrupted him sharply. Her tone was blunt and steady. “I’m going… no matter what.”

Harry hung his head in defeat, though his face was still tense and worried. His lower lip was curled into a subtle grimace and Hermione’s heart sunk deep into her chest. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said kindly. She placed her hands around him and took him into a hug. He was stiff at first but then loosened under Hermione’s gentle touch, eventually wrapping his arms around her.

“Please take care,” he said, “if not for your own sake, then at least for Ron.”

“I will,” she responded. “You take care here too.”

He sighed to himself and then pulled back, glancing around the room. “What do you need to take with you?” he asked.

Hermione’s forehead contorted with worry lines as she scanned through her mental list. “A lot of things.”
---

The swirling mists of light dissolved into the darkness as the last candle in Draco’s room blew out. Thin beams of moonlight fought their way through the thick clouds and shone upon the dark room at Malfoy Manor, becoming the only source of illumination. Draco was sitting in his stuffed velvet chairs by the bed with one arm on the armrest and the other against his chest.

Though the burning sensation was barely evident anymore, he instinctively put his hand against the seared flesh; he didn’t really know why. The rest of his body was stiff and taut as it had been for the past few weeks and, much to his irritation, he was getting used to it. Not even the smooth, supple velvet imported from Paris could make him feel comfortable.

There was a flutter past the window and Draco impulsively shot up off his chair. Once again, he noted the complete lack of pain in the sudden action. As he swerved around the other large pieces of furniture, his eyes caught a glimpse of the black owl perched on his window pane, its waning yellow eyes staring fixedly at him. For a second, all it did was stare at the blonde man approaching. But before Draco made it to the window, the owl took off, leaving behind a folded piece of parchment.

Southern France was the only writing on the crumpled paper. He felt the blood racing through his body as he read the words in the dim light.

“Any news?” came a voice behind him. Malfoy didn’t flinch or get startled by the new presence in the room.

“He’s in the south of France,” Malfoy replied. “How long do you estimate it would take him to get here?”

“About one day,” Eli said without pausing. “He won’t be apparating?”

“He can’t. He’ll be taking trains and such for the most part but I think he has a broomstick with him.”

“One day,” Eli repeated, apparently satisfied that his original assumption was correct.

There was another moment of stillness as Malfoy looked out the window onto the vast courtyard. The thin shadows of the various bushes were dancing merrily as the gentle wind wrestled against their real counterparts. There were vines entwined around the great walls of the front gate that spread across the vast perimeter, sprouting flowers at some points. Despite his best efforts, Draco couldn’t help remembering the early mornings when he’d wake up and look through these very windows and see his mother tending to the plants. Gardening was Narcissa’s preferred pastime which she could spend hours engaged in, if left undisturbed and Draco couldn’t count the numerous times that her peaceful expression would change to one of bitterness and strain.

“The garden looks lovely at this hour,” Eli remarked, looking out the window innocently. “It’s a shame that most of those plants are enchanted to kill.”

Draco let out a cold laugh. “Who would ever guess that smelling the rose bushes could get you killed?”

“It upset your mother a lot,” Eli said, still staring out the window.

“Sorry?”

“The enchanted garden,” Eli explained. “It would upset her every time your father or one of his friends would put curses on her plants. She spent hours caring for them and she felt disturbed thinking that the vines she so carefully trimmed might accidentally strangle her some day.”

“It was for her own protection,” Draco said.

Eli laughed to himself. “What’s so funny?” Draco asked, turning to him.

“It’s amusing how often that line is used,” he said, still smiling.

Draco looked back out the window and admired the silvery glow that bathe the entire garden. “The bushes look wild.”

“I’ll have one of the house elves trim them tomorrow morning,” Eli said. His amusement had died down at the sound of Draco’s melancholy voice.

“Make sure they don’t get killed, please,” Draco added casually. “It’d be a pity to lose one of them.”

“I can assure you that they won’t be harmed,” Eli said solemnly. “Will that be all?”

Draco didn’t answer. “Did it really upset her?” he asked after a while. The wind was beginning to pick up and a few gusts entered the magnificent room, capering amongst the satin drapes.

Eli nodded once again. “She didn’t like it,” he said.

“She didn’t show it much.”

“That was part of her talent,” Eli remarked thoughtfully. “It was what was required of her at most times: to put on a mask.”

“Did my father know it upset her?”

“He knew.” Eli’s eyes wandered over to Draco who was now leaning on the end of the window pane, rest his elbows against the metal. “And he always bought her ladyslippers on occasion to cheer her up.”

“Ladyslippers?”

“They’re flowers, a type of orchid.”

There was a small smile beginning to crawl its way on Draco’s thin lips. “That sounds very unlike him.”

“One must never dismiss the unlikely,” Eli said. “It’s often more accurate than the likely. Do you know, Master Malfoy, what the ladyslipper symbolizes?”

“No idea.”

“Beauty,” Eli said. The expression on Draco’s face softened a little and the smile on his face widened.

“Was that really how they were? My parents, I mean.”

“They very rarely showed it but they were very protective of each other and of their family.”

“And yet… and they still believed in the Dark Lord’s plans? His ideas?”

“Very firmly but as you know, they came to regret that later. You may not have realized it but this,” Eli gestured to the Manor, “this meant a lot to them: this family, this house and you, especially, Master Malfoy.”

Draco held back an expression of extreme emotion as he nodded and turned towards his huge bed that was covered in dark green sheets tonight. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“May I ask, if you allow it, why this topic of family has come up so suddenly?” Eli inquired. He made his way over to the door of Malfoy’s room and held it open with one hand.

“Just something someone said this morning,” he replied, waving an airy hand.

“Very well,” Eli said with a familiar glimmer in his eyes. “Shall I draw the curtains?”

Draco turned towards the square window and gazed at the ever expanding sky. The moon had receded behind a cluster of clouds, allowing only narrow beams to lighten the garden. “No, that’s fine.”

Eli nodded obediently one last time and shut the door as he left.
---

Pansy sat at the edge of Draco’s bed with her arms wrapped around herself as Draco sullenly spoke. The silver light encircling the room was subdued as the tall man paced the room with amazing calmness.

“Eli estimates one day,” he said warily. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And if he’s wrong?” Pansy asked and her tone was reserved as she observed Draco to see if she’d offended him. And by the way his muscles twitched, she guessed she had.

“He’s never wrong,” Draco replied tetchily. “Or at least, he never has been since I’ve known him.”

Pansy sighed and sat up straight. “Well, let’s assume for once that he does make a mistake. It would be rather inconvenient if we’re unprepared for any time span less than one day. I don’t want to be tortured to death, Draco. Not all of us can embrace pain like you.”

“No one’s going to die,” he said. “If he does somehow get here earlier than we expected, we take care of it right when we see him.”

“He’s going to have his cronies with him. Do you think it’ll be that easy?”

Draco stopped pacing and pursed his lips. There were thick crevices etching themselves into his perfect face as he sat down on the chair across from the bed. “He’s weaker, I’m sure.”

“He’s also crazier,” Pansy interjected.

Draco’s upper lip curled in irritation. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that,” he said. “Let’s just drop it.”

“Fine,” Pansy replied nonchalantly, shrugging. “So you were saying: one day…”

“One day will give us ample time to prepare,” he said, talking more to himself than Pansy. He walked around the room, mumbling incoherently to himself and sometimes to Pansy till she finally groaned irritably and stood up.

“I honestly can’t understand a word you’ve said,” she complained. “If you’re going to talk to me, then speak clearly and if you’re not, then let me go to bed.”

“He’s very untrusting,” Draco explained. “I’m sure he feels my offer is loyal and genuine but he’s lived through far too many betrayals to be able to trust.”

“Do you think he’ll have his men watch us?”

“Not as such,” Draco mused. “I know he’ll put some sort of hearing spell over this place so he can keep track of us.”

Pansy buried her head in Draco’s pillow and spoke from it with a muffled voice. “So we destroy it?”

“We let him keep it,” Draco corrected her and then snarled at her confused face. “He needs to think he has the upper hand in this. I’ll bewitch a few rooms though where we can speak but other than that, he should be able to hear our made-up jargon.”

He turned back to Pansy and saw her head resting against the soft covers, her eyes closed and her breath steady. He was angry at first that she had fallen asleep but another part of him didn’t care – he was tired too. He lay down beside her and closed his eyes, allowing the shallow world of dreams to encircle him and ensnare him in a few hours of peace.
---

Diagon Alley looked a lot different at one in the morning than it did during its regular rush hour. The stores were all closed; some were boarded up with locks while others just flashed warning signs to potential thieves. The colossal candles that were floating throughout the long stretch illuminated the stone walls and wooden doors for any late-night visitors. The air was freezing and as Hermione made her way down the deserted alley, clouds of frost began to expel from her mouth as she exhaled.

She was an unusual sight at this hour of the morning with the large rucksack on her back, covering most of her black shirt which was further enveloped in a set of thick woollen robes to protect against the winter. She was carrying a slightly worn broomstick in her left hand and in the dim lighting, one could vaguely make out the words etched into the dark black handle.

She entered a small opening to her left and made her way down towards a narrow crack in the wall. She found the hidden door knob and made her way into the train station – a massive, grey warehouse-like building lit with bright white lights.

“I need a train ticket to the outer city,” she said in a hoarse voice as she approached the counter. There was a bored looking man sitting behind it and though he was probably a little older than Hermione, his deep brown hair and olive skin made him look 18.

“10 sickles, please,” he said, waving his wand and producing a tiny square piece of paper out of thin air.

Hermione reached into a little pouch that hung off her belt buckle and produced two gold galleons that she carefully placed on the wooden counter.

“For two galleons,” she began, “you didn’t see me.”

The man’s bored expression changed to one of intrigue. He eyed the money carefully and a twisted smile began to form on his thick lips. “I didn’t see you.”

Hermione grabbed the ticket and read the platform number hastily as she followed the signs plastered against the dark walls. She arrived at the designated platform where a huge black train roared furiously as gusts of steam blew out its front end. The station wasn’t as empty as Diagon Alley had been; there were a few wizards and witches boarding and descending from trains with luggage trolleys in their hands. Without hesitation, Hermione mounted the beastly train. It didn’t take her very long to find an empty compartment and when she did, she threw her bag down beside her and tilted the broomstick in the corner so it leaned against the wall. According to the ticket, the train was supposed to be leaving in ten minutes which meant that she had ten minutes left to worry that Ron would catch up to her.

Harry had promised her to keep Ron from finding out for as long as he could and assured her that he wouldn’t wake up until late in the morning but Hermione wasn’t so sure. If Ron happened to get up in the middle of the night and find her bed empty, it wouldn’t take him very long to realize where she would have gone and having been to the Manor himself, he could easily catch up to her.

She had tried to cover her tracks and ensure that no one saw her leaving but until the train itself left, there was still a possibility of Ron finding her. However, with nothing to do right now except wait, Hermione reached into her bag and grabbed a thick, leather bound book that had a bookmarked page.

September 16th 1616

I saw father kill a man today. I didn’t see the man but I distinctly remember a bright flash of green light… I think that was the spell. The words were a little hard to hear over the scream but it sounded something like ‘Abracadabra’.

I also learnt something very special. It’s a spell that makes people cry, they cry more than they have ever cried before. I did it to a little girl on the street yesterday and I saw her eyes twist and tears were spilling out. I just held out my wand and kept saying ‘crucio’.


The familiar sick feeling manifested itself in Hermione’s stomach as she envisioned a young girl laughing coldly in the middle of an empty street.

The train whistle blew loudly, piercing the silence in the station, as it began to move forward slowly. The relief that expelled from Hermione’s taut throat was mixed with the twisted feeling still flooding her stomach, though momentarily she grinned as she realized that Ron was now far from being able to catch her.

The train had caught speed and as the gloomy walls of the station faded into grey clouds of dust, Hermione turned back to her book and began reading again.

Matilda Frogwart was not an average girl; in fact, she was far from it. Her discover of the Cruciatus Curse led her to try it on her mother while she was sleeping. The end result was horrifying. As her memoirs kept getting darker, Matilda entailed how, over the next few years, she began to control her parents with this very dark magic. Her mother had grown weaker and she stopped her experiments on Matilda completely. Her father had tried to fight back but eventually, his will had become frail as well and he submitted to his daughter.

She was now well over 20 years old and the majority of her time was spent in the company of unscrupulous characters, sinking into the dark arts. Her stifling childhood and negligent parents had transformed the would-be child into a cynical and perverse woman. While she learnt as much as she could about illegal magic, her parents were locked in the same cellar that she had once called home.

July 15th 1624

There were only four words on this page but, as a cold gust of air blew in through the train compartment tainted with the foul smell of the outskirts, the goose bumps on Hermione’s arms began to rise and she shivered.

Today, I killed father.
---

His nerves were treading on thin ice and Pansy could tell. She watched him as his eyebrows shifted upwards and then jerked back down, as his lips twisted into a thin line and the pale, thin membrane of skin became hollow and dark. The darkness in the room only further deepened the contours in his face and the moonlight served the purpose of illuminating his silver hair. He squirmed slightly and though his eyes were closed, Pansy could picture the rapid movement of his grey pupils. She placed her long fingers against the side of his face and ran it down slowly, waiting for a shiver to pass through him.

Nothing.

She let out a low laugh and smiled to herself. “Like a statue carved in rock,” she whispered.

And, like the sound of a pin dropping in a room of dead silence, Draco heard her words and opened his eyes slowly, looking at her dark brown eyes as she lay beside him on the bed.

“You were sweating,” Pansy said slowly.

“Bad dream,” he replied with an expressionless tone. He propped himself up on his elbows and took a deep breath.

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” she remarked, edging closer to him. “It’ll be over soon.”

“And until it is, I need to worry,” he said.

“Then let me distract you,” she said, a thin smile twisting itself onto her thin lips. “I’m very good at it.”

Draco groaned slowly and edged away. “Not now,” he said flatly.

“Don’t tell me, you don’t want to?” Pansy asked, pouting. “Isn’t it fun?”

He sighed. “It was…nice,” he remarked awkwardly but turned away. “But now is not the time.”

“It’s Granger, isn’t it?” Pansy shot suddenly. Draco was so taken aback that his head jetted towards her with a piercing look of disbelief in it.

“What?”

Pansy smiled. “You said her name,” she said, raising her eyebrow. “Before, when you were sleeping.”

“What did I say?”

“You told her to stay away,” she said wilfully. Draco’s face relaxed a little and his calm, flat mask returned once again.

“It was a warning,” Draco said. “I probably told her to stay away from here.”

Pansy’s smile didn’t move. “Any girl that appears in your dreams has more of an effect on you than just distaste.”

Her eyes flickered for a moment before she placed a gentle kiss on Draco’s pale cheek and ran her finger down his face, feeling the rock hard dent of his cheekbone.

“Nothing,” she said, sighing. “I suppose you can wake me if you change your mind.”

Draco paused for a second as Pansy rolled back into the covers and tucked her head onto the pillow. He lay down beside her and put one arm behind his head. “You know,” he began, “someday, when you find someone, we’re going to have to stop this.”

“We will,” she said.

“Would it be easy?” Draco asked suddenly. “Would it be easy to let go of something so easily detached and unemotional and commit to a relationship that is based purely on love?”

“I could do it, if the guy was right,” Pansy remarked, her head facing away from Draco.

There was a moment of stillness before Draco spoke again. “How do you know?”

“Because if I met someone whom I could love so much that even the thought of betraying him hurt me, then I would be able to turn away from all this.”

“From me?”

“Even from you.”

“That’s very confident,” Draco noted.

“I know I could do it,” Pansy replied. The two of them sat in silence for a while before she turned to Draco. “Could you?”

“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully.
---

“Last Stop! This train has reached its last stop! All witches and wizards are kindly asked to collect their luggage and leave this train!”

The loud voice echoed on the empty platform as the conductor banged his fist against the large steam engine. “That means you too, miss!”

Hermione’s eyes flew open as a pair of hands shook her shoulders violently. “This is the last stop. We’re at the outer city,” the hands said.

Hermione looked around dazedly at the tall man in front of her and quickly sat up straight, adjusting her askew coat and frizzled hair. “What time is it?” she asked suddenly, realizing she had fallen asleep.

“A little past three in the morning,” the man replied without checking a watch. His hazel eyes were shining against his black hair but they looked tried. “You’d best leave the train, miss. We’re pulling out of the station in ten minutes.”

“We’re at the Outer City, right?”

“Yes we are.” He eyed Hermione suspiciously as she gathered all her belongings and stuffed the conspicuous leather bound book into her trunk. “You know where you’re heading, I reckon?”

“Well, sort of…” Hermione began. “I…” She wasn’t sure if she should continue her question. Would this man even know where Malfoy Manor was?

“I know this place like the back of my palm, miss,” he assured her.

“I need to get… I need to get to Malfoy Manor.”

The train’s whistle blew loudly, indicating the last call for all passengers to either get aboard or descend off the train. The man’s hazel eyes flickered and he took a step back. “I ain’t got nothing to do with that place,” he said cryptically. “Sorry, miss.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed her trunk and broomstick along with her as she pushed past the confused and frightened looking train clerk. “Useless,” she muttered to herself.
---
Evan Parker looked after the lady with a perplexed expression. She was the third person this week to ask him about Malfoy Manor and he was no dunce. Something was happening at the mansion.

But, unlike the red headed man and the blonde man, this girl seemed far too innocent to be working with the likes of Draco Malfoy. Still, he shook the eerie thought from his head and reached for a scrap of paper in his pocket to carry out his instructions.

“Bracknell Station – 3 a.m. a brown haired woman asked about the manor tonight. – Parker”

He folded the paper hastily and went over to his waiting room near the front of the train. The snowy white owl had been hooting anxiously, as if awaiting his return. He entered the small compartment and tied the parchment to the owl’s legs, releasing her from the cage.

“Off you go,” he said, watching her fly off towards Malfoy Manor and awaiting the shiny gold galleon he received every time he reported a potential visitor to the dark mansion.
---

There was a bright white flash and Draco sat up instinctively, reaching for his wand. His sudden jolt steadied a little when he realized it was Eli who had come into the room and was using the bright light at the windows.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s urgent, Master Malfoy!” Eli said heavily. “They’re here!”

“Who’s here?”

The quiver in his voice was too hard to hide; it was a quiver of a man who had realized his mistake and of a man grappling at straws before he drowned. “Lestrange.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Haah, põnev

[Lana Marye Allen]

Aww..so sweet , Hermione läheb Eli ja Dracot päästma
Aga asi läheb põnevaks, so NEXT!

[Lissandra Sylvania]

In this chapter: Lestrange is on his way to the Manor. Hermione is one her way to the Manor and Draco and Pansy prepare for the worst.

Chapter 18 : The Cover Up

A cold shot of air passed through the room as the name Eli had just mentioned still echoed within the walls.

“How is that possible?”

“I underestimated him,” Eli said, his voice had become calmer but he spoke with speed. “He lied to you in his letter. There is no way he could have made it here from France within a few hours.”

“No surprise there,” Malfoy retorted. “How do you know he’s here though? Are they at the gates?”

Eli shook his head and reached into his dark pocket, producing a thin piece of parchment which he handed to Draco.

“Parker reported it?” he asked.

“I told him to keep a closer eye; I even doubled his commission. Master Malfoy, what do you suggest we do?”

“How long till they get here?” Malfoy asked.

“An hour or so,” Eli replied without pause. “And that is, if they make good time which I cannot guarantee.”

“How many of them are there?”

“The letter says five, including Lestrange himself.”

Draco’s eyes stood frozen on the cold, frosted glass window but his mind sped through hundreds of possible options that he had. The stunned silence in the room only clouded his mind further until a faint stirring from the bed grabbed his attention.

“Pansy,” he whispered to himself.

Immediately, he rushed towards her and stirred her quickly. “Pansy, get up,” he said hurriedly.

The weary woman opened her fatigued eyes and glanced at Draco with a confused expression. “What’s wrong?”

Draco had already left her side and reached into his drawer to grab a huge black set of robes. “Change into these,” he said, throwing them on the bed. “Hurry!”

“What’s wrong, Draco?”

“Lestrange is on his way here,” Draco replied quickly. “You need to get out of here. Eli will send you in the carriage.”

Pansy didn’t move as her eyes flooded with fear. “I told you this would happen!” she said. Her breath began to race.

“It’s fine – once you leave the grounds, Lestrange won’t ever know you were involved and you’ll be clear.”

Pansy sat upright and her brown eyes were even more confused. “Leave? Where am I going?”

Draco sighed. “Home… the Ministry… anywhere!”

To his disbelief, Pansy got up and laughed slowly. “I’m not going anywhere. We said we’d do this together.”

“No…absolutely not! Out of the question!” Draco shot back. “I know I said that but we’re not prepared enough…”

“I don’t care! You’re not the only one who lost something in this war!” Pansy cried. “I want my revenge.”

“I understand…” Draco said exasperatedly. “But-”

“If you understand, then the matter is settled. You stay, I stay.” Pansy’s hardened expression softened as she put her hand against Draco’s cold, pale cheek. “Don’t try to do things by yourself… life is always better when someone’s by your side.”

Pansy’s words struck Draco like an arrow in his chest as the faint cries of Hermione Granger entered his mind. Her persistent voice had been pleading so adamantly to help him that her words had been ingrained into his memory.

Let me help you!

“What do we need to do?” Pansy asked.

Draco sighed. “Eli’s resealing some of the charms to buy us some time but there’s five of them so I don’t know what more time will do.”

“We have the element of surprise,” Eli offered.

“I can probably take three of them but no more…” Draco pondered. “Pansy, you could take one?”

“Of course,” she said, twirling her wand in her fingers darkly.

“That leaves Lestrange. He’ll have his death eaters in front of him for sure so he’ll be the last one left.”

“I can handle him, Master Malfoy,” Eli said casually.

“No,” Draco shot back. “Lestrange is mine.”
---

Hermione examined her cold surroundings with astute eyes despite the oncoming tiredness. It was four in the morning and she was sitting in the middle of one of the most dangerous parts of London with nothing but a broomstick, a trunk and a large, illegal book.

She seated herself on one of the empty benches on the isolated platform and began to consider her options. Asking Harry for help would be useless because firstly, contacting him could set Ron off and secondly, he wouldn’t know how to get to the mansion. She could ask Eli to come get her but Malfoy might find out in the process or Pansy might intercept her owl. Or perhaps, she could spend the night at an inn nearby? Then again, the Outer City may not be the best place to spend the night.

“…such a prick…”

Hermione’s head snapped up as she heard a man’s voice on the other side of the platform approaching her. She craned her neck and saw a tall, bald man speaking to two other men. One of them was short and plump with long, tousled, brown hair and the other was constricted from her view.

The bald man replied. “I just want to sleep in a thick bed tonight,” he grunted. “Been too long… we’ve been sleeping on bloody piles of straw.”

“I’ve heard there’s an army of house elves there… d’you reckon we can get us some to take?” the bald man asked thickly.

“Shut up you two,” the hidden man said. His voice was low and smooth, reminding Hermione of Draco. “You won’t even be staying there.”

“’snot fair,” the bald man grumbled. “What are we waitin’ for, anyhoo?”

“Just be patient,” the hidden man replied. “We need broomsticks before we can fly to the Manor.”

“Where is it ‘nyways?” the bald man asked.

“Hidden, I’ve heard,” the short man replied. “Malfoy Manor is supposed to be a fortress.”

Hermione took in a sharp breath, stirring the air around her as she scrambled for a discarded Daily Prophet to make herself seem busy. They were talking about Malfoy… She strained her ears hard to hear the conversation though her eyes remained focused on the paper in front of her.

The hidden man stepped out from behind the large barrister and Hermione registered his appearance with some shock as he moved out of the shadows. He was taller than both the other men with longer than average black hair and extremely brown eyes. But what caught Hermione’s attention was that he reminded her so much of Draco in the way that he held himself: his posture was upright and rigid and though his facial features were harder, he looked about the same age as her.

“Clear out the trunks,” he ordered the bald man. “Rosier is coming with the brooms.”

Hermione took a few seconds before realizing that this was the very opportunity she had been waiting for. She tightened her right hand around the Viktor Krum broomstick and discreetly slid the old newspaper by the bench.

The bald man grunted slightly, baring his large yellow teeth before he left. The shorter man then seized the opportunity of his friend’s absence to ask a few more questions.

“Do you trust him?” he said cautiously. “I mean, Malfoy.”

“More than I trust you,” the Draco-look-alike replied, forming a very familiar smirk on his face that sent a tinge of something down Hermione’s spine.

“Very funny,” the other man grunted.

It seemed that even though the bald man and the shorter man were both much older, they all succumbed to this mysterious, tall figure. Within a matter of minutes, the bald man returned and handed each of the other men a broomstick. Hermione too grabbed hers tightly and watched attentively as the three figures proceeded to the front of the station.

“The rest are waiting,” one of them said. They headed for the exit.

Hermione followed, grabbing the invisibility cloak from her trunk.
---
Eli had finished setting up the last of the charms. They had a little over twenty minutes left and Malfoy and Pansy were preparing themselves both mentally and physically. The house elves had moved all of Draco’s possessions from his room to the largest and most magnificent bedroom in the Manor: the master bedroom – which is where he would be staying for the duration of Lestrange’s visit.

There was a flutter at the window and an owl flew in swiftly, dropping a letter into Eli’s old hands. The parchment was very familiar and Eli knew this could mean one thing – someone else was coming to the Manor.

Bracknell Station – 3 a.m. a brown haired woman asked about the manor tonight. – Parker

Eli was normally a calm man but he felt his heart skip three consecutive beats in a second. A brown haired woman… a woman with brown hair… In that instant, he knew. He knew the only brown haired woman who would dare try to come to the Manor and she was coming…

“What’s wrong?”

Eli felt taken aback as Malfoy stood in the doorway with a concerned look on his face. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Eli looked at the young man in front of him and the tired look in his eyes as well as the faint tremors in his hands were enough to convince Eli that what he was about to do was right.

“Nothing,” he replied calmly.

“We’re ready,” Malfoy said.

Eli nodded grimly. “Is Ms. Parkinson downstairs?”

“She needs a moment to herself, she’s anxious.”

“And you?”

Malfoy looked up for a few seconds before turning towards the window. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright to be nervous,” Eli said, taking on a much more paternal tone than he usually did. He felt almost intrusive as he observed Draco’s reaction.

Draco inhaled deeply but his eyes remained focused on the courtyard outside where the cold gusts of wind blew. “Get the elves to watch the forest,” he said coldly. “That’s probably where Lestrange is going to come from.”

“Yes, sir.”
---

Hermione shivered silently under the invisibility cloak. The three men had now been joined another two men and were standing outside in the dark corner of Bracknell Station. They were waiting.

There was a rustle in the canvas of trees behind them and an amorphous, hooded mass appeared from within. Hermione bit her lip to stop it from quivering as the light struck the haunted face of Rodolphus Lestrange, his eyes bloodshot and his lips twisted into a menacing grin.

Hermione felt a cold gust of air fly down her throat and twist her lungs. She couldn’t breathe properly.

“Cassius,” he said in a low voice. “My boy!”

The Draco look alike, apparently named Cassius, stepped forward as Lestrange opened his arms out and pulled him into an embrace. “It’s been far too long,” Lestrange added.

“I agree,” Cassius replied apathetically. “Shall we leave?”

“Yes, yes. The path is safe when the night is darkest…”

Cassius turned around and nodded to the other four men. “We keep north,” he said quietly as frost expelled from his mouth. “There’s a thin clearing after about twenty minutes or so, bordered by a river. A little further is an extremely dense forest, that’s where we descend.”

“Wha’ ‘bout the ministry?” one of the men asked.

Two of the men started laughing and Lestrange rolled his eyes. “It’s Malfoy Manor, Marcus. The Ministry won’t dare touch it.”

Hermione’s hands were trembling as her fingers tightened around her wand. He was there… fifteen feet from her. He had killed her parents. She could kill him right now. The other five men would notice her and she wasn’t strong enough to overpower them. The bald man and the man named Marcus did not seem that powerful – she could paralyze them.

She would surely die. The man named Cassius seemed a lot more strategic and masterful. He could definitely attack her within seconds of realizing what had happened and he was a death eater, so he wouldn’t hesitate before using the killing curse.

She took a deep breath and lifted her hand into the air. Harry would understand; he knows what it’s like to be consumed by revenge… he would understand that her death was necessary if it meant Lestrange would die too.

She closed her eyes and pictured Ron, Ginny and Harry… her friends, her family. She pointed her wand straight at Lestrange who seemed to be talking to one of the other men.

“Ava-” she began to whisper.

“Malfoy is not to be trusted,” Lestrange said in a low voice to Cassius.

Hermione stopped short as the men continued, still unaware of her.

“I know,” he replied.

Hermione swore at Malfoy any way she could in her mind. Her hand remained frozen in mid air but she no longer felt the same conviction of death as before – she had a reason to live. She needed to figure out what Malfoy was doing…

The mystery called to her again… slowly making her tense arm fall back to her side.

The men mounted their brooms and kicked off the ground. Cassius was the last one to leave and before he expertly took off, he turned his head slightly to the corner where Hermione was standing. His gaze hovered over the seemingly empty patch of grass and he turned back to his broom, kicking off.

---

Hermione had waited twenty minutes before taking off on her Viktor Krum broomstick. She had gone east first before curving north in order to avoid running into Lestrange’s men. As the first signs of dawn began to hit the horizon, she came upon the inclined river that the man named Cassius had mentioned. Though Hermione had never taken flying lessons, her general expertise with sneaking around where she wasn’t welcome had taught her a few tricks. She slowed down carefully and kept as low as possible. The wind had died down but her hands remained frozen in the cold, making it difficult to navigate smoothly.

Hermione suddenly stopped short as she saw the figures below, standing at the edge of the dense forest. She remembered landing here the first time with Eli and she knew what was going to come next - the Fidelus Charm.

The forest was dead silent for a moment, hidden beneath the black veil of darkness. Suddenly, there was a tiny tremor and a faint gold light emanated from the ground. The magnificent clearing past the forest shook silently and the opulent manor appeared out of thin air.

The men did not hesitate as they climbed on their brooms and zoomed past the trees into the manor’s grounds. Hermione followed shortly, still maintaining her height to avoid being seen. The clear air whisked itself through Hermione’s bushy tresses and the numbness in her fingers had finally set in. She continued to propel the broom forward, trying to find the maximum balance between speed and silence. In a matter of seconds, the Fidelus Charm would lock itself again and she wouldn’t be able to get back in.

“Go! Go! Go!” she hissed to herself.

The death eaters had already entered the grounds and Hermione was still a good hundred feet away. The edges of the Manor began to fade slowly and she kicked the broom roughly.

“Come on, you stupid piece of junk!”
---

Draco stood tall at the front steps of the Manor with Pansy at his arm and Eli a few feet behind him. He felt something that he hadn’t really felt in a long time… he felt like a true Malfoy.

“Thirty seconds,” Eli whispered from the back. The Fidelus Charm would close itself in thirty seconds and Lestrange and his men would be here within that time.

“What about the curses between the main gates and here?” Pansy asked.

“Disabled, temporarily,” Eli assured her.

“We don’t want dear Uncle Ralph to get hurt,” Draco added. “Twenty seconds.”

---

She was only fifty feet away but the darkness surrounding the Manor had centered itself. It was almost faded three quarters of the way which left very little room for entry. Hermione forwent any inclinations of silence and sped up as fast as she could.

The roof of the North Tower was visible and Hermione saw it as her best option. Another twenty feet and she would be there.

---

Pansy adjusted her velvet black robes nervously as Eli called out five seconds. From the far end of the courtyard, she could see a dark mass of figures descend from the sky. There were six men in total, each one on their own broomsticks.

She held Draco’s arm tighter and he looked at her with a pensive expression. She knew he regretted his decision to let her stay here but she didn’t care. It wasn’t his decision to make.

“There are six men,” Pansy whispered in a quivering voice. “His letter said five.”

“I didn’t expect him to tell the truth,” Draco replied. “Don’t worry.”

The brooms were closing in fast and before long, the six men landed with a thud against the ground. Pansy felt Draco’s arm tense up and she knew he was tightening the hold on his wand. She did the same with hers.

“Draco, Draco…”

The last figure to descend stepped out of the darkness and held his arms out in a fatherly fashion. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Uncle Ralph,” Draco said, nodding curtly. “You’re early.”

“Well you know what they say,” Lestrange said, still smiling. “Early bird gets the worm. Earlier is always better.”

“Not for the worm,” Draco replied.

Lestrange laughed coldly and turned towards Pansy. “Could it be?” he said, gaping at her. “Pansy Parkinson!”

“Mr. Lestrange,” Pansy said politely, unable to muster a smile. This seemed so reminiscent of her family’s earlier death eater gatherings where parents would show off just how evil their children had become.

“What a sight you have become,” he said, baring his large, yellow teeth. Pansy shifted uncomfortably and edged in closer to Draco. Lestrange didn’t seem to notice as he turned to Eli.

“And of course, Eli… my dear fellow, still in bountiful service, I see?”

“As always,” Eli replied shortly.

There was a still silence for a few seconds before Lestrange backed away and turned towards his men. “You remember Cassius, don’t you, Draco?”

The second figure stepped out of the dark and Pansy’s jaw dropped. She eyed Cassius with amazement, comparing him to the scrawny, pale faced boy he had been when she had last seen him twelve years ago.

Draco’s muscles tightened even further. “Durmstrang has changed you,” he noted.

“As has Hogwarts with you,” Cassius replied with a slight smile.

“Shall we go in?” Lestrange offered. “I’ve been yearning for a warm meal.”

Draco nodded before turning to Eli. “Put the curses on the grounds back in place,” he said. “We don’t need any unwanted visitors.”

“Yes, Master Malfoy.”

There was a slight shuffling of sounds and Eli waved his wand fluidly. Draco nodded gently and put his other hand on Pansy’s arm. “Let’s go.”

He began to take a few steps inside when there was a loud scream from above. All heads shot up directly towards the large roof of the castle where a tiny figure hung from the edge of the North Tower.

The colour from Draco’s face drained instantly as his ears registered that voice. Pansy took a little longer but sensing Draco’s fear, her arms began to tremble. There was a fumbling of sounds from behind them and before she could react, Eli had already drawn his wand and pushed Pansy behind him.

Four of the six death eaters had drawn their wands.

“I told you it wouldn’t be safe!” one of them hissed.

Cassius and Lestrange stood where they were though their eyes had jetted to the roof of the North Tower as well.

“I say we kill ‘em!” another one shot back.

The humour from Lestrange’s eyes had dissipated as he glared at Eli. Draco’s eyes, in all this time, had not moved from the North Tower. His pallid features were plastered against his cold face as he gazed up.

“What the hell is going on?” Lestrange barked.

No one replied.

There was another scream from above and this time, the figure twisted to look down. She was terrified as her eyes met Draco’s, who still hadn’t moved. Her fingers loosened from the top of the tower and the high-pitched cry for help struck his ears as she lost her grip and fell.

“Master Malfoy!” Eli cried as Draco jumped forward off the front steps. His wand was stretched out high in his arms.

“I hate her!” were the only words that Pansy heard as a shot of white light encircled the falling body, slowing it down.

“Expelliarmus!” one of the hooded death eaters shouted. Draco fell forward as Pansy took out her wand and countered the spell, striking the death eater in the chest as he fell backwards onto the ground.

The momentary lapse had caused Draco to falter and Hermione began to fall again. Her body was heading towards the large fountain surrounding a silver statue of Adonis. Hermione missed the stone statue by a few inches and landed into the water. A few seconds later, Draco followed in after her, realizing that the fountain had been enchanted to have the depth of an ocean.

His fingers grappled hopelessly for Hermione’s limp body as he took a sharp breath and ducked his head into the water. Though at first his vision was blurry and clouded, he caught sight of the struggling woman a few feet away. Draco managed to grab her hand tightly and she latched onto him firmly before he used his free arm to swim back up to the surface.

As his lips touched the cold morning air, he gasped loudly before pulling a conscious, scrambling Hermione Granger to the surface. She grabbed onto the stone edge of the fountain as Eli ran over to help her up.

“What on ear-” Hermione began, staring at Draco with a terrified expression.

Her words were cut short as the three remaining death eaters surrounded the fountain with their wands help up high. Draco’s breaths were quick and unsteady as he looked at Hermione with nothing but pure rage in his eyes. Pansy stood behind all of them, held back sharply by Cassius’s imposing figure.

“Who is this?” Lestrange demanded coldly, gesturing towards Hermione.

Draco was silent. He still wasn’t in perfect physical condition and his chest was beginning to throb mercilessly.

“What kind of game are you playing, Draco?” Lestrange asked, his smile returning. “Trying to trick your dear Uncle Ralph?”

“Master Lestrange,” Eli said. “Please, she’s no danger.”

“Who is she, Eli?” Lestrange demanded again.

Eli turned his head slightly to meet Malfoy’s grey eyes and then Hermione’s brown eyes before turning back to Lestrange. “This,” he said, gesturing to Hermione, “this is Lady Malfoy.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Draco is falling for her...jejejeje...laheeee! hahah Hermione ikka oskab vaikselt siseneda ;D ;D

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Jah, väga vaikne sisenemine, miks ta kohe juba peauksest sisse ei läinud?! ;D

Aga jah..mul on halvad uudised, ma ei saa seda enam üles panna, kuna seda foorumit enam pole, kust ma selle jutu sain, see on ära muudetud mingiks Twilighti foorumiks, mis ajab mind õudselt närvi, ja seda juttu enam üleval pole, võib olla mingi aja jooksul ehk pannakse see ka üles kuid hetkel ei ole

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Mu päev läheb täna veel sitemaks ;D - täitsa lõpp ma just tulin siia selle mõtega et oh äkki oled postitanud ? hahaha. Haige värk, aga saada kiri sinna ja küsi või midagi ?

Ma muidu lugesin ka lihtsalt super hermione/draco fanfici ja...38 peatüki juures lihtsalt pauhh autor lõpetas postitamise..mingi 2006 aasta nah, talle kirjutatakse koguaeg, et hallooo kirjuta edasi..see oli väga hea ja lõpes sitaks hea koha peal.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Oota, ma teen su päeva veel sitemaks, kui see sul juba on siis.
Seda juttu ei tule enam. Nad panid selle lehekülje ametlikult kinni nüüd , nagu ma aru sain ja neid fikke ei panda enam üles.

Ma kirun Twilighti terve päev taga. Täitsa haige ikka, nad asendasid jummala hea foorumi selle Twilighti foorumiga, miks nad ei võinud lihtsalt eraldi Twilightile foorumit teha. Mul oli nii hea ficc pooleli naq. *ohkab* Ma saatsin sinna kirja Ma saan kohe vist bänni ;D Aga nh..hetkel on mul nii savi sellest..

Ma kirjutasin veel kirja ka selle jutu autorile ja kui veab, siis ta saadab mulle selle jutu . Ma loodan, et saadab ^^ Te ei saanudki head kohta lugeda, oeh, asi läheb just nüüd huvitavaks .. niux...

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Loodame, et tuleb vastus ..

Niux...proovisin leida seda nime järgi aga ei leia...:/

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Ma leidsin koha, kust seda fikki saada, kuid jama on selles et ka seal pole uut ptk´d tulnud. Ikka on veel 21 osa : /
Aga nüüd siis 19´s osa!

Chapter 19: Tell Tale

The awe struck expressions of the three people lying on the floor would have been an obvious giveaway to Lestrange, had he not been gaping at Eli himself. Malfoy’s grey eyes had widened to enormous proportions while Hermione’s jaw dropped to the floor. Pansy was rigid and completely frozen.

“Lady Malfoy?” Lestrange repeated, still looking at Eli.

“Yes, sir.”

“This…” he began. “This…is Lady Malfoy?”

“The one and only.”

Lestrange turned around to Cassius, who seemed just as perplexed. He shrugged. “You mean to tell me…this…this is Draco’s…”

“Wife,” Pansy said. “This is Draco’s wife.”

She looked at Hermione with a confused look and then immediately back to Lestrange. Hermione was aghast beyond comprehension, shivering in the icy wind and soaked from head to toe. Her quivering lip made it much harder to talk but with the whirlwind of thoughts going through her mind right now, she doubted her words would make any sense.

“I’ve never heard of her,” Lestrange countered.

“Yeah, me neither!” One of his cronies replied.

“You’ve been gone for so long, Master Lestrange,” Eli interjected. “I doubt Master Malfoy would have been able to contact you.”

Lestrange’s beady eyes hovered over onto Hermione’s blue face. The shivering had extended to her limbs and she grabbed her arms to keep herself warm. Eli took of his winter cloak and wrapped it gently around Hermione’s quivering body.

“Better, my lady?” he asked. His face was close to hers and only she could see the pleading expression in his eyes.

She turned her head to Draco slightly who hadn’t uttered a word. He seemed as terrified as she was. She wanted an answer…she would demand an answer… but later.

“Y-es-sss,” she replied shakily.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside?” Eli asked calmly, moving away from Hermione and turning back to Lestrange. “The elves have prepared the warm meal you’ve been desiring.”

“I’m freezing,” Pansy agreed. “As I’m sure Draco and Her-”

She stopped herself mid-sentence and inhaled suddenly, as if she’d said a curse word.

“What?” Lestrange said suspiciously.

“Hermia,” Draco said unexpectedly. “Hermia and I are freezing.”

Lestrange’s furrowed brow and creased forehead remained tight. He looked at Draco carefully and then Hermione. “Of course,” he said, forcing a terse smile onto his face that was anything but sincere.

“Ms. Parkinson,” Eli said, looking at Pansy. “Perhaps you should get ready with Master and Lady Malfoy for the dinner. I will show these gentlemen their rooms.”

Draco turned suddenly and stood up. His fear seemed to have dissipated and his posture resumed its rigid and proper self. “My hospitality extends only so far as to you, Uncle Ralph,” he said coldly. “I’m afraid Malfoy Manor as a Death Eater motel was only permissible during my father’s time here.”

Lestrange smiled. “Naturally.”

“Cassius and I will be the only ones staying here,” he added. “Mulciber, Marcus and Hector will be visiting occasionally.”

“Eli, show them to their rooms,” Draco instructed, turning to Pansy. “Let’s go.”

“See you at dinner, my boy,” Lestrange said, nodding. “I’m dying to hear about your wedding.”

“As am I,” Cassius said smoothly, speaking for the first time here.

Draco nodded as he watched Eli lead the visiting party into the Manor. Cassius was the tallest of them all and his walk was both poised and fluid whereas the other men slouched like animals and walked harshly.

As the men disappeared from view, Draco turned back.

“Inside,” he said, each word dripping with anger as he glared at Hermione who recoiled, like a child about to be scolded by their parent. “Now.”

---

Draco stormed past the large dining halls and twisted corridors without uttering a word. Hermione cowered a few feet behind him, trailing at a snail's pace as her frigid body recovered. Pansy had slowed her steps to keep in line with Hermione, keeping her wand tightly locked in her hand. As the halls began to widen, they approached a huge set of marble staircases that opened from both sides of a platform above. Draco’s steps were deliberate and huge, causing Hermione extra effort to keep up with him.

“Where are we going?” she whispered.

“To the master bedroom,” Pansy replied briefly. “Keep up.”

As they reached the top of the platform, Hermione saw a magnificent set of dark, oak doors with silver handles. Draco stood in front of them and twisted the silver latch to open the intricately carved door.

As they entered the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor, Hermione took in a sharp breath. The master bedroom wasn’t a bedroom… it was a hotel suite, only three times as large. The walls were a neutral brown, finished off with light beige crown moulding and gold carvings along the top. There were dark drapes that hung off the two large windows on either side of a slightly lighter sofa set. There were various tables and around the room that carried photographs and extremely expensive crystal pottery. Very few lights lit the room, only enough to fill it with a light gold hue.

Pansy gestured Hermione in and shut the door behind her. Hermione was about to open her mouth to speak but was silenced instantly by a glare from Draco. Pansy pointed her wand to the door and uttered a few spells under a breath, which sealed off the room, Hermione guessed.

Great, she thought miserably. They’regoing to kill me.

Pansy turned back to Draco and nodded.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOU FREAKING MIND?!” Draco yelled. Hermione jumped back at his sudden outburst. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“SINCE WE’RE ASKING QUESTIONS, WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME WHY YOU’RE HAVING A FAMILY REUNION WITH AN INTERNATIONALLY WANTED CRIMINAL?” she shot back.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh hell, Granger! Answer my question first!”

“NO!”

“Do you realize what could have happened!?” he shouted. “If they found out who you were, we’d be rounding up your dismembered body parts just about now!”

“And what a shame it is that aren’t!”

“And not only that, you would gotten us killed!” he added, turning red in the face.

Hermione turned to see him point to Pansy and her original fear struck her. Pansy. Pansy was the reason she’d come back. She looked at Pansy suspiciously and turned back to Draco.

“I came here to help you!”

“Good heavens, Granger! Why can’t you just stay out of my business?!” his glare became more pronounced by the minute. “What on earth could I have needed your help with?!”

“Her!” Hermione cried, pointing at Pansy.

The silence in the room was strong. Draco looked at Pansy, confused and then turned back to Hermione. “What about Pansy?”

“She… she…she got into the manor,” Hermione mumbled. “And none of you knew… she kept saying how she surprised you and then… then Eli said he hadn’t let her in. There was no way she could have gotten in without someone’s help…someone on the outside…”

Another brief silence followed when a pained look manifested itself onto Draco’s face and Pansy buried her face in her hands.

“That is what you came back for?!” he asked, exasperatedly. He turned to Pansy. “All that overacting…for nothing!”

Pansy looked up at Draco. “It’s not my fault! I didn’t think she’d actually go and question everything I said! And besides, you were gone when I first arrived so I couldn’t very well say it was you who let me in.”

Hermione watched perplexedly as Draco and Pansy exchanged words like she was not there. Something deep inside told her that Draco knew Pansy was coming… and that she was much more of a welcome guest at the Manor than Hermione was.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?!” she cried angrily.

“Draco knew I was coming,” Pansy explained. “I’m an animagus and just like you got into the manor today when the Fidelus Charm was unlocked, I got into the manor when Weasley was leaving in his carriage.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest but a vivid image fluttered through her memory. The image of her looking up at the sky as Ron flew away in the majestic Malfoy carriage and just before he disappeared, a little brown sparrow appeared out of the clouds.

“You’re a sparrow?” Hermione said, gasping suddenly.

She had been a fool. She had risked her life to come here, only to find that she wasn’t needed at all. Pansy had planned her visit and Malfoy had planned Pansy’s visit and no one had planned her arrival.

“W…what about Lestrange?!” Hermione shot back, clinging to any hope of dignifying her overreaction. “Why is he here?!”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and cursed loudly. “Suffering cats, Granger! I’m not playing twenty questions with you! Do you understand that?! If you had just minded your own d**n business, you wouldn’t be in the same house as the man trying to kill you!”

Hermione had half the mind to just break down in tears right there but Draco’s arrogant and rude outbursts kept her from doing so.

“I want an answer,” she demanded, trying to sound forceful. “You were supposed to be protecting me from him!”

“Yes!” Malfoy exploded. “I was supposed to and I DID! If it wasn’t for your big nose, you would have returned to your bloody suburban lifestyle without a hair on your head being damaged. But you chose to dig around and get us half killed and now you’re back to finish the job! Great!”

“If you would JUST-”

The door to the master bedroom creaked open slowly and Eli hurried in, shutting it behind him.

“You must all get ready for dinner,” he instructed.

“Oh yeah, which reminds me,” Hermione began, harnessing this sudden burst of energy. “What is this nonsense about me being your wife?!”

“Well something had to be done!” Malfoy shouted.

Pansy and Eli seemed to have slowly backed out of this conversation, looking at each other worriedly as Hermione and Draco continued to belt insults at each other.

“You literally fell from the sky into the lap of the one man who’s out for your blood!” Malfoy said angrily. “You’re so bloody lucky that Lestrange’s never seen you.”

“Yes, but why couldn’t I have been a maid in the household?! Or… or another death eater friend?”

“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask Eli?”

All three of them turned to face Eli, who now wore an expression of guilt on his face. “I panicked,” he admitted. “Lestrange would have killed you at that very moment you fell… he was going to, I could see it.”

“He would have killed all of us,” Pansy corrected.

“But why make me a Malfoy?” Hermione asked, her voice now considerably softer.

“Master Lestrange has very little regard for anyone other than purebloods,” Eli continued. “Making you anything other than a Malfoy would have made him question your ancestry. As long as we can come up with a straight story about your parents, he won’t suspect it.”

Hermione wanted to argue with Eli but her better judgement stopped her. She knew he was right. The son of Lucius Malfoy would never marry a half-blood or muggle and so by association, she was already considered a pure blood. A little made up genealogy and she could convince all of them that she was from the highest ranks of wizarding society.

“But that still doesn’t answer why Lestrange is here in the first place!” Hermione said.

“Not now,” Pansy said, looking at Draco fearfully.

“Ms. Parkinson is right,” Eli agreed. “Dinner first, questions later.”

“Let’s get her story straight,” Draco said, still red in the face. Hermione felt the blood under her skin boiling as he began to talk about her like she wasn’t even there. “What family is Granger from?”

“It can’t be a British family,” Pansy added. “Lestrange knows all the extremely famous ones.”

“But he has to have heard of the family,” Eli said. “The Morettis?”

“Italy?” Draco scoffed. “He’s been there and he knows the whole lot of them.”

“The Bancrofts?” Pansy suggested. “I met Clarissa Bancroft a year before she died. Her family’s spread all over the world, there’s no way Lestrange could know all of them.”

“They’re too obscure,” Eli said, shaking his head.

“The Devereux,” Draco suggested suddenly. “They’re French.”

“The family of Edward Devereux?” Eli asked.

“The family went into hiding after the Dark Lord’s defeat, leaving France. They barely make contact with anyone out of Belgium.”

“That works!” Pansy said, sounding relieved as she turned to Hermione.

Eli seemed satisfied as well as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold watch. “You should get ready for dinner.”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned to Hermione. “What is she going to wear?”

“You know, I’m right here!” Hermione said, through gritted teeth.

“Yes, that’s what I’m trying to forget.”

“Might I be so bold as to suggest your mother’s robes?” Eli asked Malfoy. “They are the same height.”

Hermione watched Draco’s expression freeze for a moment and the rage from his eyes flee from his body. He looked out the window into the garden before quickly phasing back into his normal, irritable self.

“No,” he replied coldly. “Mother was far too thin; Granger won’t be able to fit in.”

Hermione’s mouth was already half open with an angry retort when she felt Eli’s warm hands press against her arm, ushering her to stop.

“We can always charm the robes,” Eli said.

“No.”

“I have a whole set of dress robes,” Pansy offered suddenly. “She can wear mine.”

“Right,” Draco said shortly before turning on his heel and walking into one of the other sub-rooms in the master bedroom.
---

“Your grandfather’s name was Edward Devereux,” Pansy called from outside the door.

“Right,” Hermione answered absentmindedly as she tried to figure out how to wear Pansy’s dress robes in the bathroom.

“He died young and it was your grandmother who raised your father until she was killed by a bunch of mudbloods – sorry, muggles. But you need to get used to saying ‘mudbloods’ in front of Lestrange.”

Hermione turned her back to the mirror in order to see the back strap of the dark maroon dress. “Why was she killed?”

“No one really knows,” Pansy said through the door. “Her body was never found.”

Hermione finally got a tight grip on the velvet strap and made a sloppy bow on the back to keep the dress tight at the waist line. She adjusted the thin straps around her shoulders as Pansy continued the story.

“Your parents are Edward Devereux the second and his wife, Constance. Your older brother was declared mad in Azkaban where he still lies captive and your younger brother is still with your mother.”

“My father’s dead?” Hermione asked.

She stopped for a second and revelled in the phrase she had just uttered. This whole chaotic mess had distracted her from the most important factor – her parents’ deaths.

“A year ago,” Pansy said. “So that would be right after you and Draco got married.”

Hermione choked slightly on her words. “I’m ready.”

She opened the door, stumbling into the beautiful dressing room, looking like less of a mess than she had before. The dark maroon dress that Pansy had lent her was a pretty good fit though a little more promiscuous than she was used to.

“Does it need to be this low?” Hermione asked, fidgeting with her neckline.

“The robes will cover it,” Pansy assured her, appearing from behind a dressing screen. She was wearing a chic black dress that hit the top of her knees flirtatiously. Her hair was let out and it swung slightly in the light breeze of the room.

Hermione felt completely inadequate in her clumsy outfit. “Let’s fix your hair,” Pansy suggested, taking out her wand.

“Why is this important?” Hermione asked bitterly.

“Appearances are key in pureblood families,” she said sternly. “The way you look reflects on your family. For a casual dinner, you look fine.”

She handed Hermione a matching set of maroon robes which she gladly put on to cover her cold arms and shivering shoulders. Pansy waved her wand, straightening the kinks in Hermione’s frizzy hair and then tying it into a sophisticated up do.

“Let Draco do all the talking.”
---

Pansy and Hermione met Draco at the door of the master bedroom. He looked completely put together in his dark black robes just like Pansy… Hermione reckoned they should have been the couple. His messy blonde hair had been washed and combed back while the pallor of his skin returned to its usual, flawless self.

“Once you leave this room,” he instructed. “He can hear what you say. He’s already put up the charm.”

Hermione nodded. “Try not to speak,” he added.
---

As the three of them arrived at the second dining hall by the white piano room, Draco moved aside to let Pansy enter. She gave them both a weak smile that couldn’t hide her genuine anxiety as she disappeared into the door.

Hermione heard chairs being moved and a little more shuffling before some conversation began. Draco turned to her for a split second and nodded, grabbing onto her hand. Where she had expected a rough grip, she instead felt a gentle sensation of ice as he placed his palm into hers. The doors opened slowly and Hermione braced herself as she stepped in, as Lady Malfoy.

The dining hall had changed considerably since she had last eaten here a few days ago during breakfast. The huge bouquets of flowers still dominated the corners of the dark grey walls but the appearance was now a lot stiffer. The head seat of the table was unoccupied but to its left sat Pansy. Beside her was the man named Cassius, dressed in navy blue robes. His clean cut image was a high contrast to Lestrange who sat on his other side. In the light he looked older than ever, with the deep circles under his eyes digging into his rough face. The three cronies, Mulciber, Marcus and Hector said on the opposite side of the table, leaving the seat to the right of the head empty.

Draco entered and took his seat at the head of the table, not letting go of Hermione’s hand until she sat down in the empty seat beside his. The table was full of delectable foods, as always and it seemed the three cronies were starving with hunger as they helped themselves to the meats.

“What a lovely meal,” Lestrange commented with a satisfied smile.

“Eli has outdone himself, as always,” Pansy agreed. “I see they are quite hungry...” she added with distaste, referring to the three men wolfing their food down.

“Common courtesy is an advanced science for them,” Cassius said, half amused and half disgusted. “They refuse to be civil.”

“’ay!” one of them mumbled through a mouthful of chicken. “We’ve been starving for days!”

Lestrange rolled his eyes. “Come now, Cassius,” he said calmly. “There are other dinner conversations that we can be having.”

His eyes turned to Hermione and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I believe Draco owes us a formal introduction to his lovely lady,” he joked.

Draco smiled sharply. “Of course, Uncle Ralph.”

Two house elves toddled out of the distant kitchen, carrying bowls of stew and vegetables which they placed effortlessly on the long table.

“Hermia,” Draco said smoothly. “This is my uncle, Rodolphus Lestrange. He was married to my mother’s sister.”

“A pleasure,” Hermione said, trying to sound just as charming as Draco as she extended her hand and allowed Lestrange’s greasy lips to touch it. As his warm breath hit her fingers, she felt her stomach overturn slightly.

“And Uncle Ralph, this is my wife, Hermia Malfoy.”

“Forgive me, my dear,” Lestrange said, letting go of Hermione’s hand. “What family are you from? I don’t recall ever having the pleasure of meeting you.”

“The Devereux family,” Hermione said and she could feel her voice getting shakier.

Lestrange’s face relaxed a little as his smile became a little more sincere. “The Devereux family? Of Belgium?”

“The one and only,” Draco interjected.

“I’ve heard great things about your grandfather,” Lestrange continued. His voice was steady, seemingly forced. “How is your father doing?”

Hermione looked away from his hollow face. “Unfortunately, he passed away last year. My mother’s been ill ever since.”

Lestrange seemed to get more satisfied with Hermione’s answers. “My condolences.”

Draco’s tense expression also relaxed as the doubt from Lestrange’s mind started to fade. He moved his hand over to a bowl and started to slowly spoon some soup into it. Lestrange, temporarily satisfied, also began to reach for large portions of meat which he ate with great patience for a man who had been deprived of proper food for months.

“Would you please pass the bread?” Cassius asked Hermione.

“Uh, yeah…yes, sure.”

She fumbled for the bread and passed the silver tray over to Cassius with a slightly confused expression.

“So, what exactly were you doing on the roof of the tower?” he asked brusquely.

Draco laughed. “She thought she dropped one of her bracelets on the roof and went looking for it and you know how slippery the ground gets in the winter.”

“Right, right…” Lestrange said.

“I heard your family’s been quite secretive in Belgium,” Cassius said, speaking to Hermione. “I didn’t imagine that any of you had made it out of that particular region. How did you and Draco meet?”

Hermione was caught off guard. She had prepared herself for stories about her family but she hadn’t given a single thought to her courtship… did death eaters even do that? Were they supposed to date? Maybe Lucius and Narcissa arranged Draco’s marriage?

“I think Draco tells the story better,” Pansy interjected suddenly.

“Now, now,” Lestrange replied, eyeing Pansy cautiously. “Let’s let Hermia tell the story.”

Hermione turned to Draco who smiled at her, though he was unable to hide his anxiety. “Go on,” he encouraged her.

“Well, after my brother was sent to Azkaban, my parents decided it would be safer for me to leave France while they moved to Belgium,” Hermione began. She tried to keep her voice cold and smooth like Pansy and Draco’s.

“A wise choice,” Lestrange agreed. He seemed pleased.

“I came to England in my last year at Hogwarts where I met Draco for the first time. He was so charming and so…evil…”

The men at the table laughed and though Hermione felt that she’d taken a misstep, everyone else thought she was joking.

“My parents instantly approved of him,” she continued, now gaining more confidence after an encouraging nod from Pansy. “But of course, there were other matters to be dealt with before we could get married, like the Ministry capturing death eaters and all. But when that was cleared up, we got married last year.”

That sounded believable, right?

“I knew you’d end up with a beautiful one,” Lestrange said approvingly, though his eyes looked at Hermione with a deep hunger in them that made her extremely uncomfortable. “Now if only Cassius could find someone like your young lady, I’d be able to rest in peace.”

Cassius rolled his eyes. “You said you wouldn’t bring that up,” he said.

“No one has caught his attention yet, though he seems to have gotten the attention of a fair few women.”

“Even as children, Cassius had girls floating around him,” Pansy added, trying to lighten the mood.

“I remember,” Lestrange said, taking on a very paternal tone that made Hermione extremely curious. “Were you ever one of them, Pansy?”

Cassius laughed. “No, no… Pansy never fawned over me like the other girls. She always treated me like her equal which is why I always liked her more than the other girls.”

Hermione was extremely surprised. She had expected the conversation to take on a very sombre tone about murder and death and Azkaban but… they were talking about family. She couldn’t fathom how these people, who clearly distrusted one another, were able to sit around like they were in a 40s family Thanksgiving reunion.

“Draco got a lot of girls too,” Cassius added. “Just the quieter types.”

“I always liked the quieter ones,” Draco agreed. “But as I recall, you had an unnatural attraction for the crazy loud girls.”

“Yes there were always the occasional bizarre ones,” Cassius said, laughing with Draco.

“You should have been there with these boys when they were kids,” Lestrange said to Hermione. “Lucius and I would always watch them with such pride – I tell you, we were the happiest fathers out of all of them.”

Hermione choked on the piece of carrot in her mouth very quietly so that only Draco noticed. He gave her a sharp look before turning back to the rest of his guests with a smiling visage.

Hermione understood the paternal tone in Lestrange’s voice. Cassius… Cassius was his son. She tried to remember the hundreds of times she had heard about or talked about the Lestrange family and never had there been a son mentioned. She looked Cassius’s smooth features and compared them with Lestrange’s rough ones with perplexity. Maybe he had looked different at an earlier age or maybe Cassius had taken after the Veela part of Narcissa and Bellatrix Malfoy’s ancestry.

“I’m terribly exhausted,” Pansy said, standing up slowly. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to call it a night.”

“Yes, I quite agree,” Cassius interjected. “It’s been a long day. Father, shall we?”

Lestrange looked at the food in front of him and then nodded. “I’m already looking forward to breakfast.”

“Goodnight both of you,” he said, baring his large yellow teeth to Hermione and Draco. “You too, Pansy.”

“Eli will show you both to your rooms in the East Wing,” Draco said. “Pansy, we’ll walk you to yours.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione said, nodding to them as Eli materialised at the foot of the long table.
---

The walk back to the Malfoy master bedroom was swift, silent and shorter than Hermione had imagined. Not a word had been uttered since they wished Lestrange and Cassius goodnight and headed for bed.

The large oak doors opened smoothly and Hermione felt a warm breeze engulf her as the doors closed behind her and she entered the beautiful bedroom.

Pansy sighed contentedly. “That went well,” she said.

“Better than I thought,” Draco admitted. “They seemed to be satisfied with your story,” he added, turning to Hermione.

“You were good,” Pansy said, smiling to Hermione. “I mean it.”

Hermione felt relieved that she had managed to convince them that she was a pureblood. She noticed that even Draco didn’t bother insulting her. Feeling a slight pull of acceptance, she decided to ask the question that had been troubling her since dinner.

“I didn’t know that Lestrange had a son,” she said slowly.

Draco and Pansy instantly exchanged knowing looks before Draco turned towards the bathroom on the left. “I’m going to go change,” he said.

Pansy took a seat on the bed and took off her the top layer of her robe, laying it on her lap. When Hermione heard the bathroom door close, she turned back to Pansy.

“He’s awfully self assured,” she snapped irritably.

“He just doesn’t want to talk about Lestrange’s family history,” Pansy assured her. “It’s… it’s a little complicated.”

“People say I’m smart,” Hermione said. “Try me.”

Pansy laughed. “You’re right to begin with… Cassius was never really in the Death Eaters’ children circle like Draco and I were. He wasn’t paraded around in pretty outfits, he wasn’t forced to be tutored and he didn’t go to Hogwarts like the rest of us.”

“He went to Durmstrang,” Hermione said, remembering what Draco had said earlier in the courtyard.

“Exactly,” Pansy said. “He was kept far away from our kind of life. Though when we were kids, we mingled all the time and played together. It was when he got older that Bellatrix chose to send him to Durmstrang.”

“Why?”

Pansy pondered her thoughts for a moment before answering Hermione. “She was very protective of him… everyone was. Draco’s father was on the board of governors at Hogwarts so it seemed logical that Draco would go there and then most of the other death eaters followed along. But Bellatrix wanted Cassius to be trained… and I mean really trained in the art of dark magic. Durmstrang offers a much more intensive curriculum than Hogwarts ever did.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “That doesn’t sound too complicated.”

Draco emerged out of the bathroom wearing a large black shirt over bottle green sweatpants. “You should go back to your room, Pansy,” he told her. “Lestrange will get suspicious.”

“Right,” she said. “Goodnight.” She smiled briefly at Hermione before heading out.

Draco turned to Hermione. “You should probably get ready to sleep,” he said, a sneer appearing on his face. “The pull-out sofa bed can get quite uncomfortable.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? I’m sleeping on the bed. You are more than welcome to lie on the couch.”

Draco shrugged. “My Manor, my rules. And after all those times that I’ve saved you, I deserve the bed.”

He walked towards the bed and tossed two large pillows at Hermione. “Sweet dreams.”

Hermione grumbled irritably as Draco lay down on the bed, putting his arms behind his head. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust as she walked over to the tan sofa bed resting near the dressing screen.
---

Hermione heard him breathe again, this time deeper and harder. He was saying something inaudible and low but she doubted it made any sense. She turned herself over slightly, raising her head to see him. His right hand was over his chest, pushing into the thin skin and fresh scars. Hermione knew what the problem was – her Fiendfyre potion was beginning to wear off. Draco’s thick breaths seemed all too familiar and she remembered his incessant talking when she had cured him the first time.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Jessss!!!!!

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter 20 : Forgotten Ones

“He’s getting worse, Eli,” Hermione said, slowly.

It was right before dawn and Hermione had quietly snuck into the second sub-room in the Malfoy master bedroom. She had called Eli, hoping that he was awake and it was no surprise to her, when he materialised in a few seconds.

“Perhaps we need some more of the Fiendfyre antidote?” Eli suggested. “I can get you the ingredients you need.”

“Well, yes,” Hermione said hesitantly. She kept her voice low, hoping that Draco would remain asleep in the room beside her. He had started sweating again and clenched his chest unconsciously. “But something else is troubling me.”

“What is?” he asked.

“It was always in the back of my mind but Malfoy… Malfoy said something to me a while ago that made me think… when we fought that morning in the Manor after I gave him the potion the first time, I showed him my burns and he told me that they couldn’t possibly hurt as much as his did.” She was unsure, trying to find a way to explain it. “He was right; my burns aren’t as bad as his.”

Eli seemed unmoved. “Well, maybe he’d been attacked harder… longer exposure to the flames.”

“Not in the sense of physical pain,” Hermione said, correcting herself. “… You said he was talking in his sleep a lot and he did the same last night. When I saw the flesh and the burns and how they reopened… it all seemed to affect him so much more.”

Eli pondered her query for a minute. “I understand what you mean.”

“I’ve checked everywhere and Fiendfyre does not have those kinds of effects. I mean, the burns ache terribly like mine did but they had started to heal a while ago. Malfoys’ on the other hand… his seemed to have gotten worse. I noticed it a little to tell you the truth. The first time after the attack in the North Tower, he came out and he was alright but… eventually, his movements became forced and you could see the strain he placed on himself. And from what I saw when he was in his room before I healed him, it was amplified… like the injuries had been growing.”

“I’ve seen that kind of effect before,” Eli said, pensively. “Before I worked for the Malfoys.”

Hermione immediately looked up at the tired old man with a surprised expression. His devotion to the ancient family was so strong that Hermione had difficulty imagining a life in which Eli had been wearing something other than his regular butler’s robes and calling people without a ‘Ms’ or ‘Mr’ in front of their names.

“Before?”

“That was a long time ago,” he chuckled. “But I’d met a fellow once who told me he was searching for a hospital in the late hours of the night. He explained that his wife was dying because of a disease –a curse actually – that was growing in her and feeding off of her blood. That’s what made it grow so rapidly… the nourishment it got from her thick blood.”

“Like sucking her blood?” she thought, her eyes fighting off an image of a vampire.

“It was suspected that she had been hit by a vampire’s curse but we never found out. The poor woman was dead long before we got back to the house with a healer.”

“And the curse…the disease?”

“It had died with her. Once it lost its food, it had nothing to live off of. Nothing can grow without a source of nutrition to feed itself.” His eyes narrowed as he said the last sentence and Hermione understood his point.

“You think it’s feeding off Malfoy?” she asked cautiously.

“I had noticed the striking difference between your injuries before,” he said. “But the growing never occurred with to me until you just mentioned it.”

“What could Malfoy have that I don’t?”

Eli shrugged hopelessly. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “But for now, we need some more antidote. If I give you the ingredients list, can you bring me the materials from the potions cupboard?”

“Absolutely, Ms. Granger.”

---

He felt her beautiful hair against his thin skin. The thick brown curls drew a veil around his eyes, filling his mind with the sweet scent of lavender. He felt himself lying on a field, his fingers grasping faintly at the long strands of grass growing from the ground. The increasing pain he had been feeling in his chest was now nothing more than a mere tickle.

“Am I dead?” he asked, hoping to hear the melodious voice.

“No,” Natalie replied. He dared not open his eyes for fear that he would wake up in the Manor again, alone.

“But you are,” he said.

“I know.”

“Then how is it that we are talking?” he asked, feeling foolish.

“You know nothing of death, Draco,” she said, her voice getting sadder. “You and I are at the Crossing – the thin threshold that separates life from death. We can talk but we cannot touch.”

Draco grimaced slightly and used his hands to feel around him, grasping only at threads of green grass. “I can feel things,” he said.

Natalie laughed softly but no happiness echoed from within her voice. “Last time, you couldn’t even do that,” she agreed. “The closer you get to death, the more you can feel here… see here.”

“And when I die?”

“Then you will be able to hold me,” she said.

Draco welcomed the release of pain and the suppression of his conscious but he could not get over the melancholy in Natalie’s voice. “Why are you sad?” he asked her gently.

“Can you hear me?” came another voice. This wasn’t Natalie’s sweet voice but rather, a distant one.

“Because I know you have to go back,” Natalie whispered, sorrowfully.

“I don’t want to,” Draco whimpered, ashamed that he sounded like a young child.

Natalie’s voice didn’t reply and the gentle feeling of grass under him faded quickly, only to be replaced by a groggy, warm sensation in his throat. He waited for the wrenching pain in the pit of his chest but that never surfaced. The feeling in his throat, however, got a lot worse and he began to taste the remnants of a thick liquid still in his mouth.

He coughed a little, trying to dispel the curdling chunks that were caught between his teeth when he felt a gentle hand against his chin.

“Don’t cough,” she said. “Just keep swallowing – it’s good for you.”

Draco opened his eyes, pausing a moment to let the lights adjust before speaking. To his surprise, Hermione sat at the foot of the large bed holding a jar of a thick, yellow potion that he had been, no doubt, drinking. He didn’t react to her presence but it didn’t escape him that it was her and not Pansy sitting by his side. “What is it?” he asked.

“The Fiendfyre antidote,” she explained.

Draco couldn’t help but sense a mild déjà vu as he remembered the last time she had given him the same antidote. Hermione had tried to offer her help and Draco had blatantly refused it, throwing in a few insults on the side. A lot of yelling and screaming had occurred during that argument but today, she seemed different. She was quieter and a lot more observant as opposed to her louder self. She hadn’t asked about Adria or his scars or even offered her help. He noticed that she had even dressed herself in another one of Pansy’s outfits, though this time she was wearing something a little more colourful. Her knitted sweater was a deep emerald colour with dark jeans underneath them, making her look a lot more mature too.

He pursed his lips slightly and gazed at the older figure in front of him, deciding that he didn’t like this aged Granger. Pansy had undergone this change too; she had discarded her flirtatious smile and colourful personality for the sombre shadows of Malfoy Manor. Even he felt chained down to the heavy responsibilities of this Manor, recalling the more vivid memories of his younger self. He remembered the thrill and enjoyment he got from tormenting Hermione and her friends, and more so from the constant facial expressions and retorts that she shot back at him.

“You haven’t asked me anything yet,” said Draco.

Hermione looked up, surprised. “About what?”

“About me, Lestrange, the Manor… anything…”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed slightly and she looked genuinely confused. “I thought you hated my curiosity.”

“I did,” Draco said suddenly. “I still do… but it’s not like you to stop when someone asks you to stop.”

Hermione now looked seriously bewildered. “Are you saying that you want me to bombard you with questions?”

“I’m saying that I want you to be…normal,” Draco explained, frustrated. He couldn’t bring himself to explain his thoughts and here he was, looking like a fool. “You were one of the most annoying people I had ever known and now… you’re practically bearable.”

Hermione laughed a little. “Well, I can say the same for you,” she countered. “Just last night we were yelling at each other and now, you’ve become so calm and mature that talking to you is like a surreal experience for me.”

“What are you saying?” Draco asked, unable to hide the smile on his face.

“I’m saying that we are in serious danger of getting along,” Hermione said, sarcastically. “But now that you mention it, can I ask you a question?”

“About what?”

“Skeid.”

Draco sat up suddenly as he heard the name and pondered the thought for a moment. He had been expecting a question about Adria or maybe even Natalie if she had been paying attention to him while he spoke in his sleep. But Skeid wasn’t a touchy subject, though he could hardly imagine what she wanted to ask. However, she had just saved his life for the second time and for some reason, he was in a rather good mood this morning.

“Just the one,” he said, slightly threateningly but he was sure that didn’t come off in his tone.

“You told him that Lestrange was going to come for me, didn’t you? You were the one who arranged for that whole “Ministry protection” thing?”

Completely caught off guard, Draco sat up higher and cocked his eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“Because if I lived with you, Lestrange wouldn’t be able to find me before he got to you.” She had a smug smile on her face as if she had discovered some crucial piece of information.

“And why on earth would I want that to happen?” Draco prodded further. He was interested in Hermione’s theory.

“Because,” she began, happily, “you are not as big of a jerk as you think you are.”

So that was the crucial information she thought she had discovered. She had figured out that Draco Malfoy had a nicer side. “Really?”

“You protected me,” she said. “You knew Lestrange was coming to London and you didn’t want him finding me so you kept me with you until you were sure that I could be safe. Then right before Lestrange got here, you told Skeid that I could be released and he let me go. That way you knew where either one of us was at all times.”

“So you think I’m the good guy in all this?”

“Well if you had wanted to kill me, you would have done that by now,” Hermione added. “Merlin knows, I’ve given you enough reasons.”

Draco eyed Hermione’s triumphant expression and sighed. “Don’t get your hopes up, Granger,” he said. “I didn’t protect you, per se, but rather it was the principle – I would have taken in anyone. Too many people have died at his hands – he won’t kill anymore innocent people.”

Hermione’s smile shrunk into a graver expression. “I guess I kind of killed your plan,” she said apologetically. “I shouldn’t have come back here.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” he agreed, standing up and realizing that he was not wearing a shirt. “Bloody hell, Granger, whenever you’re around, I wake up half naked, not remembering what happened the night before.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re right. I take advantage of you while you’re asleep.” She handed him his shirt which was lying on the floor, sprawled against the bedpost.

“You’re just afraid because you know you find me uncharacteristically attractive.”

Hermione scoffed. “Excuse me?”

Malfoy knew if he tried enough, he could get her to throw her hands up in the air and declare she hates him – just like she always did. “Go on, Granger, it’s no shame. You can admit you find me good looking.”

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. “Come on, Malfoy,” she said. “Don’t you have bigger fish to fry? A certain death eater to kill?”

He could see her getting irritated. “Wildly attractive, then?”

She laughed. “I find the Chudley Cannons attractive. You, on the other hand, are something else.”

“Beautiful?” he asked, standing up now. “Like Adonis?”

The words were coming to him naturally… without a single spasm of effort. He felt this liberating feeling sweep all over his body and inhaled the morning air sharply.

“I don’t find Adonis beautiful,” Hermione countered, cleaning up the empty jars of grass root extract and beetle juice. “He was far too free with his, shall we say… love?”

Draco laughed. “Not a bigamist, eh?”

“It’s a pity,” Hermione replied sarcastically. “There goes the only chance you and I would have ever had.”

Draco smiled. He had pinched a nerve on her… she had started to respond. “So you think about that, don’t you, Granger?” he asked, his grin widening.

Hermione grabbed the empty potion bottles and disposed of them with her wand. “What is it that put you in such a fine mood this morning?” she asked suspiciously.

“I had a lovely, uninterrupted sleep on this wonderful bed,” Draco exclaimed. He observed Hermione’s expression changing to one of irritation.

“You’re such a jerk,” she muttered.

“You were welcome to join me,” he added, smirking. With every remark he made, he felt himself feeling lighter and happier than he could remember.

“Like that would ever happen,” Hermione snapped.

“Well, you are my wife,” Draco said, encouraging her. He could see her getting angrier by the minute.

“And that really is a dream come true,” Hermione replied sardonically. “I’ve always wanted to marry a death eater.”

“Better me than Weasley,” he added.

That seemed to have done it. Hermione slammed a bottle of peach extract on the vanity and turned around, huffing loudly. “You really are the most arrogant…foolish…stupid biggest horse’s arse I have ever met!”

Almost, Draco thought to himself. She had almost said it.

“Come on, Granger. There must be something you like about me.”

Hermione looked at Draco with a piercing and cold gaze. “There couldn’t possibly be anything,” she said roughly. “I hate you!”

She stormed into one of the mini rooms in the master bedroom, leaving Draco to revel in his own triumph. For the first time in very long while, he felt truly released.
---

Hermione scowled angrily in the white bathroom, slamming the door loudly as she entered. Draco seemed to have taken on a new disposition this morning – he was happier and back to his usual arrogant self. Hermione had been terrified of even talking to him last night, recalling his emotionally detached gaze and infuriated expression. But today, the words had come out of her mouth so naturally, as if she was back at Hogwarts and just fending off another one of Malfoy’s personal attacks.

She felt the blood rushing through her as her energy rush died down. She felt exhilarated, to the point of hyperactive. She wanted to go back out there and continue yelling at Malfoy – she wanted to tell him all the awful things about everything in her life. Yell at him about how she thought he was a complete jerk, about how she wished Ron would stop being so protective of her, about how she wished she was a little bit taller and thinner, just like Ginny and most of all, about how she was having the most fun she’d had in a long time.

It wasn’t that she was a masochist, she quickly corrected herself. She would much rather have not been burned or almost killed by an unnamed creature but the thrill of adventure had settled itself in her heart. She wasn’t… she couldn’t be a woman of suburban life. She couldn’t work for eight hours a day and then come home to three kids and cook dinner for her husband. She couldn’t be a woman who spread neighbourhood gossip with her friends over tea. She was far too used to the adrenaline rush of pursuing the enemy, facing the unexpected and waking up not knowing the certainty of her future.

She had felt it last night too. Sitting so close to the man who’d shed her parents blood… the rush of hatred and energy that had pulsed through her veins. The thought of duelling each and every one of his three cronies who had spilt the blood innocent muggles and wizards…

And then it hit her. Like a tight slap in the face, Hermione finally saw what had been in front of her for weeks. She hastily opened the bathroom door and saw Draco shaking out his shoulders and twirling his wand in his right hand. He turned to see her and his smirk returned as he saw her dumbfounded expression.

“Saw your reflection, Granger?”

Hermione didn’t bother responding. “I think I know why your burns are worse than mine.”

The smile on Malfoy’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a curious expression. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I think I know why you keep falling towards the brink of death and I recovered within a few days.”

She heard the words as Eli had said them to her, weeks ago. They hadn’t meant anything to either of them back then but now, it all seemed to make so much more sense.

“Darkness and fear are the very things these creatures feed off of.”

“Those burns…that woman,” Hermione began, “They’re feeding off of your fear, your sadness.”

Any mirth from Draco’s eyes had now faded, replaced by an indecipherable expression. He looked at Hermione and then back down at his bare chest. “When you recover with the antidote,” Hermione explained. “You’re in a much better mood, like you are now. Don’t you remember when I first gave it to you? You were so much calmer.”

“When the antidote starts to fade, you become more detached and a lot harsher because the burns start to feed off the darkness inside you. They bring it out.”

“Darkness?”

“Your fears, shattered hopes, losses…” Hermione was worried about prodding further. She remembered what Pansy had told her yesterday. He’s suffered a lot more than you know. And that was what was killing him.

“Don’t you have those too?” Draco asked, his eyes were still motionless.

“Not to the same extent – we all have terrible experiences but we bypass them… we release them. You… you embrace them. That’s primarily what Edacium curses are most effective with.”

Hermione waited for Draco to respond but his eyes never left his chest. He kept looking down at the criss-crossed scars and she began to feel intrusive.

“Go,” Draco said quietly.

Hermione didn’t need to be told a second time – she went downstairs to the dining hall to go search for Pansy.

---

When Draco heard the door to the master bedroom close, he turned grabbed the white collared shirt by his bedside and put it on hastily, not bothering to button his cuffs. He made his way out of the room, through the bright corridors and up another set of marble staircases that led straight to the dimly lit hall on the third floor where the library doors were hidden under a veil of darkness.

Quickly, Draco turned the door knobs and entered. He reached for a huge stack of shelves in the right corner of the library and pulled out a thick, two thousand page book titled “Andronicus’ Curses: an extensive dictionary of every curse known to man.” He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

Edacium Curse –
Derived from the Latin word edax [edacium] – meaning gluttonous, or consuming. The Edacium curse is well-known as the “feeding curse” which sustains long term effects as long as the host body to which it is attached can nourish it. Vampire curses are the most well known Edacium curse, feeding off of the blood of the victims until death and in some cases, long after death. Other types such as curses which feed off of skin, hair, moisture, bone also exist. A more complicated form of the curse feeds not off of physical matter but rather the emotions and minds of the hosts.

Draco slammed the book shut and shoved it towards the floor, burying his head in his hands.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

awww.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Chapter 21 : Bartholomew

Tomorrow night was going to be what Pansy referred to as a “formal reunion” of Death Eaters. It seemed that all death eater gatherings used to be facilitated at Malfoy Manor and that now, with Lestrange’s return to England, another celebration was in order.

Hermione had spent the entire morning avoiding the master bedroom though more specifically, Draco. He had reacted very bizarrely to her revelation about the Edacium curse and she thought it was best to leave him. Lestrange and Cassius had departed early in the morning for some crucial “business” that Hermione didn’t dare question so most of the day was spent with Eli and Pansy, who were both fascinated with her discovery.

“An Edacium curse,” he marvelled. “Brilliant.”

Hermione tried to stop from blushing but she accepted the compliment. “The story you told me,” she began, “about the woman and the vampire… I think she might have had the same thing too.”

“Yes, yes,” Eli mused sadly. “It’s a pity we didn’t get to her on time.”

“But what does this all mean?” Pansy asked.

“It’s another piece of the puzzle,” Hermione explained. “Another step to figuring out what this creature is… if what Malfoy really wants to do is save her then he needs to know what she is. Maybe if we could figure out a loophole of some sort…”

“Edacium curses are dark magic,” Hermione continued. “They can be produced in many forms – vampires do so with bites, dementors do so with their kiss and this creature… she does it with her flames. There’s definitely more to the flames… there has to be some reason that she attacks with flames of all things.”

Pansy shifted uncomfortably and looked at Eli. “You know, don’t you?” Hermione asked, frustrated.

“Sort of,” Pansy confessed. “Not the whole story but… parts of it. It’s just that Draco’s got a reason for not telling people this story and I don’t want to be the one who breaks his trust.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s not your story to tell,” she muttered, thinking of what Eli had said to her weeks ago.

“He will tell you,” Eli assured her. “You’re like magnets – two completely opposite beings with ideals that contradict each others and yet there’s a force that neither of you can resist.”

For some reason, Hermione felt that Eli wasn’t just talking about Hermione’s offer to help. “Let’s just move on,” Pansy suggested.

“Right,” Hermione said sarcastically. “Let’s talk about these death eaters’ obsessions with having dinners. I swear you all have spent more time wearing fancy dresses than plotting evil.”

Eli laughed. “They are a very self-centered lot. Though I must admit, there is nothing with more grandeur and opulence than a dinner at Malfoy Manor.”

“Exactly,” Pansy said with severity. “Which is why you need to be extremely perfect tomorrow night – you’re the hostess.”

“No pressure,” Hermione muttered.

“Just look pretty and smile a lot but not your ‘I fight for good’ smile, you need a cold, evil smile.”

“Yes, I’ll get practicing right on that,” she snapped.

“I’m being serious. There are going to be hundreds of people here tonight – most of whom are going to be very curious as to the heiress of the Malfoy fortune. Young women are going to hate you for marrying their choice of husband, older women are going to hate you for marrying their choice of son-in-law and old men are going to get a little too close for comfort.”

The sarcastic bite in Hermione’s voice faded. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’ve been to enough of these to know that if you don’t have an escort, you need a wand to fend off the vile men.”

“Oh I can’t handle this!” Hermione cried. “I was a nervous wreck last night with five other people! I can’t handle a hundred!”

“You won’t have to,” Eli interjected gently. “Master Malfoy will be there at all times – it’s highly unusual for Lady Malfoy to be unescorted.”

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself down. The three of them were seated around a wooden dining table in another one of Malfoy Manor’s many rooms. This room was bright, flooded with sunlight from the courtyard and decorated with lavish green trimmings.

“I suppose I’ll have to dress up?” Hermione asked dejectedly.

“Naturally,” Pansy replied. “I have a killer dress for you, actually – it’s this great purple.”

“I can’t wait,” Hermione replied unenthusiastically, trying not to think about how purple always makes her look podgy and short. “Listen, I’m going to go and read more about Edacium curses and there’s a particular book that I’ve been wanting to finish. What time is Lestrange getting back?”

“In a few hours,” Eli said calmly, assuring that she had enough time. “I’ll have a house elf send for you when they arrive.”

“Right,” Hermione said before she got up to leave.

When the door shut behind her Pansy turned to Eli slowly and pondered something. She opened her mouth, paused and then continued, pointing to the closed doorway. “Did you notice all that sarcasm?” she asked.

Eli got up, gathering the cups of tea on the table. “I did.”

“She’s beginning to sound so much like Draco.”

A small smile curved onto Eli’s thin lips. “Funny, isn’t it?”

---

Hermione walked jadedly throughout the hallways with surprising ease. She navigated her way through the marble staircase and up towards the third floor to the peaceful sanctuary that was the Malfoy library. Before the cold air of the dark corridor even had time to dissipate into the warm library, Hermione had grabbed her favourite book and was once again pulled into the dark world of Matilda Frogwart.

Mother finally got the better of me today – my arms were blue and red from the scars that she had given me over twenty years ago, the pallor rising to the surface of my flaky skin. She lashed out at me in the attic when I returned and tried to kill me, I guess the starvation has finally gotten to her. I think she’s beginning to realize that father is not coming back. My visits to Albania proved very fruitful since I decided to use one of the newer spells I learnt there, a curse actually.

I grabbed my wand and pointed it at her pointed face, pierced with scratch marks and let the Fiendfyre engulf her.

“You know, they say curiosity killed the cat.”

Hermione turned around suddenly and saw Draco leaning against one of the bookshelves with his arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t smiling but the look of blankness had faded.

“Curiosity is extremely important,” Hermione defended, turning back to her book. “If curiosity killed the cat, I say the cat died nobly.”

A smirk formed on the corner of his mouth. “Do you realize that if that cat had been just a tiny bit smarter, he could have lived on for years to have a family and kids?”

“What a purposeless existence – death or no death, that cat knew he did himself justice in the end.”

Draco walked over to the table Hermione was seated at and perched himself across from her, throwing his legs up on the table. “I hate cats.”

Hermione scoffed. “I bet they aren’t so fond of you either.”

Draco sat up instantly with a look of surprise in his eyes. “Was that a smirk, Granger?”

“Is there any particular reason you’re irritating me, Malfoy?”

“There is actually,” he said, lifting his legs back onto the desk. “A very particular reason that revolves around the following passage I read in a book about curses.”

He reached for his pocket and pulled out a ripped piece of paper, reading it out loud. “Edacium curses are not only messengers of long term pain and suffering but to date, there is no material cure for the curse if it has lasted over three days. In such cases, the only known method to destroy the gluttonous effects that feed on the host is to destroy the creature – since no wand can perform this – that inflicted it.”

“That’s interesting,” Hermione remarked.

“I quite agree,” Draco said, “especially the part where it says that the only way to stop the pain from getting worse is an antidote – which I happen to have none of at the moment.”

“That’s what you find interesting?”

Draco looked at her carefully. “What else is there?”

“I don’t know, maybe the part that says you’re going to die slowly unless you kill the creature that performed the curse?”

He smiled suddenly. “You just want to know, don’t you?” he asked.

Hermione immediately looked away as their eyes met. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s eating you up inside because you know that everyone around you knows but you don’t.”

“It wouldn’t hurt if you told me,” she defended. “We are in this together.”

“Not by choice though,” Draco corrected her. “If it was up to me, you’d be back with Weasley.”

Hermione scoffed. “No one is here by choice,” she said. “I’ve seen the way your face wears down once you’re back in the master bedroom. You don’t want to be here and you’re paying the price for whatever it is you did that you’re trying to fix – you are literally killing yourself.”

The mirth from Draco’s face had vanished a while ago but he didn’t yell at Hermione like he usually did when she said something bold. It seemed he had accepted her blunt insight. “How long do you think I have? I mean, before I can’t even walk or talk?”

“It feeds off your unhappiness so as long as you think happy thoughts, you can prolong it I suppose.”

“It’s going to be hard thinking of happy thoughts with death lingering over this place,” he said wistfully.

“You seemed very happy this morning,” Hermione suggested.

Draco almost had to hold back a grin. He remembered that feeling of ultimate release and contentment when he had fought with Hermione. He had felt almost separated from his physical pain when his Hogwarts’ insults flew out of his mouth and generated the same exasperated and dramatic response from her. Though he wasn’t totally successful at hiding his smile, he didn’t let Hermione in on his new theory.

“You know,” she said slowly. “It’s not very hard to be cheerful – happiness can be found even in the gloomiest of times.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I mean it,” she said sincerely. “You don’t have to be living your dream life to be happy. Even the tiniest of light bulbs can provide illumination in a dark room.”

Draco laughed emptily. “You don’t know how dark of a place I’m in.”

“Well if you’d stop being so bloody stubborn, maybe you won’t have to face things alone.”

The amusement Draco got from her serious expression set him off again. He began to feel happier just hearing the irritation in Hermione’s voice. “Are you offering to throw me a light bulb, Granger?”

Hermione looked up and put the book in her lap. “I’m already in the darkness,” she said truthfully. “My parents are dead, I have no real family left and my friends are miles away from here. I’m trying to find a way out too.”

“What can two blind people do?”

Hermione paused, carefully choosing her words. “They can walk together.”

To her amazement, Draco didn’t look abashed at all. On the contrary, his eyes had focused intently without the malicious undertone that made them an icy grey. “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor working together, really?” he asked.

“We’re not in Hogwarts anymore, Draco,” she said.

The word resounded clearly in head. Draco. He observed she said it with a blunt sound on the ‘c’ – very few people said his name that way. “You say my name very weirdly,” he noted.

“I’m taking the high road.”

“Good, I’m quite content with the low road.”

Hermione sighed and huffed irritably. “So what now? Do you want me to call you Hermione?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

“And will you tell me the story of this ghost woman?”

Draco looked around the library for a moment, crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Let’s try this name thing out first,” he suggested, simpering. “We’re blind, remember? Let’s not walk too fast… we don’t want to trip.”
---

Hermione walked back to the master bedroom, absentmindedly turning corners that had become eerily familiar to her. She walked into one of the large purposeless rooms in the Manor and realized that she had entered a winery. Shelves against the wall were stacked with bottles of wines from all over the world, each one looking older than the one below it.

“Get him in here,” a rough voice called from the outside. “Oh for Merlin’s sake, Hector! Stop reading about those loud shrews and bring him in here!”

“They’re around the forest, Mulciber,” another voice replied. “What if one of ‘em got to us?”

Hermione choked on her own breath and recognized the familiar voice of one of Lestrange’s men. She searched around frantically for a way to escape but the men had gotten too close to the door for her to leave unnoticed.

She turned feebly towards the corner of the room and felt her hands hit a bump in the wall. She saw that an old storage cupboard was closed shut beside her and in a few seconds if she didn’t get in, she would be lying on the floor in various pieces. Pulling at the rusted handle frantically, the door budged open slowly and Hermione shut herself in as three men walked in, dragging another one on the floor. The cracks in the ancient door allowed her to see very clearly what the men were up to and shivers went down her spine. The door closed.

The man on the floor was pleading incoherently, grappling at the three men’s legs but his voice stopped suddenly when the door opened again, bringing in a gust of cold wind.

“Bartholomew,” Lestrange said with a perverse smile on his face that seemed to make his insane appearance bloodcurdling. “It’s so good to finally see you.”

The only response Hermione could hear was the soft whimpering of the kneeling man thrown in front of Lestrange, his hands clutching his chest. Her eyes were fixed on the figure, knowing unquestionably, as he did, that there was nothing good about this encounter. The three men behind Lestrange were grinning at each other; though their amusement, unlike Lestrange’s maddened smile, seemed genuine.

“I…I’m…I’m so sorry,” the kneeling man pleaded finally. His words were hindered by his uneven breaths and by the constant pounding in his chest as the blood raced through his veins and flushed his cheeks. “I…pl…please…forgive me.”

Hermione’s frozen body began trembling as the beseeching sobs reached her ears. The kneeling man was crying now and his words were almost incomprehensible as they mixed with his tears and pleas.

“I am glad to see you regret your decision,” Lestrange answered. “Traitor or not, it is gratifying to realize your mistakes, is it not?”

“Y…yes…” the man replied, his voice now more hopeful. Though he still remained on the ground, he bent his head lower and raised his trembling hands. “I…I real… realize that… I … I was wrong.”

One of the men behind Lestrange grunted angrily as he lunged forward. Lestrange held his hand up instantly and the same misshapen smile crept onto his face again. “Patience, Mulciber,” he warned.

“You believe him?” Mulciber spat angrily. “He’s a filthy little cockroach! I say we crush him!”

“No!” the man yelled, he dropped to his stomach and grabbed onto Lestrange’s feet. “Please…ple…please! I b…I beg you!”

“Don’t kill him yet,” another of Lestrange’s men yelled. “Let me have some fun with him first.”

Another man laughed. “A little cruciatus curse would be amusing,” he agreed.

Bartholomew’s sobs were louder and his breaths were deeper. “I… please!”

Hermione heard herself intake a sharp breath and felt the tears on the threshold of her eyes. Her instincts were yelling at her, “Go! Save him! You can take them all by surprise!. Another part of her, the rational part, was pleading its own case. He’s too powerful! You’ll both die! Everything will be blown out into the open … Malfoy, Eli…the Manor…everything will be destroyed!” Hermione’s hands tightened into fists and she could feel the circulation in her veins pulsing.

“What do you say, Bart?” Lestrange asked casually. “Shall I let them have their way?”

“Anything! I’ll give…I’ll…give you anything! Money! I have… I can give you thousands of galleons! Please!”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Lestrange replied. He turned towards his men and Hermione saw his crude eyes flash momentarily. She felt her stomach twisting and her lungs contracting.

“Bart, Bart…” Lestrange said, turning back. He sounded like a parent who had just caught his son trying to sneak out of his room. “Will there be anymore trouble from you?”

“No!” Bart replied amidst tears. His voice had returned to its hopeful and reverent tone. “I promise! I swear… I swear on my magic! Never… this will… you’ll never hear from me again!”

A cold laugh rang out throughout the room. “I’m a fair man,” Lestrange said. “I say we put this to a vote. If even one of these three men behind me thinks you should be let go of, I will let you go.”
---

Draco lounged around in the master bedroom, restlessly staring at the door. Hermione had been gone for over an hour and he’d expected to find her here. An unexplainable restlessness had taken over his body and prevented his mind from focusing on anything other than the whereabouts of the brunette.

“Eli,” he muttered into the air and the aged man popped up almost instantaneously.

“Yes, sir?”

Draco gazed at the door one last time, hoping she’d burst in but the silence forced him to speak. “Do you know where she is?”

“Ms. Granger? No, I have not seen her.”

Draco pursed his lips and got up. “She’s been gone for over an hour.”

Observing the concerned expression on his face, Eli offered a suggestion. “Shall I search for her?”

“No, no it’s okay…” he said. “I will.”
---

Bart’s lower lip was trembling erratically as his fearful blue eyes wandered over the three men towering behind Lestrange. His hands were up in front of him, clenched together as if he were begging the merciless souls to spare him.

The first one to pass his judgement was the tall bald man. There was an inherent animal-like quality to this man and, Hermione guessed, it was his hunched over posture that propelled that quality most. The man smiled, baring his crooked teeth and raised his hand in front of him, sticking his thumb up. For a fleeting second, relief flashed across Bart’s face but that was gone within moments as the blonde man flipped his arm around in a thumbs down.

“I’ll have fun with you,” he said, his beady eyes filled with carnage.

“Tough luck, Bart,” Lestrange said, amused as he turned to the broad man with the hooked nose and crooked jaw. “Marcus?”

The man named Marcus smiled as well, though his teeth were much cleaner than his friend’s. He tilted his head slightly, examining the kneeling man with extreme diligence until the amusement in his smile reached his cold eyes and he shook his head. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”

The kneeling man turned his pleading eyes to Mulciber, grasping his pounding chest. “Please…” he begged.

Hermione saw the insane flicker in Mulciber’s black eyes and she knew what was going to happen. Her unsettled stomach could handle it no longer and the sound that had been barred by her constricted lungs made its way past her throat and towards her lips. She opened her mouth to yell, holding back the tears when an arm suddenly grasped her mouth.

Her eyes widened in fear as a second arm circled her body and placed itself against her arms, holding her firm in place. The wild scream that she had planned never came but a diminished, muffled version could be heard against the stranger’s hand around her mouth. She felt a face beside her ear and the cold breath of the person against her neck.

“Don’t move,” Draco’s voice came from behind her, his mouth pressed close to her ear. “Please.”

He loosened his grip around Hermione’s mouth, during which she took a few seconds to intake some air, filling up her dry lungs. “They’re going to kill him,” she whispered, feeling the tears spill onto her face.

“They will,” Draco said, still holding Hermione in place. She couldn’t see him but she could feel his rigid body pressed against her in the small place. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“We have to try!” she panted. “He’ll die!”

Hermione felt the grip around her tighten as Draco pressed his cold cheek against hers. “They’ll kill you in an instant,” he whispered. “And then, they’ll torture whatever’s left of you.”

There was a burst of laughter from the hall and Hermione knew that Mulciber had passed his judgement. There was a piercing cry and one last plea made by the kneeling man and though Hermione had turned away from the scene before her, she imagined him at Lestrange’s feet now.

“We can’t do anything,” Draco repeated, and some more laughter followed. “Hold on to me, we’re going to apparate out of here.”

Hermione grabbed Draco’s arm and closed her eyes, praying that she wouldn’t hear anymore. A few seconds passed and she heard Draco curse under his breath.

“You’re not concentrating!” he whispered. “Focus. We can’t apparate until you clear your mind.”

“I…I can’t…” Hermione pleaded. The images of what was happening outside began to fill Hermione’s mind and she knew that there was no way she could stop them. There was a faint wail from the outside as a flash of yellow light blinded the room. She turned her head completely, burying it into the soft fabric of Draco’s shirt. His grip was still tight but Hermione felt him lower his head as well, turning away from the horrific scene which was to follow.

“They’ll torture him!” she cried into his chest. Her sobs were uncontrolled. Though against the fabric, she imagined they weren’t loud enough for anyone other than Draco to hear.

“Think of something else!” he said quickly but it was too late. A foul chuckle was heard followed by a blaring scream that filled the air. Hermione couldn’t breathe and dug her face deeper into Draco’s chest, surrounded by the ear-splitting cry as the man was tormented.

There were more pleas and the man’s voice was going weaker as his words were drowned out by his painful cries. “Think of anything else,” Draco pleaded. “You can’t apparate with me unless your mind is clear!”

“I can’t…” she said weakly, speaking into his chest. “I… can’t…stop! He’s going to die!”

The scream was high-pitched and a violent image of the cringing spider from her fourth year came back to haunt Hermione’s thoughts. She felt a cold hand against her ears, trying to block out the noise for her but that didn’t help. Within seconds, an explosion of green light filled the darkness, and then came the stillness.

“I think Mulciber had too much fun with that,” Lestrange said in a satisfied tone.

“Next time, I get a turn,” hissed another voice.

A series of drowned words followed and Hermione heard footsteps fading into the distance. She didn’t move from Draco’s chest, refusing to breath as the hollow echo of the man’s last scream was laden in the thick air around her. Her tears had stopped, though she still felt the salty moisture on his shirt against her cheek. When she could control it no longer, her mouth opened a fraction and took in some air, just enough to sustain her.

“Let’s go,” Draco’s distant voice whispered. She tried to clear her mind and grasped his arm tighter. However, he didn’t try to apparate again. Instead, she felt his arms release his grip around her and place them by his side.

Hermione made no sound as Draco pushed the small wooden door open and climbed around her, out of the confined closet. He stood up straight and turned his back to Hermione, talking into thin air.

“Eli,” he said in a barely audible voice and there was a faint crack in the room.

“She saw?” Eli said, his voice loaded with concern.

“Most of it,” she heard Draco reply. “Where is Lestrange?”

“Heading towards his own room,” Eli informed. “The other three men were on their way to the main entrance. I believe they have transport waiting for them.”

“I need you to move the body,” Draco said, lowering his voice even more. “Keep it in the dungeons for now but see if you can find someone who knew him.”

“And Ms. Granger?”

“I’ll take her. She’s shaken up.”

There was some more movement and another faint crack before Hermione felt Draco’s hands on her arms. “Come on,” he said gently, pulling her out of the closet. “Let’s go.”

Hermione responded mechanically and stepped outside into the light. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the brightness but she immediately turned her face and buried it back into Draco’s chest out of fear that she might see something that she didn’t want to.

“He’s gone,” Draco assured her. “Eli moved him.”

Hermione’s eyes didn’t open but Draco held her steadily by the shoulder and she could feel his ash grey eyes on her. “Can you walk?” he asked.

She nodded, still looking at Draco’s soft shirt. He strengthened his grip around her shoulders and took a step forward slowly. Hermione’s legs felt like heavy boulders and it took more than just physical effort to drive them forward. The next few steps were arduous but the numbness had died down a little bit and Draco’s potent support meant that she didn’t have to apply as much physical force.

Her mind had begun to weaken as more of its conscious efforts went towards walking and suddenly, Draco thrust his hand into hers and her stomach began to twist. There was a familiar tugging at her navel and when she blinked again, they were back in the master bedroom.

“Sorry about that,” Draco apologized. “I saw your eyes wandering and I figured your mind was clear enough that we can apparate back here.”

Hermione didn’t respond as her knees buckled under her and she sat down on the ground, leaning her head against the heavy oak bed frame. She could feel the minute indentations and carvings within the wood pressing against her temple but it didn’t matter.

Never before in Hermione’s life had she seen something like what happened today. She had seen deaths; both as a healer and a student at Hogwarts, she had had her fair share of dead people. She even remembered once during the final battle trying to perform the killing curse herself but it was weak and barely touched Bellatrix’s perfect face. What had killed Bellatrix wasn’t a spell but rather a crueler weapon. She had been dancing tauntingly around Hermione’s curses and even though she was hit by the occasional one, her recovery was fast and effectual. Hermione had heard that Ron was injured and was lying by the Room of Requirement, so she left Bellatrix and ran. The maddened woman followed in eager pursuit of her mudblood prey and they duelled once again by that very room. The Fiendfyre could be heard inside it, still raging madly and Hermione saw her window of opportunity within seconds. She cast an explosive spell at the door and the wood burst into shrivelled smithereens, expelling heat into the cold night. Bellatrix had lunged forward and with one simple stunning spell, the woman had been thrown back into the flames. Her dark eyes, in their last moments, had conveyed in them the fear of death but not without emphasizing the lunacy within.

And that had been it. That was as close as Hermione had ever come to causing a death. She hadn’t ever felt the torture of standing by, powerless and inept, as an innocent man pleaded against death. She had never heard the appeals for mercy and for life from a man who knew his fate was as good as sealed by his past. The sounds were still burned into her mind and she knew that in time they, like the markings on her arms and legs, would heal but the scars would remain forever.

There was a creak in the door and a gentle thud as it shut again. Hermione’s weak mind was able to register Pansy’s hushed voice as she spoke with Draco though the subject of the conversation eluded her. There were gasps of shock and worry, exclamations of surprise and sighs of distress from Pansy as the conversation proceeded. She felt Pansy’s coconut scent fill the air as she approached Hermione and put her hand on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said gently.

“Me too,” Hermione replied weakly, opening her eyes. Draco’s head turned immediately towards her as she spoke for the first time. He was standing by the window with his hands in his pocket; in the light, the damp remnants of Hermione’s tears could be seen clearly on his blue shirt.

“You should change,” Pansy said, raising Hermione by her arm until she was half-sitting on the bed and half-standing. “If Lestrange comes by, he’ll suspect something.”

Hermione nodded feebly and ran the back of her sleeve across her face, wiping off the sweat and tears roughly while Pansy held out some green pyjamas for her.

“I’m going to go shower,” Draco said, heading out the door. “Stay with her, Pansy.”

He reached into the oak cupboard and pulled out a loose light blue shirt and a pair of dark grey sweatpants. As he left, Pansy turned back to Hermione with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” she said quietly.

Hermione shook her head. “It was awful,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “He just wouldn’t stop screaming.”

“You’ve seen people die before,” Pansy said matter-of-factly.

“Never like this. Never… so cold-bloodedly… and I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”

Pansy turned away and placed her fingers on the door knob. “I’ll be right outside,” she said. “You can change in here.”
---

The cold water struck Draco’s pale skin sharply as it washed away the salty smell of tears, dirt and sweat. He felt the drops of liquid bead on his thin skin and trickle down, sending an odd sensation throughout his numb body. As he put on his clothes and quickly combed his hair, he heard a knock on the door.

“What?” he said, opening it as he stepped out.

“Hermione’s fine,” Pansy said as she glanced back at the door that led to the Master bedroom. “Just shaken up.”

“What’s she doing now?” Draco asked and Pansy sensed the tone of uneasiness in his voice.

“She’s changing inside, give her a minute. Why do you sound nervous?”

Draco looked down and back up at the ceiling. “I’m…” he hesitated. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

Pansy couldn’t muster a smile despite Draco’s nerves. “She’s going to be reminded of her parents soon,” Pansy warned. “If she wants to say something, listen. If she doesn’t, then stay. No one wants to be left alone in their hour of need.”

“Then you go and stay with her,” Draco offered suddenly, despite himself. “You can be more understanding.”

“I don’t think I can.”
---

Draco entered the dark room and saw that Hermione hadn’t bothered changing her clothes. She was still lying by the bedpost, her head resting against it as she closed her eyes.

“You should go to sleep,” he suggested quietly.

The flickering candles in the room were beginning to die down as Hermione shook her head, looking into the carpeted floor. “I don’t want to,” she said weakly. “Let me just sit here.”

Unsure, Draco turned away as the first sign of tears appeared on Hermione’s pale cheeks. He was confused but also terrified that this situation was more than she could handle. The life had dissipated out of her within a few hours – her cold eyes and pallid skin were shattered remains.

Draco swallowed slightly and decided to leave Hermione in her own thoughts. He had found silence to be a great comfort in the worst of his moments and maybe she had done the same. He turned towards the tan pullout sofa bed and lay down on it, looking through the ornamented dressing screen at the lifeless body of Hermione Granger as it wept silently.
---


It was well past midnight when Draco opened his eyes in the master bedroom. The darkness had completely engulfed the surroundings, leaving the moonlight as his only companion as he sat up quietly and looked around the dressing screen to see Hermione still lying by the bedpost. She was moving very rhythmically and slowly, barely enough to stir the air around her.

Draco got up slowly and made his way over to the large bed, craning his neck to see if her eyes were closed. They were. There were still salty remains of her dried tears but the palpitating breaths and wistful sighs had stopped when she fell asleep. There was a slight red mark on her forehead where the carvings of the bedpost had ridden in.

He took her right arm very carefully and put it around his neck and slipped his arm under her knees to lift her. Her body hoisted itself up effortlessly into Draco’s arms and he carried her over to the bed where the soft covers provided a gentler surface. He draped a thick blanket over Hermione before turning back to his own sofa bed. As he stepped away, he felt Hermione’s hand grab the bottom of his shirt and he turned around to see her looking up at him.

“Don’t go,” she whispered. She sounded sad and completely shattered.

Draco nodded, taken by surprise. “I’m right here,” he assured her.

Hermione turned her heard towards the empty right side of the bed and looked back at Draco. “Stay.”

Her voice was weak and drained which didn’t help Draco’s efforts at refusing her request. He nodded to her as he lay down besides her, keeping three feet’s distance between them, unsure how close was too close. Hermione was a lot less worried about this proximity but maintained the distance.

“Do you think he killed my parents the same way?” she asked him. Neither of them looked at the other.

Draco didn’t know how to respond. His logic told him that Lestrange probably had revelled in the torture of his victims before killing them but he wasn’t sure he that was what Hermione wanted to hear. “I don’t know,” he said after a while.

Hermione’s eyes began to moisten. “He wouldn’t have spared them,” she said, amidst her heavy inhalations. “He would have enjoyed watching them die.”

A cold gust of air blew threw the room and Hermione shivered, huddling under the covers. She still looked away from Draco while he looked up at the ceiling. There was a bitter silence that deepened as the minutes went by. Hermione’s cries were soft but her tremors sent shivers down Draco’s spine.

“My parents are in Azkaban,” he said. He had uttered the words so softly that he wondered if Hermione had heard him at all. She didn’t respond but her head tilted up and she looked into Draco’s grey eyes.

“I was training as an Auror in Belize when my father got sentenced. He had been acquitted of his Death Eater charges with a strict eight year probationary period and zero tolerance policy on any violations. Eight months later, they found the body of a tortured young squib in our dungeons – she had been burnt to death.”

Hermione’s gazed remained fixed as Draco continued his story. “Aurors arrested my father and threw him in Azkaban. Four days later, they arrested my mother, believing her to be an accomplice. They’ve been in Azkaban ever since.”

There was a pause. “Did they kill the squib?”

Draco shook his head. “They were arrogant, followers of the Dark Lord and indirectly responsible for many of his conquests but they are not murderers.” He turned his body onto his side to face Hermione. “The majority of death eaters were just used for mindless physical violence – leading the riots, killing people. The important ones, like my parents and the Lestranges, became important for one of two reasons: they were ruthless, like the Lestranges or they were influential, like my parents. My mother was far too weak willed to kill.”

“And your father?”

“Too arrogant – he wouldn’t have wasted his time with such a lowly class.”

The thin rays of moonlight flooded through the curtains and laced the ceiling and walls of the bedroom as Draco continued. “My father died four months ago.”

“What about your mother?”

“She will follow soon.”

Hermione’s tears had dried up but the lifeless chill in her eyes remained. “I’m sorry,” she said, barely audible.

Draco turned back towards the ceiling and said, “There are worse things than death in this world. My life is purgatory.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Draco turned to face Hermione again, resting on his side. “Then why am I being punished? Why are you being bearing the burden of your parents’ deaths when all you did was fight for good?”

Hermione looked into Malfoy’s grey eyes as he looked into her brown ones. “It’s the price of being good,” she said sombrely. “I can choose to run away from Lestrange if I want to, disappear…become a whole new person and he would never find me. But I don’t want to. Why should I give up my life for that mangy excuse for a human being? And that’s what differentiates us from them… we stay to fight.”

“Us?” Draco asked. “I can’t be like you… I can’t be like the golden trio, I’m too weak. I can’t be the hero.”

The faintest trace of a smile appeared on Hermione’s face. “I’ve seen the way you fight for her… that creature… whoever she is. You’re not like any one of those men. Everybody is weak. Everybody fails. Being strong is fighting. It's hard and it's painful and it's every day. It's what we have to do.”

Draco heard her words and the beating of his heart resounded in his head. He knew what he had to do. “Do you know who that girl was? The one they found murdered in the dungeon?” he said softly, watching Hermione’s reaction.

Her face remained unchanged. “Her name was Adria,” he began. “She had been a housekeeper in the Manor since she was seven years old when Eli found her around the village, wandering. Both of my parents were impartial to her, she was a squib but she could tend to the house elves well.”

“Two years ago, before fleeing, Lestrange came to the Manor for refuge. When my father refused him any shelter, he returned a few days later and when no one was there, he burnt the courtyard with the dark mark… accusing my father of being a coward. His men… they found Adria and they tortured her for fun, like she was a toy. After abusing her and torturing her for hours, they put her out of her misery by burning her… with Fiendfyre.”

[Liz-Miia Parker]

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