The Sweetest Sin.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 8: The Only One


After dinner that evening, Hermione once again found herself leaving the dining table early. This time, it was because she wanted to go outside rather than stay confined in the house. Pansy was in a particularly bad mood for no real reason, and Hermione didn't want to be the subject of the other woman's temper. Therefore, she murmured an excuse and quickly left the dining room halfway through mealtime.

The moment the heavy door shut behind her, Hermione felt her muscles involuntarily relax. In only one short day, the garden had become her sanctuary. The cool night air washed over Hermione and the distant chirp of crickets was extremely soothing after hours of listening to Pansy shriek and complain. Stars twinkled merrily in the velvet black sky and the glow of the crescent moon was unmarred by clouds, leaving the dirt pathway clearly visible. Hermione stepped onto the winding trail and followed it until she reached the shore of the pond.

There, she stood for a many minutes, watching the slight ripples on the surface of the water distort the reflection of the moon above. Everything seemed so pure out here. There were no dirty Muggles or Mudbloods wearing filthy rags and stumbling over cracks on the street, no starving babies wailing for their mothers. Only out here could the last traces of good in the world be found.

At length, Hermione realised that the night was growing colder and her thin robe was barely enough to shield her from the dropping temperature. Shivering, she crossed her arms and hugged herself, trying to warm up.

"When did you find my garden?" came a quiet voice from behind her.

Hermione spun around to find Draco standing behind her, his hands in the pockets of his robe and his eyes focused on a point just over her left shoulder.

"I didn't realise you were there," she gasped, her heart pounding fiercely against her chest at the shock of the interruption.

Draco ignored her response and took a few steps forward to stand next to her. He was still looking off in the distance, and Hermione wasn't sure whether or not he had even heard her reply in the first place.

"So?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, blushing. "Earlier today."

"I see," he replied, his voice flat.

Silence fell between them and once again, the only sound that could be detected was the chirping of crickets. A part of Hermione was nagging at her to say something to relieve the awkward quiet moment, but Draco seemed content with not speaking and, since she wasn't exactly embracing the idea of talking to him, she therefore proceeded to remain quiet.

"Today was incredibly stressful. I despise attending weddings."

Hermione turned to Draco, somewhat dumbfounded. Could he get any more random?

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked bluntly.

"It's not as if I was going to tell Pansy; she's already enraged enough. I don't need her fussing about how antisocial I am."

"Oh."

Hermione waited a few moments for Draco to speak up again, but when he didn't, she decided it was the end of their conversation. Convinced that he was going to go back inside, Hermione began to edge forward closer to the pool of water.

"Where are you going?"

She turned around. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?" she asked pointedly, ignoring his question.

"No. I don't see why you can't handle a bit of silence every once in a while," he replied, looking slightly annoyed.

Hermione cocked her head to one side and blinked. This was all very odd. Not only was Draco being far more kind than usual, he actually didn't want her to walk away. Or so she got out of his response. "I don't like silence," she explained uncomfortably.

"Why not?"

"I...I don't know."

"So you dislike something for no reason then?" he inquired, finally turning to look at her. His mouth was set in a faint frown, but the darkness of the night hid his eyes from view.

Slightly taken aback, Hermione responded, "I suppose."

"That's not very practical of you."

"Who are you to preach me the ways of practicality?" she asked, now annoyed herself.

"I thought you were the always the logical one," he said quietly. "You never missed a chance to flaunt it in school. Have you abandoned that aspect of yourself?"

It took Hermione a moment to get over the surprise of him bringing up the topic of Hogwarts. When she did, she replied, "After the war I realised practicality doesn't exist in the human race, whether you're a Muggle, Half-blood, or Pureblood. All the brutal things I witnessed proved it."

"Like what?"

"I don't need to explain them to you." And indeed Hermione didn't, because she remembered seeing clearly with her own eyes Draco cast the Crucio spell on a former schoolmate, Justin Finch-Fletchley, back in the early days of the war.

"I'm not that kind of person," Draco suddenly said as if he could read her mind. Unless Hermione was mistaken, his voice was quivering slightly. Had she said or done something that touched a nerve?

"That's very well for you then."

"Do you think I am?" he asked. Even though the top half of his face still shaded, she could feel his eyes piercing into her.

Hermione paused to think upon his question. It was not something she had expected he'd reply with, so she was caught by surprise once again. Why did he even care what she thought of him? After all, she was nothing more than a slave and an old school enemy to him. Well, since I care so little about his feelings, I feel no guilt in telling him the truth.

"Yes," she answered honestly.

Hermione heard him heave a great sigh and saw his shoulders slump just a little. Then, he said in a colder tone of voice, "Very well."

Now, Draco turned away, seeming determined to say nothing. Hermione bit her lip and debated whether or not she should voice the question that was bothering her. At last, she asked it.

"Do you think I dislike you for no reason?"

As if he had been expecting the question, Draco immediately replied, "I do."

Hermione pursed her lips. She wasn't sure what to think of his answer; after a second, she decided it was more arrogant than anything else. "Well, I have very good reasons for not wanting to be on friendly terms with you."

"You're wrong. All the reasons you believe are good enough to firmly back up your hatred of me are rubbish. They're your observations of me when we were children. Do you think I'm still the same person now as I was 3 years ago? You don't know anything about me, Granger." Draco's voice was beginning to rise and the fury in it was so evident that Hermione almost apologized.

"Maybe not, but I've seen the way you treat your wife and children. You act as if they're your slaves too. All Kathryn wants is to catch your attention, but you brush her off every time she tries. And Tommy - Tommy looks up to you. It's your job to teach him everything he needs to learn but no, you never even look at him, and see how he's turned out now." Hermione's anger also grew with each word she said until she too was nearly yelling. "And I don't hate you," she added, although she wasn't sure she was speaking the truth.

"Don't even attempt to tell me how to raise my children," he yelled. "You have no right to speak to me in a tone like that. This is not your house and it never will be." Draco was furious now; as he took a step closer to her, his eyes seemed to bore holes into hers.

"I don't care anymore," Hermione half-shrieked. She had lost her mind completely. "I don't care if I'm nothing to you, Malfoy. I'm human, probably even more so than you are, and I can voice my opinion if I want to. It doesn't matter whether I'm in your garden or in Mudblood Town; I'll say whatever I think."

"This isn't your little fantasy world, Granger. Snap out of it. This is reality. I don't know how many times I need to tell you this before you understand - you have no rights here." He had dropped the volume of his voice a few notches, but if anything, he looked even angrier.

Hermione was so mad that all sense of reason had left her, so she simply spun on her heel and stomped toward a nearby willow tree.

"DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP," Draco suddenly bellowed from behind her.

Stunned, Hermione froze. She heard Draco's footsteps approaching.

"Never, ever touch that tree. I'll kill you in an instant if you do."

Hermione swallowed hard. She silently nodded. She didn't know what it was about the tree that was so sacred to Draco, but she did not doubt for one second that he would carry out his threat if she went against his orders.

"Come back over here."

Hermione did as he said. Once she had reached his side again, she quietly asked, "Why do you have so many secrets?"

He sighed wearily. All previous traces of animosity seemed to have been wiped away from both of them, and now the atmosphere had settled back down to what it had been like before their argument. It was like every word exchanged five minutes ago had never been spoken.

"I've experienced things," he said simply.

"So has everyone else," she pointed out, unsatisfied with his answer.

Draco shrugged. "They haven't experienced what I've experienced."

Hermione decided to leave it at that since it didn't look like she was going to get a clearer answer from him. "I guess I -" she started to say.

"I'm not the only one," he interrupted. He had once again turned to face her and this time, his entire face was clearly visible. The pale moonlight was reflecting off of his blonde hair and it gave him an unearthly glow which was enhanced by the fact that his eyes were, oddly enough, shining brightly.

"The only one?" Hermione repeated, confused.

"Who has secrets."

"Well, I know that, but you -"

"You have them too," he said softly. "I saw you one night a week ago. You were crying out in your sleep."

Hermione raised her eyes to his, completely shocked. "Y-you heard me?" she stuttered.

"Yes," he answered, still staring at her. "Tell me what it was you were dreaming of."

"No."

He tensed and for a minute, Hermione thought he was going to start yelling at her or worse, physically force her to tell him. Instead, he nodded. "I understand."

Hermione felt a tiny smile creep onto her face. This time, as their conversation stopped, the silence was much more welcoming and comfortable.

After what seemed like hours, she felt herself begin shivering again. Draco noticed as well, and he said in a flat voice, "You had better go inside if you're cold."

Hermione nodded. She hesitated a second before saying, "Good night." She waited for him to respond, but he did and said nothing. Shrugging, Hermione turned back around and headed into the house, leaving Draco standing alone.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Mina ootan ka uut

[Greete Black]

ma pean vist peale iga osa nõudma uut. Et see kiiremini tuleks xD

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 9: No Idea

In the next three months, Hermione found that it wasn't as difficult as she originally thought it would be to slip into a regular pattern at Malfoy Manor. Mainly, it was the fact that magic was barely used in their house that made getting used to living as a servant there easier for Hermione. At first, she had been surprised to find out that Draco and Pansy, the two people she would have least expected to not rely heavily on magic, actually took the energy to raise forks to their mouths. After all, many of her previous employers had even gone as far as to enchant cushions to float along behind them and occasionally carry them from room to room.

The even better part of the lack of magical activity in the mansion was that Hermione didn't have to make up for it. In previous jobs, her employers would have made her do something disgusting like wipe bits of food off their greasy chins. Here, however, Hermione would have almost been treated like an equal if not for the fact that she still received orders from the both Draco and Pansy. Thankfully, Draco seemed to have forgotten about the threats he'd made on the day of her arrival. Hermione still didn't fully understand why the Malfoys were being so generous to her or why they lived so much like Muggles, but she certainly wasn't going to argue against it.

Every morning, Hermione woke up before the sun rose. She would slip on her clothes, occasionally taking the time to engage in a bit of small talk about the weather or the past day's events with the mirror, then quietly creep up the stairs and out the back doors to the garden. There, she would sit by the lake and watch the sun rise, no matter how cold or dreary the morning was.

Once 8 o' clock struck, Hermione would return to the mansion to wake the children up and dress them for breakfast. Tommy's feelings towards her seemed to have, if it was even possible, grown more hostile. On the other hand, Kathryn had become very fond of Hermione and seemed to have adopted her as something a second mother. It was because of this growing connection with the youngest Malfoy that Hermione started looking forward to, rather than dreading, the mornings.

After breakfast, Draco and Pansy would both apparate away to work or social affairs. Sometimes, Tommy and Kathryn went with their parents while on other days, they stayed at home. Whenever they stayed, Hermione would usually find herself being dragged outside by Kathryn to watch the little girl and her brother play quidditch. As Hermione obediently sat off to the side, the same thought always came to her mind - it was almost as if being a servant at Draco's estate diminished the cruelty of the outside world and rewinded everything back 15 years, back to the days before the war when childhood glee and innocence still existed in her life.

One evening in late June, Hermione was wandering around the second floor of the house. The entire family was home, but she had no idea where they were at the moment, and since she had free time, she figured she might as well look around. The manor was so large that even though Hermione had been there for so long, she still hadn't discovered what lay in each room on the second floor.

As Hermione walked by a normal-looking wooden door, she heard a gasp from the other side. Surprised, she stopped and spun around to look at the door with wide eyes. Again, she heard a sound from behind it. This time, it sounded more like someone whispering.

I shouldn't, Hermione told herself firmly as she tried to turn around and walk away. Unfortunately, her body wouldn't listen and her feet remained stubbornly rooted to the floor. Sighing inwardly, Hermione gave into her curiosity and silently crept closer to the door.

It took Hermione a few seconds to find the keyhole, but when she did, she felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her. Regardless, she crouched down so that her eye was level to the keyhole and, with a feeling of dread and excitement growing in the pit of her stomach, looked into the room.

It was all Hermione could do to not shriek out loud. What she saw was so far from anything she had expected that every thought left her mind for a moment.

The room was a small, old-fashioned bedroom. Nothing sat in it but a low bed and at the moment, Draco and a young witch were both on the bed, lip-locked and fully clothed but looking as if the latter was about to change any second. The other woman, whose short, black hair proved she was definitely not Pansy, was giggling quietly and murmuring something. Draco's back was turned to Hermione but he appeared to be listening while unfastening the top button of his shirt.

Shaking her head numbly, Hermione edged backwards and stumbled as far away from the door as she could. When her feet had carried her a few metres away, she fell down with a soft thump on the carpeted floor, stunned. As a result of the scene she had just been witness to, a mixture of guilt, disbelief, and disgust was now formulating in the form of a lump in in her throat.

"Oh Merlin, no," she muttered under her breath, still shaking her head as if trying to clear the disturbing images from her mind. "I didn't just see that."

Hermione buried her face in her hands and groaned in dismay. She knew she shouldn't have looked to see what was going on. She had told herself not to. Why oh why am I so stubborn, she thought furiously. I can't believe I saw that. That was definitely something I shouldn't have seen.

Then another thought occurred to her. What if Draco had heard her move away? Frozen with fear now, Hermione sat tensely, waiting for the door she had just been crouching by to swing open and for Draco's enraged face to appear.

After a few seconds' wait, Hermione realised with a huge burst of relief that Draco hadn't heard her. However, the moaning and whispering coming from the room was getting louder, and Hermione decided it would be better if she didn't stick around any longer. Leaping to her feet, she half-sprinted down the hallway and veered into a random room.

"Oh!" came a small cry as Hermione shut the door behind her.

For the second time in ten minutes, Hermione was once again shocked by what she saw.

The room she had entered was much larger than the other one - the high shelves that had been pushed up against the walls held thick, dusty spell books, suggesting that this was a library - and on a squat armchair in the center of the room sat Pansy. This, however, was not the cold, snobby woman Hermione was accustomed to seeing daily. This Pansy was curled up in a miserable ball, sniffling and wiping her tearstained eyes as she looked up her sudden visitor.

"What are you doing here?" both women asked simultaneously.

"I...I just wandered in here," Hermione answered uncomfortably. She wasn't sure how to handle the situation; on one hand, she was still highly disturbed after seeing Draco with the other woman and on the other, she was just as distressed by the fact that Pansy was showing some emotion.

"Well, wander back out," Pansy halfheartedly snapped.

Hermione decided to ignore the command (at the moment, Pansy didn't look quite as threatening as she usually did) and instead, settled herself on an armchair across from Pansy. "What's wrong?" she asked, surprised to find that she was truly concerned.

"Nothing," was the mumbled reply.

"That's not true," Hermione scolded. "Just tell me what's wrong."

The only answer was a muffled sob, and realisation suddenly dawned upon Hermione. "It's about Draco, isn't it?" she asked knowingly.

"No," Pansy replied sharply. She looked up and glared at Hermione, her eyes brimming with tears. "It's not. Leave me alone, Granger."

Hermione shook her head. For the moment, her mind was clear of the memory of Draco and the black-haired woman. She was too focused on Pansy's grief. Right now, it didn't even matter that the two of them hated each other. "I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me what he did."

"Why do you even care?"

"I don't. But I'm not going to just leave you here looking as pathetic as you do right now," Hermione replied truthfully. Pansy seemed to be too upset to even throw a fit over what Hermione had said, so she took it as her cue to continue on. "Plus, it's always nice to hear dirt on him."

Pansy sniffled again and whimpered, "Don't talk about him like that."

Hermione rolled her eyes but obeyed Pansy nonetheless. "So, can you tell me?"

"No," Pansy replied again, although she was now acting as if she did in fact want to tell Hermione. Hermione noticed this, so she simply kept quiet and waited for Pansy to spill on her own. As predicted, not even a minute passed by before Pansy's reserve collapsed.

"It's our anniversary tomorrow and he told me he doesn't even want to see me at all. He said he has to meet with one of the Dark Lord's advisors, but I overheard him sending a voice message via owl saying something about how he would 'be at the pub tomorrow afternoon.'" Pansy's bottom lip trembled violently and a fresh round of sobs overtook her.

"Oh," Hermione responded. She couldn't think of anything else to say. The image of Draco and the woman entwined in each other's arms once again flashed into her mind and she cringed. No doubt he's running off to have sex with someone else, she realised angrily.

"We've been married for three years and not once has he shown me a shred of affection. He doesn't give a rat's arse about me, Kathryn, or Tommy. I try everything to please him, but I don't know how much longer I can keep trying."

For the first time in her life, Hermione felt genuine sympathy for Pansy arise in her. She had never seen her old enemy break down like this. Just knowing that Pansy could cry real tears forced Hermione to momentarily break down the wall that had been built up between them so many years ago.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said softly.

"You wouldn't understand," Pansy mumbled. "You've never even been married."

"But I know how cruel men can be."

By now, Pansy had stopped crying. Now she was looking at Hermione with a mix of anger and incredulity. "So what? You've been slapped around a few times, you've been cursed for fun, but that's nothing compared to emotional pain. Especially not when that emotional pain comes from your heart. You've never felt that."

"You can't say that," Hermione replied. A shiver travelled through her body when she remembered him and what he had done. "You have no idea what I've been through."

"What, have you been raped or something?" sneered Pansy, obviously believing that Hermione's answer would be no.

Hermione froze. Her muscles stiffened and she tried desperately to open her mouth and say no. But all she could do was stare helplessly at Pansy.

Pansy was still talking about how mudbloods, especially Hermione, could not be bruised emotionally by men. She stopped abruptly, however, when she saw that Hermione was not responding to what she was saying.

"What?" asked Pansy, frowning.

Hermione closed her eyes. She took a deep, quavering breath...

...he wrapped his right arm around her back and crushed her to him in a grip stronger than anything she had ever felt before...

...slowly lifted her eyes to Pansy's, only faintly...

..."You're going to feel real pain tonight, Mudblood," he growled viciously into her ear as he pushed the hair that had fallen over her face back and grinned madly down at her, "real pain I'm sure you'll enjoy"...

...aware of the fact that she was about to tell someone she barely knew one of her...

...he captured her lips in a kiss so brutal that she suddenly tasted the coppery taste of her own blood on her tongue; her screams were muffled by the rough hand he clamped over her mouth as he pulled away...

...darkest secrets, something she never thought she would ever mention to anyone...

...and then he brought her hips to him and she felt pain and humiliation like she'd never felt before...

...again.

"What is it?" Pansy repeated, her voice penetrating through the memories that were clouding Hermione's mind.

"I...have."

"You have what?"

Hermione was unable to bring herself to say the words out loud, so she simply shook her head and cast her eyes back down towards the floor.

Pansy suddenly gasped loudly, signaling that she finally understood what Hermione was trying to say. "Who?" she asked in a horrified whisper.

Hermione felt her lips move; they robotically formed his name but no sound escaped. She swallowed, and tried again. This time, she was successful.

"Blaise Zabini."

[Julia Darline Evans]

Sad .
Ma teadsin miskipärast, et Zabinit siin ka mainitakse, aga ei oodanud, et ta vägistajaks osutub . FUHH . xD
Agaa järgmist ? (;

[Greete Black]

who the hell is Blaise Zabini ?

[Julia Darline Evans]

Draco klassivend, majakaaslane, teda mainitakse kuuendas osas. Ta on Võlurimaailma ilusaima naise poeg ja tal pole kunagi pikalt kasuisasid olnud. Kõik tüübid surevad salapäraselt ja jätavad Zabinidele kogu päranduse.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Jap, kuigi seda tegelast tean ma rohkem fanfictionitest , kui raamatust. Irf.

Chapter 10: His Hidden Heart


The silence that fell after Hermione spoke seemed to stretch on for eternity. It was not an awkward silence, nor was it a comfortable silence; it was simply a very long silence. Hermione couldn't bring herself to look up and see Pansy's reaction, so she continued to stare down at the floor and concentrate on the painfully loud beating of her heart.

At last, Hermione heard a rustle from across her and she jerked her head up. Pansy, who was still looking at Hermione with an expression of utter horror, had hastily stood up and was slowly backing away. Without saying anything, she suddenly spun around and stumbled out of the room, leaving Hermione alone.

I can't believe I told her. Hermione's mind was reeling with mixed emotions over the deadly secret she had just admitted. She was barely even aware that Pansy had left the room. Everything from that night, every single detail, came flooding back to her and it was all she could do to not slip under. Tears began to form beneath her eyelids and trickle down her cheeks, but there was nothing she could do to stop them.

It had been Blaise Zabini, another one of her old school enemies, who ruined her. Of course, he hadn't known it was her, but she doubted anything would've been different if he had been aware. He was the first man to employ her, although the term "own her" was probably more appropriate. Blaise was the one who had broken Hermione into the harsh life of servitude. He was the first man to ever slap Hermione and the first one to violate her.

And Malfoy is no different, she thought bitterly.

------


After Hermione's confession, Pansy began to spend less time in the house when Hermione was around and more time outside. Hermione wasn't exactly sure why Pansy went to such means to avoid her, but she was grateful for it because she didn't think she would be able to face Draco's wife anyway.

It happened that one morning while Pansy and the children were shopping at Knockturn Alley, Draco called Hermione upstairs to clean up one of the bathrooms. Hermione, who was in her own room brushing her hair, obediently dropped the brush and went upstairs.

When Hermione arrived at the room Draco's voice was drifting from, the door was shut. She pushed it open without thinking, then gasped and took a step backward. I have to remember that doors are always closed for reasons next time, she thought wildly to herself as she gaped at Draco.

Steam hung thickly in the air, the result of Draco just having taken a shower, but not thickly enough to hide that fact that he was standing in front of the mirror with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair hung over his face, dripping wet, and tiny droplets of water dotted his bare chest. As he heard the door open, he turned around, looking irritated.

Apparently he was unaware that he had caused any kind of surprise in Hermione because he gestured at the counter before him, which was covered in magical hair and skin products, and ordered, "Get rid of Pansy's rubbish."

Hermione's mouth was still hanging open rather stupidly. She quickly closed it and forced herself to shift her eyes away from Draco. Still, as she brushed past him and began to organize Pansy's items, the image of him standing before her half-naked lingered in her mind. Although he was nothing but an employer to her, there was no denying that fact that he was...well, extremely attractive. Hermione shivered as she recalled the broadness of his shoulders and how well they had contrasted with the sharp features of his face. As much as Hermione was disgusted by the thought, she had to admit he was more beautiful than any other man she'd ever laid eyes on.

Caught up in her thoughts, Hermione didn't even notice when Draco slipped out of the room. Now, as she put away the last of Pansy's things, she realised that she was alone in the bathroom. She was about to go outside and tell Draco that the room was clean when a long, thin object lying in the sink caught her eye.

Quietly, Hermione shut the door, then walked over to the counter and picked up the object that had caught her attention. It was Draco's wand.

The moment she touched the wand, a surge of warmth travelled through her fingers and up her arm. Hermione swallowed and cautiously grasped the handle. Its magic immediately began to flood into her, creating the tingling sensation of a thousand tiny batteries shocking her at once. It had been years since she last touched a wand, and a sense of foreboding overtook Hermione as she lifted the one she was now clutching with a trembling hand.

Even though she knew she would be severely punished, maybe even killed, if she was caught with a pureblood's wand in her hand, Hermione couldn't bring herself to put it down. It felt so right to hold a wand again that the last thing she wanted to do was let go of it.

As if caught in a trance, Hermione tentatively pointed the wand at her hair and whispered the first spell that came to her mind: "Sedo capillus." Instantly, her chestnut locks were smoothed out as if an invisible hand had ironed her head. Split ends and frizz disappeared to be replaced with a shine her hair had never before known. Gasping, Hermione let the wand fall from her hand.

Just then, she heard footsteps approaching. Draco was coming, and there was no way he wouldn't suspect that she had used magic if he saw her transformed tresses and the wand lying on the counter beside her, proof of her guiltiness. In a panic, Hermione covered her head with both hands and bolted out of the room. Draco jumped back with a yelp of surprise as she barely missed running head-on into him.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled, but Hermione was already gone, having run past him so fast that he didn't get the chance to catch a glimpse of the change she had just undergone.

Not daring to look back, Hermione flew down the stairs and skidded to a stop in front of the door to her room. She promptly threw open this door and leapt through it. Once the door was shut tightly behind her, Hermione finally stopped to breathe.

"I am so stupid," she muttered to herself as she fought to catch her breath. "I can't believe I did that."

Groaning inwardly, Hermione stepped in front of the mirror and cautiously let her hands fall from her head. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw to both her dismay and pleasure that her hair still shone like molten copper. "What am I going to do about this?" she whispered nervously, fingering a lock of her hair.

"I think it looks rather nice," came a kind, motherly voice. Ripples appeared on the surface of the mirror as these words were said, and a few seconds later, Hermione found herself looking at a smiling glass face for the second time since she'd arrived at Malfoy Manor.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Hermione remarked dryly. "I'm still not very accustomed to seeing faces appear in my mirrors without warning."

The mirror laughed good-naturedly. "I would have thought you'd've gotten quite a bit of that back in Hogwarts."

"How'd you know I went to Hogwarts?" asked Hermione, surprised.

"All of the previous servants here have gone to Hogwarts. I think it may be because Draco feels better proving to those who were once his equals that he is now superior to them. That was the one lesson his father always emphasised - never let your inferiors believe for one second that they are worthy to be in your presence."

Hermione remembered all the times Draco had told her she had no rights in his house. "Looks like Lucius taught Draco well," she murmured.

"Indeed he did. The poor family," sighed the mirror. "I had hoped that when Mr Malfoy died and left behind the manor to Draco, this place would see brighter days. Let me tell you, I was very dismayed to find a few days later that with the death of his father, Draco was even more determined to make Malfoy Manor miserable for everyone living in it."

"Oh, is that what you were talking about when you mentioned Draco's change of character after Lucius died?"

The mirror blinked at Hermione. "Did I say that?"

Hermione nodded. "The first time we talked."

"Ah yes, I'm afraid my memory is fading. You're quite right, I did. And did I tell you how he changed?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Very well then. Let's see...where to start? When Mr Malfoy was killed during the second war, Draco lost his only support. All his life, his father's harsh comments had helped keep his heart buried away, something he thought would help him conceal his insecurities from those around him."

Unable to stop herself, Hermione let out a derisive snort of laughter. "Draco? Insecure?"

The mirror looked a bit shocked that Hermione had even bothered to question her words. "Why yes, Draco was and is extremely insecure. I daresay he used to enjoy putting down other students?"

Hermione nodded again.

"That's just his way of hiding his emotions. He always loved to feel better than others because at home, Mr Malfoy would often tell him he was useless. You see, as a young child, Draco didn't want to be a Death Eater. He wanted to do something more with his life. His reluctance to serve the Dark Lord made him weak in his father's eyes. Above anything else, Draco wanted to be the pride of his father, so he deserted his own goals to follow the goals his father had set for him. Regardless of the fact that the destiny that awaited him at the end of his chosen life was one he despised, Draco was relieved to have finally found something solid he could rely on."

"Oh," Hermione said softly. She felt her heart soften as she listened to the mirror relay Draco's childhood. "Go on."

"So, as you can guess, Mr Malfoy's death dealt a tremendous blow to the barrier Draco had built up around his heart. Unsure as to who to turn to, he became obsessed with the ways of the Death Eaters. It didn't take him long to worm himself into the higher ranks of the Dark Lord's followers. Draco had finally become the person his father wanted him to be so long ago, and he was so close to establishing what he believed to be a perfect life."

At this point, Hermione assumed the mirror had finished. "I never would have guessed that Draco was so..." Her voice trailed off as she searched her mind for the right word.

"Real?" suggested the mirror.

"Yes," replied Hermione. She smiled slightly. Good word.

"He would be glad to hear he hid it so well," replied the mirror with a chuckle. "After all, it's what he's always wanted. But wait, there's more. His story doesn't end there."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, surprised that there could be any more drama in Draco's life. "Okay, continue."

"Just when Draco was nearly there, something went terribly wrong: his fiancé was tortured to death by the Dark Lord himself. Iris Zabini was the love of his life. In his eyes, she was closer to perfection than anything he'd ever had. Stunningly beautiful, Iris had stolen Draco's heart when he left Hogwarts. They were to be married, but her death occurred a month before the set wedding date. Draco was beyond devastated, yet he continued to work hard, if not even harder, for the very man who had murdered Iris. Now that his heart had been ripped apart, Draco felt no regret or disgust when he married Pansy. She was simply there to be an object in his life. After his marriage to Pansy, Draco hid away everything that reminded him of Iris in hopes of eventually forgetting about her. Thus, Draco accomplished everything he had set out to do." With a sad little sigh, the mirror ended its story.

Having now heard the end of the mirror's tale, Hermione was nothing short of astonished. "Iris...Zabini?" she choked out.

"Oh yes. I believe she had a twin brother named Blaise Zabini. You may know him; he went to Hogwarts as well while Iris attended Durmstrang."

Hermione was so stunned that words failed her. She shook her head.

"Is anything wrong, dear?" asked the mirror, sounding concerned.

"Nothing," whispered Hermione. "I...I have to go now. Thanks for talking with me."

The mirror nodded. "Have a nice day then...oh yes, and do arrange your hair that way more often, it looks lovely."

With that, the face on the mirror winked at Hermione one last time, then faded away.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Geesh, Iris Zabini ? Omg
seda ma TÕESTI ei oleks oodanud nagu
UUT !

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 11: Iris My Love

That night, Hermione sat outside in the garden, mulling over the mirror's story. For the entire afternoon, she hadn't been able to take her mind off of it. Everything about it was a complete shock to her. It wasn't just because she now knew how miserable Draco's early life had been, but mainly because of the fact that he had been in love with Blaise Zabini's twin sister.
Just knowing that he can love at all is something new to me, she thought sarcastically. But Blaise Zabini's sister? Of all the d**n people out there, it had to be her. On impulse, Hermione ripped a handful of grass out from the ground beside her and chucked it into the pond. The tiny blades settled lightly on the surface of the water, creating only the slightest of ripples. For a few minutes, Hermione watched them gently drift around.

She then smiled bitterly. At least we have something in common. We've both escaped with bruises from our encounters with a Zabini. As these thoughts drifted into her mind, Hermione felt her heart swell with guilt. It was as if she were committing a sin by letting such thoughts about Draco's one and only love fill her.

Yet it's not as if I knew her. I have every right to believe she was a bad person after what her brother did to me. Hermione frowned and bit her lip. I'll never forgive him for what he did, and if it means laying the blame on his family, then so be it.

Maybe you should try a bit harder to forget about him, murmured a tiny voice at the very back of her mind. After all, thinking about it only hurts you.

"I know," answered Hermione out loud. "But I just can't forget about something like that. I'm surprised Draco even managed to forget about Iris if he really did love her as much as the mirror claimed he did."

Are you sure he's really forgotten?

"What do you mean?" she asked, only semi-aware that she was talking to herself.

Maybe he hasn't forgotten about her. Could it be possible that every night he lays in bed beside someone he has no feelings for, fighting to hold back tears for Iris?

"He's not like that. You heard what the mirror said; he's learned how to guard his heart from emotions." Hermione yanked another clump of grass out of the ground, dirt and all. She tightened her hand around it, shaping it into a ball before throwing it out into the pond again. This time, it sank.

Oh come now, Hermione. Don't be one to judge him. You don't know him.

"Now you're starting to sound like him," she muttered irritably, brushing the dirt off her hands.

All I'm saying is, you don't know him...

Hermione shut her eyes tightly and tried to block out the annoying voice. Shut up, she thought angrily. When she opened her eyes again, she was surprised to see light flooding into the garden. Turning to the back door of the mansion, she saw the silhouette of Draco's figure illuminated in the doorway.

"Mudblood, come inside," he yelled.

Hermione blinked. Something wasn't right; Draco's voice sounded different. Nevertheless, she slowly stood up and walked over to him. When she stopped in front of him, he surprised her by roughly grabbing her arm and pulling her inside.

"Come on," he growled, "we're going upstairs."

"What's going on?" asked Hermione, slightly panicked. "Is something wrong? What did I do?"

"Oh, nothing's wrong. Nothing at all." He turned around as he said these words and smiled calmly at her.

Hermione felt as though a block of ice had slipped down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. The expression on his face as he turned around to smile at her had been very much like the one of a snake ready to strike on its prey. His eyes had been unnaturally dark and unreadable, like those of a thestral. She tried to wrench her arm out of his hand but his grip was immensely strong

"Where are we going?" she asked, this time more frightened than anything else.

Draco didn't answer her. Instead, he just tightened his hold on her arm and dragged her upstairs and into the bedroom he had been in with the raven-haired woman a few days ago.

As Hermione stumbled onto the bed, a sense of dread began to creep up on her. She had a terrible feeling about what was going to happen in a few minutes.

"What's going on?" she asked again, her voice shaking uncontrollably.

Draco responded by sitting down next to her on the bed. For a few moments, he sat in silence and stared straight ahead while Hermione tried to gather up the courage to look at him. Finally, he turned to her and said, "How are you feeling tonight, Hermione?" His speech was slightly slurred and even though Hermione was only sitting a few inches away from him, Draco was talking loudly.

Hermione felt her heart quiver hearing her first name escape his lips for the first time ever, but ignored his question. "What do you want with me?" she demanded.

"Just wanted to know how you're feeling," he muttered, leaning in closer to her.

Suddenly, a familiar scent reached Hermione's nostrils. She gasped and sharply pulled away from Draco. "You're drunk!" she accused.

Draco cocked his head and looked at her with a puzzled expression on his face. Then, without notice, a dark cloud of anger passed over his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Malfoy..." said Hermione slowly, edging away while she spoke.

"I told you to call me 'master,'" said Draco, his voice tense.

Hermione gulped.

Suddenly, his expression softened. "Don't be scared, Hermione," he said with a small, empty laugh. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to get out of the room. Draco was obviously an unstable drunk, judging from the way his emotions were jumping around faster than she could follow. "Listen, Malfoy, I have to go...help Kathryn get ready for bed."

"She's already tucked into bed," Draco sneered. "You can stay with me."

"How much have you had to drink?" she asked apprehensively, recoiling with disgust as he attempted to seize her hand.

He didn't answer and simply stared at her with those bottomless eyes. Hermione gulped. Time for plan B: run for it.

Jumping up from the bed, Hermione ran to the door and yanked at the handle. To her dismay, it was locked from the outside. She whirled around to look at Draco, scared.

Draco appeared to be undaunted by her sudden attempt to escape. In fact, he didn't seem to have noticed at all. At last, he turned his eyes to her. "Come here."

Hermione shook her head furiously.

Draco sighed wearily, as if he were playing a game with a stubborn child. Reaching into his back pocket, he extracted his wand and pointed it at her. With a small flick of his wrist, Hermione felt an invisible hook grab onto the back of her robes and hurl her across the room to land on the bed.

The force of impact knocked the breath out of Hermione, and now she struggled to regain it as she watched Draco climb onto the bed to kneel over her. She felt as if she were in some dreadful horror movie; everything happening right now seemed so unreal.

"No, Malfoy, don't," she whispered, but no sound came out of her mouth. To compensate for her inability to form any distinguishable words, Hermione covered her eyes with her hands in fright.

Draco laughed. "Merlin's beard, Hermione, I always knew you weren't as brave as you pretended to be back in school." His voice suddenly sounded as if it were back to normal. Although he was still speaking harshly, the slurring was gone.

Hermione felt his hand push away her fingers from her eyes. She looked up to see that his face was nearly touching hers. His eyes bore into hers, and she felt a tremor pass down her spine. His eyes were so dark...so deep...her body went limp as she fell into them. This is it.

Now that she knew the inevitable was arriving, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to bring her mind to another place. She was barely aware of his hands viciously ripping her robe off. She didn't notice when he began kissing his way down her body, starting at her bare shoulder. She didn't even realise that he had already gotten rid of his own garments.

Tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes, yet she refused to open them as she felt his lips make their mark on the vulnerable skin of her neck. She knew what was coming next. Oh yes, he'd been the one who was upset by the fact that she had been raped, yet here he was on top of her. He was just like all of them. Everything the mirror said must have been wrong. A man like him could never love a woman. The mirror said he'd built walls around his heart, yet it was wrong - he simply had no heart. Hermione began to cry.

Worst, and at the same time best, of all, he didn't even know who he was doing this to. She was just another worthless toy to him. Tomorrow, he wouldn't remember any of this. She would go on living her life in his house, perhaps filled with even more hatred towards him than ever yet unable to do anything about it. But this was her job. This was all she would ever be good for.

As she felt his arms lift her up - he did it so easily; it was as if she were a helpless rag doll - and crush her body against his in a brutal embrace, she heard him whispering something into her ear. But no, the sound of her own sobbing filled her mind, preventing her ears from picking up any other sound. What could he be saying right now, anyway?

The first sharp jolt of pain shot up her body, and Draco whispered the word again. The loving tone in which he said it contrasted so severely with his savage handling of Hermione's body that his voice penetrated through the haze that was blotting out all conscious thoughts in Hermione's mind. A second jolt of pain, and she screamed. And yet he whispered again, and this time she understood. "Iris," he was murmuring.

Hermione let out a strangled sob which seemed to spur Draco on even more. A third jolt of pain; she felt disgusting and dirty, like she'd never be clean again. "I love you, Iris," he said almost victoriously into her ear. She tried to pull away from him. No, she didn't want to hear that name. She wasn't Iris.

"I'm not Iris," she screamed, but he clamped a hand over her mouth.

And then suddenly, stars exploded in Hermione's mind. She groaned in pain. Darkness followed the bright bursts of light, and the fourth jolt of pain was barely felt as she tumbled back into the loving arms of unconsciousness.

"Iris...my love..."

[Julia Darline Evans]

Eew !
Rohkemat öelda ei oska xD

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 12: Mudblood Time


The sun was shining brightly and Hermione had no choice but to force open her swollen eyelids. She blinked twice to clear her vision, then looked around, confused at first as to her location. Her surroundings were unfamiliar.

Where are my clothes? she thought, completely disoriented. And why does my entire body ache?

Hermione screwed her eyes up, trying to remember. Slowly, bits and pieces of the previous night's events came back to her. With each returning shard of her memory, the heavy weight in Hermione's heart seemed to increase.

"Oh no," she groaned when she had finally pieced together everything, "oh no, no, no..."

However, the harder she tried to push away the memories, the more determined they seemed to be to return. Unable to hide from them anymore, Hermione buried her face into a nearby pillow and screamed in frustration.

This can't be happening to me...not again. Not him.

And yet the throbbing pain between her legs, in her head, everywhere...it was all too real. The despair she felt was too severe for everything to have just been a very bad dream. At the same time, though, Hermione still couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe it, and it just wasn't believable. Had Draco Malfoy really raped her?

Hermione shuddered as the words formed in her mind. How could he do this to me? she thought numbly.

Deep inside, she felt betrayed, but she knew it was her own fault. How could she have been so stupid as to even think for one second that he might care for her? It didn't matter that they'd known each other four years ago; to him, she was just another Mudblood. He treated her no differently than he would treat any other slave of his, and yet she thought she'd been of more importance to him.

Hermione inhaled shakily, and Draco's scent filled her nostrils. It was sharp, like spearmint, but at the same time, comforting and soothing like the smell of the Burrow after Mrs Weasley had just finished cooking up a storm. Tears trickled out from underneath Hermione's eyelids and were immediately soaked up by the soft cotton cover of the pillow. She breathed in again, and this time his scent was accompanied by an image of him flashing briefly in her mind. He was smiling warmly at someone; this confused Hermione, for she had never seen him smile in such a way.

The pillow was beginning to become damp with her tears, so Hermione turned around to lie on her back. She stared up at the blank, white ceiling above her, thoughts tumbling around in her mind, tears still rolling down her cheeks. Every once in a while, Draco's face would make its appearance again and her heart would give a painful lurch.

At last, Hermione sat up. Her stiff limbs burned in protested against her sudden movement, and it was all Hermione could do to not cry out. As a wave of self-pity swept over her, Hermione curled up into a ball, whimpering in pain. She couldn't take it anymore. Everything was so hopeless, so meaningless to her. There was no bright light on the horizon, no flickering candle in the corner.

There's no reason for me to live anymore, she thought miserably, still tightly hugging herself. I wish Harry and Ron were here. They would know what to do. They would help me get through this.

Just as Hermione was about to burst into a fresh round of sobs, she heard footsteps approaching. Instinctively, she tensed up. Please, please don't be him.

The door swung open and Draco walked in. He looked at her blankly. "Get out," he ordered.

Hermione made no move to leave. She had no desire to even look at him, much less walk right past him.

She heard him moving again and for one horrible moment she thought he was going to walk over and slap her, but after a few seconds, the blow she was prepared for didn't come. For once, Draco didn't seem angry about her disobedience.

"Thomas and Kathryn need tending to," came his voice from the other end of the room. "And you'll find a new pair of robes on your bed downstairs. Change into them; we're going to Mudblood Town today."

Hermione froze. Draco's last two words seemed to hover in the air for several seconds before finally fading away. She didn't want to question his motive for taking her along with him, but at the same time, she was not ready to willingly accept the news. Therefore, she settled for clutching the bed sheet underneath her in a death grip.

"Did you hear me or not?" asked Draco sharply.

Hermione swallowed and gave the tiniest of nods. She made to get out of the bed, then realised that she had no idea where her clothes were. Blushing furiously, she shrunk back under the covers.

As if he could read her mind, Draco sighed and said, "They're on the dresser next to you."

"Can you please leave?" asked Hermione, but the words came out nearly indiscernible. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to try again, but before she could make a sound, she was interrupted by Draco.

"Why should I? It's nothing I haven't seen before," he replied, a smirk evident in his tone.

Hermione screwed up her eyes tightly, more determined than ever to not look at Draco for fear that he would see the tears trickling out of her eyes. Her cheeks were burning with humiliation and hatred, and there was nothing she wanted more at that moment than to just disappear. But I'll never let him know that, she thought furiously to herself.

"Well, well, well...this is something new; the know-it-all doesn't have anything to say for once. I never thought I would see the day."

"What are you trying to gain by provoking me?" asked Hermione softly, her voice quivering violently. "Isn't everything you've done so far bad enough? You've just about broken me in; isn't that everything you wanted?"

"No," he said quietly, "you will never be able to give me everything I want."

"Then why did you whisper her name to me last night, as if you were imagining her in my place?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Even the birds outside that had been singing merrily just moments ago quieted down; it was as if the whole world simply stopped. Hermione knew she had hit an extremely sensitive nerve, and she now regretted her last few words. Just as she was about to apologise, she heard a rustling and looked up to find that Draco had left the room.

For several seconds, Hermione struggled to push away the guilt that was edging in. What she said had been low; lower than anything Draco had ever said to her. And yet Draco's only response had been to leave the room, while in other cases, he'd slapped her or blown up. What had changed?

Shaking her head, Hermione rubbed her eyes wearily. She felt much older than twenty right now. It was if every burden ever borne by a grown witch had suddenly been dumped on her shoulders, and the remaining strength within her that prevented her from collapsing under the weight was ebbing away. Soon, Hermione would collapse under all the stress and at the present moment, she wasn't sure if she would survive it when the day arrived.

Although it was the last thing Hermione wanted to do, she forced herself out of the bed, seized her clothes from the dresser, and slipped them on. All of this she did slowly, carefully, as if she were trying to prolong the time before she had to go to Mudblood Town - in other words, revisit the hell she called home.

Finally, Hermione knew she could no longer stay up in the bedroom. Wrapping her robe tightly around herself, she stumbled out the room, cringing as the scratches on the insides of her thighs rubbed against each other painfully. Cautiously, Hermione descended the stairs while holding her breath and praying none of the Malfoy family would make an appearance. Thankfully, she soon reached her bedroom without running into any of them.

Draco had spoken the truth; when Hermione arrived at the foot of the staircase leading into her bedroom, there was indeed a large parcel sitting on her bed, awaiting her arrival. Sighing, Hermione trudged over to the bed and gingerly sat down. She placed the package on her thighs and slowly untied the knotted string that held the top of the box down. When the string had been removed, the cardboard flaps fell away to reveal a hastily folded robe of pale green silk.

Hermione bit her lip when she saw Draco's gift. There was no doubt that it had been expensive; perhaps even more expensive than anything from Pansy's wardrobe. But why would he buy her this? He'd already given her the beautiful robe she wore now; that was more than enough and he knew it. Could it be that after being showered with costly clothing, she would expected to repay Draco in some way or another? The moment this thought formed, Hermione couldn't help but repress a shudder as possible "repayments" came to mind.

Reaching into the box, Hermione lifted out the robe and shook it out to examine its full length. Her eyes widened as she took in the elegant simplicity of the small ivy vines stitched along the hem and neckline. The robe was so stunning that just one glance nearly took Hermione's breath away.

Her bottom lip suddenly began to tremble, and she felt tears begin forming against her will again. Cursing herself under her breath for being overemotional, Hermione let the tears silently fall from her eyes. They landed on the robe, quickly staining the silken material.

She didn't even know what it was that was making her cry. Her heart felt as though it were torn into two: one half hated, despised, Draco for what he had done to her; the other half almost respected and appreciated him for what he had done for her. The pain that resulted from being split into two sides so completely different was mind-numbing.

With the robe slung across her arm, Hermione stood up and walked over to stand before the mirror. She then proceeded to hold the robe up against her body and gaze at herself in the mirror with something like wonder. A sad smile spread across her face. Her reflection, which was sporting the exact same smile, looked so beautiful yet at the same time so forlorn. Her messy, tangled hair contrasted sharply with the exquisiteness of the robe, giving her the image of a cross between the two sides of Cinderella, a character from a Muggle fairy tale.

Sighing, Hermione let the robe fall to the ground. Immediately, she transformed back into the same filthy, pitiful servant she had been minutes ago. I guess without magic, I will never become a princess.

---------


Later that afternoon found Hermione trailing after Draco down the streets of Mudblood Town. After changing into the robes Draco had provided, Hermione had grudgingly headed upstairs to join Draco. The two of them had then silently travelled to Mudblood Town by means of floo powder, due to Hermione's inability to apparate.

As Hermione struggled to keep up with Draco's brisk pace, she found her eyes drifting around, taking in the wretchedness of her surroundings. Dirty, starved half-bloods and Muggle-borns were everywhere; some hid in shadowy alleyways, a few could be seen limping across streets blindly, and others simply sat on the sidewalk, extending their emaciated hands out desperately to Draco and Hermione. Draco paid no attention to them, seeming determined to get to his destination as quickly as he could. Hermione, on the hand, was disturbed almost to the point of tears. The part of her forearm that had her serial number branded onto it twinged painfully as she looked up at the all-too-familiar run-down shacks around her. Just breathing in the heavy stench of rotten food and sweat that hung in the air was a nauseating reminder of the days she'd spent without an employer - days she'd rather not remember.

At last, Draco stopped in front of a tall, grey building that towered above the other tiny huts. He glanced briefly at the words "Mudblood Employment Agency" written in peeling red paint on the large steel door before him, then reached out to grab the doorknob.

"Stay here," he barked to Hermione before turning the knob and entering the dark building. The door slammed behind him, and Hermione found herself alone on the streets of Mudblood Town.

As Hermione silently debated whether or not she should stand in front of the door and wait for Draco, she heard a voice from behind her call her name. Startled, Hermione turned around, her eyes scanning the streets for anyone she might recognise. The voice called her name again, and Hermione suddenly caught sight of someone very familiar to her, standing a few metres away.

"Jeanne!" shrieked Hermione, hurrying away from the door to embrace her friend. However, Jeanne took a quick step backwards before Hermione got the chance to throw her arms around her friend.

"Careful!" exclaimed Jeanne, holding up one hand. She laughed and pointed down to the small bundle she carried in one arm.

Hermione gasped when she realised what - or rather, who - it was Jeanne was carrying. "You have a baby!"

Jeanne nodded. She had lost a significant amount of weight since Hermione had last seen her, and her skin had a faint yellow tinge to it, indicating of some kind of illness. Nevertheless, a wide smile still lit up Jeanne's face.

"When?" was all Hermione managed to say as she gaped at the tiny child Jeanne carried. He looked hardly older than two months, and it was astonishing to know that such a helpless little thing could be living under such poor conditions.

Jeanne's expression quickly sobered up. "He's almost two months old," she explained, confirming Hermione's suspicions. "He...he belongs to my last owner."

Hermione's hands flew to her mouth in shock. "How could you do something like this?" she half-shrieked, completely stunned by Jeanne's confession.

"You think I wanted to?" hissed Jeanne, looking around furtively as if she were afraid that the father of her baby was going to appear any second. "I didn't have any choice. Now keep your voice down, Hermione. I don't want to attract any attention, plus you might wake James up."

"You named him?" asked Hermione, utterly appalled.

An offended expression spread across Jeanne's face. "Of course I named him," she said softly. "He's my child too, Hermione. Just because I didn't want him doesn't mean I don't love him."

"But...what about the circumstances under which he was conceived? How can you love the result of something so..." Hermione paused, struggling to find a good word.

Jeanne shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she said firmly, almost defensively. "Let's just...just stop talking about James. Let's talk about you. You look beautiful, darling. I'm glad your owner is treating you so well."

Hermione shook her head violently. "Jeanne, please don't try to change the topic. I'm worried for you!"

"I know you are," replied Jeanne exasperatedly. "I'm worried for myself. But I'll be fine, okay? It's just that with a baby, I can't get any pure-blood to buy me."

"Oh don't talk about yourself in such ways," said Hermione apprehensively. "You're not an item. Oh Jeanne, I wish you could come live with me."

Jeanne rubbed her eyes wearily with her free hand. "No, I think I'm better off like this. I don't think I'd be able to survive living with a pure-blood in my state."

"He's...he's not that..." For a second, Hermione faltered. At last, she finished in a whisper, "...bad."

Having been friends with Hermione for years, Jeanne immediately noticed Hermione's hidden distress. "What happened?"

"Nothing," replied Hermione quickly, averting her eyes. She shut her eyes tightly, trying to block out memories from the previous night, then opened them again to look at Jeanne. "Nothing," she repeated firmly.

Jeanne sighed. "I know what happened, Hermione. I'm sorry he raped you."

Hermione recoiled sharply, surprised by the bluntness of Jeanne's words. She opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, she saw the door to the MEA building open and Draco step out. He stopped, looked around, then finally spotted Hermione standing off to the side.

"We're leaving," he said, striding over to where Hermione stood with Jeanne. "Right now," he added pointedly when she didn't move.

Hermione hesitated, torn between staying with Jeanne and leaving with Draco. Her heart was telling her to take the first option, while common sense suggested the latter. At last, Jeanne made the decision - she gave Hermione a little nudge in the direction of Draco.

"I'll be fine," whispered Jeanne reassuringly as Hermione began to walk away. "I promise I'll see you sometime soon, Hermione."

Hermione felt tears come to her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at the slowly disappearing form of her friend. She brought her fingertips to her lips briefly. "Good-bye Jeanne," she whispered quietly before turning around and hurrying to catch up with Draco.

[Julia Darline Evans]

Hihi, ma olen lugenud seda viimaks ^^

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 13: Fire and Glass


Hermione travelled back to the mansion by herself. As she walked to the fireplace in the back of a dingy bar in Mudblood Town clutching a small handful of Floo powder, she could sense Draco's eyes following her every moment. Even when she arrived back in the manor with a flourish of warm air and ashes, she could still feel his eyes burning holes into her back and it was a feeling that she could not simply shrug off.

When Hermione was safely on the polished floor of the main entrance hall, she began to carelessly wander over to the staircases. As she neared them, it suddenly occurred to her that she had not yet figured out what mystery lay on the third floor.

Guiltily, Hermione let her feet carry her up the thickly-carpeted stairs slowly. The house around her was silent, so silent that she could hear her own heart pounding loudly in her ears. Her breathing was shallow, tense, as if she were expecting Draco to appear out of thin air in front of her at any time.

I shouldn't be doing this, she thought nervously as she finally stepped onto the third floor.

The familiar sight of the two hallways to her left and right did nothing to comfort Hermione. In fact, as she began to tread silently down the corridor she'd travelled down during her first visit to the third floor, Hermione felt a sense of foreboding creep up on her. Something wasn't right; she shouldn't be up here. However, her curiosity overwhelmed all the warning bells ringing in her mind, and she continued on.

Hermione stopped abruptly when she caught sight of the tapestry she had stopped to admire last time. Once again, she found herself awed by the beauty and power of the creatures. They had been woven so skillfully into the rug that it was if the flames spurting from their nostrils might burst into life any minute.

Remembering the little knob, Hermione searched carefully down the back of one of the dragons and, with a rush of excitement, found it. Without hesitation, she pushed the knob of wood and stood back, feeling slightly apprehensive.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Disappointed, Hermione heaved a great sigh and turned around to go explore other parts of the hallway. However, as she began to turn away, a soft whoosh came from behind her.

Spinning around, Hermione's mouth fell open when she saw the tapestry - or rather, what remained of the tapestry. The beautiful rug had unravelled completely. The wall behind it had also disappeared from view. Behind the many strands of wool that now hung in place of the tapestry, Hermione could see a large, rectangular room.

Restraining a shriek with some difficulty, Hermione hurried through the limp threads and into the room. In her excitement, she completely forgot to ask herself what would happen if the magic entranceway somehow disappeared, which would leave her locked in this secret room. As if to reprimand Hermione for not pausing to think, the wall behind her suddenly shimmered back into solidity. Hermione, however, was too stunned by what lay in the room to even care about getting back out of it.

The room was nearly made entirely of marble. The walls, the ceiling, the floor; everything was marble. Sculptures stood along each of the walls, all portraying the same young witch in different poses. Nearly every square inch of the walls, save for the rather large portions of the east and west walls that had been carved into shelves, was covered by paintings and portraits of the same witch. In the very centre of the room, a huge glass statue of a coiled snake towered over Hermione. Its long, forked tongue touched the ceiling and its hollow eyes seemed to stare right at Hermione. Most intriguing of all about the statue of the snake was that in its core, a small, barely-visible flame flickered.

For several minutes, Hermione stood rooted to her spot, completely dumbstruck. Millions of questions raced through her mind. Who was this woman? Why was this room secret? Did Draco know about it? Why were all these paintings hidden away? Was this the reason why she had been forbidden to set foot on the third floor?

Seeking an answer to her questions about this woman's identity, Hermione walked numbly over to a full-length oil painting on her left. She stood for a moment, taking in every exquisite detail brought to life by the artist, the skilful shading, and the vivid, but at the same time subdued, colours. This portrait itself depicted the witch sitting on a large, flat rock by a clear stream. In the background were mountains and even further into the distance, a faint rainbow could be seen stretching across the pale blue sky. The witch was stunningly beautiful: her long, auburn hair cascaded down her back like a marvelous copper waterfall; her pale lips were curved into a small, knowing smile; and her large, cat-like eyes, most captivating of all, were a beautiful amber colour with visible flicks of grey. Her small hands clutched a large violet flower very similar in shape and size to the flower Hermione had plucked from the garden months ago.

As Hermione gazed in wonder at the beautiful painting before her, the witch began to move. She tilted her head slightly and blinked at Hermione. Her smile widened, but she said nothing. Hermione couldn't help but smile back at the portrait, though she felt rather silly doing it. As she did so, she noticed a few lines of writing in the top right corner. Standing on her tiptoes to see the fine print better, Hermione read the description with some difficulty:

Nature's Daughter
Iris Zabini
60838, 09/21/99
John Carter


Hermione fell back onto the soles of her feet with a small gasp. So this is Iris.

Flooded with understanding and, at the same time, confusion, Hermione looked around her at the portraits and statues, realising now that the mirror had been making an understatement when it told her Iris was nearly perfect. From these works of art, it was clear that Iris had exceeded perfection.

Now more curious than ever to find out more, Hermione walked a little further to her left and stopped in front of the bookshelf that had been carved into the west wall. Dusty volumes of different sizes were stashed in the crudely carved shelves, their leather-bound covers enveloped in a fine layer of dust, their crumbling pages yellowing with age. It was obvious that these books had been neglected for many years.

Reaching up, Hermione eased out one of the thicker volumes, making sure to not destroy its already-ruined cover even more. As she opened it up, a cloud of dust flew up to greet her. Hermione impatiently waved this away, then eagerly turned her eyes to the page in front of her and began to read the journal entry written on it.

Journal,

So begins the first September after the war. The coming Sunday, I am meeting with the Dark Lord to discuss what will happen next. I feel a mix of apprehension, excitement, and dread. This one meeting will determine whether or not I will be promoted to his inner ranks. If I do make it through, it will most likely be the happiest moment of my life. Finally, I will be achieving one of my goals!

This afternoon, Iris and I took a stroll down the path in my garden. While we were out, it happened: the first snow of the season. It was enchanting, to say the least, but not as much as she was. The snowflakes fell on her hair and caught her eyelashes, making her look like a snow angel...My snow angel. She was beautiful beyond explanation.

It's a good thing Father never knew I kept this journal, or he would probably have disowned me - not that it matters much anymore, considering he's no longer alive. 'You're not supposed to find innocence in life, Draco. You're not supposed to feel.' Yes, that sounds like something he might have say to me. But I can't help what I feel for Iris. I've never felt like this before in my life. She has no idea the emotions she evokes in me. But is it love?

Hermione slammed the journal shut. So this was Draco's room. He knew about it, yet by the dusty state of the objects in it, had not visited it for many years. The mirror had told the truth; he had gone to all measures just to push Iris out of his life.

For a few moments, Hermione remained still, reflecting on what she had just read. When she remembered the last few sentences of the last paragraph, she found to her surprise that tears were welling up in her eyes. Mentally slapping herself, Hermione quickly slid the journal back into its place before she could become even more emotionally moved by it.

As Hermione began to wander around the room, she felt her heart aching for Draco - and she hated herself for it. She wanted to despise him, to loath him, to recall his name with nothing but pure disgust and contempt, yet she found it harder and harder to keep up her guard the more she found out about his past. He was, after all, human, as much as he refused to show it.

When Hermione looked up again, she found herself standing in front of the giant glass snake. Almost mechanically, she leaned in closer and briefly touched her fingertips to the glass. The moment she made contact with the carving, the flame in the centre of the snake's coils flared up, turning emerald green as it did so. Hermione withdrew her hand as if she had been shocked by electricity. As soon as her fingers left the statue, the flame returned to its original state.

After recovering from her momentary shock, Hermione tentatively reached out and pressed the palm of her hand against the cool glass. Once again, the flame burst into life, burning the same vivid green. Only when Hermione removed her hand did it fall back down. However, when it did, something had changed; it was no longer a weak, dying flame; on the contrary, it now burned with more vigor and life.

Intrigued by this enchanted flame, Hermione studied it for several minutes. However, when it did nothing new, she sighed and turned away.

Now that she had finished observing everything of interest in the room, Hermione came to realise that she must have been in this room for hours now. Time to go back before the Malfoys get back, she thought to herself.

Unfortunately, when she turned to the side of the room from which she had entered, Hermione found to her dismay that the entranceway had somehow disappeared.

"Oh no, this is not good," she muttered to herself as she hurried across the room. She had a vague idea where the door had been, so she began to feel around on the wall desperately.

After a few minutes, her hand bumped into a small knob. "Yes!" she hissed to herself victoriously, pulling the knob. The wall once again faded away and Hermione walked through the unravelled threads of the tapestry, relief flooding through her after her momentary fright.

As soon as Hermione had arrived back on the other side of the wall, the tapestry miraculously wove itself back together. Hermione was too relieved that she'd found her way back out to even care. However, she did silently vow that in the future, she would never enter a secret room without making sure she would be able to leave it first.

Having seen all she could handle for one day, Hermione now hurried back to the stairs and began descending them as quickly as she could. As she paused on the second floor landing, she looked over her shoulder and caught sight of the room Draco had taken her into the night before. As she gazed at the door, an odd chill run down the length of her spine. Shuddering, Hermione averted her eyes and descended the remainder of the stairs.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 14: The Story of a Girl


Later that evening found Hermione in the garden once again. She had spent the afternoon thinking about the secret room she’d come across and what Draco had done to her and, after a while, had come to the conclusion that if she were to simply ignore him, his chances at making her life miserable would be lessened. After all, it was her temper that made his taunting even worse on her part. Hermione was the type of person who could not hold her tongue when she was provoked, and Draco knew this. It was her one weakness, but if she could somehow manage to control it, Draco could do little to affect her.

When the last of the sun’s rays had fallen over the horizon, throwing the night around her into darkness, Hermione decided it was time to return to the manor. It was nearly time for dinner; the Malfoys would be home by now, meaning she would have to go prepare the children for the meal.

As Hermione began to make her way down the winding dirt path, she heard someone calling her name.

“Who is it?” she asked out loud, stopping and looking around in confusion.

Hermione’s question was answered immediately when Pansy silently stepped out of the shadows of a tree a few metres away and said quietly, “Are you about to go inside?”

“I was just going to,” replied Hermione, relieved that it was only Pansy and not someone else. “Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

In response, Pansy made her way onto the path. Now illuminated by the rising moon, Hermione couldn’t help but notice how miserable Pansy looked. She was wearing a plain green robe as opposed to the elaborate, expensive ones she usually wore, and her hair hung limply around her face for once. She looked tired and worn as she advanced towards Hermione, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold.

“Is...something wrong?” asked Hermione uneasily. Her mind immediately flooded with images of Kathryn and Tommy, pale and still, blood trickling from the corners of their mouths, limbs twsited into unnatural angles. Her stomach started flip-flopping queasily at the idea of the children being hurt in any way.

“It’s about Thomas and Kathryn,” explained Pansy as if she were reading Hermione’s mind.

Hermione restrained the urge to panic. Taking a short breath, she asked, “What happened to them? Are they all right? Did they get-”

“They’re fine,” interrupted Pansy. She paused for a moment as if considering something, then grabbed Hermione’s arm and pulled her off the path. “Come with me,” she said stonily.

Silently, Hermione obeyed. Now that she was sure the two youngest Malfoys were not harmed in any way, she could relax a little bit. However, the fact that Pansy seemed so desperate to talk to her alarmed her, and she couldn’t help but tense up as the two of them finally stopped a good distance away from the path.

For a few minutes, they stood in silence. When Pansy finally spoke up, her voice sounded unusually weak.

“I have to tell you how they came into my life.”

“Go on,” whispered Hermione, her eyes fixed on Pansy.

Pansy looked uneasy for a split second, but that seemed to pass when she reached out and grabbed a nearby low-hanging branch as if for support. Casting her eyes downward, she began to tell her story.

“I was in my fifth year and I was dating...I was dating Blaise. We had been together for 4 months by then and although we were young, I thought I was in love. Apparently he did too because near the end of the year, we...we...” Pansy stopped there, seemingly unable to go on. Hermione’s heart swelled with sympathy as she quietly waited for the other witch to continue.

“Thomas was born in my sixth year. I had to be taken out of school, as you may remember. The rumours flew, but no one actually knew why I had been removed. It was from the day I was pulled out that I realised my mother hated me, and because of her, I actually hated Thomas the first time I ever laid eyes on him. I hated my own son. When the Healers brought him to me and placed him in my arms, I looked down upon him and wished that he had never been conceived. He stood for everything I loathed; it was he who made my own mother hate me, made me endure so much humiliation at school, ruined my life which, before his arrival, had held so many open doors. But then again, he was just a baby. The situation was no one’s fault but my own.

“I returned to Hogwarts, thankful that my mother had grudgingly taken in Thomas and that I would be seeing Blaise again. But...he’d changed during my absence. He was cold and unfeeling towards me. After one week of desperately wondering what was wrong, I finally confronted him. He told me the truth - that he wanted nothing to do with Thomas or me. And then he walked away.

“Draco was there for me. He comforted me and when my mother refused to let me stay at my own home during Christmas break, his family kindly allowed me to stay with them. It was during that very break when I made the same mistake I had made with Blaise again. Draco...he was so sweet about it. He told me I didn’t have to if I didn’t want to, but I did. I’d always loved him, even when I was with Blaise, and I knew that I always would. I could never regret anything I did with him. And so, in that manner, Kathryn was conceived.

“When Kathryn was born the next year, I did not resent nor regret her at all. Even when Draco became distant in the same way Blaise had, I refused to blame her for what I had done. Though Draco grew less affectionate with each passing day, I never gave up hope that one day he would realise we were meant to be because in my heart, we were.

“The war raged on. Hogwarts had been closed, and Draco and I fought for the Dark Lord’s side. Many times during a battle, I didn’t know where Thomas and Kathryn were or whether or not they were still alive. Yet I still fought on, because I had nothing else.

“When the war ended in July, I returned to my former house to find that my mother had been killed by someone from the Ministry and that Thomas, one year old at the time, and Kathryn, who was only a baby, had hid in a closet and remained undiscovered by anyone for 2 months. To this day, I still wonder how it is they survived those months away from people and magic.

“I took the two of them, and from that day on, my life spiraled downwards into poverty. I had no family, no job, and no one to support me. I lived on the streets of Knockturn Alley, occasionally helping in Borgin and Burkes but begging for gold most of the time. I didn’t know where Draco had gone, but I had heard from passers by that he was in love with Blaise’s beautiful sister, Iris. Bitter and desperate, I came near to committing suicide many times. After all, there was nothing to lose at that point - I’d already hit rock bottom. But Thomas and Kathryn kept me alive. I couldn’t leave them; they were only children and I had to struggle through my pain for them.

“In February of 2000, almost 2 years after the war had ended, mine and Draco’s paths crossed once again. The change that had come over him was astonishing. He was no longer proud, confident, or smooth. He was broken. He told me Iris had been killed by the Dark Lord. I told him he now knew how I felt. And then I remember he looked at me with those piercing eyes, the eyes that had stolen my heart, and I realised that I still loved him after everything. I knew he would never love me, but we got married 3 months later.”

At last, Pansy let her hand fall from the branch as she slowly raised her head. Her round, blue eyes seemed darker than normal, almost black, as she looked Hermione straight in the eye. “I had to tell you; you understand, right?”

“Yes,” said Hermione, surprised to find that she was being completely honest, “I understand.”

At this point, Hermione was expecting Pansy to turn around and leave. However, the other witch surprised her by asking her the question she never would have expected.

“Do you love him?”

Hermione froze. “Excuse me?” she asked slowly, not sure if she had heard right.

“Do you love Draco?”

“What...” Hermione swallowed, trying to force the words past the quickly-growing lump in her throat. “What gave you that idea?”

“I’m just asking,” replied Pansy softly, although there was a determined tone to her voice.

In response, Hermione gaped at Pansy. She felt as if she were in an alternate world, one in which she and Pansy were somehow friends. After all, the two of them were conversing as if they were in fact on good terms with each other. It was as if their dislike of each other had miraculously disintegrated. First Pansy’s recount of her past, and now this?

“No, I do not and I never will,” replied Hermione firmly, ignoring the little twinges that were occurring in the pit of her stomach.

Pansy scrutinised Hermione for what felt like hours before smiling sadly. “Someday.”

Confused, Hermione blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

Pansy shook her head. A thoughtful look fell across her face, but it was quickly replaced by one of despair. “I don't think I’ll ever be good enough for him.”

“Don’t say that!” exclaimed Hermione reproachfully.

“No,” said Pansy before Hermione could say any more, “you don’t understand. I will never be good enough for him.” She smiled again, and a slice of moonlight suddenly fell across her face, illuminating her weary features. “Sometimes I lay in bed at night and pray for an angel to be sent down from Heaven, someone beautiful and kind he can fall in love with. Someone who can change him and heal his wounds. I can’t do that for him, and he and I both know it.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue back, but was cut off by Pansy again.

“Don’t be afraid to love just because of what happened to us, Hermione. My mother once told me that among the thousands of defective wands, there will be one made just for you. Someday, I will find someone who loves me for who I am and you will too.”

With that, Pansy wrapped her arms tightly around herself once again, turned on her heel, and began to walk back to the manor.

Hermione watched Pansy’s hunched form make its way back to the mansion. A flurry of butterflies, having replaced the tiny twinges, was dancing around in her stomach now while a storm of questions invaded her mind. Had all of this really happened? Could Blaise truly be the father of Thomas? Why had Pansy told her out of all people this? And why had Pansy asked her whether or not she loved Draco? Wasn’t it obvious the answer was no?

And yet as Hermione considered the last question, she couldn’t help but feel that a plain and simple “no” did not cover the entire answer. In fact, as Hermione began to head back inside as well, she realised that the answer she had given Pansy might not have been said with as much certainty as she originally thought...