Harry Potter 1. Imprisonment

She lay frozen on the cold, hard concrete, the dark walls seeming to press in on her. She felt his knees tighten their grip on her sides as he moved his mouth to her ear. "There's no one to save you now, Mudblood. By the time your precious little Weaslebee and Potter find this place, you'll be long gone, and I'll be waiting for them," he breathed in her ear, sending shivers up her spine.

"You'll never get away with this," she growled.

When she struggled to free herself, he simply sat, laughing at her vain attempts. "Try as you might, you're not going anywhere, Mudblood, at least not yet," he sneered from atop her back. "Now just be good and it will all be over soon. Who knows? You might even get to meet the authors of those books you cling to so disgustingly hard. Say 'hi' to old Willy Shakespeare for me."

She tried to use his momentary distraction to step-up her struggle, but her actions only earned her a hard jab between her shoulder blades with his elbow.

He leaned forward again, crushing her body closer to the unforgiving floor. His warm breath tickled her neck causing the reappearance of her shivers. "Does he know how he's affecting me?" she wondered. Her mind gave her the answer. "Likely, but don't let it show. He would definitely use it against you."

She steeled herself as another wave of shudders rushed through her body, this time caused by his one word, "Careful." He slowly raised himself until he was sitting straight up again. "I don't believe the Dark Lord would be too happy with damaged goods, but I have orders to hold you here by all means necessary. Those orders are the only reason I'm touching such a filthy being."

"Is that all I am to you? A good to be transported from place to place?"

"To me? Yes. But obviously the Dark Lord has other plans for you or else I wouldn't be wasting my time with you when I could be helping to kill off Wonder Boy Potter and the Weasel."

"Then why_ are_ you wasting your time when you could put a body-bind curse or the Imperious curse on me and just walk away?" she wheedled, hoping that he would bite her bait.

"You think I will fall for that pathetic mind trick? You think wrong. I know that you would fight off those curses, and then I'd pay for my foolishness along side you. So just shut your dirty mouth before I do it for you."

"Is that a threat, Malfoy? I didn't know that wimps like you were capable of making those."

"That's enough, Granger!" He pulled her head up by her hair and then bashed it against the floor, knocking her into utter blackness.

* * *

The feeling of riding in a stagecoach awoke Hermione from her state of unconsciousness. Her eyes fluttered open just enough to get a glimpse of her current situation. She was being carried by a man wearing a swishing black robe. He was flanked on either side by two other men who were also dressed in black. The men were running towards an old, almost abandoned-looking mansion that was surrounded by an iron fence. She immediately recognized it as Malfoy Manor.

"Parkinson, hurry up with the girl! Can't keep the Dark Lord waiting, now can we?" sneered a cold voice, much like the one she remember from just before she was knocked out.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. No, Mr. Malfoy," called out the trembling voice of her holder.

As they passed through the gate, Hermione saw a flash of blue light momentarily cover the archway. The doorway ahead opened to reveal a tall man with graying blonde hair. "Very good, Parkinson," he sneered with an air of authority. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as they approached the magnificent oak doors.

"This way," a female voice called. Hermione was carried in and roughly laid on what she figured to be a fainting couch.

"This is the girl, I presume," an even colder voice said.

"Yessir. Hermione Granger, sir," replied Parkinson, trembling audibly.

"Good."

An unfamiliar voice spoke up, "My Lord, why do you want the girl? She is only a foolish Mudblood."

"Fool! Do you not know who she is?"

"Her name's Hermione Granger, sir. She belongs to the house of Gryffindor and is Muggle-born."

"I'm losing patience with you, MacNair. She is Harry Potter's friend, and a very close one, too. She may be able to be persuaded to tell us his plans, and if not, she will serve as very good bait. Her little 'friends' will come rushing to find her and when they do, we can attack."

"A very good plan, my Lord. Well thought out."

"You expect anything less from me?" Voldemort roared.

"No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was simply stating it was a very good plan, sir. Better than anything that I could think of."

"That's because you're a dimwit, MacNair."

"Of course, my Lord. The only one who could rival your intelligence is Dumbledore, my Lord."

"Are you suggesting that I am inferior to Dumbledore?"

"No, my Lord, merely that Dumbledore may be slightly more intelligent than you. After all, he is the headmaster of Hogwarts."

"How dare you!" roared Voldemort. A muttered curse, accompanied by a blinding flash of green light and a thump, and MacNair was dead.

"What shall we do with the girl, my Lord?" said the chilling voice of Lucius Malfoy.

"You may do with her what you please. I suggest taking her to a bed. And, Lucius, make sure she is treated well. We should not give her any more reasons to despise us."

"Yes, my Lord."

Hermione was lifted and carried away to a room where she was placed gently onto a bed. Exhausted from her long day, she fell asleep immediately.


	2. It Begins

A soft rap on the door awoke Hermione from her slumber. "Miss," called a high, squeaky voice. "Tituba has breakfast for you."

Groggily, Hermione replied, "Come in."

"Scrambled eggs, ham, orange juice and milk, miss. Please call Tituba if you need anything. Mistress will be coming within the hour." The house elf placed the tray on the bed and left.

Hermione sat on the bed and stared at her breakfast. Her mind was supplying her with thousands of possible outcomes of eating the food, though her stomach kept growling, demanding her to eat. Perhaps there was Veritraserum in her orange juice, or maybe a sleeping draught was mixed into her milk. Poison could have easily been hidden in the scrambled eggs.

Another knock shook Hermione from her stupor. A blonde woman stepped into the room, her stride overflowing with elegance. She was fairly tall, with a good four inches on Hermione's 5'3" height. A soft smile graced her weary face. If Hermione had not guessed who the woman was, she might have thought her to be very likable. But this was clearly Narcissa Malfoy. "Are you not hungry?" Narcissa asked. Unsure of what to say, Hermione just shrugged. Narcissa snapped her fingers and Tituba appeared with a crack.

"Mistress?" squeaked the house elf.

"Miss Granger appears to not have much of an appetite this morning. Take care of her tray."

Tituba grabbed the untouched tray from the bed and disappeared with a crack.

"If you grow hungry, just call and she will bring you anything that you wish to eat," Narcissa said. Her eyes swept over Hermione's form, appraising her. Concerned by this scrutiny, Hermione looked down at her clothes. She was still wearing the dusty blouse and trousers that she had worn the day before. She ran her hands through her tangled hair trying in vain to comb it out. "Well, well. We can't have a guest of the Malfoy House looking like this, now can we?" Narcissa stated more to herself than Hermione. She snapped her fingers again and a different house elf appeared. "Prepare a bath for Miss Granger and then set out a nice outfit and some personal care products," ordered the blonde.

"Yes, Mistress," replied the short, little creature and it quickly scurried away to fulfill its orders.

"Come on, dear. Let's get you cleaned up." Hermione was slightly taken aback by this, but followed Narcissa anyway.

As she walked through the door, Hermione was in awe. Before her eyes was the largest, grandest bathroom she had ever seen: even the prefects' bathroom could not compare. The cathedral ceiling and walls were covered in silver plating; the intricate tile floor was a soft green, much like Slytherin green in pastel form; the silver piping wound around the floating sea green sinks, leading up to the elegant faucets; and delicately carved mirrors hung above the three sinks. That was only part of the magnificent bathroom. The Jacuzzi was enticing, the shower spacious, and the toilet actually looked comfortable. The Slytherin colors were to be expected but Hermione was surprised by the use of them in such soft shades.

"The water should already be in the Jacuzzi and a menu of shampoos and body washes should appear upon command. I'll be back in an hour. I expect you to be cleaned and dressed by then," Narcissa explained, distracting Hermione from her admiring.

Hermione nodded and the lady of the Malfoy house walked off to attend to other matters. Once the blonde had left, Hermione removed her clothes and slipped into the comforting warmth of the foamy water.

* * *

Glad to be rid of the dirt and grime that had covered her body, Hermione examined the clothes left for her by the house elf. A dress made of fine cream and black silk, but in a very simple cut, was laid out on the bed. She slid the smooth fabric over her head and turned to face the full-length mirror. The wide straps showed off her shoulders nicely and the square neck fit her perfectly. However, the waist was a bit big for her small figure. After much debate, Hermione opened the huge cherry wardrobe that was on the wall opposite the main door. Her first impression was that the clothes were nicely made, but she was startled when she realized that they were all made for young men. Slightly disturbed, Hermione scanned the wide doors for a belt hanger. She quickly found a group of belts and chose a caramel brown one which she fastened tightly around her waist.

Satisfied with her choice, she began brushing out her messy brown curls. The process was long and tedious, as her naturally tangled curls and waves had become even worse during her recent ordeal involving Draco Malfoy. Once she had combed out and dried her hair, Hermione inspected herself once more in the mirror. Her ankle-length dress flowed smoothly over her body, and her hair now cascaded gently over her shoulders and down her back. In a corner, she found a pair of Mary Janes that were precisely her size. As she slipped them on, a knock came at her door.

"Come in," Hermione called.

Narcissa Malfoy entered the room. "My, my. You do clean up well. Come along. You have a meeting with the Dark Lord."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She was going to see Voldemort. Taking deep breaths, Hermione tried to retain a calm composure as she walked through the door into the cold hall and off toward certain doom.


	3. Questioning

The gloomy corridors reflected Hermione's mood perfectly: pensive and disheartened. As she followed Lady Malfoy through the confusing maze in silence, Hermione fought her hardest to harness her terror and lock it in an impenetrable room along with all of her secrets about Harry, Ron, the Order, Dumbledore, and her parents. Anything could be vital to Voldemort, so she must not disclose whereabouts or plans of anyone, especially those that were closest to her. He could use them to drive her into unwilling, but necessary submission.

Her own rhythmic footfalls began to calm her. Then Mrs. Malfoy spoke. "Straight through those doors." Her terror rapidly returning, Hermione placed a trembling hand on the golden handles of the doors. Several seconds passed as she worked up the courage to enter. A male voice breezed past her ear. "Go." Oddly calmed, she opened the great maple doors and stepped softly into the room. A group of darkly clothed figures stood around a bone white and forest green throne-like chair. The chair's back was facing the doors from whence she had entered.

"Ah, Miss Granger. How nice of you to join us," reverberated Voldemort's hissing voice. "We were just discussing your… potential."

"I'll never join your little murder club," Hermione spat.

"Oh no, my dear. I would never expect that of you." The emerald chair turned so the occupant was facing her. "I have much greater hopes for you." His red eyes shone with malice as his fingers glided over the intricacies of his dreaded wand.

"I've heard that you are the top in every class, except maybe Potions in which young Draco seems to excel."

Draco stepped out from behind the high-backed chair to stand by his lord's side. His usual smirk was still plastered on his face, though his stiff stance betrayed a hint of uneasiness, or perhaps fear. His eyes darkened at the sight of her. "Mudblood," he sneered.

She jerked her head in response. "Malfoy."

"Draco has offered to brew some potions for me if the need arises. In fact, I believe he already has a truthful little one on the cauldron. Don't you, Draco?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good boy." His gaze returned to Hermione. I would prefer to do this the easy way, but if not…" There was a pregnant pause. "I expect you to cooperate and answer truthfully. Now that the rules are set, let us begin. Are you really Hermione Jane Granger?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Good. When were you born?"

"September 19, 1979."

"Where do you live?"

"Hogwarts."

Irritation flashed across his face, but he quickly regained control and calmly asked, "No, where is your summer home?"

"25 Pincock Street, Peterborough."

"Thank you. Where are your friends, Harry and Ron?"

"I don't know."

"Really?"

"Yes, I haven't seen Ron since right before the battle, and the last I knew, Harry was with Dumbledore."

"Do you know where Dumbledore took Harry?"

"No, he didn't tell me."

"He must have told you something; perhaps he mentioned a place that was in the memories?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Let's just say that a close friend of yours is not as good at Occulemency as you are." He released a low chuckle, if the chilling sound could even be called that.

"Ron! What have you done to him? Where is he?"

"Dear, dear. I do not know where he is. That is why I'm asking you. And all I did was read his mind while he was passing me. The miserable fool doesn't think of much more than food and Quidditch, but I managed to extract a few useful memories. Now where did Dumbledore take Harry?"

"I told you, I don't know!"

"Yes, you do."

Her furious mind began racing even faster. _Where was a likely place for them to go? _"Your old orphanage. Looking for something you may have left behind," she stated matter-of-factly. She hoped he would buy her lie.

"Hmm… You have given me much to think on. You may go… for now."

She let out the breath she had been holding and turned away. He noticed her release of breath. "Stop her! Draco, get the Veritraserum."

She picked up her pace, trying for a full sprint, hoping to get past the maple doors. Two pairs of strong hands clasped her arms, inhibiting her progress. Kicking at her captors, she was led back to stand stiffly in front of the Dark Lord.

"You foolish girl! You thought you could trick me; lie to me! I will have no more of this nonsense! Draco!" The blonde teen handed his lord a small bottle of clear liquid. Voldemort's skeletal fingers uncorked the bottle as their owner stood, towering above her petite figure. "Open your mouth." She disobeyed. "I said open your mouth!" Still, she refused. "OPEN IT!" She kept her lips tightly sealed. His wand appeared and with a small wave, magic held open her protesting mouth. The bottle tipped slightly, getting closer to releasing its contents every second. She thrashed about wildly, attempting to free herself. Closer. Closer. Completely horizontal. Tipped just a tiny degree more. And drip. Drip. Drip. Three drops of the potion fell into her mouth. Drop. Drop. Two more. The contents of the bottle descended into her mouth and unwillingly she swallowed.

"Now, I'll ask you again. Where did Dumbledore take Harry?"


	4. Answers, a Map, and a Surprise

"Now, I'll ask you again. Where did Dumbledore take Harry?"

"To a lake. He said something about Horcrux hunting." Despite her efforts to resist, the Veritraserum forced the information out of her mouth.

"Interesting. Anything else?"

"N-the lake was related to your younger days in the orphanage. Grrr."

"Ah… I know exactly where that lake is."

"Of course you do. You're the one who hid the Horcrux there," she spat.

"True, true. The question is 'Did they find it?'"

"I don't know that."

"I was quite sure of that. Shut up, insolent girl. I need to think."

More than gladly, she did as she was ordered. She watched warily as he contemplated the new information. "That will be all for today. Go back to your quarters."

Hermione turned to leave but then she realized that she did not know how to get back to the room she was staying in. "Ummm… Sir? I'm not quite sure how to get to my room," she said timidly.

"Naricissa, show Miss Granger to her room immediately," he ordered. "Oh, and give her a map of your manor. We don't need her becoming lost, now do we?"

"Of course, my lord. No, my lord."

Hermione and Narcissa once again hurried through the ever winding hallways. Mrs. Malfoy opened a door, revealing Hermione's living quarters and said, "I will have a house elf bring you a map so that you can acquaint yourself with the manor. I suggest restricting your wanderings to certain designated areas that will be marked on the map. We wouldn't want you knowing more than you need to, would we?"

"No ma'am," Hermione replied, and she closed the door gently.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Hermione wandered the dimly lit halls of Malfoy Manor, examining many rooms along her way. Her favorite had been the grand library which was even larger then the one Hogwarts housed. The huge room was divided into three different sections - one for fiction, one filled with historical and scientific references along with books on magic, and one area that she assumed was filled with books of dark magic - with some areas partitioned into small sitting rooms. Many cherry bookshelves contained many more books than a Muggle shelf would have held. Hermione was surprised to find that several Muggle novels lined the shelves. Comfortable chairs and couches were squeezed into every square meter that was not needed to house books or provide space to walk. This was heaven for a book lover.

Another particularly fascinating room was the ballroom. The great hard-wooded room was almost as large as the library. The swirling white walls and colossal windows added even more space to the open room and filled it with beautiful sunlight. She could easily imagine grandly dressed men and women of wealth and power gliding across the polished floor while a wonderful orchestra played a marvelous waltz. Across the room she could see a door slightly propped open, revealing what appeared to be a dance studio, complete with mirrored walls and a barre.

Feeling hungry and worn-out, Hermione headed back to her guest room. She opened the door to find a male with his back to her, removing his shirt.


	5. Small Changes

"Doesn't anybody know how to knock any more," he said angrily, spinning around. It was Draco. She nearly gasped at the sight of his pale, toned torso. His abs looked as if they had been delicately chiseled out of marble.

"Umm…I'll leave."

"Damn right you will. Don't you know how to respect others' privacy?"

"For your information, I believe that this room is where I have been staying for the last two days." His remark had caused her temper to flare up.

"Mother. I have to have a talk with that woman right now!" He stormed off, with an air of annoyance, but somehow he stilled manage to pull of the "cool" look he always had.

Left alone, Hermione decided to wait quietly on the bed until the situation had been sorted out.

* * *

Arguing voices grew louder as they neared the doorway. "But Mother, she's… she's… filthy! How could you allow her to stay in _my_ bedroom?"

"She is our guest, and besides it was only for one night." Narcissa's voice sounded strained yet patient.

"Our guest, my arse! More like prisoner. Why isn't she in the dungeons or perhaps in the house elves quarters? That would be more fitting."

"The Dark Lord has requested that we treat her kindly, and we shall do as he requests. Would you prefer to be his next 'experiment'?"

"Not at all, but why _my_ room?"

"Why not your room? We want her to feel welcomed, don't we?"

Draco muttered something under his breath.

"Draco! Don't say such things! I do not know what your father has taught you, but I will not tolerate such language in my house." At this point the door burst open, revealing a scolding Narcissa Malfoy and a belittled Draco Malfoy. "For that _you_ will be the one sleeping in the house elves' quarters!"

"Mother!" Draco was outraged.

"Get changed and head down there now! I will know if you don't," Narcissa warned. Her voice suddenly softened and she said, "Miss Granger, let us take a short walk while my sorry-excuse-for-a-son finishes up."

The pair exited the room, leaving Draco to change sulkily. "I'm truly sorry about Draco's behavior; Merlin knows I raised him to act better than that. You are welcome to stay in Draco's room for as long as you would like, or, if you prefer, I can arrange for another room to be readied for you,"

"I don't want to impose upon your hospitality, but I feel that I would be more comfortable in a different room if that is convenient."

"Not a problem at all, dear. I'll set the house elves on it right away."

"Don't trouble them. I can move my own belongings."

"Are you sure? It's no trouble." Hermione nodded. "Well then, let us go see if Draco has left yet so that we may gather your belongings."

The two turned and walked back to Draco's room. When Narcissa's demanding knock received no answer, Hermione entered the room and quickly gathered her meager belongings. Then she followed Lady Malfoy to the door of her new room.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the house elves' quarters, Draco Malfoy was grumbling about traitor mothers and over-exuberant house elves. A few blankets and towels were laid down as a make-shift bed. As he tossed and turned, Draco couldn't help but feel slightly regretful of his earlier actions, if only because he would have had a luxurious bed to sleep upon after a hard mission. When he drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with red eyes, dying screams, and eerily cold voices.

* * *

Lady Malfoy stormed through the halls of Malfoy Manor in search of her husband. When she entered his study, she began to scream at her husband who was lounging in his chair. "You …you … you … traitor! I thought we agreed that Draco mustn't grow up to be like you."

Unaffected by his wife's tantrum, Lucius Malfoy replied coolly, "I believe we did agree on that."

"Then why is he disrespecting our visitor by calling her dirty-blooded? _ I _certainly did not teach him that."

"My dear, I believe that there has been a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?! How is it possible to misunderstand that I want my son to live a good life?"

"No dear, I believe the misunderstanding has been on your part. You see, I want my son to be _greater_ than me. I am only a mere servant following my lord's orders. I wish Draco to be the one _giving_ the orders."

Narcissa's eyes flashed with anger. "So you've been teaching him to follow the Dark Lord's ways?"

"No, my dear," Master Malfoy responded gently, as if conversing with a small child. "I am teaching him the way to become more powerful than the Dark Lord. I believe that soon His Darkness will be overtaken by the Potter boy, so I am preparing the way for Draco to take his place and continue his work on an even higher scale - destroying all muggle-borns and muggles."

The woman gaped at her husband for a few seconds before regaining her wits and releasing a frustrated scream. Unable to form a sentence that expressed her hatred and disgust, Narcissa huffed as she exited the room, long blonde hair slashing behind her.


	6. Dream Birds

_She walked through a crowded street, examining unmemorable window fronts. A man sauntered along beside her, his arm around her waist. The man was eerily familiar yet she could not tell who he was. Suddenly, a display caught her eye, and she moved to get a better look and found a beautiful bird in a simple cage. The bird's feathers reminded her of a muggle caramel latte and its deep brown eyes shown bright with intelligence. When the bird ruffled its feathers, she noticed that the door to the cage was open. It could easily fly out and be free, but instead it chose to stay and dazzle visitors of the small shop._

Hermione awoke from her dream quite calm and content (as most good dreams leave you), but puzzled by the Happily-Caged Bird. What animal wouldn't take the chance to be free of restraints? The only ones that she could think of were some dogs. This was a riddle that she was determined to solve. But the solving would have to wait until it wasn't 2 o'clock in the morning.

* * *

Down in the house-elves' quarters, Draco was also dreaming.

_He, too, was walking through a crowded street with an unknown woman at his side. They paused to examine a store window in which a magnificent macaw was struggling to break free of its weak cage. A loud sound startled him as a streak of white light flew toward the cage. Draco watched in awe as the spell destroyed the bars and skimmed the tip of the bird's wing, causing it to shriek in pain. The bird was free, yet it looked unsure about leaving its well-known habitat. From his side, he heard the woman calling softly to the macaw, urging it to leave the comfortable numbness of its cage. As the beautiful bird tried out his wings, Draco awoke._

The shuffle of house-elves had pulled him from the fantasy. He groaned and ran a pale hand through his hair. A glance at his silver watch showed the time to be five in the morning. Knowing that he'd be in for hell if he slithered to his room before his mother came for him, Draco laid down his head in hopes of falling back to sleep.

* * *

Once again, breakfast was brought by a house-elf. As Hermione contemplated the meal, her stomach clenched from lack of food, and she realized that she would have to eat soon or else she would pass out. Hesitantly, she lifted the fork with a piece of sausage to her lips. Before she could take a proper bite, there was a knock at her door. Expecting Mistress Malfoy, she called, "Come in." The door was pushed open with great force to reveal none other than her enemy's form. "What are _you_ doing here? Come to make fun of my blood again?"

"No, Mudblood." The second word was a whisper. "My mother has asked me to apologize," he spat.

"Get on with it, then."

"I'm… I'm… sorry for calling you that inappropriate name and being inhospitable. It reflected poorly on my family, and I hope you do not hold them accountable for my mistakes." His voice was purely formal and there was not a hint of remorse in his statement.

"Um… thank you," she stuttered. Feeling awkward, she said, "Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

His cold gray eyes looked surprised, but the set of his mouth was irritated. "Why would I do that?" he responded with venom, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard.

His abrupt exit awoke thoughts in Hermione's brain. _Wow. Draco Malfoy _apologized._ To _me._ That's a new one, even if his mother did make him. Wow._

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her awaiting breakfast.


	7. Summons

An insistent pecking yanked her from the world of Pride and Prejudice which she had borrowed from the library after finishing her breakfast. A midnight black owl hovered at her window. She stood and unlatched the window, pushing one pane open to allow the bird to perch on her bedpost and drop an emerald green envelope on her bed. She lifted the envelope and cautiously opened it. Inside was a short note:

Your presence is requested in the drawing room in half an hour.

~ Lucius Malfoy  
Senior Member of the Death Eater League  
Lord of Malfoy Manor

* * *

Thirty minutes later, she was briskly walking through the dim corridors towards the drawing room. Butterflies – no, moths- fluttered in her stomach ominously. Her intuition was sending her dire warnings, but she pressed forward, knowing that her punishment for not coming would be worse than any possible torture that waited in the drawing room.

"It's wonderful for you to join us this afternoon. I trust that you are finding your accommodations to your liking," the cold voice of Lord Voldemort drawled. She nodded mutely. "Good, good." A tense pause permeated the room.

Still standing, Hermione watched warily as the Dark Lord conferred with his closest followers for several minutes. Seeming to suddenly notice her again, Voldemort said, "Oh, how rude of me! Please, sit down, Miss Granger." His snow-white, bony finger pointed toward a delicately patterned sofa. Reluctantly, Hermione obeyed. The group returned to their discussion as she examined the tiny design. Mint green swirls intermingled with darker, emerald ones on a background of antique white. Upon closer inspection, she shuddered – the swirls were replicas of the Dark Mark.

"Ahem. Miss Granger, I presume that I would be correct in assuming that you are wondering why I have summoned you. Am I right?" His voice rang eerily throughout the small room.

Taking a deep breath, she replied, "Indeed."

"Well, I've taken your little hint to mind and have decided to check on the validity of it."

"Yeah, right," she spat as quietly as possible.

A flash of anger rose to his countenance, and he looked about to pounce on her, but he quickly schooled his features, pretending to be oblivious to her comment. "You, my dear, will be accompanying me on my journey in two days time."

Hermione tried to prevent her surprise and terror from showing as his demand registered. Her attempts must have been futile for a sound, vaguely like a laugh, emitted from the imposing robed figure before her. Soon enough, all his cronies were laughing along to her distress. "Dear girl, there is no need to fear. What good would it do if you were to die? None. Nothing worth fretting over then.

"I will send for you again when I am fully prepared. You are dismissed."

Her rigid body unfroze after a second, and she hastily removed herself from the room, careful relief flooding her mind.

She tensed again as she heard another set of footsteps echo hers. She stopped and turned abruptly, causing the unknown person behind her to knock her unto her back. Cries of pain escaped the mouths of the two victims of the fall. "Sorry," she said automatically, before turning to look at the person who was encaging her in his arms. Tousled platinum blonde hair partially hid a pair of piercing, storm cloud eyes. His signature smirk twitched a little under her scrutiny. "Oh," she exclaimed. Then, in a harsher, mocking tone, she said, "Never mind. I'm not at all sorry. Now would you kindly let me free?"

He stared down at her for a few seconds, as if debating how she would react to his answer. "What if I don't? What could you do? In case you haven't noticed, I'm the one with a wand here."

She blanched slightly at this realization. He had taken her wand during their previous struggle, and no one had seen fit to return it to her. He could easily overpower her physically, as he had proved at their meeting in the dungeons of Hogwarts, and without her wand, her abilities were useless. She played the only card she knew. "Your master and your mother wouldn't be very happy if they found out about this."

He sneered. "The Dark Lord would hardly care as long as you could still speak, and my mother…" He faltered here. "My mother can go to hell if she tries to stop me."

Something in his voice made her realize that he was only bluffing on the last part. She smirked slightly and watched his face fall as he grasped that she had caught his lie. An awkward silence followed while the two internally debated over their predicament. Finally, Draco took the lead. He leaned closer toward her, crushing her slightly with his body, and then stood up and walked away, leaving her lying, flabbergasted on the floor. "See you around, Mudblood," he jeered.


	8. Kindly Luncheon

The clicking of heels as her introduction, Narcissa Malfoy strode into the library that afternoon, her eyes steeled with purpose but gentle with caring. "Hermione," she called.

A little apprehensively, Hermione looked up from her chair in a secluded corner. Seeing only the back of the mistress of the Malfoy household, she stood and turned the lady's attention by responding, "Over here, Mrs. Malfoy."

The blonde spun around at the sound of her voice. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Narcissa?" she said in a gentle, but reprimanding voice.

"Sorry, Narcissa. I'm not used to being on a first-name basis yet."

"That's okay, dear, but in the future do try to remember. Mrs. Malfoy is much too formal for a guest to use. But that's not why I came here. I'm hosting a ladies' luncheon tomorrow, and I was hoping that you would do me the honor of joining us." Noticing the worried look on the young woman's face, she added, "Trust me, dear, we are much more refined than the men. You have no need to worry."

Still a bit uncertain, Hermione obliged. She watched the surprisingly kind lady exit the library before returning to her book on defensive spells and potions.

* * *

The next morning, a house-elf appeared to escort her to Lady Malfoy's room. Hermione followed obediently, wondering why the woman had ordered her presence. When she entered the elegant room, she was greatly surprised by the sky blue walls and light bamboo flooring. The room was decidedly un-Slytherin-like. In fact, the only green was a set of potted flowers sitting on the open window sill.

"Good morning, dear," Narcissa exclaimed as she glided around a corner, into sight. Hermione noticed off-handedly that her eyes were the same color as the walls and the brilliant sky that peeked through the window. Those same eyes quickly scanned Hermione's figure, and the older woman's mouth moved rapidly as she murmured to herself. "You can have a seat anywhere. I'll be back in just a moment." She disappeared from whence she had come.

Hermione indulgently took a seat on the cream-cushioned window seat. She pushed aside the dancing curtains and peered out at the lush landscape beneath her. Rolling green hills were intercepted by a pine forest on her left, while the edges of a large lake lapped at the sandy shore to her right. Far in the distance, she thought she spied a boatman sailing the lake, and closer to her, she watched fish jump from the water in an acrobatic show. Her eyes wandered to a lone figure walking the grounds. She could distinctly see his light blonde hair shine in the sunlight. She prayed that he wouldn't notice her as he turned to face the stone mansion. A smile crossed his face as he examined some unknown thing beneath her. Narcissa's return stole her attention away from the unusual sight.

The lovely blonde glanced out the window and smiled softly before laughing, "He's out there again, isn't he? Draco seems to spend all his free time tending those flowers lately. I've told him repeatedly that the house-elves wouldn't mind taking care of them, but he insists on caring for them himself, silly boy. But that is all he has left of his grandmother." Turning back to Hermione, she explained, "His grandmother on Lucius' side passed away nearly a year ago. She was a very nice lady; I never figured out how she could have had a son like Lucius. She always doted on Draco, him being her only grandson, and he loved her more than anything. He was devastated when she passed. Every year, she planted a small flower garden under this window. Now he insists on keeping the tradition going himself, in memory of her."

Hermione was overwhelmed by this new information. "So the ferret has a heart," she thought. "Who knew?"

"Anyways, here is a few of my old dresses for you to try," Lady Malfoy said, pointing to a large pile of lace, frills, and smocking of a grand variety of colors. The stately woman was adamant that Hermione try on every dress. The pair found themselves laughing together at some of the more ridiculous ones - a poufy aqua ball gown that resembled a fairytale mermaid a little too closely for style, a very short hot pink number covered in fringe that Hermione could never imagine Narcissa ever having worn, even a lime green and white striped Go-go style frock . Hermione finally settled on white, knee-length sundress with delicately stitched flowers and vines trimming the pale pink empire-style sash. The thin straps and straight neckline paired with a chain of dainty pink diamond roses brought the attention to her lightly powdered face. Narcissa managed to coax her hair into an elegant bun, leaving out a few strands to frame her face gently. The lady of Malfoy Manor also looked beautiful in her robin's egg blue dress which brought out her sparkling eyes. The cut was slimming and stylish with a V-neck and an A-line skirt.

Both women stepped into high heels and turned to the large mirror. Hermione gasped at her reflection, while Narcissa simply smiled in delight and anticipation. Forgoing all reluctance and formality, Hermione hugged the older woman, expressing her thanks repeatedly. "Not a problem, dear. You have to look respectable for this afternoon, and I enjoyed our time together," she replied with a grin.

Turning toward the clock, she let out a startled sound. "Oh dear. They'll be here any minute now. We better go down to the foyer." Hastily, she pulled an astonished Hermione down five flights of stairs and through several hallways ending, winded, in a large entrance room just as the door bell called out a haunting ring. Pausing for a second, Lady Malfoy looked over herself and her companion. Satisfied, she opened the grand, cherry door.

Hermione was taken aback by the appearance of the woman at the door. The dark haired lady was barely five foot tall and fairly plump. Her smile was soft, and her eyes shone with excitement as she stepped into the manor. Mrs. Malfoy bent down - while the little woman stood on her toes - to give her guest a kiss on the cheek. "Mrs. Parkinson, this is Hermione Granger," the taller woman said in introduction. At the wondering look on Mrs. Parkinson's face, she added, "The young woman who is staying with us as a favor to the Dark Lord."

Hermione didn't fail to notice the way that Lady Malfoy had omitted the little fact that she was there against her will, but she was surprised to hear the hint of disgust in the older woman's voice as she referred to the most feared wizard in the world. Politely, she lightly grasped the proffered hand before her and greeted, "Nice to meet you."

"Oh! Isn't she a darling! Pureblood, I'm sure, with those manners. Even my little Pansy couldn't hold a candle to her!" the raven-haired woman gushed.

Awkwardly, Narcissa leaned down to whisper to the guest. "Oh! My mistake!" Turning back to Hermione, she exclaimed, "I'm sorry, dear. I do hope I didn't offend you. I believe that I see Mrs. Zambini coming up the way, so I'll allow you ladies to do your duty." With that, Mrs. Parkinson scampered off, as a beautiful dark-skinned woman approached the door.

"Mrs. Zambini, How good to see you again! This is Hermione Granger." And so the introductions went on. By the time all the guests had arrived, Hermione felt as if she had just met half of London's population. As the ladies around her engaged in conversations, she stood off to the side, alone. Mrs. Malfoy, sensing her discomfort, quietly suggested that she oversee the house-elves in setting up the dining room. Hermione readily agreed, having given up S.P.E.W. as a hopeless cause within her few days at Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Draco silently watched the bushy-haired teenage girl direct his family's servants in the preparation of the sunny dining room. He found himself smiling in appreciation of her conduct and talents. "She'd make a good wife," he thought. Catching himself, he added, "At least when it comes to preparing for social events." He was disgusted with his train of thought as he soundlessly slipped away.

* * *

The prim and proper (or so they seemed at first glance) ladies entered the sunlit dining room, exclaiming over the gorgeous place settings and the intricacies of the lace tablecloth. Hermione shyly beamed with satisfaction as the women admired her work. Narcissa's voice rang out clear and strong, asking everyone to be seated and the house-elves to bring out the food. Lamb chops, little sandwiches, and shrimp kabobs were brought out, followed by fruit and vegetable trays. For dessert, there was a variety of chocolate-covered goodies, angel food cake, and mini cheesecakes, accompanied by cookies of all kinds. Hermione barely stifled a laugh when Mrs. Parkinson dug into the desserts before she had eaten anything else.

The women chatted animatedly about everyday things throughout the meal, avoiding the more questionable topic of the war and effortlessly including Hermione as often as possible. Quickly, Hermione found herself enjoying the gathering, surprised at how sociable and kind most of the women were, despite being Death Eaters or at least the wives of Death Eaters. She had to admit that she was disappointed when they left. After helping to clean up, Hermione retired to her room to think over her newfound friendships.


	9. The Lake

The stars twinkled high above the rugged outcropping the small exploration group was perched on. She briefly wondered if Harry's mission had been successful and privately wished it had. A terrified scream broke through the cold stillness of the night. She jerked her gaze toward the source, and she nearly laughed aloud at the sight of one of the Death Eaters dangling upside down above the churning water. Her amusement was short lived as she found herself yanked upward by her feet. Now, she, too, was suspended unnervingly in the biting air. A pull from her gut sent her zipping over the lake. The jagged crags of the sheer cliff before her zoomed into view, too close for comfort. "I'm going to die. I'm going to die by being smacked into a cliff. I'm going to die and never be found. I'm going to die!" ran through her head as the cliff face grew closer and closer. "Any moment now," she thought. "Any moment. Goodbye world. Take care Harry, Ron, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Mr. Weasley, Luna, Neville, Mum, Dad, Grandmum, Aunt Eliza…" She finished her list and looked around her, surprised that death had been so painless, and, come to think of it, Heaven looked pretty dark and depressing with the cold, slimy stone walls that surround her and the flickering torches that seemed to barely burn in the damp atmosphere, giving off utilitarian amounts of light that cast creeping shadows in all the recesses.

An eerie voice sent a tremor through her body. "Follow me, and _don't_ get yourselves killed unnecessarily; I may need you later." She spun around, searching for the source of the familiar voice. A bone white face lacking a proper nose and red slits for eyes appeared to be the one talking. Confused, she blindly matched her steps to his, spreading her arms wide to keep her balance on the small ledge.

"Bring me the girl," the ghost-like being ordered. Roughly, she was pushed to the front of the group. He grabbed her wrist, exposing her beating veins and pale flesh. A glinting dagger was brought forth, and she loosed a startled cry of pain as he slashed her inner forearm with the instrument. The pain awoke her from her trance-like state, and realization hit her. The man who grasped her arm tightly was Lord Voldemort, and she was not dead after all. She struggled vainly, stopping only when a voice behind her spat, "Quit it, girl. You'll only hurt yourself more." Her cut forearm grazed against rough rock, she was jerked through a doorway that she was sure wasn't there a few moments before, and then abruptly released. Being pushed along by the large men accompanying them, she stumbled often and was brutally righted. She nearly fell onto the Dark Lord when he stopped, but was caught by the collar of her shirt and pulled back, choking.

"I leave you here. Miss Granger, if you would join me." He gestured to a small dinghy waiting at the shore of the fluorescent green inlet. She was lifted high by a pair of large hands and placed in the craft.

The boat moved soundlessly across the water and came to rest on a small island of sorts. Warily, she stepped out onto the rugged terrain. "Hurry up," the Dark Lord ordered coldly. "Drink." He handed her a glass goblet filled with a foreign liquid. In the dim and eerie light, she would have sworn that the snake handles slithered under her sweaty grip. "I said 'drink!'" The rage in his eyes scared her into submission. The liquid burned her throat as she gulped it down. He tore the cup from her hands, refilled it, and forced her to swallow its contents. This repeated over and over. For how long, she didn't know. She was only aware of her burning thirst. When the cup did not come, she collapsed onto the sharp, rocky ground, convulsing in her frantic search for water. Her disabled mind barely registered his screech of outrage. Her world went black as excruciating pain washed over her.


	10. Recovery, Rebellion, and Renaissance

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the blurriness from her vision. She could see a pale arm that was stretched to reach toward her forehead where something cool rested gently. A concerned face peered down at her. She only caught the fringe of the light blonde hair before she closed her eyes, hoping to fool her caretaker into believing that she was still asleep. "I saw that, Granger."

"Drat," she thought. She warily opened first one eye and then the other. A pair of icy blue-grey eyes met hers, daring her to defy him. She groaned as she put two and two together, realizing her fate. "Great. Just what I need: Malfoy to mess me up even more," she thought sarcastically.

Her headache increased dramatically as she struggled to raise herself unto her forearms. "Hold up there, Granger." He gently, but forcefully, lowered her head back unto the down pillow behind her. "I thought a genius like you would know better than to move unassisted right after waking up from a bad injury."

"Harry was the one who was always in the hospital wing, not me," she replied in a slightly self-depreciating voice. She often blamed herself for many of Harry's various injuries. She may have been the brightest witch of her age, but she had rarely been able to prevent or ease his pain.

"Well, here's rule number one: Always listen to and obey your caretaker: Me."

She resisted the urge to laugh aloud at the way he turned his thumbs in to point to himself and his matter-of-fact voice. Instead, she scoffed, "Like I would ever answer to you, Malfoy."

"You will, at least until you won't crumple to the ground after less than ten steps."

"Oh," she said in a small voice. She had not realized that her condition was that degraded.

"Yeah. Rule number two: Drink plenty of fluids." He pushed a cup of water into her hand and lifted her into a seated position with ease. She took in her surroundings as she drank steadily. White walls and floors alienated the room but little touches of color, such as the vase of fresh flowers by her bedside, brought life to it. The room distinctly reminded her of the hospital wing in Hogwarts, only this room was much smaller and only made to accommodate two people.

Her stomach rumbled, startling the two teens who were gazing off into space pensively. The blonde-haired boy abruptly turned around and reappeared with a platter of crackers and apple slices. Greedily, she shoved the proffered food into her mouth. "Slow down, Granger. It's not going to disappear." He grabbed her wrist as her hand snuck out to grab another morsel. "Chew and swallow. You're going to choke yourself if you keep that up."

She indignantly swallowed her mouthful and shot back, "I'm _not_ a little kid. I _know_ how to eat."

"Then why are you acting like I just told you that all the food in the world would disappear tomorrow?"

"I am not. If all the food were to disappear, I would horde it all together, and then redistribute it among the needy children."

"Sure you would, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes."

"Would too!"

The two teens entered into a tense staring contest, locking eyes, and neither allowing the contact to break. Suddenly, the two were doubled over in laughter.

"Ow! My side!" Hermione exclaimed as her exertions took their toll.

His concerned eyes met hers, but before either could do anything more, they resumed giggling.

"Wow," she thought. "Dra-Malfoy has a sense of humor. He seems almost human when he laughs. No, he is human, when he laughs he just becomes more likeable. I can't believe I just thought that: Malfoy? Likeable? I must have hit my head hard."

* * *

"Malfoy," she asked when she awoke the next morning, "what exactly happened? How long was I unconscious?"

"I'm not the one to ask what happened; but you were out for two days after they brought you in. Father volunteered me to take care of you immediately; I think it was supposed to be some sort of punishment for not capturing Potter and Weaselbee when they came to the manor."

Hermione perked up. "Harry and Ron were here?"

"Yeah. Along with Mad Eye and a few others. Idiots tried to storm the manor while you were off on your little trip. They couldn't get in, of course: there's too many protections. I was the only one here so I just let them wear themselves out against the defenses and then left them with a little message saying not to come back. Apparently that wasn't good enough for my dear father."

She couldn't help but notice that he never called the manor "home" and that the term of endearment for Lucius dripped with sarcasm. He was clearly unhappy there.

"Don't let that go to your head. You're still not allowed any letters or other means of communication, and they're not likely to come back. You are not getting rescued anytime soon by those wannabe heroes. And keep your trap shut about it - I highly doubt that you were supposed to know."

* * *

Narcissa came to visit soon after and explained what had happened at the lake. Voldemort had become enraged when he discovered that the horcrux was missing, and he crucioed her repeatedly. Luckily, he eventually remembered his purpose for her and gave her the antidote to counteract the poison in the basin. She was hurriedly transferred back to Malfoy Manor and placed under Draco's care. The combination of the poison and the spell had brought her to the brink of death. Narcissa held her as the realization of what had happened to her sent Hermione into shock and eventually tears. The older woman was kind and gentle, wiping away her tears and promising a good recovery.

However, the double-whammy slowed her recovery in unexpected ways, although within the month, she was able to walk a short ways with Draco hovering nearby to catch her if she so much as wobbled.

Draco was a surprisingly good caretaker. He was gentle as he nursed her, even when their voices turned cold and they argued until he had to step out of the room to cool down. As long as they avoided the touchy subjects of Harry and Ron, Voldemort, and the war, he could be personable and even made her laugh occasionally with his dry sense of humor and stories of going-ons around the manor. Hermione was surprised to find that she sort of looked forward to waking up to see him by her bedside waiting with breakfast.

* * *

Nearly a month into summer, Hermione felt that she was strong enough to return to the guest room. Draco, however, disagreed.

"You're being a damned, prideful fool, Granger!"

"I am not! You just enjoy having control over me and don't want to lose that power!"

"You think this is about power and control? We've already established that you are powerless against me without your wand - I don't need you to be infirm to overpower you! And you best keep that in mind!" With that, he stormed out of the room.

The door slammed shut, and Hermione sighed. She hated being reminded that she did not have a wand and was, therefore, weak.

Suddenly, the door jerked open again. A familiar white-blonde head peeked through. "I'm going to take a shower and get ready for the night. I'll be back in a half hour. Don't try anything stupid." The door slammed again, and he was gone.

Feeling angry and rebellious, Hermione crept slowly and carefully out of her sickbed. Shakily, she hobbled over to the door. Her pale, frail hand turned the doorknob as hope and rebellion swelled within her. She was slightly surprised to find it unlocked as Malfoy typically locked her into the room when he left, but she was thankful that she would not have to waste energy reaching to get the key from above the door. She closed the door as quietly as possible and began the long and tedious trek to her room.

Her body was weaker than she thought after all, but she was almost there after nearly twenty minutes. "A little farther, just a little farther," she told herself repeatedly as she crawled up the final staircase. Exhausted, she laid down at the top of the stairs. "Just a quick rest. I'll just…just…" Sighing, she gave up her struggle, closed her eyes, and allowed her weak body to collapse completely, sending her back into darkness.

* * *

"Hermione. Hermione! Where are you? HERMIONE!" Voices called her name and still she didn't stir.

"Oh no! Hermione!" his worried voice sounded as he found her limp form lying on the staircase. "I found her!" he called to the other searchers, trying his best to sound nonchalant. He didn't need the whole manor to hear his anxiety at seeing her unconscious, again.

He flashed back to the night in the Slytherins' corridors, commonly known as the dungeons. That night at least she had fought. Now he saw her broken, having given up in her struggle. Instead of the hate that had overtaken him that night, all he could feel was concern and worry tonight. He had only been acting under the Dark Lord's orders. As the Death Eaters stormed the castle, he was charged with making sure that no one escaped through the multiple passages down in those cold, dark halls. Unfortunately for her, she was ever the valiant and intelligent one. She had searched him out when she noticed his absence from the fray above. He had been wary of her pondering gaze all year. He was sure that she knew of his plot, his piece in the inevitable battle to come, as her eyes raked over him. She had been the one to discover him. She had been the one to fight him. She had been alone. She hadn't had a chance against his strength and speed. He had disarmed her and cornered her. Even then, she had not given up Harry's quest nor any other information about her friends and allies. He had beaten her down, the defenseless thing she was. He had trapped her, called on his own allies, and she had struggled. He'd had no mercy for her. A part of him had even enjoyed this revenge on her. In the end, he had actually given her a small mercy: unconsciousness.

As he lifted her carefully, he marveled at how he could have been so horrible to such a defenseless, spirited girl. She had been weak, even then. The stress of school and her work against the Dark Lord's rise had zapped her of much of her strength and vitality. The night of the battle, she had looked wraith-like and ghostly in the dim corridors, much as she looked now. But there was a fire in her eyes then. He had not seen that fire since she had been imprisoned here. Her spirit was crushed. In that moment, he determined that he would bring that fire and spirit back to her.

He entered his room, carrying her lifeless form. Gently, he laid her on his bed and pulled a chair over to wait for her to reawaken.


	11. Reveal

As she pulled herself from sleep, it was the aroma that she noticed first: warm, outdoorsy, and surprisingly, familiar. It was a comforting smell: a mix of cloves, vanilla, and something that brought to mind open fields after a thunderstorm. Without opening her eyes, she attempted to find the source, but she soon realized that the fragrance permeated the whole room nearly equally. Groaning, she pried her eyelids open. The room, too, was familiar, though it took her a moment to realize why. She was lying in Draco Malfoy's room. "This cannot be good," she thought. A whisper in her mind wanted to protest, but she threw it off as ridiculous nonsense brought on by her lingering concussion.

A door swung open and footsteps filled the silence. "I see you've awoken from your hundred-year sleep, Sleeping Beauty."

Hermione chuckled lightly. "It seems that is true." She paused, "How do you know about Sleeping Beauty?"

His grinning face appeared before her as he sat down beside the bed. "Aunt 'Dromeda used to tell me muggle fairytales when I would visit as a child. Nymphadora would laugh when I would ask about the princesses from her old books."

"I thought that Andromeda was disowned when she married Ted."

"She was, but my mother still visited her often, despite her family's protests. Also, she was a convenient babysitter. My mother doesn't believe in house-elves looking after children."

"Ah. So the Slytherin Prince is really a muggle-lover." There was a quiet challenge in her eyes accompanying the strong mischievous glint.

He feigned terror. "Don't tell my father!" he squeaked. A laugh rumbled through his chest as her own chiming laughter rang out.

"I won't. I pinkie-promise." She held out her smallest finger as he hesitantly reached out with his. Their fingers joined, and the pair grinned like little children. They laughed loudly at their jest.

When the fit subsided, Draco gazed at her, seeming puzzled. "What?" she laughed.

"You seem well enough. How would you like to get some fresh air; maybe, walk around the grounds a little? Get rid of that rebellious streak that landed you here?" he asked nonchalantly.

Searching his eyes for treachery, she replied, "That's sounds won…good." Her dark curls bounced slightly as she nodded her head.

"Good. You get dressed, and then I'll accompany you on the excursion."

Hermione prepared to slide out of the comfortable bed, but stopped short as she realized what she was doing. She was wearing an oversized shirt that she figured was the closest thing to a T-shirt that the Malfoys owned. Despite its size, the hem only came halfway down her thigh. Blushing, she demanded that he leave.

"Why?" he asked, acting innocent though she was sure he knew what she was wearing. He may have even dressed her himself, she couldn't be sure.

"You're such a perv! Now leave!" she screamed at him. Draco chuckled heartily, but left anyways. She hissed at his cheeky grin and wink.

A few minutes later, she had changed into a pair of moss green short shorts (She was sure that Draco had picked those out.) and a comfortable white tank top. Draco knocked once and entered to find her examining herself in the mirror. He quietly observed her from a discreet distance. Fading bruises covered her arms and legs. A white scar could be seen on her forearm from where the knife had drawn her blood. Her brunette curls were as unmanageable as ever, but she had managed to contain most of them in a low ponytail. Her once-bright eyes were still haunted, something that he noted with contempt. Even when her laugh filled the room, the empty, scared look never left those golden-brown orbs. She was still fragile, but her posture portrayed her resolve and strength.

She frowned at her reflection, pulling at the shorts and a loose curl. Softly, he spoke. "You… you look fine. No, more than fine. You're beautiful." He whispered the last word to himself.

She spun around, a hint of anger in her eyes. "How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he offered. "Perhaps a minute or two. That's all."

She breathed a sigh of relief. She turned away briefly, but he still noticed her wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. "So Granger's been crying. I wonder why," he thought to himself. He knew that she would never accept his pity, though, so he did not ask. "Come on, Granger. Let's head out," he said instead.

He held open the wooden door for her and she slowly exited. At the end of the corridor, she paused at the top of the staircase. "What's the hold up, Granger?" he asked, annoyance tinting his voice at the sudden stop. She stared desolately at the descending steps. Coming to her side, he marked the concern in her honey eyes. "Oh." He knew that she wouldn't allow him to carry her the whole way down. Even in her current state, she had too much pride for that. Instead he lifted her arm around his shoulders, and carefully they made their way down to the sunroom in the back of the house.

He threw open the white French doors. She gasped. He repressed the urge to chuckle at her reaction. Beyond the doors, the green slopes rolled gently toward a majestic pine forest. Flower gardens flourished on either side of the cobblestone pathway that wound through the grounds and eventually reached the shining blue lake far to her right. Hermione believed that she had never seen anything more beautiful, besides her first glimpse of Hogwarts from the small boats in their first year. Standing there, she could almost forget that she was a captive in a house full of Death Eaters. He nudged her shoulder, and she began dreamily walking the path. He pointed out the large maze of hedges and flowering vines that made up the traditional Labyrinth. She marveled at the variety of plants that grew in the year-round greenhouses. He drew her attention to a field of wildflowers that had been allowed to run wild. She savored the sweet berries they picked from the tangle of raspberry and blackberry bushes.

Finally, they arrived at his favorite piece of the intricate web that was the Malfoy gardens: his grandmother's flower garden. It was a simple thing with only some daisies, a few dahlias, a rose bush, and many smaller, colorful flowers. Draco bent down to pull a few weeds with his bare hands. She noticed that those hands did not quite fit with the rest of his aristocratic appearance. His hands were long and slender, but they had a light brown stain from working in the dirt. They also had a few calluses that had begun to form, she suspected, from working with garden tools such as trowels. A soft smile graced his face as he worked, his blonde hair adding to the angelic image.

She sat down and fingered a delicate blue blossom. Her thoughts wandered to summers spent chasing gnomes and watching Quidditch games at the Burrow. The little blue flower was the color of the clear sky that greeted them most mornings. Sighing, she remembered those carefree days spent with Harry, Ron, and Ginny; their laughter permeating the warm air. She missed Harry's bright green eyes and reckless courage. She missed Ginny rambling on about the latest fashions. She even missed Ron's ignorance and hilarity. Her parents' brown eyes and warm, caring smiles flooded her vision, and tears sprang to her eyes.

"Granger…Granger… Hermione!"

A completely different set of eyes met her startled pair. The storm that usually raged in his grey eyes had calmed. Surprisingly, those silver eyes seemed friendly and inviting. His eyes entranced her even as a smirk formed upon his lips.

"Thinking of me?" he asked cockily.

"Never," she replied, matching his tone perfectly. Her face softened. "I was just reminiscing."

"Me too," he said, smiling lightly. "This used to be my grandmother's garden. She would work out here every day. She was the one who taught me how to plant seeds, pull weeds, and help the plants flourish. She died almost a year ago."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. This is my memorial, my way of remembering her. Sometimes I feel… her spirit with me when I'm here."

Unsure of how to respond, she hesitantly reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. He sighed and allowed his head to drop slightly. A comfortable silence and understanding passed between them.

Slowly, he stood and offered her his hand. "Shall we go?" he inquired. She could only nod. He pulled her up carefully, and they resumed their tour of the grounds. The whole time, Draco was a step behind her, ready her catch her should she stumble from exhaustion or loss of balance.


	12. The Break Up

"Draco! What are you doing out here? And with _that_?" Scorn and hatred colored the voice that stopped the pair dead in their tracks. Hermione and Draco had been returning to Draco's room from the tour of the grounds. As they opened the door to the sunroom, Master Malfoy confronted them.

The blonde and the brunette hurriedly parted, Hermione using the doorframe to prevent her from crumpling to the ground. "Nothing, Father," Draco replied quickly.

"Oh, really?" The aging man reached out and grabbed Hermione's ponytail, yanking it to force her to stand by his side.

Inwardly, Draco flinched in sympathy. "Yes," he countered, trying to sound confident. "I was merely taking _my_ patient out for some fresh air. I do believe that she was put in my care under your orders. Am I correct?"

A sneered crossed the older Malfoy's aristocratic countenance. "You are correct, but I do not appreciate your insubordination. You must learn to respect your elders, boy."

Under his breath, Draco spat, "When you die!"

"What did you say, boy? What did you say?" Draco remained mute though his father had released Hermione to step forward threateningly. "You insolent boy!" He raised his hand and it flew across his son's cheek.

White-blonde hair slashed through the air as the master of the Malfoy estate stormed toward the door. He turned at the threshold and spoke with anger, "I will see to it that you never associate with that filth again!" With those final words, he departed the room.

She turned toward the young man, worry evident in her eyes at the sight of the deepening red mark. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"I'm fine." His voice spilled over with anguish.

She reached out with a hesitant hand. "You can't help!" he roared as he pushed her hand away.

She stepped back, her eyes filled with questions and concern. "What?" Her voice quivered as she spoke.

"You can't help! I can't help you either!"

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Let me. He doesn't have to know. We still have a few hours." Gathering her courage, she moved forward and placed her hands around his upper arm. She felted his hand clench, moving the muscles beneath her fingers.

"No." He stared down, sadly, at her upturned face. His eyes met hers as they tried to convey his swirling feelings. "He'll know. It will be worse for us both. I have to leave now. He'll probably have me sent on some mission or something."

Her honey-colored eyes pleaded against his cold, pained, stormy pair. A small part of him gave in. "I promise I'll see you occasionally. I'll let you know before I go. Okay?"

She knew that he would not give more. "Promise?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Before she could speak another word, he broke her hold and walked out, relieved that she couldn't see the tears that were threatening to form in his eyes. He truly had become fond of her.

* * *

Watching his retreating back, tears fell from her eyes. She did not know why she felt so strongly about his leaving – they were not even friends. She wiped furiously at the tears, remembering how cruel he had been to her. "Why should I care?" she thought to herself.

Weary, she sank down unto a Wicker sofa. Regretfully, she realized that she was in no state to journey all the way to her room alone. "Tituba," she whispered.

With a crack, the house-elf appeared before her. "What can Tituba do for Missus?" she squeaked.

"Umm…" Hermione had not thought of what she would ask for. "Can you ask your mistress to… to visit me here?"

"Yes, Missus. Right away, Missus."

"Thank you, Tituba," she sighed as the house-elf disappeared.

A few minutes passed before she heard a knock at the door. "Come in," she called.

The beautiful blonde woman rested her eyes on the red-eyed young woman, and she quickly walked over to her. She took Hermione in her arms gently.

As Narcissa held her, Hermione let go and allowed the tears to fall freely again. It had been so long since someone had held her that way.

"Dear, dear," Narcissa murmured into the brown waves. "What's the matter, dear?"

Hermione wiped her eyes, and studied the woman beside her for a moment. She thought about revealing the full story, but decided against it. "I just need to get to my bedroom, but I don't think I can make it."

Being a mother, Narcissa knew that this was not the real problem, but she also knew not to inquire about it. "Of course, dear. I'll help you."

* * *

"What did you do to her?" Narcissa seethed at her only son.

"I did nothing, Mother. It was Father. He banned me from 'associating' with her." Draco pleaded. He did not want his mother's wrath on him, too.

Narcissa huffed angrily. "I will try to talk some sense into him, but I doubt I will be able to change his mind." She placed her eloquent hand gently against his bruised cheek. "You must tread carefully with him. You are my son, and I do not want you angering him. You know how he gets."

"Yes, Mother." He hung his blonde head. "I'll try, but he makes me _so_ mad."

"I know. You are like to him in that. Just don't allow your anger to rule you like it does him."


	13. Here Without You

She sank down against the wall of her room, her fingers weaving into her hair with frustration. It was the third day since Draco had been banned from seeing her. She hadn't realized how much she had come to rely on him until he wasn't there. No one was there to wake her up with a mouth-watering breakfast. No one was there to ease her lingering pains. No one was there to fend off the depression that was beginning to creep into her mind. She was alone. Narcissa Malfoy occasionally stopped in, but Hermione just put on a fake smile that she knew Draco would have seen straight through, and Narcissa moved on to fulfill her duties as mistress of the house.

Crystal tears slid down her cheeks as frustration, anger – at Lucius Malfoy and herself, and loneliness built in her delicate frame. "Suck it up, girl," she thought to herself. "He was a jerk to you. Why are you crying over him? You're stronger than this." That was the problem: he _was_ a jerk. "Was" - as in past tense. He had changed. He no longer threw insults at her for her blood status. He had helped her, cared for her, even become her friend, if she would allow herself to admit it. "Stupid Malfoy. Why'd he have to go and change? He made everything worse," she cried pitifully to the unresponsive room.

Curled into the fetal position, she sat in the corner for what seemed like hours, and perhaps was, before rising awkwardly. She was still wearing the nightgown that she had worn to bed the night before, and it was well into the afternoon. Turning to the antique mirror across the room, she made a disgusted face at her reflection. Her hair was as tangled as it was when she first arrived at the Manor, dirty and disheveled. The light-weight nightgown was wrinkled and slightly grubby from leaning against the wall for so long. Her arms and legs were nearly skin-and-bones and still covered with bruises left from her various injuries at the hand of Lord Voldemort. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and beneath that, dark circles ringed them.

Sparing one last glance at her reflection, she headed to the bathroom for a nice, warm, relaxing bath. She sighed as she slipped into the cleansing water. How good it felt! Her eyes closed as the warmth and comfort calmed her.

* * *

His head fell into his hands as the rough stone wall grated into his back. He knew this would happen. He knew as soon as his father banned him. He was being sent on a mission for the Dark Lord, a dangerous mission. He knew the odds. He knew that it was unlikely that he would return unharmed, if he returned at all.

Bitter tears fell from his eyes as a scream fought to escape. Anguish rushed through his frame, and despair flooded his heart. He had to go. He had no choice, but his heart struggled against the thought of leaving Hermione. Even if he couldn't talk to her, as long as he was in the Manor, he would know what befell her. While he was gone, he wouldn't know what happened. And if he died, he couldn't be there to protect her if she ever needed him to.

He hated this. He hated his father. It was all his father's fault: he knew it. His father wanted him gone, forgotten, even, perhaps, dead. The rage inside him grew rapidly. What he would pay to see his father's body lying cold and lifeless on the ground! He pounded his fists hard against the marble floors. "I hate you!" he screamed to unhearing ceiling.

* * *

The moon shone high above a dark-cloaked figure, omniscient in its black throne of night. The stars winked down at him, futilely promising not to tell their master of his escapade. The wise clock struck eleven thirty, warning him. He hurried along the corridor, knowing that his time was short.

The door to her room crept open silently under his well-practiced touch. He stood in the doorway, admiring her sleeping form, for a minute or two, before sliding closer. His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from its position over her closed eyelid. He wished that he had all night to watch her sleep, but the clock ticked its reminders constantly. Regretting the fright he was about to give her, he placed his pale hand lightly over her mouth.

"Hermione," he murmured.

"Wha-" His ghostly hand, smothered her waking protests.

He lifted one slender finger to his lips, signaling her to stay quiet. Slowly, he removed the hand that had captured her chapped lips. "I promised that I'd let you know when I left. Here I am. The Dark Lord has sent me on a mission. We leave at midnight," he whispered.

"Do you have to go?" she replied at the same volume.

"Yes." He grimaced. "If I don't… well, I don't even want to think about what would happen."

She carefully raised herself up so that she could look into his eyes. Their grey shone as bright as the moon outside her window, but clouds of pain were quickly forming in them.

Impulsively, he pulled her closer to him. Both knew that this could be the last time that they would see each other, ever. A tear dropped onto his shoulder. "Shh… don't cry. I'll be back soon." They recognized it as a lie, but she held the tears in as he smoothed her hair, and rested his head on hers.

"Be careful," she said softly, her voice breaking slightly.

"I'll try," he promised back. The clock struck quarter to midnight. "I have to go." Regret and sadness colored his voice in shades of grey, as he looked out the window toward the source of the sound.

Gently, they drew apart, blonde and brunette hair swirling back to their owners. He stopped in the doorway, silhouetted by the moon's light. "Goodbye, Hermione." His voice barely reached her ears.

Rashly, she rushed over to him. Looking into his eyes, she lifted herself onto the tips of her toes, and softly connected their lips in a moment of emotion. A blush spread across both of their cheeks. "Goodbye," she whispered.

And he ran. He ran to fulfill his duty. Duty. That was all it was. He no longer held loyalty to the cause for which he fought. His only loyalty lay with his mother and the young woman crying in the moonlight as she watched him run.


	14. The Mission

**A/N: What's this? A brand new chapter? Whoo! Enjoy!**

Chapter 14 (The Mission)

Draco peered through tree branches, studying the target of the mission: a quaint-looking cottage in the remote mountains of Scotland. The rough-hewn stone building puffed a steady stream of wood smoke, giving away the presence of its residents even in the dark of night. He fleetingly wished to turn, leave the little cottage to its happy life, and return to his home; however, he knew his duty, and he would fulfill it. From a few trees to his left, Draco could feel his father's hard gaze on him, appraising for any signs that the young man might abandon his role. His mantra, "For Mum and Hermione," beat a steadying rhythm in his mind. He would play his role, fulfill his duty, but only so he could return to them.

He hissed silently as the Dark Mark he had received following the battle at Hogwarts seared, the signal to attack. As one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, surrounding the unsuspecting cottage from the edge of the forest, and began chanting. Inky grey smoke seeped from their wands and glided forward, leeching onto the magical protections that had been raised around the area. Like an infection, the smoke eroded holes in the barrier until nothing was left, and the whole phenomenon faded into dust.

As the youngest and, quite frankly, fittest of the group, the young blonde had been chosen to seek out the mission's prize: the Resurrection Stone. The plan was for the others to draw the Order members out into combat so that he could slip inside and search the cottage.

The second signal blazed at his inner forearm, and he silently slid into formation, tight on his father's robetails. On cue, the hooded figures began firing spells, blasting holes in the sides of the house and sending sparks shooting through the windows. Figures in various states of undress poured from the cottage, their wands swiftly forming counter-spells and their own attacks. Adrenaline rushed through his body making his heart beat loudly in his ears and his fingers itch at his wand. Flashes and crashes assaulted his senses as the battle raged, and he moved closer to the door. Finally, he saw his opportunity and, with a rush of speed, was inside the Order's safe house. With a wave of his wand, he closed and locked the door, barring the fighting members from re-entering and thus interrupting his mission. The interior was dark and damp as no one had bothered to light a lamp in their rush to defend the building. Muttering "lumos," the young man peered around, searching for likely hiding places. A few pictures of smiling Order members decorated the walls of the main room which appeared to be used as the kitchen and dining room, evidenced by the pots and dishes left from the night's dinner. He could barely hear the sounds of the battle outside, but he knew that he was only guaranteed a few minutes. Roughly, he yanked opened the cupboards lining the outer walls and quickly rummaged through them. Finding nothing, he moved onto the adjacent living room, but that was sparse and included no cabinets or other likely hiding places. He jogged up the stairs and discovered several small bedrooms. Hurriedly, he tore the rooms apart, searching beneath mattresses, in drawers, and under beds, but to no avail. Frustrated he returned to the first floor.

By chance, his foot caught on the edge of the bottom step, sending him plummeting towards the wooden floorboards. His knees and ego bruised, the blonde made to stand up; however, something stirred in his brain, and instead, he turned to face the devilish stair. "Abscondito revelio," he whispered. Nothing happened. "Ars revelio," he tried again. This time a shimmering, pale blue, swirled design flickered across the step. "Found you," he thought triumphantly. Hoping to avoid negative side-effects of tampering with the stair, he cast one last spell, "Finite incantatem." Then he fitted his fingers beneath the ledge of the top of the stair and pulled. Once again, nothing seemed to happen. He repositioned himself and strained against the wood with all his strength, but it refused to budge. His nimble fingers felt for a nail or the slight sticky residue of a Permanent Sticking Charm but found nothing. Dejected, he folded himself back onto the ground. The Resurrection Stone was a piece of the Deathly Hallows from the children's stories - stories he had never believed to be true until the Dark Lord began seeking the precious Hallows a few months ago. Supposedly, it had the power to return the dead to the land of the living. Together with the Cloak of Invisibility and the Elder Wand, the Stone could make one Master of Death. "The three Hallows," he mused. Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. Reaching under the ledge of the step, he traced the sign of the Hallows - a circle within a triangle, both bisected by a straight line - with one pale finger. The wood shifted under his touch, and he lifted the top of the stair with ease this time. At first, he saw nothing in the make-shift treasure chest, but then he noticed that his eyes jumped over a section just left of the center. A disillusionment charm, he figured. Reaching in, his hand brushed against a small object. He removed it, still invisible to his eyes but feeling to be a pouch, and placed it in the pocket of his robes. His mission was complete. Re-covering the stair, he made to leave the cottage.

The moment he opened the door, Draco found himself face-to-face with two spitting mad Order members. Beyond their figures, he could see that the battle had slowed, only a handful of duels continued to light the night with the sparks from their spells and bodies lay crumpled across the ground.

One of the Order members, looking slightly ridiculous in his plaid pajama pants and Wigtown Wanderers t-shirt, taunted, "What do we have here? A spy, perhaps? Or a thief?" Draco gulped involuntarily at the second accusation. "Stupefy!"

Draco almost laughed, as he easily deflected the curse, but was cut short by an onslaught of more complicated curses from the witch on his other side. He hissed as he failed to deflect one spell which cut a deep gash in his left shoulder, forcing him to switch his wand into his right hand. Now at a disadvantage, he knew that he needed to end the duel quickly. He shot a Confundus Charm at the wizard in the funny pajamas, sending him toddling off to de-gnome the garden or something of the sort. In doing so though, his guard had slipped again, and he crumpled to the ground as a spell left three vertical gauges down each of his legs.

The witch loomed over him, and a memory clicked into place: fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament, and Mad-Eye Moody saying to Potter, "She's as much a fairy princess as I am." The gifted witch was Fleur Delacour. She clicked her tongue in disgust as he attempted to rise from the ground before turning her back on him. "Wrong move," he thought grimly. With a silent wave of his wand, the part-Veela was paralyzed.

Magicking bandages around his wounds, he stood with only a slight wobble. He turned to leave but then his mantra returned to his thoughts. Hermione. He knew she would want her friends to know that she was safe, so he gingerly walked over to the frozen witch and whispered in her ear, "Tell Potter and Weasley that she's okay."

Then Draco sprinted, as best as he could, across the clearing towards the rendezvous point, a particularly large and gnarled ancient oak tree, shooting hexes and protections spells along his way. Several others had already gathered by the time he reached the protection of the tree's wide trunk, and the few remaining fighters hurried towards them. He caught sight of his father's white-blonde hair and distinctive cane among the retreating crowd. The elder Malfoy was being pursued by three Order members but seemed to deflect their curses with ease. From his vantage point, Draco clearly saw a streak of white light slip past Lucius's defenses, on course to hit his back, right above his heart. Draco saw this and did nothing. He knew that he could have cast his own protection spell to shield his father but he chose not to. Instead, he watched his father fall to the ground, blood pouring from various deep wounds. He watched his father's face loose all color and his body seize up. He watched his father die. And he did nothing.

**A/N: Well, that was nice and long and drama-filled, wasn't it? I'm excited to be back writing so let me know what you think!**


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Harry Potter, Drama, Romance