Draco observed his newfound company over the passing days. Hermione didn't speak much, and when she did, it was in a soft, passive voice. It would have been pleasant, had it not sounded so defeated. On the seventh day of her stay, she did not come out of her room.
It was evening when Draco finally knocked on the door of the small silver bedroom. When there was no answer, he pushed it open. Hermione sat in the windowsill with her head pressed against the glass.
"Something interesting out there?" He asked.
"Grey clouds," she said, "same as always."
It was true, with the overpopulation of dementors as of late, the sun was always masked by a sickly smog.
"Well if that's all then-"
"A few owls have passed. I miss getting letters, interacting with people." She said to the window more than him.
He was almost offended. Was he not people?
"I don't miss it much," Draco said. When she added nothing, he continued. "I suppose we could talk, if you wish, until I find a better way to spend the evening."
"No, thank you." She said flatly.
Now he really was offended.
"Am I that despicable?" He laughed, trying to sound nonchalant. She still did not answer. "It's rather rude to blatantly ignore someone when they're speaking to you."
"I miss my friends," she said to the window. "I don't know where they are, if they're okay. I don't know if I'll ever see them again. I miss my parents, too, of course," her voice was straining now, "but Harry and Ron are just as much my family. I'd give anything to talk to them right now. But I don't expect you to understand," she turned to face him now, 9"you never had any real friends."
Draco's eye twitched. It was as though she had hit him again, but without lifting a finger.
"That's because I never needed any." He said.
Something about the smile she gave him made Draco feel vulerable, exposed. Not the same as when the Dark Lord used to invade his mind, but like he felt as a child when he would lie to his mother, and she didn't have to say she knew the truth, but she always did.
"Forget it, Granger. You're not worth the time it would take to explain why you're better off without your so called friends."
Hermione didn't say anything, but just like his mother, she didn't have to.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have more important things that require my attention."
Draco bolted down the corridor. With each step, his agitation grew. It felt as though steam was erupting from his ears. What the hell was her problem? What piss poor manners she had, speaking to her host that way. He opened his home to her, and she didn't have the decency to even feign gratitude? So what if she misses someone? Would she really prefer to be living in sqaulor with Potter and Weasley, travelling by night and eating whatever crumbs they managed to gather?
Yes, she would. The realization made Draco's feet stop before the rest of him, nearly costing him his balance. She had all but spelled it out. To her, that existance the better option, she would rather struggle to live as long as it was alongside her friends. That was something Draco felt certain he would never understand. Anyone else would have been grateful for this, they would choose this, but not Hermione Granger.
Still fuminy, Draco found himself in the ballroom that had at one time it had held grand parties for a certain class of guests. His parents had enjoyed extravagance at one time. He could almost see visions of men and women in their best clothes, laughing and toasting. He could nearly hear the music of the string quartet. It was haunting. Things would never be that way again. Did he care? Not really, maybe. Why should he?
To hell with dinner. Draco needed a break. A flick of his wand illuminated the dozen chandleiers overhead, and wound the victrola. He conjured a bottle of aged, elf-made meade, and within an hour the first bottle had been almost drained and another summoned for good measure.
He strolled about the room pointing his wand when the mood struck him and sending various antiques or chairs across the room. His aggression would build and deplete. For the first time in a long time, he couldn't make sense of how he was feeling. Perhaps because he could not recall the last time he felt something. Lost in his own thoughts, Draco didn't notice someone appear in the doorway. Not until she was right behind him and called out his name did he come back to reality.
He lowered the bottle from his lips in surpise, having momentarily forgotten he was for once not alone.
"You never came to dinner," she said. "I heard music, so I followed. I hadn't heard music in so long."
Her eyes explored the room, Draco watched her curiously. It was like reading a book that was a bit too advanced. He couldn't figure her out. She was probably disappointed finding only him yet again.
"Care for a drink?" He asked.
She looked down at the bottle and bit her lower lip, debating.
"I would, thanks."
She took the bottle from his hand and tipped it back without waiting for a glass. Equal parts shocked and amused, Draco smirked. How lady like. She returned the bottle to him, considerably lighter. Hermione moved towards the center of the floor. Maybe he imagined it, but he thought she was swaying to the music.
"Do you dance?" He asked, hating himself immediately. That was far too close to asking her if she would like to dance.
"No, not really. Not anymore. I mean I'm no good."
"Bloody hell! You, not good at something? I'm surprised your head didn't explode at the words alone."
Pink crept up her cheeks, and she smiled. The only smiles Draco had seen of late were greedy sneers of Death Eaters, or insincere grimaces from people who simply feared being cursed if they appeared disrespectful. Then there was the sorrowful smile of his mother, which bothered him most of all. This one, however, this smile was real. It brightened the room somehow.
"I seem to remember a time when you were fairly confident in your dancing. Who was it you attended the Yule ball with? Wasn't it some bloke who fancied himself a Quidditch player?"
Her cheeks were blazing now, but she continued to smile. "Don't pretend as if you don't remember Viktor Krum. All of Durmstrang sat right at the Slytherin table during meals."
"Krum was overrated."
"Ha! I suppose you think of yourself as the superior seeker? Why didn't you go on to be a professional Quidditch player then?
"My future was set. I didn't need to play for money. Anyway, my skills have nothing to do with that glorified, Bulgarian oaf."
"Viktor wasn't an oaf! He was humble, and a fine dancer, too."
"Didn't mean to touch a nerve, Granger. Forgot you two were an item. I saw Viktor dance at the ball however, and his dancing skills made his coordination on the Quidditch pitch look refined."
"Ah, of course you imagine yourself to be the better seeker and the better dancer."
"Do you doubt it?"
"I do, actually."
"Well allow me to prove myself." Draco extended his hand, holding his breath. She eyed him, clearly under the impression he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. Hesitantly, she reached for his hand.
Before their fingers touched, a distant crash caused them both to jump.
"Stay here," Draco said, "do not stray from this room."
He followed the sound which brought him to the living quarters. Cowering over a pile of broken china was Draco's house elf. It's fingers were shaking and bleeding as it collected to shards from the floor.
"Chauncey, what are you doing? It's to early to serve my nightly tea, and use the broom for Merlin's sake," Draco said.
"I told him to use his filthly little fingers. It will teach the mongruel not to put sugar in my tea."
Draco froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood up at the sound of her voice.
He turned. Sitting in the chair that his mother usually occupied was someone who only faintly resembled her. It was like a potrait of his mother painted in crude, darker shades. His Aunt Bellatrix attempted something of a smile, showing her decaying teeth. One may blame Azkaban for the corrosion of her beauty, but in Draco's opinion, her wickedness had finally just rotted her from the inside out. At least now her appearance better suited her personality.
"Darling Draco, I see you're still here. It's been so long I was curious what had become of you."
Her dark eyes pierced him. He knew it was crucial to select his words carefully.
"I have remained here to ensure my ancestral home is not overrun like some abandoned shack in my fathers absence. I have my own business to tend to here."
"Draco, no need to lie to Auntie Bella. True, the Dark Lord is displeased with your father, but do not hide from your master, as if you could. You must stand up and fight like the others. Be a man."
She stood up, and he shifted a little. Even when he was a child, Bellatrix had made him uncomfortable.
"Are you alone?"
"I.." He began, weighing his options, none of which were very good. "I have a muggleborn held captive. Caught by some of our lot and brought here. Thought she'd be useful."
"I see. Well, let's have a looksy! Show it to me." She demanded.
"I will not be ordered.." he began, but Bellatrix did not wait for him.
"No matter, I will find her myself. Perhaps I can sniff it out by the stench of dirty blood."
She laughed at her own joke and swept across the room. Draco followed nervously, wondering how best to handle the situation. Bellatrix began blasting doors open with her wand, calling loudly "come out, come out!"
"Allow me," Draco said, "before you destroy my home. The prisoner is in here."
He hurried past her, needing at least a few seconds lead. He reached the ballroom but before he opened the door, he concentrated on a non verbal spell, hoped for the best, then entered with Bellatrix at his heels.
No longer wearing the nice clothing provided by the enchamted wardrobe, Gramger stood in dirty rags and bare feet looking petrifired.
"What's it doing in here, keeping house? That's what elves are for. Prisoners are for torturing."
"Don't concern yourself, Bellatrix. I'll do with her as I wish." Draco said.
"I'm only making conversation, dear nephew. Curious as to why it isn't in the dungeon where prisoners belongs. Honestly, letting that mudblood presence taint these lovely, purebloods dwellings. Shall I escort it there myself?"
Bellatrix clawed at Hermione, who reacted quickly by swatting at Bellatrix's hand.
"Don't touch me!" Hermione shouted.
She had no wand, no defense, but Draco would put them both in immense danger if he intervened.
"Manners, mudblood!" Bellatrix shrieked, waving her wand and knocking Hermoine to the floor.
"Bellatrix, leave her to me, I insist. She is my prisoner and will be taught by my hand. I do not need your help."
Draco spoke cooly but his temper was rising. He walked to Hermoine and jerked her up rather forcefully, and steered her in the direction of the door.
"I do believe you are going soft, nephew. What would the Dark Lord think of.."
Bellatrix never finished her sentence because Draco aimed his wand directly at her chest.
"Test me then, my dear aunt, see if my blood is cold enough to curse my own family without remorse. Go on!"
Bellatrix looked surprised.
"You are making a mistake, Draco. I am not the enemy. Come away with me. I am returning to the Dark Lord tonight, come and renew your loyalty. Perhaps we toss the mudblood in the sea on the flight there."
"I will dispose of my prisoner on my own accord. Goodbye."
He gave her his best sneer, and she returned it.
"Auntie Bella is never far away, Draco, remember that. Enjoy playing with your toy. Savor the screams."
She walked forward, kissed Draco's cheek, and pinched Hermoine's so hard a purple bruise begin to form immediately. Bellatrix pulled up the hood of her cloak and left the ballroom. A moment later, a loud pop told Draco she disapparated. He exhaled.
"Charming, isn't she?" Draco asked.
Hermoine was rubbing her cheek and did not answer.
"What happened to your wand, anyway?" He asked.
"I dropped it when those two goons grabbed me and brought me here. I don't think they saw, neither made to reach for it. Probably still there in such a remote area. Draco," she looked up at him. "Why are you protecting me from these people?"
"Pro- protecting?" He laughed. "You don't get it. You do not belong to them, they have no say."
"I don't belong to you," she said.
"Oh?" He leaned in so close he was breathing in her ear "I think otherwise."
She recoiled, he didn't blame her.
"That's enough for tonight. Go to bed."
She hurried from the room without being told twice. Draco flicked his wand, the chandeliers went dark and the life was extinguished from the room once more.
That night he tried to rest, but dreamt of Bellatrix, taunting him, and a dementor gliding through his open window, and a girl, leaping off a high cliff, falling, almost reaching the crashing waves below.
Authors note: In case you forgot, these characters do not belong to me but are the property of Ms. Rowling. If you are reading this, I hope you have enjoyed the story so far. Please give me your thoughts, good or bad. Updating soon. Until next time, XOXO
