Author's Note: Hello, Lovelies! Ok, in my vain attempt to suck up, I will tell you that this chapter is quite a bit longer than usual and that I appreciate kvance and Sky for their reviews! I would love, love, love some more feedback (even though I admitedly don't deserve it since it took me forever to update!). I have started back at college, so...I have no life anymore. I hope you all forgive me *insert pathetic, pleading university student picture here* and enjoy the chapter! Now, read!
In the Lion's Den
Hermione's head was swimming when they arrived and the pavement was tipping around dangerously. A sturdy arm steadied her by the small of her back. "Are you alright?" His left hand gripped tightly around her bicep as she swayed precariously. For a fraction of a moment, she thought there might have been honest concern in his steely eyes. She had grown so unaccustomed to apparation, or really anything that had once belonged to her old life.
"Yes, Master." She squeaked trying to keep her tone even. Her stomach was doing backflips inside of her making her glad she hadn't eaten breakfast. Hermione's palms were sweating. She was afraid, that she knew, but the worst part was she didn't know exactly what she was afraid of. Draco Malofy's behavior was disconcerting to say the least, but she had to assume that his reasons for behaving this way had to be even more so, and that terrified her.
"Well then, shall we get a bite to eat first or shop around?" His hands lingered as he leaned in almost comfortably. Now he was just being cruel. Didn't he know that she was never to give her opinion to her Master? Wasn't that a common rule with every household? Hermione was torn; terrified to do the wrong thing. She had seen what happened to those who displeased their owners. She was too distracted to notice his pale lips brush by her ear "Play along, Granger." His breath tickled the baby hairs on her neck, and he covered the whisper with a chaste kiss on her cheek. Hermione nearly fainted at the impropriety. He let out a good-natured chuckle; he was so close that she could feel the rumble rise from his diaphragm.
"Who is this lovely lady swooning at Draco Malfoy?" A third unfamiliar voice asked. She watched as Mr. Malfoy turned and clasped forearms with the man.
"This is Ms. Amelia Van Rogan, Blaise." He said and discretely motioned for her to put out her hand. She did so and blushed when Blaise pressed his lips against it. He smirked becoming even more devilishly handsome.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr…"
"Zabini," he supplied "but please call me Blaise." His bleached teeth glinted against his swarthy complexion.
"Of course." Hermione was vastly uncomfortable but smiled regardless. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and a cold bead of sweat trailed down the nape of her neck.
"Well, Amelia and I were deciding on whether to have brunch or shop first, but I'm afraid that if she is not disinclined, I'm going to have to go for the brunch." Draco's cool thumb swept her anxious perspiration away while his remaining digits rested on her collarbone. This was much to intimate. Her mouth was suddenly dry and her mind completely void of response. "Amelia?" He applied pressure to the back of her neck, jolting her reply.
"No, I'm not disinclined at all." Draco nodded and extended his arm to her.
"Well in that case, you must join the Mrs. And I. We were just discussing something to eat," His thick dark brow cocked poignantly. "I see you about to protest, Draco and I'll have you know that I won't take no for an answer." Mr. Malfoy snapped his mouth shut and gave a forced agreement. "Is this well for you, Ms. Van Rogan?" Blaises' ebony eyes fixed on her; his genuineness took her and for a moment she felt slightly…normal? Accepted? Whatever it was, it was dangerous: a trick of isolation.
"Lovely." Hermione smiled once more, becoming progressively anxious. Her Master had obviously not intended this to happen and that frightened her.
"Daphene is in this shop here, she'll be out…" Before he finished his sentence a delicate witch gracefully exited the boutique. She was astonishingly gorgeous, practically floating as she walked toward her husband. "We were just discussing you, dear."
"Ah, good things I hope." She responded in a kind yet markedly rehearsed way. Her lilac robes still oscillated slightly around her legs. She was the type of woman who made an impression; the type of woman who others consulted in matters of femininity while silently coveting, and the type of woman who never perspired; Hermione thought dryly.
"Nothing but, Daphene," Draco captured her hand and just barely touched it to his lips.
"I have invited Draco and Ms. Van Rogan to eat with us."
"Oh wonderful! I've been keen to try the new café down the street, if no one is disinclined." She handed her purchase to her husband absently while surveying who she thought to be Amelia Van Rogan. Hermione wondered what Daphene might have seen. She had a hard time remembering what she looked like at the moment herself. What color were her eyes again?
It was a short walk to the café they later found out to be named Cappris. It was a dainty place to have lunch, clean and intimate with the freshness of cut flowers and buttercream tablecloths. This was the sort of place she and Ron would have gone if they'd had an alternative to Madam Rosemerta's; Hermione mused, allowing herself the small luxury of a dream. Sometimes it helped to have a "could have been" and sometimes it pierced her most sensitive heart. In this moment, however, it provided a comfort. She was after all, a lamb in the lion's den.
There was a light pressure on the small of her back easing her into the chair pulled out for her. She watched as Master Malfoy sat to her left. He was graceful and elegant, but there was an undercurrent of daring strength not to be trifled with. He was a viper, but a composed one in the company of his colleagues.
"So Ms. Van Rogan, tell us about yourself." Blaise took a polite sip of his water more for the occupation of his hands than for his thirst.
"Oh, well there's nothing much to tell compared to this group." Hermione was experiencing an inner panic attack. What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to say?
"Come now, none of that Ms. Van Rogan." Daphene protested with false modesty. She did look rather flattered, if not smug as she petted the ends of her ink-dark hair.
"Please, do call me Amelia." She said after a small sip of water. It did nothing to help her parched mouth and constricted throat. "I came to visit Draco from Maine. I do enjoy it here; especially the gardens at his Manor. They are splendid." Hermione was praying she wasn't as transparent as she felt. Actually, she felt like she had a bloody siren strapped to her forehead. Draco on the other hand was quite impressed.
"Maine? How interesting. How did you come to know the charming Mr. Malfoy and his gardens?" Daphene asked, one perfectly shaped eyebrow rose toward her hairline as if hinting at something suggestive. She was truly a nosy woman. Draco raised his eyebrow in amusement and Blaise raised his just because they were. Apparently it was something required of the social people.
"Our father's used to do business. You may have heard of him, Roderick Van Rogan."
"Oh yes, I did know of him. He passed away this last year; my deepest condolences, Amelia." Blaise said as his wife mirrored his look of unemotional sympathy.
"Thank you. He used to bring me with him when he would travel here. Draco has been a friend of mine since childhood." She finished hoping beyond hope that everything was believable and vague enough. She did recognize Blaise from school, but didn't know if his and Draco's friendship had begun earlier than Hogwarts. "And how about you, Blaise, how did you come to know our famous Draco?"
"Really, Amelia your praise is too kind." Mr. Malfoy added in amiably. His comment was awarded shining smiles all around the table.
"Draco and I have known each other practically from birth, but we didn't become good mates until we were in our school, Hogwarts. Have you heard of it?"
"Oh yes, he did tell me the most fantastic stories of it. Were you both in…oh bother, what is the name?" Hermione pretended to be stumped so the conversation might take a break from her for a bit.
"Slytherin" Draco helped.
"Oh yes, that's the one! Were you both in Slytherin?" She rephrased looking earnestly intrigued even though she knew the answer. Draco was sitting dumbfounded by her acting talent. Was this really the saintly girl he knew and despised in school; lying boldfaced over lunch?
"Yes, we were both in the best house in Hogwarts." Blaise answered with an attractive smirk. She was reminded of his deeply egotistical self back in fifth year, though to be fair, he didn't have much to be humble about. Rich, handsome, genial, though she couldn't say anything about his general intelligence. Hermione couldn't remember him much beyond his good looks. "Daphene was as well." He added at his wife's barbed glance.
"Oh! Well it appears I missed out, being tutored at home." Hermione said feigning a small frown of disappointment. Truthfully, she would much rather be tutored at home than in Slytherin any day.
"Certainly not, we were forced to go to classes, some of which were incredibly superfluous; where as you, no doubt, learned only the most specific and useful of things. I envy much of your education. I recall we even had a class called Defense against the Dark Arts." Cut in Draco. He seemed to be waiting to gage her reaction, and the Zabini's were being well-mannered and making eye contact with her as well.
"Well that's the oddest thing to study. You are right; I was not forced to sit through such subjects. My father pre-approved everything I was taught and he surely would have done away with that." Hermione answered. They were moving on to more uncomfortable grounds and she was losing her handle on the conversation.
"Oh, we all tried, but the school at that point was filled with mudbloods, halfbloods, and blood traitors; all raving lunatics." Blaise said with distaste and sipping his water as if he'd swallowed something foul. At this point something in her chest was becoming icy while something in her stomach was blazing. It'd been a long while since she'd felt her true anger starting to bubble up again, but as much as she would have loved telling this man what's what, the food arrived. She couldn't afford to lose her temper anyway.
The rest of brunch was filled with inane chit-chat and went relatively smoothly except for at one point where she'd almost given herself away. She had asked for the story between Blaise and Daphene, were they school-time sweethearts? Did they meet after graduation? A strange silence enveloped them in which Draco had to excuse her by saying that they did things differently over in the states and then explaining to her that their marriage was "pre-arranged to be of the best sort." She naturally knew that it meant that they did not love each other and were forced together; something Hermione greatly disapproved of. She almost felt pity for the couple before her and was grateful she wasn't put through that. She would rather not be married at all, than to be married to someone she didn't love. Daphene tactfully diffused the awkwardness by inquiring about Hermione's agenda for her visit and then all but demanded that she go to Honeydukes if she was craving any sweet treats.
The meal ended on a happy note, though it was none too soon for Hermione and Draco. They said their goodbyes and Daphene claimed that she wished to have Amelia over to tea, which Amelia tittered at in a refined way instead of answering. Once again they were alone and pleased to be so even if it was somewhat awkward.
"Impressive." Draco gazed at her almost quizzically. "Truly." There was a brief pause while Master Malfoy seemed to ponder something. "I have one quick errand to run in Hawthorn's. There is a dress shop next door, I want you to go in and pick one out. It must be formal. I'll come in to see it shortly." Draco left her at the door to Jezzabelle's "the finest gowns in town." What in the world? She stood uncomfortably for a moment before gathering the courage to walk in alone.
The store was incredible. There was more finery than she'd seen at one time in her entire life. The closest she been to this was Madam Malkins' dress shop and even then she hadn't gone in there very often. Everything was so elegant; she couldn't help but run her fingers through the various fabrics of the dresses next to her. "Hello, may I help you, Madam?" A clerk came up beside her, head bowed.
"Yes, I need something formal." She answered sounding terribly redundant. "I am going to be with Mr. Draco Malfoy." The mousy girl helping her let out a small gasp and quickly escorted her to the back rooms of the shop. The front of the boutique looked like rags compared to these gowns. They were absolutely enchanting, each one a masterpiece covering cast-iron dress forms. Her companion kept her eyes downcast when she addressed Amelia. Underneath each dress form was a small plaque with a name engraved. Hermione looked through the first row. Eleanor, Narcissa, Pansy, Millicent…she realized that she was gaping at custom creations belonging to very prominent pureblood witches. What was she doing here?
"Is there a certain style you prefer, Madam?" All Hermione could see of the girl was her medium brown hair.
"Just something that suits me, I suppose. Could you help me find that?" The real person behind the mask of Amelia couldn't help but be sweet and kind to the young woman beside her. She must have been just old enough to have a summer job, and was already working with the types of people who snubbed her for something completely out of her hands. It saddened Hermione, it really did.
"I would be honored. May I look upon you?" The girl pushed her bangs back behind her ears. Hermione's heart tore. What a sad place she lived in with a need for such a question.
"Of course; how could I expect help from someone who can't see me?" She replied, perhaps overly emphatically for the pureblood she was supposed to portray. Her attendant turned her head upward, her face painted in mild shock. All Hermione could do without reaching to touch the girl was smile reassuringly. The girl's lips twitched as she lifted the corners in a faint smile, unsure that this was the right thing to do. Then she sized Amelia from top to bottom.
"You have a wonderful figure, Madam. If you are not disinclined, I think I know the perfect fit." What was it with everyone making sure she was not disinclined? Were purebloods often disinclined?
"Thank you that would be perfect, I'm sure."
"Yes, Madam" She was escorted to a luxurious dressing room. It was big enough to be a bedroom; there were two plush and couches, hardwood floors, a hide rug, an entire wall of floor to ceiling mirrors, and a step stool over to the side to get a front and back view. Was this life in the lap of luxury? There was a shy knock on the door.
"Come in." She invited from the cushy suede couch. The girl entered, not looking anywhere near Amelia and hung the bag on a rack. Her expert hands unzipped it with record speed and withdrew a stunning gown. Hermione put forth a great effort to keep her jaw from dropping. She'd never worn something so exquisite in all her life. After giving permission to be dressed by the salesclerk, they both worked to get her inside the dress, a great effort surprisingly. The salesclerk made a few adjustments with her wand to make it fit correctly and Hermione never felt more like a princess. She admired herself in the mirror enough to be pushing the edge of vanity, something she thought any respectable pureblood witch would do.
"Is this acceptable for you, Madam? This piece is the only gown created by Antony Diregaldi available this season. If you would prefer to have a custom gown, I would be more than happy to arrange that for you."
Barely able to take her eyes off the mirror, Hermione informed the fidgety teen that Draco Malfoy would be coming in to see her and should be showed back upon arrival. "He will have the final say." The girl nodded and left to see if the awaited visitor had arrived. Draco must have been waiting in the store for it wasn't but two minutes before he was brought into the dressing room.
"You look stunning." He said upon arrival more as a statement of fact than a compliment. Hermione was at a loss for words. In an odd way, Draco was in his element here among the glamor. His masculinity was not compromised but his sophistication was enhanced. Class was a language he spoke.
"Thank you," She responded uneasily to his praise. She was, after all, still his muggleborn servant; she just didn't look like it.
"It's lovely." He eyed her up and down once again and then addressed the attendant. "Have it wrapped." She nodded and tapped a tag inside the plastic cover with her wand. Mr. Malfoy took his leave and Amelia was helped out of the mass of champagne gossamer and back into her day dress.
She joined Draco in time to see him shrink a purchase in a Hawthorn's bag and vaguely wondered what the store sold. She was to busy wondering what in the hell she was doing here. Was he really buying that gown? What was he buying it for? Hermione made a point not to look at the numbers on the register and clumsily hooked her arm around the black-cloaked one extended to her.
Once they were back safely to the Manor, he let go of her and changed her back. It was an odd feeling. She had the sudden urge to look in a mirror. Logically she knew what she would see looking back at her, but something was different. She felt different…not bad, she decided, just different.
"Come to bed in an hour," Malfoy instructed as Hermione watched his broad back moving toward the stairwell, "and keep the dress, Granger. It becomes you."