Proximity
[IV Mrs. Malfoy]

"In the kingdom of glass everything is transparent, and there is no place to hide a dark heart." – The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

When Hermione planned and strategized, she liked to sit quietly and make lists. Usually the lists were very long and organized, with bullet points and subsections. However, when Snape planned, he liked to pace. Seeing as Severus was taller and had a more threatening glower, Hermione ended up scratching a hastily written note or two on the back of a napkin while Snape paced in his study like a caged dog. Mostly, she followed him around with her hands on his shoulders, or holding hands. He had a habit of grabbing her wrist and dragging her along, as though he had already expended his hand-holding quota for this lifetime.

"There's got to be another way," Hermione said, running a hand through her hair. "There's got to be another copy of the book. There has to be."

"Of course there is," Snape said dryly, "provided we have nineteen thousand Galleons, or perhaps a virgin to sell, we can procure any one of the three copies of this particular book currently left on the planet. Books about the Dark Arts, specifically about soul bonds, are hard to come by, Miss Granger."

"So what do we do? You said it last night, I can't just march into Malfoy Manor and demand the book. Wouldn't the Ministry have a copy of it?" she asked, following him awkwardly around the room, a disgruntled expression on her face.

He snorted. "Potentially, they would have had a copy, if they didn't do such a shoddy job of searching the Manor. Merlin knows what they left behind. I'm sure Malfoy has more than a few enchanted stockpiles of Dark magical artifacts, and we will have to search them all before we can find the book."

"What about Hogwarts? Or Dumbledore?" Hermione persisted.

"Do you think these books are just mass produced, like a Muggle bodice-ripper, Miss Granger? Books about Dark Magic have to be specifically cursed in the correct way. In some cases, the ink has to be mixed with either a potion or human blood, depending on the potency. These particular books are first edition, which means they include spells which are not in later copies. I imagine Clausus Animus is one of them. We need Lucius's copy."

"Oh, that's just lovely, then," Hermione said, irritated, "'Hello, Mr. Malfoy, do you think we could have a look around your house? You see, we're currently stuck to each other with a soul bond, and if we don't get a counter curse I might not have time to prosecute you or your friend, Macnair! So do be a poppet and point us towards your library.' That'll go over exceptionally well, Professor, what a brilliant plan. No wonder you did so well as a spy, I can't imagine yourhumongous brain thinking up anything more astounding!"

"Shut up, Miss Granger, your ability to talk for hours and not say a single thing of consequence never ceases to astonish me. I'm thinking." Snape sneered.

They continued to pace. Hermione's arms were aching, and without a word she let them fall down to his waist, jamming her hands into the front pockets of his waistcoat. He stopped. "What are you doing."

"You're dragging me about the study like a little child and my arms got tired," she snapped. "Well? Have you thought of a plan?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Why yes. Yes, I have."

"Really?" Hermione asked, picking up her head.

"Yes."

"What's the plan?"

"I'm going to ask him for the book," Severus said brusquely. "Put on a coat, Miss Granger, the weather is nippy."

"I hate this plan," Hermione hissed, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, her breath pluming in arctic clouds. "Of all the plans you've come up with, Professor, this one has to be your worst."

"Don't say another word," he growled in her ear, "not a one."

The wrought-iron gates before them creaked open slowly. High, cropped dark hedges loomed over them, and Hermione saw a white peacock strutting slowly down the gravel pathway. The manor itself seemed to be built of spiky saltboxes, the type of house a small boy would draw when thinking of a castle. Stained glass in the upper windows reflected the last few rays of the setting sun—there was nothing out here for miles. There Malfoy Manor stood; stark and black, against a backdrop of an utter wasteland. Here and there, amid Lucius's pompous peacocks, Hermione could see a touch or two of Narcissa; there was a small flower garden blooming near the house, and an artfully decorated fountain spouting water from a stone serpent's fangs.

They hurried up the walkway, boots crunching in the gravel, and Hermione felt a deep, unsettling chill. She felt distinctly unwanted, like she was breaking some kind of tradition—without thinking, she touched her wand which was tucked into her sleeve. The chill deepened.

"That'll be the blood wards," Severus said tightly. "Stay close."

"I don't have much of a choice," Hermione said under her breath, but without much heat. The last time she had been here—

("Crucio! Crucio! Talk, you little Mudblood bitch! CRUCIO!")

—It hadn't been pleasant.

The front doors opened without being touched. Hermione stared straight at the polished silver knocker, which was an elaborately carved snake, miniscule fangs jutting out. Severus stood stiffly at the door.

"Well?" Hermione asked, looking at the open doorway in front of them.

"No invitation," Severus muttered, "we'll set off alarms."

"The door opened," she pointed out.

"That does not constitute an invitation."

They waited for a moment, and Hermione heard heels clicking on polished floors. A familiar figure came around the corner and she fought to keep her expression smooth.

It was Astoria Greengrass, with her delicate, rosy features and short, closely cropped black hair. Her glassy blue eyes looked at them seriously, her posture impeccable and her clothing neat as a pin. Astoria had been two years behind Hermione in school, but the Gryffindor distinctly remembered the tiny, elfish, pale little Pureblood. She reminded Hermione strongly of a breathing, blinking china doll that could fly to pieces at any second.

"Oh," Astoria murmured, "Professor Snape. And…Miss Granger. How nice to see the two of you. Do come in."

"Are you living at the Manor, now?" Snape asked somewhat flatly.

Astoria offered a tiny, fragile smile and held up her left hand. A sparkling silver ring was on her finger. "I'm Mrs. Malfoy now, so I have as much as a right to invite you in as anyone, Professor. Come in, both of you. We were just about to have tea."

They stepped cautiously over the threshold, and once Snape's boots were firmly planted on the mat, he exhaled slowly. "Tea would be lovely, Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "And allow me to offer my congratulations on your marriage, I wish you both the greatest happiness."

"Thank you, and please, call me Astoria. I'm so sorry you couldn't be at the wedding," Astoria said, leading them through the wide, echoic hallways. "It was a private ceremony. Just close friends and family."

"Close friends," Severus repeated mechanically. "Of course."

The petite Malfoy woman led them into the parlor, which was full of emerald velvet. Deep, sweeping curtains hemmed the windows, an elaborate silver tea set spread over the table. Minute sandwiches and cookies were arranged on small plates, and a steaming teacup wafted the sweet aroma of rosehips towards them. It appeared as though Astoria was having lunch alone—there was one teacup, one napkin, and one saucer of cream set out on the table.

Astoria watched Severus and Hermione share a couch, their hands still intertwined. Her wide, clear eyes looked at their laps and then back up to their faces. "I didn't know you two were so close," she said after a moment.

"We aren't," Hermione spoke up. "That's why we're here, actually."

Severus shot her a filthy look. "Miss Granger, please mind your tongue in this house."

His voice was so cold, and the harshness cracked against her like a whip. Mind her tongue. Mudbloods didn't have a right to speak when sitting in the parlor of a Malfoy. Hermione looked at her distorted expression in the teapot and admired her calm expression. Mind her tongue. What a quaint, almost antiquated sentiment. Not just because she was a woman, but because of her blood. Mind her tongue.

"As I was saying, I wish to express my delight in regards to your partnership with Draco," Severus began. "When did all of this happen?"

"Last June," Astoria said, looking wistfully out the door. "To be frank, I haven't…I haven't seen him much." She took a quick sip of her tea, setting it perfectly down on the saucer without rattling. Hermione examined her—perfect hair, stunning makeup, beautiful clothes, and an empty room. Taking tea all by herself, without even a book or a cat for company. She might have been the mistress of the manor by marriage, but she hadn't yet earned the title.

"Where is Lucius?" Hermione asked, her voice much too loud in the emptiness of the room. Astoria flinched.

"Mister Malfoy is out at the moment," Astoria said, almost fearfully.

"Well, he shouldn't be," Hermione said pleasantly, "he's under house arrest until his arraignment."

Severus squeezed Hermione's hand so tightly she felt the bones rubbing together. The pain was brief and sent a message, which she ignored. Mind her tongue. It kept running through a circuit on her head, twisting through—

("Stay still, filthy thing, let me finish up—now, now you've got a nice pretty scar on your arm telling everyone what you are. Are you ready to tell the truth now? Mm? Have you been in my vault? Still nothing? No matter to me, little Mudblood pig, I'll carve it again on your forehead if you don't tell me the truth! CRUCIO!")

—Hermione blinked.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, he must be upstairs. This house is so…so large, it's hard to keep track of everyone." Astoria smiled tremulously. "Is there anything I might help you with, though? Something I may get you?"

"Do you often have tea by yourself, Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione asked, her throat feeling dry

Severus shot her a warning look. Hermione squeezed his hand tightly, warningly, and she could feel his glance. Her jaw clenched.

"Miss Granger," Severus began lowly.

"I'm just curious, because when we first arrived, you said we were about to have tea. So. Do you often have tea alone?" Hermione continued, overriding Severus.

There were tears in Astoria's eyes, and her lower lip was trembling rapidly. "I…I…"

"Send for Lucius," Hermione said frostily.

She looked at Astoria and their eyes locked. Hermione tilted her chin and pierced her with her gaze—she could see all of Astoria's life laid out in little staccato fragments: a marriage she didn't want with an inattentive, reclusive husband. They slept in different rooms, except for the nights when Draco was lonely and the scars on his wrists hurt too badly for him to cope with, so they would fuck, and Astoria would cry while Draco slept with his arm around her waist. Maybe in a few months a baby, a son or a daughter she would love, but Narcissa and Lucius would take it away, spoil their grandchild, fill it's innocent mind with poison, until Astoria was alone in a house full of strangers. And Astoria wasn't strong. She was weak. She would take a cowardly way out, just like her husband, because the Malfoy's might be pure but they couldn't fight.

"No," Astoria said, soft and clear. "No, I won't."

Bang!

The sofa tipped over and Hermione saw Astoria on her feet, wand in her hand, and that was one of the last things she saw—the floor opened up, yawning and black, and Hermione was falling down, down, tumbling into blackness.

She hit a pile of dusty cushions that smelled of mothballs, and she choked. Severus was nowhere to be found. Overhead, a grate let in a dozen rectangles of light, and she could see Astoria looking into the pit with tears trickling down her face.

The sound of heels clicking on polished floors.

Narcissa put a hand on Astoria's shoulder, and murmured something in her ear.

"She looked at me," Astoria said raggedly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Like I was filth."

Hermione could feel her temperature rising; to the left, she heard a groan.

"Severus!" she screamed, banging on the wall.

Silence.

So I've discovered Astoria is fascinating. I may write a one-shot or something about her; she sort of evolved her way into this chapter without my intention. I like her quite a lot though. She's a small, still pond, with a lot of depth for such a tiny package.

As always, I owe my beta araeofsomething a pot of gold and a pound of chocolates. -nylex

edit: OMFG freudian slip.