Blood and Connection

Chapter Four

He does not notice my entrance, though I do not know why. He must be preoccupied, daydreaming, something. I am the only other person in his office, and I did not bother hiding my appearance. I just opened his door, told his secretary that I was here on private business and that she should take her fake tits and bleached hair elsewhere, and I stood in front of him. It is only after I clear my throat that he notices me. He is surprised.

"What are you doing here, Granger?" he growls at me. Even since I aided him in his narrow avoidance of Azkaban, we are not on polite terms. In fact, I am certain that he still views me as nothing more than a meddlesome Mudblood. That is fine; I still view him as nothing more than a stuck up, pompous Pureblood – that, and a means to an end.

A few years ago, this might have made me feel ashamed. But war changes people. Sometimes for the better.

"I came to speak with you." I move to stand behind the chair across the desk from him, hoping that he might take the hint and invite me to sit down. He doesn't.

"About?"

I look at him hard, before deciding that if I am going to do this, I might as well go all the way. I pull the chair out and slam into it. I see him tense, and I know that I have just agitated him, severely. "I have a proposition for you." He says nothing, but then again, I do not expect him to. I take a breath, steady my hands, pin my eyes on his. "You need a wife."

His eyes widen, barely, but enough so that I notice.

"And not just any sort of wife," I continue, "But a Mudblood." I lean forward in my chair and rest my elbows on my knees. I'm not going anywhere.

Draco Malfoy leans back in his chair and places his folded hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the high, winged armrests of his chair. He looks faintly amused, but I see the tiny stress lines on the edges of his mouth. "And why would you think that, even if this were true, I would marry you of all people."

This is what I was expecting, and I am prepared for it. "Because you need me." He snorts, and I ignore him, smirking. "There are no other choices for you, I'm afraid. All the other Muggleborns are either already married, barren, or dead. I've checked. Georgiana Somers is terminally ill after that Spine Severing curse she received in the Final Battle; Lauren Boot is engaged to marry a cousin of Seamus Finnegan; Gwynneth Jones is married to her third cousin, Joseph Jones; Jane St. Clair is engaged to Justin Finch-Fetchley's second cousin, Brom; Anne Smith is in Azkaban for attempted murder; Joanne Popplewell is barren, due to an infection caused by prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. There was also the possibility of Hera Fordyce, but she is a mere fifteen years old, and quite unsuitable; also, Vera Blake might have been an option, but she has just found out she's pregnant with her boyfriend, and so she too, is unsuitable for you. Therefore, I am your only option.

"And before you applaud me for my hard work, let me remind you that you owe me."

"Really? Whatever for," he drawled, looking a bit panicked and not as suave as he obviously wished to be.

"Because if it weren't for me, you would be in Azkaban right now, and the Malfoy name would have died out, forever." I stood up, not waiting for him to refute me. "You know where to find me," I said. "I'll give you a week to make up your mind." And then I left. I didn't notice until I was already in the lift, heading back to the Atrium, that my hands were still shaking.

***

"My, my, my..." said a voice at the level of my ear, a sound silky smooth and yet filled with sharp edges and malice. I couldn't see anything, and it took the rubbing of my eyelids against fabric as I tried frantically to blink to tell me that I was wearing a blindfold. Shoved in my mouth and tasting foul was a rag, dry and rough on my lips and tongue. "The new Lady Malfoy, isn't it?" I heard a chuckle and felt a light breeze against my skin as the owner of the voice straightened.

I could not say anything, and refused to acknowledge anything with the nod of my head.

"How lucky for you that your fortunes have so obviously improved since the last time we met," said the voice again, a voice I vaguely recognized, but maddeningly, I could not remember where from. A man, raspy but dangerous, a threat... "You must accept our congratulations on your rise through the ranks of society. Isn't that right, Thomas?" Thomas, Thomas... Either a first name, or a last name – if a last name, definitely not Dean, unless he had changed his ideals since last I saw him. First name then. And he had said 'our'. Our – How many was 'our'? Two or over. Whoever was holding me operated within a group, or with a partner.

I tried to feel, subtly, with my hands, how tightly I was bound. I was bound tightly - not tightly enough to hurt, but if I tried to pull my hands free, I would rub my skin raw. I repressed my fear, like I had learned so long ago to do in the war, took a deep breath, and I tried to carefully analyze everything around me.

There was the light pitter patter of dripping water. A faucet, or a leaky tap, perhaps? A smell of mildew and rot... I was somewhere old, derelict, unkempt. As my kidnapper stepped away from me, the floorboards creaked. An old building. It was possible I was still in Knockturn Alley. How long had I been unconscious?

For a moment it was quiet in the room, but for the dripping, and I could hear the soft buzz of a city which could never be completely silent... traffic, chatter, construction... I was still in London, I was sure, or at least, in a larger city. If I screamed, someone might be able to hear me.

"We know what you're doing, Granger. Sorry, Malfoy." A cough, hastily covered. "We know that old fool Abraxas thinks he can control you, and perhaps Lucius does too, but the son... I knew we should have taken care of him when we had the chance."

I tempered my breathing and tried to concentrate; tried not to give in to my panic.

"We always knew the Malfoy name was falling. Old Lucius always did try, he did, to keep it relevant. But the thing was, 'Malfoy' just isn't that important anymore. Bad business, bad investments, bad deals. Bad name." What bad deals? Investments?

"Lucius just couldn't handle the responsibility." Another voice, the second man. Thomas. His voice is thin and parched, almost feminine. I do not recognize it. Somewhat cockneyed accent – not a Pureblood.

"As I was saying, Granger; the time has come for a new era in Wizarding Society." A rival family? Only four options... Bulstrode (possible, if not probable), Zabini (less likely – Zabini's were allied with Malfoy in most matters, neutral in others), Parkinson (next best guess after Bulstrode), or the Greengrass's (notorious golddiggers, but not usurper's – they didn't like to do the dirty work themselves). Judging by the fact that the voice was familiar, it was either the Parkinsons, or the Bulstrodes. Taking into account my recent, unhappy history with the Bulstrodes, I was betting on Atticus Bulstrode, or one of his sons, of which there were many.

"And you, Lady Malfoy, are going to be at the very center of it."

I wished he would just get on with his purpose with me. He was stalling. Why?

I thought of Harry, who would probably be struggling right now and muttering obscenities and insults through the rag in his mouth,if he were in my position. Ron, who would be terrified and full of rage. Draco, who would be cooly superior and unruffled, but disdainful. Ginny, who would be fighting back like a hellcat. It was time for action.

I started to gnash my teeth on the rag, spitting, biting, pushing it from my mouth. I snarled until a hand came nearby and pulled the rag from my mouth. "What do you want," Thomas asked shortly, snapping. I tried to bite his hand, but he had already pulled away.

"Water," I said, croaking. In truth, my mouth was very dry. I heard a grumble and kept track of which direction the footsteps were travelling. Ahead of me. As far as I knew, the other voice was in front of me as well. I started to scratch at my wrist bindings, tugging with the tips of my fingers. I noticed that whoever had tied me up did not know how to tie a good, strong knot. The ends began to fray apart and I loosened the first tie before the footsteps came back. Perfect.

I opened my mouth to accept the water, and after a gulp, I closed it. And then, in a hard, quick motion, I slammed my head forward, praying that Thomas's body would still be there. It was, and the impact was enough to shift my blindfold enough that I could see a sliver of the floor, along with a pair of feet that weren't my own. The cup smashed on the floor and I could feel the cold water splash my feet. A hand came under my chin and squeezed painfully, lifting my head up. The hand moved, and then a staggering blow was laid against my cheek. The blindfold shifted even more. I lolled my head backwards, trying to ignore the steady, blunt throb of pain in my cheek. There; threaded through the loop of his belt was my wand.

I watched the feet leave me, going back to the source of the water. I again set to work on the knots at my wrists, and after a moment, I loosened the second tie. I tested the strength of the rope. Still too tight. I felt with my fingers, prodding, mapping. There were two more ties. I worked as fast as I could, and I was on the verge of unraveling the third, when the feet came back. I did my best not to appear alert.

"Little, busy bee, aren't we," said the first voice. The Bulstrode. For a second, my heart froze and I feared he had seen me working at the knots. But he continued blithely, and I restrained myself from showing my relief. "Silly girl, you think.."

It was gone. I had miscounted. The binding was untied. I held onto the rope so that it wouldn't fall and carefully, with as little movement as I could, wound it around the backing of the chair.

If at all there was a bonus in my marriage to Draco, it was this.

I changed.

Somehow, perhaps as an effect of my urgency and my frantically beating heart, the change felt almost instant. One minute, I was Hermione. The next, I was the panther, roaring fiercely as I scratched the blindfold from my larger, sleeker head. And then, like a whole new world, I could see.

And this time, I let my instincts prevail. I was all cat.

I attacked the Bulstrode first. Regrettably, I still did not recognize him... he must have been a distant brother or son, with a voice similar to the one I remembered due to familial relation. I went for his face first, slashing with the claws I had not yet had occasion to use, and three deep, blood-welled lines tore into the flesh of his face. I smelled it; the iron, metallic and sweet, a smell I did not entirely object to. I saw behind him the quick movement of a hand reaching for a wand, and I kicked myself with my hind legs into the air, leaping over the shocked body of Bulstrode, through the air of the room, and right into the chest of Thomas, whose eyes were as large as saucers and whose face was white as milk. I bit his hand and pawed the wand into a corner, where it clattered to the ground, echoing hollowly against the walls. I did not stop to think before I went for his throat, sinking my razor sharp, elongated Canine teeth deep into his neck. Blood sprang up around my fangs, gushing into my mouth with an acrid taste that soaked my tongue. I bit down hard and crushed his pharynx, larynx, and esophagus. His throat rattled with unused breath, and the heated pulse of his blood slowed, and eventually stopped entirely, and then he was dead. I unlocked my jaw and moved back. I turned my head to Bulstrode, who was trying to get up.

I bounded back over to him and was just about to crush his throat as well, before a human thought stopped me. I would find out more if he was alive. So I batted his head as hard as I could with my paw, and he was knocked out cold.

I went back to Thomas, took my wand from his belt with my teeth, and glanced furtively around the room, looking for my purse. My purse was lying in a corner, thankfully still closed. I took that into my mouth as well, trying to keep the strap off the ground so I didn't trip, and then I made my escape.

The window was open a small crack and I batted it open. Fifteen feet from the ledge was the roof of the next building, about ten feet below my floor. I quickly summed the probability of my making it, and realized I would have to take the chance. I pulled myself onto the ledge and curled my tail down for balance, gathered my strength into my hind legs as I had done in the tree two days before, and then I pushed. I soared through the air with my tail arced out behind me, an extension of my spine, and landed, just barely, on the roof. I scrabbled at the surface with my claws and some pebbles were dislodged and fell over the building's edge.

I didn't look down.

I darted around the side of the steps leading to the innards of the building and set down my things. I changed back, a much slower process than it had been to change into the animal, and sat down with shaky legs stretched out in front of me. I could still taste the blood in my mouth, but I didn't know if I had time or not to stop and think. As soon as my breath was even enough to function, I pulled my wand to my side, hauled the strap of my purse over my head, and stood, using the wall for support.

.

.

I apparated, as best I could, to Malfoy Manor. In my dizziness, I overshot the distance and ended up near the pond. I tumbled to the ground, losing my balance, and I landed with my face in the sand. I sat up, groaning, and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. It came away smeared with half dried blood which I knew was not my own. Before I could help myself and hold it back, I had retched all over the ground.

The sun was dipping to the level of the horizon and clouds were streaked with vivid reds and oranges. The grounds were silent; not even the sound of the groundskeeper trimming the lawn and maintaining the hedges. I trembled my way to my feet, but suddenly realized that the metal I smelled was the blood under my nose, and I fell again. Hating myself for doing it, I snapped my fingers, and a House Elf appeared at my side.

"My Lady!" it exclaimed, in a high, tremulous voice.

"Would you take me to my rooms, please," I asked, swallowing heavily. "And my purse... Please bring my purse..."

"Yes, My Lady," it said, and it snapped its fingers. I was raised a few feet in the air, and then I was moving quickly over the ground as if on some sort of magic carpet. The little creature took me straight to my rooms as I asked and laid me gently on my bed. "Shall we be cleaning you up, My Lady?"

"Please ready a bath for me, would you?" As the creature nodded, I asked, "And where is my husband?"

"He is in his study, miss. He says he is not wanting to be disturbed."

"Please disturb him and tell him that it is absolutely imperative that he come see me right away." The elf nodded and popped away. I heard another pop and then the sound of the tap running at the end of my closet hallway, and I started loosening my dirty, battered robes. I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over my writing desk and almost vomited again. There was half dried, half wet blood all down my front, where Bulstrodes life had spilled from my mouth. I had stains all over my face, vivid scarlet on my chin and my upper lip, like a hairless, disturbing moustache and beard. I still wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious for, but my hair looked like I hadn't washed it in a month; a wildly snared and curling mane about my head, and I noticed how much I looked like an African Lion. Perhaps a Lion would have suited me better than a Panther.

I was just trying to pull my shaky feet out of my shoes, sitting back on the bed, when Draco came charging in, Abraxas behind him. Draco had his usual, stern look upon his face, his lips set in a grim and no-nonsense line. Sometimes he reminded me of Minerva. Abraxas looked more concerned than I had ever seen him, but he too wore the mask of set determinism and singlemindedness that set apart all Malfoys... until he saw me. And then Draco saw me.

"Fuck," Draco swore and he hurried over. "What the hell happened to you? Where where you – its been hours, and -"

"Hush, Draco!" Abraxas said sharply. Draco didn't seem to be offended... he just set his mouth again and stared at me intently. His eyes found the red stains all over my face and his eyes hooded. He raised a finger to touch my chin and his finger came away streaked with red.

"Is this yours?" he asked, his voice tightly controlled. I shook my head. And then my eyes began to burn.

It hadn't seemed real until this moment – the fact that I had killed a man in cold blood, in the form of a monster. A ferocious animal with feral instincts that I had willingly let control my actions. I had just murdered a man. And I felt so... cold. Empty. Unconcerned. Did he have a wife? Children? A Girlfriend? Family? What if I could have handled it differently? Did he really deserve to die? I hadn't let them explain their plans... What if all they'd wanted was to make a deal? What if I was going to be returned safely to Malfoy Manor in the end?

Why couldn't I feel something?

I felt, with horror, a hot, fat tear glide silently down my cheek, where it mixed with blood and fell in a swirling, muted red blob onto my forearm. Draco didn't know what to say. I didn't know why I was crying – I hadn't cried since fourth year. Not really. This was just my own frustration, leaking in the only way my body knew how. This wasn't grief. This was befuddlement. This was questioning. This was anger, mostly with myself.

Abraxas pushed his grandson gently out of the way and knelt before me, taking my hands firmly in his. He motioned his head for Draco to assist me with the removal of my stockings.

"Hermione, I know this is going to be difficult, so we aren't going to ask you now, alright?" He swished his wand at my closet. "I've summoned a vial, and we're going to make a pensieve, and then you're going to rest until you feel comfortable discussing what's happened, alright?" I nodded as he reached into the air to snatch the waiting glass vial and pull the stopper free. He handed me my wand, which was sitting a foot from my hand, and guided my cold fingers so that the blunt of my wand was touched to my temple. "There," he said. I murmured the incantation and visualized the memory I wanted to extract, and then he was done. He stoppered it and put it in his pocket, and I was no longer burdened with it, at least for now. I nodded my thanks and he patted my hand in a fatherly way I did not expect from him, and then he quit the room, leaving me with my husband.

"Thank you," I said, motioning to my sockless feet. He nodded. He reached up and began to undo the buttons at my collar. It was an odd situation – his undressing me. I felt nothing for this man, except perhaps a faint respect for his steadfast upholding of his own values and beliefs. And here he was, removing me of my robes.

He pulled the sleeves from my arms and the garment pooled at my hips. I tried to undo my dress, but my fingers were still shaking and he moved his hand to cover mine and pushed them gently back down into my lap. He removed my dress, and he helped me stand so he could pull the two layers down my legs and onto the floor, where they sat at my feet. I was now only in a bra and panties, but he didn't seem to notice except to give me a once over to check that I wasn't injured.

"I don't think I can make it to the bath," I said, gesturing. "I'll call an elf – thank you for-"

"Save the elf some trouble," he said matter-of-factly, and he scooped me up lightly into his arms as though I weighed nothing. He carried me to the bath and sat me on the edge. He held one hand at the small of my back to support me, but turned away so I could quickly undo my bra and slip my panties down my legs. He didn't even look at them when he vanished them. And then he stared straight at my forehead the entire time he helped me into the water. His hand, while grazing my back, never went anywhere that I didn't want it to go, which I appreciated.

"Thank you," I said again, as the water enveloped me. "Really, you didn't need to-" I broke off when I saw the blood swirling in the water and felt sick again.

"Close your eyes," he said quietly, but in a tone that I knew meant I was expected to obey. I did, and then I felt the calm, insistent strokes of a cloth against my cheek, rubbing away the grime and dirt. He could have just used a cleaning charm. He could have vanished away the blood. I wasn't sure why he was going through all this trouble, but it made me feel more comfortable, like he actually cared, and I didn't want him to stop. It was like he was showing me his acceptance of me as his wife. Paying his respects by keeping me company and doing this basic service. I was grateful. I knew we would never have the loving, deeply passionate marriage that my parents had... but I wanted to at least be friends. Companions. Perhaps lovers, if it felt right. This, at least, allowed me to pretend.

He moved his hand down to my neck and his other hand came to support me at my nape. The sudsy water made his fingers slippery and I felt that I was going to fall out of his hands. He didn't seem to have problems. He scrubbed and scrubbed, and then pulled me half out of the water so he could reach my back.

"There," he said. "No more."

I opened my eyes, and his face was only a hand span away from mine. I didn't know what to say. I had already said thank you.

Instead, I raised my hand to touch his cheek as he had touched mine. His eyes fluttered shut for less than a second before his grey eyes were on mine again. They seemed dark. More intense. Warm.

"I have some things to attend to. I will send an elf to help you when you've finished." He stood, breaking the contact, and looked at me for a minute, as though debating something. Finally, he dropped quickly and kissed me, softly, in the way a woman kisses her best friend, on the forehead. Then he left, and I had only my thoughts for company.

.

.

That night, I went to bed frightened, a thousand questions trolling through my mind like a patchwork of memories I couldn't forget. What if I hadn't killed that man? Would I have gotten out of there alive, with my life and my moral dignity intact?

Who were they? Would they come back? What if by letting the Bulstrode live, I had opened myself up for more chances for them to get me? What then?

I didn't wonder why they had taken me. I was already fairly sure I knew. They came after me because I was researching something that scared them. Something that might bring about a change that they didn't want and didn't feel they needed. And did they really need the change? Maybe not. Purebloods were comfortable enough, but what about the rest of us?

The less fortunate, the broken and beaten-down lower class, the Mudbloods, and, to a lesser extent, the Half-bloods. Who cared for them? Did they need change? I thought so. I knew so. But I couldn't convince anyone else, even as Lady Malfoy, without endangering my status as a safe, grounded English citizen, under the web of the Ministry of Magic. I couldn't save anyone if I was kidnapped. If I was tossed from society. If I my status was threatened. And wasn't that what the kidnappers had said? Something about the Malfoy status slipping?

Abraxas was confident that the Malfoy status would withstand the tests of time; that they (we) would remain the influential, powerful and rich family that ruled, either officially or subtly, forever. But now I wondered if perhaps the power was slipping. Who would take our place? Who then, without levelheaded people at the helm, would guide and steer the nation to safety in times of trouble.

It was troubling, and I had difficulty falling asleep.

I didn't know if I had been born for anything like this. This sort of pressure had come with the war, but hadn't entirely left. I didn't even know if I was a kind and just enough person anymore to handle it properly. What if I failed?

After another hour of staring at the roof of my canopy, I swung my legs over the side of my bed and summoned my slippers, slid my arms into my nightgown sleeves, and grabbed the candle on my way out.

I padded over to Draco's room and saw a light flickering out from under the bottom of his door. I knocked gently and heard muffled footsteps, and then the door opened, his pale face peeking through the door.

"Hermione," he said, surprised. "What's wrong?" He opened the door the rest of the way and I saw that he had been writing at his desk, a twin to mine. "Hermione?" He was dressed in a loose, half buttoned shirt and a pair of fitted trousers, his hair tousled. His skin glowed gold in the candlelight, and his hair burned yellow. "Hermione..."

I took a breath. "I want some lessons."

"Lessons? For what?" His brows drew across his forehead.

"For what Purebloods learn as children. I want to learn etiquette. Dancing. That sort of thing. I don't – I don't want to embarrass the family."

"I see," he said, and he dropped his hand from the door and rubbed his neck. "It's a bit late for you to be learning all of this. There aren't too many more events this season... And I thought you wanted to have a quiet year without answering any invitations?"

"I do, for now. But I'm going to have to step out at some point – meet people, women, garden parties... It would be prudent for me to have a basic knowledge of the expectations I will be expected to meet. It would be wise."

He nodded. "Alright. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," I said. I turned to leave.

He touched my arm, stopping me. "Wait," he said, softly. I turned. "Are you sure you're alright? After, you know, today? And everything?"

"I'm fine," I told him. He didn't look convinced.

"Are you sure? It's – you don't have to talk about it, but I saw the pensieve... and..."

Ah, the pensieve. The change. The murder.

"I – um -"

"Listen, Hermione, I know – what it's like... To be in a situation where all you can think about is surviving. I've been there. When The Dark Lord was using the Manor, and there were Death Eaters everywhere... Sometimes I felt like I'd been kidnapped and held in my own home. The intrusiveness. The way I wasn't welcome anymore. I was desperate, and then during the battle, I felt like I finally had a chance to fight for my freedom... For my family's freedom. I know what it's like to kill someone to ensure your own freedom. I remember feeling guilty. Sometimes I still do." His hand tightened on my arm and he looked deep into me. "Just know – they chose their own side. You chose yours. Life is all about ingratiating yourself in the side that will enable your survival. Maybe in another time we might not have had to choose sides, but we're here and now, with this world that we've been left with, and this is what we have to work with."

Perhaps it was a sign of how much I had been twisted and broken by the War that I found myself agreeing. Maybe life wasn't only about sides. But I could understand. I knew that we were still fighting. The war might have finished when Harry killed Voldemort, but there was still everything to fight for and everything to lose. We weren't finished yet. I wasn't finished yet.

And maybe I never would be.

But what he said made sense. I was on the side I believed would triumph, not because I wanted to come out unscathed and on the side that won, but because I truly believed in equality. I would fight for it.

Maybe that's just who I was. Who I am. I can live with that.

I covered his hand on my arm and squeezed. If he was Harry I might have given him a hug. But this wasn't Harry. Draco was my husband, but I hardly knew him. Instead, I lifted my other hand to his cheek and ran my thumb as softly as I could across his cheekbone. "Thank you," I said. He nodded in my hand.

"You're my wife," he said. I understood.

He might not be my friend; he might not even like me. But he had made a vow and he was a man of principle. He'd promised to protect and cherish me. Even if he couldn't do one due to inability, he would protect me to his dying day. I ran my thumb again across his skin and dropped my hand.

"And you're my husband."

He nodded again.

So he was.