AN: Wow, this chapter came along a lot quicker than the previous... six? LOL! Fingers crossed the muse continues to be so kind, but I won't make promises.

I want to thank all of you who voted me into the finals of the Dramione Forum Awards - this story didn't win, but I'm still overwhelmed and all fluffy inside knowing this story mattered enough to people to get into the finals. Thank you so much. I love you all!

History lessons

So let's have a closer look at the laws again. We've already established a Master may treat his slaves any which way he wants, and they have very little recourse. It was, in general, considered to be bad form to abuse slaves, especially that rare commodity of educated slaves, but that didn't mean it was necessarily against the law. The law did give slaves more rights as time passed, but in general an owner could still pretty much do what they wanted. Slaves could suffer corporal punishment (prohibited on Roman Citizens) or even execution at the hands of their owners and at their discretion. I guess we can say Draco was among the more honourable of slave owners...

However, that doesn't mean other people could do what they wanted with a slave who belonged to someone else... According to Roman Law, if someone purposefully injured or killed his slave, a Master could initiate legal proceedings against this person. They would be recompensed, usually by receiving whatever the highest value was for that slave over the past year. Slaves fell under the same rule as cattle in that respect. So Zabini certainly broke the law with what he attempted to do, even if Hermione was 'only' a slave and had no 'personhood' under Roman Law, she is Draco's property and therefore any damage done to her by anyone but Draco can be brought to the courts. More or less.

Temple architecture

Roman temples would usually be built inside a large courtyard. Temples sat on high platforms. A flight of stairs at the front would lead up to a colonnade of decorative (and architecturally necessary) pillars, underneath the elaborately decorated and painted triangular pediment, with an empty, covered space behind the pillars, called the portico. This would then lead onto high, heavy doors that lead into the main building, or cella, where an effigy of the relevant God or Goddess would be worshipped. In general, the masses would not go into the actual temple, only the temple servant, priests and acolytes go into the cella. At least, that's what they told me in Bath, so I'll go with that. It may well depend on the God or Goddess whether or not the 'normal folk' were welcome in the most sacred area of worship.

Fun fact

I spent a long time researching this but according to contemporary writings about the city, there actually was a temple for Minerva in Narbo so this is historically correct, even if I have no idea what that particular temple would have looked like. But I can claim some artistic license there. Minerva is a Roman Goddess often affiliated with wisdom and strategic warfare (the latter of which she adopted when she was equated to the Greek Athena), as well as the arts and medicine, and reportedly burst from old Iuppiter's head, fully grown and clad in armour, after giving him a terrible headache battering against his skull to be let out. She often 'absorbed' any worship to the local Goddesses in the Celtic territories, for instance, in Bath (Somerset, UK), the hot springs were originally dedicated to the Goddess Sulis, hence the Latin name of the town, Aquae Sulis or Waters of Sulis, and the temple built there by the Romans honoured "Minerva Sulis". This kind of practise kept the locals happy because their gods weren't dismissed and allowed the Romans to keep control at the same time. Similar things happened all over Europe in the conquered lands.

Vocab recap

cubiculum = bedroom
atrium = inner courtyard in a Roman villa
tunica = basic piece of clothing both men and women wore in that time period (maybe a piece on clothing next lesson?)
balneum = private bathing house
gladius = military sword
caldarium = the hot pool in a bathing house
lecticula = covered chair to transport people in, usually carried by two or more slaves
acolita = female acolyte, someone training to become a priest(ess)
Salve = greeting, like "ave", something like "hello, welcome, be blessed"

Chapter 7

Blood curdling screams ripped through the silence of the night, startling Draco out of his dreams. It took him a few moments before he realised the screams came from inside his home, but by then he was up and running towards Scorpius' cubiculum before he really knew what he was doing. He didn't even bother throwing on a tunica. Theodosius stumbled from his own cubiculum in a similar state of undress, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking around rather dazed. Two guards burst in from the Palace atrium, carrying torches in one hand and gladius drawn in the other.

They crowded around the entrance to Scorpius' room, where the noise came from, but were arrested by the sight before them.

Hermione lay in a corner on the floor, screaming and thrashing around, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. Scorpius sat by her head, teary-eyed and clearly terrified, but stubbornly reaching out to pat her hair in an attempt to comfort her, and nudging her shoulders to wake her up. Draco motioned the guards back and was about to step into the room when Hermione sat up with a loud gasp, her eyes wide open and dancing wildly around the room. She noticed the men in the doorway and shrank away, only to bump into Scorpius at her back. She snapped her head around, fear written all over her face, but when she recognised the boy, she let out a sob, reached out and pulled him into her lap. He clung to her; his hands scrunched up in her tunica, his shoulders trembling as he cried. She held on to him with equal desperation, her face hidden in his hair, rocking to and fro, trying to soothe both him and herself.

Draco let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been keeping in. He didn't know which had upset him more, the sight of his son, so terrified by Hermione's nightmare, Hermione's suffering, or the two of them clinging to each other as if they were all they had in this world. He turned around and sent the others away, his ears straining to hear Hermione's mumbled words of comfort and his son's quiet sniffles.

He blamed himself for the upset. He had wanted her to stay in the house instead of the slave quarters that night. He had wanted to keep her close, protected, safe, and, short of his own cubiculum, Scorpius' room had seemed to be the best place for her. He'd silenced her faint objections by saying his son needed her to be there if he woke up in the night. He hadn't counted on her having a nightmare, screaming the house down and scaring his son in the process. He couldn't really blame her for that, though. The harrowing experience she'd had only that night would give anyone nightmares.

Draco stayed in the doorway, watching Hermione and Scorpius, unsure if he should move further into the room to comfort his son, or stay away to give Hermione her space. Scorpius' cries soon turned to sniffles, and eventually died down entirely, a little snore reassuring Draco he'd fallen asleep in Hermione's arms. Hermione herself soon followed, exhausted from the ordeal of that night, comforted by the heavy weight of a four year old in her arms. She didn't wake up when Draco picked both of them up and laid them in Scorpius' bed, careful not to untangle them. He didn't know how long he stood there, staring at them both, before he went back to his own bed. He knew he couldn't let Zabini get away with this, and a plan was finally forming in his mind.

Draco ended the letter with a determined stroke under his name. He read it over, then rolled it up and sealed it. He didn't want to give himself the chance to change his mind. At that moment, Theodosius walked into his office. Draco didn't even bother greeting him.

"How is she?"

"It won't be the last time she has a nightmare, Draco." Theodosius' voice was weary, though less from exhaustion than resignation.

Draco raised an eyebrow at his friend. He'd asked him to look after Hermione's wounds after the first meal of the day while he took Scorpius with him to his office. He didn't want to leave the boy with the slavegirl if she couldn't take care of him properly, and from the black and blue bruises on her wrists and arms, the scratches on her hands and the careful, fragile way she walked around, he suspected she wasn't up to the task just yet. He didn't expect her to be. But Theodosius' non-answer irritated him.

"I didn't mean that. Those bruises looked nasty. Will you be able to heal her?"

Theodosius shrugged and settled down at the other side of the desk. His eyes briefly sought out Scorpius, who sat in a corner, playing with a wooden horse on wheels. The boy was far from his usual self, a lot more quiet and subdued, still too shaken by the memory of Hermione's screams.

"I bandaged the hands. The bruises will take some time. Most of the other scratches are superficial and Flavia did a good job on cleaning them. I don't expect any issues there, but these kind of attacks often leave more damage in a woman's mind than her body, you know? She'll have nightmares for a while, still."

Draco nodded, his fingers toying with the letter he'd just finished. Of course he could have brought Zabini to justice, charged him with defiling his property and let the law have a go at him. But a mere slap on the wrist - which was the most he'd expect from such a course of action - was hardly enough. No, he had a better plan. His lips curled up in triumphant sneer when he thought of how he could avenge her.

Theodosius' voice cut through his thoughts. "Don't let this cloud your judgement even more, Draco."

Draco stiffened and sat back, a frown crossing his face. He threw a quick glance at Scorpius, but the boy didn't seem to be paying them any attention. He leaned back a little in his chair, placing both hands flat on his desk with careful deliberation. He took a deep breath, preparing to respond though the words were still tumbling around in his mind, but he was interrupted by Theodosius, who spoke again, more quietly this time, yet somehow with more emphasis.

"She's not Adria."

Draco opened his mouth but the words remained stuck in his throat. His breath escaped in a long, low hiss, that made Scorpius look around, half excited and half frightened, to see if there were snakes about, but once he realised it was his father, he turned back to his toys with a disinterested shrug.

The two men stared at each other, their eyes meeting in a battle of will power that neither was willing to lose. Eventually, Draco was the one to look away first and break the silence between them.

"I know that."

Theodosius got up from his seat and leaned over the desk. "Sometimes I wonder. Is that why you're being so irrational about that slavegirl? Is it Adria you see, not Hermione?"

Draco pushed himself up until his face was barely a hairsbreadth from Theodosius'. "You're overstepping, Theodosius," he said quietly. "And I think you know that very well."

Theodosius straightened his back slowly, boredom written all over his face as if he had not just broken the one silent agreement between them on which their very friendship was founded. "I think I'll look around for a place here in Narbo. I hear there's quite enough work for another medicus and I like the climate," he said casually, changing topics so suddenly it surprised Draco.

Scorpius jumped up and ran over to Theodosius, a bright smile on his face. "Oh patrinus, are you staying? Really? Will you take me to the Circus? Do you promise? And can we…" He babbled on excitedly, not very bothered by the fact that neither his father nor Theodosius seemed to give him any attention.

"You're very welcome to stay here," Draco said over his son's babble. Irritated though he was with Theodosius for bringing up the one event from his youth neither of them were ever supposed to mention, he didn't want his friend to feel like he was no longer welcome under his roof. "Good friends can have a difference of opinion without breaking the friendship."

Theodosius didn't reply immediately. He bent down to pick up Scorpius and threw him in the air a couple of times, until the boy's amused laughter rang through the room and dispersed any lingering ill feeling. Then he set him down again, promised all Scorpius wanted to hear, and pushed him towards his toys.

Only when the boy was engrossed in his own games again, he turned towards Draco, a hint of regret and apprehension in his eyes.

"Thank you for the invitation," he said cautiously, "but that would not be the best solution. I think you're heading for disaster with that girl, Draco. And I know there's nothing I can do to stop you or make you see sense, not if I haven't managed it by now. You can't expect me to stay here and bear witness, you can't expect me to share your table when there is such a deep divide between us. I cannot silence my worries, and that would only strain our friendship further."

Draco sat back down with a sigh. "You're probably right." He let Theodosius' words turn around in his mind again and again, hurt by their estrangement but understanding his friend's point. The silence between them grew thick, oppressive and clammy like the air in a caldarium. "Who knew a woman could ever come between us?" Draco let out a mirthless laugh that echoed sadly through the room, a stark contrast with the happy laughter of his son, only moments ago.

Theodosius shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "She doesn't, not really. But you know this situation, as it is now, cannot last. She's trouble. You just need to make a decision. And you know I'll support you, no matter what you decide." He held out his hand, and Draco did not hesitate to shake it.

Theodosius tended to Hermione's hands every morning for seven days. The other scratches would easily heal by themselves, but the wounds on her hands, when not bandaged, opened up at the slightest movement or touch. It had made Hermione effectively useless in the Malfidus household. She couldn't tend to Scorpius, she couldn't help with the chores, and she knew the other slaves had started to talk behind her back. So when he told her it would be best not to keep her hands bandaged any longer, she sighed in relief.

"Arnica paste every day," he said, "and no scratching. You still need to be careful, the wounds are very sensitive and will bleed if you move your hands too much. But you'll be fine."

Hermione let out an incredulous snort.

Theodosius looked up, the half-smile he'd had on his lips fading. "Don't let him break you, Hermione."

Hermione couldn't stand the pity in his eyes. She turned away from him and didn't respond.

Theodosius quietly continued rubbing fresh arnica paste onto the wounds and bruises until it had soaked into her skin, then washed his hands in a bowl of water brought to him by another slave. He hesitated, then took a deep breath. "You've seen such horrors and they didn't stop you from living. You can't let this stop you either."

Hermione stood up, drawing the long sleeves of her tunica down over her arms to hide the fading bruises from sight. They had gradually changed colour, from glaring black and blue to green and yellow, over the course of a few days. Her long sleeves really were too hot for summer, but they covered the bruises, as long as she didn't move her arms too much. She could no longer see his fingerprints on her arm, though she still felt his grip whenever she closed her eyes.

"It's not that easy. The guilt…" Her voice rasped with the strain of disuse. She hadn't spoken much since that night. Her throat had hurt too much to speak the first day, and after that it had just been easier not to. The only one who could induce her to speak at all was Scorpius, darling Scorpius. Hermione's eyes filled with tears she hastily tried to wipe away as she thought of the little boy. Malfidus had taken him into his office today. He'd done that almost every day now. He said it was to teach him about his family history and responsibilities, but Hermione knew he only wanted to relieve her of her duties and make her life easier in the aftermath of her attack.

"It's not your fault." Theodosius repeated the words Draco Malfidus had uttered that evening, and for a moment she was back in the balneum. A blush crept up her cheeks as she remembered the desperate way she'd asked him… She shook her head violently to stop the thought.

"I feel guilty for not trying to kill him," she said, a sudden fire in her eyes. "If I'd thought clearly, I should have realised that it would have been the perfect moment. He'd all but forgotten about his gladius." Her hand went up to her throat, where a thin, red line remained, a silent witness of the sharp blade cutting into her skin. "If I'd thought about what mattered, I could have taken it off of him and killed him. I could have avenged my family. I could have avenged my people. But I only thought about myself."

Theodosius shook his head slowly. His brilliant blue eyes studied her with such intensity she squirmed under his attention. "You realise that if you had done that, Draco would have had no choice but to have you killed in turn?"

She shrugged and wanted to turn away, but Theodosius stepped in front of her again and, with a finger under her chin, forced her to look up to him.

"What happened to your people was horrible. Believe me when I tell you that both Zabini and Malfidus have lost more than you could be aware of because of their choices then. But you, Hermione, still have your life before you. Don't forget that. You survived. You survived a massacre. You survived that attack. The Gods look upon you with some favour. Can you not see that?"

She couldn't find the words to respond, but he wasn't fazed by her silence. He just kept staring at her with those intensely blue eyes, as if searching her face for the answer she could not verbalise. Then he nodded at her and left. She stared after him, open-mouthed and confused.

Draco watched Hermione from his office overlooking the garden. He'd managed to keep his distance while making life a little easier for her, keeping Scorpius with him for days on end under the guise of instructing him in their family history. He had a feeling she saw right through his excuses but she hadn't objected. Now she was sitting with Flavia and two other slaves in the garden, staring at her hands and not engaging in the conversation between the other three. He knew he must find some way to draw her out of herself, but he couldn't risk being near her.

Then set me free.

Refusing her had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. To be offered that which he had dreamed of, so desperately, so insistently, had almost been too tempting. Almost. He had never come this close to breaking his most solemn vow.

Then set me free.

He couldn't forget that evening, not the way his rage had overtaken him when he saw what Zabini was up to, not the way she had touched him, not her fingers so soft on his shoulders and neck, not those desperate words falling from her lips…

Then set me free.

He clenched his hands into fists and held his breath until his chest burned with the need for air.

Scorpius tugged at the folds of his toga and he turned towards his son with a smile on his face.

"Father, can we maybe go to the temple?" His face was unusually serious as he looked up at his father, his grey eyes clouded with worry.

"Of course we can, son. But will you not tell me why you want to go?"

Scorpius looked away from his father, his hands clasped behind his back, wriggling uncomfortably as he muttered something under his breath.

"What was that you said?"

Scorpius sighed and, staring at the floor, his foot tracing the lines of the mosaic decorations, "I want to ask the Goddess Minerva to heal Hermione, Father."

Draco blinked. His mouth opened but no words came out.

Scorpius looked up, saw his father's surprised expression and looked back down, his shoulders slumped with obvious defeat. At first, he seemed to want to slink away, but then his entire demeanour changed. He straightened his back and thrust his chin out, a stubborn look in his eyes.

"She's been crying so much since her hands were cut, father. I just want her to stop crying so we can play again. So I want to ask the Goddess Minerva to heal her hands again."

Draco kneeled down and pulled his son into his arms. "I don't know what I did to deserve such a good and caring son, but I thank the Gods that your heart is so pure," he murmured. Then he let go of Scorpius, who looked a little confused. "We'll go to Minerva's temple and take Hermione. Then you can make an offering to the Goddess and make your request."

Draco straightened himself up again and pushed Scorpius towards the door. "Go and find her, Scorpius, and tell her to prepare to go out."

Hermione entered the temple courtyard with some trepidation. Malfidus had brushed aside all her objections, that she didn't believe in his Gods and Goddesses, that she wasn't ready to leave the house yet, that she really didn't need this kind of attention…

He'd listened to her arguments with such patience it made her even more annoyed. Then he'd looked at her and said, "But Scorpius wants to do this for you." And she hadn't been able to object to that.

The lecticula had carried Scorpius and herself, while Malfidus rode to the temple on horseback, and they had been surrounded by a group of a dozen or so cavalry men. She couldn't argue not feeling safe when Scorpius sat on her lap, chattering excitedly and stroking the back of her hand so reverently. It had, in fact, tickled, but she hadn't had the heart to tell him to stop.

"The Temple of Minerva Medica is that way," Malfidus said over his shoulder, taking Scorpius by the hand to prevent him from running off, and setting a brisk pace towards the entrance. Hermione had to hurry to follow them. She felt like everyone was staring at her, like they could see what had happened to her and judged her for it. She bowed her head and cringed away from the intrusive looks.

She almost missed that first impressive sight of the temple of Minerva, high on its platform overlooking the courtyard, the pediment above the colonnade painted with the story of her birth in vivid colours.

A young acolita in dark blue tunica came up to them. Her long, white hair flowed on her back and she seemed to be wearing flowers in her hair.

"Salve amici Minervae," she said, her arms open in a welcoming gesture. "How may we serve the Proconsul today?" Her strange, grey eyes focused on Draco Malfidus, who nodded towards his son. He patted the boy on the shoulder.

"Go on," he said, "Tell her."

Scorpius held out his favourite toy, a wooden soldier with brass sword, and offered it to the acolita. "I wish to ask the Lady Minerva to heal my slave. She hurt her hands," he said. "This is my sacrifice."

When she laid her hand on it, his lips trembled a little, and, for a moment, his fingers closed around the toy soldier and he seemed to reconsider his gift to the Goddess, but then he let go quite suddenly, turned around and hid his face in his father's toga.

"And who is your slave?" the acolita asked.

Scorpius didn't turn around but an arm shot out and pointed vaguely in Hermione's direction. The dark grey eyes of the girl seemed to appraise Hermione, then she bowed at them and smiled.

"Your offering is most welcome. I shall take it to the High Priestess."

A moment later, she was gone, as if she had never been there in the first place.

Hermione stepped a little closer to Malfidus and Scorpius. "What is going on?" she asked quietly. These strange customs with buildings to worship the Gods were beyond her. Was not Nature the best place to pay your respects?

Malfidus didn't look at her. His eyes were fixed on the entrance of the building. The acolita had nimbly skipped up the steps that led to the portico and he expected the High Priestess to appear in the doorway to the cella soon. He hoped the offer would be acceptable. Scorpius had, after all, insisted it should be his own favourite toy, not the stack of coins his father had wanted to offer.

"The acolita will present the offering to the High Priestess. She then decides if Minerva will deign to accept it or not."

He placed a hand on his son's head. He'd started to look around curiously again but still clung to his father's toga with some degree of trepidation.

They saw the massive doors of the cella open and the acolita came out again, her hands empty. She skipped down the steps and walked up to them with a beaming smile.

"The Goddess is pleased to accept your offer," she said. Then she looked at Hermione and held out a hand. "If you will come with me, the High Priestess has suggested your wounds may benefit from cleansing with the Sacred Water."

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked questioningly at Malfidus.

The man nodded encouragingly. "Go with her. Scorpius and I will wait for you here."

Hermione followed the young woman to a small side building. They walked in, the door closing behind them. Hermione spun around in sudden panic, but the girl put a hand on her arm to reassure her, and, reluctantly, she turned back. The room was not as elaborately decorated as the main entrance of the Temple but the mosaics on the far wall depicted a stern-looking woman in full armour, an owl sitting at her feet. Torches illuminated roughly hewn walls with smooth, white benches alongside them, but her eyes were drawn by the glimmering green pool at the effigy's feet.

"My name is Luna," the acolita said. "I serve Minerva the Divine. What is your name?"

"Hermione."

Luna nodded, as if she hadn't expected any other response.

"Come with me, Hermione." She led Hermione to the edge of the pool and kneeled down alongside it, gesturing towards Hermione to do the same.

Hermione knelt down and rested her hands in her lap, palms towards her knees.

"I don't know why I'm here. I don't mean any disrespect, Luna, but I serve other Gods."

Luna smiled enigmatically. "We've been waiting to see you here, Hermione of the Eburones. What makes you think your Three-faced Goddess is not manifesting her powers through my Minerva? We are no enemies."

Hermione sucked in her breath, the fabric of her tunica crunching up between her fingers. "How do you know who I am?"

Luna didn't respond, she only smiled and held out her hands, palms facing upwards. "Minerva accepted the boy's sacrifice. You know what that toy meant to him. Surely you won't forsake him?"

Hermione sighed and put her own hands in Luna's, palms facing upwards. Some of the scratches had opened again and fresh blood was welling up on her hands. She looked away.

They sat like that for the longest time, Luna quietly holding Hermione's hands and Hermione staring into the green water, her eyes trying to discern the stones at the bottom of the pool, if only to distract herself from the confusing thoughts rolling around in her head.

"It's not your hands that need healing, but your soul."

Hermione's head whipped around to Luna. "What?"

Luna sent her another enigmatic smile but didn't repeat her words.

"Let the healing waters of the Goddess Minerva take away your pain."

She held one of Hermione's hands over the pool, scooped up the water with a golden cup and poured it over her hand and wrist, then did the same to her other hand. She repeated the act several times, and each time Hermione felt more and more fragile, as if more than just her cuts and blood were being washed away. She began to sob, first quietly, then more uncontrollably, and still Luna continued to pour water over her hands as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Hermione thought of what had happened to give her those scrapes. She thought of her family. She thought of the soldiers she had killed with the poisoned mushrooms. She thought of little Scorpius who had wanted her to heal. She thought of Draco Malfidus, whom she had tried to kill, but who had been so kind to her. She cried for all of them.

Finally her tears abated and Luna ended her ritual, drying Hermione's hands with a soft cloth, then giving her some time to wipe the tear tracks from her face. Hermione wanted to get up, but Luna stopped her.

"Minerva is not only the Goddess of Healing, Hermione. She is also the Goddess of Wisdom. And that is why I'm telling you this. You must make a choice. Will you look for a purpose in what is buried in the past, or in what is before you in the future? One path will definitely lead you to death and destruction. The other, possibly, to life and happiness. Think about that, Hermione of the Eburones, before you let the hatred lead you even further. The Gods have spared you so far. Perhaps it is time to honour that gift."

Before Hermione could react, Luna rose up and helped her stand as well.

"Your Master will be waiting, and I need to return to my other duties," Luna said as they walked, arm in arm, towards the door. "But I should like it if you came by again some time, Hermione. Please do. You will always be welcome in Minerva's House."

With that, she opened the door and led Hermione back to Malfidus. Hermione was blinded and disoriented by the sudden blaze of sunlight after spending so much time in the dimly lit, secluded room, but Scorpius ran up to her to take her hand and lead her back to the lecticula, and Malfidus seemed to walk just a little bit too close behind her, as if he was ready to catch her should she fall. She didn't listen to Scorpius' excited babbling as they were carried back home, her mind still reeling from all that had happened.

It was only when they had almost reached the Proconsular Palace that Hermione realised that the red scratches on her hands were now thin, pink lines of freshly healed skin.

AN - massively big thanks to Pierrej92 for betaing this chapter! Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Hope you enjoyed this, let me know what you think!