Hermione's POV

Hyppolyta Zabini, my biological mother, could easily be seen as the most loving, caring and adorable person in the world--that is, from the outside. However, once one got to know her from the inside, there were some rather interesting twists to the story.

I am not saying she isn't loving and caring, or that her politeness and cheerfulness is just an act. No, that's her real personality.

What any other person doesn't get to find out easily are her natural manipulation skills, her ways to always get what she wants; may it be power, money or people, I seriously believe she wouldn't have any problem becoming the Minister of Magic if she wanted to. She was dangerous, and I appeared to be the one one who realized that at its full potential.

But she didn't scare me, she worried me. I was worried that one day her ambition would send her either to jail or to her own death. Why did I care so much about her? Care enough to keep her darkest secrets, in order to oblige to her petitions...?

I am not sure; perhaps it is because she is my mother, perhaps because I owe her my life, perhaps because she was of great help during my days and weeks of depression, perhaps for the way she cared about me. Perhaps because I could see a good person beneath her ambition and all of the deeds I knew she had committed so far.

But even though I cared that much about her, I couldn't forgive her for what she did to me, I still can't.

It was so harsh the day I found out. I would say I was coping rather well with my circumstances by then. It had been three months since my parents' death, I had become friends with my brother, and I would even say I found a glimpse of happiness whenever I spent time with my family.

Of course, what better time to share heart-wrenching news than when one's finally recovering from the last vestiges of pain?

I could have never foreseen what she was about to tell me that sunny afternoon, when she was combing my wet hair in my room after spending hours in the pool. The day had passed by nicely until she asked me, "What do you think of Draco Malfoy, darling?"

I was surprised to hear that question coming from her lips, she knew I didn't care for anyone in the Malfoy family; even though I had gotten used to seeing Draco every now and then, he usually came around to see Blaise. He and his family would join us for dinner once or twice a week; we would be invited to their house for dinner and tea every now and then, as well, but I could always find an excuse not to go there. I couldn't prevent attending in my own house, though; I only avoided it a couple of times.

"You know I am not particularly fond of him, Mother, why do you ask?" Her polite and almost old fashioned ways had gotten to me after three months of inhabiting the same house, at least when I was around her it seemed oddly inevitable to mimic her velvet manners.

"Perhaps if you could keep your prejudices aside, my dear, you could see he is...quite a catch." I didn't know how to react towards her statement, I wanted to snort, I wanted to laugh and assume it was a joke, but I also wanted to arch an eyebrow in bewilderment, because I knew her well enough to know she wasn't joking.

"I'd rather catch a disease" I mumbled quietly but loud enough for her to hear. What was she up to, I wondered. Why would she be trying to set me up with him of all people?

She didn't stop the rhythmic combing of my curls as she spoke, as composed as usual. "That's a little bit harsh, don't you think? He's not as bad as you believe."

"But bad he is." I rhymed ironically. I couldn't believe she was trying to set me up with him so openly, so naturally.

"I wouldn't say he is bad, he simply has a different way of analyzing things than you."

"You could say the exact same thing about Voldermort." My tone completely serious and surprisingly harsh didn't surprise her at all; she did, however, stop combing my hair, allowing me to turn around and face her.

"Of course, but young Draco is not a sadistic person, nor does he have an ambition for power and domination, at least not as the Dark Lord had."

"He hates muggles, he wishes they didn't exist."

"Yet, he does not harm them."

"You hate muggles, too." I whispered, almost to myself. It was a fact I didn't want to cope with, but I knew nonetheless. She had been in Slytherin, after all; she never dared touch the subject around me, but now the time had come.

"As you clearly put it before, my love, I am not very fond of them; I do not hate them though, and I've never done them any harm. Perhaps you could think the same way about Draco."

"Are you asking me to think of him as the rocks in the forest? Something that's there and it's dispensable? Something not worth fighting for? Something to throw aside because it doesn't look good enough to appear in a picture?" I was describing the way I thought she felt about muggles, it was the impression I had, but a rather light version.

"I am asking you to give him a chance." Her face was now deadly serious as we faced each other, there was nothing but a perplexed expression on my face.

"What are you talking about?"

"I strongly believe it would be for the best, sweetheart."

"For the best?" I arched one eyebrow, now suspicious. "Have the Malfoys threatened you, Mother? Is that the reason they have been coming here so often in the past month?"

I asked cautiously, wondering what problem she had gotten herself into; I was too naive to suspect she was the source of the problem herself. She never took advantage of that though, I must give her credit for that.

"The Malfoys are not the threat that lingers upon our heads, dear, but magic itself."

"I am not following."

"There's no easy way to say this; I'll have to show you". She took a deep breath and chanted: "Permissum contego tutela is filia of mei rumpus..."

I translated the chanting in my mind, she was breaking a shielding spell, one she had created, I assumed, to protect me. I didn't know from what though.

As soon as she said it, I sneezed, loudly. And, somehow, the mirror beside me shattered. I turned to look, completely confused; her chanting couldn't have broken the mirror, she only had put an end to a spell, a shielding spell nonetheless.

"What hap—" I couldn't finish my sentence because, as I was standing up, I managed to trip on my own feet and fall, only to be catch by my mother's arms. It was unusual of me to be so clumsy.

I only stared at her, a confused expression on my face as I waited for an explanation. "What were you protecting me from?" I whispered as I turned my head to look at the shattered mirror again. Some big pieces of glass had managed to fall and stumble some of my perfumes, some of which fell from the cabinet to the floor, breaking in thousands of pieces and ruining the carpet.

"Misfortune," she answered, as calmly as possible.

"A curse," I reasoned out loud. How come though? Why would I have a curse? The Malfoys and the word "curse" applied well enough in the same sentence. "That's it; they'll all be in Azkaban after I tell Kingsley Shacklebolt about this." Immediately I was outraged, wondering what they had done to me.

"It's not only their doing, dear." I looked up at her and immediately detached myself from her arms as I stepped aside.

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously. I didn't like the tone in her voice, it was almost regretful.

"This kind of curses...they work with blood."

Suddenly, I felt very cold, a shiver ran down my spine and I unconsciously braced myself; I knew what she was implying: blood curses were almost unbreakable, if my own blood was involved, the only way out was agreeing to a deal, a deal which the curse was created for.

"Have they...have they used your blood, mother? That's it? They used your blood to force you to do something...?" It made sense, if her blood was involved, mine would be as well, not in such a grand proportion, since I only had half of her genes, but the curse could still affect me, not as much as it would affect her, but it was still dangerous, both for my brother and for me.

"My blood, their blood, your father's blood...and your own." She said as she walked towards my bed and sat on the edge, inviting me to sit next to her. I didn't want to.

"What have you done?" Now, I was definitely trembling with fear. Anxiety and fear were my only feelings as I stared terrified at her face. My voice only came in a whisper, I could barely hear it myself.

She sighed dramatically, it would seem she had gone through this in her head time and time again and it had turned out wrong. "When you were born, I wanted to ensure your future..."

And so she began her tale; a tale a I didn't want to hear, a tale I wished so badly wasn't true. I was already crying before she got to the worse part, the part were she told me what I had to do to break free from the curse.

--

Present

"Seriously, what's wrong with you, Malfoy?"

Draco didn't answer at first, he was staring out the carriage's window. Both Hermione and him were going to Malfoy Manor after leaving the hospital. Hermione wasn't thrilled about it, and neither was Malfoy; she couldn't understand why, though, and she didn't like it.

"None of your business, Granger." His voice was stern and dull, his regular cool and almighty attitude was missing. And he had called her "Granger", he only did that when he was really pissed off; however, he was not yelling nor insulting her. In fact, they had neither fought nor argued in days. He had avoided her the whole two days they had been staying at the hospital.

Well, he had been sleeping on the first day, but on the second day it was actually he who requested a separate room, alleging he didn't want to risk her condition. Apparently the hospital board believed him and obliged. However, Hermione knew it wasn't out of courtesy

"I just don't get it. My house is on quarantine and I am moving to yours. I should be the angry one!"

This change of roles certainly didn't amuse her. She didn't know which side of him she disliked more, the insisting lovey-dovey one, or this numb and hostile one. He could certainly be unnerving in any way.

He didn't answer, he just stared at the outsides. Malfoy Manor could be seen not too far away. Hermione couldn't be sure he was looking at it though, his hands were clenched into fists, his sight was practically glued to the window, he looked so tense. Hermione was getting worried, not for herself, but for him.

He had to be mad at her, she couldn't imagine the exact reason, but what other explanation could there be? Draco didn't want to talk to her, because if he did, he would start an argument, and he knew better than that. Could he actually be quarreling between his anger and his instructions to behave himself?

Hermione sighed softly and looked down at her hands on her lap. She couldn't understand it, she couldn't explain it. She needed to know.

"Please, talk to me." She pleaded softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Surprised by the change in her voice, Draco slowly turned his head around to face her. Surprise was soon replaced by a wave of indifference all over his body.

"I have nothing to say to you." He said it as if he really meant it, as if she was not worth his breath, as if she wasn't even there.

All of the sudden, she felt negligible. After months of swirls emotions, it was the first time Hermione felt she wasn't worthy. She could hardly believe a single sentence coming from him could break her spirits, but it did.

Hermione stared back at him, hardly believing her ears. She wanted to say something, to talk back to him, but she couldn't think of anything. Then she averted her gaze from his to stare at the window beside her. She clenched her own fists and surreptitiously bit her bottom lip. She was not going to cry in front of him.

When they reached the Manor, Mrs. Malfoy greeted them curtly. Hermione noticed she didn't look overjoyed either; and she didn't scold her son for his attitude. Something was wrong.

Draco probably wouldn't have walked Hermione to her room if his mother hadn't told him to.

"Come with me." He simply told her; his tone was not harsh, but it was cold, as cold as his indifference. She followed him without granting him with an answer, it wasn't like she had a choice, she barely knew her way around her own family's Manor, she would only get lost in Malfoy Manor.

Hermione never liked Malfoy Manor. It was big, it was dark and gloomy, even when all of the curtains were opened and the sunlight enlightened it all. And she had to walk four sets of stairs to the east wing, where her bedroom apparently was.

Draco opened the door for her, but didn't look at her face not even once. Hermione wondered if he was going to behave like that all day.

The bedroom was way bigger than her room at Zabini Manor, the large windows led to a full view of the gardens, the walls were of a pale peach colour, the floors were of white marble. There was a fireplace and a sofa in front of it that matched with the huge king sized bed covered with a light yellow coverlet, two dark wooden nightstands at each side of the bed, and two others doors, that led to the bathroom and the wardrobe, she assumed

"This is our room," Draco stated, now looking at her in the eyes, daring her to say something. She felt intimidated at first, part of her wanted to put up a fight, to retort, to tell him all kinds of things for treating her that way; but the other part told her that she was getting what she deserved, he was acting the same way she had been acting towards him on the past few months.

"But you won't be sleeping here, will you?" She asked warily, partly knowing the answer. She knew Draco wasn't going to willingly share neither a room nor a bed with her. He would have a few days ago, but something had changed.

"No, I will be in my old room on the third floor." He turned his back to her to leave, but Hermione grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt to stop him.

"Wait!"

"What?" He turned slowly, arching an eyebrow.

"When can we talk?"

"Why do you care so much?" He had an angered, yet amused expression on his face.

"I want to know what's wrong with you."

"Too bad."

He averted his arm from her grasp and left leaving a speechless Hermione behind. She didn't know if she should have felt shocked about his reaction, what was there to expect? He wouldn't have opened up to her to tell her whatever it was he felt. Despite his regular attempts to get close to her, he never shared his confidences with her.

Hermione knew most of his words were made up, most of his manners around her were an act; the real Draco Malfoy wasn't all cheery and comforting as he usually tried to prove her.

Today he had showed her a glimpse of his real self, he didn't want to act, he didn't want to pretend he liked her; he was probably sick of her. Could that be it? Perhaps the reason for his ultimate demeanor was that he had had enough, he couldn't pretend any longer

Most people would think she was nuts for thinking this way, but she liked Draco better when he didn't act, even if that meant she had to put up with his horrible temper. Not that she liked his bad moods, but at least they were real, they made sense! They proved to her that she wasn't living in a complete twisted reality where Draco Malfoy suddenly was Mr. Bright Eyes and she was supposed to love him.

When the sound of his steps faded away, she walked to the windows to check the view. She appreciated the Malfoys' gardens; they were beautiful even though they had a Gothic touch. She wondered if Draco used to play around those old statues when he was a child, she could imagine a young blond child running around and playing in those gardens.

Immediately she thought if something he said could be right; could they have a chance as a couple? Could they have a child who would play in those gardens and run around the house? Would she ever have the chance to be a mother? The thought of having a child with Draco Malfoy didn't excite her, but partly, it didn't disgust her...not if he could prove to her that he could be real, that he wasn't an act...and if she liked what lay beyond that act. Not his aggressiveness, not his mood swings, but what lay underneath it all. She knew there was more than what meets the eye, she just wasn't sure she would like what it was.

After all, she didn't like most of the things she did know about Malfoy. He could be civil and even caring towards her, but if she were a muggleborn, he would only despise and disgrace her, she knew that much, and it was enough for not allowing herself to like him. She couldn't like a muggle-hater, even if she could at least get close to understand his reasons beyond that.

His reasons were obvious, that was just the way he had been raised; but why couldn't he see beyond that? Hermione knew Draco was a smart man, he could see beyond his prejudices if he wanted to. But that was the thing: he didn't want to.

He had been trying to prove her otherwise, he had told her little things he knew about the muggle world, at first she was surprised, later she recognized the book where he had been taking the definitions from. She wanted to think about it as an advance; he had been actually reading a book about muggles, perhaps he wanted to change, perhaps he would even like what he read. But that was a fat chance. She could hardly get her own brother to like them.

It was there, in that room that she had to assume as hers alone, that she wondered for the first time since she had gotten married what she would do about Draco Malfoy. He was her husband, it hurt to admit it, but it was true. In any other time she would have expected to say that about Ron Weasley, but she knew now that was not a possibility.

Right now, she couldn't like Malfoy much, not even close to what she felt for Ron when she first met him; but could she grow to love him as he said? Could there be a chance? And did he even want that or did he just want to go on with his family legacy and tradition? The second possibility was the most accurate.

Hermione sighed loudly as she fell onto the couch by the fireplace. She didn't know what to do. She knew what the people in her life would advise her to do--her mother, persuasive and opportunist as usual, would tell her to forget every wrong aspect about him and start all over again; that was not a possibility.

Ron would explain to her his plans to murder him, Harry would tell her he's up for whatever it is she would want, even if that means following Ron's train of thought. And Blaise, he would probably say the same thing as Harry, but he would most likely try and persuade her not to kill Draco and give him a chance instead.

She wanted to believe Draco Malfoy could be a better man, even though he was his father's son, she was almost sure he wasn't a killer, he wasn't keen to torture either, and she dared believe he didn't even support them. It was something he wasn't proud of, but he didn't like seeing other's suffer. Perhaps he didn't find it fair, perhaps he was sensitive enough to feel the pain as his own, or perhaps he just had a lousy stomach. In truth, Hermione didn't know; and one of the things that bothered her the most was having to deal with his acting. Sometimes it was so hard to separate truth from reality that she preffered to assume everything he said and did was a lie.

How could she grow to like someone whom she could hardly trust? Someone who despised muggles and muggleborns, someone who had been in the dark side.. the son of a death-eater. She told herself over and over again that it wasn't his fault, he hadn't chosen his parents, he hadn't even chosen a side, for he had been born into one. But nowadays, she didn't know which side he would choose if he had the chance. He wasn't unhappy about the outcome of the war, but he probably wouldn't mind if Voldemort had won either; not as long as his family maintained a high status.

One could say Draco was almost neutral, almost. Neutral wasn't good enough for her. She sighed loudly, and subsequently heard a knock on the door.

"Come in!" She said, never mind proper etiquette, it was supposed to be her Manor, too, after all.

The door opened effortlessly to show Narcissa Malfoy. There was a cold aura around her, as usual; she didn't look compassionate, just plain indifferent. Hermione regretted her response when she looked at her face; it hadn't been a nice start.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, I thought Draco was at the door." She straightened, feeling exposed under her gaze.

"I could hardly believe he would knock to enter to his own room." Her voice was polite, but severe at the same time, as well as her words. Narcissa stood in the entrance as she spoke, "So, now you'll finally be staying here, I believe it's time for you to know a few things about your new home."

Hermione was about to say she wasn't planning on staying long, but decided against after seeing Narcissa's face.

"You are not obliged to attend breakfast, but supper and dinner will not be served for only one family member at any time of the day. Supper is served at midday, dinner starts at 9 o clock in the evening every day. If you happen to miss a meal, you might as well have it in the kitchens."

Hermione nodded absently.

"You may change the decorations of this wing if you wish, but I am in charge of the rest of the Manor. Any other changes you might consider appropriate must be approved by me. You may be in charge of the children's wing on the third floor whenever you will be expecting."

Hermione nodded once again, this time repressing a sigh. Over the past months she had learn it was the best choice when dealing both with her mother and Narcissa Malfoy. There was no use to arguing, she would not be listened, or at least, taken seriously.

"If you do not have any appointments during the weekend, and thus are in the house, you are expected to attend the afternoon tea whenever we have a guest. If I do not happen to be in the Manor, you are supposed to take my place as hostess and Lady of the Manor. I trust your mother has tought you the appropriate manners and protocol to take such a position?"

"She has." That wasn't an experience she had actually enjoyed, but she knew it would be useful nonetheless, although she wasn't looking forward to hosting anything in her entire life.

"You may only be excused from your duties in the Manor due to illness, pregnancy or vacation in a country outside the United Kingdom. Holidays, parties and any other type of family encounter that is to take place here must be planned and agreed upon within a week of the anticipated date. If not, you are not obliged to attend; however, it would be most appropriate if you did."

"And finally, I have been informed that I should explain you we have 6 house elves in the household. They are not to be seen, they must only be acknowledged in case of utter need; and most importantly, they must not be freed." She dared her to object.

"Yes." She knew that one was coming.

"Very well then. I hope you do not plan on locking yourself in this wing, your presence around the rest of the Manor would be most appreciated, dear."

Hermione was taken off guard by her words, it was very strange of Narcissa Malfoy to compliment her openly and without Mrs. Zabini close by. Even though her words sounded sincere, she could hardly understand why would Narcissa want her around.

"All right," She answered barely above a whisper. It was no time for arguments, she felt, it was not a time to put up a fight. It was time to take a break; she needed to regain strength once again.

And when she did, she would think about what to do about Draco Malfoy.

--

A/N: Well, that was one long chapter, wasn't it? I was planning on making it shorter, but it turned out this way. I am hoping to have next chapter in...less than a month! I already have half of it, writen from Blaise's POV.

Thank you so much for all of your encouraging reviews, they make my day. Please, do tell me what do you think about this chapter, I enjoyed writing Hermione's thoughts and her change of role.