Hermione dreamed that night of home. She dreamed of the house she'd grown up in, even though she hadn't set foot inside it since before the war. Her last memory of the place was erasing her parents' every memory of her and leaving to chase Horcruxes with Harry.
In her dream state, she walked in the front door, just the same as she had every time she came back from school for holiday. She could smell that her mother was heating potpourri on the stove, something she only did around the holidays. It smelled like apples and spicy cinnamon and brought back so many memories of happy times. She moved farther into the house, through the front hall and into the great room. Her father was sitting in his favorite armchair with a book and a pipe. The sweet tobacco smoke floated across the room to her, and she remembered sitting around the fire with her parents while they told her stories of their parents, whom she'd never gotten to meet.
Hermione was so happy to see her father that all her thoughts and cares melted away and she felt like a little girl again. She dashed across the room and hopped onto the couch on her knees. Leaning over she said to him, "What are you reading, Daddy?"
He looked up from his book, startled. Coughing a bit from the large amount of smoke he'd inhaled out of shock he dropped his book and said, "Who are you?" His eyes were not demanding, but they were fearful. Hermione had no idea what caused the fear in his eyes, but her stomach dropped like a stone. She crawled off the couch, speechless and ran into the kitchen.
Her mother was carving a small, oven baked turkey. Hermione smiled as she remembered how her father always fought with her, wanting to carve the turkey because he was the man of the house. Mama never let him because he always butchered it in the end. She had started carving it before the dinner table was even set to keep it nice and neat.
"Mama?" she asked nervously.
Hermione's mother looked up from the turkey, and clutching the knife in her hand, choked out, "What are you doing in my house?"
"What? Mama, it's me, Hermione, your daughter!" Hermione pleaded, trying to make her realize who she was.
"I don't have a daughter, but I know who you are, they had you on the television! You're wanted for murder!" Her mother was pointing the large kitchen knife at her now, hands shaking in fear.
Hermione thought back, hadn't the Death Eaters been putting their faces on muggle television back during the war, to try to pull them out of hiding? It couldn't be, though. The war was over.
Hermione moved around the counter, trying to reason with her mother. "No, no I've never killed anyone! I don't want to hurt anybody; I just want you to remember me!"
Jane Granger shook her head, and said, "Get out!" She waved the knife in Hermione's direction, and Hermione was about to run when the front door slammed open. A bunch of med stormed in wearing what looked like military tactical uniforms. Hermione backed up against the wall, and watched as they gunned down her mother, shocked tears running down her face. In the other room, she heard gunfire, and she knew they had gotten her father as well.
Hermione wailed in pain and sorrow, but the men in uniforms looked past her. They stormed back out of the house as quickly as they'd come, and she ran after them, screaming the whole while.
"YOU KILLED MY PARENTS!" she wailed. "YOU MURDERED THEM!" Nothing she screamed got their attention in any way, and when she turned, she saw the house catch fire. In a matter of moments, it was reduced to rubble, faster than any explosion or fire she'd ever seen or heard of. She felt o her knees and wept, until there were no more tears to cry. She fell back onto the grass, exhausted.
But as she lay there, she realized it wasn't grass that was under her head. She ran her fingers over it, and realized she was in bed. Her eyes were sore from crying, but she pushed them open, to find herself in the same bedroom she'd woken up in all week. There was a cool compress on her forehead, and arietta was standing over her. Wait, standing over me?
Hermione turned her head and saw that arietta was standing on a stool, her bandaged hands pressing the compress on her head.
"What's-what's going on?" she asked hoarsely.
"Miss has been sleepings for long time. Miss has fever. Arietta be helping Miss." The elf said meekly.
"Arietta, what happened to your hands, and why are you talking that way?"
"Arietta had to punish herself. Arietta has to talk like other elves, so master don't know she is smart, she whispered.
"You don't have to put on a show for me, Arietta. I know you're very old and very wise," Hermione said kindly. "What day is it?" Hermione squinted, trying to stop the pounding in her head.
"Friday, Miss." Arietta said, taking the compress off and dipping it in a bowl of cool water. She replaced on Hermione's head a moment later. Meanwhile, Hermione's mind was racing. How had she gone to sleep on Wednesday night and not woken up until Friday? It didn't feel like she'd had that nightmare for the length that she supposedly slept, but it had been vivid, so there was really no telling.
"What time is it?" Hermione asked as her stomach growled fiercely.
"Almost noon, Miss," Arietta responded.
Hermione jolted up to a sitting position. "No wonder my stomach is growling, I haven't eaten since dinner on Wednesday." She rolled her neck left to right, trying to work out the aches there. "May I have lunch in my room?" she asked politely of the elf.
Arietta stepped down from her stool and paced nervously. "Master won't like it. Master will be very upset if you aren't at lunch."
"Does he know I'm awake?" Hermione asked, sincerely doubting Malfoy cared if she were awake or not.
"No, Miss, he is out for the morning, but he should be home soon," Arietta replied. More outings? If he's not working with the Death eater's, what is he up to?
"Fine then, don't tell him that I'm awake; just sneak me some food up here. A sandwich is enough, but I need some water." Arietta nodded warily and went to exit the room. "And I need a potion for my fever. I'm sure Master Malfoy keeps them somewhere for emergencies?" The elf nodded again, then snapped her fingers and disappeared.
Hermione slumped back against the pillows. She hoped she wouldn't get arietta in trouble, but at the same time, she wanted to stir up trouble with Malfoy for some reason. Maybe because the last time you stood up to him he snogged you senseless. Hermione pushed away the thought and picked up the journal where it had fallen to her side while she slept.
Hermione had finished the first portion of the journal, and all she had gained from it was that Aurora's husband had locked her up there, first for being pregnant with her son, then years later for carrying on with a muggleborn. Oddly, it seemed from Aurora's perspective that Abraxas's problem wasn't with the infidelity itself, but with who she had been unfaithful with. These purebloods were curious creatures.
Hermione turned the page on Aurora's final, fright filled page, and came to the part in the childish hand.
Daddy is really mad. He didn't hit me so much this time, but he locked me in the tower.
I'm scared.
Mommy always gets so scared when she has to come up here.
The writing was choppy and childish, full of small thoughts and phrases, most of them about fear. She gathered from the timing and the chronology of the book that these could only be written by Lucius or Draco. She flipped forward a bit, and found a page where a name had been scrawled. Draco Malfoy was written about ten times, in different handwriting. Hermione guessed that this part was written by Draco. That made sense, because if Aurora spent most of her remaining life in the tower, there wouldn't have been time for Lucius to be put in it before he was Hogwarts age.
Draco's writing was quite juvenile, so Hermione guessed he had been locked in here before reaching Hogwarts age. He referenced his father beating him in most entries, but it seemed that this was Lucius's punishment of choice for the boy. Maybe he knew that leaving marks on Draco would draw attention, or maybe this was just what his father taught him to do with errant family members.
Hermione flipped a few pages on, and noticed a change in writing. It was obvious some time had passed between the last entry and this one.
Father sent me up here again. I thought once I went to Hogwarts I wouldn't have to deal with his punishments. I never sleep well here. The nightmares don't let me sleep much. All this because I let a mudblood beat me at all my classes. Doesn't he understand, if she beat me in ALL of them it must just be because she's smarter. But no, he swears it's because I didn't work hard enough. He says that if I didn't work hard this year, then next year I won't be able to handle class and Quidditch. I don't even know if I'll make the team, but if stupid Hairy Potty can make the team and keep up his class work, so can I. That kid just riles me up. We could be so powerful as friends, but he insists on hanging around with the wrong sort. Sometimes I wish I had a choice in my friends, but friendship doesn't mean shit in the end. It won't matter much after Hogwarts. My father says he has big plans for me anyway.
Hermione could just imagine first year Draco writing this entry. He always was a little too obsessed with Harry, even at that age. It made her a little happy that Draco had admitted that she was smarter than him.
Arietta appeared with a silver tray in hand. On it was a pitcher of water, a crystal goblet and a plate of sandwiches. There was also a steaming vial of blue liquid that she recognized to be a fever-reducer.
"Thank you so much, Arietta," Hermione said, "But this is too much!"
Arietta shook her head and smiled. She bowed humbly and asked, "Is there anything else Miss requires?"
"I forbid you form punishing yourself for disobeying Master's wishes this time. If he asks, I forced you to do it, okay?"
Arietta smiled and nodded, then disappeared.
Hermione heard the clock strike noon, and thought idly that if Draco had arrived home, then he'd be beginning his lunch right then.
Hermione took a bite of the sandwich, which had turkey, cheddar cheese, and lettuce so fresh she thought it had been picked that morning. The bread was obviously homemade, and was quite delicious.
After she had eaten a bit of the sandwich, she drank some water. Once she felt it was safe to take the potion, she did so, cringing as it burned her throat on the way down. She hoped that not taking it on an empty stomach would help her avoid the acid reflux normally associated with that particular potion.
She looked back to the journal as she ate the sandwich, moving forward in time with the young Draco.
Where does he get off? Every time I do something he thinks will disgrace him, he locks me up in this stupid tower. And this stupid journal just keeps erasing itself every time I leave, so I don't even have anything to read. I swear, next holiday I'm staying at Hogwarts. Even if Dumblydork's dumber than a bag of bricks, he's better company than these stupid stone walls. He won't even let the elves bring me food in here. What an asshole he is. This time he's justifying locking me up like a leper because I didn't win the house cup in Quidditch. Who cares? It's just the bloody house cup, it's not like it's real Quidditch in a league somewhere. Besides, I caught the snitch just as many times as stupid Potter. He's also mad about my grades again, but I got all O's and one E. I bet no one besides Granger did better. But who could beat a brownnoser at brownnosing?
Hermione sniffed slightly reading that, but then laughed, because she was getting offended over something that was written 9 years ago. She flipped forward and read more of the same, complaining about school and about his father. She found something interesting a few pages later.
For the first time ever, Father has a reason to put me in here that isn't completely bullshit. He sent me up here because I'm refusing to take the Dark Mark. I don't want to be indebted to some half-dead asshole that basically has a boy crush on some 16 year old boy-who-wouldn't-die. I mean, seriously? Sure, I was raised to think those of lesser blood are inferior to me. I accept that. But does that mean they should all die or be punished? Who is he to judge? Riddle isn't a pureblooded name as far as I know…
I must be stupid for thinking I have a choice in the matter. I haven't had a choice in anything my whole life. These are your friends, go to Hogwarts, not Durmstrang, join the Quidditch team (although I would have chosen that either way), be a fucking death eater. They act like I'm a puppet they can just pull strings of and make dance. I understand I probably won't ever get to be my own man, but shouldn't I get the choice to decide whether I become some homicidal maniac in a cult?
The next page looked like it was written the next day.
The nightmares are back. I hate this fucking room. This time they were worse than ever. He came to me in my dream. He told me if I didn't join his army, that my family would be slaughtered. Somehow I don't think it was a dream. So much for free will. I guess it's time to go meet my fate.
Hermione couldn't believe that Draco had been telling the truth. He really had been forced into being a Death Eater, and when he'd initially refused, he'd been punished, and Voldemort had invaded his dreams to convince him. What a messed up childhood he'd had. It almost made her pity him.
Hermione spent the afternoon in her room, rereading Draco's entries. The part about becoming a Death Eater had been the last of Draco's. She guessed that when he'd become a Death Eater, Draco's father finally considered him a man. That was a twisted coming of age story if she'd ever heard one.
Soon it was 4 o'clock, the time Arietta normally showed up to dress her for dinner. Hermione figured she should at least make an appearance at dinner. She dismally thought about the fact that she'd been there almost a whole week. She wondered if the Order was worried about her, but they probably assumed she was still undercover. Draco was known to entertain women for weeks at a time, so her being absent probably didn't raise any alarms as of yet. She wished there was a fireplace in the room so she could make contact. She didn't want to trust a Malfoy owl to take anything for her. It would be far too easy for a good wizard to track the bird back to their meeting place.
Of course, after this week ended, Hermione wouldn't know where they were meeting next. It was easier to avoid detection or attack if they never met in the same place for more than a week. Arietta entered, and Hermione pulled herself off the bed. Her legs were asleep, and she had to walk to get rid of the tingling sensation.
She went to the wardrobe and tried to find a dress to wear for dinner. She wasn't feeling very festive, so she went with a brown floor length gown. It had no sleeves, but the part that covered from her neck over her clavicles down to her breasts was a large print brown lace. The rest of it was a flowing material that reminded her of silk, but was not so thin.
For her feet, she chose brown slip on flats. If she had to sit in uncomfortable awkward silence, at least her shoes wouldn't be uncomfortable. She decided to go without the dagger tonight, if only because she didn't want to wear the stifling hot boots. A little part of her felt that she could trust him, and if not, then magic would be enough. She just preferred having a normal weapon on her, in case she lost her wand. She could do some wandless magic, but she hadn't really explored it, since it used a lot of energy.
Arietta fixed her hair in silence, but at Hermione's request, she just tamed it and left it free. She had made it curl softly around Hermione's shoulders, which was comfortable and familiar.
Thanking the elf, Hermione went downstairs with Draco's words from the journal in her mind. I guess it's time to go meet my fate.
A/N: Thanks for all the great reviews! You guys really keep me inspired and excited to continue! Right now this is my only work in progress, and I must say I'm better at multitasking, so the ideas are a little slow, but I'm wanting to take my time with this story, so I hope you enjoy the finished product!
