A/N: Okay, so got some reviews. Yes, Hermione is a virgin. Draco was a man-whore. If you feel weird/creepy about it, you can drop it. I won't feel offend. Some people are picky about certain things when reading a fic, I am too like a "nice" Draco and have dropped fics because of that. So, if you are concerned about Draco about being a jerk, yes he is one because that is the way his personality is the canon. And no, I don't try to "protect" Hermione innocence, this is a Mature fic for a reason.

Other than that, please review =)

There. That witch again. What's the obsession with her?

Hermione's eyes grazed the ceiling of the dining room, analyzing every detail of the gothic painting. The witch was holding herself on an ivory roman pillar, her back facing a man and her head slightly looking back at him. Her black wings draped inanimately with the tips going white. The man was a warrior, holding out one hand to her and the other resting on the pocketed sword.

"Are you ready?"

Hermione turned to Narcissa who beckoned her to follow her. The kitchen was magnificent and bright, much to her surprise since everything else was gloomy and dark in the house. On the white-gray marble counter tops, there were bowls and baking ingredients set up neatly.

"As a wife you need to learn to cook and bake and know my son's favorites. Today is tiramisu. From scratch."

Hermione with no response, cracking eggs into a bowl and added sugar, whisking away.

"Girl knows how to bake?" Narcissa whispered bitterly. "Very well then. Let's have a try once you're done." She was at the door and turned her head slightly, whispering icy, "If not done right there will be serious… consequences."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she left, continuing to follow the instructions that were imprinted in her mind. After about five minutes, she began on the frosting until it was of decent consistency. Then she still, feeling a presence behind her, he leaned over her, dipping the pale finger in the icing. She looked up to come face to face with Draco's smug face, licking the icing off his finger.

"Morning."

"Good morning," Hermione muttered, eyes casted downward at the bowl.

"It's actually really good."

"Is that a compliment I'm hearing?" She tried to suppress the smile on her lips.

"For a mudblood."

She put the whisk down and rolled her eyes. "What does that even have to do with baking?"

He shrugged. "Still a mudblood."

"Why is the only insult you can come up with? After a day and an half with you, I don't even get offended anymore."

He grabbed her hand and dipped her fingers into the bowl, scooping the icing up and into his mouth teasingly. Hermione flushed hard as he smirked, sucking the icing tenderly off her fingers. After the icing was all gone, he slid onto the counter.

"You know, Granger, what's more satisfying than insulting you? Teasing you."

She waved her wand to remove the piece of icing their fingers had dipped into and whisked away again. Draco snatched up an apple in a bowl nearby, taking a bite of it greedily. And Hermione decided to take a good look at him, something she has been avoiding to do. She noticed all his features and flawless contours, but one thing she was not prepared for was the jet black skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth on his forearm. She dropped the whisk in shock, her eyes unwavering.

Draco followed her gaze and the minute he looked at his dark mark, he grabbed her hand and made all her fingers touch the mark. She shivered violently as if the skull will clamp its teeth down on her fingers. He jerked her and her eyes lifted to his, their faces close, only a few inches away.

"I was waiting for you to notice it… Think I'm a bloody beast?" he growled huskily.

Hermione shook her head slightly, holding her breath.

He released her, drawing back. "You think it's easy? I wanted to join the ranks of the Deatheaters under the Dark Lord. Then I saw what it was really like and I regret it so much. But I had to stay in. Even after his downfall, it wasn't easy. I couldn't even get a job, so I had no choice but to run my father's business, dealing with the same dodgy people." His voice began to become unsteady with anger. "And look at me, I'm here again. Dealing with the same BULLSHIT! A fucking Deatheater again!" he roared as Hermione shielded her face with her hands. He gave a humorless chuckle. "You see you think I'm a beast."

Draco slid off the counter, taking a bite from his apple heatedly. But before he could walk away, Hermione grabbed his forearm, making him turn toward her.

She traced her fingers lightly on the mark, her whisper soft, "Don't let this mark define you. You're not a…beast. You're a person who lived right in the middle of hell. But you need to find your redemption and rise through the fire and darkness into the light."

He stilled at her words… light, he was recalling his dream. That woman was his redemption, was she? Is that woman… Draco pulled himself away from her roughly, leaving her, sighing heavily.

Hermione turned back to her baking, focusing unnecessarily hard to keep her thoughts at bay. After thirty-five minutes she served three pieces, balancing them out the door into the dining room. Narcissa was sitting on the side as Draco took the end table seat, standing tall as if he ruled. She confidently set a plate in front of both of them and took her seat next to Draco. The cake in front of her was neglected as Hermione watched Narcissa gracefully take one bite, her face emotionless. In one motion, Narcissa nodded, setting her fork down and wiped her mouth, taking her leave.

Hermione slumped back in her chair, furrowing her eyebrows. "I don't understand."

"You think she'll compliment you?" laughed Draco with a chill.

"No, I guess not."

Draco felt an uncomfortable feeling settling at the pit of his stomach when he saw the frown etched on Hermione's face. "Well, it's not too bad."

"Not too bad?" There was a bright twinkle in her eye.

"It's good."

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm glad. And you seem like a picky eater."

"Do not insult me, Granger."

"Not insulting you, Malfoy. Just an observation."

"Where you learn how to do this anyway?" he asked, picking at the cake slowly before taking a small bite, savoring it sweet taste.

"Mrs. Weasley."

His face fell in disgust and as it looked like he was going to spit the cake out of his mouth, Hermione slapped both of hands over his mouth, startling him. "Don't you dare…," she warned threateningly.

He put both hands in the air, surrendering. He then continued to take another bite, encouraged by her small smile. "I can't believe I'm eating a blood-traitor's recipe."

"Food is food," she snapped annoyed. "If you're so picky about it have the house elves do it for you instead!"

"No. My mother cooks once a week to upkeep her duties as a wife and you're expect to do the same. And I could care less what you do, but my mother does."

"I rather not play wife for you."

Draco stabbed half of the cake with the fork, sending a quake through the table and a slam echoing in the dining hall. "Granger, you chose this. Remember that."

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair. "I know! Must I be reminded of it all the time?"

He snorted, "Yes. I'm stuck with you. It's no flying in clear skies. Weasel got out of this one, lucky him."

She stood abruptly to her feet, glaring at him. "I'll have you know, I was an amazing woman to him!"

"Dunno about that, Granger," he sniggered. "All you seem to be doing is causing your future husband trouble. Now I pity the Weasel more."

"I'll show you!"

He cocked an eyebrow at her, questioningly and as he was going to tease her, he was cut off by a squeaky voice, "Young Master Malfoy!" Both looked down to see a young female house elf. An envelope was in her shaking hand and he snatched from her which in turn Hermione wrenched it from his hand.

"Take it from her nicely!"

"It, Granger, it." He noticed her shaking in fury, turning a crimson of rage. "Okay, okay. Her. Next time I will. So please, just hand me the bloody letter." He held out his palm and Hermione slapped the enveloped letter into his palm. He quickly open it, reading it, his face fell. Shit, he thought.

"I need to go, Granger. I'll be back later."

He rushed out as Hermione called after him, "Wait! Ugh, nevermind." She looked down at the elf, smiling weakly.

A few passing minutes later, the dining room burst opened with Evelyn, giving Hermione a look so similar to what Professor Snape used to give Harry, filled with distaste and roaring with hate.

"You?" she laughed hollowly. "Are you—? NO! It can't be!"

"As unfortunate as it is, it is the truth," said Narcissa bitterly from behind Evelyn.

"A mudblood?"

"Yes, a mudblood," spat Hermione.

Evelyn cocked an eyebrow, sweeping towards her. "Girl got tongue?" She grabbed Hermione by the jaw. "Maybe it should be cut."

"Enough!" warned Narcissa. "You are not here to torture the girl. Just…fix her." And she left once again.

With a wave of her wand, Evelyn forcibly pushed Hermione into a chair and conjured essential tools. She roughly began pulling on Hermione's hair as she squeezed her eye shut from the pain.

Merlin, this woman must have been married to Voldemort, evil witch! she screamed in her head.

"What I'm doing right now, should last you about a year. Although it shouldn't make much of a difference, you'll be hideous anyway."

Hermione clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palms and exposing her forearms slightly. It was an attempt to distract her from the screams of pain from her scalp.

"Ah, I see. Not a Deatheater, are you?" When Hermione didn't answer, Evelyn continued, "Surely, you'll become one. It would be a shame if the Prince's fiancée didn't join her future husband into dark nobility."

No, no NO! roared Hermione in her head. She would never joined the Deatheaters, she would rather die than become dark.

Evelyn pulled roughly on her hair as Hermione suppressed the yelp of pain. "Oh, and you haven't been marked as a Malfoy yet, huh?"

"What do you mean?" gritted Hermione through her teeth.

She felt claw-like nails grazing her neck and a low whisper, "Oh nothing, darling. After some time, Evelyn hissed, "I don't believe that you two are actually in love, you know."

"I could care less what you think," replied Hermione bitterly.

"You know this whole time while he was with you, how many women were in his bed?"

"And that's why I was his only girlfriend and now fiancée. I'm okay with an open-relationship while you other women tend to be possessive of him. You don't and will never understand him. I do. That's why you were just a mistress and you're not sitting here with this on your finger." Hermione flashed her ring and knowing well she had struck a nerve when Evelyn gave a rough tug on Hermione's hair. Hermione didn't care, she felt super satisfied for annoying Evelyn.

And with one last tug on Hermione's hair, exclaimed sourly, "I am done!"

"So quickly?" Hermione rubbed her scalp to feel soft hair.

"Forgot that you live in a magical world, mudblood?"

Evelyn passed her a mirror and Hermione had to try with all her control not to drop the mirror. Her hair was in soft waves, silky, past her breasts and her golden-brown hair could never be so shiny and full, every frizz tamed.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Evelyn cleared her throat with discomfort at Hermione's appreciation. "There is an outfit set for you every day for the rest of the month. It should appear on your vanity."

Hermione went to turn to look at Evelyn, but she was gone. Instead there was a cat strolling out with its tail high in the air. With a sigh, she rested her head on the table. All alone now… Surely she would avoid everyone and without Malfoy, it would be lonely and…peaceful.

"I almost couldn't recognize you."

The voice was new, but yet familiar as she heard it several times over the last day.

"Zabini," she muttered.

"Granger… Where's Draco?"

Hermione gave a halfhearted shrug. "I don't know."

"So what made the Golden Girl fall in love with a Deatheater?" She warily watched him take a seat opposite of her.

"Why is really any of your business?"

"He's my best mate in case you didn't know. And I find it hard to believe so suddenly he's engaged to you."

Hermione sat up properly, her eyes boring into his. "It's not suddenly just because you didn't know about it."

"You know how many women he slept with while he was with you? And not to mention you're a mudblood."

"Yes. I know, Zabini, I was told this before. Malfoy is a bit wild… But our relationship was really open…" Hermione furrowed her eyebrows more and more as the lies came rushing out. "And love know no boundaries."

Blaise burst into laughter, holding his stomach. "Really sweet!" He leaned forward with a smirk so similar to Draco's. "I'm calling bullshit on all of this. But let's see how far love goes when you become a lady Deatheater."

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line, wanting to protest loudly, but instead pointed out, "Why is there such an expectation for me to be a Deatheater when Mrs. Malfoy isn't one…"

He cocked his eyebrow and let out hallow chuckle. "Either way, you're going to get branded. You are going to be made a Malfoy. I don't think you'll like that either."

Hermione groaned in frustration. "What does that even mean?"

"No one's told you?"

"No!"

A smirk played on his lips. "Well, I don't think I should be the one to tell you."

"Well, can you answer at least one question?" asked Hermione irritated.

Blaise snorted, "You're the brightest witch of our age. Answer it yourself."

She slammed her hands on the table. "Zabini!"

"Alright! Alright! What?"

"The witch." Hermione pointed to the ceiling. "Who is she? I saw a picture of her in Black Cat's Den. One in the living room. Then, here she is again."

Blaise's eyes swept over the ceiling, analyzing every detail. "Her name is Despina. She's the oldest female ancestor of the Malfoy. The pictures paint a prophecy. Uh… the picture you saw in Black Cat defined her power. The one in the dining room shows her riches. The one here tell more of the story… She's a pureblood witch that fell in love with a warrior with no magical blood at all. And I'm guessing you haven't seen the one in the ball room?"

Hermione shook her head.

"You'll see it eventually. But that one shows her on her wedding day to the warrior, Hero. She's completely white by then."

"There's a Malfoy who fell in love with a muggle?"

"Just a prophecy, Granger. Never happened."

"So they live happily ever after?"

He snorted, "No. There's a picture somewhere that shows them after they were married. He killed her when he found out she was a witch."

"Oh…" After some time gazing at the ceiling, Hermione whispered. "Where's that one?"

"Hasn't been found yet."

"It's not in the Manor?"

"No."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, staring at Blaise. "So why was one in the Black Cat's Den…? Is Evelyn a—"

"No, she isn't a Malfoy. And the Malfoys use to own that place long before Diagon Alley came along. The space was no longer could be a home, they sold it off as a shop. The painting is enchanted so no one could paint over it. Now, it's stuck. When Evelyn came along, she liked it. So…yeah," Blaise finished awkwardly.

"Is there something I can read on the Malfoy history?"

Blaise laughed, a genuine laugh filled with amusement that surprised Hermione. "Same old, Granger, huh?"

She grinned, "I suppose."

He slightly smiled at her. "One's thing change though."

"And what is that?"

Motioning at her, he smirked, "All this. You look different. No more bushy hair. You're actually really cute…" He flushed lightly. "For a mudblood," he mumbled.

"Yeah. A mudblood," she said rolling her eyes. "So, is there a book or something?"

Blaise looked her up and down, nodding. "Come on." He walked to her side of the table, holding out his hand. Hermione took it and he lead her away, to the library and keeping her occupied.

"So a Malfoy literally never ever marry a muggle?" asked Hermione, looking at one record of the Malfoys. Other records of parchments, books and journals sprawled messily one chairs and the table in the library.

"No, why would that even surprise you?" snorted Blaise into a book. "It says here that the Malfoy family arrived in Britain in 1479 and built this Manor… Oh and they came from Italy!"

"That seems reasonable…" Hermione said more to herself. "With the type of paintings and architecture that are around here."

"It says here that Elvira Malfoy married Damien Wreather… He was chaser for the Bulgaria team in 1857!"

"Oh."

He reminisced, "I loved playing Chaser. I really do miss it."

Hermione looked at Blaise. "It was okay. But I always thought the best matches were between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Those were the only matches I was really interested in."

"I have to admit, those were the best matches. Gryffindor always gave us a challenge."

"And we always won!" Hermione gave Blaise a small teasing smile.

"So, how come you never join the team? With your friends and all being on the team," he smirked.

"I don't know how to fly," she frowned.

"You don't? I guess I found something the Golden Girl can't do!"

"Oh! Stop it!" She rolled her eyes, casting them onto the records again.

"I can teach you if you like?" A smile played upon his lips.

"Uh…okay. Sure."

"Alright. Well, I'm taking my leave. See you another day?"

She nodded.

"Have a good night."

"Good night…" she whispered.

And he left with a soft click, sending relief over her. Hermione continued to study Malfoy history for hours and hours. When she was done, gathered the books scattered around the armchairs and loveseats, slowly placing them in their right spot. Her mind slowly wandered to Malfoy and how his "be back later" is extending way past the usual meaning.

Maybe he left for his room early…she thought.

She stack the dirty plates from dinner on the table, yawning and deciding one of the house-elves will clean it up. She'll make it up to whichever house-elf cleaned up after her. She left to the room, to find no Malfoy. It was empty…

And that how it was for the next week. Unbearably empty. No Malfoy. No Zabini. Just her and Narcissa in the chilly Manor, a storm riding on their shoulders. An eerie air thick and suffocating them both. Narcissa showed more and more dark bags under her eyes from those sleepless nights when she refused to sleep because of the overwhelming concern for her son. Even Hermione had trouble sleeping, waking up at every little creak, hoping it was Draco's footsteps. She may had not like Draco, but wherever he was, she hoped he was not fatally hurt or hurt at all. Every corner Hermione turned, she prayed to bump into him and see his smirk. Hell, she would ever be okay with hearing his voice call "mudblood." It was becoming nerving.

Terrible thoughts stormed her head. What if Malfoy killed his own son because of her? It would all her fault. She'll be responsible for his death. Merlin, as much as she couldn't stand him, she never wanted to put him into danger. He helped her and this is how she paid him back? Guilt filled her veins, pounded her heart and drowned her body completely.

And there was no comfort. Those days, there were no letters from him or from what she could see, Lucius Malfoy either. The only thing she could do was lose her mind in something else. Books and books, stretching her mind. Cooking dish after dish, up to ten a day, sharing them with the house-elves who adored her more and more every day.

And sometimes, she'll stare out the window, hoping he would show…

"Here, you are Cherry." Hermione passed a plate of brandied pepper steak with roasted potatoes to the little, young house-elf. Her ears were not as large as others, but still maintained their usual bat-like appearance. Her big eyes' iris painted dark like black-cherries.

"Not eating, Misses?" she squeaked.

Hermione smiled halfheartedly and shook her head lightly. "I'm not really hungry."

"But misses! You have not eaten at all today."

"I know. I just lost my appetite for today. I hope you enjoy. I'm heading up to the library…"

Hermione sulked out of the kitchen, the dining room and into the living room, where she stopped dead in her tracks. There was a tiger, heaving up and down, breathing hard. Crimson blood stains splashed against its white fur and the blonde stripes barely visible. It rose its stormy eyes to bore into Hermione's. She drew her wand, aiming at the beast, but it moved quickly. It pinned her on the ground, baring its teeth, blood dripping on her face and digging its claws into her skin.

And her wand was now out of her reach.

She was going to be killed by Lucius Malfoy.