It was over twenty years since last time she was at Malfoy Manor, the day Bellatrix Lestrange made her taste the taste of the Crucio-spell, and a lot had been changed. It had the same, dark feel, like it had when Draco's father was master of the house, but in some way, it felt emptier, and as a consequence, larger.
They were followed up the stairs by six Death Eaters, two in front of them, two behind them, and two on each side, noone she could recognize from the old days. It was a difficult truth to acknowledge, that in spite of their long lasting struggle that took her teenage years and practically exterminated the Death Eater movement in 1998, the number of Death Eaters were the same, perhaps doubled about twenty years later. It had all happened so fast, she hadn't been able to predict it. She turned around for one moment, allowed herself to have a normal life, organizing birthday parties for her daughter, and plan family trips, and when she turned her head back again, everything was worse than before. People she believed in, people she voted for in elections and trusted suddenly approved of anti-muggle born laws. Malfoy became prime minister with the minister in his pocket, and she was out on the run through the European continent. Maybe they were getting paid for it. Hermione would never know. And even though her rational mind told her to stop thinking about questions with no answer, she had a need to.
What happened to the peaceful years anyway? They had all passed so quickly.
"Your rooms are up 'ere." one of the Death Eaters said, and pointed towards two doors on each side of a room.
A beautiful chandelier hang in the ceiling, and there were fresh roses standing in the window sill. Disgusting, Hermione thought to herself. Was he trying to flatter her with bouquets? Making fun of her? The Death Eater followed her into her room, and another followed Rose into hers.
The room was big enough for fourteen people to live, Hermione thought, with six windows on the wall, making a view towards the front garden and the Malfoy manor gate. She couldn't help but admire the beauty of the Malfoy Garden. Tall hedges twice as tall as an adult at least, looked like frames around the garden, each hedge surrounding a bright green lawn. Trees with great canopies, almost resting from the sun on the tree stumps, made shadows one could doze in on a summer's day. Although the garden wasn't a garden to relax in, there were not a single sign of a bench to rest on, Hermione imagined herself relaxed in that garden. It was so symmetrical, yet beautiful, in its greatness. And then it was the Malfoy Gate, made of dark, heavy steel. Hermione could already feel her heart fall down her stomach of the sight of it. Her only way to freedom. Never to be opened for her again. But she knew she did it for her daughter, and that was more than she could've said a year ago. All right, she undoubtedly rescued her daughter from watching her father get arrested, or herself in that case. But dragging her around Europe, on an endless chase after who-know-what or an escape from who-know-who? Death Eaters? Malfoy? Or reality? Looking back, Hermione was afraid that the last option was the most truthful.
She hoped Rose liked her room. If she said that not sharing room with her daughter at this stage, didn't worry her, she'd be lying. But she had to admit that Malfoy had good taste in interior. In her room, there was a double canopy bed, a pair of bedside tables, one on each side, a wardrobe, two armchairs and a coffe table between them. Traditional coal black colour, of course, probably from former Malfoy generations, but decorated with pastel coloured tablecloths. Making it "homie" in a way. Too bad her windows were all locked. Or else she might feel welcome.
The Death Eater that showed her, her room came back in, without knocking. Hermione turned around and tried to look like her former self, a lady of integrity, even though she almost felt like collapsing of tiredness.
"The master 'offers his greetings'!" The Death Eater said, bowing and waving his arm, ironically.
Hermione kept her stone face on, satisfyingly successful, if the look on the Death Eaters face was to judge.
"And he wants you to look in the envelope." he carried on, with he's brows raised.
"Be ready he said. If I 'ere you, I'd done as he said, trust me." he said, very unarticulated Hermione might add, and closed the door behind him.
Envelope? When did he plan all this, so he had time to make her an envelope? But just as the Death Eater said, there was an envelope on the left pillow on her bed. Hermione walked over to the left side of her bed, sat down and took the envelope in her hands. She tore it up with her finger nails, and read the note inside of it.
"Come to the hall for dinner at four o'clock. Wear the red one." it said.
Already making orders… She walked over to the wardrobe on the other side of the room, and opened the doors. In the wardrobe, there was tons of clothes, both sweaters, pants, skirts and dresses. She took a closer look on the dresses. Should've guessed, Hermione thought. One of them was red.
"Ah, how beautiful you both look, ladies! Please sit!" Malfoy said, when they came downstairs at four o'clock with a tone that made Hermione feel like his pet.
She wore the red dress, and Rose wore a green one of her own choice. She hadn't received any envelope, and Hermione didn't feel anything but relieved. When she came down the stairs, Hermione wondered if she would recognize anything. After everything that happened, Hermione had forgotten a lot of what happened at the Manor, not intentionally, though she was happy she didn't remember the worst parts. Hermione remembered coming to the Manor, she remembered the Gate, and thought she recognized the main door. But after that, it was all a blank. She'd asked Ron about it once, asked him what really happened beside the synopsis. I deserve to know, she remembered saying, not very firmly, but in a tone that told him she meant business. She remembered him looking at her for a long time, with a kind of absent stare, before he timidly touch her hand with his fingers, and answered firmly as well. I know, he admitted. And I deserve not telling you.
Rose sat down at the opposite side of the table from Malfoy, and Hermione sat down in the chair next to her.
Malfoy coughed, not at all sincere, and Hermione looked up at him.
"Please," Malfoy said, with a million dollar smile.
"Sit here."
He raised his hand towards a chair on the middle of the long table, between Rose and him, with a firm look in his eyes.
Hermione rose, and walked over to the chair, in full silence. She could feel Malfoy's eyes follow her every step. Measuring her movements. She turned towards Rose and smiled, reassuringly. Rose didn't smile back.
When she sat down, Malfoy nodded, and snapped his fingers. Plates, casseroles and pots of food appeared on the table, all filled with delicious courses of all forms. Warm, thick soup, fresh salads and vegetables, a kind of bird that Hermione reckoned was pheasant and all other variations of meat, stood before them, the smells thick in the air. Rose, nor Hermione had seen so much food since their escape, and watched the table with wide eyes. Rose stretched her arm towards a plate of chicken wings, before Malfoy stopped her.
"Noone eats before the master!" Malfoy said through his teeth.
Rose looked stunned, but let go of her chicken wing, with a steady, fierce look.
Malfoy didn't eat much, but he took his time. After two hours of poking the food with his fork, he gave Hermione and Rose permission to eat the cold, but still delicious meal. While they ate, Malfoy sat on his chair and watched them as Hermione observed when she glanced over at his seat. He met her gaze, with ice cold eyes and wasn't even embarrassed. After what seemed like fifteen or twenty minutes, he waved his hand in the air. The food disappeared, even though neither of them had finished their plate, and without further comment, Malfoy rose and made a gesture that dinner was over.