Hermione felt tired, fed up and ill. Her head was aching, her eyes were sore from studying all evening, and, having just found out she had a daughter, she was not happy. She still didn't believe Malfoy, though. A part of her wanted to, and yet another, greater part of her, wanted to believe that none of it was true. Not one bit of it. Even though, now, it looked like she had no choice. Malfoy had said something about Voldermort controlling them, making them ill deliberately. He had said that only if they started working together to look after Anielle, would the illness stop. Hermione wasn't sure he was right about that either. She was confused, and wanted to know more.
She sat in one of the leather armchairs by the fire, watching the last flames dance amongst the ashes before dying out. Her mind was out of control with questions and thoughts. Some of them she dared not say aloud, just in case it sparked off another row, and that was something Hermione did not want under the circumstances. It was eleven o'clock, and Malfoy had long since gone to bed. Hermione was glad she did not have his presence around her. She wanted to be on her own, to think, to try to judge what had happened. Absent-mindedly, she reached up and played with a curl of her hair. It often helped her concentrate during thinking. It wasn't doing much help tonight, though. She wasn't getting anywhere. Everything was quiet, except for the faint crackling of the low-burning fire spitting its last orange sparks onto the charred snakes of wood buried in the base of the grate. Soon, Hermione began to feel sleepy. It was warm in the room, and the silence made Hermione relaxed. Her head rested to one side of the armchair. Her eyes closed, and she entered another nightmare.
"It seems the young Malfoy boy has succeeded in our intentions…good, very good" snarled a cold, threatening voice in the darkness. "In no fewer than nine months, I shall have a child I can use for my own needs, for something I have wanted for so long now…" the voice carried on. "Your son will not know a single difference, Lucius. My plan is working just perfectly". Footsteps sounded in the empty blackness. A man came forward, and knelt in front of a dark wooden chair. Sitting in it, was another man, with skin as grey as an eel and red, glinting eyes.
"I will not disappoint you, My Lord. I will ensure that no one finds out of the real identity of Miss Reid, and meanwhile I will keep watch over my son. It is, of course, in my best interests that he…does not know" Lucuis Malfoy spoke, his tone one of preciseness and worship. The man in the high-backed chair chuckled cruelly to himself, his eyes not leaving Lucius.
It stopped there, and Hermione heard no more of their conversation. For there, the dream changed into something far more sinister.
She woke up, rubbing her eyes. A pale morning light shone through a tiny window in the stone high up in the wall. The dingy cell where she was imprisoned was damp, dark, and frightening. Moisture dripped sickeningly down the walls day after day, and the stone floor hard and rough. It was hardly a hospitable environment, but she wasn't about to care. The man that patrolled her cell at night, who came in to 'visit' her, who injured her and assaulted her for no apparent reason clear to her…he, he was more frightening that this bare room.
She heard the rattle of keys and the scrape of a lock. This time, she could see the figure more clearly. A man, cloaked from head to foot in black, was standing in front of the cell gate. He smiled a false smile, and slurred, "Wake up, now. The Dark Lord wishes to see you, and he don't like waiting. Now, stand up!" A hand reached out from under a black sleeve and grasped the padlock on the gate. A rusty iron key clicked loudly, and the gate swung open. The man stood in the empty gateway, the false smile still on his face. She tried to stand up, but her energy failed her.
"Get up! Get up, you silly girl!" the voice roared, and she shook involuntarily with fear. The loud bark of the man, the false white smile, the slate-grey skin of his fingers…she could not move. She would not move. The man angered more, and in no fewer than three seconds, he was across the stone floor of the cell and wrenching her up by her arm, tugging on her fiercely. His fingers dug into her skin hard, and her eyes watered with pain. He threw her past the gate, causing her to stumble. With a loud clangthe gate banged shut behind them as he dragged her away, pulling her wrists behind her back.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, her breathing heavy. She coughed once or twice, her head spinning. Tonight, she had witnessed two nightmares. The conversation between Lucius and his master, and another where she was trapped in a dark cell with only a Death Eater for company, a man who beat her black and scared her to within an inch of her life. Funnily enough, though, she didn't feel any symptoms this time. No nausea, no dizziness. She had a headache, but that wasn't because of the nightmare. She looked around. The light in the common room was very dim, and the fire had gone out. She noticed her spell books and parchment piled on the table, and a stack of exercise papers next to them. She sighed, and went over to keep them in her bag. Just then, Anielle started crying. Like the two previous times, her wails were loud and desperate, as if crying for help. Hermione chose to ignore her cries. It seemed wicked to do such a thing, but she knew she had to. Anielle might be her daughter, but she didn't want Malfoy to think she was foolish.
Five minutes later, Anielle was still crying. Hermione was putting on her pyjamas and dressing gown, checking her hair hastily in a pocket mirror on her bedside table. Malfoy hadn't gone to see to her. I wonder why…she thought, pulling a brush through her hair and slipping her feet into her slippers. Anielle was crying hard now, upset that her father hadn't come to comfort her. Her wails filled Hermione's head and drummed in her ears, making her headache worse. She turned towards the door of her bedroom, and started walking towards it. She knew what she had to do, even if it meant admitting that she was willing to accept Anielle as her child despite the consequences. She trod quietly to Malfoy's bedroom door. She knocked, but no answer came. He must be asleep. On the other hand, maybe I shouldn't disturb him. She thought as she stood in front of the door, biting her thumbnail. Reluctantly, she eased open the door. It wasn't entirely shut; so, she was able to push it open easily. Self-consciously, she stepped into the room.
Malfoy wasn't in his bed. The covers were pulled back, exposing the white sheet underneath. He was nowhere to be seen. In the far corner of the room, opposite his bed, was a cot. Even from here, Hermione could see that Anielle was crying fit to burst. Putting all other things aside, she walked over to Anielle's cot. She was lying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. Tears were dripping down her porcelain cheeks, and she was whining ever so loudly. Hermione bent over the side of the cot, and took a good look at her daughter. She gazed at her blue-grey eyes, her rosy cheeks and her red, red lips. She took in her matted, blonde hair and her tiny hands and feet. How could she be a Granger? She looked just like a Malfoy. More like a Malfoy that anyone else. Hermione's heart pounded, but she didn't know why. Soon enough, her motherly instinct took over.
Glancing round, she leant over the cot and wiped away Anielle's tears with her forefinger. Her skin was soft, so soft, and smooth to the touch. It made her feel good, doing this. It made her feel proud, that she was doing something that she wouldn't regret. Gaining more confidence, she slid her hands under Anielle's body and picked her up. She wasn't that heavy, and at one moment Hermione wasn't sure what she should do. She cradled Anielle gently to her chest. She'd stopped crying so much; almost she wasn't making an entire sound. Hermione held her firmly, so her head was leaning against her shoulder. Hermione's heart raced faster than it had ever done before. Her whole body shook, her head was numb…she didn't realise how much a baby could change the way you felt.
Hermione put her head against Anielle's, their foreheads just touching. It was an amazing feeling. A few weeks ago, if someone had told Hermione that she would be feeling like this about Draco Malfoy's child, she would have laughed. Now, she couldn't help but feel happy. Malfoy or not; Anielle was her child. She ought to take care of her, as any mother should. Hermione tightened her grip. Her eyes became watery, and they glazed over. She blinked, and several tears fell down her cheeks. She didn't know what it was that made her cry like that. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was her instinct. On the other hand, maybe, it was the fact that Anielle was now an important part of her life as well as her father's. She heard footsteps behind her, and a door closing.
She quickly wiped away a tear on her face. She turned around, and saw Malfoy standing nearby. He was very pale, and his eyes were blank.
"Granger, were you crying?" he asked weakly, his voice feeble.
"Yes, I was. It was Anielle…I just welled up…I'm sorry; I shouldn't have come to her…" she mumbled, drying her eyes with the back of her hand. She was still holding Anielle to her hip, and she was clinging to her dressing gown like a little monkey. Malfoy half-smiled weakly, then groaned. He put a hand to his stomach, and sat down on the end of the bed.
"Granger, would you mind…just looking after Anielle for me…just for tonight…please…" he turned to look at her. He was bent double, his skin grey. Hermione went over to him, and stood on the corner of the bed.
"Ok. Ok, just for tonight. No other time, Malfoy. Just tonight" she said. Her voice was determined. Malfoy had wrapped his arms around his stomach, and was biting his lip hard.
"Granger…?" he started to ask, then trailed off mid-sentence. He couldn't speak. He felt sick; he had done ever since he went to bed. A few moments later, he blinked slowly. He looked up at Hermione, who was scanning the room. He coughed violently, the pain in his stomach worsening. Hermione sat down on the corner of the bed.
"Are you alright?" she asked him.
"No…" was the feeble reply she was given. She was holding Anielle in her arms still. Just then, Malfoy turned to her.
"I need you to help me…I have something that has to be done, but I'm struggling…you're the only person I trust" he said.
"What is it, then? Only if you're planning to kill someone, leave me out of it, Ferret" she snapped those last words, glaring at him scornfully.
"I need you to help me keep Anielle safe," he said. With that, his legs gave way and collapsed heavily to the floor.