Author's Note: Hello, Hello! How is life treating you, Lovelies? I hope well. I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Craziness! Anyway, I'm still toying with the idea for changing the name of this fic. Any thoughts on that? Any suggestions? As always, I'd love opinions. I'm a very thankful little writer, because some wonderful people have reviewed. Thanks so much to kvance, Nissy Padfoot, Amber Seabolt, smile-youlookbetterhappy, shaymars, greatEXpectations, and MsApricot90! You all are the best! I'll stop my rambling now, go read! -CC
Unknown
Merlin did he always have to frighten her? That's certainly the way to gain her trust; he mentally berated himself, start making undying love proclamations while she hasn't a bloody inkling of what's going on. Her hand rested on the doorknob, eyes wide, lips parted, looking as if she'd very much like to run. She probably should run. It would save them both a lot of punishable-by-death trouble. She really ought to just escape into the night. Then, he'd wake up and be forced to move the fuck on, to get over her already, and get on with ruling this sodding world while she fended for herself. Granger would be better off without him anyway, barking lunatic that he is.
"Sorry, I was deep in thought." Wonderful, what a way to pull it together, Draco; state the fucking obvious.
"No, no...I erm, I'm sorry to have disturbed you."
Her left index finger was lightly scraping the cuticle of her thumb, another nervous habit. He was bringing out quite a few of her nervous habits. It must be stressful for Granger, being kept in the dark. Maybe he'd drive her to drink next, he mused. Or rather he ought to take up drinking, at least that way he'd have some excuse for his erraticism.
"Do you need something?" Say no and leave, he begged silently. He could feel himself losing his grip on sanity. Apparently, her new body did not deter his desire for her. Would his thirst ever be quenched? Say no. Say no. Get out of here before I lose it. I have to have you. I want you. Just a kiss...just anything.
"I'm..." her voice was soft, a bit frightened as he moved forward, closer to her.
Did she feel threatened? His mind was foggy. She was speaking but he couldn't pick out the words. He watched her lips move. She would taste the same.
It was a moment of sheer strength of will that he stopped himself from claiming her mouth, her beautiful breath.
"It's getting a bit late, Granger." It was just a second of clarity, he knew. He had to take advantage of it before he seized her in his arms and snogged the sense out of her.
"Have Tibby ready a new room for you. You can work more tomorrow."
She seemed confused but she did not question him and left. He swore that her scent lingered, wafting toward him from the door. Yes. He'd definitely done the right thing. She could not sleep near him anymore. Ever.
A new room? She hadn't had her own room since she lived in the muggle world. There was a pang in her chest at the thought of her parents. Where were they? Were they safe...alive? No, she couldn't think about them now. Hermione dutifully placed them back inside the cage she'd built around her memories, and moved on.
What was Master Malfoy playing at? He hadn't slept without her in…Merlin, how long had it been? There had to be a reason he was doing all of this. Then again, did she care? She might finally have her freedom. Did it matter why or even how she got it?
Then there was the weirdness in the library to think about. She'd only ever heard that sentiment once, and it certainly wasn't from the likes of Draco Malfoy. Quite the opposite, actually, Ron had said it.
Ron. Her heart clenched. It was the first expression of love he'd ever made toward her. How odd that Malfoy would be thinking of that same expression just as she walked into the library, but then he couldn't possibly know. He couldn't have any earthly idea what those words meant to Hermione. Well, he had no reason to know.
Back to the matter at hand, where was she going to sleep? Should she stay close to him or venture off into a different part of the manor? She gazed down the hallway. It seemed to extend forever, slowly descending into the abyss of nothingness, the last doors indistinguishable pinpricks of darkness. Who knew what kind of horrors the vacant rooms of the manor housed. Hermione shivered at the thought.
He didn't seem to need, or want her near him anymore. Or, maybe he was demonstrating a commitment to her freedom? That didn't sound terribly likely. Or, he was lying about everything. The name Draco Malfoy was not exactly synonymous with trustworthiness. Power, yes. Uprightness, no. She didn't trust him. She shouldn't trust him. Did she really have a choice? He did own her, well the real her. But if he is lying, then what is he getting out of this? What is his plan? What is his motive?
She had nothing. Not a single one of her questions could be answered with the available information. Merlin, it was so frustrating! She'd always been able to piece things together, always. Draco Malfoy couldn't hide forever, not with Hermione Granger watching. She would have to play along for now.
She opened the door to the room four down from Master Malfoy's. This room was comforting, though just as seldom-used as the little parlor. Hermione tended to identify with the outcast oddities within Malfoy Manor. It was quaint compared to the other rooms, a double four-poster bed covered in a downy, white linen comforter, and a view of the stables. She could just see Jeremy's shadow as he extinguished the lanterns. She had neglected their friendship recently, and missed him. How would she explain her disappearance? What of Rhonda and Elsie? Would they be left to assume she'd been sold? No. She'd have to make her goodbyes tomorrow when the glamour wore off, though she wasn't exactly sure what to say.
The armoire and dressers were covered in white painter's cloth and the windowsill was laced in a fine layer of dust. Hermione went to remove the cloths and stopped herself. Breaking the servant habit would prove to be more difficult than she'd originally thought.
"Tibby?"
There was a small 'pop' behind her and the elf bowed lowly, brushing her protruding nose on the floorboards. "How can Tibby be serving you, Miss?" Vaguely, Hermione wondered if elves had the ability to detect glamour charms. Would Tibby recognize her voice?
"I'll be staying in this room, would you mind clearing it up a bit?" She cringed. She needed to stop asking questions and start using declaratives. How does one mix politeness with entitlement?
"Yes, Miss. Tibby will take care. Is Miss's things needing unpacking?" Oh. Clothing. Hermione only had her work shift, which she was still wearing and must look very strange to Tibby, a silk day dress, and a mysterious ball gown all in Master Malfoy's closet. She didn't even have a pair of pajamas.
"No. There are a few items in Mast...erm Draco's closet. If you...erm Get those. Please." She shouldn't have added that "please."
"Yes, Miss. Tibby will do."
"Alright then. I will be in the library. Find me when you've finished." Now she just felt rude. This would take some practice.
The library was empty. She much preferred it empty to the alternative. Freedom, well the half-freedom she had now, felt strange. She wasn't quite sure she liked the pureblood version of independence. Hermione couldn't even be less than polite to a house-elf. How would she handle other muggle-borns? She was one of them and she'd have to pretend that she believed in the hierarchy. She would have to treat them like slaves. Could she do it? Could she really bury her values? Would she even be believable? Gods, she probably wouldn't even recognize her own name.
"Amelia." Weird. "Amelia Van Rogan." The name felt foreign on her tongue. "Amelia Rowan Van Rogan." What a mouthful. It was like a tongue twister. Say it ten times fast, Hermione, her acerbic inner voice barked. She didn't deserve it. It wasn't her name. She couldn't do this. Why should she do this? Why her and not any other servant? She got to play dress-up and get her freedom simply because she belonged to the right Master? She was saved because Draco Malfoy owned her? Could she live with the guilt of being chosen, of leaving everyone else behind? Why not Rhonda or Elsie? Elsie was younger. She could get her schooling.
But why shouldn't she? The devil on her shoulder whispered into her ear. Nobody should be enslaved, including her. It wasn't her fault that Malfoy took pity on her. She didn't ask for it. She could do wonderful things, great things, as a pureblood. She could finally change the world. Her gaze lingered on the glass panels. She could finally get back to her work. Hermione, or rather, Amelia could create new spells. She could fix the problems, the sickness, maybe even the imbalance in the wizarding world. She had to do this. There was no choice.
"Miss? Your room is ready, Miss." Hermione came out of her reverie. "Is Miss needing anything else?" Poor Tibby looked exhausted.
"No, Tibby, thank you."
The room was warm and inviting. Her room? The bed beckoned her into its folds with the promise of rest. Tibby had taken the liberty of putting out a pair of flannel pajamas. She didn't recognize them, but she wasn't going to ask any more questions, not tonight. Hermione climbed under the cover and sighed aloud. Her shoulders finally relaxed, she hadn't realized how tense she'd been until this very moment. Her muscles began unknotting themselves, and the dull throb at her temples subsided. Gods, this was heavenly. If she lived out the rest of her days from this bed, Hermione would be completely content. Sleep would not evade her for long.
Her eyelids drooped as she shifted on the mattress. She burrowed into the pillows and steadied her breathing. It would not be long now. She shifted again. Surely, it would be any moment now. Hermione rolled onto her stomach and wriggled into a hollow of pillows, ready to be whisked away from the world. Alas, it was not to be. She hissed in irritation, and managed to lift a begrudging eyelid. The room was still bright and she groaned, already knowing that there would be no knobs or switches to alleviate the problem. She would have to call poor Tibby to extinguish the lights. No, she couldn't do that if she was posing as a pureblood witch. It would look incredibly odd, not that she didn't look incredibly odd already. She would be better off finding Master Malfoy. Damn.
She really did not want to go find him. He made her terribly uncomfortable, and well, it was just plain awkward. Her cheeks were reddening already. It was just so embarrassing to be around him. She'd snogged him, for Merlin's sake! She didn't do things like that! She'd never done anything like that. And the whole business with the Tollyroot, she'd told him to…she didn't even like thinking it. She had thoroughly mortified herself.
Maybe she didn't really need the lights off. She didn't really have to go and get him, did she? Hermione looked longingly at the bed and sighed, putting her tired feet on the floor.
The manor is eerie at night. There are no neighbors or street lamps to lend any light, and the hall was pitch-black. She ran a hand along the wall as she walked, counting the doors by touch rather than sight. His door was just as dark as the hallway. Bugger it all. Hermione just managed to resist the urge to stamp her foot. She had absolutely no desire to wake him. This was going to be just dreadful. He had been so strange lately, especially when he was supposed to be sleeping. The memory of him, pale as a ghost, leaning over her, still gave her chills.
She would sleep with a pillow over her head. Yes. Or she could get comfortable on the library couch, or on the floor between the bookshelves. She didn't need to wake him. It was silly of her to come to his room. She could just deal with it. She was in the middle of mentally cursing herself when she noticed a burst of orange light spilling across her feet. What? He moved inside the room and Hermione stopped breathing immediately, pressing herself to the wall beside the door. Something was happening and she had the distinct impression that it was not a something she should witness.
She should go. She really ought to just go back to the room and try to get some rest. This was none of her business, but Hermione couldn't make herself move, not when she had so many questions.
There was the faint sound of embers scraping against each other and a soft voice. The unknown person was speaking very quietly, he did not want to be heard, and she could not make out all of the words.
"…summoned like a dog…" The unknown said, the rest of his statement lost in the airspace.
"Where do your loyalties lie?" Master Malfoy responded severely. His voice was clear, only muffled by the door, he must be standing close by. It was obvious he and Unknown were not friends. Hermione leaned in tentatively. Unknown spoke again.
"You saw her. What did you feel?" Draco responded. Her. A woman was involved somehow. She filed that information away for later pondering.
"Nothing." Unknown answered harshly, edged like a blade. He or she had raised his voice. Unknown was angry now.
"Then leave. She will not see you. If you should try anything, if you should fail, it will be your last mistake."
The note of finality ended the conversation and Hermione's chest grew cold. She knew that Malfoy was vicious, he had spat insults and slurs at her every chance he got throughout their years at Hogwarts, but he was no child anymore. His threats carried weight now; they meant something. He had the authority to execute them, and that authority came from evil. He was a man of the Dark Lord's. He is a deatheater; she mustn't forget that. Draco Malfoy was not a man to be trusted.
Hermione turned to walk away when the disfigured silhouettes of two shoes fell on the floor. He was standing at the door. Listening? He had to know she was there. Her limbs buzzed with adrenaline and fear. Her legs were gelatin. Her mind fought of the instinct to run. She had only one option, to feign ignorance and pray that he wouldn't use legilimency. Hermione had to pretend innocence, and rapped on the door, perhaps a bit too forcefully.
Malfoy pulled the it open smoothly to reveal himself. The sight ignited a tremor of panic within her. He was cloaked in black, as usual, making his features appear severely angled in the light. His mouth was set in a neutral line and his eyes were guarded, but not cross. He didn't appear to be angry or surprised at her presence. His emotion was totally imperceptible.
"I'm sorry to wake you…" her voice shook traitorously, "I just…the lights in my erm the…" This was not going well. She stared at the floorboards, probably looking exceedingly guilty. "I can't extinguish the lights in the guest room." She finished firmly, forcing herself to look him in the eye.
He peered at her reservedly but softened slightly. His tense stance relaxed almost unnoticeably.
"Ah. I'm sorry." He answered as if he hadn't any concern for the previous conversation, as if he'd been doing some light reading instead of threatening Unknown's life. He turned away from the doorframe, allowing Hermione a moment to glance at the fireplace. The flame was dancing inanimately, just as it should be. There was no trace of Unknown.
"I meant to give this to you earlier."
His fingers, cool despite the fire, brushed hers as he handed her a long, slender box. It's forest-green lid bore a black 'H' crest in the center. She recognized it from her first outing as Amelia. Hawthorne's, he'd called it. Even as she opened the box and gaped at the polished wood nestled inside, she couldn't believe it. Hermione couldn't bring herself to believe that she was holding a real, genuine wand again. No, it couldn't be. She couldn't find the words to express her disbelief and gratitude, but he got the message.
"One day, I'll tell you a story," He leaned against the doorframe shifting from amusement at her wonder to sobriety. "Granger, you'll hate me. Don't forget that. See you at breakfast."