Chapter Eleven

Swallowing hard, Hermione looked from the dangling cuff—which she was quick to scoop into her own hands—to Lucius Malfoy's face. "Um, I . . . I don't . . . . What?"

He offered a tight-lipped grin as he nodded, apparently finding her confusion rather understandable, and started down the narrow stone staircase. "When Shacklebolt told us about your encounter at Diagon Alley, I assure you, many people were angered. It has only been Ms. Rowle's insistence that you are safe and well cared for—despite appearances to the contrary—that has kept your friends from trying to storm the Rowle estate and rescue you."

"You're the inside man for The Resistance, aren't you?"

"Mm," he said as he continued onward, watching his own footing upon the stair rather than glancing back at her. "I see your keen perception finally kicks in."

She fixed a withering glare on the back of his silvery head. "You'll forgive me if what happened to me the last time I was your guest stopped me from immediately imagining you as the one willing to betray your precious Dark Lord."

As his heel hit the landing, he spun to face her, an unpleasant expression twisting his features. "My precious Dark . . . ." Instantly he caught himself, the venom draining from his gaze as fast as it had flooded in. "But of course, you don't know what happened, do you?"

Hermione's brow furrowed; happenings she didn't know about since the War's end could fill the Room of Forgotten Things. She shook her head, but then she realized that she'd not seen, nor even heard mention of, Narcissa Malfoy tonight.

She supposed she'd assumed Narcissa had perished in the War without even realizing she'd given the matter thought.

"Does it have to do with why you're in this great big house all alone?" Of course, his goddaughter was here, but Isla was a new, and possibly temporary, addition to the Manor.

"I'd rather not discuss it. It is not something I'm at peace with, yet," he said with a shake of his head and a mirthless smile. "When you're of a mind, ask Mr. Rowle. He will be able to tell you."

Taking his very clear nudging that this was not a topic to be broached again, Hermione offered a quick nod in acknowledgement.

He led her along the racks to a particular row of dusty bottles. "I am certain you have questions about other things? Ask."

Watching as he pulled down a bottle and began carefully wiping away the layer of dust with the edge of his sleeve, she decided what answers she needed first. "You spoke with Reina?"

He gave a nod as he pivoted to hand her the first bottle. He turned to retrieve a second and repeated the process.

"She's safe?"

"Miss Rowle is secured in one of our safe houses. It is best for all involved that that is all you know for the time being."

She frowned as he handed her the second bottle. "I would never endanger Reina."

He turned to face her, his eyes immediately capturing hers. "I am not suggesting you would do so willingly, Miss Granger. But there is the possibility that you could do so inadvertently. You might feel compelled to share the information with her brother to give him peace of mind and that, alone, could compromise her safety, as the Dark Lord could pluck that information straight from that poor young man's head."

Chestnut eyes narrowing at his choice of words, she said, "You feel sympathy for Thorfinn?"

Lucius shrugged and tipped his head side to side before reaching for one last bottle. When he'd discussed matters with Miss Rowle, she'd made it painfully clear that she did not want Miss Granger to know the full extent of the harm caused to her in punishment of her brother. He would not be the one to break her confidence.

"When one knows his circumstances, and can look past the gruff exterior, it's difficult not to."

She nodded, unaware that others knew the Rowle's situation. But of course that was silly, she realized, as these were people who'd likely known Thorfinn and Reina's parents and grandparents . . . and that crotchety uncle, too.

"We must return upstairs now, before our absence becomes suspicious. Are there any other questions you have? And please do be quick about them."

"Um, okay." Hermione shook her head, trying to think as Lucius dutifully retrieved the cuff of her leash from her fingers. "Draco. Was Rabastan telling the truth? He goes to that awful place?"

Biting back a small smile, he shook his head. "Yes, but it's not what it seems."

Her brows shot up. "He either goes there or he doesn't."

"He does, but not for anything so filthy and unconscionable as most of its . . . clients, shall we call them."

Hermione had quite a different word in mind, but she kept her mouth shut.

"Those who visit regularly, if they have the means—be that power, money, or simply status—they may choose one of the prisoners as their favorite, and no one else is allowed to touch that girl without their permission."

Immediately she understood. The strange relief caused tears to spring into her eyes. "He's protecting someone," she said, her voice light and breathless.

Lucius nodded. "One Miss Luna Lovegood. I believe she's a rather close friend of yours?"

At the happy, surprised giggle that burst out of the witch, he couldn't help but laugh.

"So she's okay? I mean . . . . Draco's treating her well?"

"He is madly in love with that whimsy little thing, from what I can tell. He is treating her as well as he can in that horrible institution. And I . . . ."

Furrowing her brow, she echoed, "And you?"

"It seems I am going to be a grandfather."

Her face fell. Lucius Malfoy was only in his early forties—and, she'd never admit it aloud, but still rather strikingly handsome—picturing him as a grandfather seemed a bit of a stretch.

But there was a quiet joy in his expression that was undeniable.

"So something beautiful springs from something ugly, then?"

He shrugged, turning and starting back toward the stairs. "Such is life, Miss Granger. This is the last bit of Resistance information I can relay to you this evening. There is a plan, to get those girls away from that horrible place."

"Are you going to have a part in that? Won't that compromise your cover?"

Lucius nodded. "It would, that's why I'm being kept out, as is Draco. However, when the time comes, I will do everything in my power on the inside to impede any assistance Voldemort might send to protect that vile place without revealing myself. If I sit idly by, and the plan fails, I might never see my grandchild."

She nodded, deciding not to keep at that point—the conversation had already been more emotional than any discussion she ever imagined she might have with the Malfoy patriarch. "Reina said there were two people on the inside. Of course if one is you the second would be Draco, I should've realized."

"It is quite a lot of information to digest, Miss Granger, even for you."

As they climbed the stairs, she knew her time to ask questions had drawn to a close, though not without having learned plenty for her mind to worry on later. Luna was going to be a mother—to Draco's child, of all people—Reina was indeed safe, and The Resistance was going to put an end to Umbridge Home.

She was so overwhelmed with relief, it was all she could do not to kiss the wizard who'd told her all this. Although, that would be weird, so she was more than glad she managed to keep her excitement tightly reigned.

She wanted, very much to be there the day they took down that miserable place—she wanted to ignite the whole bloody thing and watch it burn to the ground with Dolores Umbridge locked inside. But for now, there was not much she could do.

"But Miss Rowle was correct, I see. Her brother is quite fond of you, even if he does well to not be obvious about it."

Hermione gave a start at the observation as they made their way up the staircase. "What?"

Pausing, he turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Please, Miss Granger."

She dropped her gaze, her cheeks burning. "I know my friends would probably not understand. I'm not even sure I do, but he's just not what I thought he'd be. He's—"

"Redeemable. Yes, we gathered that."

Hermione forced herself to meet his gaze. She could find nothing to say, however.

"Given the testimony of Miss Rowle, it seems he is not the only one, either. I've been investigating her claims, myself; quietly, of course." He gave her what she imagined was intended as a reassuring grin. "Your Mr. Rowle is one of a very small handful of Death Eaters who might prove worth saving, Miss Granger."

She'd not realized how reluctant she had actually been about her developing feelings for Thorfinn until that moment. Something in Lucius Malfoy's words made her wonder if it was because she could not reconcile those feelings with her wish to aid her friends in ending the world he'd sort of helped create.

But then, she felt rather certain that had some of his followers foreseen their world under the Dark Lord's rule, they might've done more to stop him.

"When he first dragged you from the Wizengamot, there was great concern as to what would become of you, but it seems that concern is unfounded. Your friends will be very glad to know that."

She nodded in understanding. "That's why you were there that day, to report back to them with my sentence."

He started up the steps once more, but as he reached the door, she couldn't help one last thing that was bothering her.

"Just one more question—it doesn't have to do with the Resistance, though."

With a sigh, he turned on the top step to face her. "Yes?"

"Has Rabastan always been so insufferable?"

A chuckle rumbled out of him that quite surprised her. "Actually no. He was always a bit overbearing and presumptuous, but when Rodolphus disappeared, making him the heir to the Lestrange estate, he . . . started getting a bit out of hand. Rodolphus was an oddly gentle soul for such a mired family, and Rabastan never could stand that about him. I suppose once he assumed the role of heir, he adopted an attitude of showing the world how one in such an entitled position should behave."

"Are we so sure he didn't have something to do with gentle Rodolphus' disappearance?"

He shrugged. "There's whispers, of course, but Rabastan is much more bark than bite. I believe he's simply an opportunist."

With that last word, he opened the door. Stepping through, he made a show of tugging Hermione out behind him for anyone who might be peeking out of the drawing room.

As they reentered, bottles in hand, Rabastan was regaling the room with some story Hermione couldn't make sense of. Whether that was because they'd entered mid-tale, or because he was slurring his speech, she didn't care to think on the cause long enough to figure it out.

Thorfinn had his head lolled back in an armchair, Isla appeared to be nodding off, and Antonin alternated between shaking his head and nodding as he pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"Finally, you're back," the intoxicated storyteller called out, his tone unexpectedly boisterous. "You didn't do anything untoward to Thorfinn's lovely pet, now did you?"

Lucius barely refrained from rolling his eyes as he led Hermione to Thorfinn and handed back the cuff. "Of course not, Rabastan. I'm not you."

Rabastan grinned broadly, as though that was a compliment. He watched Lucius collect the extra bottles from Hermione and start across the room to set them down. "You really are no fun these days."

"I can't imagine why that might be," their host said with a mirthless little smile, opening the first of the new bottles to pour them all a fresh round. All except Hermione—she'd had yet to even start her first, he noticed. Her untouched glass stood alone on the tray.

He brought it to her as he made the rounds of the room, refilling his guest's drinks.

As she accepted it and turned to look for a place to sit, her options limited by her leash, she noticed Thorfinn took up the entire seat of the wide armchair. So much for thinking she could squeeze in beside him.

Catching her gaze, he nodded toward his knee.

Hermione could feel a blush threatening, but she quelled it as best she could. She was his little plaything, as far as Voldemort's followers were concerned. Sitting on his knee would not be something that would seem odd, too forward, or out of place to them.

Gathering the length of her dress carefully in her free hand, she obediently perched on his leg. This was just as well, she told herself, as any seat they might move to that would accommodate them both would put her closer to Rabastan.

Rabastan, who'd been prattling on about something or another, the entire time. Hermione found it hard to tell, as his voice became an incoherent droning when Thorfinn's eyes had caught hers for that moment.

She was, of course, doing everything in her power to ignore the very distracting warmth of Thorfinn's hand as it settled on the small of her back.

"Before I forget," Rabastan said, pushing up to stand and nearly stumbling. "I am having a dinner party next weekend, and I expect you all to attend."

"Who else will be at this dinner party?" Lucius asked, one brow arched as he idly sipped his drink.

"Well, you lot, the Carrows . . . ." He winced as he looked at Thorfinn. "MacNair."

Thorfinn's entire frame tensed so hard, Hermione thought for certain he might've jumped up from his seat at the mention if it wouldn't mean dropping her to the floor. Swallowing hard, she turned in his lap to look up at him. His teeth were clenched so tight, she thought he might chip one of them.

"I know, I know," Rabastan said, his voice startlingly clear as he raised his free hand in a placating manner. He was obviously putting a lot of effort into his words. Shockingly, he actually sounded apologetic. "But you have to try to put what happened behind you. He was under orders."

Shaking his head, Antonin appeared to duck closer to Isla for a moment. Such a quick movement, Hermione thought if she had blinked she might've miss it.

"I think I've had a bit too much this evening, Lucius; I'm not feeling very well. Would it be all right if Mr. Dolohov sees me up to my room?"

"I would be happy to escort you," Rabastan offered, feigning a wounded expression.

Isla nodded, forcing a smile. "That is most kind of you, but I'm afraid you'd never make it up the stairs in your state. Mr. Dolohov, would you mind terribly?"

Standing and brushing some wrinkles from his robes, Antonin offered her his elbow. "Of course not, Miss Black."

"It was lovely meeting all of you." She cut her dark-eyed gaze to Hermione and Thorfinn as she accepted, very visibly excluding Rabastan from her statement as she said, "I hope we can do this again, some evening."

Rabastan, too drunk to notice the slight, caught her free hand as she passed him. He lavished a kiss on the back that made Hermione shudder as it reminded her of the one he'd placed on her earlier that evening. "Very lovely to have met you, my sweet Miss Black."

Tugging her hand from his grasp with a swift, delicate motion, she grinned at him, but the expression did not reach her eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Lestrange," she said in a curt tone as she swept from the room on Antonin's arm.

The gathering fell quiet for a moment before Thorfinn turned his still wrathful gaze on Rabastan. "Why the bloody hell would you think I would accept an invitation to dine with that man?"

"We still have to work with him, no matter how stomach-turning his presence." Rabastan shook his head, oddly sensible as he finished off yet another drink. "This will be the opportunity for you to show him that his presence does not bother you."

Rolling his eyes, Lucius let his head fall back for a moment. "Unfortunately, Mr. Rowle, he is correct. If you do not attend, and MacNair has any reason to believe it is to avoid him, he will not hesitate to use that against you."

Thorfinn turned his attention to Lucius for a few moments before speaking. "You're right. Fine. I can't say I'd be delighted to attend, but I'll be there."

"And your lovely pet, of course."

Hermione shifted across Thorfinn's lap just a bit, pressing one hand to his chest. Whatever his problem with MacNair truly was, it made him tense once again at the thought of bringing her with him, that much was obvious.

But he needed to focus, to keep his presence of mind. Regardless of his reasons, she knew he couldn't let on that he didn't want her around MacNair.

Tipping her head to bring her mouth close to his ear, she said in a whisper, "I mean nothing to you, remember?"

He gave a nod so slight she nearly missed it. "Of course I'll bring her."

"That is splendid," Rabastan said with a broad grin that made Hermione's insides twist unpleasantly.

"I think perhaps we should be going, as well." Thorfinn lifted Hermione and set her on her feet before standing, himself.

"I suppose it is getting late, and here I brought up so many. Very well," Lucius said, crossing the room to place an unopened bottle in Thorfinn's hand. "Take one, with my compliments. Rabastan, you're welcome to stay and finish the one we just opened."

Nodding, Rabastan made his way to where Lucius left the bottle in question. Their host made perfect use of the distraction, ushering the witch and wizard from the room.

"Well, this evening could have gone better," he said with a tired sigh as he retrieved their cloaks.

"It also could've gone worse." Thorfinn helped Hermione with her cloak before accepting his own. He leaned toward the silver-haired man, his voice lowered. "Next time, leave Rabastan out of your invitations, I think."

"That's assuming, of course, that he doesn't simply up and invite himself."

The two wizards parted ways strangely amicably. Hermione thanked Lucius for the invitation, and the ridiculously expensive and perfectly aged wine.

As she accompanied Thorfinn out the door and through side-along Apparation back home, she was quiet. He was still tense, and she had no idea how to help. Possibly because she had no idea precisely what had set him off about MacNair. This couldn't only be about him being the one to retrieve Reina for the Dark Lord or about him striking her, could it?


Back inside the Rowle house, their cloaks off and hung up, she turned to face him. "Will you tell me why you hate MacNair so much?"

He held her gaze, unblinking. "No." He wanted to, he really wanted to tell her the truth about what had happened, but now it wasn't only Reina's wish to keep her in the dark about that weighing on him. If she knew what that vile man had done—what he was capable of—she'd never make it through sitting across a dinner table from him.

At the way her brows drew together, his shoulders slumped. "At least not now, but I will."

Nodding, she decided to go for something he might answer. "What happened to Narcissa Malfoy? Why is Lucius in that big house all alone?"

"Is that why you two took so long in the wine cellar?"

Hermione ignored what sounded like a tinge of jealousy in his voice. "I was asking him about Draco and Umbridge Home. I was very disturbed to think someone I knew could make use of a place like that."

Thorfinn dropped his head a moment, an abashed look flickering across his face. Of course the explanation was both perfectly innocent and had to do with the bizarre, inherent trust she seemed to have that most people had good in them, somewhere.

"Anyway, I asked what happened to Narcissa. He said he couldn't speak on it, because he'd not made peace with it, but told me to ask you."

His eyes squeezing closed, he tried hard to ignore the sudden memory of that poor witch's screams. "That's a discussion that will require opening this," he said, lifting the bottle Lucius had given him by its neck.

Hermione didn't quite like the sound of that, but she nodded. Turning on her heel, she followed him into the sitting room. When they were both seated, too-full glasses in each of their hands, he started.

"Shortly after Potter fell . . . ." He paused, taking a long swig of his drink. "The Dark Lord claimed Hogwarts as his base of operations. He had Molly Weasley brought before him, I don't know what he did, precisely, but he ended her life for ending Bellatrix's." Another swig. "Then, he called for the Malfoys. All three of them."

A nervous little ball formed in the pit of Hermione's stomach. With a deep breath, she gulped down a generous helping of her own drink.

"In the Forbidden Forest, he'd asked Narcissa to confirm that Potter was dead, which she did. Of course, once Potter jumped up and started fighting again, it wasn't difficult for the Dark Lord to deduce that she'd lied to him." He dropped his gaze to the floor, sucking his teeth. "He forced Lucius and Draco to alternate torturing her."

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth as Thorfinn finished off his drink and poured himself another.

"She went mad, of course, but he didn't let them stop." He nodded, his expression distant as he sipped. "He didn't let them stop until they killed her."

She set down her drink, covering her face with her hands. Once upon a time, she never would've believed she could shed tears for the Malfoys. Now, here she was with all she could do to stop them.

"And then, to add insult to incredibly grievous injury, he took the Malfoy's house elves for himself and consigned Draco to reside in Hogwarts. He's serving as potion's apprentice to Professor Slughorn. The Dark Mark was even burned from Lucius' arm, relegating him to the lowest ranks of the Dark Lord's inner circle."

"I don't understand," she said, choking out the words, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Why do you stay in service to someone capable of such horrible things?"

"Because I have no choice. None of us do." He licked his lips, shaking his head as he lifted his glass for another sip. "There was a time when I couldn't have imagined wanting to walk away from the Dark Lord's service, but . . . but now . . . ."

She lowered her hands, curling her fingers under her chin. "But now?" she asked as he met her watery gaze.

"But now, I imagine differently."

That must be terrifying for him, she realized, a fist closing around her heart. Any doubt he held, any thought of disobedience, Voldemort could pluck from his head if he had the slightest reason to suspect.

She'd had enough fear and confusion for one night.

Setting down her glass, she stood. "I think I'm actually quite tired, now. It's been a long night."

He nodded, clasping his large hands around his drink. "I understand."

"Good night, Thorfinn."

"Good night, Princess."

Yet, upon retiring to her room, Hermione found—after hours of tossing and turning—that she couldn't sleep.


Thorfinn was jostled from sleep by the pull of her locator charm. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, focusing on its beacon. Hermione was still close . . . . Not in the house, but still on the grounds.

And stationary.

Frowning, he stood from his bed and crossed the room. He peered out the window, down into the garden.

There she was, wrapped in her cloak and sitting on the cold ground as she stared up at the sky.

Shaking his head, he dressed quickly and headed downstairs to grab his cloak.


"What are we doing out here, Princess?"

Hermione gave a start. She had been so lost in her thoughts, she'd not even heard him approach.

Tipping back her head to meet his gaze as he looked down at her, she frowned thoughtfully. "We are stargazing."

With a nod, Thorfinn hunkered down behind her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her backward into his lap. "What you are is freezing."

"Fine," she said allowing herself to snuggle against him as she returned her attention to the starry winter sky overhead. "Freezing and stargazing."

A sigh rumbled out of him—she could feel it through his chest against her back—and he tilted his head to look at the stars, as well.

Hermione wasn't certain how long they sat there in silence. She was markedly warmer, though, by the time she chose to disturb the peaceful moment.

"Thorfinn?"

"Yeah?"

Swallowing hard, she only just managed to keep the sudden wash of tears from spilling down her cheeks—imaginings of what had happened to Narcissa Malfoy, of what Reina's incarceration must've been like, spun through her head. Shadowy, terrifying notions of what might happen to her if Voldemort ever learned he could use her to punish Thorfinn teased from the corners of her mind.

"I'm scared," she finally said, her voice low and hollow.

His arms tightened around her, holding her closer, still, as he nodded. "Me, too, Princess."