Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related material is not mine and I lay no claim to it. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue me.

A/N: Happy Holidays! Please forgive the delay. For information on it, and information on when to expect more up-dates, check my profile. Hopefully, it will not happen again. Thank you for you past reviews and your patience. I hope you enjoy this new chapter continued directly from the end of the previous one and, as always, reviews are very much appreciated.

Also, to those of you who do Fan Art: I would love some pictures of scenes and/or characters from my story Stolen, but as I am a horrible artist myself I am making a special request. If you would be interested in attempting to draw/paint a scene/character from Stolen, I would, in return, send you a copy of the next new chapter BEFORE IT IS POSTED. Let me know if you are interested!

Stolen

Chapter 11: Not a Fool

Throwing caution to the winds, she allowed herself to be lead forth into the dark corners of an abandoned building by Draco Malfoy. Why on earth was she being so reckless? The shadowing edifice was intriguing. It looked ancient, and therefore, full of history, stories, and mystery. Adding to her fascination were the indecipherable writings on its entrance arch. They vaguely reminded her of something from Ancient Ruins. She admitted to being a little curious. What was so wrong with that?

'Curiosity killed the cat, Hermione,' she warned herself, then quickly shook it off. It wasn't as if Malfoy was going to kill her in the garden. She laughed at the thought.

Once inside, it became apparent that the ancient quarters were still used for something, though obviously not for what they once had been. All around her were feathers and droppings, like an owlery, but the beasts that lined the ledges were not owls. Their faces covered in funny, little leather hoods, with wings and skulls astute, they were intimidating. Upon entering, she backed away only to find herself surrounded by the war-like birds in the shadowy confines. All heads pivoted in her direction and she could sense their tension, palpable on the dusty air.

Draco, eying her uneasiness, threw her a superior glance as he tapped one behind its legs. It lifted its feet to step onto his hand. The dogs whimpered at the door, unable to enter.

"Hush boys," Draco commanded.

"What is this place?" she asked.

He raised a single cocky eyebrow. "This was where the Malfoys once lived."

"What? I thought the Malfoys were always rich."

"They were, except when they were in hiding and they had to conceal what they had left of their fortune. It wasn't safe to be wealthy and magical in those days. Muggles lived in their manor house and they lived in here, sleeping on the floor like dogs." He sounded outraged yes, but there was something else there was well, something she had not expected. She heard the hint of sadness in his voice, as if perhaps he felt for someone else's pain.

"You mean muggles use to live in the-" she began, looking behind in the direction of Malfoy Manor.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, not even allowing her to word the notion aloud. "That house was burned, of course. This one is new, and no muggle has ever stepped foot in it."

"What about me?"

"What about you, mudblood?" He asked maliciously. She chose not to respond. He clearly wasn't happy about that point.

Hermione never showed it, but she hated the way that word made her feel. It made her want to wrinkle her nose in disgust and rub her skin clean. It made her feel like a germ, or bit of grime that had stuck stubbornly to something nice and refused to come off. Not in spite of this, but because of it, she tried to look as impassive as she could by starring up into the rafters at the birds as if she was fascinated by them. In actuality, they were making her very nervous.

"These are mine and my father's prize falcons. This one is Hermes." He pointed to a little one nearby. "And this is Ares."

"The messenger god with winged sandals and the god of war."

"Correct, Miss Granger," he teased. She grinned in spite of herself.

He released the bird and it swooped out the open window before it. He grew quiet again, clearly thinking of his ancestors and their tragic, secretive history.

"They were healers and teachers then, you know. They were good people!" He told her fervently, as if defending the name he knew had turned to dust in recent years.

"There were nine of them in this place. Nine. Can you imagine how cramped it must have been? They could rarely leave, only to apparate to work and back. The children, and the older ones, they could not leave at all, not for the two years since the muggles took everything from them. Do you understand?"

She nodded, not sure what else to do.

"No you don't. How could you possibly? But I do." He looked her up and down. She stared back. "When I was nine years old, my father locked me in this place for five days."

"What? That's horrible!"

"I had food and water… and these guys." He gestured to the falcons and moved to the one he called Ares, lifting him up. "My father did this to me when I finished the book just as his father did to him, his heir, as was done to his father by him. He had to, so that I would understand our suffering, but I was safe."

"The book? What book?" she asked, although she expected she already knew.

"The one you can't put your filthy, mudblood hands on. The Personal Tragic History of Casus Malfoy. He was nine at the time you see. He lived in here for two years until they were discovered. Do you know how they found out Casus' father? It was because he was using magical healing to help muggles. He thought it was unfair to see so many dying of things that wizards were so readily cured of. He was trying to help them. At the trial, the foolish muggles said he had made love to a daemon to get his powers. And then they killed them. He was trying to save their LIVES-and they took his for it."

Then he released the second bird. As it met the other along the horizon, it immediately became apparent that these were the birds she had watched out the windows of the Malloy's tea room when she fist arrived. Out there, masters of their domain, they were undeniably graceful. She watched the performance against the now cloudy sky with mesmerized interest, following Draco outside.

"What do you mean by 'They killed them'?"

"All of them. The whole family."

Perhaps it was the shock of the statement or the circle of trees spinning around her that her made her feel dizzy; perhaps it was the heavy moisture in the air that made her breath shallow suddenly; perhaps it was because she had just run, or the fact she had not eaten since the other morning; whatever the reason Hermione felt very odd for a moment, and then she felt nothing but the solid, cool earth she landed on. When she awoke, she was laying on a bed of dirt looking up at the dim light filtering through the trees. Something cold touched her face. She opened her eyes, expecting to see a wet cloth, but found instead, the cool, wet nose of a hound. She sat up and shooed them away. Draco was kneeling nearby, looking slightly relieved, but frowning.

"What happened to you?" His tone was almost concerned, almost accusatory.

"I-I think I fainted," she stuttered dumbly, plainly confused and disoriented. "It must be because I haven't eaten since…" she trailed of, having no desire to finish the thought aloud.

"Come here," he commanded. She followed.

'Like the hounds,' she thought resentfully.

On the side of the old shelter, Malfoy reached his hand carefully into the most dark, plush bushes Hermione had ever seen. Her eyes widened in surprise. These plants were not even in the Hogwart's greenhouses, as they were remarkably rare. It struck her as odd that Draco knew this to show them off. He never seemed to show an affinity for herbology, but he was grinning ear to ear, as silly as a child, as he extracted his hand from the plant.

In his hands he held a miraculously purple orb, swollen to its tightest possible shape with juice. He held it up and examined it, licking his lips in anticipation of its sweetness that would soon pervade his mouth. She watched eagerly as it disappeared between his parted lips and studied his expression as he closed his eyes, savoring the delicate flavor. Her mouth watered. Her stomach growled. She was so hungry.

Draco popped his eye open in time to catch her licking her lips. His look was exceptionally smug. He plucked another berry gingerly from the bush and plopped in his mouth greedily, not even pausing to make her envious. He continued to devour luscious berry after berry, staining his mouth with their royal purple juice. Finally, will breaking to hungry, she moved forward and reached into the bush. It sprung to life instantly, thorns clamping down upon her pale, unsuspecting hand like teeth.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, eyes watering. As she tried to jerk away, it ripped her flesh. Draco, reaching over, rolled his eyes and wrapped his handkerchief around her hand. She thanked him and went about cleaning the wound with a simple spell. His hands stopped hers in mid movement.

"Like this," he said as he squeezed her thumb and forefinger together, moving them slowly into the bush and picking a berry from its stem without touching a single blossom. He then directed the hand he held to her mouth which she opened instinctively. She paused.

"It can't be poisoned, can it?" he asked cheekily. He was right though. Falling into temptation, she allowed the berry to be pushed onto her lips and into her mouth. It was soft and cool. As it burst, its juice filled her mouth and its sweet tartness was delicious. She couldn't't resist the faint a moan at the taste. She loved berries.

He was smiling. At her? Yes, he was. How extraordinary. Well, she had just moaned.

Before she could allow herself to grin in return, or scold him for his dirty mind, she was screaming, for behind her, over the trees ruckus barking through which she had heard the shrill, painful yells of an animal being attacked. Worse still, it was not just any animal, but Crookshanks.

"Crookshanks? Oh my God! If those beasts of your kill my cat, Draco, I swear I'll –"

Just like that she was on her feet and racing out of the edge of the wood and into the garden mazes with Draco hot on her trail.

"Crookshanks!"

"Granger, STOP!"

"Crookshanks!"

"Hermione!"

"CROOKSHANKS!"

"Stop running. The dogs, Hermione!" He gasped out, clutching his side.

The screaming of the cat had ceased, but the dogs were still baying and barking. Their direction had changed, however, and just as this occurred to her, she rounded the bend to come face to face with the snarling brood. She screamed and covered her face with her arms.

Skidding to abrupt halt in the sea of tiny stones with a look of morbid disbelief stricken upon his face, Draco watched her body brace for the attack; for there was no command he could issue to stop them now.

Hermione wondered, in the spilt second before the dogs leapt upon her, why wasn't Draco doing anything. He was just standing there. Then of course, why would he?

"Impendimenta!" The dogs stopped in mid air and fell, with a solid thud, to the ground.

She peeked between her fingers, and then slowly let her hands drop. Turned, breathlessly, to Draco she offered a surprised: "Thank you."

He nodded, and then looked uncomfortably around. She was so confused. On one hand, she had been amazed when he did nothing, but even more amazed when he did that. Taking a step forward, she made to thank him once more and perhaps question his impulses, but he stopped her in her tracks with his response.

"That's twice I've saved your life now," he put bluntly.

The relief that had, just moments ago, overwhelmed her turned suddenly to an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling that tied knots in her stomach. What a burden to him she now bore. She could almost feel the weight of it upon her shoulders. Die or become indebted to an enemy; her choices were few and poor in the time of war. Simple though really, he had saved her life again and she was in his debt through that. It was funny how her life had become her burden.

All at once, the sky opened up with a great rumble followed by a heavy roar. The rushing sound grew closer and closer until the water falling from the dark clouds met the earth.

"Crookshanks!" She gasped, regaining her composure. "Crookshanks?" She called for him. For several minutes, until she was soaked through, she searched in vain for the animal in the place the dogs had come from. There were signs of a struggle, but no sign of the cat. He may have gotten away when they became distracted by her.

"I'll send Knobby out for him later, but he's probably run inside from this mess anyway," Draco yelled over the din the storm was making. She nodded reluctantly.

The two of them ran from the gardens and up to the pebble walk way, passing the eagle statue and making their way towards the back door through which she had came earlier. Just as they passed afore mentioned golden statue, above a stark cry broke through the heavy air with a beautiful, and yet terrifying, note. An eagle, nearly identical to the one weld in bronze before them, soared directly above, shadowing them. She froze in the mists of the heavy, cool rain to stare up at it in awe.

"That's Horace. Incredible isn't he? Just like that one." Draco pointed to the statue.

"Yes. What does it mean by that, anyway?"

"What does what mean by what?"

"The Latin bit: Cicatrix Manet, 'the mark remains'."

He looked at her hard for moment, with the air of someone trying to decide ho to express something very grave to someone not entirely able to understand. "It refers to Casus Malfoy and to what happened to him."

"But why Casus Malfoy? Weren't they all killed? What happened to him?"

"Come on already. Come out of the bloody rain." Draco said grabbing her wrist to pull her attention away from the great bird. They ran across the slippery stones and up the steps into the back drawing room where they stopped suddenly, out of breath, and dripped on the fine carpet in breathless silence. Only when she reached to remove her jacket did she realize their hands were intertwined. His large paler one and her bandaged one were pressed together. It felt warm and... He pulled away suddenly and with a great deal more fear in his eyes than disgust. Hermione threw him a puzzled glance and removed her boots, placing them by the fireplace and door.

"Look." Hermione moved to stare out the window at the beautiful gardens covered in droplets falling from the blackened sky. She thought it was lovely, but Draco had fallen silent and was poised at the wall of glass as well, staring unblinkingly. He was mesmerized like a child by Christmas. How odd that, this being his home, he must have stared out this window many times at the rain, but he looked as though he had never been outdoors in his life.

"Yes. It's lovely."

"Shush. No, watch it. Hear it?"

So she did, of course, but not before throwing him a queer look. She watched the tear drops fall and devour each other in puddles, drip gracefully of the statue of Horace and split the water in crowns. She stood, mesmerized as he, as it drummed on the windows and obscured the glistening blossoms and danced on the surfaces of everything outside their walls of safety and civilization. Looking at a captivated Draco and then out the window, Hermione began to see what he was seeing. There was so much she had never noticed- her -the observant one. How painfully ironic that Draco, the unfeeling, shallow one, should point this out to her.

Neither said saying for the longest time. Then Draco moved to sit at a chair from where they watched the entire storm. For about 20 minutes it poured in torrents, roaring viciously and shaking the windows. Its lightening bolts violently and sporadically lit up the sky giving everything a weird, inverted look, then plunging it back into unnatural darkness. After a while, it seemed to grow tired of its fit and it changed to a shower again. With each movement of the storm, like a symphony, Draco's body responded. It was so strange, and yet she had to admit that she enjoyed it immensely. When the storm quieted, they looked at each other or a moment, with the air of two people sharing something very private or sacred, half embarrassed at being too personal.

"Dinner," Jovially announced a suddenly present house elf.

"Dress. Hurry." Draco said, leaping to his feet. "We'll be late and there will be the devil to pay."

Hermione, too rushed to argue, scampered away to her room where she quickly used a spell to dry her hair and put on some dark purple formal robes. Slipping into short, black heals and putting in a beetle clip, she powdered her nose and added a little blush to her already flushed cheeks. That would have to do. There was a knock at her door.

"Granger."

"Coming!"

She raced to the door and rushed into hallway. "Is this alright?"

"It will have to do."

'How pointlessly rude,' she thought.

Soon, they were being seated at the most elegantly laid table Hermione had ever seen. Although the party had been massive, this was stunning in its impeccable and delicate taste. Everything was silver, white, blue dainty, and expensive. She forced her face to remain expressionless with her head held high as she passed an assortment of equally nasty characters by Draco's steady arm. She held it like a lifeline as she passed a particularly dismal mop of black hair.

"Bellatrix."

"Silence," he whispered harshly. Smiling disgustingly sweetly at Hermione, Bellatrix Lestrange indicated the seat next to her. Draco sat on her other side, on the right hand side of his father. On Lucius' left was, of course, Narcissa next to her guests, the family of, and including, Morrissa Gouge. The place next to Bellatrix and her husband was occupied by the only friendly face (which was, in itself, anything but friendly) Severus Snape.

Hermione sat gingerly down, faced politely forward, and kept her mouth clamped painfully shut. As the meal was served, she reached to take a sip of her drink, but stopped in mid air and replaced it, a slight burning rising in her throat. Draco, eying her suspiciously, distracted the guests with a conversation that Severus contributed to. All eyes on the professor, Draco surreptitiously switched his and Hermione's plates and goblets. She threw him a politely puzzled smile which Draco discouraged it with a stern glance.

'How like him to be so deceitful, but how so unlike him to be so, well, clever,' she mused.

"Draco, dear, you haven't touched your food. Is it alright?"

"Oh yes, mother, quite. I was just so distracted by our excellent company."

Hermione blinked to hide her eyes she could not keep from rolling, ducking her head to taste her partially eaten meal. It was indeed, alright.

"Oh, leave him alone Narcisssa, I saw him take a bite not a moment ago." Lucius protested. The conversation, thankfully, ended there.

Hermione strove to remember every detail of what was said, though Snape would no doubt report most of it and it was highly uninteresting, two verbatim reports could not hurt. She would also write of her day and Draco's strange behavior. As soon as she returned, she planned to make her report in her hidden diary, pant some false information and earnest thought for deception sake, hand it to Knobby, and finish reading The Tragic Personal History of Casus Malfoy.

Her determination and plan gave her a feeling of security that allowed her to ignore all the flirty glances that rude Morrissa tossed at Draco while insinuating that she would see him again tomorrow, as well as brush off the crude phrases and nasty choice of words Bellatrix employed to irk her. Indeed, it was surprising how the word 'mudblood' could now roll off back her almost as easily as it rolled off the Malfoy's tongues. When at last dinner was over, Hermione stood quickly, eager to return to her room for several reasons.

On her way back to her room, Draco mentioned something abruptly.

"I am going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to pick up things for school. Stay out of trouble for once. I won't be here to save you." Was that a jibe, or an earnest warning?

"I'm not going with you?"

"No."

"No? Who is? Morrissa?"

'Where did that come from, Hermione?' she asked herself. It must have seemed odd to Draco as well for it stumbled him for a moment.

"You would be well advised to mind your own business, mudblood."

"My business?" She heard the outrage begin to rise in her own voice. "I am your partner!" she whispered angrily.

"Yes, and you would be well-advised, partner, to keep out of things that don't concern you. I tell you what you need to know. Everything I keep from you is to keep you safe. The most danger is found in secrets." With that, he turned to leave.

"What about my things?"

"What things?"

"My things for school. Will you pick them up?"

There was a strange pause again, and then a weak, smug smile with: "I guess so. You'll get your books, Granger."

"What about Crookshanks?"

He wheeled around again, this time with plain fury etched in elegantly in his face.

"What about him? I am not that damn cat's keeper! If you want him, you go look for him or send your own house elf."

"Fine, I will," she replied, smartly.

"I'm not your elf either!" he shouted. "It's bad enough I have to save you every time you turn around and now I have to be your errand boy. 'Get my books for me, Draco,'" he mocked her.

She turned red. "I didn't ask you to be my errand boy! I didn't ask you for anything! Leave me alone then, why don't you? I'll send for my books myself!"

"You do that, Granger and I'll gladly leave you alone. Now, if you starve, it'll be your own stubborn fault!"

"Well, maybe if your house elf wasn't mad as a hatter and tried to kill me I wouldn't be so paranoid! For all I know you told him to do that!"

"Yes! That makes perfect sense. I keep trying to have you killed so that I can save you. Where is the logic in that? You're the one as mad as a hatter!"

"Maybe you are just trying to earn my trust as part of your masterful plan of deceit."

"You ARE paranoid. You really are losing your mind, Granger." He laughed.

"Is it so really hard to believe?"

"That you are losing your mind? Not particularly."

"NO! That's not what I meant!" she actually stamped her foot. He was so infuriating.

"Well, what did you mean then?"

"You're not exactly the most trustworthy person, you know?"

"Well, then that would make you a pretty foolish person, wouldn't it?"

She froze. Her face fell.

"Are you a fool, Granger?"

"No."

A/N: I hope you liked it! Please, let me know what you thought of it. I love your reviews! Thanks for reading. Keep in mind the Fan Art challenge.