Chapter 21

The apartments seemed empty without Tabain and Hermione felt lost. The world had shifted under her feet and she didn't know where she stood anymore. The things she'd cared about a few short days ago were thing she didn't care about now, but that wasn't a luxury she could afford. Destitution, or worse, was still a very real threat, although now, the threat of being one of Voldemort's victims hung over her head as well.

She simply had to navigate this world. And to think she'd been worried about Astoria and her sharp tongue. That seemed to be the least of her problems. So inconsequential it hardly registered.

Malfoy was another issue she didn't know how to deal with. What she didn't know was what they were now. Were they enemies, was perhaps the pertinent question. She had been too liberal, too open and that left her open to him taking advantage. She could fully see him stripping her land off her with a 'hard luck' expression on his face. It would be nothing personal.

But he might have other ideas. Had their tryst started something more meaningful? She didn't think so. He'd pointed out too many times how abstract he saw the masquerade nights. Probably so she wouldn't misunderstand. No problem there. She wasn't aching for something more meaningful from him. If Malfoy was something, he was dangerous, and dropping her guard around him might be fatal.

They were gathering that night in the southern, yellow hall. That was a new one for her. For some reason, Voldemort liked to move around and Hermione suspected that was part of his paranoia.

As per usual, she donned one of her gowns, wore her finest jewelry and made herself as beautiful as possible. She hated every part of this. This presentation of herself was not her, not how she saw herself, but she had to do it. This was armor in a way.

Her skirts were heavy that night. They would be useless to run in, but what point was there in running? There was nowhere to run to. Voldemort's spies were absolutely everywhere. If someone was not where he placed them, he soon had them exactly where he wanted.

Taking a deep breath, which was difficult in the confines of the gown, she steadied herself before entering whatever hall Voldemort had picked for the night. Elves opened the double doors for her entrance. The hall certainly was yellow. It was lined with portraits, including a few of Voldemort, looking a tad more human than he did in reality, surrounded by treasures and the elder wand in hand. These paintings were propaganda if she'd ever seen it. He wanted people to see how powerful he was, and with that wand, he was basically undefeatable.

Everyone was dressed in their finery. As opposed to when she'd first arrived, she knew who most of the faces were. She knew the harmless ones and the ones she had to keep an eye on. It was almost as if you had to worry about the nice ones; the ones that smiled to your face, because in this environment, kindness did not thrive.

Pansy walked leisurely on the other side in a marine green dress, the material shimmering with the movement. Astoria appeared next to her, taking her arm and walking with her. Did they even trust each other, Hermione wondered. Did Astoria have any idea what Pansy said behind her back?

As they walked, Astoria looked over, her eyes sparkling in with the candles around the hall. She smiled a greeting, but it sent shivers down Hermione's spine in its false friendliness. Although Hermione wasn't so worried about Astoria's games, she still had to guard herself, because Astoria wasn't done with her.

Astoria shifted from Pansy's arm to Lord Hollyrood, a man Hermione didn't know, but one who obviously thought well of himself. Hermione would even go so far as to call him a dandy. The intimacy on display in their stance suggested they knew each other well, were probably even lovers.

Hermione attention drew to the entrance as Malfoy entered, dressed darkly as he preferred, his hair tied back. His face was stoic, as if uninterested and slightly bored. Astoria let slip her lover's arm and took a step away. If she was trying to hide her activities from her husband, she wasn't doing a terribly good job. Surely she didn't think Malfoy was unaware of what she did.

It was none of Hermione's affair, but again she felt sorry for Malfoy, being caught in such a marriage. Then again, it was one he'd engineered for power and land. Should one feel sorry for the choices people consciously made? Had she the right to look down on him for it? It may come one day that she would have to make an impossible decision and even have to marry someone for survival. She hoped not, and her aim would be to avoid that fate.

Malfoy wandered and spoke to people. He was walking her way and Hermione felt a nervousness she wished she didn't. "Lady Nott," he said, his voice deep and bored. There was no particular kindness or familiarity in it. "I trust you are enjoying the evening."

"Of course," she said.

"Good. Just to let you know. I saw Lord Wildesmith talking to Lord Curstjoy earlier. Now that is interesting, don't you think? Is his land not near yours?" His voice was light. "If I were you, I would be wondering how firm your alliance is."

He departed and Hermione had to wonder if he was messing with her, or if the warning was genuine. It wasn't as if he seemed worried about the news, but then he wouldn't be. His aim of getting her land had not changed just because she'd been intimate with him. If she fell, rather than try to catch her, he would be there to clean up her assets.

It was good to know that some things hadn't change. He could have lied, she supposed, made it seem as if they had an alliance and hidden his true intentions. Perhaps this had an integrity all its own. At least she knew where she stood. Nothing had changed, and that might be for the best. It would perhaps serve her to have a chat with Wildesmith later, to look him in the eye and hear his intentions. Would she be able to tell if he was lying? She hoped so. But then, undermining their alliance would be a natural strategy for an enemy. And that was exactly what Malfoy might be doing. Her walking away from her alliance would put her lands in play again.

Voldemort sat on his throne, watching the proceedings, looking sullen. "Now," he said and everyone in the hall quietened, listening to what he had to say. "I think we are overdue for a hunt."

A murmur washed through the hall. Hermione frown, wondering what horrid thing she would be subjected to now. One couldn't take any of Voldemort's suggestions at face value. Everything seemed to have a hidden agenda or a caveat.

Voldemort rose and walked across his platform, as if he was pensive. "But not just a hunt. I want to hunt something spectacular. No standard creature, no. I want something with deadly teeth and claws. I want a Nemean lion."

A gasp spread through the court. Nemean lions were creatures of myth, with an uncommon fierceness and golden fur. In her mind's eye, she saw them all running for their lives, defenseless against this beast.

At no time had a real Nemean lion every been recorded. What trickery was Voldemort playing at? His madness was unbounded, it seemed.

"Bring me the magician," he ordered, standing with his legs apart. Eager madness shone through his beady eyes.

Silence reigned over the entire court as they waited minute by minute. This request was completely outrageous, a request to hunt a mythical animal that didn't exist, one know to be impervious to weapons. Was this some kind of ruse, a proposition to fight an unfightable animal? He would see himself as capable of that.

It had to be another way for Voldemort to show and prove his power, a victory only he could render. Such feats proved to all of the nobility how strong he was and by that, he was the rightful ruler of them all.

Hermione's eyes traveled to Malfoy, who didn't look back at her. He didn't seem surprised, maybe even a bit curious.

The doors parted in silence and Mr. Lovegood appeared, looking haggard and confused. His gait was unsteady and feeble as he walked through the middle of the parted hall toward Voldemort's throne. Painfully, he bowed.

"I want a Nemean lion," Voldemort requested, his voice booming across the hall.

"My lord," Lovegood said. "The creature you speak of is not real." His gaze dashed left and right, betraying his fear and uncertainty.

Voldemort's head twisted sideways. "You cannot raise a measly beast for me? I wonder what use you are, Mr. Lovegood. It is said you are a powerful wizard, but you cannot perform the simplest things. Must I do everything myself? If that is the case, I wonder why I keep you around, Mr. Lovegood."

"My liege," Lovegood said ingratiatingly. His body positively trembled with fear.

Discomfort flared in Hermione's belly. This was how bad thing started and all she wanted was for the old man not to end up as a mangled heap on the floor.

Voldemort stilled. This was worse, Hermione said, shifting between her feet, knowing yet again that she could absolutely not interfere. That would draw a harsh punishment from Voldemort because she would openly be questioning his judgement and edicts, something he saw as unforgivable. "Are you telling me it cannot be done?"

"The magics to create a creature from fantasy would be difficult. I assume you do not want a mere rendering?"

The liege raised an eyebrow and everyone laughed as if cued to. Lovegood looked around nervously.

Please have something, Hermione urged. Lie if you must.

"Such has never been done," he hacked out, his shoulders drawn up to his ears.

"I didn't ask if it could be done," Voldemort said coldly. "I told you I wanted one, and I want it ferocious. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord," Lovegood replied.

"Yes, I can, or yes I understand. Careful how you answer," Voldemort said with levity now and again everyone laughed. "We find incompetence so tiresome."

Hermione held her breath, hoping Voldemort didn't decide he was wasting his time. Lie, she urged.

"I will find a way," Lovegood said, bowing deeply.

Raising his head higher, Voldemort watched him for a moment before finally dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Lovegood didn't need further encouragement and slinked out of the hall.

Closing her eyes, Hermione tried to hide the sigh of relief she felt. For a moment, she'd been worried that the old man would be tortured and killed before them, but he'd survived. The humiliation Voldemort had leveled at him was embarrassing and painful, but it was a small price compared to the one Voldemort could have exacted.