Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling and this lovely world belongs to her.

Five

Hermione awoke the next morning feeling nonexistent. The corpse wasn't going anywhere, and for all intents and purposes, neither was she. There was nothing to dwell on or consider greatly. Her situation was her situation and she really just needed to deal with getting on with it.

Being in love with Riddle wasn't so bad, as he seemed to care greatly for her wellbeing. However, realizing that she was just another weapon in his arsenal was disorienting. She held onto no false beliefs about him coming into loving her, but she'd hoped that she'd be more than just another follower –or, as he'd painted it, a supporter. He made her into his Lady, but that didn't mean he valued her any more than he did anyone else, regardless of what he told her. Deep down, mixed in with the feelings of love and admiration she had for the wizard he was currently and the one she knew he could be one day, Hermione felt sure of the fact that he simply wanted great power where he could see and manipulate it. She wasn't a fool, after all; she knew that she was bested only by him in their circuit, and he knew it too.

It was all greatly annoying, and weighed down into everything else she had no control over.

Giving up wasn't an option, but giving in was. She'd been trying to for weeks, and fighting herself in the process. Only her stubborn, inner Gryffindor could be blamed for that, no matter how Slytherin Dumbledore felt she had become. The witch could and would prove him wrong, and she no longer lived in fear of the future she may or may not exist in as Hermione Granger. All she had was right now, and that currently consisted of Tom Riddle.

A sickening mixture of agony and hope swelled in her mind, seeping into her body and soul at the idea. But, even in all of her disgust and self-hatred toward falling prey to his charms, she felt herself softening at the notion of being with him forever. Of allowing him to take care of her indefinitely. Damn it, she thought to herself, he wants to! I should let him.

But, what was left of her Gryffindor self tightened in her chest and recoiled at the possible allowance. It made her blood boil under her flesh. She wasn't above admitting that she was in a low place, but there was no one to help her. And Hermione was so used to having someone near and dear to her that it made sense for Tom to be it.

Rolling over, she smiled at his sleeping face, resisting lifting a hand to touch him. Out of all the times she'd woken up with him, he'd never truly been lying down beside her. He'd never really be vulnerable, but sleeping beside him, and having him come undone in her hand was enough for her to see him in that light. He was beautiful, and immortal, but oddly fragile in her eyes. Perhaps it was because everything would crash and burn in the future. Because he would end up a scared man with ill developed emotions and a misunderstanding of how to express the ones he could grasp. Because he would end up alone, and she knew what that felt like.

Unable to suppress the urge any longer, she brushed her fingers over his hair and then down his cheek. His skin was warm and soft as she trailed his jaw and brushed her thumb against his lips, eyes following every action in fascination. Looking up at him, she realized that he was watching her, eyes wide and blank as he took her in. She pulled her hand away, tucking it under the pillow with her other, feeling herself blush under his scrutiny. Slowly, he trailed her face as well, leaning in to kiss her forehead before pulling her into him, chin coming to rest on her head.

"Good morning, love," he whispered, voice heavy with sleep. His hand held the base of her head, keeping her close, and she pressed a kiss to his lower neck. "The Malfoys are expecting you after breakfast."

She closed her eyes, attempting to shift her thoughts. He was all business this morning, and she would be too. "Could we talk before I leave?"

"Of course. Over breakfast or in bed?"

Hermione felt his fingers brushing through her hair, rubbing over her scalp soothingly, and decided she never wanted to leave their room. It was a warm cocoon bathed in the illusion of security and sanity. They were a regular couple, no matter how odd the conversation or task taking place, and the only thing that would change that would be rejoining the rest of the world.

In response to his question, she wrapped an arm over his side and snuggled closer to him, legs tangling onto his stiff, unsure ones. It was easy to ignore his discomfort, as it was reassuring. "Before the dance you asked me how involved I wanted to be with you. I already told you that I want to be with you forever, that's an easy decision. But I," she took a deep breath in, pressing closer to him for the comfort and invulnerability he provided her with. "Tom, I can feel how far you've fallen into the darkness. The pieces you've broken yourself into are not only tangible but visible as well. For weeks I've been trying to figure out why you are so hot and cold, or why there never seems to be anyone home when I look into your eyes, and it hurts to truly know. I don't know why, per'aps its because we've linked ourselves and I'm trying to sort through what are my feelings and what are yours…but it's like I know you're in pain from what you've done, and you don't. You survive oblivious to everything…and it's hard for me to fathom being apart of that…it's hard to tell if you'll even know I'm around. I can't tell if you're strength is admirable or dangerous; but it is stupid in a way you are not, which is upsetting."

His hold on her had tightened as she spoke. "I understand."

"I don't want to be apart from you, though. I want to know and understand you on every human level, and I want to even go beyond that. We carry apart of each other around and it still isn't close enough for me. I…want all of you. I want to know everything you know and understand the way you do. But, I'm scared."

"I don't understand what you're telling me," the scowl on his face was evident in his tone.

"It's going to take a lot, and I don't want to lift my wand to anyone out of spite, but I want to be yours. Completely."

He was quite for a second longer than comfortable before saying, "In ancient Rome, the Dark Lords had Ladies that were just as vicious and cruel as they, even more passionate. It was only seen in private, when she felt that she or her family had been threatened. My favorite, of course, was Vasiliki."

Admittedly, Hermione knew very little about the history of the Ancient Roman Wizarding world, and she was shocked that he knew enough to have a favorite. However, he'd gone lengths to know as much as possible about her 'history.' She wouldn't be surprised if he knew Myrine's second and third cousins' cousins. Tom was obsessive in nature, after all.

Fortunately, though, everyone knew the story of Vasiliki. It was older than time, and transcended even into the Muggle world. She was a human who'd been adopted by demi-gods and later married into greatly powerful and old magical family. Later in her life, she had children and her husband had declared war upon the lands of her own family due to an uncle taking one of her daughters to marry. Despite all that they'd given her, she'd killed every last member over the betrayal. He would like that story.

A tight smile graced her face, and she rolled her eyes only because she was still nestled securely against his chest. "You and everyone else in the world."

"I don't think Malfoy quite likes that story at the moment."

She tensed. "I wouldn't betray them. If I become your family, you become their's."

"You seem to forget that you are not one of them," he remarked distastefully.

Hermione closed her eyes and let her fingers trail his skin. Of course she knew she wasn't a Malfoy, but that didn't mean she didn't hold them as near and dear as she held her own family. It was an irrational feeling of protection and preservation she felt toward them, but it was there nonetheless. It's become her fault that they are so dedicated to Voldemort, anyway. She was going to keep them safe for as long as she possibly could.

"Tom," she whispered, and he made a sound of interest. Beneath her swirling fingertips, she felt him relax and she smiled softly. Just as calmly, she continued, "Blood or no blood, my life is tied to theirs."

"And what of me?"

She pressed her lips to his skin, fingers never stopping their exploration of his back. "You did this."

He growled, pushing away from her and getting out of bed.

Hermione pushed herself up on one arm, watching as he stalked back and forth for a moment, turning to glare at her angrily before moving to look out the window. Through the bond and the bracelet, she felt his displeasure and hostility seeping into her. It wasn't the right time to say anything, so she waited, continuing to watch as he rested an elbow on the window frame above his head, forehead coming to rest on his fist. His muscles pulled taut as he breathed, straining as he grew angrier, and she sighed lightly. Rolling over to his side of the bed, she moved to join him, hesitating only briefly before wrapping her arms around his torso.

The wizard tensed under her hold before letting his free hand rest over one of hers. "I do not enjoy knowing that they outweigh me. I thought we were," he broke off, seeming expecting her to finish the statement.

She didn't want it to be that easy, though. "We were, what, Tom?"

"You know what, Mimi. Don't make me spell it out."

"Please do. I'd like to hear it."

He was quiet for a long time. Seconds turned to minutes, and every moment left Hermione feeling isolated and ready to cry. It was such a weak emotion that she began to pull away, needing to regain a sense of self. However, before she could pull away, and pulled her in front of him and pressed her against the window, his warm hand moving to wrap around her upper arm. The other twisted into her hair firmly, furthering his possession of her. She blinked a few times, attempting to clear her watering eyes, watching him as he watched her.

A small frown formed on his lips. "Forever," he finally spoke, voice firm in the air around them. He leaned into her, bottom half pressing her firmly into place against the cool glass. She felt his magic filtering through her, influencing her. His fingers rubbed soothingly into her scalp. "None of your silly little alliances or friendships matter to me, or to our future. It's you and I forever, Granger."

A slow smile stretched over her lips, and she felt his aggression peak, burning his wrist and scaring the skin his hand covered over her bared arm. It hurt, badly, like dry ice, but she didn't let it bother her. For once, she felt like she had the upper hand with him. He was physically and magically stronger than she was, but his dependency on her –something she was well aware he felt and had yet to understand completely, due to his being unfamiliar with such feelings- left him susceptible to her in a way he wasn't with anyone else.

She leaned forward, pressed her lips to his skin, feeling his magic continuing to assault hers. Slowly, however, he relaxed, and she allowed her arms around him once more, cheek pressing against his chest. His heart thundered against her ear.

"I'm not going to lose you."

"I don't want you to, Tom," she smiled as his grip slackened on her arm and arm twined around her waist. Recalling him drawing similarities between her and Vasiliki, her smile changed, eyes opening wide as she watched the kitten jump into a nearby chair and perch. He was watching them curiously, as though he could see what was brewing within the both of them, and she winked at her feline.

He wanted cruelty and passion. She could give him that. Giving up an opportunity to save what had become her family wouldn't be squandered.

With the savage smile still gracing her lips, her voice slipped out strong a sure, a mixture of Gryffindor ferocity and Slytherin cunning tingeing her words. "But, I will end you if you harm any member of the Malfoy family."

.

.

.

"So, you and Riddle."

Hermione looked at Abraxas through her mirror and smiled, deciding that she liked him more on the Malfoy grounds than at Hogwarts. He was far more relaxed away from prying eyes. "Yes," she told him, hand brushing through her hair carefully, pulling her curls in way that would make braiding them easier.

He grinned at the fire, purposely keeping his eyes away from her as she styled her hair. "I'm happy for you all. You're…you complement each other. I was worried that he would corrupt you, that I wouldn't recognize you after he sunk his fangs in. But, I mean I know that the pair of you have done something. That much is obvious. You –no offense, of course, Little M-, I mean you look like you need protecting. You seem like whatever you've done has taken so much away from you that I was horrified that he'd ruined you. But you're fine. You're stronger now. It's beautiful."

"I appreciate you being worried about me."

"I know that we aren't really siblings, but I want you to know that I truly think of you as flesh of my flesh. So does father, and even mother. I think we were both a bit worried that he'd fall in love with you like he'd fallen in love with your mother, but it's nothing like that."

She finished with her hair and moved to sit next to him in the couch, hand searching for his under the massive pile of blankets and furs he decided was necessary to sit under. His words brushed over her skin like kind caresses, and she was thankful to hear them, narrowly resisting tearing up. "I think of you like a brother, as well. I…was very alone before the first time I cried to you. Ever since then, I've known that you have my back. I'm very thankful."

"You don't have to be thankful, though. It's just natural. Though, as you're brother," he straightened himself out, but it was futile. He was still in his pajamas, hair slightly askew and face still flushed from his late sleep. Even his eyes were a little glossy from whatever pain potions he was taking, giving him the look of child-like innocence. It was a sight she'd never thought to see -a Malfoy so terribly unkempt-, but it was nice to know he was that comfortable. "I have to say that you really shouldn't allow him to touch you that way. Not with out him properly talking with Dumbledore."

"Oncle Albus and I had a little bit of a falling out."

Abraxas frowned. "Over Riddle?"

"Yes. Also, over you all. Oncle is very…independent. His sister died, his parents are gone, and 'e and his brother aren't on speaking terms. He had his heart broken by someone he'd been planning on forever with…so having me around, and in Slytherin, of all places, is uncomfortable for him. I'm like another heartbreak waiting to 'appen."

"That must be why he'd contacted Father," the blond said thoughtfully. "Oh, my. Oh Merlin, Mimi! That's why we're here. You're…did Dumbledore say what he was going to be up to?"

"No," she frowned. "But Tom mentioned that your father-"

"Our father," he corrected lightly.

"That father told him Dumbledore was going after Grindelwald."

Abraxas hummed thoughtfully, eyes observing the fire. "That doesn't have anything to do with us, though. Although," he turned his eyes on her, wide and excited.

Hermione gave him a nervous frown, "What are you thinking?"

"I think Father is going to- well, he's already publicly claimed you, but- I believe it's going to become legal."

Hermione started. She was eighteen; there was absolutely no reason for anyone to do anything of the sort. Dully, she remembered the book on Pureblood etiquette, and recalled that witches remained like minors to their parents until they were married, but still, they really had nothing to do with her. Not truly. Resisting scowling and scoffing, and storming down to Septimus' office to demand that he take a step back, she allowed herself to appear scared. "They'll check my blood."

"For as much as old Septimus pisses me off, he knows the right people to pull this off. He wants to take care of you. No one will question it."

The witch let her head fall onto his shoulder to keep him from looking at her. She was scared. It wasn't about being discovered as a Muggleborn, though; it was about letting Abraxas, and his father, down. Although he mentioned not caring about blood, she had no idea about his father, and the only reason they wanted any of this was because she'd "honored" their family by telling coming out to them as a Montague. Resisting groaning, she closed her eyes and let the sound of the fire cracking sooth her mind.

"It's going to be alright," the wizard was saying. "Really, Mimi. It's going to be prefect."

.

.

Septimus returned to the Manor late on Boxing Day, joining them just in time for dessert. Hermione watched as he laid a steadying hand on his son's shoulder, kissed his wife gently, and hesitated only briefly before kissing her on the head. She smiled at him as the elf fussed with getting his settings down, listening as he explained how work on the French property was going.

Imogen sighed dramatically, taking a sip of her wine before relaxing into her seat. "I can't wait for this project of yours to be over, T, really. It's taking far too much of your time," she told him in an airy tone. The Lady Malfoy kept a delicate nature around her, appearing as though she lived in a distant time; it matched her pale, glossy, purple eyes and honey-colored hair perfectly. Unlike Narcissa, she wasn't incredibly pretty or thin, but she was no less perfect. Grace coated every word from her mouth and shined in the air around her; she was even carelessly intelligent, as though her brain were just another thing she offered to the world. The younger witch found that she liked the woman quite a bit, and shot her a small smile as Septimus carried on as though he hadn't heard a word. She knew he was very proud of the renovations he was doing, and found it charming that he got home and shared that excitement with his family; who listened no matter how uninterested they were about it.

As she tucked into her crème brûlée, she helped Imogen in making sounds of interests and small remarks to keep the conversation going. Abraxas' eyes were heavy on her, curious and amused, and Hermione realized that she felt more at home here than she had during her entire time in the 40s. The Malfoys were a small, tight-knit family, and they'd welcomed her as one of their own so easily that she wondered what she wasn't being told. However, it didn't really matter. She was as invested in them as they were in here, and their support was welcomed and admired greatly.

After dinner Lady Malfoy pulled her son into her sitting to discuss his intended, who would be visiting with her family for the New Year's celebration, and she felt Septimus' eyes heavy on her until she actually looked over to him. Something in his expression prickled her senses, leaving her on edge. However, he shot her a handsome grin before long, and it soothed her mind enough to forget about any misgivings she possessed.

"I'm not sure about you," he finally said, standing and straightening out his robes. "But I could use some more dessert." She smiled, taking his offered hand and allowing him to tuck it into his arm as he led her through a door she hadn't noticed at the back of the room. "I like to enjoy my second round in the greenhouse," he explained as they walked into the kitchen.

An elf had already prepared a basket of sweets, smiling knowingly at his master, and Septimus acknowledged him kindly before continuing out the back door of the kitchen. The stroll down to the greenhouse wasn't long, and Hermione found herself in awe of how many night blooming flowers they had as they sat down at a preset table for them. "Imogen and I usually have a drink out here," he informed her as he tapped his wand against the basket. An assortment of desserts spread out before them, and she watched as his eyes widened in delight, hands instantly reaching for a peppermint patty.

As she gathered a handful of chocolate pretzels in her hand, suppressing her amusement over his sweet tooth, the witch took a moment to observe the older blond. Somehow, he looked different than he had the first time they'd met, and it hit her quite suddenly that he was also more at ease on his property. The pompous look that had filled his eyes over tea in Diagon Alley or during dinner in France two weeks back disappeared, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile came handsomely, never leaving his face. Just before she could mention it to him, an elf popped in and offered them glasses of dessert wine.

"I am to tell you that Lady Malfoy requests more red from the boutique you all visited in the States," the little elf explained, and Septimus laughed.

"You'll find a bottle on the shelf in my office, Banana. Have you met the new Malfoy, yet?"

Banana scrutinized Hermione briefly, eyes widening and hands trembling before bowing smartly. "It's an honor to meet you at this time."

Her blood chilled, and the elf winked out. She looked at Septimus carefully, swallowing the dryness that filled her throat, and watched as he smiled gently at her. "He's strange elf," the wizard explained, "but you'll like him. He's very sweet."

"I'm sure," she said before sipping from the stemless glass daintily. "Abraxas mentioned that I should call you father."

His eyes brightened, smiling widening very briefly before he said, "I would understand if you weren't interested in getting that invested with us. Your father raised a beautiful young witch; all I've done is spoil my son," he said lightly with a humoring smile. Sobering, he said, "I can't imagine being half as great to you as he was."

"I'm very 'onored by your enthusiasm about me," she replied diplomatically, wondering what it would have been like to truly be a Malfoy.

He smiled softly before launching into a discussion about the Montagues and his time with him. For as enlightening as his view was, she found it was information she already knew, thanks to Draco and Abraxas, and wondered when he would touch on whatever it was he truly wanted to say. Finally, as the door to the green house creaked open, she realized that he'd been buying time. Imogen joined them with a smile on her face and a cocktail in her hand, outer robes left behind in her study and eyes just a little glossier from the wine at dinner and whatever she'd drunken with her son.

Lord Malfoy conjured a chair and offered her a macaroon, which she accepted happily before blinking a few times to clear her mind. Their hands joined atop the table, and the pair shared a look that caused Hermione to blush and turn her eyes away. They didn't fit into her ideal of Malfoy parents at all, and she found herself rethinking what Draco's childhood might have been like. The care and admiration Septimus felt for his wife was painfully obvious, and that wasn't the sort of thing that boys didn't learn from their fathers.

"Did Albus give you the keys?"

She blinked, ripped away from her thoughts. Looking quickly between the two, she nodded conformation, unsure if her voice would work. Imogen sighed, shaking her head, and Septimus looked sympathetically at her.

"I hoped he wouldn't," the witch was saying as she continued to shake her head. "He is a funny wizard, I never quite trusted him, and I suppose he never quite trusted either of us. It was quite surprising when he came to us before Abe did…we didn't understand his motives. I suppose he never planned on being your rock," she sighed again, and sipped her beverage. "I hoped he would be. You're admiration for him was obvious."

"I'm sorry…I don't understand what you're telling me."

"We could be a family," Lady Malfoy said enthusiastically.

He gave his wife a gentle smile at her excitement before explaining, "Not many people know you're a Montague. Young Riddle, which couldn't be helped, and I suppose Burke. A smart obliviate can help with both of them, if you wish. And, if you're comfortable with our support, you can truly be one of us."

She stared at Septimus for a long time before reaching for her relatively untouched glass of wine and downing it. It was hard to wrap her mind around what he and his wife were trying to tell her. Their expressions were guarded, words twisting to accommodate many meanings…as though voicing whatever they were attempting to say was too dangerous. Blinking rapidly as she finished the glass, the witch leaned back and brushed her hand over the smooth silk of her robes. The Malfoy crest hummed against her skin, and she was suddenly aware of Riddle's heavy presence against her wrist. He was excited, wherever he was, and she wondered if he could feel her supreme confusion.

"How would we do that?"

Imogen grinned, and beside her husband, with his Malfoy signature white-blond hair, silver eyes, and pale skin, she was like a dream. Her eyes brightened, skin glowed, and she ran her tongue over her teeth in a charming way that Hermione never imagined a Malfoy woman to be. Slowly, she dipped her hand into a secret pocket on her skirt, and produced a small, handmade glass. It was the same quality as those Walburga and Lestrange possessed during Potions class, and she found herself reaching for it to study the craftsmanship.

Distractedly, she asked, "Where do you buy this?"

"I make it," she offered with a shrug, shocking the younger witch.

"Focus, sweet Hermione," Septimus' voice chided softly.

She hummed in response, twisting and turning the vial carefully. The magic inside washed over her just as taking the keys out of the soft pouch had, creeping slowly over her just as the thick, red liquid crawled along the walls of the glass. Suddenly, she realized it was blood, and dropped it on the tabletop.

Looking up at the pair, she found the witch's eyes fastened on her husband, and his studying her attentively. He was waiting for something more, and she back tracked, attempting to determine what he wanted from her."This is a Montague's blood."

"It is," he nodded, but she sensed she wasn't quite there yet.

Why would the give me this?

"I don't know what this has to do with me becoming a Malfoy."

He produced a second vial and slid it over, brows furrowing. "This is my own blood." The silence was heavy, and she couldn't help but feel like she was missing something.

"Whatever you all are thinking, its Dark Magic."

"Black Magic," Imogen explained, eyes roaming her face but never meeting hers. "It takes pure blood, and pure heart."

"You have a choice," he explained further, "sweet Hermione."

The witch shook her head, opening her mouth to inform them that she just didn't know what they wanted from her, but then her eyes widened so greatly the Malfoys worried they'd pop out of her head.

She felt her heart stop for too long. Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen, brain fogging and vision clouding. The witch swayed slightly, but managed to stay upright. The only thing keeping her alive was the magic flowing through her veins. Finally, after what felt like hours without life, she gasped violently, coughing and sputtering.

Hermione took the offered water, downing it and pressing the cold glass to her forehead. "How long have you known?"

Her accent dropped, mind unable to keep up her charade. The end felt near. It felt heavy on her skin. Failure and disaster pressed into her like shards of ice and shots of fire. Nothing could correct this, and Dumbledore had given her to these people.

A warm hand grasped her shoulder; it's presence trickling into her being too reassuringly for comfort. "It doesn't matter. Know that you're safe here."

She looked up into Septimus' eyes. It didn't make sense. All this time, they'd known, and they'd accepted lie after lie with gentle smiles and reassurances. They'd opened their home and lives to her. How heartbroken was Abraxas, knowing that she couldn't even manage to tell him the truth? Why were they so kind with what they knew? They were Malfoys…arrogant, callous, prejudice Malfoys. Only and absolutely for themselves.

"You are so brave and cunning, Hermione," Imogen spoke softly, reaching over to rest a hand in the young witch's forearm. "Everything we envisioned you to be."

The misplaced witch looked between them with tear filled eyes, fear and confusion overwhelming her. She was trembling with panic. "I don't understand."

Imogen gave her a curious smile before leaning forward and whispering, "I'm a seer."

Hermione laughed, let out a shaky breath, and collapsed.

Author's Note: So that happened!
It was very unexpected to me. And the next scene is going to be fun. Also, Vasiliki (like Fei Fei and her husband) is a totally made up story.

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