Well now I suppose you weren't expecting this so quickly. I'm on a role ladies and jellyspoons.

Should be an interesting next few chapters, I have the next several mapped out. And I stayed up super late just to get this one done. So...

You're welcome :)

Disclaimer: NOOOOOOPE but that'd be awesome right?


The Sentencing

Hermione stared at her reflection. She stood before the oval mirror in a polished wooden frame, tilted back so she could see her full form draped luxuriously in what at any other time would have been considered very beautiful material. Emerald green robes in a soft as silk material Hermione couldn't seem to put a name to fell down to the floor, delightfully comfortable they fit amazingly for having never been worn before. The form fitting robes had been a gift to her upon her initiation to the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, the custom uniform for all the women of the circle. She didn't even remember being measured for them but she supposed, as she turned this way and that to admire their effect on her, they could have obtained that anytime she'd closed her eyes to sleep. Gently she smoothed a hand down her sides, and turned away from the frame to glance out of the window.

Beyond the small forest that surrounded the compound Hermione could see the soft glow of the red sun as it sank below the horizon, giving way to the deep purple blanket of a night sky. It would be a clear night from what she could tell of the round full moon that hung in the sky. Dots of stars were fighting for their time to shine and be noticed as she glanced down into the yard. People were already milling about, the other members of the circle arriving early and making their way through the thicket of trees that separated the out buildings from the house. She could just see the top of the roof in the center of a clearing, a gentle stream of smoke filtering out of a small chimney at one end. He was being kept in there, Malakai, the man that had almost…

Hermione shivered at the memories that seemed to be flooding her. Her head still ached; her body still remembered the feel of his fingers touching her, the pain he'd caused wouldn't ever be gone really. She pushed it down, the mounting terror, and moved hurriedly away from the window. She was ready, waiting on Draco to retrieve her. Narcissa had been their earlier to do Hermione's hair. It was now woven in a beautiful knot at the base of her head, smelling of sweet flowers, a few tendrils escaping to spiral naturally around her face. She wore no makeup, no jewelry but the rings on her fingers. She kept her look simple yet elegant, impressive yet respectful.

Hermione was already learning the ways that were now expected of her. She tried not to think of what an obedient little thing she'd become, for it made her feel weak. But it wasn't true weakness to cooperate with people who could destroy all she loved and held dear. She was far beyond denial now, she loved Draco, she'd admit it to Voldemort if he should ask her, but the love she so willingly and readily admitted could be and most likely would be used against her. In the end Hermione knew that it was easier for her, and safer for him to cooperate with his side, to obey like a dutiful wife and please her husband's master. The idea always made Hermione a little ill, but she never let it show.

The crackling of the fire in the grate beside where she sat was the only sound that broke the silence. She sat, just as Draco taught her a pureblooded woman would sit, as she waited for him. He'd been ushered away while she was left to dress in this room, the same room she'd occupied during her last stay in this particular house. The room brought back memories of the other painful ordeal she'd been put through at the hands of Malakai. He'd spent the summer transforming himself into another Draco with Polyjuice Potion and wreaking havoc on her and Voldemort's compound. She'd been injured in this particular room, twice. Impaled and stabbed, carried away to be thrown in a lake full of Infari, and she was lucky she'd survived either attack.

The memories swam behind her eyes, the red of the blood, the feel of the burning pain from the knife; the sound of her own screams echoing in the halls just outside the door, Hermione couldn't stand it. She couldn't make them cease and she let out a frightened cry when the knock at the door broke her reverie. The door flew open and Draco, wand drawn, hurried in. He moved to her side, kneeling, placing one hand on her cheek the other covering her clasped ones. She smiled, teary eyed as she assured him she was fine.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, gently wiping away the tears.

"Just remembering."

His eyes softened as he rose and stared down at her. He waved his wand and stifled the fire before heading over to the bed where her matching emerald green cloak waited. Hermione rose, wiping away the tears that had continued to fall and moved to stand before Draco. Tenderly he wrapped her cloak about her, fastening it below her chin just before he leaned in and kissed her. The feeling swelled in her stomach and seemed to spread outwards, content and safety, the only things she felt when she kissed Draco, other than love.

"Draco."

Their kiss was broken at the sound of Lucius' voice from the open doorway. He stood there, regal in his pitch black robes, his blond hair combed until it show and hung in a wave down his back. The eyes, so remarkably like his sons were bouncing back and forth between her and his son, and his lip seemed to be curling ever so slightly in disgust. The idea made Hermione angry, but she maintained control of her anger as she followed along behind the Malfoy men, keeping her eyes downcast and her mouth closed.

The walk through the house was short and uninterrupted with chatter or conversation of any kind. Draco didn't bother looking at his father as he walked, instead opting to glance every now and then back at Hermione, where the look he gave her spoke volumes. They were still and probably would always be under heavy scrutiny, so long as Hermione was attending meetings anyway. Voldemort trusted Draco, but he would never trust Hermione, and despite the soft spoken words and smiles his followers would just as quickly turn on Hermione as Hermione would turn on them were the roles reversed. They were waiting for her to fail, waiting for the chance to feel superior to a family that had once had the purest bloodlines in wizardry.

Draco's father ignored Hermione for most of the walk. It wasn't until they were outside, and Hermione was tugging her cloak closer about her that he bothered to even acknowledge her existence. He only stopped, just at the tree line, to ask where her cover was. Hermione had it tucked under her robes, already around her neck, prepared and waiting to be activated. Once that was explained Lucius could only say 'Do it.' before turning away and heading along the path to the outbuildings she'd seen so many disappear down before.

Draco turned her to face him; the distant glow of light from the house turned his hair a darker shade of blond, instead of the platinum he'd inherited from his father. With fingers that softly brushed her neck, Draco reached for the hood of her sheer black cover and lifted it over her head. His wand sealed it with the only magic that could do the trick, the magic of the only man that could control her, other than Voldemort himself, in the Dark Lord's eyes. Hermione's eyes bore through the sheer material at his own, her mind full of fear. Not of Draco, but for them both. The secret that Hermione now kept, the truth about Draco's grandfather, if anyone ever discovered it, not only would Hermione be severely punished, but so would Draco. It seemed that their marriage would never have an ounce of normalcy to it.

He gave her a ghost of a smile before he turned away and took her hand and placed it in the crook of his bended arm. With her free hand Hermione held her cloak about her, trying to quell the trembling that had begun in her knees and spread throughout her body. They started along the same path Lucius disappeared down moments before, Draco lighting the uneven ground with his wand tip, and Hermione gripping his arm for support as she stumbled along beside him. The foliage was thin, the leaves gathering in heaps along the sides of the path so that their trek was relatively silent, instead of the crashing it could have been. Through the tangle of bare angular branches Hermione could see the building where she herself had been punished. The shaking continued until her teeth were silently chattering behind the veil.

The memory of the pain, the abuse she'd suffered inside this building flooded her mind. A moment's peace she'd never get it seemed, not with the never ending flood of bad memories that everything seemed to trigger. The relative silence that they'd endured as they moved through the thicket of trees was being broken by a low hum of many voices, all male of course, speaking lowly in the clearing ahead. As they approached Hermione assumed that they were the last couple to arrive. They stood in a large circle with two gaps in its shape. Draco led her to a place near the door of the building, at the opposite end of the circle from the trees, where the gap was significantly larger. Perhaps they weren't the last to arrive after all.

Hermione's eyes moved around the clearing, identifying all the faces she'd seen in her last meeting with the Inner Circle, yet not spotting the one face she was most frightened to encounter. Malakai must be inside, but then why would they have all gathered like this. As they took their place in the circle, Draco standing beside his mother and Hermione on Draco's other side, she turned and looked up into his face. He was conversing lowly with Snape, who stood on Hermione's right, his face a mask of seriousness. She kept the emotion hidden from her own face, but when he glanced down; their eyes connecting momentarily, Hermione knew that he was just as worried as she about the night's activities.

Silence fell over the circle suddenly as footsteps were heard approaching from the very place Hermione herself had just emerged. It was Wormtail in the lead, Voldemort sweeping along just behind him. Hermione took the stance Draco had taught her, a stiff straight back, arms down at her sides and her eyes straight ahead. It reminded her so much of an army, and Hermione realized that they were in fact an army of sorts, a much more intimate collection of them, but still soldiers nonetheless.

Clad in his customary black, Voldemort moved through the gap of the circle before the thicket of trees he'd just exited. He stopped in the center, turning on the spot, the sleeves of his robes falling back to his elbows as he raised his arms in a gesture of welcome. Together the circle returned his greeting with a deep bow, and Hermione disliked the feeling of exposing the back of her neck to her enemy, but she obliged.

"Greetings my faithful." He exclaimed, the excitement clear in his red eyes. "Tonight we have but one task on our agenda. Inside this building hangs a man who has attempted the life of a circle member, and tried to defile the wife of my next First Minister. Serious crimes and I ask you, here tonight to bear witness to his questioning and judge him as you see fit for the crimes he's accused of."

Together they cried, "My Lord."

"Then follow me, my faithful, and we can meet the filth together."

He crossed to the gap in the circle on Lucius' left, moving through the door that already stood ajar between a pair of flickering torches in cast iron brackets. Lucius and Narcissa followed along behind, Draco and Hermione behind them, and in groups of two the others followed in line.

Across the threshold Hermione felt the terror building in her chest. Her breathing escalated as her heart began beating in her ears. Her grip on Draco's arm tightened and he glanced down to see her mask of indifference, but seemed to know still just how afraid she was. He placed his free hand over her fingers, letting his thumb stroke them in long slow passes. It helped, but only barely. They turned a corner after a few yards and moved down a long corridor. There were openings in the wall, no doors hanging on them that led into large open rooms with high ceilings made of iron beams. The tin roof above had openings, propped open to let in the moonlight that seemed to blind her when she looked. She could smell blood, and burned flesh, and could see the stains of other question sessions, sentencings, and general torture. Her stomach turned and she had to look away.

Voldemort entered the last opening on the left and Hermione hoped desperately that there was a chair within the room she could slide into. Her knees were weak, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. The anxiousness tied her already fretful stomach in knots and sent spasms through her arms and fingers. The filed in, and Draco led her to the place just before the post. Suspended on it is Malakai, his head bowed, his chin to his chest. His arms were manacled, hanging from a cast iron post above his head. His toes barely grazed the floor. He was in tattered robes, filthy from head to toe, yet to Hermione's astonishment he seemed completely unscathed.

As the followers filed in and took their places around the post, forming the same circle they had outside, Hermione fought back the urge to flee. She tried instead to focus on Voldemort who prowled around the body like a cat. As the last couple took their place he raised his arms again and this time with his back to Hermione he instructed the men to remove their ladies hoods.

Hermione turned to Draco, wishing Voldemort hadn't made that command. The hood kept her silent didn't let the sound of her heavy breathing attract the unwanted attention of the others around the circle. His wand undid the spell on her hood and he pushed it back gently from her face, letting the back of his hand brush her cheek as he did so. Draco's face was still serious, but Hermione knew that hers was beginning to crack. She could feel the tears swelling in her eyes, bit her lip to stop it's trembling, but still shook away the questioning look and turned her attention back to Voldemort.

Draco's hand brushed hers as they resumed their respectful army stance, and Hermione knew that it was all the affection and support she was liable to receive through most of this ordeal. The room around her was silent yet she was sure the others could hear her heart pounding like a drum inside her. She suddenly felt Snape's eyes upon her and glanced out of the corner of his eye to see his head turned ever so slightly in her direction. She tried to ignore it but she knew that Snape knew she wasn't handling this well at all. The idea ashamed her.

"Here upon this stake hangs the reason for most of this summer's defining catastrophes. His crimes are numerous, especially those against the newest members of our circle. But not only were his crimes against the Malfoy's but also against our cause, the very purpose we fight for." Voldemort began, standing beside the boys post, gesticulating with his long pale fingers to the unconscious figure. "Though the ideals are the same, they still try to destroy our most important of plots. To disrupt the prophecy predicted decades before that states that with the union of this girl and our beloved Draco, will come a child, and through this child a victory."

The crowd nodded, murmuring amongst themselves their agreement with their Master's persuasive words. Hermione nodded herself, not because she had much invested in the victory of the man before her, but because whatever reason they chose was good enough to bring about the highest price for his crimes. Hermione knew that like Voldemort, Malakai and Aemilius wouldn't stop until either she or they were dead. She supposed Voldemort recognized that sameness within them as well and was eager to end the disruptions to his plans with this boy's death. For once Hermione agreed with her enemy.

"It's possible that only this boy is left of this new defiance to our coming victory, but to be sure I'd like you all to bear witness to his questioning." Voldemort explained as he waved his wand and stepped away from the post.

Hermione watched the form on the pole move, groaning as his head rose, bleary eyes roving the sudden swell of faces before them. A smirk twitched the corner of the boy's mouth up, and the eyes narrowed as realization settled upon him. Another flick of Voldemort's wand and the chains lengthened and the boy dropped to the floor suddenly. He lay there a moment, winded, before chuckling softly under his breath at them all. Hermione lifted a foot to take a step back but stopped herself.

"Who are you boy?" Voldemort asks, though Hermione knows for a fact that Malakai's identity isn't a secret to him. But she figures as Malakai lifts his head and shakes the messy black hair out of his eyes that it's more for the rest of circle's benefit.

"I might ask you the same question, Halfblood." Malakai answered smoothly.

The collective intake of breath was astonishing. Hermione let a flicker of shock show in her eyes before she returned to her unaffected airs. The sudden surge of rage from the rest of the circle was expected and a few wands appeared, the owners calling out their threats of harm simultaneously. Draco, taking this moment of confusion, moves forward as if exclaiming his outrage, but instead blocks Hermione from the prisoner's view. Hermione is grateful to lose sight of the broken boy, the mentally deranged man that had been so close to hurting her. It helped calm her rapid heartbeats.

"Charming." Voldemort said his lip curling. "Crucio!"

Hermione couldn't help peeking around Draco at Malakai as he contorted with the spasms of agony. He let out no sound, but the pain was etched in ever line of his face as they creased with the effort it took him to hold in his pain. It was respectable, and incredibly stupid, Hermione knew from experience. The curse only lifted when Voldemort lazily flicked his wand upwards, sending the boys suddenly limp form from the ground where it had been curled into the post where it remained pressed, the extra bit of chain from the boy's manacles wrapping about his throat.

Hermione could hear the choking, the sucking of air, though not enough, never enough. The knots in her stomach twisted painfully. The sound tugged at the more human part of her that couldn't stand the pain inflicted on others. She suppressed that side though, reminding herself that the man being strangled would have killed her, would still kill her if given the chance. Then suddenly it was over, and the clinking of chains against metal told Hermione that the boy was on the floor again, the excess chain swinging wildly from his fall.

"Your name." Voldemort said again.

"Malakai Malfoy." He choked out, coughing heavily.

"Son of Aemilius?"

"Yes." Malakai spat and Hermione could just barely see past Draco's shoulder the glare Malakai shot Voldemort.

"And were you and your father working with anyone else?"

"I find it incredibly interesting that you would think that I would tell you."

Hermione could see now that Malakai was leaning against the pole, his breathing ragged, the bruises from the chains beginning to gain colour on his neck. There was a sheen of sweat that had developed on his forehead, yet it was so cold in the room. Hermione could hear the taunting tone in Malakai's voice, the same tone that he'd used to taunt her, to scare her. She could see him now, not looking at Voldemort, but instead looking about him at the many angry faces that were again making threats, tossing out insults. Holding on to the pole she watched as he pulled himself to a standing position. The gritted teeth were all that told her he felt the sting of the curse still. They all watched as he stood, and turned his back on Voldemort. He began to move around the pole, taking small steps, the chains rattling as he moved, he was looking at them all, smirking at their outstretched wands, taunting them with his eyes that seemed to gleam with excitement as much as Voldemort's had at the idea of a bloody end to Malakai.

He was approaching her side of the circle. Hermione knew that there was little protection against his eyes finding her, against his smirk of defiance, and against the shivers that would surly make her tremble before him. Draco shifted uneasily, his arm extending as a shield, his body poised to move, but Hermione knew he couldn't possibly do anything because Malakai already knew she was there. That was why he was hunting, moving around the pole, ignoring the question he'd been asked, doing nothing but searching through the faces for her.

"Your father, he is dead now, so it's only you that can bear the brunt of a punishment that should be shared. Your death will not be quick." Voldemort promised.

"Dead?" Malakai said, glancing at Voldemort over his shoulder in a nonchalant manner. "I'm sure you think so."

"We received a tip. A cottage near Parker's Hill. He was inside, waiting on you I suppose." Voldemort explained, his snake like eyes narrowing. "There was very little left of him once we'd finished with the place."

Hermione watched for Malakai's reaction. He'd stopped his prowl, his head drooping as he took in what Voldemort had said. Hermione wasn't sure if Malakai truly believed it. He seemed to be arguing with himself. An internal struggle that flickered across his eyes when his head rose, was obvious in the nervous twitch of long fingers, itching for a wand to strike with, Malakai however wiped his face before he moved back to the post. Leaning against it lazily, trying to project an air of uncaring, of confidence.

"What have you to say of your crimes?" Voldemort asked, "Now that you are to be held accountable for them. And those of your father."

"Crimes?" Malakai laughed then. Tossed his head back and shaking his black mess of hair. "What you call crimes was nothing more than the duty of keeping a prestigious line pure. That little bitch is just as disgusting as you, Halfbreed. She has no place bearing the name of Malfoy. Just as you don't deserve the title of Lord. And these followers, they're a disgrace to the pure blood that flows through them. Tainting it with the likes of you, and her, and this misguided cause. A true Pureblood should be leading the cause, a man like my father. A man as honorable as him should be exterminating the world of your kind."

"If posing as my misguided nephew, in an effort to rid him of his filthy bride and restore honour to this family is a crime then I suppose I am guilty. You should be thanking me Draco. Praising my father, your grandfather's name for freeing you of a bride that you didn't want in the first place, a bride that you yourself complained about, you should be glad for our help."

Draco, Hermione could feel, had tensed at his name and only seemed to grow angrier as the speech continued. Hermione knew it was a lure. He was luring Draco in, and therefore exposing her. He would see her, and once he saw her he wouldn't relent his verbal tortures, not until he was dead. Hermione reached out and touched Draco's shoulder but he jumped at the contact. His head snapped down, and Hermione could see in his eyes the fury.

"I'd almost killed her. I'd stabbed her, shoved the knife in and let her dirty blood spill out over my hands. She was still in that gown, fresh from the alter, the damage had already been done, but I could still save the family name." Hermione knew that Malakai was staring at Draco, probing with his eyes, looking around him to her. She felt her heart thumping in her ears. The noise deafening, yet every word sliced through it as Malakai continued. "She begged. Whispering your name, begging you to stop, but she didn't know it wasn't you. The pain she was in, her tears, in her head they were because of you, not me."

Draco made his move. Using his wand to drag Malakai up the pole, pinned by the neck with magic, the power choking him again, pressing him deeper into the pole, and furiously shouting at Malakai as he pushed him up past the pole. Draco's face was red, his eyes glaring as Hermione had never seen him, but the sudden chuckle from the man that now hovered twenty feet in the air drew Hermione's attention from her husband to the mocking eyes that were staring directly at her.

"Draco!" Hermione cried, moving forward and yanking his wand down.

Malakai fell to the floor with a thud but that didn't stop his laughing.

"Speak of the devil." He croaked out between chuckles. "I knew you were here, it was just a matter of weeding you out."

"What do you want?" Hermione said more venom in her voice than she knew she had. "Why should I listen to another word you have to say? You've already confessed. And of course you weren't working with anyone, well no one that knew more than their part in your plan, and you probably didn't leave any of them alive or with their right memories anyway. People like you, purest imbeciles wouldn't risk the possibilities of unclean blood to get your dirty work done."

"Clever little Mudblood. Draco you must find that annoying." Draco raised his wand but Hermione stopped him again.

"It's not worth sullying your hands Draco. Not worth rising to the bait. You're the First Minister; he's just some bastard second son. None of your grandfather's estate will go to him, ever, since by all accounts he doesn't exist. Your father will get everything, and he will watch as all the things his father worked to protect goes to the family that sullied their own blood in its patriarch's eyes."

"My father is not dead." Malakai said. "I should have slit your throat when you had the chance."

"You probably should have." Hermione said, dragging Draco back. "But you didn't, and now you'll pay for that mistake with your life."

Malakai chuckled again. Hermione could feel the fear mixing with her anger, her desperate need to get away suddenly became a want to watch this man pay for the pain he'd caused her. She glared, her lip not trembling any longer. Instead she was rigid, the fearlessness she'd displayed in Aemilius' home what felt like ages ago returning once more to make her bold enough to move forward, to pass by the crumpled boy chained to a post and to approach Voldemort.

"I would like to request that upon his death he not be taken to the Malfoy family plot located on the ground of Malfoy Manor. His presence amongst the dignified and prestigious ancestors of my husband and his family would bring shame upon him and me, as well as any children our union might produce. In the effort of keeping the reputation of this family as respected as it is, I feel it would be better if he were laid to rest in a Muggle cemetery, left to suffer amongst the people he detests for all eternity."

The brazen request spoken, Hermione moved back to her place beside her husband in the circle, taking great heaving breaths to slow the beat of her over anxious heart. Her hands were shaking, and she was growing overly warm as she stood there. Her eyes connected once more with the man that had taunted her, and her husband, with the man that had almost killed her more times than she could remember. And she began to feel satisfaction at the thought that he would soon be far from her, deep in a hole, dead and buried.

"I will take that under consideration Mrs. Malfoy." Voldemort said as he moved towards Malakai, his wand raised.

"You think you're going to kill me? I'm not going to die here, not today, and certainly not by your filthy hands." Malakai spat. "That little piece of filth is so proud of a line she's destroyed, such dignity, but there are things about her you don't know. Things she's not told any of you. She's not been entirely faithful to her darling Pureblood husband."

"What?" Hermione cried. "What are you talking about?"

Malakai stared past Voldemort, his eyes moving between Hermione's angry face to the sudden shocked grey eyes of her husband. The smirk on his face was much the same as Draco's, crooked and oddly handsome, though in this case it wasn't so much handsome as terrifying. Hermione felt the room begin to slant this way and that. Her fury was making it hard to focus on calming herself down and her head began to ache.

"She begged for it."

"You're lying!"

"In the cell, on that rotten little mattress she begged for me. She kept calling out, 'Please. I need it. Please.' It was pathetic really."

"You tried to rape me! And I wasn't begging you for anything. You're lying!" Hermione cried. "Why would I do anything so incredibly stupid!"

"Because you're a little whore slut. I almost had you in that attic, you were right there beneath me. And let me tell you, you taste delicious for something so disgusting. I would have taken great pleasure in fucking you simply to watch you break."

Hermione moved forward before Draco could stop her. Her hand, balled into a tight fist, flew forward and connected with the side of Malakai's head. The punch sent his head back into the post and the clang that rang out was like no other sound heard that evening from the post. He fell to the side, the back of his head leaving a bit of blood on the post. Hermione was screeching, the tears streaming down her face as she remembered all the hell he'd put her through in that attic. Draco had her about the waist as the other members of the circle began calling for the boy's death. The place was becoming chaotic and Voldemort stood back, watching, pleasantly surprised at the girls brazenness.

Draco led Hermione away, trying his best to sooth her as the roar of the others in the room reached a level that was almost deafening. He could see as he looked down at her face that she wasn't ok. It was too soon after being so injured to be this worked up. Her face was red, the tears streaming down it. Her breathing was too fast and Draco watched in sudden horror as Hermione's eyes rolled in her head and she slumped forward.


Malakai has always been my least favourite character to write because he's the most despicable. That last thing he said, just completely horrible. But we shall see what happens to him next time.

Starry