A/N: Thanks for waiting! (Gee, I say that a lot.) So much love to the girls. Raven_maiden really made the push with me here and lost some sleep with me.
Friends, I'm truly terrible at responding to reviews, and I'm sorry about that. Every review in my inbox brightens my day and encourages me and the team, so thank you for taking the time to write them. I'm sorry I don't have the hours in the day anymore to provide you with a personal response.
The days grew shorter and colder. There was a chill about the Manor whenever Hermione was left alone in it — her fireplace never quite working to its full potential, the water from the taps never quite warming her bones. She hadn't felt this ill at ease in the Manor since she first arrived.
Narcissa had returned only hours after the three of them left. She'd arrived at Hermione's door with Mippy, the tea and coffee, and a forced smile.
"He's settled in Zürich. The French took Geneva with the help of the Swiss rebels, so for now, he is safe." But her teacup had rattled on the last word. And she had quickly changed the topic.
A week after they'd left, the Prophet reported that Lucius had been sent to the Netherlands to begin negotiations. Two days later, the Dutch Minister pledged allegiance to the Dark Lord, and the day after that, Lucius was seen in Switzerland again, inspecting a new military installation at Lausanne.
Hermione took her breakfast with Narcissa in the dining room every morning. The two of them slowly found a balance between reading the paper with held breath and discussing books and the weather in between stilted pauses.
Two weeks after she'd said goodbye to him, Draco's face appeared in the Daily Prophet. He stood silently next to Bellatrix as they both watched the new Swiss Minister address his government. The old Minister had joined the rebels in Geneva — "abandoning his people" as Skeeter had framed it — and Voldemort's new puppet was brought in to transition the Ministry. Draco was pale and thin, his expression completely Occluded as he nodded once to something the Swiss Minister said. Bellatrix looked bored. Hermione had excused herself from the table and spent the next hour in her bedroom crying.
At the end of November, the French attacked Basel. Skeeter reported that the Dark Lord's armies had managed to quell the attack from French and Swiss rebels with the help of German allies, leaving at least three hundred dead. The picture on the front page of the Prophet was of Draco, wand tip smoking, as he stared down the burning remains of the Basler Münster. The picture caption read: General Draco Malfoy victorious in Basel.
Narcissa didn't meet her for breakfast that morning, sending an excuse with the elves. And Hermione was glad she didn't have to poke at her eggs and pretend to eat. She read the paper five times over, searching for more mention of him, but all she found was the picture of his steely eyes turning towards the ashes.
She missed him. The feeling was too visceral to ignore. At night, she tossed and turned over the memory of their last fight, as if dissecting every detail would somehow make it less painful. She still had no idea how to "decide what she wanted" — or what he'd even meant. But it made her chest clench to think of the million things she wanted to tell him throughout the day, but was unable to.
Several times a week, she would wander through the passageway between their rooms and imagine she might find him twisted up in his sheets, snoozing soundly with his hair askew. She would examine his trinkets, thumb through his bookshelves, and press her face into his sweaters and shirts. Some days she would stare down at the drawer containing the knife and the Portkey, and wonder. But then she'd slam it closed.
Even if she cut off her arm and escaped, she still had no idea how to find George and the others. Snatchers and Death Eaters were roaming the country, and if she was caught, the Malfoys would certainly be tortured and killed, if they hadn't been already. She couldn't leave without saying goodbye. She might never see him again—
No. She'd resolved to stay. The Order needed her here. Even Theo had said that she was the only one who could break the tattoos. No one else had the same access she did; the most expansive library in Great Britain and all the blueprints for their spells were at her fingertips. She would stay, even though Draco had left behind the keys to her cage. She'd stay so she could free Ginny and Ron and the others from theirs.
She never lingered in his bedroom for too long — she didn't want to attract the attention of the elves. She knew they still came in from time to time, though they'd left his bed unmade. The day after he'd left, she'd tugged open the bottom drawer of his dresser and found the shoebox containing the newspaper clippings was gone. Only a blanket left behind.
As the death toll rose in Switzerland, breakfasts with Narcissa became shorter and scarcer. There was nothing to fill her days but research. She sometimes spent eighteen hours a day in the library. Once or twice, she fell asleep on top of her books, only waking when the elves Apparated her into her bedroom — tucking her legs into the sheets and pulling a warm blanket up to her chin. With no distraction except for the daily papers, she tore through the Scourers' journals, translating each of them with the help of Jeremiah Jones's key.
By the first week of December, she had all nine journals fully translated. She had picked up tantalizing pieces of the puzzle along the way: translations mentioning a branding iron, or a spell for "caged birds." Some mention of an impenetrable circle. But she'd simply marked them for later and forced herself to finish the translations before getting twisted up in reading and research.
Even with the journals fully translated, there were chunks of pages missing from each one — especially Tobias Tolbrette's. Jones's journal confirmed Tolbrette's importance. In the beginning pages, just before the key, she found a unique string of characters that could only be Tolbrette's name. Beneath it, she found numbers where Jones had referenced the reader to certain pages of Tolbrette's journal.
Nott Sr. had been liberal in tearing out pages of Tolbrette's journal, but he'd also been rushed. He'd missed two pages following a mention of a "lightning barrier" that Jones had referenced; he'd left a full five pages after a mention of skin brands. Every time she came across a torn page, she knew it was missing because it was exactly what she needed. So reading the pages that came before and after became her newest task.
On December 5, she took out a new sheet of parchment and listed her first hypotheses.
1.) Both the Scourers and the Death Eaters used the same boundary spell to lock in their slaves: the "lightning barrier" (Jones, p. 2; Tolbrette p. 4, 18, 67-70, 111, 123-124; Emerson p. 9; Taylor p. 34-35).
2.) The Death Eaters used a tattoo as a conduit, whereas the Scourers used a branding iron upon the skin of their slaves (Jones, p. 2; Tolbrette p. 48-53, 95, 162-163; Fernsby p. 27, 76).
3.) In both cases, there must be a way to link a boundary spell to the conduit. Whatever binding mechanism the Death Eaters used is likely highly similar to the one used by the Scourers.
Hermione rubbed her arm, remembering the day she'd jumped through the barrier and rolled down the hill. Before the numbing pain and darkness, she'd been crippled by the searing shock that had originated in her tattoo. She wondered how many "doves" and "pigeons" had suffered a similar fate while trying to escape. Perhaps their owners had left them outside the boundary to die.
She swallowed and refocused. If she was to find out how to break the magic of the tattoos, she'd need a test subject eventually. She'd need a wand as well — there was no way around it. Although she was weeks away from being ready to test anything, her stomach still turned over at the thought.
The remaining few hours of daylight were unproductive. She mused and ruminated until her dinner went cold and her back ached from sitting so long in one position. When her eyelids began drooping over Tolbrette's journal, she finally dragged herself back to her room.
Unless Draco returned, there was only one possible solution, but it was far from ideal: Narcissa. She'd simply have to hope he came home before it was necessary. As for what him coming home might mean for the Order and her friends— that was something she couldn't let herself think about.
Progress began slowly, but grew quicker as the days passed. Hermione cracked the lightning barrier first. She got lucky with the two pages Nott Sr. had missed in Tolbrette's journal, which had almost all the steps to cast it. He'd also overlooked two pages in another journal belonging to Cephas Taylor, a Scourer who had documented his attempts to bind his livestock to the barrier. Between the two journals, Hermione had the completed steps. She'd been right that they'd based the lightning barrier on Celtic magic. They'd altered the caim, a circular ring of protection, to keep the protected within instead of warding evil spirits out.
She explored the skin brands next. It took longer — Tolbrette had spent many of the intact pages discussing where to brand his "doves," given that they might be branded several times by different owners and should remain "pleasing to the eye." But she ultimately was able to string together the steps using the same piecemeal strategy, using snippets from several journals.
The last step was uncovering the binding mechanism between the brands and the barrier. This step was trickier. It wasn't until midnight on her fourth straight day of research that she found a tiny but unmistakable Egyptian rune scribbled in the bottom right margin on a page in which Tolbrette mentioned adding two new "pigeons" and three new "doves" to his "flock." The immediately subsequent pages had been torn out.
She didn't sleep that night, tearing through the library until she located a textbook on ancient Egyptian runic enchantments. The sun was almost up when she finally located a match for the rune in Tolbrette's journal. The textbook detailed how an enchantment using that rune had been used to magically bind treasures branded with the pharaohs' names to the wards protecting their tombs.
All that was left for her was to locate magical tattoos that might serve as a substitute for the skin brands. Which meant that she could finally rest her exhausted writing hand, and read.
Late in the second week of December, on the seventh day in a row of non-stop rain, Narcissa knocked on her door. Hermione quickly hid her book on branding and tattooing in ancient Mesopotamia before opening the door.
Narcissa was thinner and paler than she'd been a month ago, but the warmth in her eyes was unchanged. Hermione welcomed her inside, joining her at the chairs near the fireplace as Mippy poured them tea. It took all of her self-control to hold in her question until the elf vanished.
"Has something happened?"
Narcissa smiled wearily, crossing her ankles. "I haven't heard anything new from Switzerland, no. But there is something that I came to talk with you about."
Hermione's mouth was dry as she watched Narcissa stir in her cream.
"I had assumed it wouldn't be a priority this year, what with a war going on… but apparently the Dark Lord thinks his loyal followers deserve some normalcy and amusement." Narcissa sighed into her teacup and turned her gaze on Hermione. "Every year, I host a New Year's Eve Gala." Hermione's eyes widened. "It's very grand, and under normal circumstances I take a lot of pride in it."
"I see." She chewed on her lower lip. "So you'll be hosting this year?"
"Yes. Here. In the Manor."
Her heart squeezed inside her ribs. "Will Draco be expected to attend?" Narcissa shook her head, and the vice released, leaving imprints.
"The Dark Lord anticipates an attack on Zurich in the new year. He's been asked to remain on guard with a select few. At least we can thank Merlin for small miracles that my sister won't be in attendance, either." Narcissa brushed a stray strand of hair away from her temple, her long fingers turning over her ear and sloping down to her neck. "Lucius will attend, as it is quite impossible for a wife to host without her husband. But he will leave with the last guest."
Hermione's hands shook as she poured her coffee from the carafe. She imagined Draco staring out of a cold tower on New Year's Eve, waiting for fire to rain from the sky.
"The Manor will be quite busy for the next few weeks, and the library will need to be… cleaned."
Hermione started to find Narcissa's eyes on hers. "Of course. I will… clear out." She took a sip of coffee, hoping it hid the flush in her cheeks. "And I promise to stay in my room."
"Actually," said Narcissa, and Hermione's eyes snapped back to her. "Lucius thinks — and I agree — that the best place for you is out front and center. Under my eye, and in plain view."
The warmth from her coffee drained from Hermione's veins. "But—" She swallowed and drew a shaky breath. "I was under the impression that you didn't like the parties—"
Narcissa lifted a pale brow. "You misunderstand. I may be holding it against my will, but Narcissa Malfoy's New Year's Eve Gala is the grandest society event of the season. This is no night in Edinburgh."
"Oh." Hermione blinked and slowly set down her saucer. "What's so grand about it? On a normal year, that is?"
Narcissa cheeks brightened to a lovely pink, and her eyes glinted in a way they hadn't for two months. Hermione tucked her legs beneath her, decorum forgotten as Narcissa launched into a twenty-year history of the New Year's Eve Gala.
Finding a spell to cast a magical tattoo had been fairly straightforward. After narrowing down potential options, she had chosen the one that appeared the most flexible: a simple spell used on prisoners of war. There was no way to be sure if it was the same spell Nott Sr. had used, but it seemed receptive to a variety of enchantments.
By the third week of December, Hermione was ready to test a reconstructed version of the barrier and tattoos, but she needed a wand. And it was unlikely that Draco would be home anytime soon. She'd deduced that the situation in Switzerland had worsened, thanks to Skeeter's increasingly redacted reporting. Not to mention the strain around Narcissa's eyes.
As the war raged for Switzerland, the rest of the world slipped further into Voldemort's grip. Poland pledged support, followed by Austria. Two days later, the forty-three-year-old German Minister died of "natural causes." The Prophet had published his obituary next to an article on the new German Minister — a dear friend of Eleni Cirillo's.
Hermione began having nightmares again. Sometimes it wasn't Harry slipping from her fingers, but Draco or Ron. She resumed her Occlumency practice in the mornings, and the nightmares vanished. The dread in her stomach grew as the last week of December neared, and she began thinking of ways to ask Narcissa for her wand.
On Christmas morning, Hermione snuck down to the Conservatory to clip a few lilies that magically grew year-round. She wandered down to the freezing dungeons and tugged a few sprigs of lavender from a bundle, and with some twine, she made a lousy bouquet. Hermione grimaced as she handed them to Narcissa over breakfast, apologizing for her lack of skill.
Narcissa swooped to kiss both cheeks, silencing her excuses. Hermione opened Narcissa's gift — an elegant blue organizer for her notes — as Mippy served them coffee and tea. With a fierce blush, the elf dropped a pair of hand-knit mittens on Hermione's lap and squeaked, "Happy Christmas, Miss!"
In the days following Christmas, Hermione began to feel guilty about asking for Narcissa's help. Narcissa clearly knew she was up to something, but had chosen to never mention it. She didn't want to put Narcissa in a position that required her to either interfere or keep a glaring secret from Lucius. There had to be a subtler way of asking. A way that let Narcissa continue to look the other way.
An idea sparked one morning during breakfast.
"Narcissa—" Hermione hastily finished swallowing her toast. "What am I to wear Thursday evening? The clothes I wear to Edinburgh are… not really appropriate."
"I was wondering when you'd ask." Narcissa winked at her. "Miss Parkinson is already working on it. She'll bring your dress by at five o'clock."
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. She hadn't realized that Narcissa knew about Pansy's visits.
There went her plan of transfiguring an old dress.
"Wonderful. Since that's sorted, I was also wondering… since I need to look my best…" She swallowed. "Might I borrow a wand? Just for an hour in the morning to do my hair?"
Narcissa blinked at her, and Hermione Occluded. Tilting her head and considering, Narcissa finally said, "I suppose that would be alright."
She felt a pressure in her chest release. Adrenaline and possibility flooded her veins as she smiled. "Thank you, Narcissa. Only an hour."
On the morning of the 31st, Hermione met Narcissa for a quick breakfast. When they finished, Hermione didn't even need to ask — Narcissa simply handed over her ebony wand with a tight smile. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt as she thanked her, but it vanished as she raced up the stairs to her room. The wand hummed between her fingertips, and she felt the exhilaration of its magic in her blood. She spread her research on the floor of her room, and as easy as remembering to breathe, she cast a spell to spread out her notes. The ebony wand complied.
Logically, she knew she had an hour, but it felt like she had only a matter of minutes to get this right. She took a deep breath, and gathered her thoughts. She needed a mouse, she needed to construct the barrier, she needed to charm that mouse with a tattoo and link it to the barrier.
She transfigured her coffee cup into a coffee-colored mouse, and quickly emptied a shoe box for him to run around in. She cast a spell to numb it to all pain, and another to view and monitor its vitals. It grew slightly dazed inside the shoebox, having lost a bit of sensation, and Hermione watched bemusedly as it kept surprising itself with its own tail.
With a deep breath, she drew a large circle with her wand in the middle of the floor, her arm extended to the ground, her body turning clockwise with the sun. The room shivered as she whispered the words she'd memorized from her notes, the air vibrating around the caim as it sealed itself. She grabbed the shoebox and dropped the mouse inside, sending a quick freezing spell to keep it in place. Concentrating all her energy, she cast the tattoo spell, and watched a small black mark appear on the mouse's left foot. A quick glance at the nearest parchment before she muttered the runic charm that sealed the tattoo to the barrier.
She wiped sweat from her brow, and carefully lowered the mouse into the circle. She watched its vitals, and unfroze it.
It scurried, darting left—
And out of the circle.
She gaped in horror as it raced under her bed and out of sight. She quickly enlarged its vitals graph, her eyes darting from side to side. The lightning had worked. It had shocked the mouse's numbed system as it crossed the line. It was continuing to deliver shocks. But they were decreasing in intensity.
Hermione frowned down at her texts, summoning the mouse back to her so it hovered mid-air. She'd created the barrier correctly — she was certain of it. Letting out a huff of air, she slowly lowered the mouse back into the circle…
And it darted right, toward the fireplace this time.
Again, the lightning had worked. The mouse's vitals responded to the shock, but the shocks quickly wore off. Something about her tattoo or binding spell was flawed. The barrier was properly shocking the mouse, but only weakly, and then its effects vanished.
She spent the next forty minutes scowling down at her research and sprinkling toast crumbs into the shoe box. At the end of her hour, she transfigured the mouse back into a coffee cup, cast a few curling charms that only managed to give off the impression that she'd been the one electrocuted, and trudged downstairs to find Narcissa.
Narcissa took one look at her and said, "No luck?"
Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. "No, unfortunately. I, um… I should probably leave it to Pansy. She might have to stay a while."
Narcissa took her wand back and smiled.
Pansy stepped out of the flames of Draco's fireplace at five with a garment bag tucked under her arm, and a small case dangling from her fingertips.
"Granger," she said flatly, looking Hermione over. "Merlin, you couldn't even wash your hair for me?"
She frowned. "I did wash my hair."
Pansy lifted a brow and pressed her ruby lips together. "With what? A bar of soap?" She spun on her heel and led Hermione back to her room. "I'll speak to Narcissa about your products. Clearly, Draco Malfoy — the grand interior designer — couldn't be bothered to fill your closets or your cabinets with anything useful."
Hermione rolled her eyes as Pansy threw open her wardrobe to hang up the garment bag before dragging her into the bathroom and shoving her into the chair at her vanity.
"Alright now," Pansy said, examining her closely. "What shall we do with this…"
Hermione scowled up at her as Pansy narrowed her eyes. Then she forced her to wash her face again — And moisturize! Damn it, Granger, how many times do I have to tell you! — before she started rubbing the goo on her cheeks.
When it was quiet, Pansy asked, "Have you heard from him?"
Hermione blinked open the eye Pansy wasn't jabbing with a brush. She was stirring her concoction of colors together, frowning at her palettes.
"No." Hermione cleared her throat. "Narcissa told me that no owls are permitted to travel in or out of Switzerland. But Lucius travels into Germany often and sends updates."
She waited for Pansy to ask anything else, but she simply ordered Hermione to close her eyes.
When Pansy moved onto her hair, Hermione said, "I have a question about the day you were captured."
Pansy scoffed and slightly jerked the curl she was working on.
"Please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. I answered your question."
Pressing her lips together, Pansy met her eyes in the mirror. After what felt like a lifetime, she gave the slightest of nods.
Hermione drew a slow breath. "I woke up with my tattoo already on my arm. Did you? Or do you remember when it appeared?"
"Oh, I remember alright." Pansy's features darkened as she prodded at a finished curl.
Hermione's heartbeat quickened. "Do you remember anything about the spell they used?"
She twisted another wayward curl around the wand and frowned. "I don't remember a spell. Just the potion and the parchment."
Hermione felt her skin prick. Every hair on her arms stood on end.
"What kind of potion?"
"Well gee, Granger, when I was allowed to examine it, my findings were inconclusive—"
"You drank a potion?" Hermione turned to her, tugging her curls away from Pansy's fingertips. "You're sure?"
Pansy scowled at her. "Yes, Granger. I'm positive I remember having my jaw pried open."
"No, I mean…" She tried to gather her racing thoughts. "Was it mint-flavored? Did it suppress your magic?"
"I felt my magic leave me, yes, but it wasn't minty like the Suppressant Potion. It tasted like ink."
Hermione blinked at her, then looked down to the D.M. on her arm.
Ink.
She'd thought that the tattoo was a spell cast upon a person, an external charm. But maybe the key to the tattoos' magic was inside of them.
Directing Hermione firmly to turn back to the mirror, Pansy started in on her curls again. Hermione blinked rapidly, her mind spinning at breakneck speed.
"So you drank the potion, and the tattoo appeared on your skin?"
"Not quite." Pansy tugged her hair a bit too harshly. "I don't know what the potion did, but when Yaxley signed the parchment, his signature rose up on my skin."
"What parchment? What did it say?" Her heart was hammering, her breath shallow in her lungs.
"Nothing." Pansy shrugged. "It was blank."
Hermione spun around to her again — Pansy sighed — and lifted her tattoo to Pansy's eyes. "Was the ink he signed in like this? Black with gold mixed in?"
Pansy shook her head. "He signed in blood."
Like a clock striking midnight, the pieces clicked into place.
Blood magic.
She stared off, letting her mind work.
She'd need blood magic to lock the mouse in. That's why the tattoos hadn't bound properly to the barrier. But she'd missed more than that. There was a potion component as well.
"Oh goody," Pansy drawled. "Do I have the pleasure of watching the brightest mind of my age work through a problem?"
Hermione grabbed her sleeve. "You're sure it was just the potion and the signature? There was no dark spell cast on your arm?"
Pansy shook her off with a scowl. "That's all." She forcibly turned Hermione's head to face the mirror again.
"But—" Hermione furrowed her brow. "But I didn't drink a potion. I woke up in the Ministry and was already tattooed."
"They injected you," Pansy said. And then: "Probably. I know a lot of the girls in the cell were knocked out when they brought them in, and they were already tattooed as well."
"But they kept you awake?"
Pansy met her eyes in the mirror and swiftly looked away. "They wanted me to watch as they took it all away. No magic, no bloodlines… Just property."
Pity pulled tightly at her ribs. She swallowed. "They?"
"Yaxley. And my father."
Pansy pocketed the wand, having finished with her curls, and reached into her other pocket for pins. Apart from her tightly-set jaw, there was no indication that they were discussing anything unpleasant.
Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper as she asked, "Why were you at the Auction, Pansy?"
She twisted a section of her hair off her neck and gave a long-suffering sigh. "One of life's great many questions." When Hermione didn't respond, Pansy leaned forward to whisper into her ear. "You'll never figure it out, Granger. I want you to go to your grave knowing that the one riddle you couldn't crack was Pansy Parkinson."
She smirked at her, and with a final shove of a pin into her scalp, she proclaimed her work complete.
Hermione examined herself for the first time. A similar style to her makeup and hair for Edinburgh, but not as smoky. Her lips and eyes were light. Her hair was up off her shoulders for once, gathered into a twist at the back of her head with her curls cascading down her back.
"What color is my dress tonight?"
"Granger, don't you know anything?" Pansy rolled her eyes and led her out to the wardrobe. "Narcissa Malfoy's New Year's party has been a Black and White gala for the past decade."
Hermione flushed. "Ah. She might have mentioned it."
Pansy opened the bag with a flourish. Heavy black satin and tulle poured from the bag onto the floor like a flood. Hermione's head tilted down and up again as she gaped at the sheer amount of fabric. Especially in comparison to what she usually wore to Edinburgh.
"I… this is… elaborate," she finished lamely.
"Well, I should hope so." Pansy pulled the dress out and hung it up on the wardrobe door. It seemed to double in size.
"So what is 'Giuliana' wearing this evening?" Hermione asked, reaching out to run her fingers over the satin.
Pansy lifted a condescending brow. "This isn't an evening at Edinburgh. Slaves are not going to be in attendance."
Hermione's mouth opened. "But…"
"The New Year's Eve Gala is a high society event. The Death Eaters you usually see with a teenager grinding on their lap will have their wives on their arms tonight." She turned back to the dress, fluffing the skirt fondly before her features hardened again. "You'll see several debutantes coming out tonight, hoping to snag a June wedding. More marriages have been arranged at Malfoy Manor than at any matchmaker's offices."
Something sank from her throat to the bottom of her gut. "So, I'm just… decoration."
Pansy gave her a tight-lipped smile. "More of a trophy, I'd say."
Pansy left shortly after laying out her undergarments and pointing out the bag of jewelry she was expected to wear ("Put on everything, Granger!"). Hermione tried to sort through the new information she'd learned about the tattoos, but there was no time. And the nerves in her stomach were overwhelming.
She knew what to expect at Edinburgh. But tonight was entirely new.
Before long, Hermione was slipping into the gown, gasping as it magically closed around her ribs without the help of a zipper or fastenings. The skirt fell to the floor around her heels, puffing out around her hips after cinching at her waist.
She opened the jewelry bag, and when her hand pulled out a choker necklace embedded with hundreds of diamonds she almost dropped the whole bag on the floor. Hermione didn't know much about jewelry, but she knew this might have cost as much as she did. The necklace lay perfectly above her collarbones, between the thin straps of her black dress. There were diamond earrings to match, a diamond bracelet, and two diamond rings.
At half past eight, someone knocked on her door. She squared her shoulders and flung open the door to find Lucius Malfoy standing in her doorway, wearing a white tuxedo with black lapels. At first, there had been a wild moment when she'd thought he was someone else. She had to shake off the sudden wave of grief when her mind registered that although he resembled him, it wasn't.
Lucius lifted a brow as he took her in. "Sufficient."
She glowered and gestured to his tuxedo. "I suppose this will do as well."
His lips quirked and, to her surprise, he offered her his elbow. She blinked before accepting, and he slowly led them down the hallway.
"You will not leave my side. You will not speak unless spoken to. And I assume you know how to respond when spoken to."
She nodded, her pulse quickening with each step. "How is he?"
"He sends his regards."
They reached the top of the stairs, and she found Narcissa standing below in white, waiting near the front doors to the Manor. She didn't smile at them, but her eyes sparkled. Hermione had the strangest sensation as they started to descend. In another life, she might have belonged to their world. Or at least tried to. She might have danced like a pureblood girl and known the names and uses of every one of Lucius Malfoy's utensils.
The noise of voices in the drawing room startled her from her thoughts — there were already guests mingling. Lucius released her elbow as they swept across the marble, and Narcissa greeted him with a kiss to his cheek. She said nothing to Hermione, pointedly turning her back on her. Hermione blinked, then quickly moved to stand behind them. Her eyes widened when she glanced out the front doors. The long driveway was lined with gilded archways, the intertwined fairy lights hovering in a golden glow to welcome the guests.
"The elves did a lovely job, dear, as usual." Lucius straightened his black bowtie.
"Hix is testing all the warming charms now," said Narcissa lightly. "It's a shame not to use the Floo."
"I know, but times being what they are…"
There was a flurry of movement outside, but Narcissa's shoulder had shifted, obscuring Hermione's view. Hermione fiddled with the skirt of her dress as the sound of chatter from the grounds grew louder and louder, floating through the open doors. It sounded as though everyone had arrived at once.
A man and woman stepped into the entry hall, and Hermione had to stop herself from peering around Lucius' shoulders to get a better look. She was the Malfoys' trophy tonight — it was their choice to decide when to display her.
Narcissa greeted them with ease, and Hermione blinked at the marble as she heard Narcissa say their names and kiss their cheeks. She did the same for the next couple, and the next, and Hermione realized that she might have been reciting names for Lucius's benefit.
A line began gathering outside of the doors, and as the din grew louder, Hermione felt safe enough to lift her head. The array of new faces was overwhelming, but she caught a few familiar ones. Some stood and shook Lucius's hand and asked about Switzerland, and some held Narcissa's wrist and pouted that Draco couldn't be there. Most of them ignored her, but it was interesting to see which men she recognized from Edinburgh. Which ones leered and which ones averted their eyes quickly, turning back to their wives.
At one point, a talkative older woman who smelled thickly of cloves held up the line, droning on and on about some kind of society event she was hosting in the spring. Hermione watched as Narcissa pounced on the perfect moment to interrupt. "Dolores, that sounds divine. I'll come find you in about half an hour to hear more, but do you know that Hugh McKenzie is already inside?"
Dolores' eyes brightened like a predator that had just found its next meal. She quickly excused herself, forcing Lucius to step out of the way. Narcissa brushed a strand of hair back over her ear and muttered, "Insufferable." Lucius placed a hand on the small of her back and leaned in her ear to whisper, "Poor Hugh." Hermione looked at the floor and pressed her lips together to hide her smile.
"Granger." She jumped, glancing up to find Adrian Pucey grinning at her over Narcissa's shoulder. "Save a dance for me?"
Both Malfoys turned to look at her, their shoulders parting. Leaving her in clear view.
Lucius looked back at Pucey, his eyes hard. "That would be highly inappropriate, Adrian."
"Of course, sir. My apologies. I was just having a bit of fun." Adrian shook Lucius's hand as two people who could only be his parents moved beside him.
"My, Narcissa," the woman cooed, her eyes fixed on Hermione. "Is this the professor's daughter?"
"Heavens, no." Narcissa laughed. "That's Draco's Mudblood."
Mrs. Pucey pulled back the hand she'd been extending to Hermione, as though burned. Hermione looked down to the floor as a thick silence settled over them.
"Well," Mr. Pucey said, clearing his throat. "She almost fooled me, but there's something lowborn in her posture."
The faux-pas was quickly swept under the rug, and the Puceys moved inside. The minutes dragged on, and Hermione's feet began aching in her heels. Walking around a bit would help, but she didn't dare move without permission. As more and more people entered, it became harder to remain hidden behind Lucius's coattails.
That's Hermione Granger.
—went for 65,000 Galleons—
No place for Mudblood, if you ask me—
—suppose you can't blame them for wanting to show her off—
Hermione's breath hitched at the sight of several girls she hadn't seen since Hogwarts, including Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, and Romilda Vane. All three were in black dresses and making eyes at any men who crossed their path. Hermione's palms felt clammy when Theo Nott and his father entered together, followed closely by Blaise and Goyle. Theo didn't look at her as they passed, though a muscle in his cheek twitched. His father's eyes were too glassy and unfocused to notice her.
The clock inched closer to nine as the drawing room grew louder and louder behind her. Floating platters of champagne soared overhead to serve the guests in line. One platter came dangerously close to her head and she ducked, stumbling a few steps to the left. The moment she steadied herself, she met eyes with Antonin Dolohov. A chill ran through her veins and she quickly moved behind Lucius again, chastising herself for the chill that ran through her veins.
Lucius whispered into Narcissa's ear as the clock struck nine. Narcissa nodded, and Lucius grabbed Hermione's elbow, suddenly steering her inside.
"Not running from me, are you Lucius?" called out a gravelly voice.
Lucius rolled his shoulders almost imperceptibly before he spun around, pulling Hermione with him. Hermione's heart stuttered at the sight of Dolohov sidestepping the line, heading straight for them. Narcissa pursed her lips before returning to her other guests.
"Not all." Lucius smiled tightly. "It's nine o'clock. It's traditional for the host to enter the main room on time, and for the hostess to remain to greet the latecomers."
"If you say so." Dolohov took Lucius's hand, and Hermione could see how tight his grip was from their bloodless knuckles. "Your receiving line was so long, I felt like I was standing on your drive for hours."
"If you arrive on time, you get in on time." Lucius released Dolohov's hand and clapped his shoulder. "That's alright, Antonin. The more society events you're invited to, the easier polite manners will become."
Lucius steered her away, but Dolohov's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Her body froze in sharp terror as he brought her hand to his lips, and whispered, "Miss Granger. A pleasure as always." His eyes were black tunnels as his clammy lips pressed to her skin.
Dark spots in her vision. A cold wind in her ears.
And then Lucius was tugging her away with a faint growl. She struggled to breathe as she stilled the shivering book that contained the echoes of water against tile. He pulled her into the drawing room where she'd been tortured so many times, and she braced herself—
But when her vision cleared, she found a very different room. Her lips parted as her eyes roved the ceiling. Cream walls and golden candlelight, gently falling snow that vanished before it landed on your head. There was a string quartet playing in the ballroom just beyond, the entire room vibrating with champagne and conversation.
Hermione stood rigid by Lucius's side as he greeted friends and made acquaintances with foreign officials. Her eyes wandered to the young people — a group of dark-featured girls stood together in the corner, giggling and glancing at Blaise, Theo, and Adrian as they sipped champagne and smirked at them. She spied Marcus Flint chatting up an older woman, turning on the charm.
Narcissa joined them after a time, slipping her arm through Lucius's and introducing him to several new guests. Hermione followed at their heels, no more than a step behind. When they ran into Ted Nott, it seemed he'd already had several more servings of Firewhisky, in addition to the one in his hand.
"Lucius," he slurred. "Back from Switzerland, I see."
Lucius tilted his head. "And I see you're back from Groix."
Nott Sr. raised his glass in a mock salute before scanning the room. "No whelp, though. Your boy still mucking things up over there?"
Hermione saw Narcissa's fingers dig into Lucius's arm.
"Not at all," Lucius lilted. "I'd say he's doing a fine job. We expect to retake Geneva any day now."
Nott Sr. laughed and muttered something to himself. "Antonin has some interesting stories about him. Has he learned to cast Killing Curses yet?"
Both Malfoys went very still. Lucius glanced around before releasing his wife's arm and stepping forward, inches from Nott Sr.'s face. "You're treading on thin ice, Ted. You should hear the stories I've heard about your son. To say nothing of what I've heard from Rookwood about your performance in France."
Nott Sr.'s face soured. He hid his grimace with a long sip of his Firewhisky as he glanced over his shoulder, looking for listeners. His knuckles were red and raw— he'd clearly punched something recently, and done a patchy Healing charm.
"So, why don't we have another glass," Lucius whispered, "and toast to the Dark Lord together."
A floating tray paused at his elbow, and he took a glass from it, never breaking Nott Sr.'s gaze as he yanked the empty tumbler from his grip and shoved the champagne into his chest. He plucked his own glass from the tray and toasted.
Nott scowled as he clinked his flute against Lucius's. "To your wife's health." Narcissa said nothing. Nott Sr. downed the bubbles before stalking off.
Lucius guided Narcissa forward, whispering something in her ear. She nodded, and her posture relaxed.
"Narcissa!" They were quickly accosted by a grandly dressed middle-aged woman. "We must have you and Lucius on the dance floor," she said, as she kissed Narcissa's cheek. You are a delight together!"
Narcissa returned her kiss and offered her a dazzling smile. "You're too kind, Siobhan. But I'm afraid we're a bit preoccupied with babysitting this evening." She lifted a brow and jerked her head in Hermione's direction.
"Then let me take over. My mother deserves to dance at her own Gala."
The deep baritone spoken behind her shivered her skin and sent her blood racing.
Hermione's heartbeat skyrocketed as she turned slowly, hardly daring to hope…
Draco stood behind her in a tuxedo — white from head to toe, shimmering almost silver in the candlelight. She forgot how to breathe as he looked over her shoulder at his mother's friend, his lips tugging in a smile.
"Draco"—the word sharply enunciated on Lucius's tongue—"what a surprise."
Hermione watched a storm of emotions cross Narcissa's face as she reached for him. He hugged his mother, kissing her cheek. After a few long moments, she released him, and he stepped beside her. And when she felt his hand press lightly on her back, her knees almost buckled.
"I thought I could spare an hour or two," Draco said, staring at his father.
"Wonderful! Oh, I love seeing the family all together!" Siobhan clapped her hands together. "Narcissa, Lucius, come dance—"
Lucius took his son's shoulder with a firm hand. "Draco, let's speak over here—"
"Oh, I'd love it if the two of you danced, Father." Draco tore his gaze away to give Siobhan a roguish wink. "Siobhan is right. You couldn't possibly deprive your guests of the opportunity to watch."
"No, indeed!" said Siobhan, beaming.
Narcissa must have seen the murder in Lucius's expression, because she quickly grabbed Siobhan's elbow. "Let's find out what waltz is playing next. Lucius can meet us in the ballroom."
She dragged her friend away, and it was just Hermione with Draco and his father, smiling tightly at each other.
Lucius glanced around before taking a step forward. "This is reckless." His lips barely moved as he spoke. "There is no reason for you to be away from your post—"
"Nor you, Father—"
"I have hosting responsibilities for an evening the Dark Lord wished into existence," Lucius hissed. His nostrils flared as he seemed to collect himself, quickly placing his hands on Draco's shoulders and straightening his tie. "You were ordered to stay."
Draco seemed to stand taller, not breaking his father's gaze. The warmth of his hand was burning into the skin beneath her dress.
"By Bellatrix. Who left her post a half hour ago to play with the prisoners." Lucius's eyes flashed. "It's 10:15, Father. Two hours isn't a risk—"
"And what do you think will happen when your aunt tells the Dark Lord you left your post because you couldn't bear being away from your Mudblood whore a moment longer?"
Draco stiffened beside her. She could hear him swallow even through the blood rushing in her ears.
Lucius's pasted on smile never faltered as Draco blinked and slid his hand from around her waist. Grasping her elbow instead.
She felt ice in her chest with the loss.
"Good," Lucius hummed. "Now listen carefully, you foolish boy." He brushed imaginary lint off Draco's jacket. "You will not disappear with her. You will not dance with her. You will not kiss her at midnight."
"Fath—"
"She is not your date." His hand squeezed Draco's shoulder. "She is your property. And by arriving here tonight, you've given five hundred people a reason to be curious about the inner-workings of your relationship."
Draco took a slow breath. She listened to him exhale and saw the slightest nod of his head. Lucius plucked up two passing champagne glasses and held one to each of them. His lips were still curved in a smile, but his eyes were feral, almost daring them to disagree. Hermione blinked and quickly took the glass. She wrapped her fingers around the stem like a lifeline.
"Enjoy the party, children," Lucius lilted. "Draco, I expect you back in Zürich by 12:01."
And then he vanished into the crowd, leaving behind only the heavy weight he'd placed in her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to suck in air. It was the first moment she'd seen Draco in eight weeks, and she could hardly dare to look at him. She couldn't without exposing herself. The hand on her elbow tightened.
"Draco, darling!" Her eyelids flew open to find a tall woman dripping in diamonds approaching them. "You grow more handsome every day!"
She watched his mask slip on as he released her elbow and kissed the woman's cheeks. "Marie, you look ravishing as ever."
And thus began the carousel. Draco seemed to spin in circles as he was attacked on all sides by eager middle-aged women with daughters of an eligible age. Her skin grew cold as they were interrupted by one after another, some not even waiting their turn.
Hermione stood silently at his side as eyes either skipped or passed over her disdainfully. Draco kept glancing over the women's heads towards the closed doors at the center of the drawing room.
"I'm sorry I'm not dancing tonight, Mrs. Hastings," he said, kissing one of the women's hands. "But I do know that Theo Nott over there has been aching for a partner, and he'd be mad to decline a girl who looks as lovely as Mary this evening. You'll excuse me—"
"But dear, surely there's a young woman you can escort this evening." Her eyes flicked over to Hermione with a grimace before coming back to him.
"Draco," said another stout woman, who had elbowed her way forward. "You'll have to excuse me when I say that given the occasion"—she lifted her brows meaningfully—"having a Mudblood on your arm isn't doing you any favors."
"Too true, Mrs. Dormer." Draco glanced at the doors again as he smoothed his hair. "Unfortunately, I only have time to kiss my mother and walk my pet tonight. But I hope the situation in Switzerland will calm down soon enough."
Then he was swiftly extracting them with a few muttered apologies, dragging her by her elbow through the crowd. Hermione followed him blindly, lost in her thoughts. The whiplash of seeing him again, being near him, his scent so close to her again — and then being held at arm's length while a hoard of women vied for his attention… It felt like a dull blade slicing her open slowly.
And it wasn't just his presence. It was the heavy stares of hundreds of people — most of whom had never believed she was worth more than the dirt under their shoes — now seeing her as nothing more than an ornamental inconvenience. As if she were a pretty, expensive painting that no longer matched the new furnishings.
Edinburgh was different. As disturbing and horrifying as it was, she still held a twisted sort of power there. She was visible; she was valuable. She commanded attention. But here, in Draco's world, she was nothing.
There were young women who greeted him with batted lashes and flirty laughter, and more society ladies who pushed for him to take a debutante to the dance floor. He brushed them all off as politely as one would expect from Narcissa Malfoy's son. But as Hermione stood at his side, mute and invisible, she wondered how long he could slip from their grasp.
If she was unsuccessful with the tattoos… if she remained locked up in Malfoy Manor as the years dragged on, what would become of her when it was time for Draco to court? It was clearly expected of him. And how could he not be expected to marry and continue the Malfoy line with a pure-blood girl?
Perhaps one day she'd be the mad wife locked in the attic. A dirty secret caged within the Manor's walls. Perhaps she'd stalk the halls at night while Draco's real wife slept soundly in her four-poster.
Hermione buried her dark thoughts and focused on the present. If this was all she got from him, she'd take it. She'd take the way his fingers would slip across the hollow of her elbow. The feeling of his breath on her ear when he stole a moment to press his nose to her hair.
In some conversations, he'd forget himself, and his hand would slide across her ribs, warm and firm. His fingers would curl around her opposite side, his knuckles teasing her bare arm, his thumb sparking shivers across her skin. When their backs were to a wall, he let his fingers slide up and tangle lightly in her curls, slipping across her shoulder blades and sloping up her neck to dance with the fine hairs standing on end there. She grew dizzy and light-headed with his attentions, her legs pressing together under the hundreds of layers of tulle. He leaned into her ear when their companion was distracted and whispered, "I've missed you."
Her lips trembled, and she pressed her eyes closed, willing herself not to cry. All she could do was nod as the older man turned to Draco with a, "Don't you agree?" — to which Draco smoothly did.
At ten minutes to midnight, the sound of wands tapping against champagne glasses signaled a toast. From their position at the far end of the room near the windows, she watched as a wave of people joined in, tapping against their glasses and turning towards the platform set up near the fireplace.
Narcissa ascended, and the applause of hundreds rang out. She cast an Amplifying Charm and greeted the room with a glowing smile. "Happy New Year. We're so pleased you could join us."
As the chatter in the room quieted, Blaise and a pretty olive-skinned girl appeared at their side, Theo and a stunning blonde girl trailing behind them. Blaise greeted Draco with a slightly drunken smirk. Theo nodded at him, looking quite miserable.
Every eye in the room was on Narcissa as she said a few words about the Dark Lord's victory, and honored those who had fallen. Before long, she was introducing Lucius.
The clock was minutes from striking midnight, and Hermione felt Draco being ripped from her with every tick of the second hand.
But then, Draco was stepping back towards the heavy drawing room curtains, tugging her lightly at her waist. She moved with him as he found a fold in the curtains, holding it open for her to sneak through. She looked back to see one of the beautiful balconies overlooking the gazebo. A place for them to be alone—
"And my son, Draco," Lucius boomed. "Who I couldn't be prouder of."
The curtain dropped. His hand slipped away from her waist. Every eye turned toward him, and he stepped forward with a forced smile.
Lucius bowed at him from across the room, his eyes glinting. He gestured for Draco to join him, and without even a glance back to her, Draco moved swiftly through the crowd. A few stragglers eyed her, and Blaise stepped forward silently to take his place.
"We could not be more honored to serve the Dark Lord in Switzerland. My son has played an important role in helping crush the rebels and secure the foothold of the Great Order." Lucius roused the crowd with a wave of his hand as Draco climbed the stairs to him.
The crowd responded with hollers and cheers, as well as a smattering of ecstatic giggling from a nearby group of young women. Draco shook his father's hand and stood tall at his side, looking every inch the obedient son.
"Unfortunately, Draco can't stay," Lucius said, placing a firm hand on the back of Draco's neck.
Hermione's chest seized. It was still two minutes to midnight—
"He's expected back in Switzerland." Lucius gave a sympathetic nod as the crowd groaned. "Let's send him out with the warmest thanks we can, shall we?"
The room erupted.
Draco eyes locked on hers from across a crowd of hundreds as they both realized they wouldn't have a chance to say goodbye. He seemed to snap out of his trance after a moment, turning to kiss Narcissa with a tight smile. Her breath rattled as he waved at the crowd and left, exiting out of the drawing room and back to Switzerland. Away from her.
She swayed on her feet, but something steadied her — Blaise's hand on her elbow.
The melody of Lucius's voice wound through the crowd as he talked of fresh beginnings. Hermione blinked, dazed.
She should have told him she'd missed him too. It could have been the last time she ever saw him.
Her vision burned white-hot as Lucius mentioned the time — less than a minute to midnight. She scanned the crowd, too furious to look at the podium as Lucius waxed eloquent about the Dark Lord's might and their year of victories over his foes.
Her chest burned, her blood searing in her veins as she thought of Harry. Ron. Ginny.
The crowd swelled and swayed, and her eyes paused on a beacon of brilliant white. A girl in a blinding white dress, draped with glinting diamonds, her skin translucent and pale. A mane of furious red curls dancing around her face.
She looked exactly like—
"As I toast you into the New Year," said Lucius, "let us remember why we are here."
Five seconds to midnight. She blinked back her tears, eyes narrowing on the girl in the white dress. Standing next to Avery, his features unmistakable as he turned.
Hermione's blood turned to ice in her veins.
"To the Dark Lord's power," Lucius called, lifting his glass.
Every hand raised theirs in turn.
Midnight struck.
And as fireworks bounced around the room, Hermione watched Ginny Weasley smile and chorus with them:
"May he reign forevermore."
.
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A/N: Updates every other Sunday evening EST. (Next chapter 5/17/20)
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