a/n: Posting earlier than usual this time because, as most of you may know, I posted the wrong posting date last time! I'm now doing my student teaching, so I'm trying to keep it all together, but damn, teaching high schoolers online is SOMETHING, I tell you. Regardless, I'm having fun and loving the work. Thanks so much to my alpha, Helene, and GOOD LUCK to my beta, Noodar on her finals! Hope you all like the chapter!

Chapter 11: Look

The riff with Draco had certainly not been expected. They had connected so well, but after finding out he could communicate with his mother, she was too frustrated with him not to voice her objections to the demeaning nature of the expectations of her for the meeting. Although having a lasting coughing fit was awful, the silver lining was that she was able to miss the rest of the stupid meeting, and thankfully didn't have to spend much time with the Ambassador.

She had recovered well, thanks to Lottie, who was incredibly apologetic about the kitchen elves using pineapples in the salmon sauce. She had assured the elf that it was alright, but the poor thing insisted that the elves at fault would be properly punished, despite Hermione's protests. Hermione lay awake for hours worrying about the elves, but she finally fell asleep. Lottie returned in the morning, knocking on her door to explain that she and Draco had to leave immediately. She had looked at the clock. 5:13 a.m.

The sinking feeling was unavoidable. They weren't supposed to return to the Manor until Sunday. It was only Thursday morning, so that had to mean that something had gone wrong. She fought back the worst-case scenarios that popped into her head as she gathered the few things she had and headed down the stairs.

When she got to the foyer, she heard a thump and saw that the doors to the sitting room were open. Her heart raced as the fear filled within her. She quietly walked to the door and glanced inside, expecting to see a snake-like man with a wicked grin. Instead, what she saw was unbelievable. Draco stood far across the room staring down at his mother, who was sprawled out on the floor looking impossibly paler than she already was.

"Draco," she breathed.

He didn't respond. He didn't move. He just stood there looking almost as pale as his mother.

She inched closer, taking in the full scene and calculating what had happened. As she neared, it clicked.

Without hesitation, she ran in front of Draco, and the dead Narcissa morphed into a dead Ron. Hermione sucked in a breath, but pushed aside the reaction; she knew what to expect. "Riddikulus!" She said it with every bit of conviction and confidence she could muster, pointing her finger directly at the boggart. It morphed once more, but before she could see what it was, she sent it back into the armoire and closed the doors.

She stood there breathing heavily. There had been quite a few times she had successfully used wandless magic, but never in such a dire situation. When she turned around to face Draco, she saw that he hadn't moved an inch. He just stared blankly at the empty space where the boggart had laid as his mother. His hands were clenched by his sides.

"Draco," she breathed again.

He squeezed his eyes shut, releasing a shaky breath.

She didn't know what to do; didn't know what to say. Her arms moved of their own accord. With shaky fingers that matched his breathing patterns, she cupped his cheeks and stepped into him.

"It's okay," she whispered.

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, and she watched him intently as he tried to hold onto any ounce of control. The pain in his features was more visible than she had ever seen before.

"Draco, it's okay. It was just a boggart," she said as silent tears fell from his eyes and landed on her fingers. Sliding her hands behind his neck, she pulled his head down next to hers, and he crumbled into her. His vulnerability vibrated through her chest as he heaved quiet, heavy sobs, and the quiver of his body made her tighten her grip around him. She pressed her hand into the back of his head, holding him against her; telling him through her touch that he was safe with her.

He squeezed back; his fingers curling against the fabric of her jumper.

The air in the room was tight and concealed, and there were no other sounds than the fading ones that came from Draco. He was calming down; collecting himself with slowing breaths.

Hermione held onto him. She didn't want to let him go; didn't want to feel him pull away. As he did so, she dropped her arms, and he ran his hands down them. He grasped her hands, leaning his forehead against hers.

They stood there, their breaths mingling.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She nodded against him.

"Hermione? Draco?"

They both pulled apart and snapped their heads to the sound.

Lottie rushed into the room. "Oh, apologies!" she said, her cheeks turning red. "It's time to go."

Hermione glanced to Draco as he gave Lottie a curt nod and made his way towards the door.

She followed him, studying his face out of the corner of her eye. He was building his mask again. The creases of his pain and worry smoothed with every step he took. He didn't look around or over at her at all; just walked straight to the Apparition point and spun away the second she wrapped her hand around his arm.

They landed outside the gates of the Manor. Hermione trailed Draco as he swiftly made his way down the long hedge-lined path. His fists were still clenched at his sides as he silently walked along. She tried to say something, but couldn't find any words. Before they reached the front doors, she grasped his hand and squeezed, letting go in an instant. He glanced at her as she followed him through the foyer into the main hall. The doors to her left were open, but she didn't dare look inside. She could hear the countless people from within the drawing room yelling and arguing.

She braced herself for what was about to happen, unintentionally holding her breath.

"Good, Draco, you're here." His father appeared in the doorway and gestured for his son to follow him inside the drawing room, closing the door behind him.

Just like that, she was alone. They had left her there in the empty space with only the marble below her shoes and the elegant grand staircase before her. The sudden silence was eerie. Maybe she was meant to wait for Draco to return? Or someone else would come out and bark at her to get to her room? As she stood there, frozen in place, the events of the last hour caught up with her and her breathing accelerated. The sight of Ron lying lifeless on the floor for even the briefest of moments flashed before her eyes. She pulled breaths in through her nose and released them out of her mouth, shutting her eyes as the image crashed down on her.

Breathe, breathe. She tried to keep it together; to remind herself that it was only a boggart.

She snapped her eyes open and sucked in a breath when it hit her that she couldn't have a panic attack just outside the drawing room. She had to get away. Moving her feet as fast as she could, she started off down the hall, past the staircase, and off to the right. She didn't know where she was going, but she kept on walking, passing doors left and right as she heaved heavy breaths. She moved in a haze, finding herself pushing through a large oak door. When it clicked behind her, Hermione's knees buckled, and she dropped to the floor.

Ron's alive. He's safe. Ron was safe. The Weasleys were safe. McGonagall and Kingsley and Neville and the rest of the fighters were safe. And as long as she kept doing her part, Hagrid would be safe, too.

She could imagine how Draco had felt seeing his mother lying dead before him. He had believed for several moments that she was truly dead before Hermione banished the creature back into the cabinet. All frustration at him that had lingered from their rift was gone. She wanted to comfort him; for him to comfort her. He was the only source of security she had in this new life she was thrust into. And with him, she was safe.

With Draco behind the doors of the drawing room, he might as well have been a thousand miles away. He was among the ranks of Death Eaters and Voldemort. He was shut down, masked up, and Occluded. He was probably being sent off on a mission as she stood there, and she didn't know if she would see him again.

It didn't help to think like that. She took deep breaths again, telling herself she needed to find her way to her room. She shouldn't have gone past the staircase, but she had moved in such a blur that she wasn't exactly sure how to get back. It had been weeks since she had been there, and it wasn't like she had been given a tour of the Manor.

Hermione picked herself up off the floor, which was carpeted in deep grey tones and abstract patterns. She was in the Malfoy library. This was a good distraction.

The room was more than half the size of the ballroom, complete with several center chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling above the second floor, which was open in the middle. Two spiral staircases were opposite each other leading up to the second floor. It was everything she had thought it would be and more. She stepped further inside, calming herself down with the smell of oil lamps, leather sofas, and ink.

There had to be thousands of books lining the shelves. Near a long table in the center of the room was a post that reached the ceiling with hundreds of little box drawers surrounding its four sides: a card catalog. For several minutes, she walked the length of the bottom floor of the library. Many of the books had cracked spines and their letters were peeling. She tsked at the sight of the books closest to the tall windows; they were faded in colour from the years of sunlight. When she came upon the spiral staircase, she started up, admiring the intricate gold details along the railing.

The top floor was filled with more books, and there was even a nook with an armchair and little round table. As she surveyed the area, a section on dark arts caught her eye. She got closer and skimmed the titles. Mudbloods and How to Spot Them by Barrett Fay, Your Best Avada by Ragnar Rutherfend, The Unforgivables by Dorothea Bulstrode. There were a few she recognized such as Magick Moste Evile by Godelot and Secrets of the Darkest Art by Owle Bullock. She rolled her eyes.

Two rows down, she spotted Being Wandless by Marie Meza. Perfect. That was exactly the book she needed. If she had to navigate this world without her wand, she would do everything she could to control her magic without it. She had successfully dealt with the boggart, but she wanted to be absolutely prepared for anything that came her way. As she reached for the book, the door on the lower floor flew open, and she froze. Her heart raced as she slowly hid herself behind the nearest bookshelf.

"This is your time, Draco." Lucius's lowered voice carried throughout the room. "You may very well have just returned from your vacation, but you will do well to remember what is at stake in this mission. The Malfoy name carries weight. You will have the opportunity to take charge and be a leader, and you must not fade into the background. Men will listen to you. They will respect you. But, you will need to show them that you are worth being respected."

Hermione carefully peered around the bookshelf, through the railing and over the edge of the second level. Lucius's back was towards her, and Draco faced his father. She could see his cold, stoic expression; his mask was set in place.

"Why is it we are sending a team to Brussels when we know the Order's main base is in England?"

"It is not your place to question the strategy of your Lord and the leaders that outrank you. You will…"

As Lucius spoke, Hermione watched Draco intently. His nostrils flared at the lecture his father was giving him, and he looked around as if he was uninterested. Lucius didn't seem to notice. As Draco inclined his head her way, she could see the realization in his face. He knew she was there. He mumbled a response to his father, but the man kept on talking.

Draco's eyes finally caught hers. There was an immediate flash in his stormy gaze.

She stilled at their connection, waiting with bated breath to see if he would give her up. He didn't. He simply met her eyes for a few fleeting moments, then looked back to his father.

Hermione whipped her head back, hiding herself behind the bookshelf fully until she heard the door open and close again. They had left, and she let out a relieved sigh. She waited a few moments before standing and searching for a door on the second floor. There was one in the far corner. She made her way quickly through it and peered her head out into the hall. The coast was clear. She ran to her room and shut the door, sliding down to sit and lean against it. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm herself when her door pushed against her. She startled and jumped up.

Lottie burst through the door. "There you are, Hermione!" She had an expression of pure relief. "Lottie's been looking for you all over the Manor!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said, offering the exhausted elf a warm smile. "I took another way up…through the library, actually."

Lottie clutched her chest. "Mistress Hermione! Lottie is happy you did not touch any of the books!"

"Why?"

"They are protected against you."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. "Oh."

Lottie snapped her finger and a tray of food and tea popped into her hands. She brightened, trying to change the mood smoothly. "Lunch for you, Hermione! Master Lucius told me to bring you food and drink while Draco is gone." The elf's brief attempt at cheeriness faded a bit as it set in what that meant for Hermione.

"I understand, Lottie. Thank you." She smiled again at the elf and took the tray.

"And…I have to…lock the door…" Lottie trailed off. "But I'll be back as soon as I'm allowed!"

Hermione nodded as her smile dropped.

The little elf grimaced and disappeared.

The sound of the lock rang in her ears like the echo of a gunshot.

Hermione picked at the dinner Lottie had brought, glancing out the window to Draco's balcony as she searched for things to keep her occupied. She thought of the little squeeze of his hand…the brief look in the library…

As the sunlight faded and the day turned to night, she curled up on the armchair, all she could see was the silhouette of the trees.

Her eyes started to drift closed until Draco's balcony flooded with light. Her eyes snapped open. He was in his room. She was wide awake, leaning to the right to get a better look into his room. Through their windows, she could see him as he rushed back and forth several times; once completely shirtless and again donning billowing black robes. Death Eater robes. She straightened back against her chair, staying out of sight, and a moment later, his room went dark again. He was gone. And she wasn't sure when or if he would return.

She didn't allow herself to panic again. She sipped her tea, though it had gone cold. As she stared into the ever-growing darkness of the grounds, her own reflection in the window became more apparent. She studied herself; this woman bound to Draco Malfoy in ways she had never imagined. They were tied together, but the forces were pulling them apart. She hoped the string wouldn't snap. Her eyes reflected hope…fear…determination…dread… She looked away, closing her eyes, and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

The trees whooshed past her as she ran through a thick forest, looking over her shoulder every few paces until she stumbled and fell to her hands. As she picked herself up, she saw what she had tripped on. Ron's eyes were still and glassy as he laid as cold as ever on the forest floor. His name ripped from her throat, and though she had landed right next to him, he seemed to get farther and farther from her reach. Through her tears, she could see more bodies lying around her. One by one, she passed her friends and family. She screamed their names; screamed and screamed, but she was completely alone.

"This is how it must be."

The cold, crisp voice sounded behind her. She whipped around to see Narcissa Malfoy standing in a clearing. Her hair was pulled back perfectly; robes clean and smoothed over her figure.

"No!" The word left Hermione as merely a whisper, though she said it with all her might.

She was standing on a balcony overlooking the Paris skyline. The city was bright and full of life in the evening hours. Somewhere behind her were the voices of her parents, calling her for dinner, but she couldn't move. She tried to turn and run to them, but all she saw was the beauty of the Paris night.

The drawing room floor was icy on her back, even through her long white robes. Above her hung a large black chandelier, and the room around her was just as dark. A warm hand wrapped around hers. She turned her head to see Draco lying next to her, smiling. His eyes held a fiery look she had only seen from him a few times.

She stood in a library with two spiral staircases. Before her were three books. As she reached for one, she was hit with a curse that ripped through her entire body. Wild red eyes and a slitted nose appeared in front of her. The pain subsided until she heard the creature's curse again.

"Crucio."

Hermione had awoken during the night sweating with a terrible crick in her neck. She had shuffled over to the bed, but didn't manage to get much more sleep, knowing any sleep would include an odd, terrifying mixture of dreams. By morning, she was up, determined to make use out of her day, despite being locked in the bedroom.

After doing a number of exercises around the small space, she showered and put on fresh clothes to await Lottie's arrival with breakfast. When the elf finally showed up outside her door, she asked if she could have the recent Daily Prophets and any other reading material she could access.

The day passed on slowly, and although Lottie brought lunch and dinner, she had not left anything for her to read. The next two days passed by in the same manner. She exercised, showered, looked out the window, and dealt with the wild dreams and insomnia. Wednesday morning, Lottie appeared outside her door with a tray as she had before. This time, however, she brought a single newspaper.

Hermione was thrilled to finally get some kind of news; insight into what was going on. Even if Skeeter and the other journalists spun the truth as they usually did, she could read between the lines to infer something. When Lottie left, Hermione settled into the armchair with her tea and flipped open the front page.

DEFENSE ENFORCERS CLOSE-IN ON DARK WIZARDS IN BELGIUM

The Intelligence division of the Department of Defense Enforcers have learned of a growing base of dark wizards in the capitol of Belgium. Saturday evening, Defense Enforcers were sent to Brussels in an attempt to locate the base and dismantle it as soon as possible. Lord Voldemort has been increasingly concerned about the lack of action from the International Confederation of Wizards. Close aides to our Lord have shared that he is intent on taking action against any and all dangerous organizations such as the Order of the Phoenix. The lack of action and blatant disregard for the promotion of a secure, unified new world represents the absolute failure of the international wizarding community.

There is hope, however, in the strength of the D.D.E. This reporter has learned that the leader of the Brussels mission is none other than our favourite Defence Enforcer, Draco Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy returned early from his honeymoon with new wife and strong supporter of Lord Voldemort's efforts, Hermione Malfoy (formerly Granger). Mrs. Malfoy is reportedly concerned about her new husband's safety, but is proud of the work he is doing for the greater good.

Hermione scanned the rest of the article and shut the paper in a huff. She knew that Skeeter's articles were a load of bollocks, but it still frustrated her to read the lies. There was nothing in the article about which Order members were in Brussels; nothing substantive about Draco.

Over the next few days, as she was stuck in her room, she ran through the same routines, trying to stay sane as she anticipated every new article. When would she learn about the capture of one of her friends? The death of someone she loved? And what if it was at the hands of Draco? What would she feel then?

Hermione tried to piece together what was going on with every news update. It was all she could do to stop from breaking down. The stress over the unlimited possibility of horrors that could befall the people she cared about weighed on her. Thankfully, the elf had brought her a quill, an inkpot, and parchment so she could track any information she could gather from the papers.

When Saturday came around - a whole week after returning to the Manor - there had still been no news of where Draco was or when he would be back. The Prophet only reported that the D.D.E.'s efforts were "going smoothly" and that teams were being dispatched throughout northern Europe.

On Monday, Skeeter reported that there were events popping up around London and the surrounding areas in honor of Voldemort and the D.D.E. People were taking to the streets with banners and gatherings outpouring love and gratitude. The news was chilling.

Photos of the events slowly showed more and more people gathering as the days went on. The propaganda against the Order was ramping up beyond the Prophet. Everyday people wrote-in to report sightings of the so-called "dark" witches and wizards. Kingsley, McGonagall, and Arthur Weasley held the top three spots of the Undesirable list. The Quibbler was considered contraband; the Prophet urged readers to report it if found.

It was all so harrowing to read; scary to watch unfold. But nonetheless, Hermione tracked it all on her parchment. There was nothing else to do; nowhere to go. So for days, just as she had done in her tent, writing out potential plans and routes, she wrote out what she thought Voldemort had the Death Eaters doing.

The following Saturday, Hermione was awoken to a knock at her door earlier than usual. It had been over two weeks since her return to the Manor and she hadn't left her room once since she had entered it after her visit to the library. Lottie had brought her food, drink, and papers on a set schedule throughout the day. She was the only living being Hermione had seen in weeks. Even looking outside to the path leading to the entrance of the Manor, she had never caught anyone on their way in or out.

She sluggishly pulled herself out of bed and shuffled towards the door, feeling the effects of the terrible sleep mixed with persistent insomnia.

"Sleeping in, I see," Lucius drawled as he entered and looked her over. She couldn't miss the look of full disgust in his face at the sight of her in Draco's argyle pajamas.

The heat rose to Hermione's cheeks. "Well, there isn't much else to do around here." She tried to ignore all the conclusions she assumed he was making.

Lucius swiftly stepped past her and glided to the closet door. She had tried to open it on her first day back, but it was locked as it had been when she first arrived at the Manor. He opened the door with his wand and ushered her inside.

"You are meeting with Rita Skeeter at nine," he said, flicking his wand to summon various clothing items.

"For what purpose?" she questioned. Her tone was defiant, though she knew it was futile to fight back against anything in her current situation.

"Do not question me," he sneered. "You will meet with her and you will smile through it."

She seethed, but kept quiet as he displayed tight, above-the-knee dresses with crisp shoulders and low-cut necklines, each with an attached cape of the same colour. They were far too sexy for her taste. She watched Lucius as he looked over the options, and she internally laughed at the position he was in. Lucius Malfoy was stuck picking out her attire. She only slightly relished the fact, but the thought of spending any time with Rita Skeeter soured the moment.

"This one," he said, sending the others back to their spots. "I will retrieve you in thirty minutes." He strode out of the closet, stopping just outside the doorway to turn back and wave his wand directly at her.

Ugh. Without needing a mirror, she knew that he had put her in heavy makeup and pulled her hair tightly into a weaved updo.

He smirked and as he strode out of the room, Lottie entered with breakfast. The elf gave her an apologetic look before leaving.

Hermione slipped on the emerald green dress, running through the possible reasons for meeting with Skeeter. Maybe she would be paraded around at an event? Or maybe something had happened with the Order? Oh, God. Maybe something had happened to Draco. Her heartbeat sped up as her mind spun down a rabbit hole of terrible possibilities. She took deep breaths, forcing herself to scarf down a piece of toast.

She followed Lucius out of her room, along the hallways, down the grand staircase, and to the doorway of the Manor.

Hermione was finally able to breathe in the fresh air. She was thankful to see something other than the walls of her room and the same view of the Manor grounds; thankful to feel even the slightest breeze. It was wonderful, but all bliss faded when Rita Skeeter appeared beyond the gates. The horrible woman wore a smug grin and carried herself with unearned pride as she entered the grounds and approached.

"Finally getting some fresh air, I see," Skeeter mocked.

Hermione bit her tongue and focused on the blue sky behind the woman's head.

"Now, now, Rita. Play nicely," Lucius drawled.

"Is that what you told your son to do with her?" she cooed. "Seems he's been playing a bit too nicely." She sent a nasty wink Hermione's way as she passed her and entered the Manor.

"Do save your suggestive remarks for the papers," Lucius said in a bored tone. "I had a lovely breakfast and would hate to spoil it." He led the way to the Floo and held a bowl of powder out for them.

As she stepped inside the fireplace, Skeeter gripped her wrist and pulled her next to her. "Ministry of Magic," she called out, and they swirled away with the green flames.

Skeeter released her wrist as they emerged from the Floo in the Ministry Atrium. It looked just as it had the last time she had been there, but there were even more people filling the space. Skeeter placed a hand on her back to push her along.

"It's Hermione Malfoy!"

She heard several variations of this called out from around the hall as Skeeter led her towards the nearest lift. The massive translucent banners bearing the moving portrait of Voldemort still hung around the space.

"Miss." A little girl no older than five ran up to her and tugged on the hem of her dress.

A genuine smile filled Hermione's face. "Hi there." She bent down so she could be eye-level with the girl.

"Are you gonna get the bad guys?"

A chill ran down Hermione's spine. She swallowed, forcing herself to hold the smile. "Yes. Yes, we are," she said, holding onto her own meaning of that promise.

The girl's mother caught up with her and grasped her little hand, bending down to reprimand the girl for running off.

Bad guys. The girl meant the Order. Hermione's heart beat fast and she struggled to control herself fully as Skeeter ushered her ahead.

Standing in front of the lift were two bulky men in long black robes. Stitched on the chest of each wizard's robe was "D.D.E." and beneath that was the symbol of the Dark Mark. A few people approached the lift attempting to enter, but the men blocked the gate. They stepped aside when Skeeter and Hermione walked up, allowing only the two of them entrance.

Hermione avoided eye contact with Skeeter the whole ride, though she refused to put her head down. There was still hope within her. For Hagrid. For the Order. For the wizarding world. She would continue to do her part in the hopes that one day - hopefully sooner rather than later - the real bad guys would be defeated.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione watched as Skeeter whispered to her acid green Quick-Quotes Quill. It scribbled quickly, even as the lift jolted around.

"Level Two, Department of Defense Enforcers," a disembodied voice announced.

Stepping out of the lift, Hermione found herself in a corridor lined with doors on both sides. They were labeled with the names of various European countries: France, Spain, Germany, Italy, Belgium, etc. She followed Skeeter down the path and around a corner through a set of heavy oak doors.

"Rita," Corban Yaxley greeted. His hard, blunt features were somehow more defined in the way he held himself in this setting. "Travers is already in there." He walked alongside Skeeter as they led Hermione across the full length of the office. He didn't acknowledge Hermione, nor did any of the other countless people in the room who all seemed to be heavily invested in whatever was in front of them. A few men read their papers closely, a woman buried her hand in her hair staring at a desk, and a couple people simply held their necks in twisted positions to avoid looking her way.

The room she was led to was in the far corner. Holding the door open and standing next to an older Death Eater - who she determined was Travers - was Theo Nott. She met his eyes for a brief moment, but he looked down quickly.

"Sit," Yaxley barked at her.

She lifted an eyebrow at him and stayed standing. At the sight of his sneer and narrowed eyes, she sat in a black leather armchair near a bookshelf against the opposite wall.

Yaxley sniggered under his breath as he left the room, followed by Skeeter, Theo, and Travers.

She released a breath at the sudden moment she had alone. Every bit of fear about what was to come swirled inside her again. She could hear the group talking in muffled voices just outside; their silhouettes framed in the frosted glass window of the door. Looking around, she considered the decor of the room, trying to distract herself by looking for clues as to whose office she was in. There weren't any plants in the space at all. No sign of life or warmth. In fact, the room was cold, in temperature and in style.

She glanced at the door before she stood and walked over to the opposite bookshelf. There were plenty of books and various items; nothing was out of place. Scanning the titles, she wished she could crack even one of the books open. Behind her was a black and white marble desk. The contents atop it were neatly organized into piles, just as the rest of the things in the office were. The top of the stacks were cover pages for weekly reports. She didn't dare move anything to see what was there. Her eyes kept darting to the door as she glided along the back of the desk. Lying atop the furthest pile was a photo turned down. Her fingers hovered above it before she flipped it over.

Staring up at her with blue eyes and a stoic expression was Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione gasped. She was taken back to the sight of her seemingly lifeless body back at the château. In the picture, however, Narcissa's light, refined curls were neatly held back and low on her head. Her skin was silky smooth and white as milk; she couldn't be older than twenty. She looked beautiful. She had black pearls for earrings and a necklace that twisted to look like a snake crossing her collarbone. The top of her intricate, deep purple dress robes shown just at the bottom of the photo.

It was an odd sensation to feel some sort of sympathy for Lucius Malfoy.

She carefully turned the photograph back over and returned it to its spot atop the last pile on the desk.

Hermione scanned the rest of the items on the bookshelf near the armchair, then took her seat again before she was caught snooping. The door flew open, admitting Skeeter, her photographer, Theo, and Travers.

"Up, up." Skeeter pulled Hermione up by the arm and moved her to the desk, gripping her tightly.

Hermione rolled her shoulder to try to loosen the woman's grip as she was shoved against the marble. Skeeter wasn't gentle at all. She moved Hermione around in harsh movements, setting her limbs how she wanted them.

"There," Skeeter said, turning to her photographer. "Little Miss Perfect is ready for her photo-op-"

"Wait, what is this?" Hermione cut in. She was propped against the desk with her ankles crossed and hands placed beside her.

"Shush," the nasty woman snapped. She faced Hermione again and slowly stepped closer and closer to her, looking her up and down. "This," she said, gesturing around her, "is a photo shoot for my newest book: The Real Hermione Malfoy."

A knot formed in the pit of Hermione's stomach, despite her relief that it wasn't something worse. "You can't-"

"Quiet," Skeeter snapped again.

The woman whipped back around to her photographer. Hermione glanced at Theo, who was avoiding her eyes completely, staring down at the floor.

"Bozo, start," Skeeter said to the man behind the camera. She stood at the front of the room beside her photographer with one eyebrow raised. "Smile," she said in a falsely sweet singsong voice. She lifted a pointer finger to the dimple of her huge grin and twisted her hand in the way a stage-mom would do to her child.

Hermione breathed in deeply, letting her mind wander to steely eyes…the taste of cold dessert…warm breath inches away…

She smiled and straightened her body, holding her head up high and shoving her pride aside. Rita Skeeter wasn't worth it. And Hermione Granger had better things to focus on.

For twenty long minutes, Hermione held that smile as she was pushed around the room and placed in all sorts of positions as if she were a puppet. Skeeter had banished the contents of the desk before having her sit atop it on the side. Theo and the other Death Eater whispered to each other, examined notes, and huddled together with Skeeter every once in a while.

She was a product to be discussed and tested; used and presented as they saw fit.

Finally, she was told they were finished. The three were huddled together again for some time until someone knocked on the door and entered. A short man with heavy bags under his eyes rushed in, whispered something to the group, then left quickly.

A few moments later, the door opened again.

"Draco, darling!" Skeeter said.

Hermione looked up into the very eyes she had been thinking about. She sucked in a breath at the sight of him. He was in a charcoal suit under black robes and his hair was stiff, yet sleek. She slid off the desk and stood up straight, smoothing her hands over her dress. His eyes held hers before he looked to the others.

"I am so relieved you made it back alright!" Skeeter cooed.

Hermione clenched her jaw. She followed Skeeter's hand as it ran down Draco's arm.

Draco stepped away from the woman. "My time is limited today, Rita," he said. His voice was sharp.

Skeeter led him over to Hermione and messed with his collar. She smoothed his hair, and ran her hands over him in far too many places.

Hermione pursed her lips at the sight. She was pulled by the woman to face Draco, her hands shoved up to his chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the begrudged look on Skeeter's face.

"Go ahead." Skeeter stepped out of frame and her photographer took a few pictures.

Draco's arms wrapped around her waist. They felt stiff and different, just like his hair. When Skeeter changed their position again, she could feel the tension within him. It was almost worse than it had ever been with him. He was so tight; cold and reserved. She didn't know what he had been through or where they even stood after everything that had happened before he was sent away. But when Skeeter moved them to the bookshelf and had them look into each other's eyes, she knew he was in there somewhere.

"Great, keep holding! Bozo, get a shot straight-on," Skeeter commanded.

They stayed where they were, facing each other only inches apart. Draco's hand held her cheek.

"Get a little closer."

He leaned in; she was drawn in, too.

A flash.

"Closer!"

Another flash.

She wasn't sure who closed the distance, but either way, their lips connected.

Next update: February 10, 2021

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