"Well, well… the mudblood is managing to make headway without the use of magic. I would be impressed if the chit weren't so obnoxious."
Hermione's spine straightened until she was a rigid wooden puppet on strings of irritation. There was something about the man's barbs that pierced the armor of her self-esteem and tore into her insecurities. His son had it, though on a lesser level.
"Malfoy, was there something you needed?"
She could feel the pale man's attention shifting from her to her captor and the tenseness in her ligaments eased enough for her to set the next book on its shelf. She had nearly forgotten about how easy her task would be with magic; though the loss of her wand had cut deeply at first, the memory of a removed limb, now it was more fleeting and phantom in nature. She knew well enough how to function the muggle way, though she was not a muggle herself. Of course, Lucius Malfoy would enjoy rubbing her nose in her loss.
"Severus wants to discuss something with you, and it is apparently imperative your little mudblood is watched lest she escape your clutches." The imperious man no doubt rolled his eyes at the thought; there was no way for her to apparate, no way to Floo. Her only route would be on foot, and every entrance to the castle was guarded, the halls patrolled.
Still, Antonin did not take risks with her. "Hermione will accompany me."
"Really, Dolohov, I can manage one mudblood school girl on my own. Or do you not trust me?" The Malfoy patriarch sneered the last word. "I'm neither Greyback nor Lestrange to forget myself and molest one such as her."
Dolohov drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Perhaps I fear you would take it upon yourself to harm her? She is mine and I will not tolerate anyone else punishing her."
"Should your mudblood misbehave I swear on my magic I will not curse her, but leave her punishment up to you. Satisfied?"
A short silence stretched between them and Hermione slowly revolved to see them. Antonin's eyes were narrowed to silver glints, but at last he nodded. "Hermione, behave."
"Of course, Antonin."
He left them in a sweep of dark robes and heavy boots, the fair wizard staring down the small witch.
The way his cool eyes burned into hers, one brow raised in silent challenge, it reeled through her memories and sent her toward the past. Twelve years old in Diagon Alley, the first time they'd met, when he looked down his nose at her parents for being muggles Third year, fourteen years old and she was trying to help Hagrid defeat him to save Buckbeak. The summer before fourth year, at the Quidditch World Cup. He had been part of the Death Eater festivities, and the things his son had applied… it had haunted her for some time. Fifth year at the Ministry. Months and months ago at his manor, tortured on his floor.
For a middle-aged man and a teenage girl, there was quite a bit of history between them even excluding that she'd been his son's classmate. Those experiences weighed upon her now, straining the air between them.
"Have you thought on what I said?"
Hermione blinked, pulling herself from remembrances and into the present. "What?" His brow twitched again as she scrolled through to their last encounter. "Was it supposed to be a threat? You implied you're not afraid of Antonin."
"Antonin," he scorned. ""Right-trained little mudblood, aren't you?" His eyes, so like the other man's in color, so dissimilar in mood, narrowed. "I meant after that, girl. On allies, on what you're willing to do for power."
The conversation had been so fraught with cruelty that she had given little thought to those themes. Her face twisted in thought.
"Your protection is only as strong as your master, and your power is what little he grants you."
Hermione nibbled her bottom lip. "And you think I could get power and protections otherwise? That there are other possible allies?"
He was still a moment, then oddly neutral as he said, "There are always possibilities to improve one's position, Miss Granger. It comes down to what one is willing to do."
"How would you go about it in my position?"
"Curry favor with others, of course. Find their motivations and allegiances." Long fingers tapped against the head of his cane. "For instance, other than the Dark Lord, my loyalties lie with the Malfoy family. Not only my wife and son, but my lineage and its continuance."
What he truly meant was that that was his only allegiance, as Hermione knew full-well the Malfoys supported Voldemort for survival alone. He had abused them, and if they had other options… Her eyes widened.
"If I were able to assist your family in some way, that would be advantageous in forming allyship with you, then?" He nodded. "And the Dark Lord, if I could assist him with his rise to power, he would… What?"
Lucius Malfoy sauntered closer, until only a waist-high bookshelf was between them. When he spoke, his voice was low, as though imparting a delicious secret. "That is where you have a head start. The Dark Lord favors power above all, even blood status. You, Miss Granger, are a surprisingly capable mudblood. He is aware of some of your accomplishments and it is enough that he is willing to overlook your parentage should one of his knights breed with you. That child would be accepted into the world, welcomed as any Pureblood scion. If you could show him your worth is beyond your current situation, you would have standing on your own."
Standing of her own among Voldemort's ranks; the idea was as ridiculous as it was alluring. She'd be an additional in for the resistance, and perhaps she could escape Dolohov that way and still act as a distraction. However, she could not help the creeping vines of suspicion.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I should think it's obvious." His lips quirked in a shadow of a smirk. "Despite his reticence to involve himself in Death Eater politics, Dolohov still holds power. The more he holds, the less I do. If bringing you in fractures his power, all the better for me." The smirk deepened. "And if you can somehow benefit by family… Politics, my dear, are complex and as indiscriminate as they are discriminate."
Her mind whirled with the information, streaming toward what she knew of the Death Eaters, of the Malfoys, of politics. "I will think on that, Mister Malfoy. Thank you." Those were words she never though she'd say. "If there is anything I can do for your family-"
"Ah." He forestalled her with one raised hand. "Be careful what you offer, Miss Granger. Carte Blanche can be dangerous when speaking with a Slytherin."
"Would it not be a show of good faith to at least ask?"
His eyes danced over her, taking in the few healing marks still marring her flesh. "Ever the Gryffindor. Think carefully on what you're willing to offer, where your limits are, before you consider such questions. Word them carefully, as those with whom you are dealing will surely do the same." Malfoy's mercurial eyes studied her carefully until he was sure she'd understood. "Now, you should focus on the task at hand rather than interrogate me."
It was a dismissal and she ground her jaw at it, but nodded and turned back to the books she was cataloging. They were basic Defense volumes, wonderful for essays and brushing up on the foundations. Hermione had spent much of fifth year skimming through them to counteract the paltry teachings of Umbridge. These books had served her well, and she was glad most of them had survived. They would surely be needed in the coming times.
"I've returned; you may leave now, Malfoy." Dolohov spoke as he passed the threshold into the library with clipped steps.
Malfoy sneered, but did not address the words themselves. "Did you accept?"
"What does it matter to you?" The dark man scowled as he strode between the pair to wrap an arm around Hermione's waist.
"I am teaching the Dark Arts, so it is pertinent to my position."
Hermione's head snapped whiplash swift toward the man. Lucius Malfoy, teaching? Why in Godric's name would he accept a teaching position?
Professor Malfoy. She shuddered to think of it; he would put Snape's methods to shame. The students would not know the horror that awaited them behind his marble angel façade. He apparently noticed her reaction, the smirk returning to grace his lips.
"No matter, Severus will inform me since you're being difficult. Miss Granger," he nodded to her, taking his leave.
Antonin pulled her to face him, tipping her chin up. "Did he do anything?"
She bit her bottom lip and gave a shake of her head, stirring up murky thoughts to cover the true conversation. "He talked down to me a bit, called me a mudblood a few times, then chastised me for neglecting my task. That's all."
Whatever he saw in her eyes satisfied him. "Good." Dolohov brushed a kiss across her lips and took his seat. "Then you may return to your work."
A/N: Okay, so the twist is not something happening or that has happened to Hermione (ie, pregnancy); it is news she receives.
I am 99 percent sure this is getting a sequel and as to the direction of it. It'll disappoint some, thrill others, and I'm sure everything in between. But hey, it's forming in my head and I kind of like how it's developing.
