Sunlight pierced through the clouds in bright beams, illuminating the forest with swathes of golden light. The ice crystals in the air shimmered, bathing the woodland in an unearthly glow. The wind flowed easily through the trees, sending small patches of mist swirling into lazy whirlpools. There were no birds, no mammals; it felt like the wood held its breath in preparation for a storm.
Something wasn't right.
This patch of trees wasn't in the human realm; Hermione could feel that in her bones.
She ran through the trees, her breath puffing out in clouds around her as she sprinted as fast as she could towards the safety of the glen just beyond her sightline. Her cloak flapped around her ankles and threatened to trip her as she broke through the thin crust of ice on top of the snow.
She fell, banging her knees and elbows on the ice as her momentum caused her to lose her footing. She struggled to her feet, fighting against the crushing weight of the snow that stuck to her legs. As the frozen water touched her skin she felt her nerves firing, freezing and burning her at the same time.
Everything was silver. The snow shimmered, the air shone, and the eyes that followed her glinted with triumph as they sped closer.
She let out a whimper of fear, trying to move even faster as she heard the sound of small bells behind her. She continued onwards, feeling as though she was trying to move through molasses as the snow deepened and her limbs began to go numb with the cold.
She felt a frisson of dread roll down her spine as the sound of the bells stopped; in their place was a beautiful, mocking laugh.
Adrenaline sang through her veins as she turned around, watching in horror as the alien creature strode towards her. He moved breathtakingly quickly across the surface of the snow, and his unnerving eyes flashed as his stunning face twisted into a horrific grin. There was nothing to feel but pure animal panic as she realized that she was rooted in place; her limbs refused to obey her and her mouth was frozen shut.
She felt like she couldn't breathe as he circled her, laughing softly. The sound was like ripping fabric, nails on a chalkboard, silk over red-hot iron, all at the same time.
"Hermione," the creature whispered, reaching out and trailing his ice-cold hand down the length of her throat, leaning closer as her pupils dilated and her nostrils flared with fear. She could taste her own panic, bitter and acrid as smoke, as she struggled to breathe. He smelled like cinnamon, and musk, and something seductive that wasn't human.
Her instincts screamed at her to run, to get away, and to push him away from her.
But she couldn't move.
"It's time to pay your debt," he continued, stopping in front of her and watching with a predatory smile as she tried in vain to free herself. "This will only hurt if you fight me."
She screamed silently as he darted forwards and sank his teeth into her neck. She couldn't think, couldn't move as she fell backwards into the snow, her heart pumping frantically as her body shifted into overdrive. Everything felt heavy, viscous, and she felt her mind descending into a silver-toned fog.
Hermione was dying. All that her mind could process was the triumphant laugh of the fae, his tone high and cruel as he watched her bleed out-
Hermione woke up with a start, noticing with embarrassment that she'd managed to drool profusely all over herself. I didn't realize that I had fallen asleep. How mortifying.
Her heart was hammering, and she had to take a deep, calming breath. She'd been having that dream on a loop for years. It never failed to shake her composure.
She hurriedly wiped her chin, darting a glance over at the kindly old man who shared her carriage. She'd fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, and her tomato-red blush burned across her cheeks as she stammered out an apology.
Father Albus rewarded her with a soft smile as he surveyed her over his half-moon spectacles. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he offered her his handkerchief. "There's no need to apologize, Miss Granger, I assure you that I didn't notice. I was far too absorbed in my own thoughts."
"Thank you, Father. How long was I asleep?"
"Nearly three hours, I believe," he replied, regarding her with his wise old eyes.
She smiled back, comforted by his steady presence. "You needed the rest."
Hermione was impressed; she wasn't usually someone who needed to nap. She hurriedly wiped her face and hesitantly offered him his handkerchief back. He shook his head, indicating with a wave of his hand that she should keep it.
"That's unlike me, but not unwelcome," she finally replied, her blush still burning in her cheeks as she carefully tucked the fine fabric square away for safekeeping.
Father Albus clearly agreed with her. Still smiling, he set down his knitting needles and raised one eyebrow.
"I must admit that I assumed you to be far too anxious to rest, however, I think it did you some good. Am I correct to guess that you didn't sleep a wink either of the nights since we've started our journey?"
Hermione sighed, tearing her glance away from the countryside that she was determinedly watching out the small window. "You're as astute as ever, Father. My mother was angry with me for making the decision to come to Sussex. I'm having a hard time with leaving her."
"She's your mother; you can't begrudge her the right to weep at your leaving."
"I'm stuck between excitement and guilt," she admitted, "And, well-"
She paused, unsure how to phrase what she was about to say.
"Please, continue."
"It might be my nerves, but I'm quite sure that I'm the wrong person for the position," she replied, looking down at her hands. "My friend Ron Weasley is equally as qualified. I feel like an impostor -"
Hermione cut off when she saw the slightly disapproving look on his face.
"Why do you feel like an impostor?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and regarding her with calm curiosity.
"It's hard to explain," she replied evasively, avoiding his inquisitive gaze.
She knew that her statement was very vague, but that was about as much as she was willing to admit to a priest. He was a very kind man, and had done wonders for her village, but she wasn't about to confess that she'd essentially sold her soul to an ancient creature. That and she still didn't know if she'd been recommended for this post because of her own merit or magical intervention.
Good God, she hated magic.
She was also fully aware that there was only so much that he could overlook. He knew the local stories of course, but she would rather die than open herself up to an investigation. In fact, she just might end up dead if the church started looking into her past.
His expression didn't change, but there was something subtle that flickered across his striking eyes that made her feel like she was two inches tall.
"My dear, I wouldn't have recommended you for this post if I didn't believe that you were capable," he chastised her gently, resuming his knitting with enthusiasm as he spoke.
"Yes, thank you," she said quickly, afraid that she'd offended him. His expression immediately lost its stern cast, and he thought for a moment before he spoke.
"I must ask you to stop doubting your knowledge, Hermione. You will be studying under one of the most qualified doctors in all of Great Britain. He'll teach you what you need to know. Your father would never have let you leave if he thought that you weren't going to achieve great things."
Hermione bit her lip, still embarrassed as he continued to knit as if they'd never spoken, his needles clacking gently against one another.
When he didn't say anything else, she suppressed a sigh and turned her attention to the forest that surrounded the kingsroad.
Even the trees are different here.
She'd spent two and a half days in this carriage, and she couldn't wait to get out of the confines of the wooden vehicle. The constant bumping and clattering of the cart made it difficult to think, and she had been trying to devote a lot of time to that lately. She'd already read through both of the medical journals that she'd brought with her.
The joys of not sleeping for two days, she thought drily.
She'd spent hours reviewing all of her knowledge of herbs and healing plants (that alone took her nearly a full day), and now she was trying to remember how to set a bone in seventeen different ways that might be applicable in the Duke's court.
So far, she'd covered quite a few potential injuries, most of which would only be applicable to the young men of the court. Jousting, hunting, falling down stairs, dancing and falling, drunken dueling, dueling in general, dueling with both practice and real swords, falling from a horse, being bucked off of a horse, being hit with a chandelier-
She was jostled out of her thoughts by the unfortunate appearance of a rather deep pothole, which rocked her backwards, forcing her to hit her head hard against the carriage frame.
"Ow!" She exclaimed, realizing too late that another (rather unfortunate) word had also slipped out of her lips as her hand flew up to her temple to assess the damage. She darted a glance at Father Albus, who didn't seem bothered in the slightest by her language.
"Yes, quite," he murmured, seamlessly picking up a stitch that he'd dropped when they'd been catapulted three feet in the air by the state of the road. Hermione couldn't help the small smile that lit up her face as she returned to staring out the window.
For a priest, he was rather fun.
She returned to her thoughts, trying and failing to hide her amusement.
Instead of medical revision, however, her mind had now turned to engineering, and how she could possibly manufacture a wheel that could survive these roads during the winter. The current wheel that she sat above protested loudly as they continued to roll along; a new squeak joined the clattering din of the horse and cart.
With the exception of the squeaking, the carriage was quite pleasant, even though she was very sick of sitting in it. The clip-clopping of the horses and the scent of painted wood were very familiar to her.
She was suddenly struck with a pang of homesickness.
Already, she missed her little village. She missed the familiar smell of her father's pipe, and the way that her mother would hum when she cooked. She missed the scent of the grass after the rain, and the way that her mother always kept a small bundle of lavender beside her bed. She was reluctant to admit it, but she even missed the sound of the wind rustling through the forest.
Without thinking, her fingers ran incessantly over Ron's parting gift. He'd strung a small piece of metal into a pendant, knowing that she'd want to take a piece of home with her. It warmed her to think that she carried something that was forged by a friend.
"It's just a small bit," he'd muttered, his flushed face at odds with his fiery hair. "You won't be here for your birthday, so I'm just giving it to you in advance. Don't lose it, otherwise I'm going to have to replace it, and I don't want to. You know how much I hate going into Bill's smithy."
She'd laughed and looped it over her head, already pleased with the comforting weight of it against her collarbone. "Thanks, Ron. I won't lose it. I'll think of you whenever I wear it."
She had meant that in a teasing, sisterly way, but she was surprised to see him turn an even more alarming shade of red and begin to sputter that it wasn't much, that she really shouldn't go through the trouble, that it was just some metal, it didn't mean anything-
"The Duke's lands start right over there, by the forest!" The driver suddenly called, forcefully pulling Hermione's thoughts back to the present. "We're barely three miles from his home."
"Thank you, Ernie!" Father Albus called out the window, smartly tapping his walking stick on the top of the carriage. "Excellent. I've been looking forward to trying something that his Grace has recently brought to court; I believe it's called a lemon."
"A lemon?" Hermione repeated, unsure why he was so excited about it. "What is it?"
"I haven't the foggiest idea. I'd wager a guess that it might be some kind of exotic vegetable," he answered cheerfully, steepling his fingers together and settling back into his seat.
"Is it edible?"
"Perhaps it is, perhaps not," he replied cryptically, leaning his chin against his hand and staring dreamily out the window. Hermione was fairly well accustomed to his eccentricities by this point, so she sighed and returned to her thoughts. Her mind began to swirl with anxiety, and to her dismay, it made her palms clammy and her heart beat accelerate.
If Ron could see me now, he'd laugh, she thought sullenly, fighting the urge to sigh again. I'm sweating and shaking already and we're still miles away from court.
Abruptly, Albus sat bolt upright and turned to her, his knitting quite forgotten in his lap. "Ah, Miss Granger, there's something that I've neglected to mention."
She stared at him for a moment in surprise before she remembered to answer. "Yes?"
"You will be going straight to meet the Duke as soon as we arrive. Forgive me; my memory for these things is poor of late."
She felt a flicker of worry, but tried to keep her expression neutral. "The Duke would take the time to see me?"
Why on earth..?
Father Albus stroked his long beard in thought. "Your first few days will be a bit of a whirlwind, I expect. The Duke's son is in rather bad shape. You will be needed to begin treating him immediately."
Her anxiety forgotten, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her. She turned all of her attention to Father Albus and sat up straight; her mind was already whirring through lists of possible maladies. "Go on, please. What's the matter with him?"
"It seems to be an illness of the mind, or that was the implication of Master Slughorn's correspondence. He has not quite been himself these last several months."
Hermione's brow furrowed and she tapped her index finger against her thigh as she thought. "Hm, that would mean any number of things. Have you seen him since he's been ill?"
"I haven't. I must admit that part of my coming on this trip is entirely selfish; I would very much like to see his condition for myself. If there is something the Church is able to do to help, I am entirely at his Grace's service."
Hermione's already intense expression darkened, and she tapped her chin in thought. "No one else has the sickness?"
"It doesn't appear to be spreading, however I urge you to use caution, Miss Granger. He was a docile child, always kind and considerate. Then, quite suddenly he has completely cast off his good breeding; it is as if he is a different person," Albus continued, his bright eyes alight with interest.
"That is concerning," Hermione murmured, unsure as to whether to take this so-called illness seriously.
"I hope that it is a case of willful disobedience, he is perhaps rebelling against his father."
"Do you know why he would do that?" Hermione asked carefully, trying not to sound like a gossip. "Is he at odds with the Duke in some way?"
"Most assuredly. He is quite new to manhood, so I would assume that his new responsibilities as heir to the dukedom are weighing quite heavily on him. He certainly is not the first young lord to fly off the handle."
He nodded to himself as he answered, taking up his knitting again with a conspiratorial look in his eye. She waited expectantly for him to continue, and his eyes twinkled as if he were about to tell her a joke.
"Off the handle..?" She prompted him, hoping that he wouldn't leave her in suspense.
"Hmm, yes. He has been engaged to be married to a neighboring Baron's daughter since infancy. He seemed quite content with the arrangement until he became ill. I have it on good authority that he referred to her as a "filthy, undeserving cow" quite recently."
"Oh dear."
"Not a flattering picture to paint of the lady, to be sure, however I have met her," he said good-naturedly, completely glossing over his casual insult.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Hermione replied slowly, unsure if she was supposed to fill in the blanks. "Is it a comment on her appearance? That brings to mind someone of, um, well a rather spotty complexion."
"Good gracious, no, she is as lovely as a rose. However, on the subject of her personality, I'm inclined to agree with Lord Draco."
He tapped the side of his nose with one long finger, winking at her as she grinned back. "That should stay within the confines of this carriage, my dear. The Lady Parkinson is quite an accomplished young woman; however her personality leaves something to be desired. The word that I would choose to describe her is "conniving"."
"I won't tell anyone," she murmured, silently thinking to herself that she was good at keeping secrets. It wasn't a problem to keep some idle gossip quiet.
"I shan't repeat that," he said slyly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
"I understand," Hermione muttered, already familiar with women who did nothing but try to undermine others for their own amusement. "So that's the problem?"
"Not quite. It seems as though the young lord is determined to send his father to an early grave. He has quite regularly been seen frequenting some establishments that are not well-regarded by anyone of his station."
"Oh, my," Hermione said faintly, her face turning pink as the good priest trailed off; she knew exactly what kind of businesses the young lord was interested in. "I'm guessing that his Grace expects a significant improvement in his son's condition, however, I'm not sure that he can reasonably expect us to cure the young man of his...tastes."
Albus chuckled heartily at her response, wiping at one eye under his spectacles as he regarded her with no small measure of amusement. "How diplomatic of you, Miss Granger. We'll make a fine court lady out of you yet."
"Father, should I be concerned for the lord's life?" Hermione asked worriedly, suddenly struck with the possibility that the Duke may blame the doctor if his son didn't survive.
"No, not in the slightest," Father Albus replied cheerfully, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he tied off his knitting. "I will say, however, that there isn't much hope for his youthful appearance."
"I thought it was a malady of the mind?" Hermione asked slowly, confused by what he meant. If his physically appearance is affected, there's likely something wrong with him internally, and I don't know where to begin with treating him. There are dozens, if not hundreds of different ailments that could be affecting him-
"That remains to be seen. Apparently, his hair and eyes have lost all of their color," he replied distractedly, holding up two misshapen socks for her inspection. "I do believe that I'm getting the hang of this pattern."
"Yes, they're lovely," she murmured, trying to resist the urge to wring her hands with worry.
Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the carriage turning onto a grand causeway. She peered out of the window, her jaw dropping as she took in the sight of the Duke's castle, squatting on the top of a great hill. Even from this distance she could see that it was immense, fully outfitted with a moat and a drawbridge, fortifications, great towers, and sprawling grounds.
She couldn't help herself, she stared unashamed at the majestic building for the better part of half an hour as they clattered and bounced along. This road was in far better shape than the kingsroad that they'd been travelling on for three days. She noted this with interest; it would seem that the Duke was concerned with his duchy's infrastructure.
She continued to watch, taking in the lush gardens and incredible statues that lined the road. She'd never seen so much wealth in her life. It was with some regret that she forced herself to retake her seat and rearrange her hair into a braid.
I can't show up looking like a scarecrow, she thought, frantically trying to smooth her rebellious curls into some semblance of a deliberate hairstyle.
Sneaking one last glance out of the window, she caught a glimpse of the Duke's crest. A snake eating a lion on a field of emerald green adorned the flags that whipped proudly in the wind. She could see that the same scene had been carefully carved into the castle walls, strong evidence that this family had retained their position in the King's court for decades, perhaps even centuries.
Grand peacocks strutted between carefully trimmed hedges, honking and making a dreadful racket. Although she was transfixed by the sight of them, Hermione wrinkled her nose at the sounds being emitted from their small beaks. They're so beautiful, but they're obnoxious.
She was disappointed that her books had never mentioned how unpleasant their calls were.
Father Albus hummed a nameless tune as they clattered up the road, turning and bumping their way along to a large courtyard. Hermione couldn't resist peeking out as they rolled over the moat, noting that it was easily thirty feet deep. As she watched, large fish were drawn to the surface by the vibrations of the carriage, opening their mouths and waiting expectantly for food.
She smiled; it was strangely comforting to know that fish were the same everywhere.
She was doing remarkably well at concealing her anxiety until they passed under the portcullis and gates. This is it. We're actually here.
Not for the first time, she wished that Ron had come with her. She appreciated Father Albus' company, but she needed someone who knew her well to distract her.
Far too soon for her liking, the carriage rolled to a stop, jostling its occupants as the driver pulled hard on the reins. Hermione had to throw out a hand to stop herself from flying headlong into the front wall of the carriage, and she glared reproachfully at the wood that separated them from the overenthusiastic teamster.
"Here you are, Father!" Ernie called cheerfully over his shoulder, blissfully unaware of Hermione's irritation as he hopped down from the front seat and opened the carriage door for her.
She took his offered hand gratefully and tried to climb down from the carriage as smoothly as she could. She didn't stumble, but she felt her stomach flip uncomfortably when she realized that there was a large group making their way down from the main keep to the courtyard.
They were currently in one of the auxiliary courtyards; it was presumably used for deliveries and the comings and goings of the servants. She couldn't tell who was walking towards them, but she already knew that it had to be the Duke and his retinue.
She noticed with some dismay that there was no way for her to fix herself up and look presentable, so she settled for attempting to smooth her hair down once more. When her curls simply stuck to her hand with the humidity, she hurriedly tied Father Albus' handkerchief around her head.
Hermione would rather look like the village girl that she was than appear as an uncoiffed slob in front of one of the kingdom's most powerful men. The Duke of Sussex was fourth in line for the throne, and clearly came from a formidable family; it was in her best interest to make a good impression.
She was startled out of her anxious revision of etiquette when a portly man with sandy hair and an impressive moustache bustled out of a nearby door and moved towards them.
"Hello, hello, hello! Albus, you've come to grace us with your presence at last! Do come this way, oh no you really didn't have to fetch me a box of sugared lilacs, but I shan't let them go to waste-"
Father Albus turned, his robes swirling around him as he greeted the man with an enthusiastic handshake and embrace, already speaking animatedly with the newcomer. Several documents exchanged hands, and Hermione's eyes widened as she realized that this busy little man was the doctor who had so generously offered to take her on.
She bobbed a quick curtsy as Horace Slughorn turned his attention to her, rather discombobulated by the knowledge that this cheery, portly man was her sponsor.
"Miss Granger!" He exclaimed, tapping his hand on her elbow as she stood up, smiling widely at her. His impressive mustache rustled as he spoke, making her smile and relax slightly.
"Lord Slughorn," she murmured, her anxious expression softening as he clasped her hands between his own. "It's so nice to finally put a face to the name."
"Welcome, welcome, welcome. Please, you must call me Horace; we're going to be cooped up together for the foreseeable future, I shan't exhaust myself with formalities. Come, you must be ravenously hungry, you're as pale as a ghost!"
"Thank you. In that case, please just call me Hermione," she said gratefully, already feeling more secure in her position now that she'd met him. "I'll welcome the break in formality."
"Excellent. Come along."
Slughorn swept towards the nearest building, motioning for her to follow him. Hermione darted a nervous glance at the large party still making their slow, labouring way down from the top gardens to the buildings where they stood. "Is that the Duke?"
Slughorn peered over her shoulder and let out a good-natured chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. "No, that is the weekly game of tennis. The young court dandies are slowly making their way down to the arena."
"Oh." Hermione let out a breath that she hadn't realised that she'd been holding. "Are we to see the Duke immediately?"
"Impatient to begin work already, eh?" He raised one eyebrow and continued inside the building, ducking under several lines of laundry that hung across the entryway. "Very well. We'll drop in on his study before you get settled."
"Study?" Her brow furrowed in confusion as she followed him through the maze of corridors that connected to the main keep. "Not the main hall?"
"Yes, as Albus has told you, he wishes to discuss several things of a rather personal nature. We are part of a select few, an elite group if you will. We, as doctors, are privy to incredibly sensitive secrets, you know."
Hermione didn't have anything to say, so she simply nodded and continued to follow him. She glanced back at Father Albus, concerned that he would be offended by her leaving, but he simply waved, a twinkle shining in his eye as he dismissed her.
She couldn't help looking over at the large party on the lawn in alarm as yelling suddenly echoed across the grounds. Hermione couldn't see what was happening, but it appeared to be rather serious. Someone was clearly angry, and wasn't afraid to express it.
She was started back to attention by the doctor popping back around the corner. "Miss Granger, I'm afraid that it is bad form to keep the Duke waiting. Come along! We'll find out what's happening later."
For such a portly man, Slughorn moved very quickly, striding through the castle with the confidence of practice. She had to hurry to keep up, patting her hair down at every opportunity.
After what felt like a mile of passageways, they came across a great wooden door carved with the family crest. Hermione didn't know if her heart was hammering because of nervousness or because she'd just hiked quite a ways. She settled for a mixture of the two.
Slughorn knocked on the door, waiting for a nearly inaudible "come in" from the study before pushing the door open. It opened surprisingly smoothly, without a squeak.
Hermione followed the doctor inside, trying not to gape. The books that lined the walls in great oak cases must have been centuries old; her fingers were itching to peruse them. She couldn't help her tiny gasp of surprise as she took in the Duke's collection of maps. She would be quite happy to spend a year in this room, but she wasn't sure if she could work her way through his entire library within that time frame.
"Come, Miss Granger," Slughorn ushered her farther into the room, turning a corner and bowing deeply in respect to the silver-haired man sitting at a great, oak desk.
"Your Grace, I've come to present Miss Hermione Granger, my new apprentice," Slughorn said formally, puffing out his chest and waving a hand at Hermione. "She comes highly recommended."
Hermione curtsied automatically, choosing one that was typically used for princes and kings. Her mind whirred, searching for the information that she'd need to make a good impression on the Duke.
It appeared that she'd chosen correctly, as the Duke's face broke into a soft smile. "Ah, Miss Granger. We have eagerly awaited your arrival. I trust that your journey was restful?"
Hermione knew that she was being tested. "Yes, thank you, Your Grace. I am at your disposal."
The Duke nodded, his expression pensive. "We shall have need of you very shortly, I'm afraid. Tell me, do you know the history of my family?"
Hermione flushed slightly; she hadn't had a chance to finish her book on the noble families yet. "I'm familiar with the very basics, Your Grace; I'm ashamed to admit that we are quite limited in Ashwood as far as literature pertaining to the noble families goes."
He surveyed her frankly, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips. "I must confess that I'm quite pleased to hear that. I am constantly bombarded by courtiers seeking to curry favour by recanting my family's accomplishments to me. It certainly isn't the way to…gain my confidence."
Silently pleased, Hermione bobbed another quick curtsy as the Duke stood, pacing over to one of his magnificent stained glass windows.
"Do you know why you are here?"
"Yes, my Lord," she replied shyly, answering only after Slughorn nodded his encouragement. "Your son is not well."
Lucius sighed, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out the window. He was silent for a moment before he spoke.
"My son is currently suffering from an ailment of the mind that threatens to destroy all that my family has worked hard for. He has a single-minded determination to drive our house to ruin. He doesn't care for the needs of the King, or even the welfare of those who live in our lands. Throughout the last three hundred years the Malfoy lineage has remained one of the most powerful in the country. I shan't have it sullied, and certainly not by a young buck who refuses to heel."
Slughorn nodded, puffing out his chest once again. "We'll have him cured as quickly as possible, my Lord. My apprentice and I will throw ourselves at the task with enthusiasm."
Lucius Malfoy glanced over his shoulder, his white-blond hair shining in the late afternoon light as he regarded the doctor. "I place him entirely in your hands, my Lord. Miss Granger, I must swear you to absolute secrecy."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak her mind, but remembered her place just in time. "Of course, Your Grace. If I may, perhaps we should start seeing to his condition sooner rather than later."
The lord turned, surveying her with an enigmatic look in his eye as his gaze swept over her plain homespun dress and mussed hair; she was suddenly reminded of her station.
He was fourth in line to the throne, and she was just some country girl who had more or less demanded that he allow her to play doctor. The fact that she was in the same room with him was a miracle in and of itself.
She flushed with embarrassment.
"That is, if Your Grace would allow my master and I the opportunity to choose the best course of treatment as quickly as possible," she amended hastily, bowing her head in submission as the Duke continued to watch her.
Her mother had warned her not to cross the nobility. As per usual, she was too busy being an insufferable, enthusiastic know-it-all to consider the immediate consequences of her actions.
She saw Slughorn's eyebrows shoot upwards out of the corner of her eye and she felt a stab of dread; she had already messed up.
I'm going to be sent packing back to Ashwood before I've even had a chance to unpack my trunk-
Just as she was beginning to panic, the Duke's expression softened and he nodded. With one long-fingered hand, he reached over to his desk and rang a large bell. The sound shattered the sudden silence in the study as the two tones faded away.
They were left waiting for less than a minute before the doors swung open and two burly guards strode into the room, carrying a struggling young man between them.
The young lord fought to free his arms from their iron grips, yelling and cursing at them as he was frog-marched into the room where they stood, shocked into silence by his outburst.
Hermione couldn't see his face, but his language certainly was colourful. She stood in admiring silence as he cursed in six languages and made up for not knowing more by throwing himself at the English curses with extra enthusiasm. Several of the words that he used were enough to make her blush, and she had to look away with embarrassment.
"Get off of me, you foul, unworthy-"
"I present you to my son. This is Draco Malfoy, the ninth Earl of Sussex, fifth in line for the throne of England. Draco, this is Lord Slughorn's new apprentice, Hermione Granger," Lucius said smoothly, ignoring his heir, who was still hissing and spitting like an angry cat.
Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or start crying. I have my work cut out for me.
At the Duke's nonverbal command, the guards released the young Earl, leaving him to fall on his hands and knees. Hermione resisted the urge to help him up; she didn't know what he was likely to do if he felt the touch of hands, whether or not they were extended in friendship.
She did, however, catch a glimpse of his handsome face as he stood up, brushing off his clothes and attempting to regain some dignity as he glared at his father.
Oh.
"I was in the middle of a match," he growled, crossing his arms across his brilliant white shirt. The sleeves billowed out across his chest, making him look every inch the spoiled lord that he was. "Your lackeys grabbed me like a common criminal!"
"You have more important things to concern yourself with," Lucius answered, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I don't care about your tennis match."
Hermione snuck a glance at Slughorn. He looked about as uncomfortable as she was; it felt like she was intruding on a private conversation between a father and his son.
"You had me kidnapped to introduce me to some peasant girl? Ridiculous," he scoffed, tossing his hair out of his eyes as he stood up straight.
He stared at his father defiantly, prompting Hermione's eyebrow to rise; he had guts.
"Your mother accepts your behaviour, I shan't stand for it. You will treat your doctors with respect; they are here for the sole purpose of your health."
The Duke's tone was dangerously quiet, and Hermione felt her shoulders compressing downwards as she fought the urge to leave the room.
She hated confrontation, and she hated it even more when she was the subject of an argument.
Hermione's eyes raked over Draco, taking in his white-blond hair, his grey eyes, and his lean, athletic build.
Unbidden, a small flush rose into her cheeks as she took in the sight of him, mussed and rosy-cheeked from exertion; she had to admit that he looked very dashing. He caught sight of her staring, and before she could curtsy, his lip curled.
His handsome face twisted into a mocking sneer as he blatantly appraised her, judging every inch of her appearance. Once again, Hermione was reminded of her station. Silently, she promised herself that she would make sure to never again look this frumpy in the presence of the Duke or his son.
She couldn't explain it, but there was something about him that seemed familiar. She wracked her brain for the answer, but found that her thoughts came to a screeching halt as a shadow of silver flickered across his irises.
Her stomach dropped and her blood ran cold as she recognized the look in his eye.
His gaze was filled with so much raw hatred that she felt sick. Her heart pumped frantically in her chest as her instincts sent a flood of adrenaline through her veins.
No, it can't be!