Chapter 6 – Under Frozen Skies

2 Weeks Later – Sometime in January

"We can't leave her with them. The only reason we know she is still alive is because they haven't paraded her corpse around!" Ron argued. He plopped down into a chair, which protested with a loud creak.

"No one is suggesting we abandon her, Ron." Ginny scoffed. She was pacing back and forth in the overcrowded room.

"As unfortunate as Ms. Granger's situation is, "Kingsley argued, "We can't risk your or others' safety, Harry."

Harry Potter was standing by a rickety wooden chair, arms crossed, and feet planted defiantly.

"Neither Ron nor I would have made it this far without her!" He shouted, "Hermione is the only reason we still have a chance. I'm not doing anything until I know she is safe from him. Listen to me Kingsley, it's time for us to fight back. We need to do something they won't expect."

Kingsley pinched the bridge of his nose and beckoned Lupin over.

"Remus, my friend," his voice weary, clapping the tired werewolf on the back, "Time to contact your old schoolmate again."

Hermione's eyes cracked open to long rays of sunshine. The light poured into her room and shone brightly in her eyes. She sat up looking around the beautiful room that was surrounding her. She was exhausted. The nightmares she screamed into the night had not abated. She had sat day after day in this stunning place, with no contact beyond Ciskey bring her three square meals and bossily reminding her to bathe.

The lovely green (Slytherin green, she acknowledged with rolling eyes) walls, ornately carved bed, and rich tapestries had astounded her the first couple days. Fortunately, no portraits resided in this room in which to spy on her. An elaborate fireplace crackled pleasantly nearby, keeping the room warm and tolerable. She had fingered the plush fabric surrounding the oversized bed, held by thick braided cords. In the attached washroom, she had run her fingers over the bright copper clawfoot tub illuminated by an overhead glittering crystal chandelier. It was easy to feel insignificant within this grandeur.

Hermione flinched, remembering that night's particularly nasty dream. Bellatrix hadn't stopped at carving that hateful word into her skin. She had just kept going, no matter how much Hermione begged her to stop. The word had covered every inch of her flesh and the wounds had wept and wept til the tiled floors were covered in a thin layer of Hermione's blood. Lost in her latest nightmare, Hermione picked at the bandage covering the wound. Ciskey had to change it twice a day. It wasn't bleeding as freely as it previously had, but the stubborn wound refused to close completely. A small blot of red began to seep through the white linen.

She groaned and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, where a headache was beginning to blossom. No one had visited her, and she had grown lethargic with the silence. The door was locked, and the windows had some enchantment in place that kept her from escaping. She had paced back and forth practicing non-verbal spell work to pass the time. So far, she had managed Lumos, Wingardium Leviosa, and Avia. Unfortunately, Alohamora hadn't worked, but she suspected the charm on the room's door was more advanced than that. The tea and eggs sat untouched as she padded to the bathroom. Hermione observed herself in the mirror. Dark circles lined her eyes and her chocolate mane seemed more wild than usual. She shrugged, probably from tossing and turning in her sleep. A creak put Hermione on alert, and she grabbed the nearest object to defend herself.

"A comb won't help you or that sad excuse you call hair." Came a snarky voice.

"Malfoy…" Hermione breathed out, relief flooding her.

He stood before her, tall and slender, in a handsome cloak of charcoal gray. He tossed her a similar cloak of deep, emerald green covered with a delicate design. Hermione made a face at the garment in her hand.

"Mother has requested I 'escort' you outside for fresh air. Can't have you all sickly and withered away when the Dark Lord summons you." He scowled. "Let's go, Marked One."

"Stop calling me that!" Hermione demanded. "I have a name you know. Plus, what does this ridiculous mark even mean!?" she huffed while dropping the comb with a clatter.

Malfoy shrugged and gestured to the lovely cloak, an irritated look on his face.

"I don't know, Marked One." He snarled, "I didn't ask to be your personal babysitter and I'm not in the habit of questioning the Dark Lord's motivations."

"Well maybe you should!" she snapped. "What does he want with me anyways? To slowly go mad, sitting in this room day after day?" She tugged the cloak on and stomped out of the bathroom, pushing by Malfoy.

"Look," Malfoy exhaled deeply, his frustration evident, "I don't know what he wants. I'm just trying to protect my family and to keep the Dark Lord from bleeding me dry. I'm running out of room for scars." He muttered bitterly.

That last sentence stopped Hermione short. Hadn't she just dreamed of her body covered in cuts and scars? Odd that Malfoy's words would echo her dreams. She wasn't sure if Malfoy even meant for her to hear, the words had been spoken so softly. She slowly turned to him, a resigned melancholy filling her. He may have aligned himself with the Dark Lord, but it sounded almost as if he only did it out of necessity. She cleared her throat.

"Maybe some fresh air isn't a terrible idea." She said carefully, while drawing the cloak's fur-lined hood over her willful tresses.

"Are you bloody insane!?" Mundungus snapped.

"That's your plan?" Aberforth questioned, his shock evident.

I gotta say I'm impressed. Is this a Muggle thing, Harry?" George spoke, a tone of amusement in his voice.

Order members were shouting and arguing over the rescue plan Harry had just outlined. He stood by, waiting for everyone to calm down and fully grasp the idea. It was a long shot, but if this plan worked, this could potentially shift the war in their favor. Surprisingly, George was correct for the most part. Although Harry certainly wasn't going to tell any of them that his idea was based very loosely on Muggle films. If they survived this, Harry would have to tell Dudley that his action movies had essentially ensured the survival of countless witches and wizards.

"Oi!" Tonks yelled, grabbing everyone's attention. She winked at Harry who gave her a small, appreciative nod in return.

"Look, I know it sounds crazy." He started.

"Crazy? It's bloody ridiculous." Ron grumbled, "I can't believe you are doing this to her." Harry shot him a look of contempt and continued.

"If this works, we can save one than more life and deal a severe blow to Vol-," he stumbled, nearly activating the Taboo, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." He released an annoyed sigh and waited for the Order's response.

"Well," Tonks announced cheerfully, "Count me in." She turned to the group and gave an expectant look.

"It's mad," Lupin acquiesced, "But, just mad enough to work."

"Tonks and I will locate the 'scapegoat' since we have Auror clearance." Kingsley declared, "Mundungus, can you find what Harry has described?"

Mundungus Fletcher's mouth broke into a wide-toothed grin.

"Black market items are my specialty." He boasted and quickly scurried out of the room.

Hermione thought it was absolutely outrageous how stunning the grounds of Malfoy Manor were. The rolling hills were shrouded in a low mist, the ground covered in a sparkling layer of frost. A grove of dark pine trees stood silently ahead, dusted with fresh snow. To the left, a large glass and metal structure loomed with large stone steps leading to the entrance. A conservatory, she guessed. On her right, a massive body of water sat surrounded by elegant gazebos with icicle-clad weeping willows brushing their thin tendrils over the frozen surface. It was absolutely breathtaking, and she tried to imagine the glory of this place in spring with blossoms in full color. She scoffed.

"Is this place enchanted to look like a painting?" she demanded, "Because this is just absurd!"

Malfoy gave her a sideways glance.

"What are you going on about?" he murmured.

Hermione threw her hands up in defeat. Of course, Malfoy would have absolutely no idea what she was talking about. He grew up around this, season after season. He probably didn't even grasp just how stunning his home was. She snorted thinking about how he might react to her parents' house. They had been comfortable, with both her parents being successful dentists. He'd probably think her childhood home an absolute run-down hovel.

"What's so funny, Marked One?" he grunted, "Or have you finally gone mad?" A shade of a smirk upon his mouth.

She whipped her head in his direction, the hood of her cloak falling off. She gestured wildly to their surroundings.

"This place is incredible." She shook her head, coming to a standstill at an elegant marble gazebo at the edge of the lake.

"I-…I've never seen anything so…," Her voice beginning to tremble, "…wonderful in my whole life." She bit her bottom lip in an effort to stem the tidal wave of hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

He inhaled sharply, a disparaging remark poised on his tongue when his eyes connected with hers. She had been chattering on about his family's ancestral grounds and when she had pivoted around, the viridian cloak billowing like a shimmering green mist against the pure white snow. Her hood had slipped off releasing unruly chestnut ringlets and a rosy flush on the apples of her cheeks. Her small physique framed by the skeletons of frosted willows on the edges of the lake, but it was her eyes that truly stilled the cold air in his lungs. Those burnished gold irises rimmed with watery tears had pierced to his core. The small tremble of her lips felt like a crushing weight in the pit of his stomach. This was wrong. Granger was otherworldly, as if the wintery scene were created just for her. Draco awkwardly stepped forward when a single tear fell from the corner of her eye.

"I…. Granger, you-," his voice strangled, "Please, don't…"

She tilted her head, a distressed and perplexed look on her face.

"You called me Granger."

Draco blinked rapidly, realizing his error, and took a step back. He quickly cleared his throat.

"That's enough for today. Let's go." He spoke sharply and took off in a near sprint back to the Manor.

Another Week Later

"Is everyone ready?" Harry Potter inquired, looking around.

Several Order members nodded while the rest stood still, radiating nervous energy. Kingsley and Tocks were guarding some dreamy-eyed wizard who was clutching a Portkey in one hand and an object similar to the artifact that had destroyed Xenophilius Lovegood's home in the other. Harry was relieved Mundungus had managed to locate another one in the bowels of Knockturn Alley. They needed a rather large distraction if they were going to save Hermione.

"Now we wait for the signal." Harry directed.

In an abandoned building, just north of London, two figures speak in hushed tones. One wearing all black, a look of disdain contorting their face. Another, in threadbare robes, extends out a scarred hand. The opposing figures briefly shake hands and disappear into the night.

Miles away, a doe Patronus appears in Draco Malfoy's room. Startled by the intrusion, Draco draws his wand in alarm. The doe simply flicks her ears and waits for Draco to lower his wand.

"Severus," Draco acknowledges, "It's late. What is so urgent that you must appear in Patronus form?"

"Tomorrow morning, Granger will be brought before the Dark Lord for 'The Rite'. Be prepared to leave this place." Snape's voice echoes from the glowing form. Suddenly, the doe's flanks quiver and promptly vanishes.

"No." Draco whispers, horrified, "Not The Rite."

A watery dawn rose, and another tray of food sat untouched next to the bed. Hermione was drained. Another week of nightmares and hardly any sleep. However, another scenario had entered her dreams lately. Malfoy's odd behavior. He had called her Granger instead of that dreadful 'Marked One' moniker. She hadn't seen him since. He had been so flustered. She had never seen him so unsure of his words. Yet, he was undeniably not the same snobbish, hateful brat from their younger years. A brat who had looked ridiculous with his slicked back hair and nearly permanent sneer, spreading vicious rumors and terrorizing anyone who wasn't a Slytherin. Now, he was subdued and solemn. The haughty attitude remained but no longer held the mean-spirited bite it once had. His features had smoothed out to an elegant bone structure along with a streamlined, athletic build. But it was his eyes that had changed the most. They held a deep weariness that had startled Hermione. Those were the eyes of someone who had witnessed a lifetime of horrors. Hermione scoffed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She should be working out how to escape or deciphering the meaning of her mark, not imagining Malfoy's damn eyes!

POP

"Marked One, your presence is required this evening." Ciskey gestured to a gown carefully laid out on the bed, "Ciskey shall assist you."

Hermione begin to shake. She hadn't been summoned since her capture nearly three weeks ago. She became particularly alarmed when she noticed the exquisite detail of the gown. Her eyes narrowed.

"Ciskey, what exactly is that for!?" she whispered, agitated. The dress was a soft gray. A corseted bodice covered in meticulous lace detail and tiny pearls with a voluminous gray chiffon skirt, a silver chain draped next to it. But what truly stunned Hermione was the delicate diadem that flashed brilliantly with smoky stones and obscenely large pearls presented carefully in a black velvet-lined mahogany box. Would she ever cease being caught by surprise at the Malfoys' immense wealth or highly sophisticated taste in fine clothing?

Ciskey studied Hermione and simply answered, "This is for the Marked One's formal presentation."

Hermione blanched.

"Are you telling me that I am to be paraded around like a debutante at some creepy Death Eater gala?!" her voice rising to a shrilly level as she slowly backed away from the house elf, "I won't do this! I refuse!"

Hermione begin to gasp, her heart beating frantically. The room begin to spin as she struggled to take in air. As black fog crept over her mind, Hermione thought she saw Narcissa Malfoy's elegant face appear, creased in mild concern and annoyance.