Blood Lost Chapter 8
Hermione floated in a warm expanse of dreams. Her head leaned on a warm shoulder, and there was something safe about the feeling that encompassed her. And then she was kissing someone, flying across ocean waters, and up into the sky, and a body without a distinguishable face that fit perfectly against hers.
When Hermione woke, she felt like she wanted to cry. To be loved, is that so much to ask for? To have a shoulder to lean against, to have someone to kiss, someone to love and love you back….
And all she had was Malfoy.
It's just a betrothal, she told herself. Who knows, Lucius will make one mistake, one miss-step, and we will have him. I don't care if I have to go snooping about the place all night; I'll find out just what Lucius is up to and then I'll be free, Draco will be free.
Soon, it was time to rise from the comfortable warmth of her bed.
Hermione contemplated whether she should disregard Mrs. Malfoy's letter and just wear her own garb, but then thought better of it. This is a different game you're playing Hermione, she told herself. And if you know the rules, you might as well use them.
The only problem was that Hermione had no idea what to wear under the traveling robes. Pureblooded wizards surely didn't wear muggle clothing; did they wear nothing other than their knickers?
Hermione scolded herself for leaving this till the last minute, now she didn't have time to go to the library. She hurriedly ran through her memory, trying to remember pictures, or any book where clothing had been mentioned. Anything she remembered seemed so out-of-date….
Of course, the etiquette books! Hermione had checked a few of them out of the library, but had avoided reading them after the first page. They were so sickeningly brainwashing material for airheaded purebloods that Hermione felt as though she would puke after the first page.
They were under her bed. She took out The Young Witches Primer and searched for the section about dress. Wincing past the sickeningly polite tone, Hermione deduced that clothing for purebloods hadn't changed much in the past couple of hundred years. And of course Hermione didn't have anything like that…
This dress will have to do, thought Hermione holding up a wrinkled blue sundress from the bottom of her trunk.
Why am I getting in such a state over dress? Hermione would think after she was dressed and all was packed and ready to go.
A knock sounded at her door; it was time to go.
****
There was a carriage taking them from Hogwarts' grounds to their portkey held in Hogsmead. Hermione was instantly reminded of the eighteenth century, and she remembered that wizarding families were slow to change.
"You realize that you won't be able to go snooping about whenever you please," Draco said. He looked none the worse for having drank a whole bottle of Firewiskey the night before; nothing was visibly wrong, anyway. The perks of being a Slytherin.
"My father will expect it of you. He'll be expecting you to try and uncover something about him," Draco continued.
"Then why bother at all?" Hermione asked, partly just to see if she could get a rise out of Malfoy.
"We have to play his game for now." The bait wasn't taken. And then Hermione's thoghts swiveled on his next sentence: "Just be careful."
Hermione raised an eyebrow; now he actually cared if she happened to live or die? After avoiding her like the black plague for almost two months?
"Just what are we going to do if we find out something?"
"Depends on what it is. Don't go talking out loud about anything that might hint about the fact I'm-"
"Spying?" offered Hermione. Draco ignored her.
"No place in Malfoy Manor is safe for us to talk unless I explicitly place a silencing charm and warding charm around the small area."
****
Hermione didn't even get a chance to see the outside of Malfoy Manor; the portkey took them directly to some sort of entrance hall. The first words that popped into Hermione's head were: huge and cold. The ceiling reached several stories in height before tapering off in an ornate series of gilded decoration and sky windows. The whole room was pearly white tinted with blues and silvers; marble floor, inlaid stone walls, torches bearing the Malfoy seal and decorated with jade or emeralds or moonstone….
Draco was watching her. Hermione checked herself; she stood up strait and waited for him to speak first.
Seemingly satisfied, Draco turned with a swish of his robes (a move no doubt taken from Professor Snape, or perhaps his father….) and walked down the hall. His shiny boots tapped; the only sound save for their breath.
Hermione followed Draco into a sitting room where his parents waited. It was odd to see that these two people had created Draco, that he'd grown up in this ice-palace. It didn't look very comforting; no wonder he'd always been so adverse to the love of friendships, and those who had them.
Lucius Malfoy was a statue of an older version of Draco, but with narrowed eyes and more of a pinch to his features. He silently greeted Draco with a nod, and his eyes rested on Hermione where they seemed to appraise her.
Hermione glared openly; screw the rules.
Draco was kissing his mother's hand, and she gave a small smile before immediately drawing her gaze to Hermione.
Unfortunately, Hermione was still glaring.
Narcissa Malfoy's surprise was well hidden; or perhaps she had expected it. Hermione briefly wondered whether it would be more off-putting to behave like the barbarian they thought she was, or to have perfect manners that they wouldn't be able to find fault with.
Like the other Malfoys, Narcissa sported pale blonde hair and light eyes, and Hermione briefly wondered if Lucius had chosen her just for that. But then, she must've been a perfect pureblooded young lady as well….
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Hermione," Mrs. Malfoy said as she took a seat upon one of the low couches.
Hermione followed her lead and took a seat as well.
"Draco, do please leave me to converse with your betrothed. Then I shall send her to you so you can properly show her the Manor before dinner."
Draco left, leaving her alone with her 'mother-in-law' to-be.
"Oh, I didn't even give you a chance to change out of those traveling clothes," Narcissa said, rising and taking Hermione's cloak from around her shoulders. "Did you like them? I never had a daughter to spoil with clothes before. Girl robes are so much more varied than boy's, I made quite a day of shopping for those robes."
Hermione was surprised at the words that came forth from Mrs. Malfoy's mouth. They were polite, true, but she had expected something more of cold hatred from this woman who was the wife of the next possible Dark Lord.
"Blue isn't really quite your color, I'm afraid," Mrs. Malfoy continued. Hermione instantly flushed; blue was her favorite color.
Before Hermione knew it, an appointed to go shopping the next day was made, and she was whisked away by Draco along the large hall. Had she even said a word? Hermione couldn't recall.
It was already late afternoon. Draco apologized; there wasn't enough to time to show her around, and surely she would want this time to prepare for dinner?
It was obvious Draco was putting on an act. And he expected her to do the same.
Hermione changed into the dinner robes. They were lavender, probably not her color as it was very close to blue. Had Narcissa been expecting some pale–haired beauty to wear these light blue garments? Or perhaps she just didn't know that there were other colors besides every shade of blue and silver.
The door opened, and Hermione knew who it was.
His eyes flashed like starlight. Or moonlight. Or some other divine silver light that struck Hermione almost blind.
He was close now, and against the wall, in this unfamiliar palace, Hermione had no place to run. Inches from each other, Draco's breath drew lightly across her forehead. He leaned down to look her in the eyes, and Hermione saw a question expressed in his features, something entirely different. Unconsciously, Hermione tilted her head up; it almost seemed as if….
"Dinner is served!" exclaimed the House-elf as he bounded into the room. Then he noticed Draco and Hermione's positions. "Oh! I is so sorry, Young Master. I must be going then, to walk across the coals; unless Young Master has a certain punishment for Ginka?"
"No, it's quite alright." When the house-elf left, Draco let out a small sigh. Then he took his wand from a fold in his robes and whispered a couple of charms about the sitting area.
"Well, that ought to appease Father," Draco said when he was done.
"Excuse me?" Hermione whirled
"Ginka is very loyal to my father. He'll be sure to pass along the message."
"You planned this." Was she relieved or disappointed?
"Yes," Draco simply said. Hermione took a moment to notice the dark robes he was wearing, some sort of shade that looked almost purple, meant to compliment her light robes. The effect might have worked if she had black hair, but her brown tresses….great, she was already turning into a young lady, contemplating dress robe colors. Time to get her mind back on the matter at hand.
"Well, you could have warned me. I was about to slap you, you know."
"But you have to pretend to be falling for my charms."
"If we are to fool your father I believe your charms need a little work." Merlin, she wasn't flirting now, was she?
Silver eyes met hers, and a brow raised in question. "Shall we then?" he offered his arm, and the pair stepped into the hall of facades, masks, and deceivement.