And
We Have Sinned
Chapter Four: Future's Faces
Author:
Dizzy
Hermione almost couldn't make him
out, hidden in the shadows as he was. They seemed to suit
him, the
shadows, they fit around him, caressing his cheeks and masking his
eyes, hiding him
from the world. And while this should have scared
her, it didn't.
Kylie bowed low upon presenting Hermione to
him, and then backed out the large oak doors,
back into the
hallway.
Hermione could only stand there, clutching with
sweaty hands at the skirt of her gown, her eyes trained on
the
floor.
"So you decided to join me?" Draco's voice
was hard, and he didn't move from his spot by the
window.
"Yes,"
Hermione said softly. "I didn't want to starve." Draco
didn't respond, merely pushed
himself away.
"Then by
all means don't," he plopped into a seat at the head, his feet
finding a rest spot on the
chair diagonal too him, spread out and
luxurious. Completely informal.
So Hermione cross the room,
and sat on the seat to his left. Breakfast it seemed consisted of
the
same creamy soup of the previous day, and a few more slices of
the crispy bread. This time
however it was accompanied by wine,
tall flutes full of the blood red liquid.
"Have you
heard from your father?" Hermione asked, dipping the bread into
the soup. Draco
didn't touch the food, he merely picked up the
wine glass, swirling it a bit.
He didn't answer. He took a
long swig, not exactly the aristocratic gesture she would
have
imagined, but graceful nonetheless. Apparently no conversation was
going to be had this
morning, and that suited Hermione just
fine.
She took a small bite of the bread, watching him out of
the corner of her eye as she ate. He
didn't glance at her, merely
kept looking out the window, absently taking a sip of his wine
now
and again, till the glass was drained, and her bread was gone.
He refilled it, and she picked up
her spoon.
It was
possibly the most awkward breakfast Hermione had ever sat through,
but strangely
domestic in nature. Draco took another sip.
"It's
a little early to be drinking isn't it?" She turned her
attention on him, casting a derisive
glance to the wine glass. He
didn't respond, just took another sip. Hermione sighed, her
spoon
falling into the bowl with a wet plop.
"Why do
you care?" Draco asked, just as she made to stand up.
"I
don't."
"Then why try to make conversation?" He
took another sip, and Hermione shrugged.
"I thought about
what you said," Hermione said. She didn't mention Kylie's
information. She
didn't want the girl to get in trouble on account
of her. "And I guess your right."
"About?"
"We're
both prisoner's here," she looked at him. "And I guess it's
worse for you." At that Draco
raised his eyebrow at her, and
took another sip.
"How's that again?"
"Cause
you're his son." She turned, and walked towards the door. Draco
stared after her for a
minute, and took yet another sip.
Lucius could hear her screaming all the way
on the other side of the wing. They were pained and
frightened
screams, and were accompanied by the occasional shattering of glass.
He closed his eyes.
He couldn't take much more of this. She
could ruin everything with the visions of hers. They
made her
weak, pained her beyond imagination, and they had long ago taken her
sanity. And
now they could ruin everything.
If the man
across him was bothered he showed no sign of it, just merely
continued to smile in a
self-satisfied way. Even Lucius was
terrified by the smile, but he had long ago gotten used to it.
Voldemort sat across from him, fingers steepled, smiling that
smile.
"Everything is going perfectly Lucius." The
smile grew more terrifying if possible. But Lucius
remained
stone-faced. "I must say I'm very impressed."
"I
do only what you wish Master," Lucius bowed his head
respectfully.
"Of course you do." Voldemort stood.
"But these visions of hers are becoming a bit of a
problem.
Wouldn't you agree?"
"They are,"
Lucius nodded. "But I have a solution for that." Voldemort
lifted his hood.
"There isn't much time Lucius," he
said. "I'd employ it, and soon. If my calculations are correct
it
will only be a matter of weeks." Lucius nodded.
"I
will see to it My Lord."
"See that you do."
And with that the man disappeared in a thick cloud of black swirling
smoke.
Lucius smirked, standing. He had a solution all right. It
was just a matter of time.
Draco really
didn't know why he was going. But his feet seemed to have a mind of
their own,
and he could only listen to the clack of boots on
marble as they made their way down the
hallway, toward her room.
Kylie had discovered it this morning, her explorations of the
palace had been fruitful in a
completely useless way it seemed.
And he had let her have free reign for the rest of the day.
He
had debated with himself for an hour before he finally felt his feet
start their journey. He had
thought to let Kylie tell her, but
Kylie would be occupied for a long time it seemed, and he
doubted
she'd get to it before morning. And he wanted Hermione to know now.
Perhaps it was the guilt he felt over what he had done.
Perhaps it was concern over her mental
state, but whatever it was
it had led him to this. He stood outside the large oak of the door
a
moment before he raised a fist.
His knock was short and
terse, and he almost fled in the other direction. But he was no
coward.
And it was just a nice gesture, not a military operation.
The door opened after a few moments and Hermione's face
appeared, confused, and a bit
frightened.
"What's
wrong?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. Had
Lucius sent for her? Was it
time? A thousand possibilities for his
appearance at "her" room flew through her head.
"I
have something to show you," Draco bit out.
Before she
could respond he had grabbed her arm and was jerking her down the
hallway. And
she didn't even protest this time. She was actually
getting used to his commanding ways, she was
actually getting used
to be dragged around like some dog with an impatient master. But she
was
also curious.
The Winter Palace was huge. It was all
twisting corridors and an endless amount of rooms, most
bare.
There were stairs that seemed to lead nowhere, and doorways that
opened to reveal wall. It
was a place with no regard to
architecture or design, just horrifying oddness. Hermione
had
ventured no father then her room, the dining room and the
small bath that Kylie had shown her,
which came with several
rather pleasurable amenities. Like a razor for one, which had
been
useful, and might, if times got even more desperate, prove
even more so.
She had no idea where they were going, but it
was good 5 minute walk around and around in
what seemed like
circles. Circles that seemed as if they would go on forever until he
stopped abruptly in front of huge oak doors that seemed to
stretch
up into the darkness of the ceiling.
"Is this it?"
Hermione asked. Draco gave a nod, and twisted the silver knob in the
middle of the
door.
It swung open. And Hermione
gasped.
Along the walls were impossibly high windows, black
silk curtains hung down them and bright
white light shone through,
casting the room into brightness.
There was a black sofa on
the lower portion of it, in front of that, what looked to be a
coffee
table, and further beyond, was a desk and a chair. But
that's not what she was interested it.
Three steps led to a
higher raised portion, and along the entire expanse of it was row
upon row
of bookshelves, filled with novels. A hand went to her
mouth as she took them all in.
It was larger then even the
Hogwarts Library, three times so, and she knew there were
volumes
within its confines that no other library in the world
would carry.
Draco watched her, for the first time her face
cracked into a smile, and the light that had been so
much apart of
who she was reentered her eyes. He almost smiled, but refrained,
rubbing a hand
unconsciously on his cloak.
"I thought
you'd enjoy something to do," he said finally. "Kylie found
it."
"It's wonderful," Hermione crossed the
room, practically sprinting to the shelves. Her face full of
a
love and appreciation he couldn't fathom. Her hands skimmed the air
just before the spines of
the novels, as if touching them would
break the illusion.
There was everything here, from muggle
classics, to the Dark Arts, and she even saw a few of
her
Hogwart's texts. They were all old, and more then a little dusty,
untouched for years, their
spines weathered and peeling, the
titles faded from age. She felt her heart lurch and she turned.
"Thank you." She whispered. She saw the boy shift
his weight from one leg to the other,
shrugging.
"Kylie
found it," he repeated. He turned.
"Where are you
going?" She took a step forward.
"My father has
need of me," he said shortly. Hermione bit her lip.
"Will
you come back?" Draco nodded, his back still to her.
"I'm
not leaving," he said finally. "He's meeting me here."
Hermione's breath caught, and her
heart pounded in her chest.
Lucius was coming here. The thought filled her with fear, and
hatred
for the man who had done this.
"Will he...will
he do anything?" Hermione let out the shaky breath. Draco
shrugged and turned.
"I can't keep telling you I don't
know," Draco said. "It's tiring."
"Can
you at least tell me why you did it?"
"I already
did." He said tersely. "I had to."
"Nobody
HAS to do anything," Hermione's fear turned to anger. All
thoughts of the beautiful
books banished, all thoughts of Lucius
pushed aside. Draco laughed, a bitter laugh. One full of
contempt,
whether it was directed to her or something else she didn't
know.
"If you believe that," Draco said finally, his
eyes locking with hers. They were cold, and a little
pitying.
"Then you're not as smart as I gave you credit for." And
then he turned, the door
slamming behind him as he left.
Lucius regarded his son with cold eyes, he
sat across from him in the filthy study in the West
Wing of the
Palace, wondering how he had let the place fall into such disrepair.
Wondered how
he had let his son slip so far away from the original
plan.
Draco simply sat there, meeting his father's gaze,
stubborn and defiant as ever. He said not a
word as Lucius went
on. Giving instructions, and he could feel the pain in his chest with
each
thought he directed at the man. It was almost enough to make
him falter, make him flinch. And
his hand was clenching the arm of
the chair, knuckles white from wanting to reach up to it. But
he
didn't.
"Two days," Lucius was saying. "And
then you will bring her here." Lucius motioned to
the
room.
"And if I don't?" Draco asked. He felt
the sharp burst in his chest, and almost cried out, but
remained
stoic.
"Then I will fetch her myself," Lucius
stood. "I can't tell you how much you've disappointed me."
"I
can't tell you how much I don't care." Draco watched as his
father crossed over to the hearth,
withdrawing a small pouch from
his pocket.
"You will learn," Lucius's voice was
hard. "That your defiance will fail you, and then where will you
be?" He stepped into the hearth, and reached a hand into the
pouch, touching one of the small glass orbs there. And then he was
gone, leaving Draco alone in the room with his
thoughts, and his
pain.
Draco had checked the library,
hoping to find her there sitting at one of the tables. He had
half
expected her to be there, lost in the books she loved so
much, twirling that one strand of hair just
before her ear in that
lazy habit she had. But she hadn't been there.
Neither had
Kylie. Although several volumes were obviously missing from the
stacks he could
see, big gaping holes in their place instead. But
the girls were no where to be found.
But he couldn't expect
them to stay in there forever. He had sat for hours in the room, lost
in his
thoughts. He didn't want to subject the girl to anymore
then she'd already been through, but it
was unavoidable. He
doubted Lucius would hurt her at their first initial meeting, but one
could
never be sure.
He made his way down the corridors
once more. He had decided, in his long session with
himself, that
he would tell her. She deserved to know, and he could give her what
little
information he had. He owed her that.
Still, there
was the apprehension, the knowledge that she would be less then
pleased. In fact she
would continue to hate him.
Bringing
her to Lucius was not in itself a horrible thing, and he had no idea
why he felt such
foreboding. Lucius had plans for her, big plans.
Plans that could jeopardize everything the
Malfoy's had worked so
hard for. Draco had no idea what those plans were, but he knew
they
were important. Lucius had spent most of Draco's life trying
to win back the family honor, he
had slaved to restore the good
name of the Malfoy's. He worked to regain power over the
Ministry.
And he was throwing it all away.
He didn't bother to knock,
he just burst into her room.
She was perched primly on the
chair by her bed, a book in hand. He almost smiled. She was
wearing
his cloak. Her own, rescued from the trunk she had dragged into the
room, was draped
across her lap. And just as he had thought, that
one little curl was just as frazzled as ever. She
had a nervous
habit of twirling it around her finger when she read, something he
had watched
her do countless times.
She started when the
door burst open, the book tumbling from her hands, sliding across
the
velvet of her robe and landing open on the floor.
"What's
wrong?" she stood up abruptly, the cloak on her lap joining the
book.
"Nothing," he ran a hand through his
hair.
"Don't lie to me," there was an edge to her
voice, one full of worry and anger. He could see the
fear in her
eyes, the wide-eyed expression on her face giving her away.
"It's
nothing really big," he amended. "Sit down."
She
did so, ignoring the blatant commanding tone. But she was not
relaxed. She perched on the
edge of the armchair, her hands
running across the fabric of her dress in an effort to wipe
her
sweaty palms.
"I spoke with my father today,"
he crossed the room to the bed, taking a seat on it, stretching
his
long legs out in front of him as if he had not a care in the
world. But his expression was
unreadable, a bad sign in the world
of Draco Malfoy.
"And?"
"And, he
wishes to meet with you in two days," as he expected her breath
caught, and the fear in
her eyes turned to terror. Lucius Malfoy
would have been proud to know he could get such a
reaction just at
the mere mention of his presence.
"Wh-Why?"
Hermione was trying to remain calm. She had known to expect it sooner
or later.
Lucius would not have ordered his son to kidnap her if
he didn't wish to do something with her at
one point. Draco
shrugged, cool and aloof.
"I have no clue," his
eyes locked with hers. "I don't think he'll hurt you though,"
his voice was
soft, but far from comforting.
"You do,"
Hermione stood up again. "You missed dinner. You were gone for
HOURS," she
snapped. She took a step towards him, her
expression turning from fear to anger. "He had to
have told
you something."
"The meeting with my father lasted
only 15 minutes tops," Draco didn't move from his seat on
the
bed. Looking for all the world like they were discussing something
mundane, even boring.
Not her life.
"And?"
"And I told you-" Draco snapped. "-all he said
is that he wishes to meet with you in two days."
"And
do what? Blood rituals? Sacrificing of goats?" she began to
pace.
"I can't keep repeating myself Granger," Draco
sighed. "If you're not going to listen to the
answers don't
keep asking the questions."
He rubbed a hand across his
face. "I don't think he's going to hurt you."
"Oh
right," Hermione stopped her pacing to glare at him. "We'll
just have some tea and a nice
chat, is that right?"
"It's
just a meeting," Draco said, he stood up.
He had gotten
no indication from Lucius that it was anything other then just that.
An assessment,
a test to see if the girl would suit his purposes.
And as much as Draco didn't want to bring her to
him, he had too.
He reached up unconsciously, his hand slipping into his robe, trying
to ease the
sharp stab of pain that had made itself known the
minute he had even thought of NOT carrying
out his father's
orders.
"Fine." Hermione went over to her chair.
Sitting herself down in it. "Why didn't he take you back
with
him?" Draco shrugged.
"I don't know," he
whirled, crossing to the door in swift strides, going towards the
door.
He had told her. He'd done his good deed for the day.
He didn't need to engage in meaningless
conversation with her to
boot. He had research to do, and Kylie's discovery of the library
might
just help him out in that regard.
Hermione said
nothing, she just sat there watching him leave. The possibilities of
the meeting
whirled through her head, none of them bright and
cheery. Mostly they had to deal with blood
and death. Hers. She
felt her heart squeeze, knowing that if it came to that no one could
save her.
Ron and Harry thought she was away on holiday,
opening presents with her parents and visiting
relatives. They
thought she was happy, not scared out of her mind.
And Draco
was not an option for a hero. He hated her, and on top of that he was
so corrupted by
his father he hadn't thought twice about stealing
her away from her boring, but happy existence
at Hogwarts. She
wondered idly if her parents were even worried about her. Or had he
taken care
of that as well?
Hermione brought her knees to
her chest, resting her forehead on the tops of them, breathing
deep.
No, Draco was no hero. He was the villain.
Every
meal they shared was in silence. Three times a day they met, and ate
in the tension filled
dining room, awkward and cold. Although,
Draco it seemed hardly did that much. He spooned
up little bits of
the soup that had become the only meal made at The Winter Palace, and
let it fall
back into the bowl untouched. Mostly he just drank his
wine and stared off into space, lost in his
own thoughts.
They
saw little of each other. Usually just brief glimpses in the library
that had become a
common ground for all three of the Palace's
guest. Even Kylie was distant. If that was Draco's
order or not
Hermione was not sure, but the girl was not as friendly as she had
been the first few
days.
Hermione had stolen into the
library many times, and had caught the boy pouring over huge
thick
texts, lost in something she couldn't ask about. He flipped through
pages, grunted in
frustration, fueled by a fire he wouldn't
elaborate on. So she didn't even try to ask. She just
scanned the
titles, grabbed a book and left. It was a horrible bit of
circumstance.
Not a word passed between them that wasn't
laced with bitterness. It made the situation seem
completely
hopeless. And Hermione had lost herself to tears, alone in her room,
the beautiful
books her only company. She was sure she had never
cried more then she did those next two
days. More then even the
first couple.
But when Draco came to collect her on the third
day, just as Kylie had finished running the brush
through her
hair, setting it back in the wardrobe, she suddenly stopped being
sad, stopped being scared. His expression was grim, but a
complete
mystery to her.
They said nothing, merely left
her room and walked down the twisting corridors to Lucius.
Hermione
reflexively swallowed, trying to calm herself. Her nails dug into her
palms, forming
little half moons on the skin, but it was
comforting. Unlike the statue who walked beside her.
They
stopped in front of a pair of huge oak doors, like the library's they
stretched forever into the
ceiling, past where he eyes could see
in the darkness. He looked at her for a moment,
and
swallowed.
"Don't be afraid," he said after a
moment. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his.
"Aren't
you coming with me?" she whispered. He shook his head.
"I'm
just supposed to present you to him," he looked away. "Nothing
more."
For a brief second Hermione saw a flash of
reluctance across his face, and some of the anger she
had been
feeling for the past few days faded. He couldn't help who he was, who
his father was.
And perhaps he was right, some people didn't have
a choice. Like Kylie. Hermione reached out,
her hand grasping his.
She gave it a squeeze, and there was a brief pressure, as if he
returned it.
But then it was gone, his hand wrenching away, going
instead to the handle of the door.
Hermione took a breath,
and followed him into the study.
She had seen Lucius
Malfoy many times, here and there. But she was struck by
Draco's
resemblance to his father. They shared the same
aristocratic nose, the same hard planes and angles and
high
cheekbones. The same lack of discernible expression. But
Draco was taller then his father, and
not quite as lanky as the
man before her. Draco was muscular and broad shouldered from years
of
Quidditch. This man was skinny and bony. He sat lazily in the chair,
his legs stretched out
before him in a way that was just like
Draco's. He regarded her with cold, blue eyes, not even
attempting
to mask his loathing for her.
His eyes swept up her body, a
smirk forming on his lips as they raked her form. Hermione
shivered
under his gaze, it was so predatory. More of a leer then a gaze
really. She felt Draco
tense next to her.
"Leave us."
Lucius waved a hand to the door.
At first Draco didn't move,
and she looked at him. His face was twisted in an expression she
had
never seen on him before. Pain. His jaw was clenched so hard a
muscle was ticking away in it
and he took a step backwards. She
wanted to reach out to him, to ask him what was wrong, but
she
couldn't. She knew that. Finally, he turned and opened the door, it
was too much to take. He
didn't even look at Hermione, that was a
different kind of pain altogether.
Lucius turned the
smirk into a smile as the door closed behind his son. He stood,
taking a step
towards her.
Hermione took a step back
before she could think. Lucius almost laughed at the wild look in
her
eyes. Like a doe just before the final death blow. He took
another step towards her, and she again
took a step back, her back
hitting the door, her palms splaying across the cool wood.
He
did laugh then, a dry, bitter chuckle and held up a small blue marble
type object in his gloved
hand.
"I'm not going to
hurt you," he smirked. "Not yet." With his free hand
he wrenched her wrist
from the door, roughly yanking her towards
him.
She could feel his breath hot on her face, it smelled of
rotting flesh and smoke and she winced,
closing her eyes. She
could feel him move against her, taking off one of the gloves.
"Open
your hand," Lucius whispered, and Hermione did so, forcing
herself to unclench her
fingers. Lucius grinned. She was too easy
this Mudblood. Scared out of her mind of him. He
traced a finger
down her wrist towards her palm, and then he let the small blue orb
drop into it,
closing his bare hand over it as light engulfed
them.
Hermione felt the tug on her stomach, and for a
moment she feared she was going to throw up.
She hit the ground
hard, stumbling as her shoes smacked the concrete, sending her
sprawling to
the stone floor.
Above her Lucius, completely
nonplused, standing straight as ever laughed down at her,
reaching
down to wrench her up by her wrist.
"Welcome
to Malfoy Manor my dear," he pointed to a chair.
"Sit."
Hermione did. They were in a study much like
the one they had just left, only this was
immaculately clean, and
full of many artifacts she would have preferred to never see.
"Why
am I here?" she tried to keep her voice steady, but there was a
faint tremor of fear, which
only increased the grin on the man's
face.
"There is someone you must meet," he crossed
to the door. "I wouldn't bother trying to escape
my dear,"
he smirked. "It would not be to your best advantage." He
didn't elaborate further as he
exited the study, and Hermione knew
he wasn't lying. So she didn't move.
Her eyes scanned the
room desperately, searching for a weapon, but aside from many
heavy
objects there was nothing that could be useful. And she knew
that Lucius probably had that angle
covered as well. His eyes,
while cold and utterly evil were intelligent.
It was not but
a few moments before he entered again, dragging behind him none other
then
Narcissa Malfoy.
Hermione had seen the woman only
once, but her beauty was not something one forgot. But she
was
different this time, while still as beautiful as ever, long shiny
blonde hair, flawless alabaster
skin, and Draco's beautiful silver
eyes there was something different about her now. There was a
slight
bulge under her formfitting gown, there was no doubt in Hermione's
mind what it was.
Her face as Hermione had remembered it was
no longer pinched in disgust, but blank, and her
eyes, unlike
Draco's were dead to the world. She obediently let Lucius drag her
into the study,
and she uttered not a word as he set her in a
chair directly across from Hermione's own, resting a
hand on her
slightly protruding belly. It was so slight you could barely see it,
but present enough to leave no questions.
"Look what I
have brought you," he leaned in close to the woman, his voice a
barely audible
whisper. "I figured a little...chat would be
in order." Narcissa didn't respond, just looked at the
girl
curiously, her head cocked to one side like a child's. Lucius
stood.
"I'll leave you two ladies alone," his smile
was hiding something, wicked and all knowing and he
left the room
in a swirl of expensive robes, leaving her alone with the
woman.
Hermione looked at Narcissa, knowing somehow she had
nothing to fear from the woman
herself, but still a bit wary of
her. Her face was all curiosity, but her eyes were completely
dead.
"You're a pretty little thing," Narcissa said
in a soft voice. Her eyes looked away, her expression
far off.
"Have you met my son?" She returned her gaze to Hermione.
Hermione blinked, not sure
how to respond.
"Yes,"
she said finally. The woman was obviously either not in her right
mind, or Lucius had
told her nothing. Hermione relaxed a bit
further.
"He's a cute little boy isn't he?"
Narcissa continued. "So like his father." Hermione
almost
snorted, but refrained. "He's very intelligent for his
age." Narcissa went on, babbling now. "And
he just loves
France." Hermione blinked again. "Have you been to
France?"
"Yes, many times," Hermione said, she
was reeling now. What reason could Lucius have for
wanting her to
meet this woman. This poor woman who was obviously completely insane.
"Beautiful country," Narcissa said smiling. "I
wish I could go, but I am not well." She smiled.
"I'm
sorry," that Hermione could plainly see. Narcissa's eyes snapped
to hers.
"Do you?"
Hermione nodded, her
unease coming back full force now. Narcissa's eyes had changed,
going
from dead, to shining with an emotion she couldn't place.
They glinted in the light, deadly and
fearsome.
"I
don't think you see a lot of things."
In a flash the
woman was across the distance between their two chairs. Hermione
cried out as
she felt nails dig into her chin, and the woman
forced Hermione to look at her. Her face was not
calm and
expressionless now. Oh no. It was determined, and a bit desperate,
her fingers digging
into Hermione's face, her other hand clutching
at the skirt of Hermione's gown.
"You don't see what's
right in front you," Narcissa hissed. "What's right in
front of your eyes."
"What-What are you talking
about," Hermione's voice came out pinched and muffled
from
Narcissa's grip. She had been wrong about Narcissa being no
threat to her. This woman was very
much a threat.
"You
can't see because it blinds you," Narcissa's fingers dug deeper
and Hermione cried out
again.
"What blinds me?"
Hermione whispered.
"It blinds so many people,"
Narcissa's voice turned sad. "But you can't see because of it.
He's hurt
my son, and he continues to hurt him and you can't see."
Hermione cried out again as the nails continued to dig into
her skin, she felt a drop of blood run
down it, dropping onto her
dress. But Narcissa did not let up.
"Why can't you
see?"
"I don't know," Hermione cried out
desperately, her hands going up to Narcissa's arm, trying to
wrench
her away but Narcissa was much stronger then she looked. And Hermione
could do
nothing more then tug at the iron like grip. She squirmed
in her seat, trying to get farther back
away from the woman, but
none of it was any use. She was weak. The woman's voice turned
sad
again.
"I should not have let him hurt my son,"
her eyes bore into Hermione's. "But mothers don't
always have
a choice. HE doesn't have a choice." Hermione felt the nails
scrape down her face
and then Narcissa's grip was gone, Lucius's
firm arm around her waist.
"That's enough Narcissa,"
he said coldly, dragging her towards the door. "I think this
meeting is
over." But Narcissa wasn't done.
She
struggled against him, her arms stretched out towards Hermione who
sat frozen in her chair.
She was screaming, kicking her legs
against the man, her fists clenching towards Hermione.
"See
the mark! You have to see the mark!" The door slammed and the
room was silent save for
the woman's screams in the other side of
the door, growing fainter and fainter as Lucius dragged
her away.
Hermione couldn't breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, and
her hand reached up to her face. It
throbbed with pain, and when
she drew her hand away it was streaked with the faint traces of
blood
from where Narcissa's nails had cut into her. Her hand shook as she
looked at it, red
against pale white. She had underestimated the
woman, and she had been so frightened she
hadn't even seen Lucius
enter. Her eyes snapped up when he entered again though.
"What
did you do to her you little bitch," Hermione almost screamed as
he crossed the room in
angry strides, wrenching her up by her arm.
Her arm lashed out, striking him across the chest,
but he didn't
respond to that. He yanked her over to the table.
"I
didn't do anything," Hermione heard herself say desperately, but
Lucius wasn't listening. He
picked up that same little blue orb
she had seen before with his still gloved hand and he yanked
open
her palm, dropping the orb inside it.
Hermione felt him push
her away before the tug on her belly began again and she felt
herself
whirled away. Back to her prison.
Draco
was waiting for her on the other side. Sitting in the same chair
Lucius had told her to sit in
before. He leapt up the minute he
saw the flash of light, and immediately went to its source.
Hermione
felt herself stumble again, but his strong arms were around her this
time, keeping her
from smacking against the marble floor.
"What
happened?" he held her away at arm's length. She felt the tears
come then, running down
her cheeks to mingle with the small
droplets of blood on her chin.
Draco shook her a bit. "What
happened?" he demanded, more insistent this time.
Hermione
gasped, trying to catch her breath. Trying to calm down. Her face was
dark angry red
at the bottom, streaked with tears and blood now
and there were little crescents dotting the skin
at her chin. His
heart clenched and he sucked in a breath, gently tugging her towards
the chair.
"Sit down," he commanded and she did, her
breath coming out in deep ragged gasps. "Now what
happened?"
Hermione looked at him, trying to calm herself. An activity
she seemed to be partaking in a lot
these days.
"I
met your mother," she said.
"My mother did this?"
Draco took a step back from the girl. Shaking his head. "My
mother
wouldn't do that." There was no way Narcissa Malfoy,
the weak, slightly insane woman who still
bought him toys even at
the age of 17 had done this. Hermione's face deep purplish red,
and
would probably be bruised in the morning.
"Your
mother DID do this," Hermione snapped. "She grabbed me and
she kept saying I couldn't
see something." Hermione shook her
head, drawing in a shuddery breath. "I don't know."
"My
mother has trouble opening doors by herself," Draco snapped.
"She needs someone to help
her get up half the time."
"Well,
she was certainly fit today," Hermione stood up, glaring at him.
"There's no way," Draco shook his head. "You
were mistaken."
"I know what happened to me,"
Hermione turned towards the door, feeling the tears again. He
didn't
believe her.
"And I know my mother," Draco's voice
was beyond angry, he was close to rage and his tone left
no room
for argument.
"I don't care if you believe me or not,"
her hand was on the door. "But she did this." She looked
at
him, her eyes shining with tears and pain.
"I fear for
you," she said after a few moments.
"Why?"
Draco asked. Hermione swallowed.
"I don't think Lucius
will be needing you much longer," Hermione said finally.
"What
are you talking about?" Draco crossed the room, his hand on the
door knob, stopping her
from leaving, his voice had turned to the
rage it had been threatening.
"Your mother is pregnant,"
Hermione whispered. "Lucius has a new heir."
"My
mother is not pregnant," Draco took a step away from her. "You
didn't speak to my mother."
"And I'm telling you I
did!" Hermione couldn't believe this. Couldn't believe he
actually thought
she was lying to him. Draco glared at her.
"I
saw my mother not a week ago, and she was NOT pregnant," Draco
said coldly. "The woman
you saw was not my mother."
"I've seen your mother before Draco," Hermione said
softly. "And I swear to you that was her."
Draco ignored
her, opening the door himself and walking out. Hermione followed
him,
forgetting for a moment the pain in her face, and in her arm.
"I know what I saw," she repeated, trying to match
his long-limbed stride, but it was impossible.
He ignored her.
"You have to believe me."
"I don't have to do
anything," Draco continued on, and Hermione stopped.
"No."
She whispered. "You don't."
The
library became a place of refuge for Draco as the next day went on.
His feet were close to
wearing a path in the shiny black marble
from his pacing. The air was thick from dust of the
books he had
tried to read, and once in a while during his musings he would give a
cough or a
sneeze.
It was impossible. She had to be
mistaken. He knew there was no reason for her to lie to him, but
he
also knew there was no way what she had said could be the truth. She
must have met
someone else.
But in the back of his head he
felt a strange nagging, as if perhaps he believed her. But his
eyes
didn't lie. He had seen his mother no more then a week ago
and she had most decidedly NOT
been pregnant. And she certainly
was not capable of the dark mottled bruises that covered the
bottom
of Hermione's face. The mother he knew had been helpless since before
he could
remember.
He father had told him countless
times that her weakness was a direct result of his birth. And
his
mother had always been fond of using the phrase "You
nearly split me asunder" even at his most
tender ages. He had
long ago learned to banish the guilt of causing his mother such pain,
because
he knew now that his birth was not all there was to it.
During the first years of his life she had been almost
normal, and any happy memories he
possessed had occurred before
the day he had turned five years old. She played with him and let
him
sit in her parlor, and during the first 4 years of his life it had
been him who stood in for the
silent partner she had spent so much
time swirling around to. He could remember
His mother's
delusions had been an excellent source for some of his favorite
childhood games.
He had been primarily without playmates for a
vast majority of his youth, and his mother had a
far better
imagination then him.
But on the eve of his fifth birthday,
just before dinner, and the next day's party and presents, that
had
all changed.
He could still remember her screaming, and he
closed his eyes as small footfalls of a young boy
echoed off the
walls of his mind, racing towards her. The faces of the men in their
black robes
grabbing her arms, wrenching her backwards, one with
his wand out as they yanked her away.
Lucius had just stood
there, his face impassive, his eyes cold as he watched the wife he
claimed
to love dragged away from her home, his body rigid as the
son he had made with her yelled for
his mother.
He could
still feel the silk in his hands, and his fingers closed reflexively
in memory. He had
clutched at her, pleading with her to stay with
him. He hadn't blown out his candles yet. The
candles were her
favorite part he had screamed, the cake was what she had been looking
forward
to all week.
But no one had listened to the
pleadings of the young boy, too small to be of consequence,
to
insignificant to be of any interest. And they had taken her.
That was the day his father had canceled his birthday. The
day his presents had been dumped
unceremoniously on the floor of
his playroom, unopened. That was they day he had gone to
France
and his somewhat happy childhood had ended.
Draco opened his
eyes, swallowing.
She hadn't returned for two years, spending
her days as an inpatient in the more lenient ward of
St. Mungo's.
Of course the information had been covered up. Lucius was
still regaining favor with the
Ministry but he still had enough
power to ensure his families name would not be tainted. She
had
returned when Draco was seven, not better but worse. She had lost all
touch with any reality
she'd clung to.
From that day on he
remained that same young boy in her eyes, the one just about to turn
five.
The one who battled her with the gold and silver chess
pieces, making little roars and gun noises
as he trounced her
across the board. The little boy who had curled up on her ottoman at
her feet
as she told him stories. The boy with the shining eyes.
Draco shook his head. Hermione had been mistaken. His
mother's time at St. Mungo's had
damaged her beyond all repair.
She often had trouble standing on her own, and more then once he
had
watched Kylie practically spoon feed her. He cringed as he remembered
the little bits of
food falling onto her white gown. No. His
mother could not have done that to Hermione.
But still, the
doubt tickled the back of his mind, weighing there heavy like guilt.
He would have
to wait until his father contacted him. Which could
be days. And even then he doubted if he
would get the truth.
Lucius Malfoy getting another heir would explain many things.
And bring up all kinds of
horrifying
situations.
Hermione found him sprawled
across the long table, his blonde hair brushing the surface of
the
desk, his cheek resting against the worn pages of the volume
open in front of him.
She hadn't seen him all day. He had
skipped lunch, and dinner, the first meal she'd had which
actually
broke away from the soup and crisp bread tradition of this place. And
Kylie had been
strangely absent too, locked away somewhere in the
huge castle, no doubt enjoying her
forbidden pleasure.
Even
in sleep he wasn't peaceful. He was tense and guarded, his fingers
clenched beside his
head, as if gripping an imaginary wand and
then he twitched.
Hermione froze, pausing in mid-step. If he
had been close to waking up he showed no sign of it
now. He merely
lay there, muscles completely ready for an unseen attack. Hermione
started
again, careful to walk on her toes.
She had a
theory. And like all scholarly people before her she was going to try
it out. Whether
Draco wanted her too or not.
Narcissa's
words rang in her head. They were in every dull throb of her face,
every sudden sting
of pain. It had been a message. Perhaps a
warning. But the look in her eyes had meant
something. Hermione
had wanted to cast it off as the rant of an insane, battered woman,
but it
was more then that. Much more.
She made her way
around the sleeping boy, careful not to disturb him as she peered
over his
shoulder. She could just make out the first words of the
ancient page between the strands of
silver.
Tempero.
Hermione frowned. It was Latin, but her rudimentary knowledge
of the language told her
nothing. Her hands reached out, barely
brushing the hair away, holding her breath.
The Tempero Curse
was once one of the most feared-
And then he grabbed her. His
grip was iron around her wrist and he used his weight to send
her
back against the table just behind them. He whirled, still
gripping her wrist, pushing her back
onto the desk.
"Hermione?"
he blinked. Hermione sucked in a breath, the anger in his eyes seemed
to melt to
cold confusion, and the pressure on her wrist lessened.
His body pressed close and for a second
she forgot all about her
mission.
"What are you doing?"
"I-"
Hermione bit her lip. "I came to see you." Draco released
her wrist, taking a much needed
step back.
"What's
wrong?"
"Nothing," Hermione shook her head.
"Nothing's wrong."
"Then why-?" Draco
didn't finish, but she knew what the question was. She shrugged.
"You missed lunch and dinner. The houseelves made a
roast," she sounded like an idiot. But her
eyes kept snapping
to the book.
"You should be in bed," Draco said
shortly. Hermione stood up a bit straighter.
"Don't tell
me what my bedtime is," she snapped. Draco ignored her. Hermione
sucked in a
breath, gathering that Gryffindor Courage. "Draco,
what's going on?"
Draco blinked, confused at first, but
then he saw where her eyes were landing. They snapped to
the book.
His hand reached back, closing it.
"That's none of your
concern," they glared at each other for a moment. Hermione was
the first to
crack, her expression softening.
"You
can tell me," her hand reached out but his shoulder reared back.
His hands grabbed the
book.
"No, I can't," his
voice was almost sad, and he clutched the book harder, his knuckles
turning
white.
"Why?" Hermione took a step toward
him, her hand out. But he just took a step back. Out of her
reach
once more.
"You won't understand," Draco turned on
his heel, as he was fond of doing and made for the
door.
"Draco
please," he stopped mid-stride, but didn't turn around. "You
owe me this much."
"I owe you nothing," he
snarled, and before she could blink the door was slamming behind
him.
Hermione sighed and sat in a chair. He was so difficult to
read. So impossible to reach. And she
didn't know why she was
trying. She looked at the scene in front of her, noting that he had
left
several other volumes scattered across the desk, some open,
some not.
So she set off to do what she did best. She reached
for the nearest one and started to research.
It
was not days or weeks before Lucius came to pay a visit to his only
son. In fact it was barely
hours. Draco had just lain across the
bumpy mattress of the bed he had chosen for himself when
the door
snapped open.
He merely raised his head to stare at his
father, who looked absolutely livid, his hands clenching
and
unclenching.
"Where is that little Mudblood Bitch?"
Lucius descended on his son, wrenching him up from his
sitting
position on the bed by his shirt collar, peeking above the cloak he
had rescued from the
wardrobe. Draco looked calmly at his father,
ignoring the pinching of his skin under the taut
fabric.
"Last
I saw her she was in the library," Draco said calmly. Lucius
released him.
"Do you have any idea the state that
little wretch put your mother in? She's been ranting for
hours, "
Draco didn't reply, and he resisted the urge to reach up and yank his
collar back from his
neck. He merely sat upright on the mattress,
watching his father with wary eyes.
Lucius Malfoy rarely
showed this much emotion when he was angry. Usually he just smiled
that
cold smirk and clasped his hands together, knowing he would
eventually get his revenge, sooner
or later. But now he was fairly
shaking with anger, and somewhere, hidden in the depths of blue
there
was something resembling concern. But Draco knew it wasn't for his
mother's well-being.
He suspected it had something to do with
Hermione's information.
"I suppose it's bad for the
baby," Draco drawled, testing the theory. Lucius's eyes turned
from
anger and mild concern to something resembling surprise. His
mouth almost dropped open.
"So the little bitch brought
you the glad tidings," Lucius smirked, crossing his arms over
his
chest.
"So it's true." Draco looked away
from his father, his eyes going to the floor. Worry rose in
his
chest, fair choking him. If Lucius was given another heir,
then there was only one thing in
Draco's future.
"Yes,"
Lucius's smirk grew. "It's true."
"Then why
don't you just kill me now?" Draco stood up, anger replacing the
worry. Glare met
glare as he stood to face the man he had called
father for all these years.
"Now what would be the logic
in that?" Lucius chuckled. "I have use for you still boy.
Do not
concern yourself."
Lucius turned.
"And
I have use for the girl. I will come for her in 3 days times. All
should be ready then." Draco
took a step toward his
father.
"What should be ready?" Lucius chuckled
again.
"You will see my son." And then he was gone,
in a flash of brilliant green light. Draco clenched
his fists. He
would see, sure enough. But by then it would probably be too
late.
It was not long before she found it,
hidden away in the back of the last book. And even then
the
information was brief. But enough.
"The origins of
the Tempero Curse are unknown, but it's process is as old as time
itself. A
complex involvement of spellwork and potions craft that
binds the victim to the caster. The
curse is easily identified by
the unique mark of the caster, burned somewhere on the
intended
victim. The mark itself is a form of punishment, causing
intense pain to the subject if the caster's
orders are disobeyed,
or any ill will is directed towards them. It is reminiscent of the
Imperius
Curse but is far more complex in nature. Since the ban in
1289 the curse has fallen out of
practice, and is considered a
lost art."
Hermione sucked in a breath. It all made
perfect sense.
Narcissa had said something about the mark.
Kylie had even gone as far to say that everything
that had
happened was out of Draco's control.
Her mind flashed through
all the signs. His fixation on his chest, the wincing from
some
unknown pain. His cryptic remarks. His long nights of
research here. Hermione stood up, almost
knocking her chair
backwards as she did so.
Kylie's "tattoo", her pain
from the conflicting orders. It all fell together.
She wanted
to cry. She had blamed him, and guilt flooded her as she made her way
out of the
library. She had blamed him and he'd had no control. He
had been controlled.
The guilt was replaced by hatred, by
even more loathing for Lucius, a man whose cruelty knew
no bounds.
Not even when it came to his own son.
She picked up her pace,
her shoes echoing off the walls as she made her way towards the
room
she knew he had staked out for his own. She had to apologize.
She had to know. And she was
going to make him tell
her.
She found him standing in the middle
of the room, his eyes on the floor just before her. They
flickered
up as she entered.
"You should be in bed," he
repeated his words from earlier. She shook her head.
"I
know." She saw his hand clenched by his side, knowing he didn't
take her words as an
admission of needing to be asleep. He knew
what she referred to.
"How?" His voice was hard, but
she had expected nothing less. She stood there calmly, the
calmest
she had been in days.
"Your mother, in the study. She
was ranting about a mark," Hermione explained. "And
Kylie
alluded to it. And then there was you."
"What
about me?" A muscle ticked away in his jaw, everything about him
was tense, guarded.
"You would rub your chest...and you
always looks like you're in such pain." Hermione took
a
breath. "I saw what was written on the book tonight."
Draco nodded jerkily.
"All right. So you know.
Congratulations," he sneered. "You can leave now." He
pointed to the
door, but Hermione didn't move. She took a step
forward, then another. Determined.
"Let me see it,"
her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. And truthfully
Draco was too
exhausted to. The knowledge of the truth, his
father's visit, the forthcoming events were all too
much for
him.
He grimaced. It wasn't worth hiding. There was no need
to, she already knew. They were
probably on the verge of death
anyway. Slowly he reached up, his eyes on her face the whole
time.
It
was a strange situation. His fingers slipped across the crescent moon
of his cloak, undoing the
clasp easily, it fell away, pooling on
the floor in a puddle of satin. Under that was a simple crisp
dress
shirt, immaculate even despite the circumstances. She hadn't expected
anything less. Draco
watched her eyes as he slowly undid the
buttons, moving down slowly, his gestures careful. He
didn't
realize he was holding his breath. She watched him intently, curious
and a bit frightened.
defined in the dim light from the window. But that was not her primary concern.
Hermione gave a gasp, her hand instinctly going to her mouth, her feet taking a step back of their
own accord.
If this bothered him he didn't show it. Merely stood there, firm and rigid, stone faced, eyes cold
and calculating. He was oddly vulnerable.
It was still a horrible sight even in the dim moonlight of her prison. The skull was a brilliant red
unlike any she had seen before, like fresh blood, the eyes black and haunting. Her eyes widened
in fright. Twisting around it, silver and glinting with every twitch of his muscle under her gaze
was a perfect serpent, its scales too lifelike for words, its eyes flashing a brilliant yellow. It
came in through the mouth of the unmistakable mark of the Death Eater, exiting through those
depthless eyes, predatory and utterly evil. The flesh around it was raw and angry red, the mark
itself more a terrifying scar then anything.
She took a step towards him. Her eyes lifting from his chest to meet his, they returned her gaze,
betraying none of his emotions. They merely regarded her, watching her reaction, her emotions.
They played across her face in sequence, surprise, disgust, fear, and there, hidden in the depths
of those wonderful eyes, understanding, maybe even compassion. He merely stood there,
unmoving, his muscles tensing, his breath shallow, his eyes cold as ever. She took another step
towards him, the hand at her mouth stretching forward.
Still he didn't move. He didn't react. She was right in front of him now, he could feel her breath
hot on his chest. He clenched his fists.
"Say something." He sneered. "Tell me how repulsed you are." Her eyes widened in surprise and
she shook her head, mute. Her hand reached out, and before he could pull back her fingers were
on him. Tracing at the outline of the serpent with small feather-light touches, no longer looking
at his face, concentrated instead on the mark alone.
He took in a shuddering breath as she continued to follow the serpent's path, pausing for a
moment on its eyes before she brought her fingers back down. His hand reached up, gripping her
own.
"Don't." His voice was soft, pained. Her eyes traveled up, meeting his again, full of something he
couldn't place.
"Don't what?" she whispered.
"Just don't." She ignored him, her fingers still on his chest, not moving anymore. Her eyes
gleamed with something, tears perhaps, fear...he didn't know. Emotion had never been his strong
point, but now, under the spell of this girl he had more then he could deal with.
"It hurts you," she wasn't speaking to him, not that he could see. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a
statement. It was nothing he could place as it was broken with a grief he had no experience with.
So he didn't respond. He just stood there, frozen, his hand gripped hers, her fingers still on the
mark, which tingled under her touch, no longer paining him. "Just let me-" she didn't finish her
sentence, she bent her head, and he gasped as he felt her lips against it. Cool and soft on his skin,
she placed one sweet kiss on it, searing him with her touch. He felt something pull at his
stomach and he held his breath again. His eyes fell closed, and her lips lingered there for a
moment, before touching him again.
"Hermione-" she shook her head, looking up at him.
"Don't." She whispered. His eyes still closed he let out his breath.
"Don't what?" She smiled.
"Just don't." And then her lips were on his.
They struck him to the core, jolting him with such intensity he thought his legs would fail him.The sweetness of it overwhelmed like nothing had before. It was purity. There was nothing
wrong about this, nothing sinister, nothing dark. It was all light and warmth. All this from one
simple kiss.
He went slowly, tentatively. He forced himself to be gentle as his lips moved against hers, and he
lost himself.