Blood

by Athena Linborn

In order to ensure the continuation of a healthy bloodline, Draco Malfoy must marry a “Mudblood”. Only the best will do for the Malfoy family, but things aren't as straight forward as they seem, as the best candidate is Hermione Granger!

14. Chapter 13

Authors Note: Apologies for the long delay in posting this but I hope the long wait has been worth it. Thanks to my beta and those of you who have left such encouraging reviews. Some of you pointed out there is nothing to indicate section breaks within chapters, this is due to which due to some reason beyond me, has stripped all the section breaks out. I am therefore trying a different way of indicating section breaks in the hope it will work. Enjoy and let me know what you all think.

Chapter 13

"Hmmm," Ginny mused, sitting back and eyeing Hermione thoughtfully over the rim of her glass, "The Lock and Key? Well, Dad took Mum there when he decided to propose to her. It's a very classy place, if you know what I mean."

"What, is it expensive?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Yeah, very," Ginny emphasised, "only the rich can afford to go there, and reservations for dinner can take months."

"Something like the Savoy, I suppose." At Ginny's enquiring look, Hermione went on, "The Savoy's one of the best restaurants in Muggle London and known throughout the world." Shaking her head, she continued, "Trust him to pick somewhere like the Lock and Key. Heaven only knows what I'm going to do there."

"Oh I don't know," Ginny commented airily, "I wouldn't mind going to the Lock and Key with Draco Malfoy, I mean, come on you could have done a lot worse. Be thankful his parents won't be with him."

"True," Hermione agreed and took a sip of her own drink. They were seated in the garden of the Burrow and overhead the sun blazed down from a cloudless blue sky. Birdsong surrounded them, while bees and butterflies moved busily between the bushes engrossed in their work.

"You never told me," Ginny went on, "why you weren't speaking to him. What happened?"

"Nothing much," Hermione evaded, not looking Ginny in the eye, "you know him… blows hot and cold like nobody's business. We had a bit of an argument on Graduation Day and he's been sulking ever since."

"Oh yeah? Would this argument have involved a bit of snogging by any chance?" Ginny grinned mischievously. "I couldn't help noticing that you looked very flustered just as you were about to leave with your parents on graduation day."

Hermione shrugged, still not looking at Ginny, "Something like that. The galling part is that he was the one who initiated it all and then went off in a sulk! I mean, where's the logic in that?"

Ginny gave a pitying sigh and said, "Hermione, you're one of the cleverest people I know when it comes to other people and their emotions. But when it comes to yourself, you're absolutely hopeless! Isn't it obvious at all why he went off like that?"

Hermione shook her head.

"He was scared you'd reject him!" Ginny announced triumphantly.

At this Hermione let out a scornful laugh, causing some butterflies perched on the flowers behind her to flutter away. "Him? Scared of Rejection? Ginny, we're talking about Draco Malfoy, are we not? I bet he doesn't even know the meaning of the word. The only reason he's being nice to me is to get into my good graces. And the reason for that is simply for my blood – nothing else."

Ginny returned Hermione's level look with one of her own and then said quietly, "I'd agree that blood is all that his parents are interested in, but not Malfoy himself. No, it's obvious to anyone with half a brain that he's got feelings for you. He has for a while now, in fact, long before all this stuff with his parents started."

"He has a funny way of showing it, if that's the case," Hermione retorted. "Anyway, he wrote to me a few days ago as though nothing had transpired and suggested we have dinner at the Lock and Key."

"Lucky you," Ginny sighed, "I wouldn't object if a nice rich eligible young man were to ask me to the Lock and Key for dinner!"

Hermione gave another sigh in response and asked again, "So what am I going to wear? I don't suppose they'd accept anything less than silk dress robes!"

"Probably not," Ginny stretched and placed her now empty glass down beside her chair. "I say keep it simple – not too decorative. Mum should be home soon. I'll pick her brains about it." Then her voice took on a serious note, "But Hermione, why won't you give him a chance? I mean, he's gone out of his way to be friendly this last year. And frankly, I can't remember the last time he insulted you because of your parentage. The poor boy can't help having Lucius for a farther and Narcissa for a mother – you really can't hold that against him."

"I don't," Hermione denied, exasperation evident in her voice, "how many times do I have to tell people that? I've put up with Malfoy's insults since my first year at Hogwarts! I just don't trust the Malfoys – not after our fifth year and certainly not Lucius' antics during your first year. I can't be expected to forget all that and fall into Draco's waiting arms just because he's being nice to me!"

"No, I suppose you can't," Ginny agreed, "but at the same time, you're in a very dodgy position. Besides Draco's feelings in this matter, the Malfoys will go to any lengths to get what they want and like it or not, they want you. I think it'd be safer for you to play along at least for the time being anyway. Plus, there's the thing with the Order," here she lowered her voice slightly as though afraid of being overheard, "you know what Dumbledore's asked you to do."

"Don't I just," Hermione responded gloomily, "it's the only reason I'm tolerating the Malfoys. Honestly, they're awful! I bet even a saint would tire of them after spending just a short time with them. You know, after that discussion with Quentin last week, I wasted so much time in trying to formulate a polite letter to Malfoy suggesting we meet for a drink somewhere, and just as I finished writing, his damned owl flew through the window with his letter asking me to dinner!"

Ginny couldn't hold back a grin at the indignant scowl on Hermione's face, but just as swiftly, the amusement drained from her face. "I hate to say it but you also have to think about your parents' safety as well as your own. They're muggles with no way of defending themselves if Lucius, or Merlin forbid, Voldemort were to come calling."

Even though the sun beat down on her, Hermione felt a shiver run up her spine. "I…I fear for them constantly," she muttered, "but the Malfoys wouldn't…"

"Oh yes, they would," replied a grim-faced Ginny, "face it Hermione, Lucius'd have no qualms in getting rid of them if it helped him get what he wanted. Besides, you'd never forgive yourself if something were to happen to them."

"No, you're right about that," Hermione said in a small voice, trying hard not to shiver again.

"Go along with the Malfoys… at least for the time being. All you need do is to smile sweetly at them," Ginny cajoled, leaning forward in her chair. "Please Hermione, things are bad enough as it is. You don't need to put yourself and your family in any more danger than you're already in."

"Maybe, you're right," Hermione said non-committaly. "Anyway, I'd better get going if I don't want to bump into Ron."

"True," Ginny got up. "He and mum should be returning from Bill's soon."

"Oh speaking of Bill, how's he getting on? I haven't seen him for ages."

"He and Fleur are fine; she's still a bit stand-offish, but once you get past that, I suppose she's nice enough." Ginny stretched languidly as she spoke.

"Yeah well, I doubt she'll ever change," Hermione smiled, "I suppose it's the Veela blood in her."

Ginny laughed at this, "You're probably right. You know what Veelas are like – perfectly wonderful to men, but they don't have much time for their own sex. It's still funny to see Ron ogling her when he thinks no one's looking – will he ever grow up?"

"I doubt it," Hermione snorted, "it's amazing how childish both he and Harry are at heart. You'd think that after all we've been through in the last seven years, they would've grown up a bit, but no, they're as childish as ever."

"You know it'll feel weird going back to Hogwarts without you three there," Ginny remarked, a slight note of wistfulness in her voice, "I mean you three are part of the place."

"But look on the bright side," Hermione encouraged, grinning, "no Ron to breathe down your neck every time you go on a date with someone. Surely that'll be a plus?"

"True," Ginny replied, grinning as well, "the number of times I've wanted to hex him because of scenes he made due to me going out with someone. Did I tell you about the time he caught Terry Boot and me kissing? We were in a secluded part of the library and Ron came round the corner. On seeing us, he let out a bellow as though he had been stung in the backside by a wasp and lunged between us. You can just imagine my reaction – the git! Honestly it was one of the best snogs I have ever had! Trust him to ruin it!"

Hermione burst out laughing at the mental picture Ginny painted. She could just imagine Ron charging head down between Ginny and her unfortunate partner in an effort to split them up. "Subtlety's never been something Ron was good at," she said, still chuckling.

"Tell me about it," Ginny muttered darkly, "If I'd a Knut for every time he's made a prat of himself over the fact that I was going on a date with someone, I'd be a rich woman by now."

"Yeah, that's true," Hermione grinned, and then asked, "So who's the latest candidate for your affections? Honestly, you change boyfriends as often as the rest of us change clothes."

Ginny simply shrugged at this, "Well, there isn't anyone at present. The problem is that they all bore me – I mean there's only so much you can talk about Quidditch, and that's the only thing that the boys at Hogwarts can discuss with any degree of fluency."

"Maybe you should go for someone older – you know, with a bit more life experience behind him?"

"Yeah, a bit of money wouldn't go amiss either. Oh well, I can dream. Maybe when you're married to Malfoy, you can introduce me to someone nice and rich!"

At the mention of Malfoy, Hermione shivered once more. Glancing at her watch, she said regretfully, "Well thanks for the chat and advice," she grimaced, as she got up, "I'll let you know how things go."

"Think about what I said. It's for the best honestly," Ginny entreated as Hermione prepared to depart.

Hermione waved, then closing her eyes Disapparated to appear a moment later behind the hedge bordering the Grangers' back garden. She had, with Quentin's help, put up anti-apparation wards all over the house and the surrounding area a few days ago, and this was the only spot in which apparition could take place. Straightening her shoulders, she marched up the back garden and into the house. She was met with silence, her parents were at work, and Mathew was staying at a friend's for a few days. Making her way upstairs into her room, she flopped down onto the bed and closed her eyes.

Talking to Ginny always helped Hermione sort out her thoughts and ideas, for Ginny was the only person other than those in the Order who knew of the Malfoys' interest in her. She sighed, wishing not for the first time that she had never met Draco Malfoy. She was well aware that she was playing a dangerous game with the Malfoys, one that was taking up all the courage for which she was so renowned. She also admitted to herself that Ginny had been right about her parents. Hermione had seen enough of Lucius Malfoy to know that he was quite capable of getting rid of them, if it meant getting what he wanted. It was therefore even more important to try and keep Lucius and Narcissa happy – she couldn't risk the consequences, and what was worse, they knew this, even though they had as yet refrained from reminding her.

Then, on the other hand, there was the promise she had made to Dumbledore – the Order too, was relying on her to get much needed information for them. She admitted to herself that she felt like a pawn in a chess game – someone whose only purpose was to be of use to others, to do their bidding, no matter the cost to herself. As soon as this thought had taken root in her mind, she sat up with a gasp; Dumbledore would never use her like that – never. That, she told herself was the difference between him and Voldemort, the work she was doing for Dumbledore was valuable and much needed. How could she ever think that Dumbledore was just making use of her to suit his own purposes? If anyone was making use of her, it was the Malfoys; she was well aware of their plans for her.

She decided that she must be going soft. Shaking off her dismal musings, she jumped up, pulled open her wardrobe, and looked through the racks of clothes to decide what she would wear for dinner with Draco Malfoy the next evening.

ZoZoZoZo

"It's a bit like those microchips Muggles use – small, but highly effective!" Professor Dumbledore said, smiling at Hermione from across his desk.

From beside her, Quentin raised a cynical brow, "Really Albus, you're starting to sound like Arthur Weasley on one of his good days. It's only a microchip, for Merlin's sake, nothing to get excited about!"

Hermione, stifling a smile, took the proffered chip and examined it. It was no bigger than a grain of rice and silver in colour. "So just to clarify," she said, her eyes fixed on the tiny device nestled in the palm of her hand, "this device, when embedded into my skin, will enable me to speak to you; is that right?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, "ingenious really. We'll be able to communicate in the form of conscious thoughts – a safety precaution, you understand. It will be as though the conversation is taking place inside your head. You'll be able to hear my voice, but only in your head. Similarly you will respond by thought, rather than with verbal words. Now if Quentin will do the honours and embed the chip, I will show you how it's done. "

"How does it work?" Hermione asked interestedly, turning the minute chip over in her hand.

Dumbledore and Quentin exchanged looks, and then as though coming to a decision, Quentin said, "Well, it uses energy compressed into waves – something like radio waves. It omits your thoughts using a preset frequency. Albus' thoughts are transmitted to you in the same way. Of course there is more to it than that, but that should be sufficient to placate even your curiosity."

Hermione, knowing that he would tell her no more about the workings of the tiny device in her hand, simply nodded. In spite of both Dumbledore and Quentin's assurances, she gulped; to her, this idea of embedding the chip beneath her skin sounded highly dangerous, not to mention painful.

As though reading her thoughts, Quentin continued, "Don't worry, as I said before, you won't feel any pain at all. Shall we get on with it? "

"I believe so," Dumbledore sat up.

Hermione simply nodded. She just hoped that this idea would work, although in truth, she had her doubts. As far as she was aware, magic and Muggle technology did not mix well and this microchip was no exception.

Quentin held out his hand for the chip and Hermione placed it on his palm. "We thought the best place for the chip would be just below your left elbow, on the inside of the arm. It won't be remarked on if you touch that particular spot while in the company of those you don't trust. Hold out your arm."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione held out her left arm and turning her head away, gazed fixedly at the portrait of Armando Dipit snoozing in his frame. She didn't want to watch her own arm being sliced open; she didn't mind watching medical procedures carried out on others, but she didn't think she could stand the sight of the chip going into her arm.

"All done," came Quentin's voice, "you can look now."

"But I didn't feel anything," Hermione spluttered in shock, gazing down at her arm. She noticed that a centimetre or so beneath the elbow joint on the inside of her arm, the smooth skin was slightly puckered, suggesting that she had at some time been injured.

"That scar is simply to tell you where the chip is located," Dumbledore informed her, "only you can activate it. In order for you to do so, you must press the pad of your right index finger to the scar. If I want to talk to you, you will feel the scar tingle slightly. The conversation can only begin once you touch it. Let's have a trial run, shall we?" At her nod, he went on, "Now go and stand facing the window with your back to me."

Getting up, Hermione did as asked and crossed to the window on the far side of the office. She stared out onto the sun-drenched grounds beneath her. "Now touch the scar as I instructed you," Dumbledore said from behind her.

She placed the index finger of her right hand onto the tiny scar and waited. For a moment, nothing happened and then she heard Dumbledore's voice clearly in her head, "Excellent, how does it feel?"

She wondered for a moment how she was going to respond, and then as though she were talking to him without moving her lips, she formulated the words, "Odd, very odd," and waited in the hope she had done it right.

Sure enough, Dumbledore's voice came back at her saying, "Brilliant, very good Hermione."

"Well?" Quentin demanded, shattering the peace of the quiet room. "Did it work?"

As though coming out of a trance, Hermione turned to him, her eyes glowing. "Oh yes," she smiled, "I could hear Professor Dumbledore's voice clearly in my head, and we managed to communicate."

"All the time that was spent perfecting this little gadget has paid off," a beaming Dumbledore confirmed, "A very effective way of communicating indeed, and what's more, one which cannot be interfered with by magic."

Unable to curb her curiosity, Hermione asked once more, "This device, it won't effect my body in any way, will it?"

"Oh no," Quentin assured her, "the device is safe and won't be attacked by your immune system, we made sure of that. The charm I used to transfer the chip to your arm caused a layer of skin cells to form round the chip, encapsulating it against your body's defences."

"Hermione, this device is for your safety, as well as the means by which you can communicate any information to us," Dumbledore said seriously. "If ever you feel you cannot handle any situation, just let me know. I too have a chip similar to yours embedded in my arm, so you can call on me any time you need to do so."

"Thank you," Hermione said, looking once more down at the small scar on the inside of her left arm.

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked, and she shook her head. "Well then, in that case, I had better let you go. Thank you for coming up – I am well aware you have just finished your lesson with Quentin, and that you're probably in need of some rest."

Getting up, Hermione took her leave of the two men and made her way out of the office and down the moving staircase. The corridor outside seemed unnaturally quiet as she walked along. There was no one in sight as she went down the marble staircase and into the grounds, her mind on the tiny device tucked away in her left arm.

As she reached the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, she marvelled anew at the ingenuity that must have gone into creating this tiny chip, which in its own way was the embodiment of the integration of Muggle and magical ideas. She had to admit to herself that it made her feel safer – a tangible link between herself and Professor Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the age. At least if something went wrong, she would have a way of letting him know. With this comforting thought, she closed her eyes and Disapparated.

XoXoXoXo

"Will I do?" Hermione asked her mother as she pirouetted before her in the sitting room.

"Very nice," commented Peter Granger from behind his evening paper, "you look quite the elegant lady."

"Yes indeed," Lyn agreed, "that outfit really becomes you. I must admit, I had my doubts in the shop, but that designer certainly knew what she was doing"

Hermione nervously fingered the silk of her silvery grey robes, and with a slightly anxious laugh, said, "Oh well, it's too late anyway if the colour or style doesn't suit me."

"Now, now," Lyn admonished, "where has all that poise you displayed at your graduation gone? As you said yourself, this isn't a date, so why all the anxiety?" Lyn teased her, "Stop worrying, you look very nice." Smiling to take the sting out of her voice, she went on, "If you don't want to be late, you'd better be on your way."

"You're right," Hermione said with a smile to assure her parents. "Well, I'll see you both tomorrow morning, I guess. Don't wait up for me – god knows when I'll get back. If the restaurant is anything like the kind the Association of Dentists used to host their Christmas dinners, then I'll be there for hours," she finished, rolling her eyes.

"Fair enough," Peter smiled, folding up his paper and laying it aside, "Have you got your wand?"

"Yeah, it's in my pocket." She patted the pocket of her robes to make sure, and turning, left the room with her parents following.

"Have a nice evening," Lyn said, as Hermione opened the front door.

"Thanks," Hermione nodded, smiling at them, "Bye!" She walked quickly down the front path, conscious of her parent's eyes on her and waved one last time in what she hoped was a reassuring way, as she went through the front gate and made her way down the empty road.

As she walked, Hermione breathed in the warm evening air and relaxed slightly. The wards she had put up around the house extended for a half mile round it, and she was glad that she had opted to walk the distance to the park rather than Disapparate from behind the hedge. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she still had plenty of time before she was due to meet Malfoy outside the Lock and Key, which was situated in Diagon Alley. She grimaced, thinking she would need the time to compose herself for the evening ahead. Reaching the park, she slipped behind a hedge and Disapparated.

Opening her eyes, Hermione saw that she was standing before the white marble front of Gringotts'. Looking round, she saw that there were still quite a few people making their way down Diagon Alley, most of them intent on making last minute purchases before the shops shut for the night.

Hermione began to walk down the long cobbled street, looking into the shop windows as she walked. Most were lit up, the light illuminating the goods on display. She knew vaguely where the Lock and Key was, having passed it several times before, but never having given it more than a cursory glance. Making her way to the small restaurant now, she gazed at the white painted exterior and frowned. From here, the restaurant looked like any other; small and nothing out of the ordinary. But seven years at Hogwarts had taught Hermione not to judge by appearances, so pushing open one of the glass doors, she stepped through and looked round.

Her eyes scanned the small hall before her, paved in white marble with paintings depicting various animals adorning the walls. The sound of someone clearing their throat made Hermione jump and turning, she saw a man watching her. He was dressed in Muggle clothes – a suit and tie, and regarding her through narrowed eyes.

"How may I help you miss?" he asked bowing slightly from the waist.

"Um," she hesitated, "I'm here…."

"Hermione!" Draco Malfoy's voice broke in, making both of them look round to where he stood, framed in the light from a doorway to Hermione's right, his blond hair gleaming in the soft light. As he spoke, he strode forward and bending down kissed Hermione's cheek. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come."

"Oh, I'm not late, am I?" she asked in dismay, while trying to take a quick peek at her watch.

"Not at all, I was early."

"Is this the young lady for whom you have been waiting, Mr Malfoy?" asked the maître d'.

"Yes," came the terse response.

"In that case, may I relieve the young lady of her cloak?"

"Thank you," Hermione smiled, raising a hand to undo the clasp of the chiffon silk-lined cloak from her shoulders, but Malfoy beat her to it.

Deftly he undid the clasp, and sliding the cloak from Hermione's shoulders, handed it to the waiter before saying, "Barkse, bring the champagne I ordered."

Turning to Hermione, he smiled down at her and led her through the door from which he had come. The room they entered was large and spacious. A crystal chandelier covering what looked like the whole of the ceiling sparkled down on them. The carpet underfoot was a rich turquoise, and intricately woven tapestries hung on the walls depicting ancient castles, some of which she had never seen before. She saw to her slight surprise that there were booths around the room, affording the diners within some privacy. Large tropical plants stood at strategic points throughout the room adding a bit of green to the decor. Music, the source of which she could not identify, played quietly in the background, adding to the relaxing atmosphere of the restaurant. Immaculately dressed waiters glided silently between the booths and Hermione had to admit that this was probably the most luxurious restaurant she had ever been to.

Malfoy led Hermione to a table screened by a large potted plant. Pulling out her chair he waited until she was seated before going round the table and seating himself opposite her. "You look lovely," he said smiling at her, "I don't believe I've seen you in that colour before!"

"Thank you," Hermione replied, not knowing how else to respond. She leaned back in her chair, which she noticed seemed to have moulded itself to the contours of her back, increasing the feeling of comfort. "This is a very nice place," she remarked, avoiding eye contact with Malfoy and trying to keep her voice light.

"Indeed it is," Malfoy agreed, leaning back gracefully in his chair, "you won't believe it, but it's stood in this exact same spot since 1732. The Lock and Key has seen much of history; it's seen its fair share of riots."

At that moment a waiter appeared carrying a bottle of champagne. At a nod from Malfoy, he proceeded to fill two glasses and then bowing, left. Smiling, Malfoy lifted his glass and waited until Hermione had done the same. "To the future!" he said, his eyes looking intensely into hers, as they clinked glasses.

"To the future," Hermione echoed, while something inside her seemed to tighten with apprehension. Raising the glass, she took a sip of the sparkling champagne.

"What do you think?" he enquired, watching her.

"It's very nice," Hermione answered, hoping the surprise was not too evident in her voice, "normally I'm not a fan of champagne, but this is very light and well…nice."

"Yes," Malfoy nodded, pleased that Hermione approved, "this particular bottle is brewed by a magical technique. Unlike Muggle methods, only perfectly sized grapes are sorted magically to make this. If wizards know how to do anything right, it's to make champagne."

Hermione laughed and some of the tension within her seemed to disperse along with the champagne bubbles, "If this is anything to go by, then I agree with you."

The waiter reappeared and placed guilt-edged menus before each of them, and then silently glided away. Hermione looked down at the menu before her and wondered what to order. "They seem to have dishes from all over the world," she marvelled, her eyes skimming the menu lying open before her.

"Well, the Lock and Key isn't one of the best Wizarding restaurants for nothing," he drawled. "I recommend the Colombian Avocado Vichyssoise soup – I've had it before and it's extremely good."

"I've never had it," Hermione considered, "oh well, there's always a first time for everything." She now turned her attention to the main courses and frowned in thought. "I think I'll go for the Radicchio Risotto – it sounds interesting."

"Rather you than me," Malfoy smiled, "I'm going to play safe and have the Oriental Steamed Fish. Shall we order?"

At her nod, he beckoned the waiter over and having given him their order, adding the house salad and the dessert du jour, dismissed him with a curt nod. Looking at Hermione once more, he asked, "So how have your holidays been so far?"

"Oh you know," Hermione shrugged, "they seem to be flying pass so fast. I really haven't done much except laze about and read."

"Hmm, but surely you deserve the rest? I mean all that studying we did before the NEWT's – no one would begrudge you a little time off. You're far too harsh on yourself, you know," the Slytherin smiled with a shake of his head.

She laughed just as the waiter reappeared and placed bowls of the cold soup before them.

"Bon appetite!" Draco said lifting his spoon and waiting for her to do the same.

Leaning back, Hermione had to admit that the unusual cold soup was extremely tasty and very different from the warm soup she was used to. Glancing once more at the restaurant's luxurious atmosphere, she mused, "How is it that there are no house elves or anything pertaining to magic here? I would've thought that in a restaurant such as this, everything would have been done using magic, but I can't see any signs of it here."

"Ah, my dear Hermione, your prejudices are surfacing again," Malfoy smiled charmingly, "The whole idea of a place such as this is to be waited on agree?" At her nod he went on, "Well, what then would be the point of using house elves or magic to summon our food and wine? After all, if that's what wizards wanted, they might as well stay at home to be served in that manner. Restaurants provide a refreshing change, a new experience to dining."

Hermione pondered his words as she ate some more soup. "So no magic's used here at all?" she asked, incredulous that there was such a place in the heart of the magic district.

Malfoy chuckled. "Oh magic is certainly used here, but hidden behind the scenes. The magic of the Lock and Key is in its illusion of not using magic; ironic, but true." His grey eyes twinkled, and Hermione rolled her eyes in response. "Yes," he continued, turning on his charisma in full force, "I'm serious. Take the soup you're having for instance."

Hermione lowered her spoon and peered into the creamy green soup.

"The Avocadoes were probably prepared by House Elves in the kitchen, and cooked using magical means—"

"Ah, but even in Potions, we have to simmer and boil, so what's so magical about this restaurant's cooking?"

Malfoy raised his brows, "I doubt Muggle cooks are able to cool the soup using an instant freezing charm, thereby sealing the flavour into the soup; or keep the soup at it's prime temperature. You do know that accidentally freezing the vichyssoise would cause it to form ice crystals, marring the taste?"

Malfoy's explanation was something Hermione found difficult to deny, and she conceded that he was probably right, not that she was an expert on vichyssoise, or had a gourmand's palate to distinguish the taste. With a smile, Hermione sipped her soup, which remained at its constant cool temperature, appreciating the subtle flavour.

Following the comfortable silence, Malfoy stretched out his long legs beneath the table, and Hermione thought, not for the first time, that he was well used to dining out in this manner. a waiter soon returned to exchange their soup bowls for the salad bowls, and Hermione appreciated the beautiful mix of colours the salad displayed.

"So tell me," Malfoy initiated with a drawl, "Have you heard from Potter and Weasley during the holidays?"

"Yes, we owl quite regularly," she replied, picking up her salad fork. "Although I haven't actually seen them as they're both very busy preparing for Auror training."

"Indeed? So busy that they can't spare the time to see their friend?" he raised finely arched brows questioningly, "They're able to Apparate, aren't they? Don't tell me they've failed their Apparation tests?"

"Of course not!" Hermione snapped. Taking a breath so that she would not rise to the Slytherin's baiting, she added more pleasantly, "Ron and Harry are very busy, and so am I. I know I said I've been lazing and spending time reading these days, but I'm sure you well know," she smiled, "nothing takes up more time than doing nothing." She was conscious that her reasoning sounded rather lame even to herself, but Malfoy had made it sound as though Ron and Harry were deliberately ignoring her, even though she knew this was not the case.

Malfoy looked at the deceptively calm witch before him thoughtfully. He detected a note of defence in her tone and leaned forward with a reassuring smile. "Hermione I do understand, you know. It is as I said once before; as we grow older we all change. Our likes, dislikes, our acquaintances, our relationships; they all undergo change. 'The only constant is change'," he quoted, "People we once regarded as friends might not hold an interest for us a few months down the road. Our life's path diverge, and we find we lack a commonality to further some relationships. Likewise, those in whom we may not have had any previous interest now appear differently to us." Malfoy paused, taking a sip of water from his crystal water goblet. He sensed that Hermione was putting up a wall between them, in spite of listening to his monologue, so he said gently, "I know I sound callous, but that's really the way it is in reality. You really shouldn't be surprised if your friendship with Potter and Weasley now isn't the same as it was in school."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "You don't know what you're talking about," she bit out, glaring at him. "As far as any of the three of us are concerned, our friendship is strong enough to withstand the changes wrought by time and circumstance." Again, Hermione realised that she needed to tamp down her rising ire. Taking another deep breath, she continued more civilly, "I doubt that our friendship is so easily lost or broken. It was, after all, tempered and forged by shared adventure and adversity. I'll thank you not to make judgements on something you don't understand."

Malfoy considered Hermione's icy tone carefully. Fingering his water goblet, he tilted his head to the side, keeping his eyes on her warm chocolate ones and in a soft voice, said, "I apologise if I seemed judgemental. I was merely trying to offer my perspective. I didn't mean to offend you in any way."

Hermione bit her lower lip. She didn't want to be here. She was here on the Order's behalf, and it wouldn't do to keep overreacting to Malfoy's comments. She must admit, Malfoy's apology was unexpectedly gracious, and she strove to make sure to keep her temper in check and to endure the dinner with similar grace. With a wry smile, she replied, "No, you weren't being judgemental. I didn't mean to fly off the handle like that either."

He nodded and allowed the topic to drop. They continued their dinner discussing more neutral topics regarding Hermione's holiday until their salad bowls were removed and their main courses place before them. "Umm, are you still in contact with the Brocklehurst girl?"

"Who, Mandy?" Hermione asked in surprise, "Well yes, we still write to each other regularly. She's preparing for her degree in History of Magic at Cambridge University starting this September."

"That's right," he agreed, but the lack of interest in Mandy's plans was clearly evident in his voice, "And what about her brother? Have you seen much of him lately?"

Hermione frowned slightly at this question, and to give herself time to think, took a bite of her deliciously light risotto. Finally she looked up from her plate and responded with an off-handed shrug, "Well, let's see, the last time Adrian and I met was at the Graduation. I keep meaning to write to him, but somehow, I never get round to it." She watched with interest as Malfoys fingers tightened round his fork until the knuckles shone white.

"Why? Has he asked you to keep in touch then?" he bit out now, the exquisitely prepared fish in front of him forgotten as he stared at her.

Hermione wondered why her acquaintance with Adrian was of such importance to him, and after a moment answered with a light smile, "Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. I doubt I'll write to him though. There's too much else to do. I mean I barely manage to keep up with my correspondence with all my school friends, let alone start corresponding with someone whom I barely know. Besides, he hasn't written anything to me yet."

"Indeed," Malfoy drawled relaxing, "time's such a precious commodity. Like I said, this holiday of you busy 'doing nothing' is a well-earned break. After all, once you start at Stanwick, there'll be no recourse in terms of time. I think that trying to maintain the friendship forged in school's a better use of time than to waste it on practically a stranger." He sliced his fish deftly and continued, "Speaking of Stanwick, Mother was telling me that the course is no picnic; half of the new entrants drop out during the first year because they can't cope with the rigorous pace."

"Really?" Hermione's interest was piqued. Leaning forward, she asked, "How does your mother know this?"

"One of her friend's son started at Stanwick last year – according to mother, he just about managed to scrape through to the second year. And for Dixon De Winters to do that is worthy of note, considering he graduated from Beauxbatons with seven NEWTs."

"De Winters? You must be joking! Oh dear," Hermione shook her head, "it looks like I'll have a very challenging path ahead of me, then." Hermione's eyes gleamed with determination, anticipating the challenges she would face at the university.

Malfoy shook his head with a fond smile. Chewing his lip, he gazed at the silver-clad witch before him, his brow furrowed in thought. Then quietly, he said, "I doubt anything would stop you from doing what you believe in."

Hermione didn't respond to Malfoy's almost uncharacteristic musing. She blushed, and took the opportunity to look around them, soaking in the low hum of chatter and clinking of cutlery on crockery. The soft strains of a flute and harp filled the awkward silence.

"Such lovely music," she commented after a while, letting the music wash over her, as she leaned back in her chair. A wait staff very discreetly removed the remains of their main courses and put in front of them the dessert – a chocolate cream torte, and coffee.

"Hmmm, yes. It's Mozart's Flute Concerto Number 1 for Flute and Harp – one of my favourite pieces," Malfoy replied, gesturing to Hermione asking silently if she wanted cream in her coffee.

Hermione nodded, and Malfoy gallantly poured a spot of cream into her coffee. "You have a remarkable knowledge of classical music," she smiled.

"I had lessons on the piano and harp as a child. I've struggled with this piece enough to know it well," he deprecated with a chuckle. "It's like the Brocklehurst girl said when you visited, it's expected of the Old Families to ensure that their progeny plays at least one instrument. Fortunately," he looked up with a smile at Hermione, "I've always loved music. I know Crabbe struggled awfully screeching his violin, sounding like a cat being tortured—"

Hermione giggled at the thought, and Malfoy grinned.

"It's a wonder then, that the Ministry of Magic didn't issue a prohibitive summon for the Crabbes to prevent Vincent inflicting his 'music' on the sanity of the wizarding community at large," Malfoy quipped, to the accompaniment of Hermione's laughter.

"Oh dear," Hermione smiled, laughter shining in her eyes.

"Yes, I'm more than thankful to inherit my father's love of music. It made my learning all the more enjoyable. Father has lots of sheet music, but his three favourites are Mozart, Vivaldi, and Rachmaninoff."

"I didn't know," Hermione shook her head in wonderment, this side of Lucius Malfoy's character surprised and intrigued her, "I can't imagine your father loving music – it just seems…well…"

"Out of character?" Malfoy smiled knowingly, taking a bite of his rich chocolate dessert.

Hermione watched him savouring the confection, his eyes quietly assessing her.

"Ah Hermione, you're too smart to judge by appearances. I think you'd be pleasantly surprised if you took the time to get to know my parents. Father has a lot of knowledge about music, especially voice."

Hermione sipped her coffee, as Malfoy beckoned the wait staff for another order of coffee.

"Alas, singing is something most wizards have difficulty with," he continued, "and is a talent that no amount of training can improve. Tell me," he smiled, "did you have singing lessons? Your voice is one of the most pure and powerful I've ever heard."

Returning Malfoy's smile, Hermione confessed, "I started lessons at the age of five – pitch-training, diction. The training wasn't really difficult for me; I guess I'm naturally gifted in singing. My nursery school had encouraged Mum and Dad to let me have formal training, and with success at every level, they were encouraged to keep me in classical voice training."

"Did your brother take lessons as well?" he asked eyeing her over the rim of his fresh cup of coffee.

Hermione bit back a laugh at the thought of Mathew taking lessons in singing or picking up a classical instrument. Electric guitar maybe, but that was the extent of his very brief musical interest. According to him, music was a 'girly' thing and something he 'wouldn't be caught dead doing'. "No," she smiled, "my brother hasn't quite the right temperament to study music. He's far too impatient."

"What's he like?" he asked leaning forward with interest, "You don't talk about him much. Why, it was only when your mother mentioned him at our graduation that I realised you had a brother at all."

"Well," Hermione shrugged, "there're four years between us and as we don't see much of one another during term time, we've grown quite apart. He's a typical boy; chauvinistic and selfish. The only things he cares about are football and food."

Malfoy laughed softly, "You're a hard woman to please, Hermione," he chided gently.

Still smiling, he inquired if Hermione needed anything else. At her negative reply, he called for the bill and paid for their dinner. Getting up, he came round to her side of the table and drew out her chair. Helping her to her feet, he smiled down at her, "Have you got everything?"

"Yes, thanks," she replied self-consciously. She was conscious of many pairs of curious eyes watching them and wished that the other diners would all look away. She was glad therefore, when Malfoy gallantly escorted her out of the restaurant back into the foyer.

The maître d' held out their cloaks as they approached him. "I hope that you had an excellent dinner," he said with a slight bow.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, we did, thank you," Hermione smiled appreciatively, "It was wonderful." Hermione's smile lit up the maître d's demeanour. From the looks of it, a note of thanks was something he got all too rarely.

Beside her, Malfoy said nothing. He took Hermione's cloak from the other man and proceeded to drape it round her shoulders. Standing between the maître d' and Hermione, he marked out his territory possessively. Malfoy made a great fuss of fastening Hermione's cloak and once this was done, he swung his own cloak round his shoulders with an elegant flair, before placing a proprietorial hand on the small of Hermione's back leding her towards the double doors out onto Diagon Alley without a backward glance.

Lights twinkled here and there, casting a glow over the cobbles. A warm breeze ruffled the hem of Hermione's robes as she stepped out of the brightly lit restaurant, Malfoy beside her. They made their way down the now empty street in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts, feeling satiated by the good food and companionable company. Soon the wall separating them from the Leaky Cauldron came into sight and Hermione turned to her brooding dinner partner.

"That was a wonderful dinner," she said sincerely, looking up into his face, "Thank you."

For a moment, Malfoy said nothing and simply allowed his grey eyes to search her face. Then as though pulling himself together, he smiled, "Actually, if you aren't in too much of a hurry, I was hoping that you may like to come to the manor for coffee. Mother and father would love to see you again."

Hermione stared up at him in the dim light coming from the Leaky Cauldron's windows. She gulped; what should she do? On the one hand, he had left the question open. All she need do was to make an excuse and she could easily get away. On the other hand, he had just taken her to dinner at a restaurant, the equivalent of the Savoy. It would seem churlish as well as rude to refuse this invitation after he had spent so much money on her. Also, she knew Draco Malfoy too well; he would never take no for an answer. No doubt he had his reasons for inviting her to the manor and it was better she go willingly than by force. Anyway, while she was there, maybe she would be able to find out something for the Order. After all, she had her wand on her and if that proved to be of no use, she could always fall back on her Animagus transformation. She hoped it wouldn't come to that, as she still hadn't quite mastered the art of not panicking when looking down.

Yes, perhaps she could ask to look round the library while she was there, and in doing so, carry out one of the tasks assigned to her by the Order. As yet, it had been the Order who had done all the giving by ensuring she was trained to make best use of her powers. It was high time she gave something back and this would be the perfect opportunity. She would not stay long at the manor – just long enough to take a quick look round the library.

"Thank you," she accepted, "but I can't stay too long. I promised mum I'd help with the baking for tomorrow's church fete."

He smiled and drawled, "Good. We'll have to use tandem Apparation to get to the manor. Ready?"

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said with a nervous smile, as he drew her against him, putting his arms round her.

"Of course I do," came the smirk and confident reply, "now make sure your arms are secure around me. Yes, like so – it'll make it easier to direct us both. Now, hold on tight."

Hermione shut her eyes as she gripped Malfoy tightly round the waist. With a small pop they Disapparated to appear a moment later outside Malfoy manor.

She staggered as she opened her eyes. This was nothing like single Apparation and she had no doubt as to which she preferred. Taking a deep breath, she stood upright and to her relief the ground stayed where it was.

"Are you ok?" Malfoy asked, watching her carefully as slowly he released his hold on her. At her nod, he went on, "Then let's get inside. It's getting cooler out here and that cloak won't protect you from the breeze."

Taking her arm, he led her up the marble steps to the front door. No sooner had they mounted the steps, the doors were opened by a house elf which stepped aside as they entered the well-lit hall.

"Here, take Hermione's cloak," Draco ordered, as the house elf shut the doors behind them. Undoing her cloak, he handed it with his own to the nervous looking elf who hung them up. "Where are mother and father?"

"They is in the drawing room sir," the elf squeaked in response.

"Draco, back so soon?"

Whipping round, Hermione saw Lucius framed in the doorway of what she remembered to be the informal drawing room. The light shone on his hair but left the rest of his face in shadow.

"Father," Draco greeted the man casually, "Hermione accepted my invitation to coffee and here we are."

At these words, Lucius stepped forward, his lazy smile replaced with an alert expression, "Indeed, that is wonderful. Welcome, Hermione. Narcissa, we have a guest."

The sound of rustling silk reached Hermione's ears, and a moment later, Narcissa appeared, smiling brilliantly. "Hermione my dear, this is an unexpected surprise, welcome!" Coming forward, she bent and kissed Hermione on the cheek and led her into the drawing room, her husband and son following behind. "Tell me, how was dinner? I have always like the Lock and Key – I presume that is where you went?"

"Mother, stop smothering Hermione," Draco grinned, pulling Hermione playfully away from his mother's clutches and leading her to a sofa, "she has come here to visit, not be so rudely bombarded with questions."

Narcissa simply pouted in response and having rung for coffee, resumed, "So did you go to the Lock and Key? It is a wonderful place – so elegant! The service is divine!"

"Yes," Hermione said unable to help smiling at Narcissa's exuberance, "it was very nice." She couldn't help stifling a grin at Draco's eye roll at his mother's interest.

"Quite," Lucius agreed, "it's one of the few decent restaurants around." The Malfoy senior sat himself opposite Hermione and regarding her thoughtfully, "Was it the first time you dined there?"

"Yes, it was. And the food was delicious," she replied, "it was as Narcissa said – a wonderful dining experience."

At that moment a house-elf appeared carrying a tray of steaming coffee. Hermione eyed the tray covertly as Narcissa poured and handed the cups round. Taking her own cup, she placed it on the side table next to her, wondering how she was going to get out of drinking it. She had not forgotten what had happened to the Brocklehursts during the Easter holidays and was determined that she would not suffer the same fate.

"I do like coffee made from Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee beans," Lucius remarked taking an appreciative sip.

Hermione looked down into her own coffee cup, and taking a deep breath said, "Actually, I'm really full – the food at the Lock and Key was very rich and I don't think I could eat or drink anything else. Besides, I'm not much of a coffee drinker. As it is, I've already exceeded my coffee limit at dinner tonight." She gave Draco a smile in an effort to get him to confirm her statement, and directed an apologetic smile at Narcissa as she spoke. The other woman's eyes narrowed and Hermione knew from the expression in them that she did not believe her.

"Well, she did have two cups of coffee at the Lock and Key," Draco began, but was cut off by his mother.

"It's fine, Draco," Narcissa said her hostess-smile not faltering, "The truth is that Hermione's not adverse to coffee; she's just a little wary. Some things do not change over night, I fear."

Hermione felt the colour flood her cheeks, but she was determined not to apologise and drink her cup of coffee. Narcissa, she well knew, was one of the most manipulative people she knew. Making Hermione feel guilty would ensure her drinking the coffee. Not this time, Hermione promised herself, she wouldn't let Narcissa get her way.

As though reading her thoughts, Narcissa relented, "Hermione, look, it's fine, I understand how you feel about us, but it's only coffee. And no, don't worry; I won't force you to drink it if you really don't want to. See? I haven't drunk from my own cup yet, so I'll swap with you, all right? You can be sure that there's no poison in my cup – after all, I am not like to harm myself now am I?" With a smile, she glided over to Hermione, and placed her own coffee cup on the table beside her, before scooping up Hermione's untouched cup and reseating herself.

Not knowing how to respond to this, Hermione glanced at Draco, but he was looking at his mother, eyebrows raised. Lucius, for once was taking no part in the conversation, staring into the fire, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Thank you," Hermione hesitated. She now had no excuse not to drink the deliciously smelling coffee. To still refuse to partake the beverage would make her look rude; to partake – well, it was Narcissa's cup, and she would not poison herself now would she?

Smiling gingerly, Hermione quipped, "Well, I doubt I'll get any sleep tonight," as she picked up the fragrant cup of coffee.

Narcissa laughed charmingly, and Draco grinned. Lucius still stared at the fireplace.

Hermione took a sip from her cup. Lucius was indeed right – it was the best coffee she had ever tasted; smooth and creamy on her palate. "I don't drink much coffee," she said, looking up at Narcissa who was eyeing her intensely, "but this is really good." Hermione smiled as she drank some more; she really didn't know why she was making such a fuss over a cup of coffee. She must be losing it to have caused such a scene.

Draco and Narcissa chatted quietly about what they had ordered at dinner. Narcissa seemed delighted at their choices. Hermione tried to stifle a yawn; sitting in the Malfoys' drawing room felt warm and relaxing. Why she had ever thought that Draco and his parents were objectionable, she'd never know. They were a wealthy family, but here in the cosy drawing room, they were just like any other father, mother and son.

Finishing her coffee, Hermione placed the cup down and tried to stifle another yawn. Why, the Malfoys were just as hospitable as the Weasleys when it came down to the basics. Oh she was tired, so very tired. She would quite happily put her head back and let sleep claim her. Leaning back into the comfortable sofa, another wave of drowsiness hit her. She wondered if the Malfoys would mind too much if she just had a little nap, while they were still conversing.

She was vaguely aware of Narcissa standing beside her, her hand stroking the hair back from Hermione's forehead. "It's all right," she heard Narcissa say, and smiled in response. Good, the Malfoys wouldn't mind if she just had a quick nap. See, so hospitable, and so much like Molly Weasley in her care of her guests. Hermione couldn't understand why she had disliked the Malfoys so much. Oh well, she gave a mental shrug, she could put things right and thank them for their kindness when she felt more awake. Giving up all resistance, Hermione allowed the waves of tiredness roll over her, engulfing her in wonderful blissful oblivion. She slid sideways onto Draco's lap, deeply asleep.