………Hermione was trembling. Not because of the soreness or undeniable cold, half of her clothes being torn off and dangling. She was trembling from fear. Fear and anger. She could kill Ivan right then, and his damn father. Her arm ached from keeping her wand posed. She only had Podmore on her side. The two of them against six.

"STURGIS!" Hermione screamed, "NOOOO!" ………

Hermione jumped a bit in her sleep. Next her eye lids were fluttering, her head was banging… and yet… the rest of her was modestly comfortable. And for that reason alone she was cautious. However, she doubted any place could be worse than a jail cell in the house of Voldemort, so in that way, she couldn't help but feel relief.

It may have been her dreams that awoke her, but it was her nose that perked her up; the rich aroma of herbs and spices simmering, not rancid straw. She was on something soft, opposed to a wood plank. There were no soft murmurs or uncontrollable wails of the other prisoners. Not only was it quiet, but also warm. She was no longer in her cell. Had she been rescued? No, she couldn't jump to conclusions yet.

She didn't open her eyes. It might not be safe. She'd continue to pretend to sleep for the time being. Gather information. Follow her training of constant vigilance.

Her mind tingled in the way it does when you have to struggle to remember something. She closed her eyes tightly and thought hard.

…She recalled Crabbe, shaking her, getting her to rise. She had been exhausted; she didn't know what he wanted. Surely they weren't going to torture her again? They had given up weeks ago. Lately they had just fed her enough to stay alive, barely alive, but alive none the less.

Did they think she knew something new? Didn't they know that they might as well kill her? She'd never tell them where Dumbledore was. Well… she liked to think she'd never tell… if she had in fact known where he was. But she didn't.

No, she remembered slowly, they didn't want to torture her… "Someone is here to take you to your new home little lassie," rang Crabbe's voice in her head. Then he had hoisted her up… and she saw the face of the most unexpected man.

Why would Lucius Malfoy be outside her cell?

Her memory of the last few hours came crashing back in a rush. They had dragged her limp body, since she appeared unable to walk on her own, out of the deep dark labyrinth below and into the foyer of an old derelict house. It was there that she made a desperate attempt to shake herself free of their grasp with the insane hope of making it out of the house. Maybe even run to safety.

But, even if she had made it out of the house, there's no way she would've had the strength to run all the way to the little village.

She managed to knock Crabbe down in her struggle to escape though, which was always nice.

It was at the point that Lucius stunned her in the back of the head.

She could only assume that led up to where she was now, her head throbbing from a combination of injury and nightmare. She remained just as confused as she was the moment she saw Lucius the first time. What could he possibly want with her? Where had he taken her? Her thoughts stopped abruptly, she heard someone speaking.

"That will be enough, I can take care of the rest myself… go draw a hot bath," Hermione heard Lucius' voice speak.

"Yes sir," said a new unfamiliar voice, croaky and submissive.

There was a clamor of noise, the sounds of creaking cupboards and tinkering dishes, chairs scrapping across the floor and the rustle of Lucius' robes. Then the noise of running water sounded at least one room away. She then felt the presence of someone standing over her.

"Enough of the charade," said Lucius, "I know you're awake."

Hermione opened her eyes, immediately surveying her surroundings.

It appeared she was in some shoddy motel room. Two single beds, a small little kitchen and table, a closet, a bathroom door… There was a window beyond Lucius. It showed a soft orange hue, it must be the sunset. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had seen daylight. She could also judge from the view that they weren't on the first level of whatever building she was in. Saying nothing, she just looked up at him.

"You hungry?" he growled.

Shocked at the vague but insinuated offer of food, Hermione intended to remain silent, but her stomach betrayed her and growled most loudly. A growl so desperate it was physically painful, and in Hermione's weak condition it shot throughout her whole body.

"Of course you are," Lucius answered coldly, "Can you get up? Your stew is getting cold."

Hesitantly Hermione rose. Normally, she'd love to spit on anything Lucius would offer her, but she hadn't eaten in three days, and even then it was gruel. Right then, her hands were shaking at the very smell of the stew and her body's most basic need for survival was overriding all else. Before she even realized it she was seated at the table and she had a heaping spoonful in her mouth.

So delicious… hearty hot stew, with soft carrots, potatoes and tender chunks of beef in a thick flavorful broth! She shoveled in at least three more bites, swallowing them down.

Instantly she began to warm up from the inside as her tongue slowly registered the feeling of food in her mouth, and the satisfaction of swallowing it down into her belly. She felt her sore tired muscles revive with energy, every sense she had awakening to full life. It was only then after a small revival that she realized Lucius was staring at her.

'Oh god,' she thought, a large bite remaining half chewed in her mouth, 'I'm eating poison…'

Lucius laughed as the look of horror overcame her. "If I wanted to kill you Granger," he said harshly, "I'd do it with feeling, upfront and obvious. I wouldn't poison you like some rat. Why, I'd WANT you to know that I was about to kill you."

Hermione continued to stare at him. He went to the icebox and pulled out a jug. He poured her a tall glass of milk. Cold, fresh, creamy milk. Hermione looked him in the eyes one more time and then hastily grabbed the glass and gulped it down.

She didn't care. She didn't care at the moment that Lucius Malfoy was showing her kindness. She wanted to eat, and for right then in that moment it was paradise. She hadn't even noticed there were fresh hot rolls on the table too! She shoved one into her mouth whole and then grabbed another; ripping it in half and at least taking the time to sloppily butter that one.

Lucius stared at her with disgust as she continued to shove food down her throat.

Savage… he thought to himself, how horrible it was to be "nice" to her.

"When you've finished," Lucius spoke again, "You must wash the rubbish off of yourself. Now I have every intention of giving you privacy… but mark my words, there is no way to escape from the bathroom. There is a tiny window, and while you are repulsively skinny, you won't fit. So please, just don't even bother."

Hermione swallowed a huge mouthful of food before she was able to speak, "Why am I here?" she finally asked, her bowl and glass now being empty and her stomach oh so wonderfully full. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Settle down!" he yelled angrily. Then he pressed his lips together, as if what he just said would get him in trouble. He took a deep breath and smoothed his robes; "Everything will be explained to you after you have cleaned yourself up."

Hermione looked at her filthy hands. He-who-must-not-be-named never let the prisoners wash, just one more thing he could do to rob human beings of their dignity.

She was confused and frightened, but she got up from the table anyways. After all she had no strength to fight. No place to go. Besides, so far this was countless times better than the Riddle house. With a life as uncertain as hers, when you were offered a bath, hey, you might as well take it.

A short, elderly house elf came out of a room. He looked up at her, gesturing through the door. She entered the steamy room to see an old tub, filled to the brim with hot soapy water. The door closed behind her.

For the first time in months Hermione saw herself in a mirror. Practically every square inch of her was smeared with dirt. Her hair was so weighed down by filth and grime that she had no curl left, most of her hair sticking to her, matted down onto her neck. Her gray cheekbones were protruding, and her knees were ridiculously knobby, especially since she had such naturally long legs. She had lost so much weight since she had been captured, her curves were gone, save for the protruding of her hip bones. However, due to the fullness of her stomach, she currently had a little potbelly, and there was evidence of a little rosy color returning to her cheeks.

Folded on a chair were a plain black skirt and white blouse and a pine green robe, with a toothbrush set out on top. Hermione didn't dwell on her reflection or the new items for long though, because the heat of the water was calling to her.

The wave of relaxation that over came her almost made her faint from relief as she slowly slipped into the bath. Her achy, abused frame melted into the silky hotness of the water. The nourishing, life saving food in her stomach happily being digested, she reveled in a peaceful moment of tranquility. She had no idea that Lucius Malfoy would soon be telling her she'd wed Draco Malfoy.

~xxx~

Draco Malfoy sat tensely in an overstuffed black leather chair, his fingers gripping the arms tightly.

Across the living room on a matching black sofa sat a weeping girl and his disdainful looking mother, who, obviously annoyed, was trying her best to fake sincerity to her husband's best friend's obnoxious teenage daughter, rubbing the crying girl's back.

"Now, now Pansy," she drawled, sipping from her wine glass before continuing, "I know it's hard but we all must make sacrifices."

Pansy only wailed harder.

Narcissa attempted to block her out with sound of her own reassuring voice, "The Dark Lord works in mysterious ways after all… surely this arrangement won't last forever. Just you wait and see; soon we will all be blessed beyond our wildest dreams!" Barely believing her own words, she then drowned her mouth with more wine.

"My… poor… Draco…" Pansy yelped in between hiccups, "I just… don't under…stand! How could the Dark Lord…do… this… to…US!" and she buried her face into the seat cushion, stifling a howl. Narcissa rolled her eyes.

Her victim here? Hardly! It would be her, Narcissa, who would have to house the beast. Feed her and cloth her and God forbid, try to tame her! Like a muggle-born could ever be passed off as a dignified Pureblood? Just being in the same room with her, why, the absurdity of it! Like she had time to potty train a dirty little muggle-born savage? If Narcissa didn't have a staff of 25 house elves and an endless liquor cabinet, then maybe, just maybe, she'd shed a tear or two. But Pansy was being dramatic.

Who bloody cared if Pansy didn't get to shag her only son for a while? Her house was going to be tainted by the presence of a mudblood! How embarrassing!

Pansy sprang up, ran to Draco at the chair and fell to his feet, laying her face into his knees.

"I don't care about the conditions! I'll still come see you Draco! We'll still be together! We'll find away."

Draco grimaced as Pansy continued to cry onto his nice black slacks, but said nothing. How he wished she would just get off him and shut up. Only she could make this worse.

Narcissa must have read his mind, "My dear child," she said in a fake cooing voice, pouring herself another glass of wine, "I'm sorry, but the Dark Lord has specifically requested that Draco not receive the company of other women during this arrangement," she gulped down half the glass, "This…'MARRIAGE'…" she quoted with her fingers in a tipsy like fashion, "must appear as legitimate as pothible," she said to Pansy, lisping now and her head wobbling about like a puppet, getting drunker by the minute.

"Now, my poor little Pansy, say your good byes. Draco surely must be very upset and having you around… you… you pretty little thing," his mother said, lying most horribly, "…must be making it just that much more difficult."

However, Pansy, dumber than dirt, believed ever word of it. "Oh," she cried, "You're right! I'm so sorry Draco, me prancing around, looking fabulous, and you, sitting there, knowing you can't have me. It must be so torturous! Will you ever forgive me?"

"I think I just may be able to," Draco said flatly, trying not look her in the face.

Pansy sniffled a little more, stood up and threw her arms around Draco's neck, "Good Bye my sweet Draky-Poo. Don't you worry! I'll wait for you! Your mother's right, this isn't forever!" And she slammed her thin spitty lips onto his.

She peeled off of him, letting out a pitifully dramatic huff of despair and then sauntered out of the room, her hand to her forehead. Draco immediately wiped his lips with his sleeve.

'Ugh!' he thought, 'she knows I hate it when she kisses me outside of a bed!' he shivered with disgust, 'At least she's gone!'

"Well wasn't that horrid," said Narcissa.

"To say the least..." Draco muttered, hunching over in the chair, "What time did you say we could expect… them?"

"Well let me think," a stressed Narcissa said, lighting a long thin cigarette, taking a drag as she reclined back onto the sofa, "Your father said he shall return home at four o'clock with your little wife to be."

The word shut down Draco.

"Wife".

He was so angry, and there was nothing he could do about it. No tantrum or begging or negotiation would ever stop his father from making him do this. For if it was Voldemort's order, which meant nothing could stop Lucius from carrying it out, no matter how preposterous he knew the request was.

Draco would punch through the wall if only his mother weren't right there. Him? Forced to marry? To Granger none the less! The pathetically nerdy best friend of Harry Potter! The bossy insufferable know-it-all! The muggleborn loser who had the nerve to attend Hogwarts! The one person he couldn't stand! He hated her! He despised her! He… had to confess… it wasn't just her that made his stomach turn.

"Little Wife," his mother had said. The words echoed in his mind. 'Wife,' he thought, 'Is it just me, or doesn't wife mean the woman you'll love and cherish until you die! The wonderful, beautiful, special woman you're lucky enough to know… the woman you CHOOSE to spend the rest of your life with, and if you're good enough she just may have you back, should you be so blessed…'

But how could Draco voice his distress to Lucius? Such petty emotions like longing for true love… surely Lucius would beat him for being so weak.

Purebloods didn't marry for love. They married for power, for wealth, for allegiance, for passing on the precious line. Hardly for love. Every pureblood marriage these days was a façade. Charades of romance were merely to impress others. In reality, pureblood marriages were all but planned from birth.

Why else would he date Pansy Parkinson, the daughter of Lucius' best friend? She was the most daft, vapid and homely girls he had ever come across Perhaps her body was of the appealing type, and thank Merlin for that, otherwise sleeping with her would be damn near impossible. But even that was getting… skanky, for lack of a better word. And good God, the quantity of make up on just one face! The girl spent so much time charming and remedying herself she reeked of potion products.

Any girl could jinx away unwanted belly fat everyday or enchant herself bigger, more ridiculous breasts, and be stupid enough to believe a guy couldn't feel the difference. What Draco would give for a natural beauty; a sweet, luscious, real girl. Who was sweet, strong and educated, and had an indefinable passion for life… and for him.

He didn't love Pansy, to say the least.

But as the outlook seemed, he'd never be allowed to love anyone.

And this whole forced marriage thing only made it that much more definite! What chance was there now, should he by some fluke chance even meet the girl of his dreams, to live happily ever after? Lucius would be happy at least, Draco's secret obsession with love was just about dead.

And that bloody Hermione Granger! Honestly, could things get any worse? Only the top, most miniscule population of Pureblood society, that is to say only the most elite of the Death Eaters, would know it was all part of some bigger and mysterious plan. That left anyone who was anyone else in the wizarding world, Pure or not, to gossip about him, make fun of him. The mudblood loving husband. Voldemort's orders or not, Draco and his 'little wife' would be the talk of the society. Even the peons, the mixed-bloods, the nothings would have cause to snicker about him.

The most aggravating factor of all was that it was pointless! It would never work. Hermione, the stubborn prat she was, would never play along, no matter how much they threatened her.

This "engagement" would be announced, his ridicule and backbiting would commence, the whole family would look like demented trolls prancing around pretending it was legitimate, but come the big day, no matter what, Granger wouldn't walk down an aisle if a wand was to her head.

Basically, it will just be the most irreparable embarrassment of his life and stifle out to an end.

Why her of all people? And why him as well? Why not Crabbe? Or even Goyle? He hated his life. Hated it!

He could scream. He could holler out loud, pick up the armchair and throw it out the three-story window! He could knock off all of the thousand-galleon goblin made trinkets from the fireplace mantel and stomp on them. But he didn't.

He pulled himself out of his trance of angry despair, and he looked at his watch. It was noon. Four more agonizing hours of waiting for the unimaginable to begin. He released his grip from the arms of the chair and got up from his seat

"You know I hate it when you smoke," he said to Narcissa, snatching the cigarette from her lips and putting it out. A house elf approached and Draco gave it the ashtray.

"Sirs and Madams…" squeaked the little elf, "Lunch is about to be put on, what would you like today?"

"I'm not hungry," Draco announced and Narcissa watched as he hurriedly exited the room.