A/N: So there's a lot of odd things going on in this chapter and although I am attempting to write in some mystery and want some things to be left wavering in the air for a bit, I have a fear that I my attempt may be poorly written and instead of being mysterious I am just being confusing! So feel free to ask questions in a review about anything. In my next A/N I try to answer some for you, but some I may not! Thanks for reading!

P.S. For some reason my little colons I've been using to signal time/scene changes (classy and oh so professional, I know) aren't working. It's really late and since I just want to get this posted I'm not going to tinker around for an hour trying to fix it tonight, so sorry if it feels like there are sudden and random abruptions.

… … …

Hermione was happy when she got to sleep in early that next morning, and when she finally awoke around ten, she helped herself to an order of another large delicious breakfast.

After finishing her French toast, sunny eggs, crispy bacon and fresh fruit, she took her time in a warm soapy shower as well. Perhaps she was trying to enjoy the redeeming qualities of Malfoy manor to make it easier for herself. Tonks not rescuing her the day before had definitely taken its psychological toll on her.

'Don't think about it,' she told herself briskly, 'just get your mission done, then you can finally go home.'

Hermione exited her room slowly, not sure where Draco was. Hermione had only been to the top landing of the north wing before, never deep down the halls to its rooms.

It was still and quiet when she reached the top of one of the long curved staircases, giving her snooping a lot more anxious of a feel.

She first entered the huge French doors at the top of the stairs. It was a humungous master bedroom, a giant high bed in the middle with a towering canopy. Everything was a deep dark oak and the room looked like it was always dim, no matter the time of day. However, it was very clean and warm.

It appeared that Hermione's assumption that the Malfoy's had absolutely no personality seemed to true, for there was nothing in the room that appeared to have any sentimental value or elude to a hobby or interest to any of the room's inhabitants. There were slippers by the bed, and infinite clothes in the gargantuan walk in closets. Other than that, the room was quite boring.

After she concluded there was nothing of inertest in the bedroom she quickly left, nervous at first to open the door, because for a split second she thought she sensed someone on the other side.

But the coast was clear and she made her way into the other rooms. She was getting a little worried when they appeared to have nothing in them. There was a sewing room, a couple more guest rooms, sun rooms, and what looked like a gambling room, with stocks of brandy and the smell of cigars. It went on like this for a ridiculously long time.

About to be discouraged, she finally entered a study, but after stepping into it she was positive it was Lucius's office. It was dark and cool and Hermione, who was partial to studying in the sunny common rooms of Gryffindor tower, couldn't imagine how Lucius could get any work done in such a place.

There was a large wood desk straight in front of her, stacks of paper arranged here or there on it, she picked up a book which was laid open on the desk. After she read a few lines of it, even turning the page, she looked disgusted. She turned the book over to read the title, "Slytherins and their Success."

'Ugh, no wonder…' she thought, setting the book back down.

Behind the desk the entire wall was a window, but the humungous tan drapes filtered out the light. The small space between the two curtains was the only allowance of a solid beam of light. Hermione made out a peculiar square in the window, it appeared to open and close. Beyond the window was the courtyard, and looking straight out it was a view of Draco's south wing.

To the left of the desk was a shelf also as tall as the ceiling and went along the length of the room, save for the interruption of an impressive fireplace right in the middle, the mantel of which also went to the ceiling.

The shelves were filled with Lucius's private collection of books, and to the right of the room, a counter with drawers and shelves beneath it.

It wasn't the dark burgundy furniture and dimness that made Hermione uncomfortable, but the overall cynical, almost evil, feel of the room. Soon it was obvious why.

Upon closer look she realized she was surrounded by artifacts and apparatuses of the dark arts. She shuddered and stepped away from the magical devices used only for misdeeds, torture and manipulation. She went to the bookshelf but didn't find much solace there. Book after book of dark potions and spells took up all the space. Such powerful and efficient magic, guaranteed to get the composer whatever they desired.

In a wave of sympathy Hermione could almost understand why someone would turn to that side. The books screamed silently to her, she had a deep but undeniable urge to take up one of the books… dying for a glimpse of just one spell… for no doubt it would give her power and control. She could save herself with its force. Get herself out of Malfoy Manor even…

But she suppressed the horrible urge and turned away from the shelf. And there laid the distinction between strong and weak. For using dark magic would ultimately corrupt you, no matter how pure your intentions, no matter how much it could benefit you in an occasion. It crawls under your skin and consumes all the good in you, never letting go.

But that didn't mean it was easy for her, in fact it was quite difficult. The temptation was still unbelievably strong so she hurried over to Lucius's desk, to put some distance between her and the books filled with the forbidden information, suddenly afraid she may not be as strong as she thought.

She pulled open one of the drawers, they were filled with files and office supplies, and it appeared to be all ministry work. She went to the other side of the room where the counter took up the other wall but not wanting to touch the objects. She knelt down to investigate the cupboards only to find them locked.

She surveyed the locks closely, and decided that even if she had had a wand, allohamora wouldn't have worked anyway, because it was probably protected against it by some other far more powerful charm.

The funny thing is, no matter how difficult a charm may be to unlock with a wand, all were the same level of difficult when picking it by hand. Hermione pulled a bobby pin from her hair and steadily worked around the gizmo, thanking Fred and George Weasley under her breath as she heard the lock click free, and grinned triumphantly at Lucius's undermining of muggle tactics.

The cupboard door creaked open to reveal more drawers of files... but why were these ones locked up? Hermione began flipping through them. It appeared to be letters and official documents… her heart began to pound, they were incriminating! She had found something!

But then her excitement soon slipped away. They were all petty crimes; forgery, money laundering or small bribes.

"L: Gringotts accepted the amount fake galleons that I will not disclose in this letter. We shall meet at the same time and place as usual to discuss moving to the gold phase. C." read one letter.

"If he won't come quietly, K can create a small but persuasive amount to pay him," said another.

Hermione moved on to another file which at first she thought was filled with official Ministry paperwork and documents. But upon surveying it closer she was shocked to see that they were not truly from the Ministry, because there were little subtle and insignificant flaws. But the papers in the back looked far more authentic than the ones in the front, as if they were getting more and more genuine by each sheet. Too bad they were merely just ministry letterheads and signatures of insignificant ministry employees.

Maybe with time this evidence would get Lucius fired, after months and months of trial though. But to Hermione's dismay it didn't look like there was anything there that screamed "Voldemort riser and supporter" that would send him straight to Azkaban.

She raised to her feet, preparing to leave, the subject of fake money causing Hermione to recall bitter sweetly how upset Ron once was when he found out all of the Irish gold he had given Harry was worthless.

Hold it right there.

Fake money? Accepted at Gringotts? How could that be? Those Goblins were terribly clever, how ever did they get tricked?

In fact, it was supposed to be damn near impossible to recreate wizards' money, simply because then every wizard would do so. The goblins surely put all kinds of anti-cloning jinxes on the coins and the design and signs of realness were supposed to be impossible to recreate.

And weren't official ministry credentials and logos protected as well? You couldn't very well have people running around with fake magical law enforcement squad badges, or wizards making their own laws or regulations. The most talented and powerful people in magic protected these official things with the strongest most elusive forms of magic. It would take quite a powerful and clever wizard to break through such protection.

Hermione thought better of it though, not wanting to give the person responsible for these forgeries too much credit. Such a wizard would have to dedicate their entire life to the craft, like a pick pocket on the street. Not truly a gifted wizard, just ruthlessly ambitious with a horrible talent in one area of magic, a scoundrel deep down no matter what.

Perhaps Hermione had discovered more powerful evidence then she had first thought.

… … …

Hermione entered Draco's rec-room without hesitation. She thought she had learned that he didn't mind from past experience, but unfortunately for her, he stared at her most coldly when he realized her presence.

She said nothing and just looked away, going straight for the kitchenette. All her snooping had made her hungry for lunch. She opened the fridge and yelped.

"Where are all my Mountain Dews?" she cried out.

Draco pulled his eyes away from the book he had been reading and scolded at her, "Gone," he answered shortly.

Hermione dropped her mouth at him. He had honestly drunken them all, leaving not a one for her. He knew they were hers, he knew that she loved them, and yet he drank them all anyway with, apparently, no remorse.

It was just so unbelievably selfish, rude and mean. Call her petty, but her Mountain Dews being all gone truly made Hermione sad and furious. It was far more than a silly caffeine addiction, but a little fond and comforting piece of home. How could he be so insensitive?

"You ass!" she cried, appalled he had gone back to reading when she was so obviously mad.

"Excuse me?" he asked harshly.

"You knew they were mine, I even said don't drink them all! You stupid ass!" she cried again, getting carried away in her sadness.

Draco gave her the most piercing look she had received since she came to the house, "You better hold your tongue with me mudblood," he hissed coldly, using that horrible word for the first time since they had been reintroduced, "I'm so sick of your smart mouth, who do you think you are anyway? How dare you talk to me like that, I'm Draco Malfoy, and if I want to drink your silly soda then I will. Call me an ass again and I'll see to it that Father makes you regret it."

Hermione stared at him; disbelieving such an arrogant, selfish, mean, git could truly exist. How could someone be so coldhearted? The spineless bastard honestly thought of no one but himself, calling upon his father for back up just like at Hogwar-

Suddenly Hermione felt like the biggest fool. Of course he was really this mean, selfish and pigheaded, because that's all she had known him as from her years at school. Why now would he be any different? He took whatever he wanted, said whatever he pleased, belittled everyone he met, thought himself superior in every way, and when he found himself in deeper water than he expected, why, he could always call on his father.

How stupid she had been to think for even a glimmer of a second that he could really be anything else.

Draco watched her facial expression drop into nothingness as she turned and left the room without another word. Then he smirked to himself.

What an idiot he had been acting like, giving into the muggle, even after helping her out a little. And for what? Nothing!

There was nothing to gain from being kind to her …nothing she'd give him anyway… And Draco Malfoy didn't do anything nice for anyone else unless something was in it for him. And honestly, was that so wrong? How else was he supposed to make it in the world? He felt ashamed that he had found himself acting other than his normal self simply because he had been physically yearning for the girl.

He sighed, happy he was over his pathetic drooling-over-the-muggle phase and proud of himself for conquering it to boot, and reclined back into his couch, nose back in his book, ignoring the subconscious horrible feeling of regret in his chest.

Hermione remained in her room for the next few hours, not wanting to admit that even after all these years, after all that has happened, Draco Malfoy could still hurt her with words.

It was absolutely ridiculous that such a git should affect her at all.

She was avoiding all contact with him and was listening to her stereo to ease her homesickness and implanting her animated signature into all of the wedding announcements Narcissa had given her, one of her petty chores the woman assigned her.

With the way that he was so cruel to her she assumed he would be more than happy to stay far away from her as well, so she was very surprised when there was a knock on her door.

She knew it must have been him, since Narcissa and Lucius were not due back yet nor would they come to her room, so she apprehensively opened the door.

He looked at her sternly, his arm raised as he leaned against the doorframe, "Come with me," he demanded softly.

Hermione followed Draco all the way to the foyer where a man in a black trench coat and wide brimmed black hat stood waiting. From the nose down he was covered by a black bandana, leaving nothing but his dark eyes visible. He bowed his head to greet her professionally.

"Miss Granger," he said, "I'm Hannibal Proctor, vampire slayer. I've done some investigating in your woods in order to help you with your problem, but I was wondering if you could assist me in better understanding your experience a few nights ago. If you wouldn't mind, I'd really appreciate it if you accompanied me out there and walked me through the attack."

Hermione slowly nodded her head, "Yes, that would be fine," she answered.

"I'll get my cloak," said Draco suddenly.

"Oh, that won't be necessary Mr. Malfoy, all I need is the perspective of the individual not lying in the sand," said Proctor.

Although Hermione didn't think the insult was intentional, it pleased her to see Draco's face flush red with anger, the subtle insinuation of cowardice too much for the Slytherin prince to swallow.

"I'm going," said Draco, "I need to make sure Miss Granger is ok, and I want to be able to let my father know how things go."

Proctor's eyes flashed. "Mr. Malfoy," said Hannibal, speaking more firmly than before, "I really must insist you stay, the less blood present the less blood there is for them to smell. I am confident I can guarantee protection to one extra person, but two makes it that much harder. We shall be quick."

Draco scowled, not wanting the two to think he was incapable of going, but it was obvious Hector would not give in.

"Fine," muttered Draco, "But I must insist you do not lead Hermione off of the grounds," he said, leering at Hermione, a grim reminder intended to frighten away any thoughts of asking Hector to save her.

She scowled back at him.

It was a cool cloudy day as Hermione followed Hector to the stables, where he had brought his own black steed. He hitched up his coat as he got onto the horse, and Hermione imagined she would catch sight of a flask with holy water, daggers, a knife or any such things strapped to his waist and legs, perhaps even a crossbow attached to the saddle and large crucifix around his neck… but there were no such things. He reached for her hand to hoist her on the horse with him.

Instantly they began to gallop off into the woods. They traveled far and deep for quite sometime. Hermione grew used to the rhythmic clap of the horse's hooves and steady bouncing up and down after they had ridden so long.

"We took the left," Hermione instructed Proctor as they approached a familiar fork, but Proctor, saying nothing, took the right.

'He must not have heard me,' she thought, 'oh well he'll probably cut through the hills.'

But he did no such thing.

"You'll want to start veering west," she shouted into his ear, making sure there was no way he wouldn't be able to hear her.

"I think we'll keep north," he said firmly and Hermione debated whether she had heard him right.

Their dedicated gallop to the north clarified everything for her. They were approaching the edge of Malfoy's property line and Hermione was beginning to panic. She wasn't able to ride out any further into the woods then where they were fast approaching. Closer and closer they neared the limits of her binding charm as Hermione sunk her fingers tightly into Proctor's sides. She was about to scream from anticipation of having to endure the pain of going out of the boundaries all over again when Proctor suddenly yanked on the reins, causing the horse to skid to a sudden brash halt.

Hermione slid off the horses back side and staggered away, looking white.

"Why so frightened?" asked Proctor.

"I can't go beyond this ridge…" Hermione muttered softly, catching her heart in her throat from the close call, unwilling to admit this, this… "vampire slayer" made her uneasy.

"Why?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Er- the vampires…" she pointed a shaky finger out over the ridge, "That's where we think they live…" she lied poorly.

Proctor chuckled. "There are no vampires in these woods," he stated firmly, glaring into her eyes.