Twenty: Sometimes We're Mean

There was screaming, yelling and very little else. Hermione had pillows piled on top of her head, held tight to her ears in an attempt to drown it out but it only served to muffle the words, not the volume. Darkness had descended hours earlier, leaving the fractured moonlight outside the window as the only light.

It was Lucius yelling, and maybe Malfoy as screaming was wrought with agony and she only hoped she didn't know whoever it was. Ginny was somewhere in this hell hole and that thought made her sick. Lucius wouldn't disobey Voldemort. That's what Malfoy had said.

She didn't know how much time passed before she fell asleep, reciting potion ingredients in her head to drown out the noise.

When she woke again, it was to the feeling of being watched slithering down her spine. She jumped violently, flipping on the bed to find Malfoy, tall, pale and ghostlike, leaning against the wall in the beams of broken moonlight. It wasn't fair how ethereal he looked, standing there like some tortured god.

He was staring, arms crossed and eyes focused like he was studying her.

And, for whatever reason, Hermione couldn't have cared less.

"What are you doing?" she sighed, tucking her hands under her pillow.

"Standing." His voice was deep and it filled the room, rolling across the wooden floors until it had settled into all of the cracks and crevices.

"Yes, I can see that." He arched an eyebrow and Hermione shut her eyes, settling deeper into the mattress. "Why are you standing there?" He was silent for long enough that Hermione assumed he wouldn't answer. She was talking herself into falling back asleep despite his presence when he finally spoke again.

"My father is on quite the rampage this evening and while the wards are designed to keep him out of your wing, I'd rather not test that tonight." His head tilted back against the wall, fringe falling across his forehead.

"Is Ginny safe?" She couldn't keep the concern out of her voice.

"Yes. Blaise is with her." he smirked just barely at that.

"I'm sure that went over well."

"Indeed." Malfoy responded.

"Malfoy?"

"Yes," He sighed, eyes falling shut.

"I think this is the first semi-pleasant conversation we have ever had." Malfoy hummed in agreement. "And it's about whether or not your father will attempt to murder me in my sleep." She laughed in a way that started to edge into insanity's territory.

"He won't," and he said it with such finality that Hermione had no response. Instead, her eyes opened slowly, sifting carefully through the glare of the moon and the backlit silhouette until she could make out some details. What she had thought was merely him crossing his arms appeared to be his attempt at - at something.

Hermione jerked upright and narrowed her eyes at the way the light seemed to be reflecting off of something.

"Are you bleeding?" she asked shrilly. Malfoy blinked slowly at her, the corner of his lips twitching upward. Before she had really given herself time to think it through, she found herself in front of him, slapping away his arms. "Are you laughing? What could possibly be funny?" she sounded so hilariously exasperated while she squinted in the darkness at his black shirt.

"You're quite adept at the art of pretending to give a fuck." he drawled. "I find it amusing." Hermione scowled.

"I think the blood loss is going to your head. I can't cast any diagnostics. You'll need to do it." she said, freezing when his hand shot out and gripped her wrist to stop her from unbuttoning his shirt.

"Not necessary." he said through gritted teeth. Hermione glared right back.

"What did it?" she asked instead, infusing her question with as much stubbornness as she could.

"My father's new toy." he sneered.

"And that would be?" she pressed, arching an eyebrow and wiggling her fingers where they'd gone cold under his grip.

"A hag." he finally said, nostrils flaring, silver swirling in slate eyes before the movement stopped and they went flat. Hermione's eyes widened and with her free hand, she reached for the hem of his button up, ripping it upwards with a sickening squelch as it peeled away from blood soaked skin.

"Cast the diagnostic, right now." She snapped, levelling him with a stare that challenged the authority in his until, finally, he caved and dropped her arm.

"You know," He drawled, head thudding against the wall while the diagnostic lit the room, "for someone who is theoretically supposed to be the brightest witch of our age," Hermione scowled even as her eyes darted back and forth, reading and taking in the displayed information, "you don't exactly seem to have a thorough understanding of your situation."

"Hm," she hummed noncommittally, holding the bottom of his shirt out of her way while she inspected the deep gashes along his ribs. "A cloth, water and dittany." Her voice was distracted as she gave him orders. The items materialised a moment later. "Why is your father playing with a hag?" she grimaced, dipping the cloth into the bowl of water before bringing it to his skin to clear some of the dark blood away.

"We all need an…outlet." his eyes were shut now, fingers curling and flexing rhythmically as Hermione cleaned him up.

"That's horrific. That was the screaming?" she whispered. "Sit."

He obeyed, sliding rather limply to the ground, letting his arm rest on the knee he'd bent. Hermione knelt in front of him, readjusting as she peered at him.

"Yes."

"Is that what you do? To blow off steam?" He blew out a puff of air that almost sounded like a laugh.

"Torture people?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Oh." She dropped the cloth back into the bowl and studied the four deep, angry lines.

"I ask again," he began after a moment. "Healing me would not appear to be in your best interest. Why?" His head rolled forward then, half lidded eyes landing on Hermione.

"It's the right thing to do." She answered automatically, quietly. She wasn't even certain she'd given any volume to the words at all. He was right, and still, with her classmate bleeding out in her new cell, she wasn't capable of turning a blind eye to it. At least not when he looked so messy, tired, pale, hurt and- human. It wasn't as though there was much in the way of emotion on his face or in the way he held himself but there wasn't pure, unyielding stone, and that's what did her in.

"Fucking Gryffindors." He rolled his eyes. "I don't believe you. You're smarter than that."

"You can read my mind, Malfoy."

"Yes, it doesn't appear to be all that useful." he smirked this time, for real, head leaning back again as she lifted the bottle of dittany. She didn't know what that meant. He was tired. It was so painfully obvious and still, with all of the blood loss, he held so much tension in his lean body that Hermione wondered what he was so carefully, constantly on guard for.

"Don't move." She pressed her hand against his sternum, applying enough pressure to remind him to stay still and then she tipped the bottle over the visible wounds. He hissed, but otherwise hardly flinched. Hermione was both horrified and impressed at his tolerance because resistance was built from subjection and that was a sad thought. The scratches healed, knitting themselves back together. "You need to have a shower."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Not in your wildest dreams, Malfoy."

"Hm."

When she looked up, ready to stand and leave him there on the floor, he was closer than she'd expected. His head was inclined towards her and his eyes, usually hard and unreadable, were glassy, unfocused and glazed with exhaustion. The pain there stirred something inside of her, something beyond the right thing to do, beyond him being deserving of being treated like a human being. It was- he was… He wasn't Voldemort's Commander where he sat. He was something else entirely; an eighteen year old without any clue how to survive all of this. He was forcing himself to and there was sheer force of will in those eyes. It was an odd feeling - like sparks of actual power travelling from one to the other where their eyes met and some type of pull inside of her chest.

He cleared his throat, eyes flitting away from her as he drew measured breaths in through his nose until he looked up and his eyes were impenetrable once again.

"You occlude. Don't you?" Her words were harsh and more of a statement than a question.

"Get back in bed." he snapped, and there he was: Voldemort's Commander once again.

"Yes, Master." she said tightly, shoving off of the floor and stalking towards her indecently large bed.

She felt his stare as she moved and that made the anger inside of her grow twice its original size. His ability to be such a complete arsehole never failed to amaze her and that was why, as she strode away from him, she reached for the hem of the nightshirt she'd been provided and pulled it over her head before chucking it to the side.

The air around them froze. She felt the tension skyrocket, like something physically slowing her movements. As long as she had gone without any type of affection she was certain he'd gone longer, and human nature ensured he was more controlled by the need for it than she was.

The question was whether nature would override blood status. Hermione doubted it, but still had little to no idea how deep his prejudice ran.

Warning was only given in the form of the scent of mint and blood before he was at her back, crowding her against the wall with large hands braced on either side of her head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed. She shivered. It was involuntary and a reaction to his breath at her throat and the freezing temperature of his skin. But still, his overinflated ego took credit for it, chuckling darkly in her ear. She regretted her choice for barely a moment until she felt his wild heartbeat echoing throughout his body and into hers.

"I don't exactly fancy sleeping in a shirt soaked in your blood." She forced indifference into her tone.

"No. What are you doing? This. What is all of this?" he growled, the deepness in his voice rolling through her body and causing her to shudder. Malfoy jerked her around, palm splayed out along her clavicle as he pinned her to the wall.

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about. You're hurting me." her voice wavered and the lies poured easily from her tongue. She saw the emotions flit through his eyes, one after the other in rapid succession, too quick to place. "I think the hag's venom has gotten to you. You need to rest." she whispered innocently, peering into his face with an overwhelming amount of concern. Forcing that particularly tone was easier than she'd expected.

Her medical advice wasn't a lie. His inhibitions were greatly lowered. His occlumency was flickering like candlelight. There was an occluded front forming between them; her warmth and his cold colliding where their chests brushed on each inhale. It was hard to breathe where the two temperatures collided and if she remembered correctly, that type of collision tended to cause a storm.

"This game you're playing," he hissed, fingers curling into her skin. Hermione gasped and she saw it the moment the sound reached him. His gaze went feral and his lips parted enough to bare his teeth, chest heaving uncontrollably. He was staring at her so intently she was certain he could see through to her soul and it was unnerving, how much weight his gaze held. Malfoy probably could have held her in place with that look alone. "-will get you hurt." he snapped, mouth closing with an audible click.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled, only for him to shift his expression to one of horror and disgust before he jerked away from her violently. She stumbled with the loss of his hand.

"Put on some fucking clothes and get in bed." The strength of the compulsion almost buckled her knees, a pained whimper echoing in the room and intertwining itself with the sound of his breathing.

She obeyed, but didn't sleep. Malfoy stood guard until the sun rose, both of them pretending to ignore the sound of the other's laboured breathing.

When the first rays of early morning light cast themselves across the floor, Malfoy was shoving away from the wall and came to a stop at the foot of the large four postered bed. Hermione stared at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge him until he spoke.

"Up. Dressed. You are accompanying me this morning." His voice was sharp, and a little hoarse with the hours of disuse. "We are dining as a family this morning." he sneered. "Your presence was requested." Her stomach sank through to the floor. "Play your part well and you will be rewarded. If you do not," he chuckled humorlessly. "I may allow my father the opportunity to make use of another outlet." Hermione shivered. She couldn't help it. The idea of Lucius made her unbelievably nauseous, far more so than his son tended to.

So she lurched from the bed, walking quickly to the armoire and throwing it open. She looked at Malfoy questioningly, like he was an arithmetic problem to figure out before taking a quick inventory of the clothes she had been provided. He sighed impatiently and it carried, following her when she ripped a piece of fabric from the rack and carried it into the bathroom.

She hated each and every article of demeaning clothing Malfoy had given her. It was official. The latest piece was black and gauzy, criss-crossing over her breasts, down around her hips and falling to her feet in a transparent pool of almost nothing.

She was scowling when she emerged from the en suite, stomping towards Malfoy who had seemingly pulled his appearance together a bit.

"Is this satisfactory, Master?" She sneered, twirling around dramatically. Malfoy glanced up briefly, giving her a cursory onceover before returning his attention to his cufflinks.

"Fine," he said, smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt before turning on a sharp heel and pacing towards the door. "Come." he ordered. She did. She followed him out and down the halls, the way he usually took her, until the path became unfamiliar

He paused when they came to a stop in front of a set of double doors. His head turned to the side, just barely, but enough for Hermione to know his words were for her when he said-

"Breathe." and then the doors opened and Hermione was faced with the scenery of her most common nightmare.

There was a dining table in the centre of it, Nagini slithering down the length of it. Harry was missing from the room. Part of Hermione was grateful… the other part, terrified. Voldemort sat at the head of the table, Bellatrix and Narcissa at his right. Lucius was on his left, Ginny hovering behind his chair.

She stood at Malfoy's back, all too grateful for the barrier between herself and the room, even if that barrier was him. The real time imagery of Bellatrix in that part of Malfoy Manor set her arm and nerves on fire.

And while she was relatively certain it was her brain's way of protecting her, she could have sworn she saw Malfoy's shoulders broaden, blocking more of the room from her. Real or not real, she was glad for it, especially when he blocked Bellatrix and Rodolphus from view.

"Ah, yess." Voldemort purred, clasping his long white fingers as Malfoy took the seat opposite him. Hermione stopped at his side, hands folded and eyes cast downward. She was shaking, uncontrollably, regardless of how hard she tried to stop it. It was to her benefit she supposed because Voldemort appeared to be most pleased with her demeanour. "The whole family, together again." Malfoy was as still as a statue. The room was silent, except for Nagini's slithering and Narcissa's humming. "All except Andromeda." he tsked distastefully, eyeing Bellatrix with a frown. Malfoy's knuckles went white around the armrest of the dining chair. "And the boy." Hermione swore she heard the wood splintering beneath his fingers.

Bellatrix made an odd whining sound and pouted dramatically.

"She can't be found, my Lord."

Voldemort sighed, wand twitching before Bellatrix was writhing and giggling maniacally in her seat.

Hermione flinched at the sound, eyes squeezing shut and arms coming up to hold herself together until the cruciatus released the psychotic witch and she beamed at Voldemort.

"Please, my Lord, may I have another?" she begged, head cocking to the side. Voldemort waved her off impatiently, clapping his hands once before food materialised around the snake in the centre of the table.

"Draco,"

"My Lord," He met Voldemort's gaze unflinchingly.

"Are you capable of locating your Aunt?"

Wood creaked beneath his palm.

"Of course,"

"Good. Do so."

"Yes, my Lord." His head bowed slightly.

"Very good. Lucius, how are things going with the Weasley girl?" he asked, picking up his fork. It was odd seeing him do such a human thing.

"Well. I see very little of her." came his reply. Hermione exhaled, breath shaking.

"Has a healer been to see her?"

"Yes, my Lord. The child is healthy." His voice was so disturbingly lifeless and flat.

"And the raid in Romania? Draco?" Malfoy's hand froze around his fork for a moment before the movement continued.

"Ah," He hummed, sitting back in his chair, crossing an ankle over a knee - the picture of casualness. His chair screeched against the floor as he pushed it backward and before Hermione could lean out of his way, his arm was winding around her waist. "Sit, Mudblood. We have not yet had a chance to debrief, have we, my Lord?"

'Keep quiet. Be angry later.' the words were rushed even inside her head.

"No," Voldemort's sibilation vibrated off of the walls around them, echoed by Nagini moving to wrap around his shoulders.

She was stiff in his lap, angry, nervous and trying to avoid the gaze of the other Death Eaters at the dining table.

'Relax. He won't hurt you, he needs you. Acting is just lying and you can do that plenty well. Be an actress.'

And so she obeyed, the lack of compulsion not lost on her as she sank into him, twisting and straddling his lap, mouthing at him like a dog. She wanted to disappear inside his chest and instead settled for hiding her face in the unbuttoned vee of his dress shirt. She would have done anything to get out of that room and focusing on the task at hand was at least providing a distraction.

"The raid was successful." Malfoy's chest vibrated with the words and a shiver ran up her spine that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the snake she could hear behind her. Bellatrix's gaze was making her skin crawl. So instead she took inventory of the things she could feel that were real; the cold, damp air in the room. The wooden table top digging into her lower back. Malfoy's dress shirt against her skin between the slits in her dress. Her hair tickling her face. The gauze of her dress brushing her feet. The rough fabric of his pants on the insides of her thighs. Slow, small and steady puffs of his oxygen travelling down her shoulder. And his ice cold finger tip against her hip bone. "Three dragons were captured. A Hungarian Horntail was killed." Hermione's body jerked against him. No, no, no- "A handful of Mudblood contractors were captured and delivered directly to Karkaroff for his next phase of experimentation." his voice was devoid of all emotion and Hermione was moments away from vomiting all over him.

"Very good, my boy." Voldemort purred. "And the fatalities?"

Hermione felt his chest still along with his breathing and tuned out Narcissa's song as she waited for his answer.

"Most notably? Charlie Weasley."

Twenty-One: Things Can Get Ugly

Malfoy had dragged her from the room the moment breakfast had ended. She allowed him to; numbly and blindly following him. A door opened and he shoved her inside, letting it click shut. Once it had, Hermione stared at him with so much sadness and disappointment.

"Did he suffer?"

"No." That was the short answer. Hermione sighed.

"Thank you." her shoulders fell and her chin dropped to her chest and then Malfoy was in her face once again.

"Thank you? Thank you." He scoffed, running a hand back through his hair. "You've lost your fucking mind." Hermione just continued to stare.

"I don't think so." Staring at him was like staring through him. You saw nothing of what was inside of him. Not unless he wanted you to. "I think you don't have a choice." he froze. His face, his breathing, his movements. "I think you're a right git, don't be mistaken." She amended, voice quiet. "But I've been watching, you know. And I think you don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice." he spat back at her. And the way his face paled made him nearly grey.

"In war, I don't think that's true. Some of us were lucky enough to have a choice, yes. Some of us were not." She stared up at him so intently that it was almost as though she could project the words directly through the walls he'd put up. "Those who do… we took that for granted. Some people are just doing what they have to in order to survive. We were very comfortable on our high horse. Myself included, and for that, Malfoy, I am sorry."

He hadn't so much as twitched while she spoke.

"You're wrong." Those were the words he spoke after moments of suffocating silence. Hermione opened her mouth to refute them but he cut her off before she had a chance. "I don't give a damn if I survive or not." he hissed, taking another step towards her. "You think I care about my life?" he laughed and it was empty, hollow and horrible sounding. "I don't care. I'm a murderer. That is all. I'm a wand for hire and I do the Dark Lord's bidding. I am at my aunt's beck and call. I have no life. It is empty, devoid and dark, brimming with nothing but the blackest magic in existence. My survival is paramount for one reason and one reason only; my mother's life depends on it. And even then, I'm not sure my mother still exists in that… that shell in my dining room. So no, I do not care whether I survive or not. My life was over before it had even begun. It means nothing to me. You want it?" she gasped as something cold and metal pressed into her palm. "Take it."

When she tried to drop the knife, his hand closed around hers, wrapping her fingers tightly around it and using that grip to tug her closer still until the blade of the knife was pressed against his jugular. Hermione's eyes were burning as she watched the wild look in his eyes take over, melting quicksilver into something fluid and threatening. There was blood welling beneath the edge of the blade and Malfoy had yet to release her arm. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling absurdly fast.

Hermione's invisible board flashed inside her head, drawing her attention and reminding her of her goal, of what she was to be used for and with that thought she brought her other hand up, ignoring the pinch in her chest when he flinched. Barely, but it was there.

She laid her palm along his jaw, pulling at the hand keeping the knife wrapped in hers.

Pain churned inside of her when he leaned into the contact, eyelids fluttering heavily.

'I know what this is.' his voice was harsh and angry in her head. 'I know what you're doing.'

"Then stop me." she whispered back, rubbing her thumb over his prominent cheekbone. He said nothing and his hold loosened enough that she could pull the knife away from his throat.

It clattered to the floor and echoed off of the walls, leaving her hand free to settle on his chest. He was visibly lost in it - the contact - and was studying her with a mix of resentment and what almost resembled vulnerability.

It was odd seeing glimpses of emotion in his face. The few times it had happened it was a shock to her system. She hadn't seen him look anything other than statuesque since the year he'd killed Dumbledore and she suddenly understood why Snape had tried to beat him to the act. In the wake of the Half Blood Prince's failure, Malfoy carried, on his soul, the darkness of the first murder he ever committed. It was hard to watch, even for her. That murder was the crack in his soul through which every other bit of darkness entered, multiplied and rotted him from the inside out.

She was staring. She knew that. But so was he and it was getting hard to breathe under the weight of it.

His look was twisted into one of pain. He was fighting with himself, with what he should do and what his body craved. She wondered how long he had been denied any sort of comfort. Maybe Theo had provided some but she couldn't imagine it was quite the same for a child who had grown up with a loving, albeit strict and misguided, mother.

It was his grunt of pain that broke the eye contact. His hand clenched into a tight fist, something she had learned was a telltale sign of his scar burning. She'd learned his like she'd learned Harry's. Malfoy wrenched himself away from her, taking a breath and watched as she finally looked around them.

The rise and fall of her chest sped up immediately, eyes tracking the piles and piles of books. The stacks and shelves disappeared into the clouds of the never-ending ceiling. There was a fireplace and golden balconies, floor to ceiling windows and the haze of ever present dust. She turned in a slow circle, wide eyes glazing over as she took all of it in.

"What is this?" her voice was hoarse.

"I promised a reward. This is it." he said roughly, flexing his fingers by his side. "This is my library. My father cannot enter. You may not leave. I'll return." His words were short and clipped and then he was stalking out the door, leaving Hermione to stare up at the library towering above her.

It seemed careless, the amount of material he left her with unsupervised. He was too intelligent for carelessness though and she would analyse his motives later. She couldn't be bothered in the moment because she was experiencing some euphoric kind of relief at being in the presence of books after so long.

Hermione had no idea how long Malfoy would be gone and she was in no way willing to risk the opportunity to research… everything. The brands, how to get them off, how to get her magic back, what the other horcrux might be and how to kill Voldemort without killing Harry, how to get Ginny the fuck out of the country… her chest felt tight and her lungs felt crushed under the weight of it all and she had no time for panic attacks. Maybe she had minutes, maybe she had hours. Regardless, she gathered every single book within her reach that seemed even remotely applicable and got to work.

When she finally came up for air, the sun had started to set and the candles were burning low. Her hair had come out of its tie and she was so far deep into the world of what-ifs that she hadn't noticed Pipsey come and go but her dinner was sitting on a table beside her so the elf must have been there.

She was sprawled out in an overstuffed chair; books in her lap and off to her side. One's she'd already looked through were set aside in a reshelve pile and dust particles were glittering in beams of the setting sun. It was odd really, how much time she had lost. She'd learned enough to brainstorm off of but not nearly enough to solve any of her many questions.

Malfoy had yet to return and the compulsion was starting to twinge the longer the food sat untouched and so she took her break, breathing in the smell of musty parchment as she carefully set aside her books to make room for her food.

It was then that the door creaked open, launching her heart into her throat because Malfoy did not open doors slowly. They slammed open before him with all the subtlety of an uprooted Mandrake. That left a few options, none of which were good.

It was the flash of red hair that finally settled her heart rate in the seconds that felt like hours. It settled only to pick back up in double time because-

"Ginny?"

And there, heavily pregnant, clothed in a thin, silk robe was Ginevra Weasley.

Hermione rushed her then, thoughtlessly. Her food clattered to the library floor and Ginny groaned as Hermione's high velocity hug knocked her into the wall.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, I just- Oh." she pulled back for a moment, gasped and then re-wound her arms around the witch's neck.

"Oi," Ginny grinned, laughing a little under her breath. "I've been wandering around this fucking castle for hours now and your godchild's being quite the little arsehole so- oh, what now, Mione?" Ginny's eyes rolled even with the fond little smile on her freckled face. Hermione herself couldn't even tell if she was laughing or crying but it felt like both. She waved her hand, dismissing Ginny's concern.

"Sit." she said quickly, pulling Ginny by the hand over to the chair she had been sitting on before. She watched her friend lower herself into the seat and looked her over, again and again, checking for any potential sign of any kind of injury. "Has Lucius hurt you at all?"

"No. He was honest at breakfast. I do not see much of him. I'm kept in a room and a healer checks on me every couple of days. I think he's too terrified of something happening to the baby to do much of anything." she smirked, rubbing one hand over the swell of her belly. "It's definitely a boy, I'm quite certain." Hermione smiled.

"How did you get away?"

"I don't think Lucius has realised yet that my brand is still tied to Dolo-dick. I still don't have my magic but the compulsion doesn't work on me either." she shrugged. "I come and go as I please as long as I don't get caught. I've been searching the castle for you since I arrived. No luck. Until now. I must have checked both libraries a hundred times." the elder witch nodded.

"How far along do you think you are?" Hermione asked quietly, slipping down to the floor and reaching for Ginny's hand. Her face was wet, she could feel it in the coolness of the small puffs of air against the dampness.

"Well," she leaned back, thoughtfully watching the nonexistent ceiling. "Harry and I fu-"

"Ginny," Hermione sighed. The witch smirked again.

"Malfoy's Healer says December. So six months give or take."

"December?" Hermione's eyes went wide and Ginny nodded.

"You were staying in Godric's Hollow, I think. He snuck away. Came to visit me. Wasn't very bright, I'll admit."

"Bright?" Hermione shrieked. "Ginny that was-"

"Over and done with now." She finished, eyes hard. Hermione nodded. "I'm going to name him James." There was a loving smile on the younger woman's face. "Harry would want that."

"Harry's still alive, Ginny. You can ask him about baby names yourself." Hermione said sharply and Ginny's sad smile broke her heart.

"So, what have you figured out?" The subject change was glaringly obvious and Hermione allowed it before launching into a retelling of everything she learned.

She told her about Narcissa, Malfoy's sex slavery, the virgins, the spell, the remaining Horcrux(es), Theodore Nott's kindness, the oddity that was his relationship with Elodie. She told her about how she'd yet to discover the point behind the Colosseum, why Malfoy was allowed so much power. She recounted what she'd seen in Malfoy during the mentions of Andromeda and Teddy Lupin, her plan to seduce Malfoy so that she was no longer a virgin… any and everything she could remember to tell. Talking out loud helped organise her thoughts.

Ginny listened and observed every single point without interruption until Hermione paused to breathe and Ginny's mouth widened into a scowl of disgust, hand darting out to slap Hermione's.

"What was that for?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

"You're eating food off the floor, Hermione. It's disgusting. Didn't you notice?" Ginny looked at the broken plate and mess of her dinner on the floor, watching as Hermione's hand seeked out yet another bite. Hermione grimaced as she placed a bit of meat into her mouth.

"I have to." she mumbled around a mouth full of food. "A long standing compulsion meant to ensure I'm unable to starve myself to death or become too weak to perform in the Colosseum."

Ginny's nostrils flared.

"I'll kill him."

"In the grand scheme of things, Gin, I think Malfoy making me eat my dinner is the least of our concerns. Until I figure out how to remove the brands, I'll be eating my dinner, regardless of where it ends up."

Ginny's eyes narrowed and a pit formed in Hermione's stomach. Ginny was looking at her like she knew something the other witch didn't and she did not like not knowing things.

Whatever she may have said vanished upon Malfoy's arrival. Ginny jumped and placed a hand to her chest while Hermione proceeded to eat the rest of her dinner.