Wanted to spoil you lot with a new update! This is is longer than normal, so please expect a wait for the next update.
Six.
The next morning Hermione rose early before Draco and readied herself quickly. He was deep asleep, an arm still outstretched onto her side of the bed where it had been draped over her as she had slept, holding her closely to his body.
She threw on a simple black dress and tugged boots on underneath it. Draco liked her to wear more formal shoes when in the Manor, but more often than not she was barefoot unless they had company. Still, where she would be going today she needed something more durable. She tugged them on and laced them up, frowning at the style. When she had asked Draco for them, he had obliged, though he had insisted for something more reflective of her status as a Lady. She'd held her ground, but even though she'd gotten her those plain, sturdy boots, he had added a small heel to them that defeated the purpose.
She braided her hair quickly and when done, approached the bed. She pushed Draco's legs out of the way so she could sit down. This roused him and he sat up, wincing at the bright light coming in from the uncovered windows. He pushed his hair from his face, sighing.
When he had gathered his wits his eyes cleared and he looked her up and down, noting her attire. His lips curved upwards with amusement and he met her eye, raising a brow.
"And where are you going?" He purred.
He'd spent so much time trying to teach her how to act like a lady, while she had been pregnant with Lucio.
'You shouldn't have to say 'please'. You shouldn't be afraid to take what you want, or demand it from others. They are loyal, and will gladly give you anything you ask.'
'Threats do help now and then.'
'Speak firmly. Look them all in the eye and don't waver. Let them know you fear no one. No one but me.'
So many others…she hadn't always paid attention, but whenever she was in the presence of his court, she obeyed, not wanting them to see her weakness, even though it was blatantly displayed any time Draco had her at his side. She held no power.
'But you are my Lady and my wife, and they love and fear you as much as they do me.'
Was he angry over her comment from the night before? He had done nothing but laugh, and it was unsettling, to say the least. She fought the urge to bite her lip, wondering if he was simply biding his time to punish her. In the past, he likely would have Cruicio'd her again, as he had done once, or beaten her black and blue. It made her almost physically ill to remember that, to remember that odd gap in her memory after the Cruciatus incident, and wanting so badly to ask what had happened, but ultimately realizing it was probably too horrific, and she was better off not knowing.
He had deeply loved his mother—when she had passed and it had affected him so badly, it had struck her then to remember how human he was still, despite the things he did to her.
But now…
That laugh. So callous, yet genuine. He had fallen asleep shortly after, like it hadn't meant a thing to him but amuse him.
Well, whatever might come, it was never good, and she wasn't going to poke the fire with kindle, so to speak. She would pretend it never happened, and hoped he would, too.
Hermione squared her shoulders and kept her face still like stone, so that he would know she would not accept a refusal.
"You're going to show me where my friends are buried. I want to pay my respects."
At this he nodded, as if he had expected it.
"Pansy will take you," he said. "I have business to attend to, unless you'd rather I go with you."
An emphatic 'no' almost slipped from her lips, but she caught it in time.
"That would be a bad idea," was all she said, but her voice was clipped.
He had expected her declining of his offer, but was surprised by her keeping herself in check, after her outburst from the night before. That had pricked at him, at first, but he had laughed, genuinely delighted to feel and hear that rage simmering inside her.
It seemed uncontrollable at times, for her. He found that extremely interesting. Certain questions he'd had brewing in the back of his mind for some years resurfaced. His eyes fixed on her ring.
Could it be?
She had always had fangs. That was one of the reasons he had fallen for her. Lately, they were growing sharper.
It was incredible, watching her transformation. All thanks to that rage.
Let it burn you, my love. Let it love you. Forge it into a weapon. Wield it like a sword.
She was still standing, wavering slightly though she tried to stand as still as possible, growing more nervous as she awaited his response.
Perhaps, with some fine-tuning, I can use that to my advantage, he thought. I'll make a proper Queen of you, wife.
"As you wish, my Lady," he said at last.
She seemed a little uneasy at having such little opposition, but having got what she wanted, was not fool enough to linger in case he changed his mind.
"Thank you, my Lord."
He got up and wrapped his arm around her, pressing her against him. His lips pressed against hers gently, their foreheads touching. She closed her eyes.
"Be quick," he said, as he pulled away. "Martin will be waiting for you at the usual time."
"I'll take as long as I damn please," Hermione said.
Again, contrary to her expectation, he smiled.
"Make sure you're home before dinner, then."
Pansy was waiting outside the bedroom, already dressed in her gilded black robes.
A mark of servitude and loyalty to him. Pansy rarely wore anything else. Perhaps that was a requirement in her contract with Draco. It was only when Draco was away from the Manor that she donned lighter colors.
"Good morning, my Lady," Pansy said, bowing, knowing Draco could hear them from inside the bedroom.
"Good morning, Pansy," Hermione said. "How is Lucio?"
"Still asleep. Shall I wake him, my Lady?"
"No," Hermione said. "Let him rest. I'll see him later."
They went down to the foyer. Draco was able to Apparate from anywhere inside the house, but for Pansy, she was only allowed to Apparate from the one designated room.
"You know where they're buried?" Hermione asked.
Pansy fastened her own cloak around her neck. "Yes. Draco sent me the information just now." In her hand, a little note lay slightly crumpled. She closed her fist, and it vanished. She looked at Hermione.
"Are you ready, my Lady?" She offered her arm for Hermione to take.
Hermione stepped in closer, legs slightly unsteady. "Yes."
They landed just outside the Burrow.
Remarkably, it was mostly intact, although Hermione suspected it had been uninhabited for many years now. The lawn was overrun and waist-high. Some of the windows were open, and just thinking about how long they had been that way, letting in the elements over time to destroy and wear at everything inside made her heart sink. There was a desolate look to the place that made her shudder to remember all the happy times she had spent there once.
This was a home, once. Another life ago.
It was so quiet. She half expected to hear Ron shouting from somewhere within the house the longer she looked at it, or hear the twins' laughter, or smell some of Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking.
But the house was still and silent.
Her body shook.
Pansy touched her shoulder.
"Should I raise a shield, if you're too cold?" Pansy asked.
"I'm not cold," Hermione said quietly. "Just…nervous."
Pansy's hand squeezed hers.
"Their bodies were burned after the battle by Draco and his followers," Pansy said softly. "Those on Potter's side who survived remembered those who'd been killed, and made graves for them, even if they didn't have their bodies."
"Who else was killed?" Hermione asked.
"I'm not sure," Pansy said. "I wasn't there, I was abroad. Draco offered me to work for him so I came back well after it was over, just as you two had moved here with baby Lucio. I'm still finding out who died, years later. There were so many…"
Hermione felt oddly comforted by that. So she wasn't the only one who was so out of the loop.
"They're in the garden," Pansy said, nodding in that direction. "People rarely come here, so we're not likely to be disturbed by anyone. Regardless, you've been disguised already."
Hermione nodded absently and touched her face, feeling the changed facial features that Draco's wards had given her for the trip.
Very thorough.
"Do you want to be alone?" Pansy asked.
"Yes, please."
Pansy squeezed her hand. "I'll keep lookout from here. Call for me if you need anything, or once you're ready to leave."
The garden had run wild and rampant with neglect. Flowers had died and shrubs had grown shaggy; weeds had sprouted everywhere. Hermione closed the door of the tall wooden fence behind her and stepped in, her breath a suspended cloud in her throat.
It was like a forest had exploded in their contained garden over time. Trees stood where there never had been any before. A soft wind rustled through, but as she listened close, not a single bird or creature appeared to inhabit the space.
It's only been a few years. Those kinds of trees don't grow to maturity that quickly. Who did this?
She looked around suspiciously.
Where are the graves?
She walked around slowly, cautiously picking her way through. There had been a shed to the far left once, but it was either obscured by the trees or it had been torn down.
Something isn't right.
She got the strangest feeling, the farther she got. Like the forest expanded the deeper she went in. Like the Weasley's garden had been enchanted to conceal something.
But why can I see it?
She looked back, and couldn't find the wall of the wooden fence anymore. Pansy was waiting just outside it for her call.
Does she know? Can she sense it? Can she see it? Can she even see me?
Her pulse was picking up speed.
Not knowing why, she reached up to touch her face, and froze.
Draco's disguising spell had gone away. The rounder cheeks and Romanesque nose were gone, her own familiar features returned.
What's happening?
Instinct prodded her to turn back and leave at once. But she wasn't afraid—not entirely.
She pressed forward, heart in throat, sorely missing her wand. Even if she couldn't use magic, it would have been comforting just to hold it at her side.
It was so quiet. Peaceful. She found herself wondering if Draco had set this up before her arrival as some sort of cruel trick.
I wouldn't put it past him.
It might have been an hour later. It could have happened in seconds.
She took a turn somewhere and a clearing opened up into view, where previously there had been nothing, no path to indicate anything. Hermione could see headstones. She hesitated, drawing her cloak around herself for warmth, took a breath, and advanced.
The headstones were smallish, made out of plain stone. She supposed in the mess after the battle, no one had wanted to stick around long enough for fear of being found by Draco's rabid followers.
They didn't say much—just names and years. Some only had names.
Padma Patil. Parvati Patil. Lavender Brown. Michael Corner. Justin Finch-Fletchley.
Tears welled in her eyes. She hugged herself and moved on.
Minerva McGonagall.
Rubeus Hagrid.
Cho Chang.
Ginny Weasley.
George Weasley.
Molly Weasley.
Arthur Weasley.
Bill Weasley.
Fleur Weasley.
Remus Lupin.
And the last one…
Harry Potter.
Hermione, unable to stifle the tears any longer, let them fall freely. They rolled down her cheeks, while she huddled close to Harry's headstone and sat against it, holding herself so tightly for fear of falling apart at last within this strange, enchanted place.
Her hand pressed against the smooth, cool stone and she pressed her cheek against it, weeping quietly as if it might let her remember what his kiss had felt like, for time and Draco's insistent ardor had edged that from her memory.
She kissed the stone. "I'm so sorry it took me all this time to find you."
Her body shuddered with her sobs, wrenching itself in grief.
They had all died trying to take Draco down. They had tried so hard to find and rescue her. She had never been able to say thank you, or even goodbye, and now they were long gone.
Her family…gone. Nothing but empty graves and ashes, somewhere. Names to be uttered on Draco's cruel tongue as markers of conquest, as tools to inflict pain, like a most ancient curse.
They had looked for her when she had been missing. When she had escaped, they had helped her heal. They had loved her and she them. And there was the hand that had been dealt to them in return.
"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm so sorry…"
Her cry was short—she supposed she had exhausted her supply of tears the day before, and she was glad. She had cried enough. She simply lay there against Harry's headstone, utterly spent and thinking of what life might have been like if things had gone a different route. If none of those headstones existed—at least, not yet. If she had been smart enough to not get herself kidnapped.
She went to each grave individually, smoothing her hand along their tops, offering her grief as a sort of recompense for what she had not been able to do for them. That, and a promise.
He won't get a grave.
She lingered again at Harry's.
"I still love you," she said softly. The breeze ruffled her hair. "I always will."
She straightened and sucked in a breath. Her throat was sticky and sore from all the crying over the past two days.
"I'll be back," she said, pulling her hood over her head, and turned to leave.
The moment she had turned her back, she felt a shift in the air around her. It was too late as she turned to see what it was. Something knocked her to the ground, and her hood fell further over her face, obscuring her head entirely. She shook her head like an animal, twisting, trying to get it off, barely managing to uncover one eye. Her legs and hands were bound together. A gag forced its way into her mouth and she lay on her side, breathing rapidly, heart racing, eyes wide and scanning the area for the intruder.
There—to the far right—
A cloaked figure approached, wand drawn.
Draco. She'd been right.
Why bother going to all these lengths?
Perhaps he'd truly been angered by her insult from the night before, and had plotted for revenge.
The figure strode toward her with intent.
Panicking, Hermione tried to wriggle away, fighting against her restraints.
The figure stopped in front of her and crouched, grasping the hood of her cloak and pulling it off entirely.
Hermione winced, and stared up at the concealed face of her captor, expecting Draco's cold laugh to come next.
"I thought it might be you… I didn't actually expect it to…" came a familiar female voice, slightly breathless, and full of relief.
Hermione frowned.
The figure reached up slowly to pull off their hood. Hermione recoiled, but her hood was pulled off, and Hermione stared up in shock at Luna Lovegood.
She was much thinner than Hermione remembered; her face lovely, but a little gaunt. There were those large and bright blue eyes, that long, silvery blonde hair, almost the same color as Draco's. Her radish earrings and bottlecap necklace were long gone. She beamed at Hermione, who stared at her slack-jawed.
"Oh! I'm sorry. Here," Luna said. She pointed her wand at Hermione. "Relashio."
Hermione scuttled back at once and stood, her face pale.
"Prove it," she said. "Prove to me you're not in disguise."
I've been fooled too many times before…
Luna's smile faltered. "Well, Neville and I put spells on this place to cancel out and glamour or disguise spells. Too many enemies were coming in here to poke around or vandalize. I'm sure you had one on before coming in here, didn't you?"
Hermione wasn't convinced, although Luna's mention of Neville had her weak in the knees with relief.
"Prove it."
Luna thought for a moment. "Remember that silly lion's head hat I made in Hogwarts?" She smiled sadly at the memory. "It took me about a week to make. Professor Flitwick helped me charm it to get it to roar. Everybody liked it, which was nice, since they usually didn't like the things I made. It's gone now, but I think one day I'll make another just like it."
Hermione had her hands over her mouth. Though neither she or Luna had ever been close, she was still touched to see Luna's eyes were as tearful as her own.
Luna approached her, her arms held out as if coming in for a hug.
"We knew you'd come here eventually. We've been waiting for so long."
"No!" Hermione said quickly, backing away from her reach. Luna halted, worried.
"What's the matter?" She asked. "Are you alright? Has he hurt you again? Neville's taken care of Parkinson—has she hurt you, too?"
"No," Hermione blurted. "Pansy's my friend. She works for Draco but she's kind to me, please don't hurt her!"
Luna's eyes went wide. "Oh." She closed her eyes and raised her wand. A silvery hare materialized, and sped off behind them, relaying an unspoken message.
"I want to hug you so much," Hermione said, wiping at her eyes. "It's so good to see you."
"Why can't you?" Luna asked.
Hermione held out her hand to show Luna her ring.
"Draco put spells on it to control me. He knows whenever a man touches me. I'm not sure if it does the same for a woman. I think he only meant it for if someone tried to make an advance toward me—he's incredibly possessive—I don't want to risk it."
Luna stared gravely at the ring.
Hermione couldn't help but sense that the war had taken something from Luna, just as Draco had taken from Hermione. Luna seemed more grounded and less dreamy than she had ever remembered her being. Her heart constricted.
"Well you're safe now," Luna said. "Neville's coming with Parkinson. If you like, we can bring her, too."
"Where?" Hermione asked. "What's happening? Where are we?"
Footsteps came up behind them. Hermione whirled around.
Neville wasn't smiling. There was an urgent look in his eyes as he beheld her, striding forward quickly. Pansy's body floated behind him—Hermione's breath caught, but Pansy was merely unconscious.
"Don't touch her," Luna warned Neville as he almost ran forward to Hermione, who was so shaken she stepped back again. "He'll know."
"I know," Neville said, glancing down angrily at Hermione's ring. "I remember."
He looked back up at Hermione. Relief slumped his shoulders. "I told you we'd come back for you."
Hermione smiled, nodding, tears sliding from her eyes again.
"I've missed you so much. I'm so glad you're okay."
"I'm glad you're okay, too. Don't worry, it's safe here. He can't see this place. Just the garden." He scanned her form. "I was so worried, after you went back to him… Are you hurt at all?"
"No."
"And he's not here?"
"No, thank goodness. What is this place?" She asked again.
They were quiet for a moment.
"We couldn't find any bodies," Luna said softly. "We think he burned them all. But we saw them die. We couldn't just let it be." She shook her head. "There's probably many we missed, but we can't know for sure."
Hermione stared down at the graves, her stomach rolling uneasily. If Draco hadn't burned all the bodies, how many more graves would there be here now?
"We came back here to rest for a bit," Neville said. "You'd saved my life but I knew Malfoy would kill me in a heartbeat if he saw me again that night. We couldn't stay here for too long."
"Just long enough to get food and take off," Luna said, nodding. "He wanted to go back for you, to try one last time."
Hermione looked at Neville, who was shaking his head.
"It was a bad idea, I know," he said. "In the end, I couldn't. We were too weak. Luna had to drag me away from the Burrow. But I couldn't forget the look in your eyes when you told me to run. I thought it was the last time I'd ever see you alive."
"I'm glad you didn't," Hermione said. "I've endured. If you had gone back there, he probably would have killed us both."
Neville nodded. "We went to the United States for a few years. We were bitter, and weak, and didn't know what to do. After that battle, after Harry died, everyone kind of just…vanished." He scowled. "Which made it easier for Malfoy to take over."
"We wanted to come back to England sooner, but couldn't," he added, looking haunted. "He's had his people following us everywhere we go. We've had to be more and more careful, but I couldn't get it out of my head. You sacrificed yourself to save me. To that monster. I had to go back. But we heard he'd moved and hidden you somewhere new, and we didn't know the first place to start looking. He's been using such advanced magic. He's even created some spells of his own, and those are a bitch to get through, but we've learned from them, and we've made a few of our own."
"How?"
"We've slowly been learning how to make our own spells," Neville explained as Luna and Hermione broke their embrace. "I remembered what you told me about some of the spells he put on that ring. We've done loads of research but couldn't find much that would help us—I don't know how he got hold of those spells. They're either banned now (and with good reason) or he made them himself. I wanted to create a ward or shield or something to nullify some of those, so that if we could find you again, he wouldn't be able to track you. It isn't permanent, but it's a start."
Hermione looked skeptically down at the ring. "So if you or Luna touch me, he won't be able to sense it."
"We've tested it. We don't have your ring, of course, but we've made substitutes. Not as powerful but our spells seem to have worked every time." His face turned grave again. "I've studied this thoroughly."
"If I let you touch me, and he senses it, can you get away?"
"We can," Neville said intently. "Before he gets here."
Hermione braced herself. "Be ready."
And, without restraint, she flung herself at Neville, waiting for the ring to blast withering pain through her. He grabbed her, almost lifting her off the ground.
Nothing came.
"I don't believe it," she breathed, cupping Neville's cheek in her palm. His missing ear was hidden by his hair—part of the lobe was still attached to his head. Draco had intentionally done a sloppy job.
Still, no pain. The ring seemed to have gone dormant.
Shocked, she let out an incredulous laugh, and hugged him harder. Neville held her so tight she could hardly breathe.
His tears smeared onto her cheek.
"Thank Merlin we found you," he said, his voice wavering with emotion. "I promised Harry I'd help you get out for good."
He let her go and Luna swooped in next, wrapping her arms tight around Hermione, who buried her head into her shoulder.
"You're safe now," Luna whispered to her, and Hermione nodded tearfully.
"You never have to go back to that piece of shit," Neille said, his voice hoarse. "Ever."
"You said he can't see this place?"
"We tailored this one so that when he comes to the Burrow, he'll see the fence, and the garden, and he'll see the graves, but this forest won't be there. It won't be this large place for him. He never comes here though, so it was a bit of a waste. We keep this place under tight surveillance. Sometimes we use it to meet allies. There's wards to detect visitors and whether they're Death Eaters or not. That's how we knew you were here." He looked back at the headstones sadly. "They deserve better, though. One day, we're going to give them a better resting place."
He trailed off. "We didn't know if Draco told you about this place or not, or if you might come yourself to look around. We figured it was a long shot, knowing how he hardly lets you out of his sight. But we have wards around Hogwarts, too, and we sensed the both of you there yesterday. We were hopeful. We knew you would want to come here, next."
"We were prepared to fend off Draco, if he came, too," Luna said.
"He's too dangerous," Hermione warned, going pale. "I wouldn't have wanted you to risk death for me."
"Well, for now, looks like we avoided it," Neville said. "At least, until he realizes you're gone." He motioned to her hand. "We'll find a way to get that ring off you once we're home. Come with us. The others will want to see you, too."
He extended a hand. Hermione wanted so badly to reach out for it, but didn't.
"I can't go with you," she said.
Neville's face fell. "Why not? Has he put more spells on you?"
Hermione's face contorted with anguish. "My son. I can't leave him behind."
They looked stunned.
"A son?" Neville asked, his face draining of color.
Hermione frowned. "I thought everyone knew. He's four years old. Draco named him Lucio."
"We were out of the country for a long time," Neville said raggedly. He ran his palm over his face.
"Five years old?" Luna asked, covering her mouth. "We had no idea. We haven't heard about him anywhere—" Sympathy stirred in her eyes. "Was—was the child forced?"
Hermione couldn't bring herself to say it aloud. But she nodded.
Neville swore. He hugged her fiercely. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."
"He isn't like him," Hermione told them. "Lucio is sweet, and caring. He's only a boy. I'll die before I let him turn out like his father."
"I'm sorry I can't go with you," she said, her heart sinking. "I want to, more than anything. But I know he'll use my son against me to come back. I won't leave without him or Pansy. I don't doubt he'll kill either of them to get to me."
"How can we keep in contact with you?" Neville asked hurriedly.
"I don't know. I don't want to risk it. He'll know." She pushed her hair from her face. "I'll try to come back here. It might be some time from now."
"Okay," Neville said. "Is there anything else we can do?"
"Spark up activity far away, if you can," Hermione said. "Far from here. He always goes to inspect that himself, and it buys me time. Right now, I'm just trying to get my magic back." She wouldn't tell them exactly what that entailed. "He wants me to play along with his court. If you hear anything about me being…unlike myself, know I'm only doing it to end this."
They nodded.
"I hate this," Neville said.
"I know."
"I wish I didn't have a son, so I could stay here forever," Hermione admitted softly, feeling guilt and self-hatred cleave at her heart. "And never go back to that house. What kind of mother would ever think that?"
"The kind who has suffered for too long," Luna said firmly. "You shouldn't think like that, Hermione."
"I know," she replied softly. "I may not have wanted him, but I love my son."
She looked back at Pansy.
"I can't use magic at all," she asked. "Can you help me take her back to outside the gate?"
"Of course."
While Luna stood Pansy up exactly where she'd been before, Neville lingered with Hermione back inside the garden.
She hugged him.
"Don't come looking for me, no matter what happens," Hermione said. "I'll come to you, when it's time." She took a deep breath. "And if I never do, whether he finally kills me or I'm still stuck there, I want you to end my life if you can, the next time you see me."
Neville looked horrified.
"What about your son?"
She hesitated. "I can't picture living my life normally after this," she said, her voice breaking. "He's ruined so much of me and for me. I can't bear it anymore."
"Hermione…"
"I'll have my magic back soon," she said confidently. No room for doubt.
"I'll send Lucio to school, so he'll be out of Draco's influence." She blinked back tears. "I want him to have a normal childhood, the kind Draco thinks will make him weak. But if something happens to me, and I'm unable to do that, if you could find him, and take care of him for me," she squeezed his hand, "it would mean the world to me."
"Of course, I will." His hands dug into her back. "But you're going to live through this, Hermione. I swear it. You've been through enough. You deserve peace."
"I'm ready for it all to end," she said, her voice firm. "If I can escape and live peacefully with my son, I'll do it. But I'm afraid Draco will have had enough, and his obsession and wrath will get the better of him. He won't let me go—not alive, at least. The best thing I can do is try to kill him, and let my son live a normal life. My son, first. He is the top priority."
Neville shook his head.
"Promise me, Neville," she insisted. "Take care of my son, if I fail. Save him and take my life, if I remain trapped. I refuse to live my life out, trapped with a mad man."
Perhaps it was a coward's path. She wasn't proud of herself. But if she was out of the picture, Draco's obsession would end.
It has to.
He had said he was going to make a Horcrux for himself. She held no doubt that he would try to make one for her as well, to keep her with him and defy death. She had to act before that happened, or her last chance would be ripped from her fingers.
If she ran away, he'd find her and keep her or kill her. She would fight to the death to make sure Lucio would be safe and free from all that, first. She was sure Draco would likely put up more of a fight to keep her than his own son. She would use that to her advantage.
I'll take any advantage I can find. Anything, for freedom. For the both of us, or for him only.
Luna's Patronus hare sprinted through the fence, and nodded at them. She was ready to wake Pansy. She had already been obliviated, and had her memory modified. There was little chance of Draco looking into her mind, as he relied so heavily on that ring, but just in case he did, they were covered.
"Goodbye, and thank you," she said to both the hare and Neville, knowing that the hare would convey her message back to Luna. She kissed Neville on the cheek.
"I hope we see each other again."
"We will. And I'll look after—after Lucio, if things go wrong," he said. "I promise."
She pressed his hand. "Thank you."
Luna apparated beside them, and hugged Hermione.
"Be safe," she whispered. Hermione nodded, and went to the gate's door.
"One last request," she said, before leaving. "He'll be able to smell you both on me."
"Shit," Neville said in understanding. He raised his wand and cast a charm her way. Hermione felt some invisible force dust her off completely, like a jet of air from directly overhead.
"Goodbye," she said, casting one last look at them. She was sure her eyes were red and puffy from all the crying she'd done; her nose was stuffy again and she felt her heart twist and break the moment the gate closed behind her.
Pansy went up to her immediately, one hand on her back, showing no sign of being aware of what had happened.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft. "How do you feel?"
"Exhausted," Hermione said. "But I'm glad I came. Please take me home."
Pansy nodded, and they apparated back to the Manor.
The first thing she did upon arriving was to visit her son. Lucio was bored, an open book lying off to the side utterly ignored as he stared out the window with his elbows propped on the sill, one hand with a finger extended drawing on the glass, the other supporting his head. He hummed to himself merrily. His door had been open, so Hermione paused at the doorway and watched, her heart softening.
About a minute later, she knocked on the door frame, and he whirled around.
"What are you playing, darling?"
"I want to fly in the clouds," Lucio said, smiling, running up to her and throwing his arms around her. "They look so soft! Have you ever touched a cloud, mummy? Do you know what they're like?"
"I've never touched one," Hermione admitted, sitting them both down on his bed. "I know clouds look fluffy, but they're actually rather cold, and you can't really grab them."
"Oh," Lucio said, looked crestfallen. "Why?"
"They're made of water drops or ice crystals," Hermione informed him.
"Why?"
Hermione smiled. "I don't know."
Lucio was frowning, staring out the window again. "I still want to touch one. Can I fly up there, Mummy?"
"Perhaps when you're a little older, she said, ruffling his hair. It was as pale as Draco's, but was wavy, not quite curly like hers.
"Why not now?"
"Because it's getting late, my love," she said, pointing to the sun that was beginning to set. "And I don't think your Father will approve until you've been flying for a few more years."
Lucio scowled more deeply. "I'm going to be the best flyer when I'm older, mummy."
"Of course you will," she said. "Your father is a great flyer, himself. He'll keep teaching you what he knows. Maybe, once you start going to school, you can learn how to play Quidditch."
Lucio's eyes went round. "Quidditch!?"
"Yes," she said seriously. "But that's for when you're older, do you hear me? It's a very dangerous sport, and students aren't allowed to play until they turn sixteen."
"But that's so long from now!"
"Well, then that means you'll have a lot of time to get better at it!"
Lucio wanted to argue, but realized he had something else to be cross about.
"You left without saying goodbye! Pansy told me!"
Hermione stroked his cheek. "I didn't want to wake you. It was very early."
Lucio's pale blue eyes regarded her curiously. "Where did you go, Mummy?"
"I went to see some old friends," she said slowly. "They died a long time ago."
His brows lowered. "Died?"
"They're not alive anymore. Not like you and me."
"Who were they? Does Father know them?"
"They were very good friends of mine from school." She let out a long sigh. "Yes, your father knew them."
Lucio stared hard at her. She knew her eyes were red and raw and her face and hair were a mess from grief.
"I'd like you to come with me to visit them, someday," she said.
He nodded.
Lucio did not know the word for grief, and hadn't ever really dealt with it yet at such a young age. He knew anger, and sadness—those he had felt before, like when he had lost his favorite toy after a visit to the village and never got it back, or like when father went away on long trips and Lucio missed him very much.
Sadness was a different thing. It was heavy, and he could sometimes sense it around his mother, even when she was happy. He didn't know why she was sad, when she had him and father and Pansy and such a big house. He had asked Pansy once if she ever got sad, and she had said yes but when he asked her why his mummy was so sad sometimes, Pansy hadn't answered and instead found a new game for them to play.
It was all so mysterious.
But here was that sadness again, and he remembered when he had been hurt and sad, and how it had helped to have Pansy or Mummy hug him, and he wanted her to feel better so he hugged her, pressing his head against her chest.
"I love you, mummy," he said.
Her breath caught, and her arms wound around him, holding him close.
"I love you too, Lucio," she said, "more than anything else in the whole world."
"Even Father?" He asked, slightly surprised.
She didn't answer, and stroked his hair.
Draco was waiting in the library with Martin when she walked in, changed back into that damned green gown.
Here was the first test. Hermione's heart was bound to implode. Her hands were cold and clammy.
Does he know something happened? Is he wondering why I took so long? Can he sense my lies?
They both stood as she approached, Draco scanning her face, his expression mildly concerned as he took in the ravages of her crying.
"Good afternoon, my Lady," Martin said, bowing.
She barely managed to nod at him as she walked past.
She went straight to Draco, burying her face into his chest. She had asked Pansy to use a crying charm on her before leaving the bedroom. Pansy had asked no questions, but knew her determination to get her magic back. She had added her own touch by tousling Hermione's hair prettily, so it looked just messy but effortlessly and enticingly so; she had (with Hermione's permission) cast a quick freezing charm in the room so that Hermione's nipples were stiff and peaked when she met Draco in the library. She had also offered to reduce the puffiness around Hermione's face and the redness in her eyes, but there Hermione had said no. She wanted the rest to be real. He would face the effects of her pain.
But I'll use your favorite parts of my pain against you.
He was immensely pleased when she went to him at once, she could tell. His arms wrapped around her for a moment before he cupped her face in his hands and looked at her weary, tear-stained face before staring intently into her eyes, seeing the pain there.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, his lips pressing onto hers.
Hermione accepted his kiss eagerly, clutching at the front of his robes as the crying charm did its work. She felt his erection stir against her and wanted to smile. He slid his tongue into her mouth, taking advantage of her need in her grief. She let him, though she wished her nails were talons she could slit his throat with.
When they broke apart she wiped at her eyes, flushing deeper, as if in shame. He saw that reaction and his hands gripped her harder. He pressed his erection harder against her, as if he wanted to take her there and then and didn't care that Martin was there.
I bet you would, she thought.
"Do you think you can sit for the painting today?" He murmured.
"Yes," she said, turning her head to look at Martin, who was busying himself in preparing his palette. She twisted in just the right way to allow Draco a good look at her cleavage in the flimsy silk of her gown. She felt his fingers toy with her nipple as she spoke to Martin, jerking slightly at her husband's touch.
"I hope the wait wasn't too long," she said, remembering just in time to not apologize, as Draco would chastise her over it later.
"I am at your beck and call, my Lady, Martin said, bowing again. "If you summoned me at midnight to paint, I would do it."
She smiled at him. Draco had bent down to suck at her nipple through her dress, teasing it with his tongue. His hand palmed her other breast, massaging it gently. A flicker of desire kindled inside her. She willed it to snuff out.
He only likes my grief when it benefits him.
She caught Martin's eye. He had gone very red. She turned her head to face Draco.
"Draco, don't," she said firmly. She braced her hands against his chest and pushed gently. "Not now."
He straightened, his hands on her arms in a restrictive grip, reminding her who was in control.
We'll see about that.
"I'll come get you, once this is done," he said. "I'll be with Lucio until then."
He kissed her hungrily and left.
Hermione assumed her position on the chaise. The damp spot Draco's mouth had left over her nipple was still very visible.
"May I ask if you're well, my Lady?" Martin said, studiously mixing paints on his palette with a knife.
"I wasn't, but I'm feeling better, now," she said, relaxing into the seductive pose Draco had forced her into. "I went to visit some friends I haven't seen in many years."
"That sounds lovely," he said, slightly distracted. She heard him begin to paint, finding comfort in the soft sound of brushes stroking against canvas. "Did you have a good time, my lady?"
"Not particularly," Hermione said, closing her eyes. "Visiting graves doesn't make for a merry visit."
He stopped painting. "Forgive me, my Lady, I shouldn't have asked."
"There's no need to apologize," she said gently, her voice smooth. "You didn't know."
He began to paint again silently. Hermione sat and reflected.
She had just begun to wonder where Lucio was and what he was doing, when Martin spoke up again.
"Are you happy here, Hermione?"
She looked him square in the eye.
"Ask my husband, and he'll tell you what he thinks my answer should should be telling enough," she said softly.
"I thought as much," he said. "I'll confess I've wondered, but I didn't want to assume when I didn't know the whole story."
She nodded.
He opened his mouth and then closed it quickly, as if not knowing what to say.
"Don't be afraid to speak," she said. "I am not him."
Martin hesitated and then put his brush down onto his palette.
"How did this come about, my Lady? Has he put you under some sort of spell?"
"Many," she said, brushing her hair from her face. "To make sure I don't run away again."
"Again?"
Hermione touched her throat, where the emeralds were cold and dug into her skin.
"He was killing me," she said, her voice faint. "He was squeezing the life from me. I had to get out. I tried so many times…"
Martin was shaking his head, horrified.
"How did this all happen?"
"We went to school together," Hermione said. "We hated each other. Things changed on his side rapidly. He abducted me several years ago when we were still in school, and forced me into marriage while I was unconscious."
"That ring…"
She gazed down at it.
"He gave me a diamond and emerald chain." She smiled bitterly. "He tells me I'm his equal, yet he's collared and leashed me and taken my power away like I'm the one who can't be trusted."
Martin stepped forward slowly. She hated the sympathy in his eyes.
"Is there anything I—"
She held up a hand. "Please don't."
He looked confused. "My lady?"
"Too many people have been hurt or killed for trying to help me. I won't drag another body with me." She smiled. "I don't need another hero."
"Well said, my love," Draco's voice came from behind her. Cold hands slithered onto her shoulders, gripping tight. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed.
"Always listening, aren't you."
"I just came in to see what you wanted for dinner," he said.
"Liar."
She raised her hand to touch his, and to her relief, his grip loosened a fraction.
"Trying to steal my wife, Faulkner?" Draco asked, his voice like steel.
Martin balked. "No, my Lord. Never."
"You seem to be getting comfortable with her," Draco accused. "Do you wish to be acquainted with my dungeon?"
Martin's palette almost fell to the ground. He caught it in time. "No, my Lord. Please forgive me. I was only curious…"
"Curious about what?" Draco hissed.
"He wanted to know the story of our relationship," Hermione said, stroking his hand, hoping it would calm him. "I was filling him in on it."
Draco said nothing for a moment. Martin was pale, his eyes locked onto Draco's who was likely to bore a hole through his face by his stare.
"Did you tell him that I killed your former lover? And my best friend, who helped you run from me?"
Martin went paler still.
"No," Hermione murmured.
"Did you tell him how I raped you to consummate our marriage?"
"No."
"Hmmm…" he said, sounding so casual that it grated Hermione's nerves. "What about when I infiltrated Hogwarts using the identity of someone I'd killed, just to see you and dance with you for a few moments?"
She couldn't speak. She shook her head.
"You left out so much," he said, his hand coming up to cup her jaw from behind. His thumb stroked her bottom lip.
"I'll let you off with a warning," he said after a long deliberation in which Martin had been left tense, looking like he might throw up. He had looked briefly at Hermione, who was trapped in Draco's grip but calm, trying to reassure him with a look.
If he wanted you dead, you already would be.
"Thank you, my Lord," Martin said, bowing deep. "Thank you. I swear I meant no ill."
"Liar," Draco said, grinning. "I'm only keeping you alive because I want these portraits done. Anger me again, and you'll rot in the bowels of my dungeon. Your hands will be the first part of you to go."
"I know you want my wife," he continued. "I won't punish you for that, so long as you don't act on it. Dream all you want, you'll never have her."
When the session was over, Draco brought Lucio into the studio as Martin was leaving, and ordered him to stay for dinner. The dinner was quiet, and Lucio babbled happily about his lessons, and going to a muggle playground the day before with Pansy, while Hermione said and ate very little.
It was if nothing had happened at all. Draco questioned Martin more about his past and his art, and Martin showed them all examples he had brought with him, his hands trembling all the while.
Hermione had ruminated over her graveside visit through most of it. She had briefly thought of asking Neville to Obliviate her, too, before leaving the Burrow, but decided against it. Draco had only ever invaded her thoughts a handful of times, and had not done it in years. She had never wondered why or cared to, having more pressing matters to focus on. She supposed it was another form of violation and he had decided he violated her enough in other ways, so she could keep that to herself.
She suspected he didn't want to see or feel the true extent of her misery and pain. Either that, or he was afraid she might not be able to stand having that one last bastion of her self taken away from her.
Either way, she was now grateful for it. He was cocky enough to assume he was unbeatable. Well, she would stoke that ego to get what she wanted. She would be the wife he had wanted all those years, not only in body but in spirit and behavior, as well.
She made herself gaze at him from time to time during dinner, and made sure he caught her. His eyes were dark. He wet his lips
He took her to bed after Martin left and she bid goodnight to Lucio. He kissed her gently, his hands on her back.
"Your friends might be gone, but I'm here," he said softly to her. "I always will be."
"I miss them," she admitted, closing her eyes as he kissed her forehead.
"I know you do. But leave them in the past, Hermione. You have a family now."
I had a family, then.
"Let them go," he whispered.
Never.
She gripped his robes.
"We'll be the strongest family to ever grace this fucking country," he breathed into her hair. "We'll make our own laws. Rule beside me, Hermione. Rule with me. I'll give you the world."
"I don't want the world."
"Rule with me," he repeated. He kissed her cheek, her lips, her nose, her closed eyelids. "Be my queen, Hermione." His hands roamed over her body. He pulled back to look at her as she opened her eyes. His hands cupped her face. Their noses touched, their breaths mingled.
"Please."
The word hung in the air between them, a heavy chain weighing them down. He stared intently into her eyes. The fire had started in the hearth—Hermione hadn't even realized but it flickered loudly, its amber light casting shadows around the room.
Heart pounding, she gave a nearly imperceptible nod. He noticed and breathed in sharply, his hands tightening around her to the point of pain.
Without a word he lay her down and peeled that dress off her, her breasts his first target, her lips his second, while his other hand worked between her legs. She welcomed it all, clutching his arms, his hair, his ass, hatred burning in her blood as he pumped inside her as deep as he could go, as if he wanted to breed her that very night.
Of course, he wasn't so foolish as to believe that in one day she had completely overridden her hatred and dislike of him. She knew that and felt it, too, that slight disbelief as she'd moaned his name and let him handle her how he wanted, pulling her legs over his shoulders, almost bending her in half as he pushed and pushed, groaning, his head falling back in pleasure, but his greed and lust always won out in the end. She pushed him onto his back and rode him hard, grinding herself against him; his hands bruising her hips, his mouth wrenching open to gasp and moan.
She could blame it on the grief later, if he questioned her.
Let it start here, she thought as he buried his head between her breasts while he throbbed inside her, filling her. She rode him to completion, her body quivering on top of his while he moaned. Before she had finished completely he flipped her over and onto her back, entering her again from behind. Hermione gripped the sheets, trying to quiet her moans as Draco pressed himself flush against her and thrust, becoming rougher until the pain was on the brink of overriding the pleasure.
"Slow down," she hissed, turning her head to glare at him.
He smiled. "Of course, little bird."
She managed to get her hand underneath her to play with herself. He watched greedily, and after he'd come again,brushed aside her hand and pushed her back down to let his tongue do the work, his arms hooked around her thighs. Hermione writhed on the bed and panted his name, gripping handfuls of his hair.
Let him think he's finally breaking me down, and that it all started with the sex.
It made sense, after all. She couldn't fake suddenly being in love with him after him having told her how her friends had died because of him. But he knew that while she loathed him, she still enjoyed the sex from time to time (when he wasn't vicious), and she would feed into that belief.
She pretended to fall asleep immediately after, making sure to turn away from him, as if ashamed of her desire for him, as she had done so many times before. He noticed and let her keep her distance but draped his arm around her, his hand spread on her ribs, thumb grazing the heated underside of her breast. She made sure not to flinch, but relax under his touch. Let him read into that whatever he wanted.
She had been good at acting, long ago. She distantly remembered Ron telling her so. She was not the sort of person to let a skill go to waste.
He was immensely pleased, she could tell. She had finally said yes. Not to loving him, as they had already struck deals over it, but on joining him.
What will come of this?
What will he have me do?
She heard Draco's breathing deepen behind her. His breath ruffled her hair. Thinking fast, she placed her hand over his again where it lay on her ribs.
In response, he slid that arm underneath her and hooked it around her waist, and drew her to him, his other arm wrapping and pressing around her chest, so that she could hardly move.
"I love you," he whispered, and kissed her shoulder.
Hermione pretended to have fallen asleep.
A/N:
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