Eight.

IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER.

The Survivor's Lament

Hermione hardly slept that night, and Draco was well aware of it. They lay in bed together, his arm slung over her, his body curved protectively around hers. She hadn't said a word to him since George had left them in Draco's study and surprisingly, he hadn't seemed to mind.

He had come into bed an hour after her when she was still awake. She had spent much of that hour tossing and turning, her eyes raw and tired, her body aching with a dull intensity.

He had slid in behind her, his hands instantly on her, hot and strong. He had kissed her neck.

"You'll speak to him tomorrow," he murmured. "Get it out of your mind and rest."

"It's not that easy," she said, her voice monotone, struggling to keep her temper from flaring.

"If he tries to leave, or refuses to answer your questions, I'll see to it that he changes his mind," Draco said simply, "but he'll be here when you wake, my love. I guarantee it. You have nothing to worry about."

She shook her head.

It's impossible, arguing with him.

"Are you controlling him?" She asked. "Blackmail? Imperius? …Are you paying him off?"

Draco chuckled. "None. He joined me quite of his own will."

She scoffed. His hands went tighter around her. "He'd never."

"Do you think it's so impossible?" He asked, his voice going lower. "Do you know him that well, then? Have you forgotten that you came back to me of your own will and have stayed since?"

"I came back because you threatened to kill what was left of my friends if I stayed," she said coldly. "And I'm only staying because of Lucio, and that promise I made. You left me no other choice."

"You've always had a choice, Hermione," he said firmly. "It's only out of the good of your own sweetheart that you chose to have them spared, and damning yourself to me in the process. You could have tried to run again, or stayed with them and tried to defend yourselves."

"Either way, the result would have been the same as it is now," she snapped. "No matter what choice I took, my friends and family are dead."

"But then you have happy accidents like George, who is still alive and extremely relieved to see you again after so long apart," Draco said. "Would you rather have no one survive?"

"Don't try to play this game with me," she hissed. "I know what you're doing."

She tried to scoot away from him to the farther side of the bed, but his arms were like iron around her, and so fuming, she crossed her arms over her middle and tried to ignore her husband wrapped around her. She closed her eyes and hoped sleep would come quickly.

Draco didn't seem to mind. He stroked her skin slowly, pausing once to prop himself up on one elbow, loosen his other arm, and bend down to kiss her on the edge of her mouth.

George was not at breakfast the following morning. Hermione was oddly relieved by this. She realized she didn't want him to have to sit through the awkward spectacle she and Draco made every morning, playing the role of family. Married couple sitting down to breakfast with their child, as if she weren't a hostage and he wasn't the monster who had put her there in the first place.

Lucio seemed a little glum that it was raining so heavily outside, but Draco reminded him that he had tutoring that day anyhow, and that was more important than playing outside.

Draco received some post that morning but had it sent to his office, all except for the Daily Prophet. He scanned through it quickly, the paper hovering in front of him over his plate, its papers turning rapidly as if he already knew what each page would say, and was only checking for confirmation. Hermione watched him warily, a knot in her stomach. She tried to read whatever she could from the front page, but as before, the words and letters jumbled together into one messy printed alphabet soup at the bottom of the paper, and resigned to her disappointment, she merely turned back to her tea and sipped at it, wondering if there was something in particular Draco was searching for.

When he was done, he folded it back up and held it out to her.

"Would you like to read it, my love?"

Hermione stared at him, eyes wide. Draco stood and placed the paper before her. He tapped it with his finger and at once the full text and images righted themselves, all within a blink of an eye as if her problem had been that easy to solve all along.

Hermione drank it in. Draco stroked the back of her hand. She took his hand and pressed it, and looked up to smile at him, the man who had raped her the night before.

"Thank you, my Lord," she said.

Draco didn't return to his seat.

"I've got business to attend to in the Ministry today," he said. "I'll be there until late tonight, perhaps. Lucio, your tutors will be here very soon. Pansy will come to collect you when it's time to begin."

"Yes, Father," Lucio said, looking rather displeased.

To Hermione, he said, "Martin will be here at noon. Pansy will bring him in. You know the routine. You'll have the rest of the day to yourself."

She nodded and stood, going to kiss him goodbye.

"I'll be expecting you to cooperate tonight," he breathed into her ear as they embraced.

The knot in her stomach tightened. She nodded and watched as he left. Her breathing returned to normal once he was out of sight.

She sat back in her seat, eager to rid her mind of the memory of the night before and read the entirety of the newspaper, but she had only just unfolded it and landed eyes on the picture of the Prime Minister on the front page when the sound of footsteps demanded her attention.

She had expected it to be Draco at first, perhaps having forgotten to announce some other plan for the day, or that he wanted another kiss, but it wasn't.

It was George.

Again, she had almost not recognized him. His hair had been cut and washed, and his hair was its true red. The scar along his face was more vivid than the night before. He was thin but tall and still cloaked in the colors of the damned: black and gold. He looked a little younger with all the grime and unkempt hair cut and washed away, but there was still that haunted look in his eyes that aged him.

"Good morning, my Lady," he said, bowing, just as Hermione had almost given in to the urge to run to him and embrace him.

"Good morning, George," Hermione said, trying to smile, and shoving away the awkward thought that he had seen her completely nude the night before. "Please, come sit with us. Are you hungry?"

She had almost forgotten that Lucio was there until she caught his eye and saw his apprehensive expression as he looked at her and then George.

"Lucio, darling," she said, "this is my old friend George Weasley. We knew each other for many years before your father and I were married. He works for your Father, now."

George, seeing Lucio, went pale, but he summoned up a smile. Hermione guessed Draco had conveniently not told him he had a son.

"Pleased to meet you, little Lord," he said.

"You and mummy are friends?"

"Oh, yes," George said, and accepting Hermione's invitation, sat down at the table opposite her. "We went to school together when we were young, although I think she was closer to my brother Ron than she was to me."

Hermione's heart wrenched with pain. She felt a dart of anxiety run through her as if Draco was there and had heard George's words. She wanted to take him aside and hiss Draco's rule to him—-

We don't speak the names of the dead here.

It only ever happened when Draco himself said them, and that was rare enough. It only spurred his anger and jealousy. If this continued, Lucio would ask his father questions innocently, and then she would pay for it later.

But it was too late. Lucio turned to Hermione. "Ron? Who's that, mummy?"

Hermione took in a breath.

Draco's gone, she reminded herself. Your fears are irrational. This was bound to happen, and Draco probably knew we would talk about it.

"Ron was a very dear friend of mine in school," she said, glad her voice was level. "He was George's younger brother."

"Don't forget Harry," George said, cracking a smile, and for an instant, she flashed back to their summers in the Burrow, when he'd crack jokes at supper and have them all choking on their soup. Pain flared in her heart.

I can't handle this.

"Harry?" Lucio was asking. "Mummy, who's that?"

George looked at Lucio and frowned. "Who—?" He looked back at Hermione, his smile faltering. When he saw her grave face, he looked incredulous, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "He doesn't know?"

"Harry was another very good friend of mine," Hermione said to Lucio, but it was too much, too sudden. The room was spinning around her. All she could think of were those graves. "Excuse me—"

She pushed back her chair and fled the room, walking as fast as she could. She heard the scraping of chairs behind her.

"Mummy?" Lucio called. "Mummy?"

We don't summon the dead here. It kept repeating in her head. We don't, we don't, and there's a reason why.

Lucio knew, now. He would have more questions. Draco had forbidden her from the beginning to tell him about Harry or Ron, and even though she had been furious that he would dare to forbid her from telling her own son about the most integral people of his own life, she had eventually come to the realization that perhaps it was better off that way. It was too painful, too shameful, to tell her son the story of her life before her capture, the adventures and magic, and independence, the brave, beautiful people she had known. She could picture his excitement and eagerness to learn more and then as he would grow older and wiser, realize how boring and pitiful her life had become since then, and even if it was not by her own volition, he didn't know that. He would pity her or become embarrassed by her. He would adore his powerful father more and more, and her influence over him, her only true influence over anything inside this damned house, would fade.

She found herself by the window in the corridor. It looked out into the gardens and she stopped abruptly, the warmth of the sun a welcome comfort on her cold skin. She wiped at her eyes though she had not cried and tried to regulate her breaths.

She heard footsteps behind her.

"My Lady, are you alright?"

She shook her head. "Don't call me that."

"I'm afraid I must, or my Lord will punish me," George said.

"I can't stand it," she said and turned to look at him. "To be Lady Malfoy wherever I go, like they're trying to wipe my past away. I'm afraid one day I'll have heard it enough to forget who I am. He can call me whatever he likes, but as far as I'm concerned, I am still Hermione Granger."

George nodded slowly. "Of course," he said. "I'm sorry for everything you've been through."

"Don't ever apologize for that," she said, a tad too sharp. "That was my own fault, and his."

She turned back to the window. He stepped closer.

"I'm sorry I left so abruptly. I-I had a rough night. I was overwhelmed."

George nodded slowly. She stood utterly still and looked composed but for the wet glimmer in her eye. He could sense her agitation, however, like the beating of a frantic bird in its cage. It was upsetting. It reminded him of Fred in his last days.

George shook the thought away.

"He doesn't know about Harry or Ron," he said, pointing back to the direction of the dining room. "Your…son. He doesn't know. About me, I understand. But Ron and Harry…why not?"

There was pain in his voice.

Hermione went to him and took his hands. There was so much pain in her eyes.

A bright stab of pain ran through their arms at exactly the same moment. George cried out and made to let go, but she, knowing it would happen because of her ring, had latched on and would not let go, even when the pain intensified. Draco would know, but she didn't care.

"Eat," she said. "Then we'll talk. And explain everything."

When they returned to the table, Lucio was expecting them. He had finished his food and had waited for them at the table, his bright, young face burning with questions unasked. Hermione went straight to him, trying to muffle the anxiety that spiked within her.

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheeks as George sat down on the other side of the table, and after a second's hesitation, began to collect food on his plate.

"Who's Harry, mummy?" Lucio asked.

Hermione sucked in a breath, pulling away from him to sit back in her chair.

"Harry was my friend during school," she said. "Just like Ron. But Harry…he was more than my best friend."

Lucio's gaze implored for an explanation. Hermione didn't dare go further than that. This covered most of it without treading into dangerous territory. She wasn't ready to dive this deep so soon, especially with George as an audience—familiar or not, they had to have a long and lengthy talk before she revealed too much. He answered to Draco, now. She had to remember that and find out if she could trust him.

"We were all best friends," she resumed. "We did everything together. We got into a lot of trouble."

Lucio's eyes went wide. "Trouble?"

"We fought a troll, once," she said, smiling. George was grinning. A hollow, beaten grin, but she saw the spark of remembrance in his eyes. "At the start of our first year at Hogwarts. I was so afraid, but they helped me escape from it."

Lucio's mouth had gone slack. His eyes were like stars.

"A troll? Mummy, you fought a troll?"

"Yes," she said. "And many other kinds of creatures."

"What else did you do, Mummy?" Lucio asked, almost bouncing in his seat with excitement.

"He speaks very well for someone so young," George said, impressed, more to himself than to anyone else.

"I want you to remember this, my love," she said slowly, reaching out to smooth his hair. "We didn't do the things we did because we wanted to. We did them because we had to. There were people who wanted to hurt us, and we were just trying to survive."

"Hurt you?" Lucio asked. Trepidation crept across his face. "Why?"

Hermione struggled to find a proper answer. If she brought up Voldemort and Harry, the Prophecy and everything in between, they would be sitting there for days.

Draco wouldn't like it, either.

She was saved from that when Pansy entered the room.

"My Lady," she said, "the tutors have arrived. Shall I take Lucio to them?"

"Noooo," Lucio whined, crossing his arms. He looked beseechingly at Hermione.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said, despite her secret relief. "You have to go. Your lessons are important."

"I don't want to. I want to stay with you!"

"I'll still be here when they leave," she reminded him. "We can talk again later."

"Promise?"

"I promise." She helped him out of his seat and kissed the top of his head. "Be good and go with Pansy. I'll see you later."

When she stood back up, and he had just reached Pansy, she caught her eye. Pansy was looking at George, who was still at the table, without an ounce of surprise.

She knew.

Pansy seemed to sense her thought, and nodded, her face solemn and apologetic. Hermione nodded in answer. Why should she be upset? Pansy was also under Draco's command. He had probably bound her to be unable to reveal the secret to her without severe punishment. Hermione watched as Pansy took Lucio's hand in her own and exited the room.

Now they were alone.

Hermione went back to the table slowly. George was not eating. He watched her, half of the food on his plate untouched.

Suddenly the room felt colder than before.

"What now?" He asked quietly. "Should we do this here?"

She shook her head. "Come with me."

They exited the dining room and into the corridor. They said nothing for a while. Hermione led him through the manor. Except for the sound of their footsteps, the place was silent. They encountered no one else. Every room was cold.

"Is it always like this?" He finally asked.

"Mostly," she admitted. "Unless he has more of you over."

She hadn't meant for that to bite, but as they walked, and his robe flowed with his movement, she caught glimpses of the gold trim on it and was reminded to be careful, that he obeyed her husband first. She was always second on that order.

They had reached the Isolation Room. It had been some time since Draco had last put her in there, but it was exactly the same. A fire sprung to life in the hearth as they entered.

He looked at her, waiting for instruction.

"Sit," she gestured to the room. The bed, the armchairs by the fire. She had unpleasant memories on every surface of this room, where Draco had consummated his lust on many occasions.

"Won't you?" He asked.

"I'd rather stand."

He went to one armchair and sat, looking rather uncomfortable. She followed him there and stood in front of him. He watched her, wary, waiting for her to speak.

It took a moment for her to gather her voice again.

"What happened to you?" She whispered.

"It's a long story," he said. Even his voice sounded haunted. Hermione wondered if she ever sounded like that, too. "It's probably best if you sit down."

"I'll sit when I want to," she said firmly. "Now tell me everything."

He sighed. "After my Lord defeated Harry, everything went to hell. We were all in shock. We looked at his body, waiting for him to get up again and save the day, just like it happened with Voldemort. But it didn't."

"I didn't know you'd been seen there until weeks after. None of us saw you, except Neville, apparently. If we'd known, we'd have tried to take you with us, but that probably wouldn't have worked. More than half our numbers were gone. Once Harry went down, they started taking captives. Fred—Fred and I were separated. I was panicking. I couldn't find him. Harry was dead and I couldn't find Fred. That's all I remember thinking." He shook his head.

"Whether he was dead or alive, I was going to find him and bring him back home with me. That was all that mattered. I didn't know Ron had been killed until I saw them burning his body. They were burning all the bodies so they wouldn't have to bury them. Most of our side was gone or leaving, or dead. It was useless to fight back. And Malfoy was quick. He was burning, killing anyone who was stupid enough to still try and take them on, looking for any captives he could take. The only reason I wasn't taken by him was that you came along when he found Neville and distracted him, but I didn't know that until later."

"Did you get away?" She asked.

"Bellatrix found me," he replied, and his voice had gone hollow. "She had someone knock me out and take me to her house. They'd thrown me into a cell. When I woke up, some of my ribs were broken and I had trouble remembering how I'd got there. But I saw Fred in the next cell with his leg was broken, and that's when I remembered." He swallowed. "I didn't care what they were going to do to us. I didn't care if they were going to kill us. The only thing that mattered was that we were together. I told him I saw what they did to Ron. We didn't know what'd happened to Bill, or Ginny, or Charlie. By then, mum and dad had been dead for a few months."

Having seen their graves only a day before, his words bore into her like a dagger pressed deep. Hermione nodded, sniffling.

"How did it happen? Were they killed in battle?"

George shook his head. "Before. Mum was sick—we're not sure how it happened. She was fine one day, and then she wasn't. She said she hadn't been feeling well for a few days before that. I think it was Percy's death wearing on her. His, and Bill's. She'd stand there at home just staring at our clock, at their hands. When they'd died, their spoons went to Sleep and never moved again. She'd watch it for hours like she was waiting for them to switch to Awake at any moment. After she got sick, she insisted we bring the clock into her room, and she'd watch it when she wasn't sleeping. Ron and Ginny were taking care of her. We had Healers come and take a look but their medicines weren't working, and mum died two weeks later in terrible pain. Dad followed her three months after that. Natural causes, but I think he didn't want to live without her."

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "They were good, lovely people."

He nodded, sniffled loudly. "They were. It was hard, at first. I think I would rather have them gone that way than have them killed off by an enemy, even though it was awful."

"What about the others?" She asked. "I saw when Ron was killed. MacNair did it. I haven't seen Charlie in years."

"I saw Charlie at the battle before I got separated from Fred," George said numbly. "He said to look for Ginny, and that's the last I've seen of him. No body, nothing. They wanted to put up a grave for him, too, but I wouldn't let them. Not until there's hard proof."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered. The Weasley's had been such a large family. Now, less than half of them remained. It tore at her heart.

"It's stupid to keep hoping, probably," George said, his voice worn and dull. "But I figure if you're still alive, there's a chance that Ginny and Charlie might be, too. We looked for Ginny among the captured in Bellatrix's dungeon. We saw some people from school, there—mostly younger ones we didn't know very well. Fred couldn't move, thanks to his leg. Most of us hardly knew each other, but we tried to take care of each other, and I was trying to think of a way to get out because they'd taken all our wands and broken them, and whatever was coming next wasn't good. We were there in the cold and dark for a few days, I think. We couldn't get out. We weren't given food. Half of us were dead by the time they remembered they had people down there. They pulled us out and chained us up so we could barely even walk. They had a Healer come in and fix Fred's leg, and then they forced him to come with us when he should have been resting. He got a bad limp because of that, and that was the only way they could tell us apart afterward."

He paused to catch his breath, and Hermione clicked her fingers.

Toffee Apparated into the room.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Bring water, please."

"Yes, Mistress."

Toffee Apparated away and a moment later two tall glasses of water appeared beside each of them. A fa, sweating pitcher made a loud clink as it landed on the tiny table between them.

"Thanks," he muttered and drank deeply. He set the glass down and cleared his throat. The pitcher floated forth and refilled his cup.

As it did, he looked around. "This is your life, now, then." He sounded sad.

Hermione nodded, a grim set to her lips. She would tell him everything when the time came. She would lay everything on the table, and see if he would try to defend his Lord. She would know how to act next, based on that, but his turn was not yet done.

"What happened next?"

"Anyone who'd survived those few nights in the dungeon was made Bellatrix's slaves," he said. "There had been about ten of us at the start. When we were taken out of the cellar, there were four of us left. She gave one of those girls to a friend of hers. She was crying, and Fred and I tried to stop it—there's no good reason why a mean, ugly looking sod like him wanted a girl less than half his age. They whipped us bloody for that right there, and when it was done, they were already gone." He shook his head, a haunted look in his eye. "I still think about her. I didn't even know her name."

Draco's words from a long time ago floated back to her:

'There are others.'

Hermione closed her eyes. When would those words stop haunting her?

"There was another bloke with us—Bellatrix wasn't interested in him, so she gave him to the first person who asked. His name was Eric. Then it was just me and Fred. We thought she'd give us away, too, but we were wrong." He paused.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"Yeah. It's just unpleasant to think about," he said. "I'm sure you know the feeling."

"Too well."

"They were still celebrating having won. They were drinking, eating, some were dancing. Malfoy wasn't there, but they praised him constantly, toasted to him. A lot of them had their own slaves, fresh from the battlefield. I saw a lot of familiar faces—I'd just fought alongside them days ago. Now we were all wearing chains. They tortured us a bit, just for fun. For laughs. And when they were tired of drinking and dancing, some of them stripped their slaves and had them right there, or shared them with groups." He swallowed loudly and shuddered. "It felt like it went on forever. I'd never been so angry in my life."

'There are others.'

"Did Bellatrix—did she?" Hermione asked.

"No." George cracked a dead smile. "That night, she didn't touch us, and there were some people who wanted us, but she wouldn't let them. Said she can't stand redheads and likes Weasleys even less, but she didn't like sharing what was hers. That changed later, but I guess for that one night we were granted one tiny miracle there. That's how I felt for a few minutes. Relief, as people were being assaulted around me. She saw that, and I think she couldn't stand that. So she had Fred and I wait on her all night. Feed her, give her drinks, take off her shoes when she wanted to be barefoot. The whole time, she talked about how most of our family and friends were dead or missing. We tried not to let it bother us, but it was hard. She talked a lot about you. She hadn't seen you or Draco in years, and neither had we, for that matter, but she loved to talk about the many ways in which he'd probably already killed you, and if it wasn't that she painted a very vivid picture of you all chained up in a dungeon somewhere, raped and beaten and inches from death."

He paused. "We hadn't seen you in so long some of us already believed you were dead. I think it was easier that way than still believing we could find you and save you. Of course, later on, we found out she'd been lying, and that you'd been seen at the battlefield, so when Bellatrix saw that it wasn't working, she told us about how she helped poison our mum."

Hermione grabbed his hand. Held it tight. Pain simmered along her arm.

"After that night, she changed her mind about using us," George continued. "She was being offered sums of money from people who wanted us, Fred and I, at the same time. She didn't care about the money. She didn't even need it. But she'd found a way to humiliate us, so she rented us out most nights, and she didn't give a flying fuck if we got hurt." He wiped at his eyes. "It was a nightmare, start to finish. We were forced to serve men and women, e-even each other. And when we refused, we were tortured, and they put us under the Imperius, and then sent home, and tortured again and denied food."

Hermione covered her mouth with her hands.

"I'll spare you the rest of the details," he said, not looking her in the eye. "We endured. They beat us, and tortured us, and Bellatrix had us sleeping on the floor outside her room, cleaning her home…entertaining guests, but we were alive and we had each other, and that was all that mattered. Every day, every night, we'd think of ways to escape."

"Fred…" George said, his voice cracking. He swallowed. His face was absolutely hollow. Broken. "He started to fade. The first time they had us touch each other… that was the day it started. There was shame and guilt, at what we had to do. I tried to forget it every night. Put it out of mind. Think about anything else. Before then, we tried to tell each other jokes sometimes at night to make each other laugh, to try to forget what we'd done, what'd been done to us. We had to whisper, so the others wouldn't hear us. But after that night he stopped laughing. I never heard him laugh again. He got quieter and quieter until even I couldn't reach him. He wasn't eating. I tried to help him. I saved most of my food for him but he wouldn't take it. He wasn't there anymore. I tried to be there for him, tried to tell him we'd get out, but there was no way to even try, because they had us without magic and chained to each other, and fed us just enough so that we weren't starving, but we didn't have a lot of energy to begin with."

He stopped and took a moment to breathe. His eyes were red. Hermione waited silently, her stomach churning.

"The Dark Lord began to make visits to Bellatrix," he said. "He saw us one day and seemed too happy to have found us. He said it was possible to win our own freedom by joining him. We'd be able to see you, he said, and serve him, and never be sold off to anyone else again. We refused. We wanted our freedom and to see you, just not under his terms. But every night I thought about it a little more, and when he came back a month later and asked again, I said yes."

George went quieter here. Hermione, burning to know the rest, resisted the urge to press him on.

"I hadn't told Fred, because I knew he'd convince me not to," he said, looking at her as if expecting her to do the same, even now that it was too late. "But I was so tired of it. I was worried about him and knew we had to get out, because there was one couple who kept paying for us and they were getting crueler and rougher and I knew it was only a matter of time until they either seriously injured or killed us, and Bellatrix was taunting us, saying they'd offered to outright buy us from her, and she was tired of having us around, so she was going to do it."

"So I said yes to him Fred wouldn't say anything. I knew he wanted to leave too, just as much as me, but he didn't want to go with Malfoy. But he didn't want to be left alone so he signed the contract too, and I was glad because I was ready to drag him out of there even if he didn't want to come with me. We'd thought Bellatrix would have been furious, but either way, she was just happy to get rid of us, so my Lord gave us some money and we stayed at an inn for a while, trying to think of what to do next. We spent days just lying around, not talking much, just happy to be out. Fred still wasn't himself, but I thought he'd get better in time. He was mad at me, and I felt and do still feel guilty over it but we were out, and that was all I cared about. We were being watched by Malfoy's people, so we knew we couldn't run away. After a week, we were taken somewhere to perform the initiation ceremony. He gave us the robes, and we got the marks, and in the end, after we swore our loyalty, we were presented with new wands."

He had his out, was looking down at it, the glare of the fire raging in his downturned eyes. It was black, with a gilded handle. Smooth. Featureless. Hermione vaguely recalled his original wand, with its defining features that had been so odd alone, yet the perfect complement to that of his brother's.

"When it was over, we went back to the inn. Our Lord was going to send us on a mission, our first task. We were going to head out the next morning. He'd given us a bag of money each to see us through, to find lodging and food and clothes for the mission, and then a more permanent place to live afterward when we returned. I wasn't excited about it, but I was ready to move on. I would have done anything to get the past few months out of my head, and I was eager to do it fast, because Fred still wasn't doing much else day to day, and I knew it was all haunting him, so I wanted to get us out and traveling and thinking of anything but that."

He paused and took a deep, shaky breath.

"That last night—" he stopped short again. His hands were visibly shaking. He tried again.

"That last night…he talked a little bit. More than I'd heard him speak in a month, I think. He started up and he didn't stop for a while and I was so blown over by it, I just let him talk. And me, the idiot, I thought it meant he was getting better."

"What did he say?" Hermione asked gently.

"He was just bringing up old memories. 'D'you remember that time we broke out of Hogwarts on our brooms?' And I said of course I did. He said he'd never been happier in his life then, or the day we opened up our shop. He said he'd never forget those days. Then he went to sleep."

George went silent for a long time after that, obviously struggling for his next words. Hermione found his hand and gripped it tight, not caring that the pain was making her head swim and her arm numb. She looked down at their hands joined together and gripped until she saw her fingertips turn white, the indents in his flesh from her pressure. He squeezed back fiercely, and if he felt pain from her ring, he showed no reaction, either.

"When—" He heaved out a dry sob, and took in a long, ragged breath. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

"When I woke up the next day, he was gone." He shook his head. "Gone. He'd used his wand on himself in the loo of our room at the Inn. No note, nothing. He never said goodbye."

He stopped again as if he was about to cry, and Hermione had expected it, too—he looked as if he were about to burst with sadness. A moment later, however, he blinked, shook his head again, and continued, although his voice wavered.

"I think the guilt got to him. I think it was driving him mad, what we'd been put through. That, and what he'd seen at the battle. "And I think he was too embarrassed to talk about it to me, his own brother. We both knew we had been forced to do it, and that it wasn't our fault, but he still took it hard. The Dark Lord came, and we buried him out by the Burrow. I left for the mission that night. I was in shock. I didn't know what else to do. I'd never been without him. I'm still not used to it. I thought it was better to surround myself with strangers than face the fact that I was alone and almost without family, without my twin. I kept seeing him everywhere I went, out of the corner of my eye. I completed my mission months later and reported back to my Lord. He uses me as a scout, you see. A spy, sometimes, too. He sends me off on missions, and I just came back from the latest one about a week ago."

"What was your mission?" She asked softly, finally extricating her hands from his, though she needed help, as she couldn't manage to move her numb hands at all. George realized her plight and helped settle her hands in her lap, eyeing her ring warily, as if he could sense that was where the pain had come from.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you yet," he said, and she nodded.

Of course not.

"I'm glad to see you're alive," he said. "You're probably glad to see me, too, but I know we both wish we weren't still breathing. That would have been easier, wouldn't it?"

"Once, maybe," she replied slowly. "Now I have a son, and it's my responsibility to make sure he comes to no harm."

"Do you…do you really love him?" George asked.

"Yes," she said. "It isn't his fault he was born of rape. He is young but intelligent, and I want to make sure he won't turn out like Draco, although I'm sure that's exactly what Draco wants."

"It wouldn't surprise me," George said. "My Lord himself is very much like his own father. But greater," he added thoughtfully, as if paranoid that Draco was listening in.

"I'm sure Lucio will be powerful, too," Hermione said. "We decided he should start lessons very young, and in a few years, we'll have to send him to school somewhere. I'd rather have that than have him constantly under his father's influence."

"Did you want to have a child?" George asked quietly.

"I wanted to have a child as much as I wanted to be married to Draco," she said, and that was answer enough. George nodded and looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It mustn't be easy knowing I serve him now."

"It's a bit of a relief, actually, knowing I'm not the only person he owns," she said trying to laugh, but it was so true and painful she couldn't manage it.

"What happened, after you left the Burrow that night?"

Hermione sighed, let her lungs deflate as much as they dared before drawing in breath to speak.

"You know the first half of it," she said, and he nodded. "The obsession, the kidnapping—everything else. The last time I was at the Burrow, Draco sent me a threatening letter. He'd captured Neville and was going to kill him and dismember him if I didn't return immediately. I had no choice, so I went. He released Neville as he'd promised, and then raped me. The next morning, I tried to kill myself. That was the first attempt."

George flinched. With effort, she pressed her hand (still half-numb) on his shoulder for comfort and drew it away before it fell completely numb again.

"I couldn't take it anymore, either. But he caught me and I survived. I was depressed for a long time after that, and still suicidal. He took care of me, more out of selfishly wanting me still alive than of wanting me to get better. He drugged me and spiked my drinks with fertility potions and when I found out I was pregnant, I begged him to end it. I tried to do it myself a few times, but he always caught me."

"I'm sorry."

She looked down.

"He used to beat me black and blue. Once I had Lucio, that stopped. He doesn't make me take Love Potions anymore. But he wants me to rule with him. He promised me my magic back if I agreed." She looked at him. "I've been fighting him for several years now. I'd sworn to myself I'd continue fighting until I died or he killed me… Do you know what it's like to not be able to use your magic for this long?"

He shook his head. He'd been deprived of his wand and magic for only a few months. For Hermione, it had been years. Those few months for him had felt like an eternity.

"I'm afraid I'm forgetting how to use it," she said. "I'm afraid I'll never get it back, that I'll live as I am now for the rest of my life. I'm starved for it, and he knows. He dangles my magic in front of me like a carrot to get me to do what he wants. And I do it. I said yes."

"My Lord granted me a new wand, more powerful than the one I had before," George said. "He fulfills his promises."

Hermione shook her head, wishing he'd understand, that if only he could know how many times he had lied to her.

"Hermione," he said softly, his eyes pained. How natural pain looked in his expression, now. It fit into the lines of his face, the bend to his brow. Her heart ached for him, and the way he was looking at her, she knew he felt the same for her. It only continued to tear her heart in two. "Don't look at me that way."

"You're loyal to him now."

"He helped Fred and I get our freedom," he said. "And in return, I signed my life to his cause. There was nothing else I could have offered him that he wanted. He could have just killed us the moment he took us from Bellatrix, but he didn't."

"Why do you think he wanted you to join him so badly?" Hermione asked, wiping at her eyes. "He's going to use you to manipulate me, too. He's going to test you, again and again, to make sure you're loyal to him and not me, can't you see that? If I step so much as one toe off his line he'll only have to threaten to kill you to make sure I obey him."

"Do you think I didn't know that?" He asked. "The best we can do is play our parts, and bide our time. If we play his game, no harm will come to either of us."

"That's easy for you to say when you don't have to live with him and share his bed every night."

George went quiet. "It's that bad, is it?"

"From the very first day."

George's voice had gone strange.

"I'm sure my Lord only wants what's best for you."

She stared at him in shock, her heart sinking low.

So that's it, then? He's fully on Draco's side. Maybe he doesn't realize it yet, but he is. I think Bellatrix broke him after all and didn't even realize. The George I knew once would have told me to continue to resist, and to make hell every step along the way. He never would have tried to justify Draco's actions. Never.

"Don't you tell me that rubbish, George, don't you dare," she said, and he inclined his head.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I misspoke."

Just how deep was he on Draco's side? There was still so much she didn't know. He'd signed himself over to her husband and clearly worked for him now. What had he done in his service so far?

She looked at him as if he were a stranger.

"Do you believe him, then, when he says he wants to better our world?"

"No," George said. "He only wants enough power to make sure everyone does what he wants, and that there's no repercussion for the things he's done because there's still powerful people out there who won't bow to him and still want him thrown in Azkaban. There used to be more, but he's finding them all and vanishing them… I don't know what he ultimately wants. He seems happy enough where he is now—I don't think he's reaching for anything higher—not yet." George sighed. "But whatever his plans are, whatever he asks of me, I have to obey. I signed my life over to him to save my brother. Now that he's gone, I've got to keep myself alive. Even if I don't really care for life anymore."

Hermione said nothing for a long while, looking out the window bleakly. She had thought George might be an ally to her, a friend reunited, but now she was sure she couldn't trust him, not when he seemed so grateful and—the word made her feel ill—loyal to Draco. She would tread carefully, keep prodding for information, but she could not count on him.

Perhaps I can switch him back. But how?

When she turned back to look at him, she thought she saw a flash of odd color in his eye. Her stomach jumped, but he blinked and it was gone, replaced by the usual blue of his eye. The color shift hadn't been too great—the sunlight was shining onto them from the windows nearby—she could feel it on her own face. It had to have been that, but she still found herself on edge. He looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

"What have we got ourselves into, George? How will this all end?"

"I hope we don't turn into enemies," he said honestly. "I've done terrible things, during and after the war. I still care about you. You were like family to me, once. You still are."

"I don't agree with what you did," she said, "but who am I to condemn you, considering what I've done as well?"

"I don't blame you, either," he said, voice shaking. "For any of it. For staying. You—we did what we had to in order to survive. Maybe we're monsters now, but we're alive."

Hermione sniffled loudly, leaning into him, feeling his arms wrap around her. Pain flared up her spine instantly, and she arched her back and hissed, but clung to him regardless.

"I'm so sorry, George…" she sobbed, unable to finish her sentence. Pain jabbed at her, right between her breasts, and she curled away from George instinctively, gritting her teeth.

For what you've been through. For what you've been forced to do. For what he'll make you'll do in the future. I don't think you've realized yet what you've done when you joined Draco.

"Are you alright?" He asked, alarmed, letting her go. The pain fled at once.

"Draco won't let me touch other men without consequence," she said. "Even if it's innocent."

His eyes were full of concern.

"You won't get into trouble. Draco owes me this much, at least."

There was that flash in his eye again, but she missed it as she stood up and checked the clock on the opposite wall.

"Martin is due soon. I need to change. Come and meet him."

George stayed with her long enough to escort her to the library and meet Martin. They talked awkwardly for a while until George excused himself to go rest.

"You say he is an old friend of yours, my Lady?" Martin asked as he painted, the soft soundtrack of his brushes against his canvas a comfort to Hermione's ear.

"Yes," she said, struggling to stay awake. It was tiresome to sit still for so long. She had been dozing off for several minutes now. "I was very close friends with his younger brother."

Saying it for the second time that day felt so odd. Almost liberating, as if it were a secret she'd been on the verge of screaming for years. It wasn't a secret, but the fact that Draco had forbidden her from speaking of them had made it feel so.

"He had five other brothers, you see," she said, feeling bolder, even as she fought off her drowsiness. The room had grown hot with the midday sun. "Five brothers, and one sister. All together with their parents in one house. I used to visit them in the late summer and stay with them until school started. They were a second family to me. My magical family. My own parents were both Muggles. I haven't seen them since before Lucio was born. They could be dead for all I know. They don't even remember me. It's better off that way."

"My Lady?" Martin asked. "Are you well?"

"Very," she replied, her eyes closing. "I'm as fine as can be expected considering the circumstances. I've been better before, but I think this is the best I'll be for quite some time."

"…Of course, my Lady," Martin said, sounding unsure. He peered out at her from behind his canvas. "Shall we stop for today?"

"Yes," came Draco's voice from the entrance to the library as he strode in. "My wife has had a very long week, you see. Come back early tomorrow and pick up where you left off."

"Of course, my Lord," Martin said. He bowed and packed up his things and left. Hermione had snapped awake at the sound of Draco's voice. She stood up and readjusted her gown. Draco approached her.

"I trust your talk went well," he said, his hand coming up to graze her temple.

"You saved him," she said. "Even if it was for your own agenda, thank you."

His lips were warm against hers. "You're welcome, little bird."

He bent down and picked her up, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. He kissed her again and set off for their bedroom.

"Where's Lucio?"

"He had his lunch and was waiting to speak to you. I told him you'd see him tonight, before bed." He paused. "I know you touched him. I won't punish you for it. Perhaps it was cruel of me to leave it on you when I knew you would touch him once he told you what he went through. I know you've learned your lesson, and I know you won't be unfaithful again."

It was a veiled threat and a vague promise. Was he actually sorry, though? Hermione wasn't sure.

"Of course not," she said. She reached up and locked her arms around his neck.

Tell him what he wants to hear. Nibble on that carrot, and take a step closer to your magic back.

"He's a dear friend and nothing more. I'd never be unfaithful to you."

Not again, anyway, when the only man I really loved is nothing more than bones underground.

As long as neither of them mentioned it, things would be fine.

"I've assembled an event of sorts for tomorrow," he said. "You're expected to be in attendance."

Her insides twisted.

"What is it?"

"Something joyous, hopefully," he said. Hermione didn't like the tone of his voice when he said that. "I discovered something interesting a few hours ago. I hope you'll like it."

A large box floated behind them. Hermione peered at it cautiously.

"What is that?"

His hand slid up to squeeze her bum.

"A present for the most beautiful woman in the world."

Hermione sighed. What could it be? More jewelry? The box was too large for that.

"You know how I feel about presents, Draco."

"Indulge me, sweetheart. Is it so bad for me to want to give you gifts?"

To that she said nothing.

You can't buy my affection. This is only ever for your own pleasure.

They had reached the dining room, where dinner was laid out for them. Lucio was just being escorted in by Pansy. Draco set her down onto her feet and summoned Toffee to take the box up to their bedroom as Lucio ran up to Hermione and jumped into her arms.

"Will you tell me now, mummy?" He asked eagerly, peppering her cheeks with kisses. Hermione laughed, and the tightness in her chest eased.

How can you fear your son turning into a monster when he's so full of love?

"Tell him what?" Draco asked, and her smile faltered.

"About Hogwarts. About my friends."

"Potter and Weasley?" Draco asked, the slightest sneer curling his lip. He ruffled Lucio's curly hair as he sat down at the head of the table, his legs spreading underneath it as if he sat on his throne. "So many entertaining stories, aren't there, sweetheart?" He asked Hermione. "Go on, share them with us."

She had not expected this. She eyed Draco carefully, but he didn't seem hostile. A little on edge, yes, but nowhere near the level she was used to. It was a little frightening, but when he caught her eye and smiled at her it was almost an innocent, honest smile. He nodded, egging her on, and she felt her hackles rise.

"Well," she began, turning to Lucio's bright little face. "Harry and Ron were my best friends at school."

"And Father?" Lucio asked. "What about Father?"

Hermione hesitated. "We didn't know each—"

"Your mother and I were rivals for many years before we fell in love," Draco said, interrupting her. "We didn't get along very well at the start, you know that. She preferred their company to mine."

"That's right," Hermione said, eyeing Draco warily. What game was he playing now? Or had he too decided it was time to lay out their story for their son? How much would he omit, or fabricate?

I'm about to find out.

"We had a lot of adventures," Hermione said. "I told you about the troll. We also saved a Hippogriff from—" Draco's hand gripped her wrist gently. A warning.

"…From being hurt. We got to ride it and fought Dementors in the Forbidden Forest outside our school."

"Dementors? Wow!" Lucio said. "Master Lleywn says they're scary!"

"They are," Hermione said. "Don't you ever go looking for one."

She spent the rest of their dinner relaying heavily edited stories of her misadventures at Hogwarts, including Fluffy, the Triwizard Tournament, and the Basilisk of their second year. Lucio seemed to almost not believe it at parts, but Draco had verified it all and neglected to mention his role in every single one as an antagonist on the opposite side. Resentful, Hermione chided herself that she should have known Draco wouldn't want to paint himself as a villain to his own son.

Not yet, anyway.

"Tell me more, mummy!" Lucio said.

"You haven't even touched your potatoes yet, my love," she said.

"Please, mummy?"

"Another day," Draco said firmly. "It's nearing your bedtime, anyhow, and we've got a busy day tomorrow."

Oh, right. That.

"Pansy says you're having a party," Lucio said. "Can I go, Father?"

"No. It's only for adults," Draco said. He stood and went to pick up Lucio from his chair. "When you're a little older you can come to them all. I'll expect you to."

Hermione went stiff.

No.

"When?" Lucio demanded.

"In a few years, perhaps," Draco said thoughtfully. "I was a little older than you when I was allowed to by my mother and father."

"That's a lot of time," Lucio said, scowling.

"A long time," Draco corrected. "It will have passed before you know it, mark my words. Now say goodnight to your mother and I. It's time for bed."

"In a few years he'll still be only a boy," Hermione said as Draco climbed into bed beside her. "And you want to throw him into your serpent's nest and witness all you do?"

"I was around that age when my father introduced me to what he did," Draco said, nonchalant. "It would have been better if he'd known from the start. He'll learn soon enough what I do and who I am, and you can't stop that from happening, Hermione. Would you rather have him ignorant of it his entire life?"

"I won't let you corrupt him," she said, shaking off his arm when he tried pulling her in closer. "He is my son, too, and I have as much say as you do when you try to dictate how to raise him. He won't have the upbringing you had."

"Shall I just Imperius you to get you to agree?" Draco asked lazily. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh. He wrapped his arm around her hip and forcefully pulled her closer though she tried to resist. Her breathing had quickened.

"Don't you dare," she breathed.

"We've been over this," he snapped. "He is my only heir. I'll not have my own son ignorant of what power his family holds. He will learn just as I did. It's not corruption. He'll accept it. I know he will."

Here came the gooseflesh again.

'I know he will.'

He sounded so sure of himself as if he'd seen into the future. That frightened her.

"I won't let you," she said.

He chuckled. "Fight me then, sweetheart. You know I love it. We'll see how it ends."

She glared at the wall, where a wide mahogany wardrobe took up most of the space there. The night table next to the bed—her wand was on it. That wasn't where she'd left it that morning. Had he magicked it there just now, to remind her of her promise? She closed her eyes, feeling rage simmer inside her, letting it wash over her in waves, giving in to it, imagining herself with magic again, taking vengeance in the cruelest, most pleasurable of ways. That gave her relief, but it was always fleeting.

Draco had fallen asleep, his arm still tight around her. Hermione let herself drift in her rage, feeling her skin burn under his touch, as if flames grew beneath her skin, trying to burst out and lick him to ashes. She thought of her son, innocent and young, dangling over the precipice of his father's madness. Fear spiked inside her, coiling and twining with her rage.

Mere feet away from her, perched securely on the night table, her wand rolled toward her an inch, then moved no more. She, with her eyes closed all the while, noticed nothing.

A/N:

A long one as an apology for such a long wait between updates. I love you all and thank you for being patient with me and waiting so nicely for updates. I had a real rough time churning this one out. There's an explicit sex scene earlier in the chapter but since it really doesn't serve much to the overall plot I'm only including it on the Ao3 version of the chapter and on my Wordpress blog. I realize some people have an issue with most of the chapters having a sex scene so I'll be careful about that later on even though I do consider that being an important part of Draco's character and somewhat of the plot. I won't get in depth over it on here but if you want to read that omitted scene please head to my profile and find the links to my Archive of Our Own profile or my Wordpress blog and read it there at your leisure. I realize the sensitive and controversial nature of this story also adds to the complaints so I want to be respectful of that here on this site only, as this is the only place where I've received that particular feedback.

More to come! Happy Holidays!