They were awoken the next morning by a curt knock at the door.
Hermione's eyes opened—Draco was already rising from the bed, nude, his skin pebbling from the cold air. He gestured with his hand and dressed himself before approaching the door. Hermione was barely sitting up. She was also nude, shivering from the cold and trying to suppress a yawn when he looked back and gestured at her, dressing her, too. Warm and grateful, she wrapped her robe around herself and stood.
"Enter," Draco said. "Good morning, Pansy."
The door opened and Pansy was in the doorway. She bowed.
"Good morning, Pansy."
"Good morning, my Lord. The Eyes have returned."
Draco paused. He clearly had not been expecting this news. Hermione watched curiously.
"Excellent," he said.
"They are in the parlor," Pansy replied. "Will you be wanting to meet with them or should I tell them to come back later?"
"No," Draco said. "We'll do this now. Take them into the drawing room. We will meet with them shortly."
"Of course, my Lord." Pansy bowed and left.
Draco turned to Hermione, a faint smile curving his lips. The sunlight streaming in from the windows illuminated him in full force—he was dazzling as ever. Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep, she liked to imagine his rotting corpse.
"What do you think, my love?" he asked. "Will they have good news for us?"
Choosing not to answer, Hermione turned away and went to the vanity to settle down her hair, which was tangled from sleep. Her hands brushed over the punctures of his bite from the night before—she sucked in a breath, wincing in pain.
He had fed from her ravenously as she'd climaxed. It was like nothing she had ever felt, and it clearly had been pleasurable for him, too. Somehow, the pain had amplified her pleasure and she'd screamed, her back arching as he'd ejaculated instantly. His grip had been tight on her hips and she'd felt every throb of his cock as he'd emptied himself inside her, his mouth latched onto her and sucking greedily. She'd thought she might pass out—she'd fought to get away from underneath him but he had kept her pinned down until their climaxes had died. When he had pulled out she had felt the rush of hot cum leaking from inside her—her heart was pounding and her throat still bleeding, but from the feel of it, the blood was already coagulating and the flow had lessened. Draco had bent between her legs until his mouth met her mound and kissed her there, leaving a bloodied print of his lips when he had pulled away.
Dazed and spent, she had been too weak to protest further—her legs shook when she attempted to push off the bed. Draco had cleaned themselves off, cast the contraceptive and let himself collapse on the bed beside her. They had fallen asleep almost instantly after.
The musty smell of sex was still heavy around her. She felt slightly dizzy. He'd taken a lot of blood—she looked down and saw the stains on the bedding, now dried to a brownish red. Slightly repulsed, she grabbed her wand from the bedside table and pointed it at a window, opening it to air out the room.
Draco had been watching and now approached her. "You'll have your chance to speak with George today."
She'd gone back to running her hands carefully through her curls.
"If they've just got back then it's better to let him rest. I'll speak with him later."
He chuckled.
"You seem to forget so easily you can command anything of them and they will obey," he said gently, his hand on her shoulder, making her pause. "Try it, sweetling. Take what you want. They can't say no to you. And if they dare, you make them regret it."
"And it's that sort of mindset that made me fall for you," she said with a sarcastic smile.
He laughed.
"Leave your hair the way it is. You always look your most beautiful after I've had you."
His hand stroked the punctures on her throat gently. A tingling sensation bloomed under his touch as he healed it.
"Thank you, my Lord."
He pressed a kiss to the edge of her jaw.
"You're welcome, little bird."
A thought struck her.
"What do I taste like?"
He sighed, his warm breath rolling over her hair and skin.
"Like heaven," he said. "So delicious I could drink you dry."
He released her and went into the bathroom before she could reply. Hermione waited until the door closed behind him then turned back to the mirror and resumed tending to her hair, frowning.
Their walk to the drawing room was short and silent. Draco had exited the bathroom, seen her hair and frowned but said nothing. He had held out his arm and she had taken it—he had looked over her attire and changed it with a lazy flick of his hand—these robes were warmer than the previous pair, which she was grateful for. The dress underneath was dark and long and clung to her body. The material was heavy and thick. Its neckline was hardly daring compared to what he'd made her wear in the past.
They had reached the doors leading into the drawing room. Draco had lifted his hand to shoulder level, his palm open and waiting. Hermione took it and they entered.
Four Death Eaters stood around the room and had been speaking quietly to each other until they caught sight of their hosts. All male. Approximately the same age. They straightened at once—Hermione's eyes instantly landed on George. He gave a tiny nod in greeting and joined the others as they sank to one knee in unison.
"Rise," Draco said. He led Hermione to the mantle where a fire burned merrily away. Two chairs appeared there—elegantly carved from mahogany with gold detailing and a lushly upholstered cushion. He had Hermione sit first, releasing her hand at last when she was done, and then followed suit. He leaned back, legs spread and his arms on the rests, calmly surveying the small team.
"Sit," he said, and they obeyed, settling in the armchairs before them.
Hermione studied them as they did so. There was George, of course—the tallest of the four. They must have come directly from wherever they'd been previously during their mission—they appeared sleep-deprived but otherwise unscathed. As it wasn't a formal meeting, they didn't have their ceremonial robes on and so were dressed in mostly black and plain robes—some in better condition than others. George had a bandaged hand. One of them—the blond one with the brown eyes—had a vertical scar at the edge of his mouth. Another had a prominent nose that reminded her of Snape. None of them looked familiar. The clothes they wore were dark and they looked fit, like each had been an adventurous, rugged youth once. She knew in George's case at least that had been a certainty. Something about the watchfulness of their eyes reminded her of a hawk seeking prey. Even George had it—she had not noticed it before and couldn't remember if he he'd had that quality before the war. Her heart beat a little faster.
"You all know my wife," Draco began, his voice toneless but commanding. They nodded. "Hermione, I want to introduce you to my Eyes. We have Edward, Michael, Lucas, and of course you know George."
As he'd said their names each man acknowledged Hermione with a dutiful bow of their heads. She had nodded back at each one of them, wishing she didn't still feel so awkward.
"It is a pleasure," she said, thankful her voice had come out smooth.
The men sat silently, comfortable in the stillness of the room as they waited for their Master to speak again. They might have been statues. The four of them together looked like they could be very patient if they had to be, and she surmised rather grimly that Draco must have picked them very carefully to be his spies.
"What news do you bring me?" Draco asked.
The first man—the one sitting nearest to her with the scar whom Draco had introduced first as Edward—spoke up. His voice was low but deep, and his skin was tanned and his face freckled and rugged, like he spent a great deal of time outdoors.
"We found Longbottom's grandmother, my Lord," he said. "We tracked down her location, but we were too late."
"She's dead then," Draco said, his voice flat.
The man bowed his head.
"I'm afraid so, my Lord." He jerked his head to the side to gesture to the man beside him. "Michael looked at the body. We found she had passed of a heart attack. Couldn't tell if it'd been hours or a day before we got to her, but it was recent. She wasn't as bloated yet as some of the others we've found."
Draco exhaled rather sharply through his nose.
"I might have expected that," he said, frowning. "She was ancient. Still—you found nothing else?"
"No, my Lord," said Lucas, shaking his head. He had brown eyes and tousled, rather shaggy dark hair that reminded Hermione of Harry. The second that comparison came up her stomach lurched. She forced the thought away.
"We searched the place top to bottom and found nothing. No trace of anyone else living there or visiting. No correspondence. No traces of anyone else's magic except the ward at her door."
"What sort of ward?" Draco asked.
"A blood relation charm," Michael said. The apparent Healer of the group, because as he spoke his hands gestured, and she caught sight of a symbol tattooed on the back of one. She had seen it once long ago—before the kidnapping—she remembered browsing through pamphlets on healing certifications programs she had found at St. Mungo's.
"We located her Secret Keeper beforehand," Edward explained. "A non-threat family member. Didn't know anything about Longbottom himself, only where the Grandmother was. We disposed of her quickly and took enough blood with us to get through."
Draco nodded. Hermione could sense his displeasure.
Sympathy, faint and stirring, prodded at her heart. When—and how—would Neville find out about his grandmother? Provided that they hadn't torched the scene. And they had killed another unnamed relative, as well.
She felt along that jagged edge within herself again, waiting to feel the pity she knew she should feel. It was there, but faint.
Do not waste your tears for them, the warped voice told her. It was almost affectionate. She fought not to cringe at it. They abandoned you. Their tears for you have dried. Do not water a dead tree.
Hermione frowned. Abandoned?
They'd never.
Are you so certain? It replied.
What do you know that I don't? she asked.
The voice didn't answer. She blinked and tried to catch on to the conversation happening around her.
"The last I heard of the woman, she was going senile," Draco was saying.
"Yes," the third man said. "There was some parchment on a table in the flat, but none of the writing on it made sense."
"How was the place?" Draco asked. "Tidy? Unkempt? Did she look starved? Did anybody else live with her?"
"It was clean, my Lord," the third man spoke again. "She was alone and was clearly being supplied with food and looked after—she couldn't have been able to do it on her own at that age. Someone must have been coming in and out of there, but we found no definitive trace."
"Interesting," Draco said. He turned to Hermione and smiled. "What do you think, sweetheart?"
This was not what Hermione had expected. She had waited to hear him shout, to hiss his anger out over this loss as Voldemort had done, according to Harry. But Draco was calm. Reasonable.
She felt nervous suddenly but ignored it. Tried to focus on Draco's face.
"There was most likely a system set up to transport food and necessities to appear inside her flat, and probably for the place to keep itself clean," she said slowly, but her voice was level and sure. "I doubt, knowing the risks, that anyone would have been allowed to visit her unless they could guarantee it could not be traced. I don't think Longbottom would have risked a familial visit."
Even as she said it, a faint part of her hoped it wasn't true.
Pain changes people.
The poor woman had died alone and preserved inside a cell of her grandson's making. How long had she been living in such conditions? Had she even been senile enough to know and consent to it? Or had she found herself in a strange space that she couldn't leave with no or very irregular human contact? The thought turned her stomach.
To be locked up against your will… unable to leave… left in the dark…
Neville couldn't have done such a thing. Not to his own family. Not in a manner so similar to his enemy. Not after knowing the trauma it could entail. He couldn't have been ignorant to the repercussions his actions would have. Surely he would have known better than to lock up his own blood in a manner similar to how she had been locked up. He had seen her after, at the Burrow when she had escaped. He had seen the trauma. He couldn't have…
But Draco's warning rang in the back of her head and she doubted herself.
George was changed. He sat before her now in allegiance to her husband. How much worse did it get with Neville?
Why did he even need to?
Was there anything left out of all the good she'd ever known?
"You're very likely right, my love," Draco said, reaching over to take her hand, breaking her train of thought. He seemed proud. "I don't think he'd have risked it, either. What irony that in trying to protect his family, they still ended up dead."
Two of the men smiled.
"There have been some sightings of Longbottom while you have been gone," Draco continued. "He manages to avoid capture each time. Darts about, changing his appearance and mocking my men. He's grown bolder and bolder."
He didn't mention why Neville was suddenly so active, nor did he look at Hermione as he spoke.
Bold enough to try to conspire with my wife, came his voice into Hermione's head, low and angry. She fought not to jump. He wasn't looking at her but she felt his anticipation, the sharp and fraying edges of his hatred. His grip had firmed around her hand. But the tides turn, sweetheart, and he can't swim forever. I want him to drown.
"Go and rest," he said suddenly, letting go of Hermione's hand to stand. "I have a plan. I'll send word in a few days if the time is right."
"Yes, my Lord."
They rose and bowed and were moving to leave when Draco's spoke to her again through his thoughts.
Now's your chance.
She hesitated.
Don't be shy, little bird.
"George," she called, hating the tone of her voice.
The men turned back to look at her in mild surprise.
George approached and bowed again. The others left silently.
"Yes, my Lady?" George said. He smelled of smoke and the outdoors.
"Stay," she said. "I would speak with you."
"I am at your service, my Lady," George said, inclining his head.
"I have matters to tend to," Draco said, sounding pleased. "Try to leave him in one piece, my love, won't you?"
He took Hermione in his arms and kissed her forcefully, his hand groping at her ass. She fought not to squirm, knowing he wanted to get a reaction from George.
He pulled away, grinning, but his voice was dark and low in her head as he walked away.
Behave.
Go fuck yourself, she shot back coolly, and his surprised and delighted laughter rang in her head as the door closed behind him.
George watched her carefully as she tried to calm herself.
"To what do I owe the honor of your attention, my Lady?" he asked.
Hermione studied him for a moment.
"What did you do with the bodies?"
"We left the grandmother there but we burned the other. Usually we burn the places we search. Draco gave us orders before we left to leave the place intact. That way if Longbottom came across her, he would see it for himself. We left him a message, too."
A shiver ran through her.
"He calls you his Eyes," she said. "You find people for him. Is that all you do? If you'd found her alive, would you have killed her?"
George drew back. "I see what you're getting to. No, it's not all I do. Or have done. If she'd been alive, we'd have brought her here to my Lord for questioning."
"But if it were someone else?"
"We don't always kill," George said, sounding as casual as if he were ordering from a menu at his favorite restaurant. "Mostly he uses us for spying on people. Following them. Leaving a threat if needed. If there's suspicious activity anywhere he'll send us out to investigate."
"Who have you killed?" she asked. "How many?"
"I haven't kept count," he said softly. "It's better that way. Many of them were reporters who question his power…and the nature of your relationship. Our old friend Neville's been very active in making sure his account of this tale won't die out, but as time passes and bodies pile up, less people are keen to listen. Or believe, if it means a fate similar to the others who dared ask questions."
She might have guessed. Of course Draco would still be working to cover his tracks. Keeping the illusion active was the point of the trick—if you didn't bother, it didn't last.
Still, it was a strange feeling, to know that the actual truth had been largely obliterated. All that awful stuff, silenced. A nebulous web, spun from lies to replace it. Who was she without her history? He had been right to tell her not to cling to it. But she was already losing herself. What came next?
Draco's voice interjected. Ask him about the Order.
She sat down, a hand pressed to her stomach.
"What happened to the Order?" she asked. "After I left, what happened?"
George hesitated. "Do you really want to hear this? It's been ages."
"Tell me," she said sharply.
He bowed his head—she had seen the flash of surprise in his eyes.
"Forgive me, my Lady. Allow me to enlighten you."
Regret had come almost as swiftly as her anger. Her apology was on her tongue, awaiting its release, but she let it stay there and wilt.
I deserve to know…and you have no right to question me.
"May I sit?" he asked. She nodded stiffly, and he sat on the chair opposite her, sighing.
"We got ratted out by Mundungus," he said bitterly after a moment. "That damned drunk traded us all for a new hiding hole and a pile of coin shortly after you disappeared and Neville had come back. We never found Mundungus, but after Voldemort found us there was hardly anyone left to try and look for him. That was before the battle—before Harry—"
"Before my husband killed him," Hermione said, her voice flat.
"Yes," George said quietly. He cleared his throat. "We couldn't find you and had no hope of knowing where to look next, but Neville had a clue—he knew he'd been Obliviated and he'd come back with a key that had traces of a Portkey on it, so we worked on restoring his memory as best as we could. We finally did about a year and a half later. We saw you in the prison. We saw Zabini's Polyjuiced body. My Lord had held Longbottom there for a week or so by the time you came back. In Longbottom's memory we heard him confess to what he'd done to you and Zabini. Our next move was cracking that key until it led us to Malfoy's home where he kept you. We were too late."
She remembered the move to that second manor, how confused she had been during, Draco's refusal to give answers as usual. Had the Order acted more quickly, how different might things be now?
"You always were," she agreed bitterly. Her fists had clenched.
"When we realized he'd set a trap for us and had taken you to another secret location, we put it to a vote: we either had to focus on finding you, or work on defeating Voldemort," George continued, looking vaguely contrite.
Hermione looked up, her eyes incredulous.
"We barely managed to avoid my Lord's trap he'd set for us," George said. "We knew it would only get worse. We didn't have enough resources to do both at the same time, my Lady." He couldn't meet her eye. "And we were still foolish enough to think that we would be successful at accomplishing both."
"You…you stopped looking for me," Hermione said slowly, rising from her seat. She felt numb. "Did I hear that right?"
"Think of the wonderful life you have now," George said, his voice pleading. "Had we managed to find you, my Lady, none of this would exist."
"There were enough people in the Order that the tasks could have been divided," she hissed. "You knew what I had been through with Draco and what I was facing when he forced me to come back. You abandoned me—Harry abandoned—" she pressed a hand over her mouth, her heart heavy, but no tears fell.
That insidious voice rose again.
Do not waste your tears on them, delicious one, when they left you to rot. Beautiful flower, you could have had your time and wilted gracefully. Because of them you have been framed and forced to bloom for eternity. Your husband took you from the sun and they withdrew the soil that nurtured you.
Be quiet, she thought wildly.
It made sense. She understood. She did. But she had languished all those years—unable to save herself yet hoping they could. Even when she had given in to Draco little by little, that hope had still burned. It had been the only thought that had kept her going, at times.
And all that time—they had chosen to forget her.
George saw the look on her face—the utter crush in her shoulders. There was no trace of shame on his face now. In fact, he seemed more resolute. She hated him for it.
"Harry and Neville fought for you," he said. "They didn't want to let you go—especially Harry. We didn't give them much of a choice. Then the battle came."
She stared at him. "So everyone agreed to leave me for dead."
Even Neville…
He shook his head. "Voldemort had us up against the wall. Harry was so focused on you he almost forgot about stopping him. We remembered what the Dark Lord had done to Neville. We were wasting resources chasing after thin air trying to find you."
Hermione's hands were cold. George continued.
"We weren't trying to be malicious. We felt awful about it. We just thought we needed to focus on the bigger issue so we could get back to finding you more quickly."
She heard none of it.
"Well you never did," she snapped. "What happened to the rest of the Order?"
George stood too and stood in front of the lit fire in the hearth, warming his hands.
"Most of the Order died at the battle. I didn't know you'd made an appearance there until you'd been taken back… By the time I'd heard it was too late and we were all split up—there were so many dead and Fred and I'd been captured and taken away. I think it was a year later that I was reborn with Lord Malfoy. His first task for me was to prove my loyalty. He ordered me to hunt down the rest of the Order and kill them."
"Who?"
"Colin Creevey," he said. "Tonks. Parvati." His face twisted briefly in pain. "Lee Jordan. We'd started taking in more members after you left. All for naught."
Hermione's head hurt.
"And then what?"
"When I had proved my loyalty, my Lord made me part of his surveillance team. We watch people. If somebody needs silencing, we'll guarantee it."
Draco's voice interjected. Has he told you about my gift yet?
If you don't mean a basket of fruit, I'm not interested, she sent back.
Ask him, he commanded. Now.
Hermione steeled herself.
"What did my husband give you?"
George turned and smiled—an odd, wry one that unsettled her.
"My Lord honored me with the gift of dual sight. He can see through my eyes at any moment, and if he so wishes, he may allow me to see through his."
That explained that odd change she had seen in his eyes weeks ago, the very one she was seeing now, where his left eye was much paler than its actual regular blue—she recognized half of Draco's stare as it watched her, bright and sly from George's face.
Surprise, Draco said in her head, his tone wicked.
Hermione fought not to take a step backward, stunned.
"That's why he calls you his Eyes." A sudden laugh bubbled up her throat—she couldn't help it and let it out. "I didn't think he meant it so literally."
"My team and I work as the Eyes of the Lord," George said. "And we are always watching."
Thanks to Draco and Harry, Hermione had seen a number of disturbing things in her relatively short lifetime. This now joined their ranks.
She thought back to the other quiet, watchful men.
"All of you have it?"
"No," George said. "Only I share that honor with my Lord."
He seemed proud of the fact. She shook her head in disbelief, her scoff trapped in her throat.
"So he can keep you in check if he senses you have doubts," she said flatly, and then addressed Draco's eye directly: "I thought you said I was the only one you were satisfied with controlling, darling. This is a new extreme, don't you think?"
It winked at her.
George shook his head.
"I won't question my Lord's motives," he said. "Nor do I have any doubts. I made my choices, my Lady. I won't take them back."
He blinked, and Draco's eye was gone.
There was a beat of silence.
"I can't," George added quietly—more to himself than to her. "Not at this point."
They stood watching each other in silence for seconds that passed like hours. Distantly, through the window, she heard the shrill cry of a falcon.
"You're angry with me," he said. "I don't blame you."
"There's no point in it, I know," Hermione said slowly. "But I'm sure you can understand how it might feel to regain something familiar after so long, but have it turn out totally changed."
George nodded.
"You aren't the only one who feels it," he said. "Our former selves are dead. There's no use dragging them back to suit our guilt, is there?"
"That's true," she admitted, watching him carefully. "You really have no regrets, then."
"I can't afford to," he said simply. "The best I can do is move forward. I have a better position here and now than I did when I was on the wrong side. I watched Ron die from across the battlefield and I couldn't get to him in time. I watched Charlie and two younger students get crushed by a falling wall from the castle. My little sister was captured, raped, and beaten to death when she tried to escape."
There was no emotion in his voice. Only cold facts.
"I didn't find out about most of those deaths until after I'd joined Lord Malfoy. If I hadn't, I'd have spent the rest of my life wondering. Out of my entire family, I'm the only one left. All I can focus on now is keeping myself safe, and my duties to my Lord. I've got nothing else."
"Then I commend you, soldier," she said spitefully. "For your loyalty."
His mouth curved.
"I thought you said you wouldn't judge me."
"I'm trying not to." She looked away and tried to calm herself. It didn't work. She faced him again.
"If you hadn't stopped your search for me, and if you'd managed to find me, what do you think things would be like now?" she didn't wait for him to answer. "If I'd been there with Harry and Ron, we would've had a much higher chance of defeating Voldemort. I bet they didn't even find half. Neither of them were patient or focused enough to find the clues they needed."
She took a deep breath, but her anger had gone past a simmer and would not be soothed. Words that she had harbored internally with shame pushed to get out, and she was helpless to it. George stared at her warily.
"I was the reason they got through so much without dying," she said, beating her hand against her chest once. "All those years—they wouldn't have figured out the Basilisk without me, nor the Devil's Snare. They wouldn't have been able to get rid of Umbridge or save Sirius and Buckbeak, either. And they still left me behind because they thought they were protecting me that way."
"Then they were fools for not having realized," George said.
She paused, and then realized her defenses of them were gone. He was right. Draco had called them such many times over the years, and she had always rushed forth to protest but that urge was gone now. They were right, and she was finished with trying to persuade herself that they had not had a hand—albeit unwitting—in her captivity. Draco had told her that, too, and she had rejected it, thinking he was trying to manipulate her again. Perhaps that was right, but the truth could no longer be denied. How could they have thought it would be a good idea?
They never even thought to talk to me about their concerns. I would have understood. We could have made a plan. But they didn't even try.
"Yes," she finally agreed. "They were. They should have known they could never manage it without me."
Hermione laughed bitterly, feeling rather ragged in her anger, like a seam coming messily undone. A distant sense in the back of her mind suggested she stop but she refused. This had been years in the making, hadn't it? She'd clung to her loyalty and hope for so long…and had proved herself the fool for it.
"It's because of them all of this happened. I tried to chase after them when I realized they'd left the castle. I almost reached them, I know I did. But Malfoy got to me first."
Her eyes had gone distant as the memory resurfaced. The blow to the head she'd suffered when she'd been knocked to the ground by his spy. Waking up in Malfoy's bedroom with no notion of where she really was or what would come ahead. The terrifying chase through the woods and the subsequent rape.
And in the meantime, Harry and Ron were safely away wherever they'd chosen to go, patting themselves on the back that they'd saved her from danger.
Her hands formed into fists. The coil of her anger was stretched taut to the point of breaking.
"They abandoned me twice."
The voice came forth.
Everyone seems to think they know what's best for you. Their love for you misguided them, and look how that left you, the voice said. You owe them no more loyalty, no more affection. Let the betrayal harden you, not break you.
Who are you? Hermione asked it angrily, her heart pounding.Why won't you leave?
Why would I leave, precious one, when I have always been here? The voice replied, sweet and sly. We are one. We always have been. I am the part of you least acknowledged, most formidable. Had you known me sooner, we might have changed the course of your fate. A pity it took these circumstances for us to truly meet.
Hermione's expression had caused George worry. He stepped close with his head bent low, his eyes concerned.
"Is something wrong?"
She shook her head sharply, turning and distancing herself from him as if afraid he would hear the voice, too. She was both afraid of it and yet desperate to hear what it would say next. George watched, at a loss.
I have lingered at the edges of your mind all your life and made appearances but rarely. I have been behind your acts of wrath. My voice was so weak then and you barely used me—how could you know what I was to become? You always regretted what you did after the fact, but you cannot deny how good it felt to unleash me. You had reason and power, and yet you still denied my existence. You denied yourself. But you cannot get rid of me, and so I have strengthened over the course of this marriage. The Horcrux has given me a voice, and thanks to your husband I am a closer part of you than I have ever been. I am yours to wield.
Acts of wrath…what was it referring to?
Images flashed in her mind's eye.
Her blackmail on Rita Skeeter. Umbridge's horrible plight in the Forbidden Forest. The near-murderous rage that had overtaken her the morning after the damned consummation of the marriage. Punching Draco. She continued to search her memories—what else lied in between?
If George's account was to be believed, then the voice was right. She had agreed to let her past go, but she hadn't thought it would come this quickly. But they had let her down. She owed them nothing now.
From now on, you make the decisions, her Horcrux whispered to her. You hold the power. You thought I was a curse. You were wrong—I am your blessing, and your husband's curse.
George was staring at her, waiting for her to speak again.
Her anger had ebbed away quickly. An odd buoyancy had filled her in its place—she felt light. Free. It felt so good she smiled.
"Don't look so worried," she said. "I'm alright."
George didn't look convinced.
A knock at the door stole their attention from each other.
"A visitor, my Lady," Pansy announced as she opened the door. "Theodore Nott."
He walked in as Pansy was leaving, saw Hermione and George, and grinned. He walked up to them and bowed to Hermione. She stiffly offered her hand and he took it, kissed its back. He and George nodded at each other.
"What a pleasure to come across you today, my Lady," Nott said. "Lord Malfoy requested my presence earlier, but I find Pansy hasn't got a clue where he is."
"I'm sure he'll be with you shortly," Hermione said. She had made up her mind to leave and go catch up to Pansy when Draco's voice interjected.
When Nott arrives, stay with him. Entertain him until I get there. I'm sure you remember my plan? It won't take you much work—he'd eat rotten scraps off your toes if you let him.
Where are you? She sent back.
I won't be long, sweetheart. Just mind my request.
She wanted to laugh. 'Request!' As if he ever said please.
Hermione wanted to ignore the order. Nott looked too happy, and George seemed distant—but that seemed a common fixture in him now—she wondered specifically what sort of psychological damage the deaths of most of his family and his own betrayal and servitude had incurred within him.
Then she wondered if he had the same thought about her.
Don't dwell there.
She made herself smile—it must have looked as forced as it felt but it still worked—Nott appeared captivated.
"It's good to see you again," she said.
"I had hoped with my offer the last time we spoke, my Lady, that you'd be requesting my presence sooner than my Lord would," Nott said. "Our conversations are so much more interesting, and the view is infinitely better."
George stiffened.
"Mind yourself, Nott," he said. His voice was cold—Hermione had never heard it like that before. "You will not insult our Lord in his own home."
"It's merely a jest, Weasley," Nott said, sounding bored. "I only wanted to pay a compliment."
The door opened again, and Pansy appeared.
"George," she said, "you are being summoned."
George gave Nott a suspicious look and left with Pansy.
"So he's here, then?" Nott asked.
Hermione shrugged delicately. "My husband comes and goes at his own accord. I can hardly keep up."
She turned and walked toward the window, unsure of what to do. Nott seemed benign enough, and she felt safer with her magic restored, but she still didn't know what role he played in Draco's court.
Outside of the Fool, that is.
"Understandable," Nott replied, nodding. "My Lord is a very busy man."
"He leaves me for days at a time," Hermione said, attempting a sorrowful expression. Nott had turned, following her movement. Would he dare come closer? He had been quite brazen the last time they had spoken. She felt slightly apprehensive, unsure of why Draco would choose to put her in this position. Her hand grazed against the pocket of her gown where her wand was secured.
He wouldn't put you up to this if he didn't think you couldn't do it, she told herself. And you did do well at the feast. You can do it again.
It was always about grabbing a man's attention, wasn't it? Distaste curdled in her stomach. It seemed it was always happening to her whether she cared for it or not. She wondered whatever had happened to Harry's Invisibility Cloak before his death. Had they left it with her, she would have made great use of it and perhaps avoided Draco's plan for her.
She could feel Nott's stare.
And they look at me like I'm something to eat. Like their attention was just what I wanted. Like I exist to be gawked and groped at. It's exhausting.
The soft hissing voice resurfaced, barely above a whisper.
Do you not think it is high time you bit back, darling one? Your teeth have been sharpened. This feast has been laid out for you. Dig in.
She repressed a shudder, goosebumps rolling out over her skin, and turned back to Nott.
"He gets to go out and have his fun and his work and I stay here and wait. It's all I do, I think."
Nott cleared his throat. "I'm sure he hates to leave you, my Lady. From how he dotes on you, I'm sure he would stay with you always if he could."
I think he's already managed that, she thought resentfully.
"He can be smothering at times," she admitted, a twist to her mouth. "But I'll admit here and there I do find it endearing."
I want to slap myself for saying that even if I know it's a lie.
"All for your own protection, perhaps," Nott said, advancing slightly, moving around the armchair that stood between them. "But I will again offer my companionship should you ever find yourself alone and unhappy. I'm confident I can assist you in whatever you may need."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You are very generous. I'm sure you have business of your own to tend to rather than stare at walls with me."
"I've sworn an oath to Lord Draco and yourself, my Lady," he said, inclining his head, "that I would serve in any way I might prove useful. Let my devotion be free of doubt."
"We have taken notice," Hermione said, and his head snapped up. "Draco seems fond of you."
That was somewhat true, wasn't it? Draco at least liked to make fun of Nott.
He looked pleased.
"And you, my Lady?" he asked, his dark eyes probing.
She stared at him boldly, letting her lips curve into a faint smile. "I'm still making up my mind."
"If there is any way I might persuade you that I am a friend and not an enemy, I will do it gladly."
"You saw me punish that man at the feast," she said. "I had him break his own wand. You're saying if I ordered you to do the same, you wouldn't hesitate?"
"I wouldn't," he said at once, and he sounded so sure she found she was almost impressed. He was taking his wand out from his robe.
"Say the word, my Lady, and I will do it."
So eager. She almost couldn't believe it.
"There's no need, Nott. Not yet. You may put that away."
He obeyed. A short silence ensued. Hermione felt no need to say anything but watched him carefully. He seemed both pleased and perturbed by it.
"You can call me Theo, if it pleases you, My Lady," he said. "I don't mind being called Nott by anyone else, but when it's from you it feels like a scolding."
"Is that so?" she asked. "Tell me something, then, Theo: did my husband really summon you, or did you come here hoping to see me?"
"I was summoned," he admitted, grinning, "but I wasn't lying when I said I prefer your company over his."
"Sit, then," she said. "If Draco is nowhere to be found, then we'll pass the time."
He sat down gladly, and she did too in a separate armchair, crossing one knee over the over in a manner that had him eyeing her legs.
"Why did Draco summon you?" she asked.
He cleared his throat. "I work on the editorial board of the Daily Prophet. My Lord has the final say over what is published and what is kept back—there was a curious matter to discuss and I thought it would be faster to come discuss it than depend on letters."
"What was this 'curious matter'?" she asked.
Nott shook his head. "I don't think you'd want to hear it, my Lady. It isn't for delicate ears."
Her anger flared.
"It is not your place to decide that for me," she snapped. "You have no idea the things I've endured. Tell me."
"Forgive me, my Lady," Nott said quickly. "The matter concerns an attempted break into my Lord Malfoy's Gringotts vault."
"Who would be so stupid to try that?" Hermione asked, frowning.
"That's what I've been asking myself," Nott said, rising from his seat to pace around the room. "There were no eyewitnesses, funnily enough. No capture, either. Just an alarm and some furious goblins. The vault wasn't breached, of course, but the brash boldness of the attempt made me think perhaps it was Longbottom."
"It might have been a distraction," Hermione said, thinking fast. "If nobody was apprehended and the vault wasn't touched, perhaps they might have been drawing everyone's eyes away from something else. I would recommend getting back in touch with Gringotts and seeing if anything was stolen, or any other attempts made at breaking into another vault."
Nott paused. The idea clearly had not struck him, and he looked at her as if she'd told him she was leaving Draco for him.
"You are very wise, my Lady. You would make a fine Auror."
Hermione gave him a thin smile.
"I don't think my husband would approve."
Nott shrugged. "Tell him to go to hell."
That made her laugh. Nott grinned.
"You are growing on me," she admitted. "Perhaps I could use some company from time to time. It gets so dull here."
His eyes were guarded but hopeful. "Summon me whenever you wish, my Lady. If I could make you laugh just one more time, I'd be made up for the rest of my life."
"That's very ambitious of you," Hermione said seriously. "I laugh much less than I used to."
"Yes, I remember," Nott said. "I used to hear your laugh quite often at school when you were with Potter and Weasley. I used to think it was annoying."
"You mean you found me annoying."
Nott went red.
"I thought the same of you so it doesn't matter," she said. He looked relieved.
"Lord Malfoy is a lucky man to have woken up about you first," he said. "I suppose sharing a living space will do that. Lucky man indeed."
"And I suppose if you had been the first, you assume I would have chosen you?"
"If you had, then I wouldn't be grumbling about some other wizard. A witch like you on a man's arm would have him dying happy."
Hermione eyed him carefully, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. So much flattery. She didn't trust him. But he lapped up her words like honey. Amusing and irritating.
The only one I chose was Harry.
And then he left you behind, the voice said.
She turned to Nott.
"If you have any hope that you'll manage to seduce me, kill it now. I will not be unfaithful to my husband."
His face shifted and paled.
"I had no intention of attempting—"
A gentle laugh rose from her throat. Hermione rose from her seat and advanced toward him. He stayed frozen in place. She reached out and took the side of his face in her palm, stepping closer. His skin was cool but his pupils were dilated and his breathing too controlled.
"Don't lie to me, Nott," she said softly. They were the same height so she stared directly into his eyes and tried not to blink. "Your mistake was assuming I'm naive enough to think your offer of friendship wouldn't involve you testing boundaries until you thought I might be swayed."
Sweat beaded along his hairline.
"My Lady—"
"Did you think I'm such an easy mark?" she asked innocently. "Maybe I was a long time ago, but my husband fixed that. You'll find I have no interest in stupid games or the schemes of desperate men."
There was a soft rustle behind them—Hermione recognized it as Draco Apparating in.
"What have we here?" he asked too casually.
Hermione felt Nott's Adams apple bob as he swallowed. She withdrew her hand from his face.
"I was giving Nott a gentle reminder," she said, smiling at him, pleased by the fear in his eyes. Nott looked confused—and aroused. His eyes darted back up to meet Draco's, who now stood beside Hermione, stone-faced.
"Of what?"
"His place."
A slow grin spread over Draco's face.
"Theo," he said, sounding amused, "are you really stupid enough to go after my wife?"
"Forgive me my Lord," Nott said hurriedly. "I meant no insult."
"Clearly you did if you tried going after what's mine," Draco said, an edge to his voice. "You love the taken women, don't you? You've got a history of chasing after them. Perhaps I haven't made it clear enough that she is mine. How can I prove the point further?"
He looked at Hermione. "How shall he be punished, sweetheart?"
Hermione tilted her head to one side.
"I think you made it clear enough, Draco. Leave him. He amuses me."
Draco narrowed his eyes briefly but complied.
Nott bowed to Hermione.
"Thank you, my Lady," he said. "I will not do it again."
But you'll still think it, she thought.
"I look forward to your next visit."
Draco's arm snaked around her waist.
"You had news for me, Nott?"
"Yes, my Lord," Nott said, straightening, looking so relieved Hermione almost felt sympathy for him.
"I'll hear it in my office, then. Pansy will escort you there."
Nott left the room quickly and met Pansy outside the door.
Draco lingered, wrapping his other arm around Hermione and kissed her hungrily. He pulled away after a moment, a stormy look on his face.
"Idiot thinks he can lust after my wife in my own house," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
"You enjoy it," Hermione said, her stare challenging him. "Don't lie. Why else put me in these clothes and order me to flirt and entertain him if you don't want him panting after me?"
He ran his tongue over his teeth slowly. The salacious look in his eye was scorching.
"I do enjoy it," he admitted. "Flaunting what he can't have in that great mopey face of his. Sweetheart, you could put him on a leash and he'd thank you. The others, too. But you're mine."
"That gets you off, doesn't it?"
She already knew. Her hand was on his chest, sliding down slowly, and eventually reached the stiff bulge in his trousers. She cupped it and gave him a slow stroke through the fabric. Draco's eyes closed. She gave another stroke and his head fell back slightly. He gripped her harder and started to push her against the wall.
"No."
She twisted out of his grip quickly. Draco righted himself and stared at her, annoyed.
"He can wait," he said.
"You've made him wait long enough," Hermione said, edging toward the door. "Go talk to him."
He scowled. "What does it matter how long he waits?"
"It doesn't. I'm tired of being around men all day. Now go talk to him and behave yourself."
She walked out of the room before he could snatch her back without seeing his reaction but dearly wanting to, because she was picturing his stunned face with glee.
Alone in the room, his face was exactly as she pictured it.
Author's Note: I know I promised a new chapter a lot sooner than this but it turned out so big I decided to split it into two parts to keep my sanity during editing.
I've got some new art for this fic on my ko-fi page and my Wordpress blog! Check it out at your leisure. The links are in my profile.
Enjoy, leave a comment, thanks for your patience and happy new year!