Chapter Five

Dinner with the Malfoys

Hermione woke on the most fantastic silk sheets. The last thing she could remember was the wolves closing in on her. Then, a figure had appeared, shrouded in bright light. An angel?

Was she dead? Was this heaven?

She stretched languidly and felt a dull pain in her leg. Nope, not heaven.

She was lying in a king-sized bed in an expansive room decorated in a French style. Honestly, the place was worthy of a magazine photoshoot. But despite its luxury, it was oddly warm with its floral bedding and large hearth made of honeyed wood. On top of the hearth ticked an intricate baroque clock.

But, if this wasn't heaven, then why was an angel looking down on her? She saw a pale face curtained by silvery blonde hair, and a warm aura glowed around him.

"Oh good, you're awake," drawled a familiar voice.

Hermione blinked the sleep from her eyes. She recognized the voice at once, and it sent anxiety coursing through her body. This was no angel. Well, maybe a fallen one. She couldn't help but remember his father's name was derived from the original—Lucifer.

She was looking at Draco Malfoy.

Her hand immediately went for her wand, but her pocket was empty. Feeling a flutter of panic, she realized she must have dropped it on the grounds. She settled for sitting up and glaring at him. "Let me go this instant," she demanded.

He scowled back at her. "Let you go? You're not a captive, Granger. You're a trespasser."

Her temper flared. "You smug little—"

"Now, now. I think what you mean is thank you. After all," he twirled her wand in his hands with a smirk, "I did save your life."

"Give me back my wand."

He ignored her request, pocketing her wand and lecturing as if he were a bored professor and she an unruly pupil. "I've healed everything I could see, though your leg may need another day or two. Now, would you mind telling me what the hell you're doing here?"

"I'd rather know about those shadows. What the hell were they?"

"Dark magic."

"I see you haven't changed," she growled.

His posture remained unchanged, but she noticed he clenched his jaw ever so slightly. "It's not my magic."

She interrupted. "With Lucius in prison, I assume you are now the legal owner of this residence?"

His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Then, according to Article 11 of the International Statute for Secrecy, Subsection 4, Regarding Magical Dwellings in Britain, it is your responsibility. I can provide the legal argument in detail if you'd like."

For just a moment, she saw his jaw tighten once more. "I don't know how to remove it. I'm not even sure my father would know how. If he were so inclined. The shadow wolves have been here for generations. It's not a problem for invited visitors," he said pointedly.

"Oh."

He snorted. "Yes. That's right. How does your precious legal statute provide for trespassers?"

"Actually, somewhat favorably, considering I followed a muggle onto the grounds, and of course, secrecy must be at the forefront—"

He groaned and massaged his temple, looking thoroughly worn down. "Give it a rest, Granger. If you're going to sue me, so be it. Just shut up already."

Hermione snapped her mouth closed. She didn't say so, but obviously, she wouldn't sue him. She had, as he said, trespassed, and it seemed like he really hadn't been the one to work the shadow wolf magic.

"Your, erm, companion is fine," Draco said, filling the lull in conversation. "He's—"

"My dad!" she said, jerking the covers off her and scrambling toward the edge of the bed. "Is he okay?"

"Blimey, your dad? Are all muggles… a bit off?"

"He's not!" She took in several deep breaths, trying to rein in her temper.

"Easy, Granger. He's fine. He's just having dinner with the house elves. He's perfectly well cared for."

"Dinner?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "It was only just lunch."

"You've been out for hours." He raised his lip into a smirk. "You're quite a snorer. Drool too. Very unladylike."

She scowled at him and rose shakily. Her leg hurt, but it was of little consequence. She had to reach her father. Still, as she stormed out of the room with Malfoy nipping at her heels, she realized she had no idea how to get there.

He watched her with a bemused expression on his face. "Need help?" he drawled.

She pulled her shoulders back in what she hoped was a dignified manner. "Please take me to him."

Malfoy snorted and stepped in front of her. "Right this way, my lady," he said with a sneer and bow.

She said nothing and followed him down a labyrinth of hallways to the main staircase. When she saw that familiar vista, her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped moving.

She remembered this staircase. She had been dragged past it to the dining room where they were now headed. She had been held down and tortured by a madwoman. She flinched, thinking of the pain.

Draco noticed she had stopped following and turned to look back at her. "What's the matter, Granger? Too delicate for a few stairs?" he taunted. Then, he noticed her wild eyes. "Oh," he said quietly, trailing back a few steps. "It's your first time back since—"

She choked back the memories. "Your aunt was a lunatic."

"No argument here," he said gruffly.

"And your father is just as bad. I hope he rots in Azkaban for the rest of his days." She remembered the curse and thought of the prison. Perhaps his days were already over. She felt a surge of triumph and then a twinge of guilt. "At least you lied for me."

"At least," he echoed.

She wasn't sure what to make of that. Was he mocking her, or was it possible he actually felt remorse? Even if he did, it hardly made up for the years of mistakes he had made—all the times he had called her a mudblood and mocked her studying, her hair, and anything else he could grasp onto. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"If it's any consolation at all, mother has redecorated the entire manor. You'll barely recognize it. She was never much into the echoing hallways and middle ages era tapestries."

Hermione latched onto the change in subject like a lifeline. She couldn't think about these stairs, this house, or that table. "She must like French design," Hermione said, descending the staircase once more. "I noticed the baroque clock and French floral drapery."

"Mm," Malfoy said noncommittally. "She preferred to summer in France, and we still have some distant relations there."

Draco hadn't been lying. The dining room was unrecognizable. Sweeping ceiling with hand-carved honey wood sweeping down in thick arches. A golden fleur-de-lis featured on the champagne-colored walls as well as new tapestries, including one of women carrying baskets of harvested grain and satyrs following with lutes. Of course, it was enchanted, so the women moved blithely across the tapestry and the satyr skipped and played.

A large table with romantic ivory linens pooled on the floor ahead.

Hermione felt like she could breathe again. The darkness of this room had been cleansed.

Sitting at the table was her father being spoonfed by a bent house elf with gnarled hands and the smile of a patient, doting grandmother. "Here comes the broomstick," she cooed. "Swoosh." She delivered a spoonful of peas into Mr. Granger's waiting mouth.

He clapped his hands with excitement.

Narcissa sat lulled at the head of the dinner table. "Why, Mrs. Hermione Granger. Who might this delightful man be to you? A muggle husband perhaps?"

"Mother," Draco warned.

She laughed like tinkling bells. "I'm sorry. I simply couldn't resist." She frowned at Mr. Granger. "Although, whoever he is, this man is clearly spell damaged. You really ought to place him in specialist's care at St. Mungos."

Hermione shot her an icy glare. She was more than sick of receiving this same unsolicited advice over and over. "I'll take that into consideration," she said in a clipped tone. "Now, if you don't mind I'll be taking my father, and we will be going."

Narcisse waved an airy hand toward her leg. "I see Draco was able to stop the bleeding, but you really..."

"You touched my legs while I was sleeping," she gasped, pointing an accusing finger.

Draco looked repulsed. "You make me sound like a lecher, Granger. I assure you I took no pleasure in the task. Would you rather I should leave you injured?"

She frowned. "No, I suppose not. Thank you," she muttered under her breath.

Narcissa interrupted. "You should permit the house elves to complete the healing. Buttersnap," she called.

A house elf arrived at once and dipped a low bow. "How can I serve you, Milady?"

"Heal this young woman's legs."

He walked over to Hermione and said, "May I, milady?" with such earnestness that she couldn't refuse. She nodded.

A blast of magic like a warm wave pulsed over her legs. The scratches and gashes disappeared. Scabs, scars, and all. This beat the heck out of dittany, she thought.

In fact, if she was honest, her leg was now somewhat improved from her arrival. Scars from fallen, burning treasure— the remnants of her adventure in Gringotts with Harry and Ron— had now diminished.

She smiled at the elf. "Thank you, Buttersnap." Then, she rose and turned to the Malfoys. "Now, if you will be so kind as to return my wand, my father and I will be going. We thank you for your, er, hospitality."

The words felt awkward in her mouth, but in a way, they were true. Her father seemed unharmed. He'd even been fed, admittedly one of the most difficult parts of her day.

Narcissa shot Draco a harsh look, and he winced.

He looked at his smartly polished shoes as he grumbled, "Granger, won't you join us for dinner?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What are you playing at Malfoy?"

Narcissa glided in. "Ms. Granger, please have a seat. I insist. A meal is the very least Malfoy Manor can offer after your harrowing encounter. I take full responsibility. I should have had those wolves exorcised years ago."

"I will join you, provided you return my wand."

Narcissa shot Draco a sharp look, and he passed it over.

"Excellent. Now, that unpleasantness is behind us, let's enjoy a peaceful dinner." She waved her hand, and two additional place settings appeared.

Malfoy took the host's seat at the opposite end of the table.

Hermione nearly rolled her eyes. So traditional. She wondered if they had family breakfast this way. Narcissa at one end of the table. Malfoy at the other. Could they even hear a word the other said?

Narcissa ruined this illusion when she asked, "Ms. Granger, do you take wine? We have two lovely vintages. Both pair exceedingly well with the rack of lamb, though I favor the Rousseaux."

Hermione could hear every word perfectly despite the distance in their seating. The table must have a charm. She pulled herself from this interesting idea to answer. "The Rousseaux sounds lovely. Thank you."

Her glass filled, and Hermione swirled the glass before taking her first sip. In truth, she didn't know much about wine. Boxes of white wine had often appeared at parties, and she always found it sickeningly sweet.

Still, she couldn't imagine anything Narcissa drank would come from a box. She lifted the glass to her lips and smiled in surprise. It was good, not too sweet. The sort she could never pick out but had occasionally enjoyed at nice dinners out.

"Is it to your taste?"

"Quite," Hermione said.

At the other end of the table, Malfoy said nothing. He was merely gaping at Hermione and his mother, having a seemingly pleasant conversation about wine. Occasionally, his eyes would cut over to her father.

"Let's see. It has been one year since you and Draco graduated from Hogwarts. Have you decided on a career path?"

"I'm working in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"A ministry position. Very fitting. Though I'm surprised they couldn't find a higher position for a war heroine."

"Hmm," Hermione said noncomittally. She had no interest in airing her dirty laundry before the Malfoys. No matter how nice their dinner. "And what of you?"

"Thank you for asking. As you and Mr. Potter so magnanimously provided your testimony at my trial, I've been able to serve my sentence here. I've spent a great deal of time purifying and reoutfitting the Manor." She went on for a time about window treatments and interior design before the conversation lulled once more.

"And er, you. Malfoy?" she asked.

He looked as if he had been called on in class with no answer. After a moment that dragged on, he answered gruffly, "I have been helping with the manor efforts as well."

"No job yet?" she asked curiously. She supposed he didn't have to work, what with the family wealth, but it seemed unlike him to hide away.

"I have been considering—" he stood up abruptly and shot a look at his mother— "I can't do this."

"Draco," his mother commanded. "Sit. You're being rude to our...guests."

Hermione stood too. This charade had gone long enough. "Thank you for dinner, Lady Malfoy."

She moved toward her father's chair, where he was now splatting peas with a spoon to make a green road toward his mashed potatoes mountains. The mess would have been awful, but a skillful bubble charm had been cast to prevent it—the aged house elf's work no doubt.

She grabbed his hand, and he looked up with doleful eyes. "We can't live in the castle?" he asked.

Hermione blushed and said softly. "No. I'm afraid not."

She straightened her shoulders, unwilling to be appear ashamed in front of them, and announced, "We are leaving."

All of the color drained from Draco's pale face, and he stood hurriedly. His chair scraped along the floor. "You can't."

"Watch me," Hermione said in a huff. With her father in tow, she made to pass Malfoys highback chair.

He lunged forward, grabbing her arm. "I said you can't," he growled.

With a twitch of her wand, he was blasted backward.

"Damn it, Granger," he said, crawling to his feet. "This house is under a curse. If you leave, you will likely die, and this house will become a frozen crypt."

She paused. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have believed a word he said. But the words reminded her of the news. The deaths in Azkaban. The crumbled manor of the Carrows. The drowned Goyles.

She paused and turned back to face him.

He knew he had her attention. "This house is cursed," he repeated. "I don't know how you didn't feel it when you entered. Not to mention the snow."

Hermione's eyes flew to the window.

With a flick of Narcissa's hand, the drapery moved, allowing Hermione to see into the backyard. It was covered in snow…in May.

"I-I was distracted." She sat back down. "Tell me everything."

"Over dessert," Narcissa insisted.

Mr. Granger beamed.

A/N: Sorry for the hiatus. Life and stuff. You know... but we're finally at the story's hook! They're trapped... together! I've got a chunk of the next chapter already underway. Please leave a review, and let me know someone is still reading. Thanks :)