Cokeworth's residents were greeted by the stuffy atmosphere in the early morning. A thick grey mantle of pollution enveloped most of the city; on certain summer days, just like today, the town's textile factories worked non-stop. The river bank had more garbage than often did, and large chunks of accumulated lint floated along the green water giving it a gruesome look than usual. Most of the waste ended up accumulated at the bank at the end of Spinner's End street. The smell coming from the river could be so foul that some of the closest residents would often wear a cloth to cover their nose during outside hours.

As soon as Severus's face twitched, there was a groan of regret for leaving the windows open at night. All because he was too drunk to cast a cooling spell before going to sleep. With his face submerged in the pillow, his hand touched blindly across the bedside table, pushing across photographs and small mementos till his fingers found what he was looking for. With two twists of his wrist, the smell had vanished, and the windows were closed.

While full consciousness simmered through his mind, the incoming headache did too.

Severus rarely indulged in solitary self-intoxication but for some reason, nostalgia perhaps, last night he indulged a little too much on elven wine and, as his eyes settle on the bottle on the floor, one bottle of fire-whiskey.

To look at it made him feel queasy.

The man walked to the kitchen. He rubbed his chin, feeling the prickling hairs against his palm. Being unable to grow a natural and respectable beard, Severus did a mental note to shave clean the wispy hairs.

But before that, he needed first to ease his dried throat and the pulsing headache. Through messy drawers, he searched for a Boltus potion to cure his hangover.

A brown owl chose that time to peck on his window, under its claw, a bundle of newspapers

Having found what he was looking for, Severus let the animal enter and place the delivery on the table. The animal flew away right after.

As he emptied the contents of the vial Severus took the paper on top, the Daily Prophet. Were it not because he has years of experience at controlling his emotions, he would have spat the contents of his mouth. He re-read the headlines over again just to make sure he didn't misunderstand.

Slowly, he lowered the newspaper. His gaze fixed on the dark wooden table. His first thoughts went to Dumbledore. Knowing that after the headmaster saw this, it won't be long before he decided to summon him.

Convinced that this new development will bring too much uncertainty, Severus hastily prepared for the day.


"Now levitate it higher."

Hermione did as she was told, her arm rose higher followed by the heavy crystal ball suspended in the air.

"Hold it there."

She grunted; her whole right arm felt close to become jelly. Shadows crossed by from the corner of her eye. Someone or someones were watching the training from afar, yet, from her position, it was hard to tell who they were.

The ball shook, abruptly losing its height.

"Focus!" Bellatrix commanded. "You are too distracted today mudblood. Why is that?"

Hermione cast a glance at Bellatrix, only to be scolded again.

"Don't look at me! Look at your target!" Hermione could almost taste the sour mood of the older woman in her own mouth. The brunette wondered what got Lestrange in such an angrier and meaner state than usual.

Gritting her teeth, she gazed firmly at the target. Ignoring the constant trembling in her arm, she kept the ball still.

"Cast Diffindo."

Nimble fingers made an incisive motion downwards. With the loud crack came along little crystallized dust falling like almost invisible, tiny snowflakes. Both witches watched the two-crystal half's laying on the ground.

Bellatrix reached for both pieces, closely examining the results. From her standing position, Hermione observed Bellatrix's fingers running across the inner part of the ball with an unreadable expression on her face.

For a second the brunette expected a negative response, as usual. But instead, Bellatrix turned to glance at her with an expression that almost looked like an appraisal. "It is uneven. But a clean-cut none the less." She raised the two pieces on the air, soon the solid material liquified joining together again to make itself ball. "Let's move on to the next spell."

The brunette released the breath she didn't know she was holding. A tad of involuntary trembling began creeping around her arms and legs. Her muscles were screaming at her for a well-deserved rest.

She cleaned the sweat from her brow, as she waited for Bellatrix to start the demonstration.

All that Hermione was learning since she began training under Bellatrix's tutelage has been wandless magic. As the first 2 weeks slowly progressed, the spells became harder to cast. Spells that with a wand in hand she could cast them with her eyes and mouth closed. A first-year student at Hogwarts could do all this with little effort.

But now those same spells proved taxing; for wandless magic is in another realm of casting prowess.

"Very well, mudblood. Let's see what you can do." She pointed at scattered pieces of burned wood "Aim there."

Her mind and body had to be in perfect synchronization, like two dancers, moving at the rhythm of the music. If her mind and hand were the dancers, then the music was the magic. Everything had to be the right amount. The right amount of magic, the correct swing of her wrist and fingers. The right position of her feet; both grounded on the soil.

A dance full of risks; for wandless magic, is as dangerous as it is extremely useful.

One false step and it could lead her to incredible pain.

As she pronounced the magical words, a gust of wind passing through carried a whiff of the most delicious, sublime smell reaching her nostrils and halting any functions in the brain.

The flame didn't shoot like it was expected to, instead, it furiously engulfed the girl's hand for a few agonizing seconds.

Things went south in a matter of seconds.

"What have I told you, stupid girl?!" Bellatrix screeched; the long maintained neutral expression on face turned to one of exasperation. "You must focus!" Her angry shout was muffled by the sudden cries of pain from the brunette.

Hermione kneeled on the ground, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill "Damn it! It hurts!" she whimpered as she cupped her right hand close to her chest.

Bellatrix approached her. Intending to take a better look at the injury, she went on one knee "Let me see," She said, irritated. Her intentions had a different reaction from the girl, Hermione quickly slapped the woman's hand not wanting to be touched by her. Afraid that her touch could turn like the incident of weeks ago. "Don't touch me."

The dark witch blinked confused by the rejection; that sentiment quickly died as her expression tightened with anger. "So be it." She hissed. Somehow her foul mood became more prominent than minutes ago. "Suck it up, mudblood." Dark eyes loomed over the girl. "Try again!"

"Are you serious?! I can't!" Her voice was ragged. She clenched her jaw trying to contain the whimper in her throat. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, traveling all the way to her jaw. Her mind could hardly catch up with reality. A large part of her right hand was ugly red, exposed skin, peeling itself to reveal an inner layer; small bubbles of water started to take form on palm and fingers. And the rest, small drops of blood started to filter from the muscle tissue.

Hermione was convinced it was a second-degree burn.

If that wasn't enough, she was gradually losing the effects of her numbing potion. Many things were invading her brain at the same time; her mind felt like she could barely form a coherent thought.

"You can and you will! Stand up!" The dark witch forced her to stand up by a flicker of her wand. Hermione couldn't do anything but to abide by the will of the magic forcing to stretch her legs. "And try not to burn your face this time. Or do it; see if I care." The dark witch replied snottily.

"I can't!" The girl yelled, immobilized. The pain became sharper even when a single muscle twitched involuntarily. "I can't move my hand!"

Her mind kept screaming out.

The throbbing pain continued increasing in waves, there were very few intervals of small lulls giving her false hope of an end. But each wave robbed her of the ability to even breathe. Her legs trembled as if they would give up again.

Bellatrix prostrated before her. The smell quickly invaded her senses, yet it didn't do much to distract her from the injury.

"They are watching how pathetic you are, little mudblood" The dark witch turned to look over the girl's shoulder, a smile that didn't reach to even match the cruel tone of her voice. "They are having a laugh at your expense by seeing how weak, and pitiful you are."

Hermione maintained her eyes glued to the ground, keeping her hand close to her chest. She tried not to react to the woman's taunts. It bothered her that to a certain extent Bellatrix had learned to prod at her pride. It was her fault; she hasn't been shy about showing what she could do. It was only a matter of time that Bellatrix figured it out how to mock her where it bothered her.

She sensed Bellatrix's impatience increasing by the second. The sound of gravel grazing against the dark leather boots as they took every step was becoming more forceful and restless, like a child who just couldn't stay still for 10 seconds.

The tip of the woman's wand dug under the girl's chin pushing upwards until their eyes met. Defiant brown eyes saw that there was no trace of sympathy on her face but only cruel amusement. The thrumming in her body vibrated with new intensity by the closeness of this woman. How disgusting.

She wondered if Bellatrix felt something.

Probably not. Better not.

"Tell me, Girl. Once on the battlefield, do you think the other side would be as forgiving as I am right now? What if you get injured and the only way to defend yourself is wandless magic? Are you going to kneel and cry?"

Hermione knew that it shouldn't surprise her that Bellatrix could be such a bitch as to force her to cast again in such a state. And yet, she couldn't help but feel the twinge of disappointment at her indifference. She knew the feeling was utterly ridiculous. Still, the emotion was there in her chest. She blamed her wolf for that.

"I'm asking a question, mudblood. You better answer!" Bellatrix's voice became dangerously low.

Through clenched teeth, the girl replied. "No" her eyes never straying from the incisive dark orbs "I won't kneel." She bared her teeth, trying not to wince at the incoming wave of pain.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll attack." The girl said what surely the woman wanted to hear.

"Yes!" The dark witch withdrew her wand from the girl's chin and stepped back. Hermione took the chance to take several breaths of unaltered air. Considering her actual situation, Hermione couldn't separate the difference of whether her mind felt numb because of the smell or the intense pain. Or the two combined.

"You block your pain and attack! Because your life depends on it!" Bellatrix waved her hand dramatically, seeming to be lost in her own thoughts of won battles. Memories of tortured enemies.

"Do it now!" Bellatrix commanded once more.

When the words failed to come out, Hermione fervently shook her head.

"You'll do it or so help me I will Crucio you!" She pointed her wand at Hermione as a warning.

Brown eyes adopted a darker look, resentment flashed over bleary eyes on the verge of tears. The girl was frightened to make the same mistake again and worsen her injury.

"Don't look at me like that, child!" the woman growled, a snarl contorted her face. "You didn't want my help. Now we do things my way. You have two options here. Either you'll do as I say or you'll be on the floor begging for mercy, then you'll do as I say…"

"I don't care! I don't care if someone is laughing at me. Nor do I bloody care if you throw Crucio at me. I won't do it, because I can't. Not because I don't want to." She mustered what little energy she had to stand her ground.

The dark witch's right arm flexed with intent, her wand held firmly in her hand; the left hand extended to her side to counterpoise. The brunette knew a spell was coming.

"Bellatrix that's enough!" Hermione heard Narcissa's authoritative voice behind her back. The sound of her steps getting louder by the second. "She is a child!"

Bellatrix kept pointing her wand at the girl, yet her focus drifted to her sister. She scoffed at Narcissa's words "She needs to learn Cissy. I'm doing her a favor." Her gaze returned to Hermione "And apparently she needs a dose of respect for her teacher."

Narcissa placed herself between her sister and the girl. At that moment, the brunette realized that the person watching from afar had been Narcissa.

"What kind of favor is that? if she can hardly acknowledge your words. She can barely stand still; much less is she able to move her hand." Narcissa paused, sparing one fickle glance towards the pitiful-looking girl. "Bella, you are not teaching; you are torturing her."

"You have never been in a war. War is unforgiving, and she needs to be prepared." The dark witch expression darkened. "And you know very well it is possible to cast with an injured hand. After all, you have seen it before."

Narcissa features relaxed, retaking her usual cold demeanor. "Yes, and I'm sure you remember what happened after." A shadow set across her blue eyes.

The dark witch lowered her wand while adopting the same body language of her sister. For a moment, Hermione felt like an intruder; both women seemed to share a conversation in silence. However, not knowing what else to do, she stood there watching them both.

"You can continue this tomorrow," Narcissa said, allowing no more room for argument.

"Do what you must, dear sister," Bellatrix replied begrudgingly. Before the blonde could say something else, the dark witch turned around and walked away. Only Narcissa and Hermione remained in the empty clearing listening to the sound of quick steps fading in the distance.

When she turned around, the girl regarded her face with curiosity. Her features held no visible emotions but as soon as her blue sets on her injury she reacted as if she had smelled something awful.

She pulled out her wand, with a gentle swift Hermione's hand was encased by an orb of cool water. The girl gasped. She held her breath, waiting to get accustomed to the new sensation.

"Follow me, Miss Granger." Narcissa walked pass beside the brunette, her steps tracing back to the mansion.

Hermione knew. She knew this could happen. Why did she have to doubt it? Once was a coincidence, but twice wasn't. The symptoms of her imprinting aggravated on the day of full moon, rendering the potion almost useless. It was her damn fault she got injured. And more than that, she risked herself further with Bellatrix.

The woman did notice how distracted she was; the brunette tried very hard to school her facial expressions and not give anything away. However, it was pretty evident that Bellatrix has been studying her like a bug under a lens; anything off, and she would smell it like a wolf sniffing blood.

'What if she finds something odd enough for her to investigate further?' She was becoming reckless. Too much trust in the potion, and not in her instincts.

Hermione found herself sitting again in Narcissa's potion room. The noise of drawers and cabinet doors being opened reached her ears soon as she stepped inside. While Narcissa continued searching for her ingredients, the girl lay down on the small bed. The respite of her muscles manifested in silent a sigh. Exhaustion simmered even through her bones. They felt like spaghetti in a bowl of soup, if the soup were her muscles.

All these days with Bellatrix have been gradually draining her. It didn't matter how fast learner she was, especially since getting infected with lycanthropy. Even if it only took less than a few days to learn a new wandless spell— that surely any professor at Hogwarts would be amazed by her abilities if they were to see her nowadays— it didn't matter in the eyes of Bellatrix, which made her feel like everything she has done is wrong.

There hasn't been a session where the dark witch didn't ask anything but perfection when it came to spell casting. Even when Hermione was confident that she did everything right. Bellatrix would always verbally abuse her and tell her how mediocre she was. Like today, what was supposed to be an approval made it sound more like criticism.

Wrong posture; wrong hand movement; too weak to damage; too wasteful with energy; too slow. Nothing was done right according to that psychotic woman. "Crazy witch" Hermione muttered to herself as she steamed on her own thoughts.

A faint pull manifested in her chest as if her wolf was trying to remind her of the ties she had with that deranged witch.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

"Drink this," Narcissa said, offering a black vial to Hermione.

This time there was no hesitation from the girl's side, she drank it avidly. The expression on her face was as if she just sucked a lemon through her nose. A little cough followed after the vial was emptied; it bitter taste that could only be compared to drinking bleach. "What was this?" The brunette asked. She put her hand on her mouth to muffle the dry coughs.

"It helps to fasten the curing process." The blue-eyed woman replied.

The blonde took out an orange paste from a wooden box. "Place your hand on the table and raise your sleeve." She instructed.

Hermione abided her words. She lowered her gaze, watching the clay-like material being applied on her burned skin. She couldn't help but notice Narcissa's touch and how gentle it was. She was very careful to not put much pressure on the wound; the blisters were treated with the utmost care, something that the brunette made her feel less tense.

"Do you have much experience treating the injured?" Hermione asked with interest.

Narcissa's ministrations stopped. She glanced up briefly, then she returned to her task. "No, it is recently that I have started nursing people."

There was evident tension on Narcissa's shoulders, and if the girl squinted, she could see trails of it around her eyes and mouth. No matter how much glamour she had used around her eyes, there wasn't any potion available that could erase the exhaustion in those blue orbs. Hermione concluded that the lack of sleep was related to the woman's family problems.

"Death Eaters?"

Narcissa's expression was blank, nothing gave away what was going through her head. But once brown eyes met with those icy eyes, they gave away a small glimpse of… pity? The brunette wasn't sure she saw correctly.

"No. Only you." Her lips pressed against each other.

"I see." Surprisingly, Hermione didn't feel so bothered by Narcissa's gaze. It wasn't something she hasn't seen before. Besides, she probably did look pitiful. Her boots and the end of her robes were caked in mud, frizzy hair, sweaty, and not even an hour ago, she carried a contorted face around.

Both witches remained silent for the next minutes. Hermione continued observing Narcissa spreading the last layer. To her relief, the pain was barely there. The paste was already doing its wonders, leaving only a tingling and cool sensation on the injury.

"Do you have any other injury?" Narcissa asked.

She shrugged. "No, nothing that's worth checking."

Narcissa acknowledged her words with a small nod.

"Thank you, Ms. Malfoy." Said the girl, "For treating my injury and for taking me away from Bellatrix." She shuddered at the possibility of what would have happened in the Malfoy matriarch hadn't intervened. "I think she was about to Crucio me if you hadn't inter-"

"She wasn't going to harm you further." The blonde cut her words. Whether or not what she said was true, Narcissa's clipped tone was full of certainty.

Hermione snorted, thinking that the woman couldn't be serious. "She could have fooled me."

"Believe it or not, Miss Granger. My sister doesn't torture children."

The girl's eyes narrowed; her pupils filled with incredulity. A wry smile formed on her lips. "Funny you say that, Ms. Malfoy. A couple of weeks ago you asked if the cut on my ribs had been made by your dear sister. Now you say that she would never torture me."

"I never asked if she did it intentionally, did I?" She stood from the chair; her hand held firmly the bowl containing what was left of the orange paste. "I know my sister tends to lose control in battle. I only wondered if she hit you accidentally."

Hermione shook her head in disagreement "That doesn't prove she wasn't going to hurt me today."

She stopped for a moment, placing the bowl on her working table. "Doesn't?" Narcissa turned around raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow in response. "Let's see. How long has she been training you?"

"A little more than two weeks." She replied, not understanding where this was going.

"Has she intentionally physically tortured you, cut you? maim you?"

"Not exactly, but…"

"Has she intentionally used a jinx, hex, or maybe an unforgivable on you?"

"No. But…"

"Then I stand by my earlier statement." A short but condescending smile painted the woman's lips.

A deep frown set on Hermione's face. She couldn't believe this; was Narcissa so blind to her sister's behavior? "She is sadistic!" Standing up from the bed, she took a step forward, closely matching the same height as the blonde woman. "She relishes on watching me getting hurt every time I'm training with her! She might not have hurt me directly, yet. But her methods often leave me with injuries and open wounds. You saw it today; she doesn't care if I can barely move. So, forgive me for not believing you that she wouldn't dare to Crucio me for her own amusement. What guarantees can you give that she would not escalate later on? …I'm sure there aren't."

It was Narcissa's turn to shook her head, she did it so lightly that Hermione could have missed it if she wasn't directly looking at her face. She could swear that an internal struggle inside the blonde's mind was taking place, her face didn't reveal anything, but her hands told another different tale. Two fingers played with a silver ring with blue stones, lazulite gems perhaps, tastefully encrusted in the ring. It almost possessed the same color as those cold eyes.

Narcissa's expression became defensive after noticing the scrutinizing gaze of Hermione on her. "You wouldn't understand, you are just a…"

"A Mudblood. Is that what you wish to say?" Although her voice was equally devoid of any emotion just as the pure-blooded woman. The first twinges of irritation bubbled in her stomach.

"…A Child. And a muggle-born at that." The woman said, leaving clear that she never meant to use the word mudblood.

"Whatever…" The girl clenched her jaw.

"My sister is not a 'crazy woman', Miss Granger. As you blatantly said it." The girl had the decency to feel embarrassed that Narcissa had heard her early musings.

With a knowing smile, the blonde woman appraised the girl. "After all, you would know…"

"What are…?" Hermione opened her eyes wide, only to narrowed them again as understanding dawned on her. "Look, whatever Severus told you …"

"Is a lie. I know." A tight lip smile appeared on her features. "Please, Miss Granger. By now you must realize that I'm not stupid.

"I never thought you were, Ms. Malfoy." It was true, at first the brunette thought of Narcissa as another pureblood with a spoiled childhood that grew to be the trophy wife of an equally arrogant man. Now, she didn't know what to think. One thing for sure was that the woman was very perceptive, cunning. She remained silent most of the time, but she listened and observed all the time. A real Slytherin.

"I'm very upset with him at the moment. He doesn't normally lie." She raised one eyebrow "Yet, he lied about you. Why is that, Miss Granger?"

It took a lot of effort to not laugh at that statement. 'He doesn't normally lie. Well, that's rich.'

The amusing thought died with a stab on her chest, like a punch in the gut, a realization hit Hermione with such force that she almost flinched. As the thought rapidly took shape in her head, a cold chill ran through her spine. Irritation reached the turning point to anger.

How was it possible that Snape, a man whose life is built on lies, couldn't tell a convincing lie to Narcissa?

'Bloody, snake. How didn't I see it coming?'

There was no answer in her mind that she could say that won't arouse more questions. Hermione opted to take the defensive route.

"Is that what is keeping you awake at night?" She took a step back, opening space between them. "The fact that Severus lied and perhaps that you don't know the reason why I'm still here?" The blonde had no right to interrogate her. "You have been a very gracious host to me so far Mrs. Malfoy despite being a Muggleborn myself. I wonder why is that? I hope is not to get information out of me. Allow me to save you the effort: You are not getting anything. Not from me."

The girl's expression adopted a somber, menacing display. Braved by her position in the status quo and her knowledge of Narcissa's personal affairs, Hermione decided to take on step further. "Maybe you should invite your pathetic husband back to your bedroom instead of wasting your time with me. Or focus on your son, he needs your attention more than I need it."

The cold and impassive mask fell apart the moment the girl chose to speak ill of her family. Her face contorted with barely restrained anger. When she took out her wand, the first thought to cross the brunette's head was if Narcissa was going to finish the task that her sister didn't.

And if she did, Hermione wouldn't blame her. Not this time. She knew she went too far.

With a wave of her wand, the woman opened the room's door with such force that it almost broke from its hinges. "Get. out!" She seethed. "Now!"

Without further delay, the young witch walked out. Just as soon as she stepped outside, the door closed violently behind her back.

Walking the hallway back to the common room, the feeling of guilt stirred inside her ribcage with every step she took. Narcissa didn't deserve those cruel words. Yet, there was no other option. If she had lied, Narcissa would have known. That could only lead to more headaches. And to speak the truth wasn't an option in Hermione's book. She needed to talk to the man who originally provoked all this.

'Severus has some explaining to do.'

The brunette had earlier concluded that Snape knew what he was doing. Lying just enough for him to weasel himself out, but no enough for Narcissa to fully believe him. He was manipulating Narcissa. With what purpose? She wondered.


Agony.

It was the only word she could use to describe the werewolf transformation.

The familiar yet so extremely miserable sensation of bones cracking and skin stretching came sooner than she expected it. First, it was the fur covering all over her skin, immediately followed by the skin on the tip of her fingers peeling away, morphing into very sharp claws. After that, it was hell. Her entire body started molding itself into her werewolf shape. Bones became larger, snapping every second as if they were breaking in two. The skin stretched to a point that always made Hermione think it will break and bleed out. But never did. She felt her organs accommodating inside her more ample ribcage. And the upper fangs came out from her muzzle, she could feel her lower jaw being grazed by the sharp fangs.

A huffed formed in her chest, which came in the sound of a deep growl that rumbled across the room. After the last changes in her body, she looked around her surroundings, as the process would always leave her dizzy and disoriented in the first seconds.

Hermione straightened her spine, balancing with her two feet, she made sure from a safe distance that all mirrors were faced down or covered by drapes. It was bad enough that she turned into an ugly beast. There was no need to force that image on her consciousness.

'Now what?'

The cabinet where she kept alcohol bottles, was practically empty. The plan to drink herself into a stupor, as she often did, wasn't on the table today. Once she experienced the first night of imprint symptoms in this form with nothing but her will to endure. This was a habit born of despair and anguish. She never enjoyed the taste and hated the sensation in her mouth after waking up. Yet it was her only decent option.

The metabolism in this body was too fast to hold anything for a long time.

Which brought her to her other problem, one hour ago she dozed herself with one vial to numb her symptoms. It wouldn't take long before Hermione would start to feel the compulsion to go and look for Bellatrix.

Although the mere idea excited her wolf, the brunette felt nauseated just at the mere suggestion. She hated her, and it'll be raining frogs the day she decided to like something about that woman.

Besides, even if she was heavily drugged and found, somehow miraculously, the dark witch likable, Bellatrix didn't like her. 'If I would go a look for her in this body, she'll definitely kill me at first sight.' Yet the tug in her body told her that the beast inside didn't seem to mind those odds.

Lucky for her, as long as she didn't forget to drink her wolfsbane, she would always be in control of this body.

Thinking of the devil, Hermione felt the first pulses of this body longing for her mate; the closer it was, the need became quite bothersome.

It wasn't hard to imagine what would she do if she hadn't drunk the wolfsbane. That was why she couldn't ever fail to drink it.

Her eyes drifted to the windows. 'I need to leave.'


Hermione rested her hands on the window's ledge, from this room she could see the east garden. There wasn't any sign of clouds in the sky, the thin tree's branches shook ever so slightly as the breeze passed through them. She found the mansion's gardens were a little eccentric for her taste; she preferred the more conventional ones; the ones that weren't enchanted. There was something unnerving in being watched by almost sentient statues or moving bushes.

Her eyes rested on the few elves taking this not-so-often opportunity of good weather to tend the flowers and bushes. Some of them were cleaning the gardenias and lilies from unwanted weed, while others trimmed the bushes giving more stylized forms of different kinds of magical beasts.

She wondered if those elves were the only ones left alive.

'Poor creatures, they must miss their friends.' Hermione tried not to dwell too much on those thoughts, as there was nothing she could do and only served to feed her anger, and her still unshaken fear. Instead, she took comfort in the greenery outside.

A soft crack of wood disturbed her peace. Another tentative step pressed on naked wood, telling Hermione of the new individual in the room.

How unusual, the girl thought, as she regarded the boy in front of her.

"You might have to wait; I have a meeting with him. It'll probably take hours." Hermione said, bobbing her head towards the sealed door on the other side of the room.

"I didn't come for a meeting," Draco said. He opened his mouth, after a second, he closed it again.

Hermione observed him, he was well-dressed and groomed as always. His posture was rigid, his shoulders back and chest up, but there was something off about his posture. After a moment, the witch realized that he lacked the arrogant flair he usually portrayed everywhere he went. Yet, the most prominent feature was in his eyes. They reflected determination.

Peculiar. Still not enough to attract her interest.

"Oh, ok." Hermione ignored him by turning her eyes back to the outside scenery, she drew the curtain further aside, letting sunlight streaming into the room.

Draco walked further inside. His steps became muffled by the plum-colored carpet situated in the center.

The brunette could feel the weight of his eyes behind her, it was so obvious that even Ronald would have been able to feel it, she thought with a wry grin. She sneered at his lack of subtlety; her fingers began playing with the border of her sleeve, the index fingers caressed the tip on her wand.

"Who are you?" Draco asked.

A chuckle escaped the girl's tightened jaw; feeling a little of relief, her shoulders became noticeably less tense. Carefully, quick fingers placed her wand back on the sleeve's hostler before she turned around.

She looked at him with a bored expression on her face. "Whatever do you mean, Draco?"

"I saw Greyback." There was a tint of fear in his voice, probably disgust too. It was hard to tell; she hoped was the first one.

"I see" He finally got her attention "Did they send you to pick—?"

"No." A grimace appeared on his face. "I saw him in the cellar." Hermione could see him reliving the memory in his mind.

"Oh." She looked at him expectantly waiting to make his point. She could tell by Draco's expression that he seemed bothered by her lack of reaction.

"So, I'll ask you again, who are you?" Draco asked firmly, convinced of something his mind had created. Because, otherwise, why would he be asking such a weird question?

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. Even though she didn't appreciate the demanding tone in his voice, she smiled. "I still don't understand your question."

"I might have not spent time with Granger at Hogwarts, but the Hermione Granger I knew would never do this. She was a person with only goodness in her. A goody-two-shoes if you will. She would never do something like… like this. You are not her." He seemed quite convinced of his words.

She didn't know if all this was fascinating or simply stupid.

'…Uh, where have I heard this before? Oh, yes. Once Severus thought it too.'

"So, you think that I'm what exactly? Another witch or wizard drinking Polyjuice, stealing the real Hermione's hairs for the potions? That sounds a tad stupid, doesn't it? Especially in the long run. And more importantly what would be the purpose?"

"Barty Jr. did it."

Hermione snorted; he had a point there. "That he did."

"And the purpose would be to make her look bad." He explained.

'Bad? For what? To frame the real Hermione for murder? For having an allegiance with the Lord? And when the Aurors realize the Hermione Gr…Wait…Uh. That actually…Well, it's bonkers. But in theory seems plausible.'

"I see you have thought things through." Hermione smiled indulgently. In silence recognizing Draco's theory wasn't as ridiculous as she assumed.

The brunette extended her hand, inviting the boy to take a seat as she proceeded to do the same. Hermione visibly flinched, sucking air through her teeth as her back made contact with the backseat. She closed her eyes, waiting for the waves of pain to fade away.

Draco regarded her with curiosity but did not dare to ask further. Not that he would get an answer from the girl. Taking a seat on the one-piece sofa closest to Hermione, the boy stared at her intently, without the hostility that used to follow.

With a sharp snap of her fingers, a young Elf appeared beside her.

"You called, Miss?" The elf was acquired today, Hermione could almost see the price tag on his forehead. And even if the elf's appearance didn't give it away, this little one didn't know her name; most of the elves used to know her name.

"Bring us two cups of tea. Any tea. Thank you"

"Yes, Miss."

The elves were available for everyone, within limits, of course. It was something she had learned to enjoy.

"Granger was against the servitude of elves," Draco said, looking at her skeptically.

Hermione raised both eyebrows, flashing a smile between amused and incredulous. "I'm surprised you know these little details about me Draco, considering how antagonistic you were with me at Hogwarts." The thing with the Polyjuice potion is that only changed the outward appearance, but never the thoughts of the person someone wished to pretend to be. The brunette decided to cut his suspicions short. "At best, I guess I expected for you to remember calling me mudblood in the second year or perhaps you hitting me with Densaugeo jinx just not so long ago; at worst, you being only able to remember my last name. Never more than that."

And with that, the self-congratulatory look that the blonde boy portrayed when he seemed to have uncovered the faux-Hermione, died. She saw it when those blue eyes changed from confident to perplexed, and then the emotion hid behind the stoic mask that was nothing compared to his mother's.

The boy cleared his throat before speaking again. "What can I say? You were very vocal about elves having rights."

'How nice of him to not ask the most obvious and tiring questions.' Hermione sat still in silent contemplation. 'Indeed, I was very vocal about their rights. At which time the conviction went to die? Probably the same day when to even hear the word goodness made me want to puke.'

So many turns had happened in her life that had changed her into a completely different person. She had to admit, it was very bizarre to have Draco Malfoy across from her asking her 'who she was' just because the boy wasn't sure if she was Hermione Granger.

No explanation about why she was here was owned, she could just as easily dismiss him and send him away. Antagonize him just as much as he did to her at Hogwarts.

'But perhaps…' Hermione needed a distraction, anything to keep her away from the earlier morning's new developments. She tried not to think if the Lord was going to be furious with her or if Narcissa was willing to keep her word. '…I'll indulge.' The placebo she wasn't looking for, nor wanted, but the only one available.

"I remember being 4 years old when a couple and their daughter moved into a house next to our neighbors." She adopted a distant look, "I can almost clearly recall the day they were moving in, mostly because their daughter was carrying a doll in her arms that, at the time, I was asking my parents to buy me."

Draco reclined on his sit, willing to listen, to what the brunette smiled pleased.

"Days later, I saw her playing with that toy in the local playground. I really wanted to see and maybe, if there was a chance, play with the doll too. So, I approached her. My mother always told me to start with a compliment when meeting someone new. Naturally, the first thing I did was to compliment her on the dress she was wearing. I remember her smiling back at me, but as soon as the smile appeared on her face, it fell. Then she pushed me back, telling me to sod off. You must understand that that's not how muggle children behave. Normally, they are polite, like in wizardry Britain."

The elf appeared with the tray on her hands. The brunette dismissed her as soon as she settled the tea set on the side table next to her. While Hermione enchanted the teapot, cup, and saucers, she continued her story.

"What happened next was that I fell on a small puddle in the sandbox, she is older than me, therefore, she was stronger at that time. I remember crying so much that everyone in the park turned to look at me. Her parents were near there. They immediately scold her; they apologized to me and later to my parents. But Maisie, that's the girl's name, rubbed me the wrong way after that. And I don't say that just because she pushed me, but because she had this look on her face, cold, detached, unfeeling. I used to think she was scary. And I was kind of right, because two months later my parents warned me to stay away from her. Apparently, she had created herself the reputation of being a troublesome kid around the neighborhood. The whispers came, about her pushing one kid into a construction hole. Then I heard another kid had several small burns on his arm, all made by her."

"Once I became older started to wonder, why someone like her has such loving and kind parents and yet seek to cause suffering to others?"

"Maybe she wasn't that bad…" Draco said.

"Oh, trust me, she is. She just has it under control right now."

"The letter to Hogwarts arrived that year, and I forgot all about that family. It was till last year during summer vacation, that I saw her again after so long. I was sitting in the park near my house when she approached me. I must say, that day she looked so normal. That look on her face that used to unnerve me wasn't there anymore. We talked for a moment, idle chat I think because I can hardly remember what it was. But after a few minutes, she bought up her past misdeeds and apologized for what she did to me when we were kids. Then I asked her why she did it. Do you know what she said?"

Draco shook her head.

"She said: 'My prefrontal cortex doesn't work.'"

"What's that?" He asked, rather puzzled.

"Here." Hermione pressed a finger on her forehead "Is something that either you are born with it or not. This part of our heads regulates our behavior. It is the thing that makes you feel guilty when you do something you think is wrong. I think it's what keeps us civilized. People like her could kill her own parents and not feel an ounce of sadness or guilt."

"But she apologized to you because she felt something isn't?"

"That's not it" Hermione replied. "She did it because her parents were watching her and she had to do that exercise which was ordered by her doctor to apologize to those who have wronged, thus that would help her somehow. She chose me because I was closer, that's all, at least that what she told me at the end."

"Can you imagine it? Not feeling any emotion? No sympathy or compassion." The notion of having those qualities was a little tempting. But then she thought of her parents and couldn't fathom the idea to not feel love for them.

"No," Draco mumbled. He seemed to share the same train of thought as Hermione. To become an unfeeling being, if only for a second. Or maybe by chance, he was thinking of his Aunt Bellatrix. Another destructive, unfeeling psychotic monster.

"Neither can I. Yet that day I saw Maisie seemingly well adjusted. When I said that to her, she said that was all thanks to the support of her parents and doctors."

"You see, Draco." Hermione stared intently at him. "I'm telling you this story not because I'm like Maisie, but to teach you this: The people that are beside you, your friends and family, they can stop you or they can make you become a monster. They have the capability to take out the monster that lurks inside some of us. It is the love and care that surrounds us which keeps the monster behind the curtains."

"Can you imagine if Maisie had abusive parents? That instead of love and support, she'd received negligence and even hate. There is no doubt in my mind that she would have turned out very different from what she is right now. The evil monster that she has would have overtaken her. Lucky for her, and for many people if you think about it, she has parents who love her unconditionally."

"I'd like to think that she got the right push in the right direction."

Hermione chuckled darkly, caused by something only she was capable to understand. Her path was built by circumstance and the ill will of her closest allies. This time though, she would create her own circumstances. "As for myself, I got the right push in the wrong direction."

The moment was cut short as the doors that she had been waiting to be opened, finally did. Voldemort's servant came out from the dimmed room. Hermione unconsciously wrinkled her nose. The man always looked dirty even when he wore clean clothes. Not only that bothered her, but his rat-face was also insulting to the brunette's eyesight.

"My Lord will see you now." Said the rat-face man.

Hermione spared one last look to Draco, who watched the whole scene with morbid curiosity, and wondered if she could spill the same level of bullshit to Voldemort, and make up a story just as she did right now.

She stepped inside the Lord's quarters, spotting the man sitting in the center of the room, on the same seat when she came last time weeks ago. He was petting Nagini, talking parseltongue with her.

"Ah, Hermione. I'm surprised you came to see me, so soon." She felt a lump in her throat. "But come on, don't stand there. Sit and tell me why are you here."

'So soon…?'

No, she could not.

It was one thing to lie to a gullible boy, another different thing to lie to Voldemort. Especially if Nagini was present.

For the first time, Hermione wondered if telling the truth would be worse than hiding it. But if he were to discover that she lied to him, there was no room for doubt in her mind that the punishment would be worse than could be if she were to tell the truth.

She'd be a fool to not be afraid of him.

Hermione pulled out her wand from her sleeve and placed it on the center table. Voldemort looked at her with interest. She had rendered herself at his mercy, with the hope that this would speak volumes of her good intentions. Her heart threatened to escape from her ribcage and her throat never felt so dried in her life.

Nagini's head rattled and shudder, bowing forward.

Slowly she swallowed, her throat worked to bring her voice back.

Only took a short glance at those red eyes to understand her position.

'He already knows.'