Hermione stood on the second floor of her house, truly wondering if she could live somewhere with five bedrooms. Her own had two and it was spacious enough as it was, but she supposed she would cross that bridge when the time came for it. As it currently stood, she had another bridge to cross and she wasn't looking forward to it.

Hermione headed downstairs to her Floo, took a handful of Floo Powder and said clearly, "Harry Potter Residence." She was whisked away quickly and landed in the middle of Harry's living room. She was desperately hoping not to come across Ginny first (or at all), and her prayers were answered when she locked eyes with Harry who had apparently just come from upstairs.

Neither of them said anything for countless seconds until Harry greeted her with a meek, "Hello."

"Hi," Hermione replied before suddenly noticing that he was wearing a light jacket. "You're heading out?"

"Oh," Harry looked down at himself once before nodding. "Yes. Hospital. Ginny's already there with Lavender."

"Ah, right, of course. H-how is Ron?"

"Good. He should be able to come home today, I think."

"That's great," Hermione honestly replied. "I'm happy for that. Well… If you're about to go, then I should probably—"

"No, wait," Harry said quickly. His strides had carried him in record speed from the staircase to living room so that he was face-to-face with her. "You came for a reason; what is it?"

"It's fine, Harry, really. It can wait."

"No, what is it?"

"It's nothing, I just… I wanted to apologize for last night."

Harry's face fell once Hermione said that, and he immediately took her hand and led her over to the couch. "You have nothing to apologize for. We should be the ones saying sorry to you. None of us were exactly welcoming."

"I shouldn't have expected you to be," Hermione frowned. "None of you have a good history with Draco, and truthfully I was going to go alone, but he insisted on coming. He wanted to be there for me —something that I know that you nor anyone else will understand. Draco and I don't have the best history either, and for him to be so…supportive? It's strange, but we're just—"

"—making the best of your situation," Harry finished. Hermione blinked at him surprise, but he only shrugged. "That's pretty much what Malfoy told me when we spoke this morning."

"You saw each other today?" Hermione was genuinely surprised, even when Harry reconfirmed his words.

"Yeah, he wrote me and asked to meet him in Hogsmeade to talk about you. He basically told us to be better friends. We're not going to abandon you, Hermione. We're just concerned for you."

"You don't have to worry about me, I promise," she reassured him. "Besides, I've faced the forces of evil since I was eleven thanks to a certain green-eyed boy-turned-man," she teased as she bumped into his shoulder. "What's different between then and now?"

"The forces of evil are your future husband and in-laws," Harry seriously replied. Hermione's face faltered, but not because of what he said. It was because she, too, was now one of those forces, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

Hermione hadn't told Draco what time she would be back home, if she would be staying at her house, or if she would be going back to the Manor. Draco decided not to wait around to find out the answer and instead went to her house to wait for her. When he stepped out of the Floo on her end, his mouth was opened and ready to bellow when he was met with hers instead.

"I'm up here!"

Draco grinned to himself and took to the stairs two at a time. He checked two rooms before finding her in her own and on her bed. A quill was in hand and a piece of parchment pressed against a book. Hermione looked up at him before gesturing to what she was writing.

"I guess I can save the ink," she said shyly. "I was asking you to come over."

"What, sick of the Manor already?" Draco teased. Hermione didn't answer, but merely set aside her writing and beckoned him to sit next to her. He didn't need to be told twice and sat down with a gentle bounce on her mattress. "How did it go with Potter?"

"It went well. I don't think he'll go skipping down the street or anything, but it's okay for now. There's still the rest of the Weasleys to contend with, but one step at a time. How was Nott's visit?"

"It was…enlightening," Draco said after a moment of deep thought. Hermione tilted her head at that, but waited for him to continue of his own accord. "He brought something very interesting to my attention that involves the both of us."

"The both of us? What exactly was that?"

"It was this."

Draco had brought Theo's invitation along and took it out of his pants' pocket. He unfolded it before giving it to Hermione and he watched her with bated breath as her eyes went wide. He knew she was reading it once her eyes began to scan the parchment and her lips mirrored the words on the page.

"My parents took it upon themselves to do this. I didn't know about it, I swear," he made sure to say. "So, we'll go. You'll need something appropriate to wear and, not to be rude in any way, but I doubt that you have any evening attire suitable for an affair such as this."

Draco had been talking, but Hermione was hardly listening. She must have read and reread the invitation at least three times, but she still couldn't properly wrap her head around it. It wasn't until the fourth read that she had registered he words "So, we'll go," which immediately flipped a switch in the brunette.

"No."

Draco's brows creased even though he had heard hear correctly. "No?"

"I'm not going," Hermione said as she folded the invitation back and gave it to Draco. "I refuse to go."

"Hermione, you have to go."

"I certainly do not!" Hermione countered as she rose to her feet and faced him as he continued to sit. "Draco, being around your parents is one thing, but this? A room full of former and suspected Death Eaters? People that I've testified against? People who hate me? It's nothing but a trap for me, and I'm not going to be there."

"Make no mistake that I've thought about the dangers of this," he told her, "and I was furious with my parents when I found out that they arranged this without informing us. Regardless, it's already been set. Invitations have gone out—"

"To hell with invitations!" Hermione shouted. "If that's your only reasoning for me to go, it's a weak one and it won't work. I don't know about you, but I value my life more than ruining a party filled with guests who want to skin me alive."

"Are you kidding?" Draco frowned disbelief. "I care about your life more than my own. You know that."

Yes, Hermione did know that. It was one of the few things that she was absolutely sure of, and she knew that it hurt Draco deeply for her to say it. With a sigh, Hermione sat back down and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was a slow move at first, but soon his arms were around her waist and holding her close.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I know that you wouldn't let anything bad happen to me. I just don't think that this is a good idea."

"Neither do I," Draco admitted. He gently pushed himself away from her so that he could look her in the face. "Unfortunately, my parents made a fairly decent point when I confronted them about it."

"I doubt it," Hermione snorted, "but what was it?"

"That you're going to have to meet and interact with these people eventually. As much as I don't like it, this is the world that I live in, and now you do too. Better to fight off the devils now than wait for the wedding. We have to make a statement."

"A statement?" she repeated with a brow raised. "Sounds like a load of pureblood tripe to me."

"It is," Draco agreed. "It's utter bollocks, but something that we must adhere to. For you not to show up on Saturday would mean that you're afraid. They'll use that to their advantage and things would only get worse from there. You have to go."

Hermione moved her gaze away from Draco and onto the floor —anything to avoid being lost in his eyes that were doing nothing less than pleading. Marrying Draco wasn't ideal, no, and being around his parents wasn't exactly a happy place either, but this party… She knew that he was right. These people were her people now too, no matter how much she was planning on avoiding every single one of them in the future. It was a now or later type of deal, and apparently it was going to be now.

"You owe me, Mr. Malfoy."

"Anything that you want."

"Anything?" Hermione smiled. "In that case, four bedrooms for our future house. Anything more than that and I'll simply have to off myself."

Draco rolled his eyes and grunted miserably, but nodded just the same. "Fine, fine, I suppose I walked into that one. Have you eaten anything for today?"

"A little something at Harry's, but nothing else."

"We'll go out for dinner then. Grab your cloak."

"Alright." Hermione rose from her bed and headed into her closet. Draco stretched while he waited and felt tired from the, surprisingly, exhausting day. Nevertheless, they still had to eat. Tonight promised to be an early one no matter how much he wanted to rip her clothes off.

"By the way, why didn't you tell me that you saw Harry this morning?"

Draco snapped his eyes to Hermione with a quickness that he didn't think he still had. "What?"

"Harry. He told me that you both met in Hogsmeade to talk about me. I guess you didn't want me to know, but thank you. My friends mean the world to me, and the fact that you took time out to make sure that they didn't hate me is just… That was more than just the curse fueling you, and I appreciate it."

Hermione kissed him and pulled away with the happiest expression on her face. While Draco wasn't a fool to turn down the praise, he hadn't the foggiest idea what she was talking about. The last he had seen of Potter was last night at St. Mungo's. Or least…that's what he remembered. As Hermione slipped on her shoes, his hand slowly gravitated to his head. The pressure. The headache. The groggy feeling when he had woken up.

Potter must have done something to me, Draco concluded, but what? Whatever had been done was a complete invasion of privacy, not to mention blatant tampering. Impressive, for the goody-goody that was Potter, but it wouldn't be without repercussions. Draco would see to it.

Hermione's week had started off fairly well despite the fact that she would be entertaining Death Eaters this weekend. It was Wednesday, and although she had had the two days before it to come to terms with this ridiculousness, it was still none-the-better. Today, though, would at least be an interesting highlight. As Draco had told her Sunday night, she would need a dress for the party. Hermione wasn't the least bit offended in his assuming that she didn't have any evening wear that would be appropriate because he was right. Fancy soirées weren't exactly in her vocabulary nor was mingling with the "social elite." Granted, she didn't particularly care about the mingling aspect nor was she going to force herself to. Enough had changed about her already and falling into the category of a prim, pureblood socialite wasn't going to be one of them. She was Hermione Granger: muggleborn, the occasional murderous intent notwithstanding.

Draco had a meeting that would run late, but he gave her the name of a store in the wizarding section of Alderley Edge and told her to give them his name as he had booked the entire showroom for the evening. He had promised to meet her there once he was finished, but Hermione told him not to. Aside from being a grown woman capable of picking out something decent to wear, she didn't want to run the risk of him seeing her with it on prior to Saturday. He relented and instead decided to meet her at her house.

The store was called Cara's, and even from a distance Hermione could see that it was the very definition of posh. Everything was white: the walls, the furniture, the check-in counter, the carpet. There had to be an Anti-Staining Charm on the carpet for sure, and she imagined everything else that lay out in the open. As Hermione walked up two steps and opened the door, a bell tinged in the air, and the smell of vanilla wafers hit her nose and made her mouth water. There was the delicate scent of wine as well, and the sound of stringed instruments flew overhead.

"May I help you, Miss…?"

"Granger," Hermione answered a young witch no older than herself who appeared from behind a set of (white) heavy curtains that hanged behind the check-in counter. "Draco Malfoy sent me."

The woman gave Hermione a quick look-over, although the word "quick" was an understatement. The witch's eyes started at Hermione's head, which probably meant her hair was bushier today than other days despite being tied back with a clip. Her gaze then traveled down Hermione's shoulders, pass her torso, on to her legs and then on to her shoes. Hermione looked nothing like a troll to be getting such the eye treatment, but she supposed that compared to the women who frequented this place she might as well have been one.

Hermione cleared her throat to grab the woman's attention and then plastered the fakest smile that she could muster. "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no, no, it's just," the witch returned Hermione's smile which looked twice as forced as her own. "Mr. Malfoy owled us earlier today. He said that his fiancée would be coming to purchase a dress on the Malfoy account."

That certainly made Hermione drop the politeness. Already she could foresee what idiocies in addition to the danger that she would encounter come Saturday. The counter woman was still wearing her grin, although it was less cringe and now genuine. Perhaps with Hermione's silence she thought that she had the brunette cornered. Oh, how wrong she was.

Hermione's smile was back and she let her hand rest on her cheek —her left hand —and saw how her ring glittered in the light. The judgmental wench noticed too, and her face all but faltered.

"I know," Hermione answered her. "I'm his fiancée. So, shall we get on with things, or should I owl Draco and my future in-laws about the treatment I received as soon as I walked in through the door?"

"Oh! Not at all," the counter woman quickly replied. "We already have a few dressed pulled aside and waiting for you. My name is Margaret —follow me, please."

There were a million things that Hermione would rather do than to follow this woman anywhere, but she would be without a dress otherwise. With great restraint on her part, she tucked away whatever ill-advised verbal retort she wanted to spew and headed deeper into the store. They curtailed left and abandoned the main showroom that she could see from the street. This side of the store was apparently meant for privacy and held the selection of dresses that Margaret had mentioned as well as a single dressing room, a pedestal, and several mirrors to ensure proper viewing.

"Ladies," Margaret said to the two women who were waiting. "This," she gestured to Hermione with what appeared to be a strained, gracious expression, "is Miss Hermione Granger. She is Mr. Malfoy's fiancée."

"You are?" one of them choked. The woman next to her elbowed her in the ribs while Hermione's eyes narrowed and she glared hard enough to kill.

Too easy, a voice in Hermione's mind determined, and the brunette had to agree. Although, it would be rather nice to be able to simply squint and watch all the pain the arses in her life go poof! Death Eaters? Poof! Ministry officials and their stupid laws? Poof! This snobby witch who clearly thought that she was better than anyone else? Poof!

"Yes, I am," Hermione hotly replied. "Can we get on with this, please? My fiancé will be waiting for me once this is over, and I'm sure that he'll want to hear all about it."

"Of course," the witch who had yet to speak piped up. She went over to one of the dresses that was hanging on a nearby rack and then to the dressing room where she held the door open. "You can try this one on first, and let us know if you'd like to try other colors. As you can see, most of these are various shades of red. Mr. Malfoy suggested it."

Hermione felt herself flush and hoped her skin wasn't as red as the dress she was about to change into. Instead, she simply went into the dressing room with the gown and began to disrobe. It was a spacious dressing room with a bench attached to the right wall and a lush carpet that she imagined was what the rest of the flooring in the store felt like. It was interesting, however, that with all the niceties, the owners didn't think to place Silencing Charms on the outside of the dressing room so that she couldn't hear what they were saying.

Hermione should have known that the talks of her wouldn't end simply because they knew that she was going to marry Draco. In fact, it only ensured it. Trickles of the conversation flowed in and out and she could feel her anger being fueled with each word they spoke.

"Do you think that it was the Ministry's decree?"

"It had to be. A friend of my cousin's dated Draco a while back, and this woman is nothing compared to what his tastes are."

"Not to mention that she's a muggleborn." Was it Margaret who was speaking? "She's Hermione Granger. You know, the one who helped take down You-Know-Who? That's two shots against the witch with a family like the Malfoys. She's completely wrong for that family —and of course wrong for Draco."

"Any one of us would be better." This one was the one who had gasped in surprise upon seeing her, Hermione was sure now, and she clicked her tongue with rage. "It's a shame that I'm married. The things I would do to that handsome blond. We're far better than some lucky mudblood."

"Wouldn't you just love to kill her?"

That last voice didn't belong to any of the three women. Whereas their voices sounded shallow, jealous, and catty, this one sounded dark, menacing, and…playful? Hermione turned in a slow circle in her dress, doing her best not to trip. The voice nearly toppled her, however, when it spoke again.

"Stupid, petty women," the voice chuckled. "Green with envy just because you have what they want."

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded, but her voice wasn't nearly as strong as she wanted it to be. She felt herself flinch when the woman laughed and continued with her speech.

"Can you hear them? They're still talking out there. You can silence them though. Open the door and one, two, three, down they go."

"I'm not killing them."

"But you want to."

"No, I don't."

"Then why are you holding your wand?"

Hermione looked down at her hand, her eyes widening when she saw that her wand was, indeed, in her palm with her fingers curled around it. How did it get there? When had she picked it up? She dropped it in horror and placed her hands over her ears as the voice in her head laughed. The voice's laugher was ghosting her ears, tickling them even, as it kept talking, jumping from ear to ear in a rapid succession.

"Choose your spell."

"Torture them first."

"Bind them all."

"They deserve it."

"You want it."

"Kill them all."

"Stop it, stop it, please, stop it," Hermione repeated under her breath. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she found herself sinking to her knees as the voice kept urging her to kill.

She was vaguely aware of a knock on the dressing room door, but it sounded so far away. Had someone called her name? There was light trickling into the room some moments later, but it did nothing to stop the urgency of the voice. Someone was kneeling in front of her now —Margaret, the one who had met her at the counter. Maybe if Hermione killed her, the voice would stop? That's what it wanted, wasn't it? She could give it what it wanted.

Hermione's wand was within reach and her fingers had barely grabbed the handle when she heard the remaining witches gasp behind her.

"Mr. Malfoy! Oh, thank Merlin you're here! Your fiancé, she—!" her words were cut off abruptly and then there was a distinct sound of a body hitting the ground. There was a scream and then another thud. Margaret scrambled away from Hermione, but she, too, also fell to the side after a jet of red light hit her squarely in the chest.

"Hermione?" Draco said as he walked into the dressing room. Hermione immediately turned and grabbed tight fistfuls of his trousers.

"It won't go away," she cried. "The voice… A woman's voice… It's there and it won't stop. Please, make it stop."

Draco was panicked. Hermione was unravelling before his eyes and he didn't know what to do. Kill, was obviously an answer, and there were three witches here to choose from. Unfortunately, there was also too much of a trail that could lead back to him if he took option A. The next option —finding some innocent bystander that no one would miss —would be a better solution, but what would come of Hermione in the time that it took him to do it? What if he, too, lost his mind in the process? No, something needed to be done now, and Draco did the only thing that he could think of to put her out of her misery.

"Stupefy."

Hermione collapsed against him, and Draco felt himself collapse right along with her. He took a deep breath before gently laying Hermione on the ground, and stepping out of the dressing room.

"Twizzle."

The house elf appeared immediately, bowing and ready to serve. "Yes, Master M— Oh, dear!" he shrieked as he noticed the two witches on the ground. His attention was brought back once Draco cleared his throat, and Twizzle lowered his head to hide his shock. "How may Twizzle serve Master Malfoy?"

"Take Hermione to my bedroom," Draco ordered as he gestured to the dressing room, "and have my father meet me there in fifteen minutes. I'll stay here to…" he paused as he looked around him before sighing, "…clean up the mess."

"Yes, Master Malfoy."

Draco's meeting had finished early and that was why he had gone to Alderley Edge. He hadn't planned on walking into Cara's for he had wanted to abide by Hermione's wishes and not see what she had chosen to wear. However, as was the norm these days, he knew when something was amiss with his witch. To soothe his worried mind, Draco had walked into Cara's, and that's when he had heard Hermione's cries. He had wasted no time in stunning the three witches, and he had been suddenly thankful that he had thought to book the showroom so that no other patrons could come in. As part of the process to "clean up," Draco had cast charms on the windows to make it look like nothing was wrong from the outside. He modified the witches' memories so that they remembered that Hermione had come into the store, but not her insanity. He also planted a memory of her choosing the dress that she had been wearing. Once that was finished, he positioned them all in sitting positions and added simple spells to keep them in place. Satisfied, Draco picked up Hermione's discarded clothing, her handbag, and undid the charms on the windows, and disapparated.

Draco headed straight to his bedroom once he had arrived and laid Hermione's things on the chair in the corner of his room. From where he stood, she looked peaceful. Any expression at all aside from horror would be preferable, if he was being honest. How she had become that crazed that soon was concerning, and, quite selfishly, he began to wonder just how soon he would fall prey to the same.

"You sent for me?"

Draco turned around to find his father in the doorway. The younger Malfoy nodded and encouraged his father to enter the bedroom where he could plainly see Hermione stretched out on the bed.

"Is something wrong with her?"

"She's going crazy," Draco answered grimly. "I passed by Cara's and saw her right in the middle of it."

"What did you do with the witnesses?" Lucius immediately asked. Draco raised a hand to his father to stop his pending questions and reassured him.

"Taken care of, don't worry. Right now, we need to focus on her. I know what I have to do, but what if she wakes up still crazed? What if I go out there, try to find someone, and I start to lose it just the same?" Draco sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before groaning into it. "All of this is just a mess."

Yes, it was a mess. Lucius could agree with that all the way. Draco had been catatonic. His fiancée had completely deteriorated. Lucius hadn't doubted his wife's plan to force their son to kill, and now he was even more sure that it was the right thing to do. Anything to keep him from suffering.

"I'll owl our Healers," Lucius said after a passing moment. "They should be here within the hour and help her."

"Healers?" Draco scoffed. "You can't cure insanity; you can only subdue it."

"Precisely. Come," he urged his son and put a hand on Draco's shoulder, "let's head to the Owlery."

Draco didn't want to leave Hermione, but staying in the room with her like this wasn't making him feel any better either. He relented then and followed his father out of the bedroom.

"It will get better the longer you two are together," Lucius said. "You needn't worry."

Author's note: I don't know what's worse, hearing voices or seeing things. Yikes. Thanks for reading all! I'll probably slow up on updating after this (classes have returned!). It was glad to knock a lot of this out while I was inspired :D

-WP