A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy the new update! I only got nine or so reviews on the last chapter when I usually get at least 20, so I was a little worried I was losing your interest. I read them all and they always make me so happy! I know a lot of people have said it's similar to canon but I can only tell you that it needed to be up until THIS point. It's a very…intricate setup if you will, so please bear with me!

Please review/favorite if you liked the chapter/or even if you didn't, that's fine, I just want to hear your feedback! I appreciate all of you and look forward to another update on Christmas!

Enjoy!

Hogwarts Library [December 4th]

Lady Malfoy,

I am writing to you to you for your assistance in–

Hermione Granger growled under her breath, crumpling the letter in her hands and tossing it onto the quickly growing pile of papers on the ground by her desk. She tucked a fluffy lock of hair behind her ear and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment, carefully dipping her quill into the inkpot to start her letter to the Malfoy matriarch again.

Hello Mrs. Malfoy,

I hope you are doing well! I am writing to you to ask for your assistance in acquiring a magical artifact! I am having some troubles with a vanishing cabinet, and I was hoping you would have some advice for me! If you are available–

Hermione sighed, staring at the paper with annoyance. Why did she sound so excited about a vanishing cabinet? She sounded like a bloody Hufflepuff. She pulled out another sheet of parchment, tossing her last attempt back into the overflowing rubbish bin beneath her desk. Before she could even think of another coherent way to write to Lady Malfoy, a sudden voice startled her and the quill jerked in her hand, sending a dark streak of ink across the entire page.

"Granger!"

Hermione gritted her teeth together and turned to face the bane of her existence as he swaggered into the library, making his way over to her table. He was impeccably dressed as usual in his perfectly tailored dark charcoal robes and fitted grey jumper. She noticed even his shoes were carefully shined as he leaned against her desk and reached down to grab one of the crumpled-up letters at her feet before she could stop him.

His pale brows rose with amusement as he skimmed over the parchment and smirked down at her, "Having a bit of trouble writing to my mother, Granger?"

She snatched the letter out of his hands and shot him a glare, "She's an intimidating witch."

He unfurled another letter from the pile on the ground, and promptly burst out laughing. "Really, Granger?" He snorted, dangling the piece of parchment over her head, "Why would you ever start a formal letter with 'Howdy Ma'am'? Are you suddenly from the Wild West?"

Hermione covered her head with her arms on the desk. "I'm starting to lose my sanity over writing a simple letter," She moaned. "It's like I've forgotten everything about the English language overnight."

Draco inspected another rejected attempt. "This one isn't too bad," He informed her, "It's just unbearably long. Most letters to the head of a noble household are short and succinct, as to not waste too much of their time."

"Why are you even here, Malfoy?" She asked him, raising her head up slightly to look him in the eye. "You've avoided me for the past four weeks."

"I've avoided you?" He repeated with a scoff. "You're the one who keeps hiding in broom closets whenever we cross paths."

"Why are you here?" She pressed, unwilling to change the subject. "Do you need something?"

"As a matter in fact, I do need something," He whispered, sliding into the seat across from her. "I presume you haven't made any plans for the holidays."

She picked up her quill and dipped it into the ink once more, magically erasing the messy spill across the otherwise blank sheet of parchment in front of her. "My mother is working again, so I suppose I'll just sit at home reading," She answered him, averting her gaze. "I received a new book on the history of Goblins, so hopefully I'll learn more about–"

"How riveting," He interrupted her with a sneer. "While I wouldn't want to intrude on your plans to be a spinster for the rest of your life, I'm afraid your presence is required elsewhere."

She pressed her quill harshly against the parchment, ignoring the heavy blotches of ink that splattered onto the blank page. "Oh?" She murmured, "What exactly does he need?"

"We're planning to have a trip of sorts, during the winter hols. Hadrian has requested your presence, for reasons I cannot fathom."

"A trip?" She peered up at him through her thick lashes, a small smirk playing at her lips, "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Trip, mission, raid–regardless of what you call it," Draco shrugged, unconcerned by her skepticism. "You're to stay with us over the holidays."

"Stay with you all where, exactly?" She arched a brow.

"Well," He crossed his arms across his broad chest and pretended to think, "Hadrian is spending the holidays with Daphne's family this year, something about losing a bet to her during Potions."

"He should know better than to bet against Daphne," Hermione waved her hand, unwilling to be sympathetic to her friend's predicament, "Nobody bets against her and wins."

"Some people will never learn," His lips twitched into a reluctant smile before he continued, "Of course, staying with the Lestranges is out of the question–"

"I'd rather not spend every waking minute concerned about my safety," Hermione readily agreed.

"I suppose that only leaves Malfoy Manor," He announced, peering down at her over the slope of his aristocratic nose.

She frowned, "What about Blaise?"

He froze. His fingers curled around the table and he cleared his throat, attempting to sound rather nonchalant, "Hm? What about Blaise?"

"He has a home in England, doesn't he?"

"I believe he does," Draco replied in a clipped tone, digging his nails into the mahogany desk. "I don't see what that has to do with–"

"Why can't I just stay with Blaise instead? I don't think your–I just think it would be better for all of us if I was with him," She shook her head, "After all, we don't want a repeat of second year."

"I was only rude to you because you were gatecrashing," He defended himself. "This time you'll be an invited guest at Malfoy Manor and my mother would kill me if I behaved poorly with you–even if you are a muggleborn."

Hermione bristled at his words and set her quill back onto the table, "I don't think this is a good idea, Malfoy. I'm sure Blaise would be perfectly happy if I stayed with him."

"I'm sure he would," He muttered under his breath.

"Hm?" She pursed her lips, "I'm not sure I heard you–"

"I said Blaise was also planning to stay at Malfoy Manor," Draco lied quickly, "So–uh–you can't stay with him over the holidays. Because he'll be staying with us too." He nodded to himself, forcing a convincing smile.

"Oh," She blinked, surprised by his sudden enthusiasm. Hermione bit her lip as she contemplated it briefly, "Well, alright then. If you promise you'll be on your best behavior–"

"I promise no such thing," He rolled his eyes at her, rising up from his seat. "I'd say we get along best when we're both on our worst behavior, don't you think, Granger?"

Slytherin Dormitory [December 10th]

"This is a waste of time," Blaise Zabini groaned, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch in their common room. The light of the fireplace reflected brightly off of his shiny black formal shoes as he propped his long legs onto the coffee table.

"We have to go," Neville reminded him, "We have to keep up appearances. Besides, this party will give us the opportunity to speak to some Ministry officials. Gauge their political leanings, and all."

"And here I was looking forward to a relaxing evening with my date," Blaise scowled, "I can't believe we have to be working, at a party, no less."

"Who's your date, Blaise?" Hadrian grinned over at his friend, just barely stopping himself before he could rake a hand through his hair and ruin its carefully gelled-back appearance.

"I asked some bird from Ravenclaw," Blaise frowned as he tried to remember her name, "I think–Mindy?"

"Mandy Brocklehurst," Neville rolled his eyes. He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets sullenly, "Hermione said she was getting ready with her earlier today."

"Oh, so you're the reason Granger turned me down?" Blaise raised an eyebrow with a cheeky smile. "She didn't mention that you were her date when I asked her yesterday."

"That's because we're not dating," The sandy-haired man grumbled, avoiding Hadrian's piercing gaze. "I didn't want to ask anyone else to come with me to Sluggy's Christmas party, and neither did she. It worked out well enough for the both of us."

"What happened to Ginevra?" Hadrian turned his eyes toward the staircase. "I would've thought after your little dalliance last week, you would've invited her to attend with you tonight."

Blaise snorted. "It was just a one-time thing. Both of us were too drunk beyond reason," He noticed their disbelief and he insisted, "We're not together. She's attending the party with Dean Thomas from Gryffindor, actually."

"Neville," Hadrian began innocently, "Don't you think it's rather interesting how Blaise can't remember his own date's name, but he remembers the full name and house of Ginevra Weasley's date?"

"Yes," Neville agreed with a shit-eating grin. "Very interesting. But of course, they aren't together."

"No, no, of course not."

"I do hope you two aren't bullying poor Blaise here," A twinkling voice called out.

Hadrian felt a genuine smile appear on his face as he watched Daphne make her way towards them in a dark green dress with satiny material that clung loosely to her hips with every step she took. He was pleased to see she was wearing the delicate diamond earrings he had gifted to her for her last birthday, artfully displayed by the golden hair she had pinned up into an intricate hairstyle.

"You look exquisite," He murmured into her ear as she took his arm. "I have half a mind to not let you leave the common room in a dress like this."

"Wait till you see what's under it," She smirked, turning back to face their friends and determinedly ignoring the way his eyes darkened at her words. "As I was saying, I do hope you two weren't bullying poor Blaise without me."

"Yeah, alright," Blaise huffed. "Don't we have some arse-kissing to do? Let's go before Slughorn thinks we're skivving, again."

"Ah, Mr. Riddle," The silvery-haired man stepped up to greet him, shaking his hand rather vigorously as he spoke, "I've heard so much about you."

Daphne quickly whispered the man's name in his ear and Hadrian squeezed her hand gratefully as he plastered on a charming smile, "Mr. Ogden, I'm pleased you could make it. I've been following your work at the Ministry for years now. I'm thankful that someone in the Wizengamot is looking out for the small-business owners in our world."

"It's simply a matter of duty, Mr. Riddle," The man straightened his shoulders proudly, "How can we encourage the growth of the private sector if we don't look out for our most enterprising wizards?"

"How right you are," Hadrian remarked. "It's a shame the Ministry doesn't place a greater importance on such pressing matters. I wonder how much more we could achieve if the Ministry looked out for our best interests."

"I often think that myself," Mr. Ogden looked at him with a calculating glint in his eyes, "It's a relief to hear that the younger generation has the right values. Tell me, Mr. Riddle, what do you plan to do after graduation?"

"Well, I haven't quite thought that far ahead, Sir," Hadrian forced a laugh and the other man joined in boisterously. "I suppose I see myself at the Ministry. I would love to work in the MLE or perhaps even assist someone in the Wizgamont, if I'm being ambitious."

"One can never be too ambitious," Mr. Ogden insisted. "I could certainly aid you with gaining your footing in the Ministry once you graduate," He clapped Hadrian on the back and announced, "Someone has to make sure our best interests are looked after, of course."

"I've thought about a career as a future Healer myself," Daphne was saying to a pretty witch dressed in blue as Hadrian approached them with new glasses of champagne. "It's rather unfortunate that our society makes it so difficult to pursue our passions."

"What do you mean?" The witch's eyes widened as she took the glass Hadrian offered with an appreciative smile. "We could always use more Healers at St. Mungos."

"Well," Daphne shifted her weight nervously to her other foot, "Hadrian has been so understanding, but after we're wed, I doubt the rest of the old pureblood society would allow a woman to work. I'd have to set aside my interests in order to manage a household."

"Why, that's absolutely medieval!" The witch gasped.

"Forgive me, Miss. Bonham," Hadrian cut in with a bitter laugh, "As much as I encourage Daphne to pursue a career in healing, it simply wouldn't be accepted by our society. I would love to change the way our world works, but it would be nearly impossible without the right support."

"Well, you have my absolute support, Mr. Riddle," The witch promised, her shoulders nearly quivering with self-righteous anger. "I thought we were moving past this ancient pureblood ridiculousness, but I suppose I was too caught up in my own career to see the struggles you younger girls are still facing."

"It's appalling, truly," Hadrian agreed. "One day, I hope to change this backwards notion."

"There are a couple other witches I work with on the board of St. Mungos that I know would definitely stand behind you as well," Miss. Bonham nodded, her eyes already glittering with the thought of a new fight.

"Longbottom, you say? As in one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"

"Yes, Sir," Neville smiled tightly at the elder man. "Frank and Alice were my parents–may they rest in peace."

"It's a shame they passed so young," The man shook his head sadly. His eyes fell over the witch at his side and he raised an eyebrow, "And who is this?"

"This is my date for the evening, Hermione Granger," Neville introduced her, trying his best to conceal his wince as her vice-like grip around his arm tightened. "Hermione, this is Lord Beery, the grandson of Herbert Beery, who was one of the most famous Herbology professors Hogwarts has ever seen. Lord Beery has followed in his grandfather's footsteps, also working on quite a few new Herbology trials and inventing his fair share of potions."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir," Hermione inclined her head slightly in greeting, "I've actually read a few of your books and I was looking forward to speaking with you tonight."

"Granger," Lord Beery wondered aloud, stroking his chin, deep in thought, "Any relation to Hector Dagworth-Granger?"

"Uh-No, Sir," Hermione said quietly. "I'm a muggleborn, you see."

"How interesting," The man's expression immediately soured, and Hermione resisted the urge to growl in annoyance.

"Of course, Hermione is still the top of our class, Lord Beery," Neville hurried to say. "In our second year, she personally assisted Professor Sprout in brewing mandrake potions for our petrified students."

"Did she now?" Lord Beery raised a brow, almost in amusement. "And what do you think of my current research then, Miss. Granger?"

Hermione stared at the smug-looking man with steely eyes. She could practically see Neville's frozen smile begging her to play along–but she was exhausted from all the false laughter and the self-depreciating jokes she'd had to withstand that night. She was tired of being the pretty arm candy that only spoke when spoken to and laughed like a ridiculous Pansy Parkinson clone at any horrible quip made at her expense.

She took a deep breath, and her tone was practically acerbic as she informed him, "Personally, I think your trial with the Venomous Tentacula seeds could have used some more experimentation."

"Hermione," Neville hissed at her from the corner of his mouth. "What are you–"

"In fact," She declared, "I think if you were able to extend your theories to humans through testing with blood magic, your research would've been far more fruitful."

"Unfortunately, my dear," Lord Beery narrowed his eyes, "In case you were unaware, all forms of blood magic are prohibited by the Ministry."

"The Ministry shouldn't be able to control blood magic when it comes to research purposes, should it?" Hermione challenged. "You're doing some actual good in society, Sir. If you wanted a greater impact, you should be able to have access to more resources, don't you think?"

Neville sighed and began to come up with excuses for her behavior. He was in the middle of debating whether spilling his drink on her pretty red dress would be enough cause for them to leave the conversation, when suddenly the elder wizard in front of him began to laugh. His brows furrowed in confusion as Lord Beery reached out and grasped Hermione's hand, giving it a quick pat before grabbing for another glass of champagne.

"My, my, Miss. Granger," He chuckled, "I don't think anyone's had the stones to talk to me in such a way for decades."

Hermione bit her lip, uncomfortable with the sudden change in his demeanor. "P-Pardon, Sir?"

"You're completely correct, of course," He waved away her half-hearted apologies, "My research would be much more productive if the Ministry lifted their annoying restriction. They've placed a limit on our magic and thus our very potential, wouldn't you say?"

Neville blinked, but immediately recognized the opening and resumed his proper pureblood façade once more. "Of course, Sir. A few of my classmates and I were similarly fed up with the constant policing of the Ministry," He gestured to the side and winked at Hermione, "Perhaps I can introduce you to my friend, Hadrian Riddle? I gather he has much more to say on this topic than I do."

"My feet hurt," Hermione groaned as she sat down on the couch by the entrance, leaning her full weight into Blaise as he threw an arm around her shoulders in amusement. "And it's cold in here."

"Not having much fun schmoozing the wizarding elite, are you?" Blaise playfully tugged on a lock of hair that had escaped her chignon. He waved over a nearby waiter and plucked two glasses of champagne off the tray, presenting one to her with a mocking bow.

"I probably shouldn't drink more, I'm already a bit tipsy," Hermione sighed, though she took a sip of her glass anyways.

"You'll need it to numb the pain if you plan on staying in those heels any longer," Blaise whistled softly, "You could probably kill a wizard with those."

"I'm going to kill you if you don't give me your cloak," She threatened. He laughed at her and downed the rest of his champagne glass before shrugging off his heavy cloak.

She reached out her hand but frowned when he paused suddenly and glanced up. A slow smile came over his handsome features and he pulled the cloak back against his chest, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid I'm going to require some payment in return for my expensive cloak, Miss. Granger," He leered at her, gesturing to the sprig of mistletoe that appeared above their heads. "Pucker up, witch."

"I'm not getting mauled by your date because of this, Blaise," She warned him. "I don't need a jealous witch ready to rip my head off."

"She'll be fine," Blaise rolled his eyes. "Come on, don't be a chicken."

"I'm not a chicken," She snorted.

"Bok-bok-bok," Blaise began to squawk, barely wincing as she elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'll have you know, if I'm any sort of bird, it would be an eagle. The Ravenclaw house has always been associated with an eagle because of its intelligence and–"

A loud, exaggerated snore cut off her long tangent and she gasped, affronted. She slapped her friend's arm, "Blaise! Are you seriously ignoring me?"

"Come on, Granger," He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and grinned. "I know you want me–"

"Blaise," She pursed her lips, "Are you doing this to make Ginevra Weasley jealous? Because she came with Thomas?"

His eyes widened and he shook his head. "No, of course not!" He replied quickly. Too quickly.

Hermione smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. "Oh, Blaise, you should've just said so," She cooed. "If it's to make ickle little Ginevra jealous because you love her so much–"

"Granger," He warned her in a low voice, "I don't–"

"And to think, for all these years you've been covering up your undying devotion to this girl with your man-whoring ways and sleeping around like a playboy! You're a sweetheart deep down inside, Zabini–"

"Thanks, you drunk bitch–"

"If only the world knew–"

"Granger!" He hissed, cupping her face with his dark hands. "I'm going to kiss you now–don't laugh."

Hermione snickered.

He pressed his lips to hers and a gasp wound itself out of her throat as he cheekily tried to press her lips to open wider. She felt his hand start to wrap around the nape of her neck and she pulled away quickly, staring at him in surprise.

He frowned, fixing his eyes on the spot of lipstick that had smudged by the corner of her mouth. "Did you–uh," He ran an awkward hand through his hair, "Did you feel anything?"

"No," She admitted honestly.

He sighed in relief, "Yeah, me neither. It felt like kissing my sister."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "And yet, you still tried to slip your tongue in my mouth?"

"I had to double-check, of course."

She was about to elbow him in the ribs again when a sudden commotion by the door startled her. Blaise quickly stood up from the couch and glanced behind them, whispering, "Oh, shit."

Hermione hurried to stand up after the shouts only got louder, and she teetered on her pencil-heels for a second before turning around abruptly. Her face paled as her gaze locked with the stormy grey eyes of Draco Malfoy, staring at her as though he had just seen a ghost.

He turned away from her when Filch shouted something at him and only then did she notice the caretaker had hauled him into the room by the collar of his dark robes. She hurried over to hear what was going on, weaving through the small crowd that had formed in front of her by then.

"I caught him lurking outside the party, Sir! He was trying to sneak in–I swear I saw him!" Filch insisted, shoving him towards Slughorn.

"I wasn't trying to join your little party–" Draco hissed, but it was cut off by Professor Snape muttering something to him that was too low to hear.

"Professor, I think Draco got a little lost," Hadrian stepped into the crowd, clasping a hand over his friend's shoulder. "If it's alright, I can escort him out and make sure he gets back to the common room safely."

"O-Of course, Hadrian. That is very kind of you," Professor Slughorn nodded, grateful for his help. He quickly turned around and attempted to resume the party, though his guests were still talking about the altercation that had happened minutes before.

When Alexander Potter saw who he had happily dubbed Jr. Death Eater #1 and Jr. Death Eater #2 exit Slughorn's party together, he couldn't help but follow them. He had wasted no time in kissing his pretty date goodbye and hurrying down the hall behind the evil duo.

He heard their voices start to get louder and he disillusioned himself, slinking closer and closer until he was able to hear their conversation, but far enough away that they couldn't hear the sound of his excited breathing. His heart was hammering away in anticipation as he heard Riddle turn around and abruptly slam his friend into the wall.

He inched closer until he heard their hushed voices.

"…what the fuck?" Hadrian Riddle hissed. "Why did you need feel the need to traipse into Slughorn's Christmas party and then get caught? Was there an actual reason, Draco?"

"Of course, there was," Draco spat, "I wouldn't crash your little party for fun. You all seemed to be enjoying yourselves just fine, by the way."

"You cannot be serious–I'm doing my job, Draco. The job I've been forced to do my entire damn life. All you have to do is one stupid task. What's the problem?" Riddle's voice was low and dangerous as he smirked, "Can't do it? Too…morally righteous for the job?"

"I said I was working on it," Draco muttered. "I need some time. If we get caught–"

"Focus, Draco," Hadrian shook his head. "If you need help, then bloody ask for it next time. Don't make this mistake again, or else."

"I'm trying," Draco Malfoy's voice sounded raw when he whispered, "It's a little hard to do when we have four different plots going on!"

"I'm going back to the party," Hadrian Riddle sighed after a long beat of silence, "Go back to the dorms. Make sure a few people see you. Don't try anything tonight, you need an alibi."

Alexander's eyes widened as the pair stalked off in opposite directions and he let out a strangled breath when he couldn't hear their footsteps anymore. His heart was racing as his mind replayed the conversation he had witnessed.

Don't make this mistake again, or else.

He turned the corner and almost slammed into another wall in his haste to get away from the scene. How had he missed all of this? It didn't seem as though Malfoy was the one in charge at all.

It had always been Riddle. He had always been the one to be afraid of.

A feeling of dread settled in his stomach as Alexander wondered what else he had missed.

Hogwarts Express [December 16th]

"I'm going to go find Astoria," Daphne tilted her head up to lightly brush her lips across her boyfriend's cheek before she stepped out of their compartment, "I'll catch up with you after you've spoken with Lady Malfoy."

"I suppose I'll follow you tossers out as well," Blaise rolled his eyes, "Seeing as I'm practically being forced into spending the holidays with you–"

He grunted softly as Draco dropped his trunk on his foot, abruptly cutting of what was sure to be a long string of complaints. "Ow," Blaise hissed, ignoring the warning glare that the blonde shot him, "What did you pack for the winter hols? Bricks?"

"Blaise, can you help me with my trunk?" Hermione called out, completely ignoring the usual bickering of her friends. Blaise glowered at Draco before he jogged over to help the rather petite witch pull down the trunk from the rack above their heads. He nearly toppled over from the weight and frowned, "Seriously? Did you pack bricks as well?"

"They're pronounced 'books', Blaise," Hermione tsked. She held out her hand, "Give it here if you think it's too heavy to carry around."

Blaise scowled and pulled the trunk out of her reach, "Don't insult me. I'm perfectly capable of carrying a stupid trunk."

Hermione smirked over at Destiny. She turned back and pretended to fret as she saw Blaise struggle with her trunk, "Oh alright, if you're sure then."

Hadrian hid his amusement as he followed Draco out of their compartment, making his way towards the tall witch with gleaming blonde hair standing at the back of the platform. Though her fashionable lilac robes and perfectly coiffed hair made her look remarkably out of place amongst the busy chaos of the platform, Narcissa Malfoy remained unfazed as she scanned the crowd looking for them. Her icy gaze softened somewhat when she finally noticed them approach.

"Mother," Draco greeted her formally, lightly pressing his lips to her hair in a rare show of affection, "It's good to see you."

"You look radiant as always, Lady Malfoy," Hadrian smiled at her, leaning down to kiss her cheek once Draco had stepped away. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course," Narcissa inclined her head slightly, "I must say, Hadrian, I was surprised when you informed me you would be spending your holidays elsewhere this year."

Hadrian rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I apologize, I should've informed you of my plans sooner."

Narcissa Malfoy raised an eyebrow, "You misunderstand, Hadrian. I am delighted you are officially finalizing your courtship with the elder Greengrass girl. Perhaps it'll nudge this one," She let her gaze flicker over to her son meaningfully, "in the right direction."

"Mother," Draco complained, "You're not supposed to show your favoritism for Hadrian so blatantly."

"Oh, hush, Draco," Narcissa smiled. "I couldn't be more pleased. At least we'll have something to celebrate during the holidays."

"What do you mean?" Hadrian frowned, "We'll celebrate during the Malfoy ball, of course."

"You sound pretty confident she'll accept, mate," Draco snickered. "What if she says no?"

"Honestly, Draco," Narcissa sighed, shaking her head at her son. She lowered her gaze, and her voice was quiet as she revealed, "Due to some…unfortunate events earlier this year, I've decided to cancel the annual Christmas ball," Her lips pursed into a thin line and she said, "I don't think I can host a celebration when the rest of our society has been cursing our family ever since Lucius was arrested. Eugenia Bulstrode has been especially vocal with her…. opinions on our family."

"What?" Draco blinked, looking utterly shocked by his mother's decision. "You can't be serious, Mother. Who cares what an old bat like Eugenia Bulstrode thinks?"

Hadrian nodded slowly, "Forgive me, Narcissa, but the Malfoy Ball is the event of the season. The Malfoys have been hosting it since I was too young to even remember. You can't cancel it purely because a few families have made the mistake of thinking themselves superior to the Malfoys."

"It's only for one year, boys," Narcissa sighed, "I'm sure once the gossip dies down, everything will flow smoothly by next year. It doesn't feel right to throw a ball with Lucius away and the Ministry watching our family as though we're some kind of criminals."

"Mother," Draco's voice was hard as he stared down at her reserved expression. "You love planning the annual ball. You shouldn't care about these ridiculous, bloody hypocritical–"

"Draco," She admonished, "Please watch your language, dear."

"But he's right, Narcissa," Hadrian gritted out. "You shouldn't have to cancel your favorite event out of the entire year because other people are senseless. They need to understand the power the Malfoy name holds."

"I appreciate your loyalty, darling, but I don't know if it's appropriate," Narcissa smiled tightly, "Even if I wanted to hold an event this year, it's far too late to start planning now. These things usually take months of careful preparation."

"Then I'll speak to Daphne. I know she would love to assist you," Hadrian promised, patting her shoulder in a comforting manner. "I think even Miss. Granger would love to help you with organizing this year's ball."

"We'll make sure this ball is the grandest of them all," Draco agreed, "People will be tripping over themselves beginning for an invitation by the time Christmas rolls around."

"I–" Narcissa seemed hesitant, if not slightly surprised by their forceful insistence.

"Please, Narcissa," Hadrian smiled at her softly, "For all these years, you've been the closest person I've had to a mother. You raised me alongside Draco as though I was one of your own. If I can't even promise you this one thing to make you happy, what kind of man does than make me?"

"Hadrian," She closed her eyes and shook her head, "You don't have to do all of this. I've loved you like you were my own son, but any decent witch would have done the same in my position. You needed someone that cared for you."

Hadrian swallowed hard and grasped her hand in his own, staring at the elder witch with bright eyes. "I hope you don't intend to waive your kindness away under a shroud of mere obligation. Let us do this for you because with Lucius away and the current state of our world, you need someone who cares for you, Narcissa."

Narcissa stared at them shrewdly for a long moment before she nodded stiffly and they both broke out into a wide grin. "You two are certainly going to be the death of me," She sighed. "I can't believe I've been out-Slytherin-ed by my own sons."

Draco smirked, "You can't say you didn't raise us well." He noticed Daphne waving by the other side of the platform and he shoved his best friend in her direction, "Alright, go on, Riddle. Leave my Mother alone, now. I think there's another fair blonde in need of your attentions."

Hadrian rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his friend and he murmured his goodbyes before heading off to find Daphne's family. Though he had met Daphne's parents countless times before, he had never spent more than a few minutes with them alone. He spotted Daphne fairly easily in the crowd and he weaved his way through the people on the platform until he reached where she stood by her sister.

"Are you ready to go, Daphne?" He wrapped an arm around her waist, smoothly picking up her trunk before she could even reach for it. He pulled out the large bouquet of flowers he had bought for Daphne's mother before he noticed the blue-green eyes of Astoria watching him carefully. He smiled, "Astoria, you look well."

"I look more than well, you mean," The younger witch sniffed haughtily, studying her nails with disinterest. "What took you so long? You don't want to keep our parents waiting, do you? I hope you don't think flowers can fix this."

"Astoria," Daphne chastised, "Stop trying to scare him off."

"Did you know that our estate has a secret underground chamber that was built in the early forties?" Astoria wheedled him further, shoving her trunk into his hands and causing him to almost lose his balance. "It was built to keep our ancestors safe during the muggle war and it's completely untraceable by magic. We don't really have a use for it anymore, but it can always double as a dungeon," Her voice dropped to a hushed whisper, "Nobody would be able to hear you scream, even if they were right outside the door."

"How fascinating," Hadrian said dryly, picking up her trunk and tucking it into his side. "As charming as this entire conversation has been, I don't want to keep your parents waiting any longer. Come along, Tori."

Daphne hid a smirk as she noticed the put-out expression on Astoria's pixie-like features. She linked her arms with her sister and pulled her along, ignoring her quiet protests as they made their way to their parents standing on the opposite end of the platform. As soon as she spotted their parents, Daphne stepped forward and hurried to greet them properly.

Hadrian stood quietly behind her as Daphne spoke to her parents, taking the time to observe the two daunting figures standing proudly in front of him. Daphne's mother, Portia Greengrass, was a rather petite witch with sparkling green eyes and impossibly straight blonde hair. She seemed overjoyed to see her daughters and greeted them both with an excited hug when they approached, breaking all sorts of proper pureblood decorum.

Daphne's father, Cyrus Greengrass, was far more reserved than his wife. His eyes were a dark, unnerving blue and seemed identical to Daphne's own intense gaze. His sharp features remained impassive when he noticed their arrival, but Hadrian could've sworn there was a flicker of warmth that appeared when he affectionately pressed a quick kiss to his daughter's cheek.

"Mother, Father," Daphne nodded at them both, pulling Hadrian's hand into her own, "As I wrote to you earlier, this is Hadrian Riddle," Her eyes brightened, "My intended."

Hadrian stepped forward with a charming smile, presenting the bouquet of carefully selected rare flowers to Daphne's mother with a slight bow. "Lady Greengrass," He lightly brushed his lips over the dainty hand her mother offered him, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

He straightened back up and offered a hand to Daphne's father in greeting. "Lord Greengrass," He inclined his head respectfully, "Thank you for your kindness in hosting me for the holidays."

Daphne's father eyed him sharply for a short moment before he shook his hand without another word. What Cyrus Greengrass seemed to lack in enthusiasm was certainly made up for by the animated demeanor of his wife as she stared adoringly at the flowers Hadrian had given her.

"Oh Hadrian, how did you know I have an affinity towards these rarer classes?" Portia beamed, "These flowers are almost impossible to find on this entire continent!"

"Yes," Astoria narrowed her eyes at him, "How did you know?"

"I suppose it was just a lucky guess," Hadrian smirked, "Daphne tells me you personally tend to the gardens on your estate, and so I thought you would enjoy something other than the typical arrangement of roses."

"How thoughtful," Cyrus stared at him impassively, somehow managing to make his complimentary words sound like they were anything but. "Come along then, Portia, girls…. Mr. Riddle. We wouldn't want to spend all day at the station."

The Greengrass Estate [December 21st]

"Lady Greengrass, how do you get your roses to be so fragrant? I've never seen such beautiful flowers before."

Cyrus Greengrass curled his hand around the railing of the balcony, resisting the urge to openly sneer as he discreetly watched the young man in the gardens below charm circles around his unsuspecting wife.

The infamous Hadrian Riddle, He mused to himself. He honestly should've seen this coming.

His daughter had always been oddly close with the Riddle heir. Over the years he had been subjected to several long-winded discussions at the dinner table that always started with "Daddy, you will never guess what Hadrian did today" and seemed to drone on forever. Even her letters from Hogwarts would always mention that boy, at least once.

Eventually, however, Cyrus expected his eldest daughter would outgrow her childish crush. After all, when he was her age, he fancied himself in love with a new witch practically every other week. In the end, these things hardly mattered. Their society did not exactly accommodate for the silly notion of love.

He had hoped her interest in the young wizard was just another passing fancy. Though he had seen them together at many society functions in the past–and he grudgingly admitted they made quite the handsome pair–he had simply written it all off as a fleeting relationship that would never last outside of Hogwarts. He never thought her innocent infatuation with the boy would one day turn into something more serious.

He certainly hadn't expected for his daughter waltz off the train and introduce the tall wizard at her side as her intended. He had almost choked on his tea earlier that morning when Riddle had the audacity to formally request for her hand with that infuriatingly arrogant grin on his face.

While his wife had clapped her hands in joy and his younger daughter had simply smiled knowingly, he couldn't help but sputter in disbelief. His less-than-satisfied reaction did not escape the notice of Daphne, and she had quietly requested to speak with him in his study while her mother gave Hadrian a tour of the gardens.

It wasn't as though Riddle was a complete stranger, of course. On the contrary, Cyrus knew exactly who he was. He knew exactly what he was.

He kept his eyes trained on the young wizard as Portia escorted him through the gardens outside. The corners of his lips quirked up when he saw his wife nearly glow with happiness as Hadrian Riddle asked her question after question about her prized flowers. Cyrus would bet his entire fortune that the younger man had absolutely no interest in gardening magic, but he appreciated that he had made an effort to entertain Portia, at the very least.

Hadrian Riddle was something else entirely. Cyrus found it rather off-putting just how easily the wizard could put on such a compelling show. He often wondered what Riddle was hiding behind that easy politician smile. If the rumors about him were true –which, he suspected they were–there was an entire abyss of darkness beneath his seemingly pleasant façade.

Of all the wizards, He thought to himself with an imperceptible shake of his head.

"So," His eldest daughter spoke up, interrupting his train of thought, "I take it you don't approve, Father."

He turned back to face her slowly, walking back into the warmth of his study and setting his drink onto the desk in front of him. Her expression was carefully controlled, and he was struck by just how much she had grown up from the little girl who would beg him to feed the ducks with her by the pond.

"I think he's quite the charming wizard," He acknowledged with a tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"But?" She cocked her head to the side, unimpressed.

Cyrus swallowed hard as he recognized his own unnerving blue gaze reflected back at him through her unyielding stare. He absentmindedly tapped his fingers on his desk, "He's not quite appropriate."

"Why not?" Daphne inquired politely enough, though he could see her jaw clench lightly when she spoke.

He narrowed his eyes at his daughter, dropping the charade of pleasantness entirely, "I'm certain if you've decided to spend the rest of your life with this young man, you know precisely what my concerns are, Daphne. I know your mother and I didn't raise you to be this naïve, sweetheart."

She flinched at the sudden coldness of his words. "No," She began slowly, "You certainly did not."

"Surely you must know who he is, darling. You must know what he's done," Cyrus gritted his teeth together. "The things I've heard–" He sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head, in disbelief, "You can't possibly know all of this and still choose to stand beside him."

"And what if I did?" Daphne raised a delicate eyebrow, challenging him without so much as a tremble in her voice. "What if I knew of the blood on his hands and every last gruesome detail of his past? What if it only made me love him more?"

"Then you're a fool," He snorted, taking a long sip of his drink. He cleared his throat, "I had assumed you were mature enough to make your own decisions, but I can see now that is not the case. I'll be sending an owl to Cadmus Flint first thing in the evening to see if his son will have you after your little tryst with Riddle," He sneered, "Merlin knows even his son would make a better match for you than Hadrian Riddle."

Daphne peered up at him through her lashes and he stiffened as he saw a slow smile come across her pretty features. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Father."

"You can't let me do what?" He reared back, surprised that she would speak back to him so rudely. He raised a stern finger at her as he settled down in his leather chair, "Daphne, I will remind you that while you live in this house, you will follow my rules."

"Please," She laughed, impudently "I haven't lived in this house for over a year now."

"Is that so?" Cyrus scoffed, "Then what exactly do you call your humble abode? That torture-infested castle that Bellatrix Lestrange haunts?"

Daphne crossed her arms across her chest in defiance, "Why, Riddle Manor, of course."

"You mean to tell me," He closed his eyes, barely containing his frustration, "For the past two summers, you've been lying to your mother and I about your whereabouts? That you've been doing Merlin-knows-what with that-that half-blood!"

"I would watch your words very carefully, Father," She snapped. Her eyes flashed in righteous anger as she hissed, "You know better than to make an enemy of Hadrian Riddle."

Cyrus Greengrass swallowed hard and muttered, "I always thought I would have troubles with Astoria, but you? Never in my fifty years would I have expected you to disappoint me like this, Daphne," His eyes hardened, and he said firmly, "If you know what's best for this family, you will agree to break things off with Riddle. I'm sure the Flint boy will be more than grateful to have you as a bride."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "I'd advise you to stop planning to marry me off to Marcus Flint, of all people. Hadrian wouldn't be pleased if he heard you plotting to sell me off to that troll."

"I'm not selling you off," Cyrus barked. "This is how pureblood marriages are arranged. First, our families will come to an agreement and then–"

"Father," Daphne cut him off rather abruptly, "If you value your old friend Cadmus Flint, you would do well to never speak of this absurd idea again."

"And why not?" He pursed his lips into a thin line. "Am I to expect another one of your childish tantrums?"

"Of course not," Daphne tsked, "I'm not four years old anymore, Father. I'm simply trying to help you."

"How exactly–"

"Because if Hadrian even hears of your desperate little attempt to marry me off," Daphne smiled sweetly, "He will burn Flint Manor to the ground–with their entire noble line still inside."

Cyrus bristled, "You're barely sixteen Daphne! What kind of a father would let his daughter get caught up with a young man like that?" He rubbed his temples to stave off the headache he knew was coming, "This isn't a question about some silly teenage romance, it's about your own safety!"

"What do you mean by that?"

Cyrus closed his eyes for a brief moment and leaned back in his leather chair as he tried to collect his thoughts. He took a deep breath, and his tone was almost unbearably light as he began to speak, "In the past, our family has always kept out of such…disagreements. We would never side with the Potters or your idiotic Headmaster, of course, but we also refused to fight beside the Dark Lord in this war. I have sacrificed a great deal to ensure they never come close to our family or bring harm to any of my girls. We have stayed out of this madness, for the most part."

He opened his eyes to glare at his daughter accusingly, "Until now. I find out my daughter has been throwing herself into the danger I spent my entire damn life making sure we would avoid."

"I love him, Father," Daphne insisted, "You don't understand–"

"Daphne, my dear girl, don't you understand?" Cyrus huffed. "Think about what you're doing. If you become betrothed to Hadrian Riddle, you are publicly chaining yourself to him. If you go forward with this, you will only become a weakness of his. A burden. Men like Hadrian Riddle only seek to eliminate their weaknesses. He will leave you the second it cripples his decision making. He is not an ordinary young man, sweetheart. He's leading an entire dark faction into a war."

"I'm well aware, thank you," She sneered.

He watched her carefully from across the desk and clasped his hands atop the smooth mahogany surface. "Daphne, surely you remember the stories I used to read to you at night when you were growing up?"

She faltered at the abrupt change of subject. "Yes," She nodded slowly, "How could I forget?"

"Do you remember the story of Persephone?"

Daphne pursed her lips, "Why, of course."

Cyrus arched a brow and he recited with a mocking flourish, "The fair goddess Persephone was stolen from her home and tricked into eternal darkness and torment. Pretty jewels and even prettier words chained her to the throne in the Underworld and she was destined to have only other lost souls for company." He leaned forward in his seat, "Is that what you want, Daphne? Do you want to be trapped forever, my dear?"

His daughter sat in silence for a long moment before finally raising her head up to look at him with a dark look in her stormy blue eyes. Against his will, he felt himself shiver from the coldness in her gaze.

"I think you've heard the wrong version of the tale, Father," Daphne smiled, and it was positively chilling. "Persephone flourished in the Underworld. Hades didn't corrupt any more than she already was inside. You seem to have forgotten that she was a goddess in her own right."

She stood up from her seat and shook her head, her lips stretched into a mocking little grin as though she knew a secret he didn't. "You think he took her?" Daphne walked to the door with a laugh.

She reached over to pull open the door and Cyrus almost growled under his breath when the door swung aside to reveal the devil himself, Hadrian Riddle. The younger man looked rather confused by the hard look in his daughter's eyes and he frowned in concern.

"Daphne, are you–" He began, but was swiftly cut off as Daphne turned around abruptly to face her father.

"You think she didn't know what she was doing?" Daphne whispered, but her voice carried like a harsh echo in the cold study. "Let me tell you a little secret, Father. She laughed when she placed those seeds on her tongue."

When the owl knocked on her window incessantly later that day, Daphne Greengrass wasted no time in unclipping the small note that was pinned to its leg.

She ran her eyes over the list of names in front of her and before she could talk herself out of it, she reached for her quill and quickly scribbled one more name at the bottom of the list. She stared at the parchment for a long moment before she shook her head and sent the owl back with her reply.

He'd thank her for it someday.