A/N: Finally! I debated how to go about this chapter, since originally we get a glimpse of Draco's POV. I've decided to keep it strictly Hermione for now so I did some tweaking. Enjoy!
Chapter 22 - Malfoy Manor
It was the stiffness in her neck, the soreness in her lower back, that caused Hermione to stir. Distantly, she heard a door shut, the wood gently scraping against the floor. Slowly, she cracked open her eyes, slightly dazed. It took her a few moments to take in her surroundings—longer to understand what they meant.
Hermione was lying in a soft bed of green silk surrounded by silver threaded pillows. The room was large and drafty, nearly the size of her Common Room. There were several dark wardrobes and a large, black bordered mirror that hung on one of the emerald painted walls. And in the corner opposite the bed was a tall glass curio cabinet, showing off a set of dated Slytherin Quidditch Robes.
That's when it clicked into place. She felt the pit in her stomach drop.
Bloody brilliant, thought Hermione.
She sat up slowly, straining her muddled memory, unraveling the deep fog that seemed to cloud her mind. She shivered as she remembered snapping teeth, the chill of the wind, beasts too large to be wolves hunting her like prey.
Werewolves. A pack of werewolves—on the grounds of Hogwarts.
There was such blinding pain in her foot, pain that no longer existed, and there was…a hat? Yes, the Sorting hat.
From every angle possible, Hermione still could not understand how the hat came, and what the black orb-like object she had pulled out was. A portkey of sorts, perhaps? She made a mental note to research such objects and their powers when she arrived back at Hogwarts. She had asked the hat for help—and she had asked the orb to take her somewhere safe.
She closed her eyes. Of all the places in the world, why would she be taken here?
A knock at the door snapped Hermione from her thoughts. A small, vaguely familiar looking man came through the door, carrying a silver tea tray.
"Hello, Miss Granger," he said kindly, his voice soft and comforting. "My name is Alfred Baudelaire. I am the Head Butler here at Malfoy Manor. May I offer you a cup of tea?"
She had seen him in the carriage, hadn't she? Malfoy's carriage.
Malfoy Manor.
Hermione managed a nod.
The old man—Alfred—looked pleased, his blue eyes twinkling in an abundance of wrinkles. He set the tray on the bedside table and asked, "Sugar?"
"Two—" She cleared her throat. "Two cubes, please."
He smiled and added the sugar to her tea. Then he placed the delicate china on a small plate and handed it to Hermione. She sat up a little higher in the massive bed, fighting the urge to leap away from it and scratch her skin off. She noticed, then, that her clothes had been changed and she was now in a plain nightgown.
How mortifying.
"Thank you," she said finally, taking a sip. The tea was warm and rich, much better than Hagrid's. It was flavored with cinnamon and nutmeg, the spice warming her insides.
"You are most welcome. How are you feeling?" Alfred asked, taking a seat in the velvet armchair by her bed.
"Confused," she admitted bitterly. The feeling was unfamiliar to her.
"That is to be expected."
"My ankle," she said, as if that alone was a question.
"Healer Beckham tended to your wounds," said Alfred.
"Werewolves," she whispered. "Werewolves were on the grounds of Hogwarts."
Alfred looked troubled, but not because the information was new to him. The healer must have recognized the type of attack. He took a sip of tea from his own cup, settling into a comfortable silence.
The door clicked open and Malfoy strolled in, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked more tired than ever as he stopped just short of the bed. "Taking Snape's essay a bit to heart, are we?" His tone was less friendly than his words. "How did you manage to find a werewolf, Granger?"
"It was a pack."
"A pack of werewolves," he repeated flatly.
"I saw them from the window by Hagrid's so I went to warn him. But at the time, I didn't know what they were."
Alfred made to speak but Malfoy held up his hand to silence him. She scoffed at him having any type of power or control over another person.
"Let me get this straight. You went alone, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, at night…to warn Hagrid about unknown creatures lurking in the dark that turned out to be a pack of werewolves?" The way he spoke made Hermione feel incredibly stupid. "I would have expected you to forget your wand with your obvious stupidity, if it didn't drop from your hands after you appeared in my carriage."
She was furious. "Where is my wand?" He pulled it from his robes and she snatched it from his hands. "What else should I have done?" she demanded.
"I can think of a number of things."
"Why did you even help me?" she snapped.
"Alfred insisted," he said stiffly.
"I want a new room."
He crossed his arms. "Should you really be so demanding of your rescuer?"
Rescuer…such arrogance!
"I don't want to sleep in your bed," Hermione gritted out.
"As if I would grant you such honor," he sneered. "This is an old room, one I have not occupied in years."
That explained the bareness of the room, the dated Quidditch uniform.
"There are other rooms," she said.
"There are others that would have left you to die," he said coldly. Then he vanished from the room.
Hermione stared at the closed door, as if he had just walked out of it and would return any moment.
Alfred cleared his throat—she had nearly forgotten he was there. "Miss Granger," he said, "may I offer a warm lunch on the veranda?"
She was still fuming, but she managed a nod. Her arms and legs were stiff, in dire need of stretching. Alfred gestured to the veranda and then left the room with a tiny pop, apparating just like Malfoy had. Hermione took a deep breath and swung her legs over the bed. She hoped the healer had been the one to undress her.
Behind the emerald curtains that Alfred had pointed out were two large glass doors. Hermione pushed them open, revealing the vast, white grounds of Malfoy Manor.
The veranda was warm, despite the chilly weather outside. She guessed a shield of some sort covered the manor. Glancing down, she must have been four floors up. She leaned over the balcony, and saw with pure shock that Malfoy Manor was actually a castle. She gaped at the many windows and turrets, craning her neck to get a full view. The balcony overlooked the back of the manor and the many snow covered hills. It was beautiful, even if she would never admit it to Malfoy himself.
Various shades of golden light lit up the chamber. The light crept through the large windows and glazed the room with warmth. Tiny specs of gold landed on Hermione's face, causing her to wake. She squinted at the brightness, allowing her eyes to adjust to her environment. It only took a few seconds to register she was not in her dormitory, but still at Malfoy Manor. She blinked several times, trying to remember falling asleep. Hermione remembered vaguely of eating a creamy pot pie before resting comfortably in a warm chair on the veranda. Obviously someone had placed her back in the bed, and she drifted into a peaceful rest for the remainder of the evening.
Even more vaguely, she remembered Healer Beckham: an older woman with a stern voice and probing, bony fingers. The syrup she had given Hermione had made her sleepy and relaxed, a comforting bubble of warmth. It was wearing off now.
Hermione yawned, stretching her arms, and swung her feet over the bed. Her eyes searched for the door to the lavatory, when they landed on a large oil painting on one of the walls. It was of Malfoy, Lucius, and Narcissa.
Lucius sneered at Hermione, standing proudly with a hand placed gently on his wife's shoulder. Narcissa sat in front of Lucius, her hands crossed formally on her lap. She neither grimaced nor smiled. She simply looked at Hermione briefly before turning her attention elsewhere. Malfoy, of course, was smirking as he sat on his mother's right, his nose in the air with a face far too smug.
Well, that's the Malfoy's for you, Hermione thought with a snort.
The green of the walls seemed to mock her. The truth of whole situation took its toll on her mind. She could not believe she was actually in Malfoy's Manor—let alone, in one of his own old rooms. What would her friends say to that?
Her eyes continued to drift around the room, and she was quite surprised to see no signs of skulls, snakes, or anything else that was sinister in Malfoy's old room. For so long Hermione had subconsciously associated snakes with Malfoy, yet there was no trace of one here. In fact, Malfoy's room looked like any other room, except it was void of many personal touches and lavished with rich furnishings that surely no child would want or need.
There was a sudden, tiny pop! that caused Hermione to jump.
"At your service, miss!" said a tiny elf, bowing its nose so low it nearly touched the floor. Hermione stared, shocked and angry. So the Malfoy's replaced Dobby, had they? The elf stood proudly. "I is Ruby, miss. I is your designated house elf."
Hermione did not want to ruin the poor elf's morale so she forced her lips into a smile. "Hi Ruby," she said. "My name is Hermione Granger."
"Yes, Miss Granger miss," said the elf, her large blue eyes expanding to the size of tennis balls. "Master Malfoy has sent Ruby to help you, miss. How may Ruby help, miss?"
She made a mental note to jinx Malfoy, knowing full well he likely sent Ruby not as an act of kindness, but because he knew it would anger her. Still, Ruby was staring at her with such eagerness, that Hermione forced herself to say, "Could you show me the lavatory?"
"Master Malfoy says miss is to use the lavatory on this floor only, miss. Ruby already mopped the floors and prepared a bath, miss," said the elf, pointing to a large black door on the opposite side of the room that Hermione could have sworn was not there before. Ruby continued, "Master Malfoy says miss is to not go wandering or snooping and miss is to be moved after bathed. Ruby will show miss to her new room."
Hermione straightened a little. A new room? So there was an ounce of kindness in him after all. She glanced down at her nightgown.
"Ruby has provided miss with fresh clothes, miss," said Ruby. "In the lavatory."
"Thank you." Hermione smiled down at the elf. "You have been very kind and helpful."
Ruby's eyes welled with tears, and for a moment Hermione thought she had offended her. But the tiny elf's leathery lips parted into a smile and she disapparated.
Hermione went to the black door and pushed it open.
The lavatory was nearly the size of their shared one in Hogwarts. Completely black marbled with accents of silver snakes. Hermione fought back a grin: she finally found some snakes. Her eyes took in the enormous bath, filled with various shades of pink bubbles. She quickly undressed and happily plunged into the warm, soapy bath, ignoring the silver serpents.
After bathing, Hermione changed into a pair of slacks and emerald cardigan that was set out for her. She was somewhat surprised they actually fit. As Hermione debated how to call Ruby—not wanting to shout her name like a Pureblood would—a knock at the door interrupted her internal struggle.
"Who is it?" Hermione called, attempting to tame the wild jungle that was her hair with her fingers.
"Who do you think it is?"
She groaned. "What do you want?"
"It's my manor. I don't have to want anything."
Hermione waited. If only she had brought her wand in here…
Malfoy sighed. "You missed breakfast."
"And?"
"And lunch is now served."
Hermione scowled and ripped her fingers free, turning to glare at the closed door. "By house elves?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Because they are not property for you to mistreat!"
"Actually—"
"There is no 'actually!'" Hermione snapped.
"Look," snarled Malfoy, all politeness gone, "do you want to starve or not?"
"Of course not!"
"Then...let's go."
She paused. "Are you inviting me to lunch—why you?"
He paused, too. "Yes," he finally said with enormous effort.
"Fine," she said. "I'm almost finished." He made an irritated sound from behind the door. She made sure to take an extra long time with her hair.
Malfoy was waiting just outside the room. She followed him down a long corridor lined with lit sconces and filled with moving pictures. Some of the portraits scowled at the two of them; others merely whispered, "Who's that?" or "Soddy appearance for a Malfoy."
She said nothing, but couldn't hide her scowling at the welcoming occupants of the Malfoy Manor portraits.
She nearly got lost following Malfoy through the castle of a home. There were many corridors and windows, reminding Hermione of Hogwarts. The inside was much more pleasant than she would have imagined, slightly warm for winter. Various chandeliers hung throughout the corridors that seemed to light up the manor, contrasting nicely with the rich dark oak of the walls. Tall pillars cascaded from the ceiling, and a dark emerald rug lined the marbled floors.
After what felt like the thousandth turn and many stairs later, Malfoy opened a set of double doors to reveal a large dining room. The room was simple: paneled mint green walls with dark mahogany furnishes. The table was set for twenty, but only two were set with food.
Hermione walked with Malfoy and sat in the chair opposite him. She stared at the piping hot roast, the buttered rolls, the roasted vegetables and boat of gravy.
"It's not poisoned," said Malfoy, scooping roast beef onto his gold rimmed plate.
"How many house elves prepared this meal," she said calmly. It was a reprimand more than a question.
"I don't know," he said. "We have about fifty."
"FIFTY?" Hermione shouted, barely able to sit still in her chair. She breathed hard, forcing herself to remember it was the prat sitting across from her that helped her survive.
"Granger, I don't have neither the time nor desire to discuss house elf rights with you," he said, pouring himself a goblet of what looked like mead. "I have a more pressing subject. How did you apparate into my carriage? Clearly, I need more protection on it."
Hermione was distracted from house elves by his question. "I don't know," she admitted. "I didn't apparate."
"Then how did you get inside?"
"I don't know," she repeated, gritting out the words.
He looked as annoyed as she felt as he waved a hand in her direction. "Just start from the beginning."
Hermione recounted the story: How she was chased by the wolves, and how they nearly had her trapped. She thought of the next part of the story—of the Sorting hat—and paused. Would he think she was crazy? Was she crazy?
She shook her head. "And then, there was this large, black wolf—"
"How large?" Malfoy asked, his voice sharp. He suddenly looked more interested than he had the entire time she had been speaking.
"Twice the size of the others," she said wearily. "It stood on two legs, like Prof—like a werewolf might."
Malfoy's eyes flashed and his fingers tightened around the goblet.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," he said, his jaw clenching. He forced down a long drink and stared into the crackling fire. "Go on."
"Well," she said, a little confused by his reaction, "I tried to cast a spell again but I couldn't. After the wolf cut my foot I got so dizzy and lost focus. I couldn't. Couldn't do it." She glanced down, biting down the shame.
"You couldn't do it because it was a werewolf attack, Granger. Honestly, don't you read?"
Hermione met his gaze levelly. "If you're implying—"
"I'm not implying anything. Werewolf claws are serrated, which allows the blood to seep out more quickly when they penetrate human flesh. That's why you couldn't cast a spell. The loss of blood took over your ability to focus and your strength."
Hermione reached out and downed nearly half her goblet. "I knew that," she said lightly.
He almost smiled. "Of course you did."
She almost returned the gesture.
"Then what happened?" he asked. He had pushed his plate away, and only now began eating again.
Hermione thought, suddenly, of her friends. Telling this story to Harry or Ron would have been all too familiar. She imagined their reactions.
"Werewolves? How many were there? I wonder why they were here….We need to tell Dumbledore. Hermione, why would you go after them alone? You could have been killed." Yes, that would be Harry. Though she was pretty sure he would have done the same thing as her. Ron on the other hand would have reacted differently. "Are you mad? What kind of lunatic goes after creatures in the middle of the night? Bloody hell, we know you're brilliant but that's just stupid. You don't think…you-know-who sent them, do you?"
But Harry and Ron weren't here. Malfoy was the only ear here to listen. She decided to throw caution to the wind and tell him everything.
"Don't laugh," she warned, and before he could, she went on, "I was thinking—pleading in my head—for help. And suddenly I felt a burst of wind, and the Sorting hat was lying on the ground."
She took another drink, not wanting to see his reaction.
After a short pause, Hermione heard the dining room swing open, as Alfred approached. His face was lined with worry as he dabbed his sweaty forehead lightly with a handkerchief. He walked casually to Malfoy, whispered something in his ear, and then took his place near the fireplace. He offered Hermione a polite smile.
Malfoy pursed his lips, looking momentarily deep in thought, before turning his attention back to her. "The Hogwarts sorting hat," he repeated, clearly doubtful.
"Yes. Then I remembered Harry in the Chamber of Secrets—"
"Harry Potter, I presume?" interrupted Alfred, a tiny smile forming on his lips.
"Yes, he's one of my best friends." Malfoy rolled his eyes. "When he was in the Chamber of Secrets facing the basilisk, he asked for help and the sorting hat appeared. Harry reached inside the hat, and pulled out the sword from Godric Gryffindor."
Malfoy glanced up sharply, surprise clear on his face. Clearly, he had not been informed of the details that took place in their second year. Alfred looked amazed, impressed even. Hermione suddenly remembered something she had been longing to ask.
"Did you know?" she asked, her voice hard.
"Did I know what?"
"About the diary—when your father put it into Ginny's cauldron."
Hermione stared at him, unblinking, waiting for an answer.
"Did you know?" she repeated, soft and quiet.
The event might have been years ago, but Hermione had suffered greatly during her second year. She had been petrified by the basilisk itself.
He didn't want to answer. That much she could tell.
"Yes," he said finally, "and no."
"Explain," she gritted.
Malfoy stared at her. "No."
"I was petrified from the basilisk," she said, her voice laced with emotion she could no longer hide. "I was lucky to live. I think I deserve the truth."
Malfoy's eyes seemed to lose some of their steel. "My father didn't tell me he slipped Ginny the diary until after the matter. Once I owled him after the Chamber was opened, he simply told me not to worry. I tried to figure out the Heir of Slytherin, but obviously had no luck."
Hermione wasn't sure why she did it, but her eyes slid past the Slytherin and landed on Alfred. He gave a small, conformational nod in agreement.
She, too, nodded in acceptance.
"Potter," he said, prompting her to go on.
She shook her head to clear it. "So, remembering Harry, I reached into the hat. I pulled out…well, it looked like a dark glass ball or something—an orb, mind you. I had no idea what it was or what to do with it…" her words faded. She had no idea how to tell the next part.
"And?" Malfoy pressed.
She could just spit the words out. Maybe he wouldn't catch them. No, he'd ask her to repeat herself, and that would somehow make it worse. Nonchalance. That's what she'd go for.
"I asked it to take me somewhere safe," she said with a shrug. With some effort, she scooped roasted potatoes onto her plate and shoveled them into her mouth. Malfoy just stared at her.
"And it brought you to Master Malfoy's carriage?" Alfred asked hesitantly.
"Immediately," she confirmed.
Malfoy held up a hand. "Didn't you say you were attacked at night? I left Hogwarts in the morning."
"Yes—oh Merlin!" She slapped a hand to her forehead in sudden realization. "How stupid of me! I didn't notice at the time, but it was daytime when I arrived in your carriage, wasn't it?" It had been quite late when she was in the forest, yet the warp from the woods to the carriage felt like mere seconds.
"How extraordinary," said Alfred, his eyes bright.
"Alfred, you're dismissed," Malfoy snapped at him. "I believe there are some letters that need tending to."
"Of course, Master Malfoy." The old man gave a small bow and disapparated.
"You are unbearably rude," said Hermione, glowering at him.
"And you're unbearably curious." His words carried little bite, however, as he leaned forward and massaged his temples. She was about to press him, but thought better of it. If he could show her kindness, she could return it.
They finished lunch mostly in silence, and when he walked her back to her room—her new room—he offered her a slight incline of his head. She watched him turn and go, and just as he was about to turn the corridor, she called after him.
"And Malfoy?" He paused, glancing slightly over his shoulder. "Thank you."
For the change of room, for not letting her die.
It was so quiet for so long she feared he hadn't heard her, but after a long moment his words carried back to her as he said, "You're welcome, Granger."
A/N: Interestingly enough, the original chapter ends in a big fight. But as I was writing/editing, it didn't feel natural. I felt like I was forcing it to happen. So, I didn't. :D Hope you enjoyed it! Review responses to come.
Stina686: "I'm enjoying the gradual changes in Draco and Hermonie, unlike most stories. I've always felt it's more plausible; and you're doing a great job of it. " - Thank you! They're such enemies that I think gradual is the most realistic.
ann: "OMGGG Pls let there be more angst" - Lol there will be LOTS more angst coming your way. :P
dreamer: "I'd prefer draco's pov in a bonus scheme so it'll be like a summarise from the first chapter." - Yes, his POV will be a bonus. I post all my bonus's and one shots in my fic Rubik's Cube, so I'll likely put it there when I finish this story.