A/N: So kind of crazy but I was looking at my outline and saw that there were about ten chapters left, like, WOW! I can't believe the story is over halfway through. There is so much more to tell in the next few chapters. Now the action will be picking up. If I focused on this story alone, I could probably finish it in two and a half months? But then what about AUE! To say nothing of my other WIP's and two plunnies that are just begging to be written. I'm torn and have been focusing on two at a time, but I'm trying to find more writing time C: Shout out to Camp Nano 2017 chat for helping me along! I love writing with so many lovely and talented writers. I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's so far the longest that I've written for Shipwrecked so maybe that will make up for the update delay? Thanks to everyone that has been encouraging me along the way with your follows, favorites, reviews, and pm's!

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~oOo*oOo~

"Through Muggle means?" The question was phrased with a hint of doubt mingled in the words.

Draco hovered lightly in his chair - the picture of ease - the picture of someone who had nothing to hide. "Yes, Excellency. I was forced to resort to more primitive ways in my efforts to survive."

King Riddle slanted his eyes over to assess Draco intently. "Do you not possess even a lick of wandless magic?"

In the past, Draco may have bristled over such a question, but today he found it easy to swallow his pride. "I confess, at first my wandless magic was non-existent, but after days spent on the beach—."

"—Two and a half months," came the interruption.

"Yes, Excellency. During that time I've been able to learn certain things, small charms and such. An Incendio comes in handy out there. A binding charm...a cutting hex...it doesn't work everytime, but I was able to perform some magic."

The King's eyebrows rose in carefully erected approval. "How charming." He sat back in the oversized chair, obsidian eyes never leaving Draco's face. "And how did you manage to pull yourself from the wreckage?"

Draco swallowed discreetly as he prepared to launch into his carefully-crafted story, the one he had lay awake thinking about. "I was drowning...I came up sputtering for air but there was nothing to hold on to. I just saw the sail of my ship sinking quite a distance away, Potter's ship even further. There were small parts of the vessel floating in the water, but nothing big enough to hold onto. I struggled for a good hour before I saw it. There was a float...a door to the lower chambers that could serve as a raft...one of the Muggle prisoners was lying on it, but I found it did not sink when I climbed on."

"Why did you not just push them into the water?"

"I would have, should I have needed to, should I have had the strength, but by the time I came to the next morning, there was already land in sight."

"I see. So you kept the Muggle to serve you?"

Draco nodded. "I put her in her proper place. And this one could cook and gather supplies which I found useful."

King Riddle never missed a beat. "Comely?"

Alarm bells rang in Draco's head. If he were to simply deny her allure altogether, that would probably incite the King's suspicion more. It would be better for him and for her if he admitted that he'd succumbed to the temptation of having a warm-bodied woman in his figurative bed. He was young and virile, it would be suspicious if he hadn't have taken advantage of the situation. It was a social faux-pas to do such a thing, but not uncommon for Pureblood men to engage in sexual activities with their Muggle servants. "Passable, Excellency."

The King smiled widely, displaying perfect rows of white teeth. "I would like to see for myself...assess all that you've said, routine—of course, if you're not opposed to it?" He'd phrased the question delicately, but Draco knew it was more of a demand than an actual request.

"Of course, Your Highness."

This had been what Draco had prepared for. He knew ever since landing back on British shores that he would need to present his mind in a show of good faith. Draco was a natural Occlumens, yet traditional Occlumency would not be what saved him, but rather a variation of it.

The King did not bother with raising his wand, he instead looked him straight in the eyes, the intensity of his gaze doubling in an alarming sort of way. Draco forced his body relaxed and did not tear his eyes away even though he wished badly to. When the potent curse hit him, it was not as brutal as Draco had expected it to be, but rather executed with careful precision. Draco wanted desperately to shut his mind down and away from the probing and foreign presence sifting through his brain, but he was careful to remain compliant. He let the King select memory after memory, flicking through them like the pages of a book. Though it seemed to the King that he was the one in control, it was Draco that decided just which memories to bring to the surface.

He only called upon memories that were non-implicating. Mostly dull activities, daily chores, and perhaps snide comments from the beginning of his and Hermione's time together. When King Riddle grew more insistent in his searchings, Draco called forth any memories that could be construed as him acting cruel towards Hermione. When the King seemed to grow bored with this and continued to sift through the images with single-minded focus, Draco gave him what he was looking for—times where he and Hermione were engaged in intimate activities—but he was careful to conceal anything that could be viewed as tender and only showed the times where he was at his most intense. It was easy to allow the King to see their rescue, as him and Hermione had fallen into a performance for his father anyway.

Draco resisted the urge to gasp for air when the King finally receded from his mind. But when he saw the King, dark eyes boring into him with a frightening gleam that hadn't been there before, Draco grew wary once more. What had he seen? Draco was so careful to conceal anything that implicated him or Hermione. There was no magic...no conversations...he had shut it all down, certainly everything philosophical and anything could be construed as kind.

The King continued to stare him down and it was all Draco could do to keep from grabbing his wand or bolting from the room altogether. A deep, unsettling feeling formed in the pit of his stomach and he grew more nauseous by the moment.

"The girl," King Riddle said in a tone that could almost be described as haunting, "you respected her. She was not just a nameless Muggle to you?"

Raw, terror rang through him at the King's words. It was everything Draco could do to keep from retching all over the polished wooden table. Instead, he forced a laugh up his throat. It was dark and chilling to his ears, slightly grating, but the best he could manage. "Respect? I'm not sure I would go that far. She wasn't nameless to me, I will admit. She was my only companion and therefore our relationship may have been closer than your average master and slave, but," he chuckled once more, despite the fear that gripped him, "now I am home, and I have real people to consort with."

The King steepled his fingers under his chin with an expression that could only be described as pensive. "She seemed...different. Not like the others, more aware."

Fuck. Draco's pulse pounded at his temples as he tried to rein in the alarm that flared hotly inside his chest. "She is slightly different, but if anything it makes her a more competent slave. She can anticipate what I need next, be it due to her being slightly more intelligent, I'm not sure...but it works in my favor."

What had the King seen? Had he seen Hermione through Draco's eyes, through rose-colored lenses Draco now saw her through, or was the King coming to the conclusion that Hermione was special on his own? Draco wasn't sure, but he didn't like it. He thought it was he that was supposed to be on trial here, and not that Hermione would be coming in the equation.

Time seemed to stretch impossibly long, and Draco became aware of every second before the King finally - blessedly - broke the silence.

He let out a raucous laugh. "Draco, it seems as though you had quite the wild time - an adventure - and one I must admit I am a bit envious of."

Relief flooded through Draco at the realization the King was dropping the subject of Hermione...for now. Was it possible King Riddle bought what Draco was trying to sell? Or was the stealthy royal simply biding his time? Draco couldn't be sure, but he would not let his guard down.

"That being said, I think you will agree—you've had quite enough time to sow your oats, to galavant around the world following the beat of your own tune—it's time you focus your energies elsewhere."

He didn't bother reminding the King that his 'gallivanting' had proved quite the lucrative endeavor for the Crown. Draco had expected this - had even hoped for - this Draco could deal with. "Absolutely, Excellency. I have skirted my duties for far too long and am ready to offer my services to the crown, in any capacity you see fit."

The King smiled broadly at him. "Very good. I was hoping you would come to such an epiphany." King Riddle got up from his chair and began pacing around the opulent chambers. "I would like for you to take up the post of Chancellor. Your grandfather has held the position for long enough, and it is time that he passed it to someone younger. I hope you will not object?"

"Not at all, Excellency," Draco answered smoothly, recovering for the moment. He could panic later when he was away from prying eyes over his earlier slip.

"Wonderful. As it happens, I have a mission in mind. I have still to meet with several people, but I feared your dear father would not be fit to handle the task."

The King pressed his lips in a frown, carefully erected worry marring his forehead. Draco didn't buy the act for a second and wondered at his jaded outlook where the King was concerned. No doubt it was Hermione's words influencing him. They screamed truth and he was even more wary of Riddle than ever before. He had no doubt that the King would have forced his father on whatever mission without a second thought.

"You'll be happy to know you'll be reunited with your friends - Zabini and Nott - who have recovered from their near death experience and are fit to rejoin you. You may report to Macnair tomorrow on the details, but for now, I wish for you to enjoy the Solstice activities. Your parents our hosting the first of the parties tonight, are they not?"

"Winter Solstice Ball, Excellency, and dinner the following evening."

"Wonderful. I'm sure our paths will cross."

Draco wasn't sure if it was a warning or a threat. He gladly retreated from the King's chambers and made his way through the court and the exit. On his way out, he saw a markedly gruffer looking Thorfinn Rowle who may have greeted him when he passed, but Draco was not sure if he had returned the greeting, far too focused as he was on determining what mission the King had sent him on, and if the mission would interfere with Draco's own plans.

~oOo*oOo~

The luxurious Chesterfield sofa was a sanctuary compared to the tiny vessel he had magically forced across the sea in record time.

Thorfinn hadn't slept in five days, and was almost delusional by the time he had made it back to London. He'd had no choice but to crash in a flat above the Leaky Cauldron before he could so much as drag himself to Rowle manor. He'd slept for twenty-four hours and hadn't even awoke to take a piss.

He was tired and drained.

But if he were to sleep aboard the ship, the unfavorable winds would have floated the vessel off course. He'd had no choice but to stay awake and magically cut through the winds to stay on the course he needed to be. It had drained him so irrevocably, he'd been concerned he may have lost some of his magic permanently. It was a silly thought, of course, but he was running on nothing but an Enervate to keep him awake, and the false energy burned through him quickly.

By the time he returned home and reunited with his mother, she was so concerned about him meeting with the King right away, he barely had time to shower, forget shaving, and was compelled to return to Court looking about as exhausted as he felt. He hadn't caught up on sleep by half, and worried he would not even be able to mutter a quick Accio, let alone do the complicated magic required of a Praetor. What was more, he'd yet to reunite with his intended...until now.

What would Daphne say when she found out the news? She was a proper-Pureblood lady of good standing and that she would be forced into this horror Thorfinn had been sure he would never willingly return to, was enough to cause his throat to fill with bile.

She would hate him for it.

Thorfinn did not know her so well, despite being in the same house at school. The two were separated by four years and he'd only just begun to see her as the woman - the witch - she had so recently become. She was nineteen and freshly out of Hogwarts, and if she hadn't performed so well in Ancient Runes, he was sure the King would never have selected her.

The King.

Anger threaded through him at the thought of King Riddle. He'd tried to suppress it before, tried to dismiss it as quickly as it entered his mind, but he realized more than ever that he truly hated the King. It was all he'd been able to do, with his mind so battered and abused, to keep from letting the King see his true feelings when he ripped through his mind.

The King saw everything that Thorfinn had endured.

The memory of the stench of death hung heavily in the air, but the only thing Thorfinn was able to register on the King's face as he pulled out of his mind was a certain longing, a greedy gleam that hadn't been there before. It was alive and palpable before the King's face transformed into bored indifference, and then into mock pity.

"I'm sorry for what you had to go through. It will be different this time."

This time? So he was returning? And how soon would he be required to?

"I see now that I must send the best and only the best. As Praetor, I will befit you with amulets for every member of your team." The greedy look mingled with fierce determination returned briefly, disappearing as soon as Thorfinn saw it. "I'll send Macnair to Azkaban to procure them immediately. Everyone will have them if that's what it takes...even if I must lay waste to all the Mudbloods to accomplish this."

The return of cold indifference. The King's gaze was hard and calculating.

Thorfinn could not even bring himself to beg for time, or plead for rest. He knew it would be senseless to do so anyway.

"You need to bring me that which is mine."

"Lord Rowle!"

Thorfinn was jolted from his musings by the sound of that musical voice. He hauled himself up from his seat, but felt like he'd been hit with a Daphne-shaped bludger and was forced down immediately. Her scent assaulted him - floral and fresh - he breathed her in deeply. His hands found soft, feminine curves and sought purchase in them, holding her tightly to him as she held him fiercely, her slim arms wrapping around his neck.

"Daphne," he breathed, saying her given name in a very ungentlemanly fashion.

"Thorfinn," she ventured tremulously.

The sound of his name on her lips called forth an all new sort of heat that had nothing to do with anger. He buried his face in her hair, unable to get enough of her scent. He'd only smelled, ate, and drank salt for days and Daphne currently was the only cure to be rid of the wretched taste.

She was seated on his lap, her soft curves melding to his hard ridges, and Thorfinn could hardly focus. Not on the prospect of her mother returning, or of the heavy news he would need to deliver.

There was only Daphne, his sweet witch, and he realized he needed her like he needed air to breathe.

She was nuzzling his neck, threading her fingers through his shaggy hair, apparently unconcerned with the course growth on his cheeks that must be scratching her. The knowledge that she had waited for him, that she was excited for his return, made his heart sing—before he was quickly reminded of reality.

He dug his fingers into her hips, and with tremendous willpower, lifted her off of him. "Daphne." He looked away, unable to break the news whilst he stared into depthless golden eyes. "Lady Greengrass, I must apologize for my actions."

"You didn't do anything," she stressed. "I'm so happy to see you, please…" She reached for him again, but he stepped away.

"I've just come from the King, and I need to speak to you."

She grabbed his forearm earnestly, her fingers tightening like a vice. "Come to my room, we will speak about it there." She didn't wait for confirmation that he would obey, but rather tugged him insistently towards the stairs and up the spiral staircase. "Whatever it is," she said in a hushed whisper. "You mustn't worry about telling me—I won't be angry."

He felt something suspiciously like hope begin to well in his chest. Thorfinn let her lead him, helpless to deny the witch. He was beginning to think there was far more to Daphne Greengrass than he had first imagined. Not only was she beautiful, but there was a fierce spark of determination he hadn't noticed before. Perhaps she was stronger than she looked.

She quickly and deftly cast a Muffliato and Colloportus on the door she pulled him through and then spun to face him. "What news do you bring?"

Daphne was a vision.

Flushed from running up the stairs, her cheeks were stained pink and her chest was heaving in short and shallow pants. Her gown wasn't as large and puffed out as some witches preferred theirs to be. Hers was simple and form fitting, accentuating her natural curves. Her hair was free of pins and hung loosely around her shoulders, framing her heart shaped face. Blue eyes collided with golden brown ones, and he couldn't help the words that tumbled from his mouth.

He told her everything.

From the start of the doomed mission, to his impossible trip back home, to the meeting with the King and his new mission. She waited patiently, nodding in understanding from time to time. She even sat him gently on the cedar chest that sat at the foot of her bed. It was so easy to speak to Daphne, there was only warmth and compassion in her eyes. When he was finished, he half expected her to panic, even though she had not displayed any characteristics of being the panicking sort—she was so different from the witches he knew!

"It's all right, Thorfinn." She placed a hand on his shoulder, sliding minutely closer. "I don't mind, truly."

Her smile took him so off guard, he found himself gaping at her.

"You're tired, and you need to rest," she continued, concern flickering through her golden orbs. "Don't worry about the mission now. There is still time."

"But haven't you heard what I've said? You've been summoned to join me. I could care less about the others, but you - a female - it's completely wrong."

"It's not wrong," she declared hotly. "An answer to my prayers, really. Sweet Morgana, but I begged day and night for something like this. Really Thorfinn, I couldn't be happier. Do you really think I wish to stay at home? I studied so hard in school because learning is important to me. I like figuring out problems and I want to help you."

Surprise flooded his features. Had he really been so lucky to have been placed with Daphne? How truly fortuitous. She was so headstrong and brave, something he had not known about her before. All the more reason to protect her.

"I worry about the amulets." She sat back, staring off into space. "Did you know they were encased with power taken from Mudbloods? I—."

Thorfinn placed a finger to her lips, despite the charms placed on the room. "You mustn't say such things aloud. It's not safe, it never is."

"All right." She sidled even closer to him, and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "Just tell me how I can help and I will."

"I think you're right. I need to rest. Just to clear my head a bit."

"There's a party tonight...at the Malfoys."

She raised her head and drew up to her knees, before reaching her fingers to tentatively stroke his neck. Gods, her fingers are magical.

"My sister is already there." She threaded one hand through his hair and scratched at his scalp whilst the other continued to knead the tense flesh at his neck, coaxing it to the side. "We don't have to go. We can stay here."

She leaned her head down, brushing it against his cheek, and he couldn't help turning to kiss her fully. She happily opened up to him and it wasn't long before she had maneuvered onto his lap once more. Thorfinn needed her. She knew of his troubles and she accepted his mistakes. She was perfect for him. He would take care of her, and he wouldn't push her away again.

And if their kiss escalated, he didn't stop it.

And if they shut the rest of the world out and stayed in each other's arms, they would never tell anyone.

He slept soundly that night, and with fledging hope building in his heart. With Daphne by his side, perhaps there was a chance of success after all.

~oOo*oOo~

Hermione hated it.

She hated all of it.

Perhaps it was a combination of being treated worse than a non-sentient creature, or as if she were a part of the furniture, but she could not bring herself to like anything about Malfoy Manor, regardless of the gorgeous decorations that had been put up for Winter Solstice.

The season was upon them and it was impossible not to notice.

Hermione did not want to notice the trees that had seemed to sprout up inside the manor. Who cared if they were adorned with faery lights and hovering little white flowers? The vines that curled along the stairwells were difficult to clean around. Once she was finished with that task, there was the ballroom to contend with. The well-lit and normally elegant room was transformed into something akin to whimsical. It was as if a forest were edging the room, and lining that were tables with fancy place settings and magical clusters of floating white roses.

The green Persian rug in the entryway had been vanished and Hermione had been commissioned the task of scrubbing and polishing the worn wood to an impossible bright sheen. Music from the enchanted harp floated to her ears as she worked, along with the sweet smell of air infused with incense. She didn't want that—she longed for the smell of natural incensed air...of wild flowers and the fresh sea breeze. It was stifling in the manor, and it didn't improve with the arrival of several haughty Purebloods who seemed to require constant attention. She counted herself fortunate that she was not one of the ones tending to them. How could she possibly feign knowing how to dress them? She wasn't apart of their world and had no clue what to do with so many corset strings, jewels, and ribbons. She was happily made busy doing other chores, and was not one of the ones assigned to the guests - blessedly - but she still grimaced whenever she heard them shouting orders.

Or whenever her mistress shouted orders.

It was worth noting that Lady Malfoy worked about just as hard as the rest of them. Perhaps she was not on the floor scrubbing, or teetering on ledges to clean bannisters, but she was busy casting all the decorating charms herself and - begrudgingly - doing a brilliant job of it. Hermione could tell it was taxing on the witch. When she looked through the strands of hair that had escaped her tightly wound bun, she saw Lady Malfoy wiping the perspiration on her brow with a handkerchief. It was clear the Malfoys had once had money, maybe not now as most of the things Hermione saw weren't new and were rather archaic, but they had once and Lady Malfoy was doing her best to keep the house and her treasured things immaculate.

What she lacked in tangible things, she made up for with her magical abilities. You would never know the state of the silverware or the fine china because Lady Malfoy was constantly mending them, seemingly having a charm for everything. Hermione would curiously watch Draco's mother when she wasn't looking and try to determine what charms she was using, but she never spoke them aloud.

The other servants would not be shown up by the Lady of the house and worked just as diligently. It was thanks to that alone that the manor had been transformed to look so stunning, if one called it that—Hermione preferred the term wasteful. For certainly all of the food that was being prepared in the kitchens would not possibly be consumed tonight. Hermione wasn't sure how the Malfoys could afford it. She'd heard Lord Malfoy complaining about his coffers and the elder Lord Malfoy commenting on the hit the Malfoy vault was taking. She surmised rather quickly that the King kept his subjects wanting.

Subjects that had everything grew lax, but ones who were denied would work harder for him. It was a genius tactic, really, but Hermione had to wonder why no one else had figured it out. She'd always been aware of the state of things living at the Hornby Manor, and had to admit the Malfoys did have more, but it was still obvious to her that the taxes they paid were constantly being raised, and it was becoming difficult for Purebloods everywhere to afford their expensive lifestyles.

Hours later, the preparations were finally finished. Hermione wondered if that meant she would have the night off? The other servants were careful not to place her in the front of the house and for that she was grateful. They treated her oddly, with an almost healthy wariness, as if they faulted her for being apparently favored by the youngest Malfoy. Hermione paid them no mind, instead focusing her attentions on her duties and proving her worth that way. She was so clearly not at home here. She didn't know how to be a servant anymore and even if she were there as a free witch, she wouldn't know how to converse with people at such an extravagant affair. She preferred wide open spaces where she could be wild and free, so the sooner she could be done with her duties and pretend she was anywhere but here, the better.

Anything she could do to get the blasted day over with.

Hermione was not so blind that she didn't recognize the source of her uncharacteristic hate and general disagreeableness. She was only here to bide her time. Draco had been gone all day - luckily for him - and Hermione could only hope he'd discovered information useful to them. That coupled with the atrocious guests who were now teeming into the house and Hermione had reached the end of her rope. Nagging and very unwelcome thoughts had been creeping in her mind all day, spurred on by the constant chores and beckonings from her superiors. How could she ever have thought she could be treated as an equal among these people? It was so glaringly obvious that such a thing would never happen. In this world, her only use was of that as a slave. All her life she had been made to feel - made to believe - she was beneath everyone, and she was definitely starting to feel that way now. The strength and power she had felt on the island seemed to have been left there, and right now she was feeling like nothing more than a lowly servant. By day's end, she was ready to slink back to her quarters where she belonged and hopefully not be summoned until clean up duty the following day.

She was making her way to the cellar when a renegade cluster of flutterbies collided with her, and became rather abruptly tangled in her mess of a bun. She promptly swatted at the magical creatures, her anger brimming to the surface as she wanted nothing more than to magic the pests away.

"Damned insects," she muttered under her breath as she felt them digging into her hair, as if her bun really was some sort of nest. "Get off of me."

The bugs did not listen, and she half wondered if she would have to endure them the entire evening, when she was suddenly happened upon by the eldest Malfoy, the one she'd dubbed The Kind One.

"Oh dear me," said the old man. "Let me help you with that, child." He pointed his hornbeam wand straight at her head and Hermione resisted the urge to flinch, even knowing that he was not usually known for his cruelty. "Evanesco."

The flutterbies abruptly vanished off of her head and she was gratefully free once more. "Thank you, my Lord." She curtseyed demurely.

Instead of dismissing her right away, he chuckled and Hermione glanced at him with widened eyes. After feeling borderline invisible for several days, it was odd to be noticed and spoken to as if she were someone worthy of being conversed with.

"You'll have to pardon my daughter in law's penchant for pesky decorative charms," he told her kindly. "She doesn't seem to realize how annoying they can be."

"It's no trouble, my Lord." Hermione shuffled her feet nervously, wishing the man would simply beck her to do something or let her be, rather than staring at her as if she were some interesting puzzle.

"You know," he said as if he had all day to converse with her. "Now that the party is starting, you can probably escape away to the gardens—just for a little bit—of course. No one would miss you, and it is quite lovely out there."

Hermione's face burst into shock, and the elder Malfoy merely chuckled in response before walking off towards the ballroom, a knowing glint in his eye. The man was strange to be sure. She often caught him looking her way, but as much as her mind told her to watch out for him, her heart said he was harmless, and her heart rarely led her astray. Truthfully, Hermione wanted nothing more but to get some fresh air. She was tired of being cooped up inside all day and the cellar was the last place she wanted to be.

Glancing left and right, she stepped towards the back exit and walked purposefully towards the gardens. The interior was not the only faction of the manor to undergo a transformation, the gardens were pristine and also lit by strategically placed faery lights. The trees and hedges were outlined by the golden glow and beyond that was a brightly lit pond, sparkling an impossible shade of blue. Hermione ducked behind the trees and the numerous flower hedges, in an effort to hide and use them for cover.

Through the arch and at the point where the gardens ended, a meadow started, revealing a place Hermione quite liked. It was different from the charmed gardens and the over decorated interior—it was more natural and free. A ways off, winged beasts that looked almost like horses grazed peacefully in the grass. Hermione wasn't sure what they were, but they looked almost reptilian or dragon-like. She was sure they were magical creatures of some sort. She sat down and rested her back lightly against the hedge, relishing the fresh air and the opportunity to get away from the world she clearly had no business in.

It was cold, and she tucked at the sleeves of her simple frock in a futile attempt to cover her wrists. She wished badly to perform a warming or elongation spell, but resisted the compulsion, lest she bring unnecessary attention to herself. It was worth the discomfort to be away from commands for a few welcome moments. She might have even dozed off, if it weren't for the swirling, glittering, sparkle that caught her attention in the distance.

Furrowing her brows in curiosity, she drew up from her seated position, her legs deciding to move before she gave them permission to. She walked tentatively closer to where she saw the anomaly, just a random bump in an otherwise normal meadow. Once she got closer, she realized there wasn't really anything special about it. The strange thing she witnessed must have been merely a trick in the starlight, it was only a common faery knoll, if not rather small. The glow from the enchanted gardens didn't quite span the distance. Shrugging, she nearly turned to leave, when something once more caught her attention.

The air shimmered around the grassy knoll, expanding and flaring out so sharply, Hermione had to take a step back, grasping her chest. The air seemed to vibrate and shift. Adrenaline pulsed at her temples as her senses became on high alert. Muscles she was not even aware she had tensed and throbbed, as if readying themselves for a battle. She couldn't fathom why she should have such a reaction, but something that lay deep inside of her - primitive and wise - screamed caution.

A figure came into view, clad in barely nothing, golden wraps and leaves that seemed to meld to her body, and that was it! When the figure became solid, Hermione was stunned by the raw beauty of the creature. Tumbling layers of golden hair fell down to her chest, and what appeared to be wings flapped once and majestically behind her. Hermione was struck with the urge to either flee or fall down and worship the apparent goddess.

She might have smiled at the beautiful woman, if it wasn't for the eyes that glared back at her—silver...iridescent...inhuman eyes. It was hard to decipher the feelings behind them—if there were any feelings—they were quite cold for so lovely a creature. Hermione got the odd feeling that there was hatred hidden in the luminous depths, or at least severe distaste. She couldn't fathom what she could have done to provoke such feelings, but then she abruptly doubted that those feelings were even there in the first place.

"Er, excuse me but…"

"Would you like to access the portal or not?" the Fae, Hermione instinctively realized, said in an impossibly melodious voice that clashed harshly with the sharpness of her inquiry.

A plethora of questions begged to issue from her lips, chief among them being - what is a portal? But the moment she was going to put voice to the thought, a legion of voices shouted all at once for her to stop. She bit her tongue so hard it drew blood. The voices were so...foreign. Hermione wondered how they could be in her head. With the awareness that she was seemingly not alone in her own head, came severe trepidation. She looked at the Fae once more, viewing her in a new light, and most definitely categorized her as an enemy.

This creature impossibly expected her to be somebody she was not, and intuitively Hermione realized that the only way to escape with her life was to play the part of this mysterious person she was perceived to be. If one could evaluate the iridescent facets of the Fae's orbs, they might see hatred, fury, but also something akin to fear.

"No thank you, actually," Hermione forced out, her voice shrill if not grating. "I don't have use of the portal today." She smoothed out the wrinkles in her simple dress, attempting to put off the airs of a queen and not of a peasant.

The Fae almost...frowned? If that's what you could call it. The movement seemed far too graceful for a frown though. "Do you realize the portal is being frequently accessed?"

Hermione swallowed discreetly. There was a challenge in the Fae's eyes, as if she expected Hermione to be angry over this bit of news. The fact that the Fae had been so informative told her that the Fae's intention was either to ignite Hermione's rage or direct said rage to the alleged portal-accessor—whatever that meant. Lie, the voices or rather the legion, screamed once more.

She attempted to scoff, drawing on a trait quite uncharacteristic of her but somehow buried deep within—one of profound leadership. "Of course I know." The Fae's eyes got impossibly harder. Merlin but they were like diamonds! "At any rate, it's my business," she added uncertainly, but injected her voice with a confidence she didn't feel.

The fury heightened, but behind the rage Hermione discerned acceptance. If the Fae was at all skeptical about who Hermione was, her little act seemed to have persuaded the Fae. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that if it hadn't, the Fae would have dealt with her swiftly and mercilessly. She suppressed a shudder.

"It may be your business," the silver-eyed Fae all but snarled, her magic shimmering in the air with her wrath, "but if you don't get a handle on it, you force our hand."

Hermione jutted her chin with all the confidence she could muster, inwardly sighing in relief at having seemingly said the right thing. "I may have use for the portal later." It's best to keep my options open, isn't it? "Until then." She inclined her head almost regally and against her instinct, turned her back on the creature and walked on unsteady feet back to the gardens.

She knew the moment when she was safe again. The strange presence in her mind receded and the heightening alarm left with it. She didn't dare glance back, but somehow she knew the Fae had vanished. As soon as she was well within the Malfoy gardens, she flung her hand on the trunk of a tree to steady herself and gasped for air, taking grateful breaths in.

Her brain buzzed with the after-effects of her sudden adrenaline rush and it was all she could do to keep the turmoil she was feeling bottled inside. Merlin, but what did it all mean? Faes...and portals...and portal crossers. None of it made sense! She could always solve a problem, but she didn't know where to start with this one.

And the voices…

Should she be concerned that there were now voices speaking to her in what seemed to be her most dire moments of need—a multitude of them? Hermione felt the previous alarm returning and may have let herself flop to the ground if it wasn't for the high-pitched voice that almost made her reach for her magic and oust her bloody self.

"What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?" A woman, a very pretty woman, drew herself up from under the tree she'd been - crying under? - and stared at Hermione with barely suppressed rage.

Sweet Morgana, Hermione could not deal with anymore surprises!

"I'm sorry, milady," she curtseyed.

The blond witch ceased her crying and proceeded to eye her shrewdly, far too shrewdly for Hermione's liking. "Sneaking up on your betters like that," the witch shrilled, "that you would even dare. And sounding like you had the air sucked out of you, what could possibly possess you to act so rash?"

Hermione kept her head ducked, almost wishing for the voices to return to help her out of this one. "There was a beast in the field." She gestured to the horse-like-skeletal-winged creatures grazing in the distance. "I was frightened, milady. I'm sorry."

The woman glanced to where Hermione had indicated. "I don't see anything."

Hermione wanted to ask if she was blind but bit her already sore tongue. She couldn't help but notice how beautifully the witch was dressed. Her eyes may be red and decidedly cruel, but her gown sparkled an iridescent white with a pale green overlay adorning it, and gorgeous sleeves hung over her wrists. Hermione suddenly felt like she should look away, the previous confidence she had feigned almost vanishing.

The striking blond witch continued to glare at Hermione, awareness sparking in her hazel eyes. "I know who you are. You're the one that went traversing with my Intended around the world."

Hermione inwardly cursed. Was this Astoria Greengrass? Of course it had to be. She looked very much like the girl she remembered from when Olive used to entertain, and she had claimed to be Draco's intended. Astoria's eyes wandered over Hermione, and for the second time, she felt vulnerable in her common clothes and bedraggled appearance, especially in the face of such perfection. Astoria was looking at her as if she was sizing Hermione up, and she was acutely aware of the assessment. She shouldn't be standing so straight, she shouldn't be meeting the witch's gaze, and she wanted desperately to look down as she felt compelled to, but jealousy had flared searing hot in her chest and she couldn't help but defy her own council.

"You're Olive's disobedient slave," she continued. "I recognize you. You were the one she sent to Australia. And now you're here. How fortunate for you. You must count yourself so lucky to have been elevated so."

Yes, she mused. That's exactly what I think—I'm dead lucky. Astoria was not quite the same as when she saw her last, but Hermione definitely recognized her. She'd changed a bit since Olive had entertained her last, but she was definitely the same girl.

"Olive said you were a troublesome Muggle," Astoria said with a sneer. "She sent you away as punishment." She took a menacing step towards Hermione. "And now you've sunk your claws into my Intended."

"Milady, I haven't—."

"Silence! You have so and there's proof because he's rewarded you to a position at the manor. You might think you've weaseled your way into his life, but rest assured, I will see you leave this place." Astoria's fingers reached for a wand Hermione couldn't see, and that's when she had enough.

She turned on the spot and fled as fast as her feet could carry her.

"Stop, I'm not done with you by half, Muggle…"

Astoria's voice faded as Hermione continued to run. She burst into the house, seeking desperately for a place to hide in this world she stuck out like a sore thumb in. If she returned to the cellar would anyone come for her? She wanted nothing more than to sleep away the awful day and deal with the consequences the next day. She was in no state to figure out what everything meant, not like this. She rushed past the open ballroom, only dimly aware of the couples dancing and the ladies gowns swishing along the marble floor. She narrowly dodged a well-dressed man holding a champagne flute who had broken off from the crowd.

"Sorry, my Lord," she mumbled whilst keeping her head ducked.

"Hermione?" came the familiar voice.

She glanced up, amber eyes clashing with stormy grey ones.

She swallowed audibly.

Draco was the picture of a debonair Pureblood. His hair was styled perfectly. His smart dress robes clung to him attractively. He was refined and appeared to belong in this world, all the while reminding her that she most definitely did not. He looked so far from the Draco she had come to know on the island, it was hard to even meet his gaze.

She should ask about his meeting with the King of course, but the words lodged in her throat. She still wanted to flee and skirt any responsibilities.

"Hermione—I've been looking for you everywhere." He looked left and right before taking hold of her by the wrist and dragging her down the hall and into a room.

Hermione only distantly registered that he had brought her to a library, the smell of parchment cluing her in. Draco flicked his wand, and a small chandelier was lit, casting a dim circle of light.

He turned to her immediately and squeezed her by the shoulders. He was suddenly far too close and Hermione was struck with the need to either put much-needed space between them or fling herself fully in his arms.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" He began rubbing her shoulders, his eyes darting over her, searching for some injury she supposed. "You're shaking like a leaf, are you all right?"

Oh, don't ask me that right now! The likelihood of her bursting into tears was growing stronger by the moment and the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him.

"I'm fine, Draco," she gritted out. Could he not simply leave her alone? He'd been around beautiful women the entire evening, and she was suddenly embarrassed by how common she must look in comparison. Merlin, but there's probably dirt smudged on my face.

"Don't give me that." His eyes were searching and attentive. "I can tell when something is wrong. Just tell me so I can fix it."

Hermione forced out a ragged sigh. "It's just been a difficult day, that's all. I had several unfortunate run ins, first with a lethal faery that apparently patrol your gardens, then with your intended, and I've simply had enough is all. I just want to go to bed."

"The faery's are harmless little bugs."

"I'm talking about a real faery—a Fae. Surely you know what I'm talking about." Her irritation increased measurably. "Out there by the little hill in the middle, where the beasts graze?"

"Hill...you mean the faery knoll? And beasts?" Draco furrowed his brows in confusion, somehow making him look even more devastatingly handsome. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, but as far as Astoria goes…"

She looked up, curious to hear his thoughts on the witch.

"I'm sorry if you ran into her. I imagine she was upset, as she left in hizzy when I rather bluntly informed her I had no intentions of marrying her."

The statement should not make her feel so relieved.

Holding onto her anger, she decided to lash out. "And why not? She's a Pureblood, and she belongs in your world."

Concern etched into every line of his face. "She's a willful child. It absolutely won't happen. You know I don't want that."

Damn, tears were forming in her throat and threatening at her eyes. She pulled away if not just to protect herself from certain heartbreak. "Don't worry about me," she rushed out the words whilst she still could. "I'm just worried about you, and your meeting with the King…"

Draco did not let her leave, he spun her back towards him in a fierce embrace and pressed her head into his chest. "You don't need to concern yourself with that, it's taken care of." He tangled his fingers in her hair, rubbing her scalp. "All is forgiven and he's even gone as far as assigning me a mission I'll find out more about tomorrow."

Hermione could not take his never ending kindness. Draco always knew the right thing to say and to do, he was perfect, and she was beginning to doubt if she even deserved him. She felt so far from the girl she had been on the island, almost like a different person entirely. Could she ever gain her confidence back? Perhaps she needed to perform magic, it had been so long. "Draco, please," she made another futile attempt to pull away. His arms were far too inviting. "Just let me go. I need to rest is all."

"I'm not letting you leave like this." He spoke against her hair and she was grateful her face was hidden from him, pressed against his robes. "I'm not sure what you've told yourself, but my feelings haven't changed. Have yours?"

"No, of course not." She didn't want to have this conversation. "I just have my doubts that we're—."

"Doubts?" He spun around and then proceeded to walk her into the book case, not giving an inch. "You have doubts?" he repeated, and there was an edge to his voice that Hermione immediately discerned as dangerous.

How could she express what she was feeling? She was uncertain about everything. She wanted him, of course, but was it right for her to pursue him? Was it selfish of her to let this happen? Draco was her first everything, she didn't know how relationship stuff worked. Maybe it was common to have your heart flipped upside down when you did what they had done together. But now that they were back in reality, did she really expect Draco to go against everything in order to help her? It seemed like a foolish dream! What had she even been thinking when she thought it was possible to go against the Sovereign? People were happy to have slaves, no one wanted change. It made the Purebloods feel powerful to have someone to rule over. Her wish to change the status quo was nothing short of crazy, just like the voices she was hearing in her head. She was damaged, and she could only negatively affect Draco. He was one of the good ones, and perhaps ending this craziness was the best she could do.

"Please, Draco, I'm not even sure we should be doing this." The words came out like a soft plea and a tear escaped down her cheek. Then more quietly, "I don't even think I deserve you."

Shock and incredulity warred in his eyes, before giving way to anger. "Don't say that."

She inadvertently recoiled from the harshness of his tone.

"You always try to be a martyr," he continued, his voice dangerous. "It's probably your only flaw."

The words confused her. Was he paying her a compliment? It was hard to tell with him. He got down on his knees, and that's when Hermione became truly frightened. "Draco, what are you doing? Get up."

"I won't let you do this," he continued, now looking up at her from the ground. "I won't let you rationalize what we have—it's special." Hands wandered up and down her legs, over the thin material of her frock, and Hermione felt an entirely new heat creep up on her. "If anyone is undeserving, it's me." His hands gently kneaded the flesh of her bum, and she bit back a gasp. "Do you understand?" he asked her earnestly, his right hand dropping down to the bare skin of her ankle, eliciting a shiver down her spine. "I'll make you understand."

Whether it was a promise or a threat, Hermione couldn't be sure. She was frozen in delicious trepidation, her tears forgotten on her cheeks, as his hand continued its ascent upward, dragging her dress up with it. This was exactly the sort of thing she should be preventing, but Draco had her up against the bookcase and his grip on her left hip was unrelenting. She'd never been good at resisting him.

He stared at her hungrily, his slate-colored eyes peircing, having the effect of lighting a flame in her belly. "Draco," she breathed, her voice sounding smoky. "I don't think we should...what if someone comes in…"

"I've locked the door." His tongue reached out to leave velvety strokes behind her newly exposed knee and they nearly buckled at the sensation.

Her stomach tightened and her cheeks stained crimson as she watched him. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his when he continued to bunch her dress all the way up to her hips. A challenge in his eyes, he leaned forward and breathed against her, the wet heat of his mouth making her want to fall backwards. Hermione could not prevent the soft mewl from escaping her throat as white, hot lust raced through her veins.

"Muffliato," he cast wandlessly.

His fingers toyed at the material of her knickers, brushing against sensitive flesh that abruptly caused all logical thought to flee her mind. His free hand traced the fabric over her thigh, while his other hand slipped underneath the only barrier separating them and began to peel the offensive material down her legs.

Heat singed between them, clouding her senses, as he took his time and moved slowly, his inquisitive fingers trailing along her skin. She could feel the ghost of his breath along her most sensitive part and it was all she could do to keep breathing. His hand came to rest on the narrow curve of her waist, holding her dress out of his way as he leaned forward to give her the pleasure she'd been craving.

Lust seared through her and her hands frantically sought purchase on his shoulders. The feel of his tongue licking taunting circles against her slickened flesh caused her head to fall back in ecstasy as harsh breaths tore from her lips. It was impossible not to move against him and - oh, gods - stunning new sensations exploded in her abdomen sending liquid heat plummeting to her core.

In a moment of clarity, she knew she should not be allowing this...should try to stop him...but then his tongue was melting into her and he added a finger, forcing her to become lost, becoming a temporary victim to her desire. Worry fled her brain as she closed her eyes and simply felt.

She expelled a shaky breath. "Draco."

He broke away but the movement of his finger didn't stop. "I'm a Pureblood on my knees for you, Hermione. Because I care about you, I want you."

It was wrong and unsettling to feel so powerful from his words, but then he leaned back down and she was swiftly caught up in a blind panic, fingers finding his hair and tugging as a stifled whimper issued from her lips. Every nerve ending heightened as she desperately reached for something rapturous, only just within her reach and getting closer thanks to the unbearably wonderful rhythm he set.

It was maddening.

Her mind was already in such a frenzy thanks to the horrible day she had endured, and she found herself more than susceptible to Draco and his charms, her bubble of anxiety having burst and given way to pure need.

He worked his tongue faster, seeming to know just what her body was craving before she did. Blood rushed to the places he sucked and tasted, causing her to shudder and shake. Her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing grew ragged.

"Look at me," he demanded in a gravelly tone.

Her lashes lifted and she struggled to keep her heavy amber eyes focused solely on him, if only so that he wouldn't stop. Each flick tore a moan from her mouth. She was trembling so hard, he was forced to grip her hips harshly, which only served to arouse her more. Her cries became more desperate with each swipe over her sensitive bundle of flesh. He curled his finger just so and her pleasure instantly rippled through her.

His restraint snapped.

He stood to his full height, dark pools of silver skewered her to her very soul as her inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Her gaze was heavy lidded and confused as her body quivered, wanting more. Still shaking, she tugged him by his collar, pulling him down to meet her searching lips. She could taste herself, and it was entirely too erotic. He let out an involuntary groan and she felt him harden to steel against her thigh.

He broke away, eyes flashing perilously. She could feel his magic bristle forcefully, mingling with her own in the most delightful way. "I want you," he whispered against the skin of her neck, his breath fanning over her bare throat. "You're in my thoughts constantly."

His lips sought hers with a violence that both shocked her and delighted her. She allowed his tongue to slip past teeth and lightly scrape against her skin. His hands brazenly wandered down her chest and her nipples hardened to pointed peaks beneath the thin material of her dress. He tugged at various layers, and freed her chest from her bodice so that his fingers brushed across skin, a momentary victim to his desperation. He tongued her in blatant sexual desire and she submitted to the heat of his kiss, melting into his chest.

He broke away again, nipping at a particularly sensitive tendon on her neck. "Do you want me?" he purred, and she couldn't help but be spurred on by the dark infection of his tone. "Tell me, Hermione, I want to hear you say it."

The heat of the moment betrayed her and she was helpless to keep the affirmation from tumbling from her lips in a raspy moan. A strange, giddy feeling shrilled in the pit of her stomach causing her to feel like she was falling...spiraling headfirst into a deep chasm she would be unable to escape.

She was only dimly aware when he gripped himself, but her eyes popped open when she felt him rub himself against her slickened folds with deliberate possession. Nestled in the slope of her thighs, he dragged his hard length up and down, eliciting frantic whimpers from her throat. Her right arm wrapped around his neck while her left hand sought purchase in between the steps of a ladder next to her head. She lifted herself slightly, to make it easier.

"Good girl," he growled into her ear, his hardness nudging her and parting her silken flesh.

He entered her with a slow gliding motion, groaning when he filled her completely, and holding completely still. Hermione gasped at the sensation of being so full, her inner walls clamping down on him greedily, causing his jaw to tighten and eyes to darken in his effort to stay in control.

She didn't want him to keep such a tight grip on his control.

She wanted him to pound into her relentlessly.

"Hold still."

Hermione ignored his demands, wickedly raising herself on the ledge and then slamming back down, moaning at the wonderful friction.

"Hermione."

He gripped her hips tightly, as if he could still her, but she wouldn't be restrained. Her previous pleasure left her sensitive and wanting.

Hunger burned in his eyes as every muscle strained in his face. "You need to be still...I won't last."

He ground into her, torturously slow and she keened on an upward thrust. He was trying hard to start a slow, deliberate pace, but she needed him to take her fast...she wanted it badly.

Her fingers found his hair and tugged. "Don't hold back," she begged, eyes glazed and wanton. "I need it."

His lips clashed with hers desperate and hard. She kissed him back without stopping to expound on the madness of it, his kiss claiming her and edging her towards the promise of imminent relief. The ache in her core throbbed harder, desperate for me. He hastened his speed, snapping his hips in time with her downward thrusts.

She submitted to his movements, working with him, and - oh gods - it was almost too much to take when her pleasure spiked through her the second time, much more powerful and intensified. He lost his rhythm, unable to hold back as her walls fluttered and squeezed him. The universe exploded from behind her eyes and she tried not to scream as she came flying apart, shattering into brilliant sparks.

They were connected and it was so right.

So familiar.

He felt like home and for a few blissful moments, she forgot her insecurities. He had effectively comforted her and persuaded her she was something more.

~oOo*oOo~