Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.
"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed and imagination." - Edgar Allan Poe
That afternoon as she reentered the temporary residence of the Order, her mind was in a complete shamble as to what she would tell the others. She had gone in secret to meet the enemy, one that could potentially send them all to an early grave if trusted in too quickly. Her closest friends had been dubious of her decision that was solely based on the fact that Malfoy had been willingly let her escape death. However, even in the hardest of times she could always depend on their quick support. They had never questioned her intelligence and sense, as Harry and Ron knew she might have found the Order's only chance to bring an end to the ongoing war against Voldemort.
Gradually, she managed to exhale her long-held breath, as she quietly closed the door behind her. Hearing the lock click, she felt a wave of exhaustion and relief travel through her. She ran a hand over her face, as she tried in vain to wipe away the mounting stress that hung around her like an unforgiving fog. The stifling nature of her predicament was trying her patience. The rhythmic beat of the butterflies lacerated her insides, as uncertainty added the qualmish ingredient of anxiety to her churning stomach.
She looked about her at the grim surroundings of the hall. The molding ceiling, infected and dilapidated was something that would have been an absurdity during the golden age of the House of Blacks. The wallpaper was worn and weathered; it was almost as though it was tired of its own existence, fading slowly into the grimy grey that could be seen in the skies above London.
Shaking her head, she tried to unhinge the strange feeling that stuck to her like molasses. She had no time to waste on the disquieting emotions that beat against the confines of her mind. Malfoy had told her to be prepared, and she would be, but waiting for the unknown was like plunging into the watery depths of the Great Lake. Subsumed by the plethora of darkness that seemed to haunt the murky waters, it would be impossible to say if anyone could ever make it back unscathed— and more importantly alive. This blind faith that Hermione had could very much be the death of her as well as those that she cared about the most.
The brief moment was soon destroyed when she heard the sound of scrambling feet pacing hurriedly down the creaky staircase. Two heads emerged from around the corner, revealing Ron and Harry. The concern that was spread across their faces soon melted away when they saw her standing before them safe and sound. A small smile played on her chapped lips, before she ran her tongue over the stinging rawness. The glacial winds that she had struggled against had been intent on leaving their mark on her, whipping noisily about her as she had made her way back to apparate behind the dingy pub. Only when she entered the home, did she feel the warm draft from within. Although, the heat did nothing to thaw her gelid fears; her apprehension consumed her whenever she thought of her dwindling chances of survival.
Once again, the boys swarmed around her, swallowing her in a much-needed hug. Their friendship was like a cushion to her, she could always fall back on them for support. Yet Hermione could not help but wonder what would happen if it were taken away from under her. Would I cope? Or would I become a broken woman? The spoils of this never-ending war?
She pulled away from their embrace wanting to relay the urgency of the situation. Malfoy's warning had sent her mind into a chaotic frenzy. She had to tell the Order directly or else she ran the risk that her meeting with Malfoy would become a fruitless attempt caught in the wiles of fate.
"Where is everyone? I must speak to the Order now," Her speech came out in a breathless flurry. She touched Ron's shoulder and smiled at Harry. They knew something was amiss, the two boys could hardly deny that they saw the desperation in her amber eyes. The bruise that had coloured her cheek had disappeared with a flick of her wand, cleverly disguising the mark before she entered the dilapidated home. But they seemed to sense it. That something had gone on while she was away.
"In the kitchen," Harry worriedly mumbled out, intrigued by Hermione's bluntness. He held a finger out, pointing down the stairwell shrouded by looming shadows that made everything far more eerie. Her journey became more like a fight for courage, an inevitable trek towards her superiors who would define whether her newfound knowledge was worthy to consider or not.
Hitting the final step with a squeak, she waited before entering, listening to the conversations softened into muffled murmurs. Slowly, she pushed against the door, feeling the expanse of her task weigh heavily on her shoulders. Immediately, she could hear the mass of voices echo around the small kitchen. Like a chorus of altos and sopranos everyone was speaking at once trying to drown out the others, hoping they would finally be heard.
However, similar to when she made her way into the kitchen earlier that morning, the inhabitants fell into a comatose of utter silence. They all looked on, obviously suspicious of Hermione's presence. No one trusted anyone anymore. It was like the lights had been unexpectedly switched off. When Snape revealed where his loyalties had lied, he had sent everyone that was fighting for the Light into the darkness of paranoia. Anyone could betray the Order now; the only thing was who would it be next? She felt oddly ashamed of accusing them of this, but it was absolutely true in her opinion, it was just her job to try and end their distrust.
Her hand curled into a fist as she pushed the door open even further, their eyes still rested tentatively on her timid form in the doorway. Once Hermione shut off her only way of exiting, she sucked in a breath of air, as though it were her last. She just had to get it over and done with, and then she could face the consequences of blindly dealing with a Death Eater.
"I— I," The lack of any lucid behavior prohibited her from furthering her speech. Her eyes looked on imploringly as she spotted the majority of the Weasley clan assembled by the fire, Fleur's hair glimmering around her like a shroud of gold. Little Victoire snuggled in her mother's arms, peering around her without a care in the world.
She closed her eyes fearing the look of despair that she might see— possibly even in the baby's— once she explained her brief rendezvous with Malfoy not long before. Her lips trembled with the emotion that pervaded her mind, her throat began to constrict with the pressure that was building up within her. Resolutely, she started, hoping to be quick and clean about it.
Just remember, Hermione, this could change the world for the better, save millions of honest people, people that never need to die.
"I met with Malfoy today. He said—" She shook her head thinking how silly and deranged she must have sounded to them, "He said to be prepared. I think he was trying to tell me— us to be ready for an attack."
She looked up warily catching the eyes of the others. Her heart banged noisily within her chest, causing her to question whether any second it would pop out as if it were the Warlock's hairy heart. Everyone looked on at her, lost in his or her own thoughts until Shacklebolt broke the silence with his bellowing response.
"I see," She detected that his voice showed no ounce of suspicion or wariness. His face was the picture of contemplation as he gazed upon her standing awkwardly by the doorway. Their eyes met, both sensing each other's honesty during their hesitant examining. Then as quickly as it had come, it disappeared once more as his eyes perused the taut faces of the other Order members. All at once they were at attention, surrounding Shacklebolt like a flock of children.
Hermione just stood there waiting, wanting to know why their faces were uncharacteristically calm, even after her revelation. Suddenly, aware of her presence once again, the ebony skinned man turned to her, an uneasy smile strained against his lips.
"Hermione, thank you," With a wave of his hand the door opened once more, revealing the gloomy and unwelcoming darkness that lay before her. She began to protest, her thoughts awry with confusion.
"But—" Yet his authoritative glance cut across her like the sting of a blade, bound by an unwanted silence. Her heart must have stopped from the shock that followed, never had she been treated thus, even by her less favored teachers and mentors.
"You may leave now," With that Hermione turned away, running back up the stairs as quick as she could, feeling the last of her courage being snatched away from her. Why were they being like that to her, all secretive with their equivocal remarks and replies? She had been invited into the Order under the pretense that she would be regarded more like an adult and an equal than a child.
Sullenly, Hermione slowed her pace as she neared the top of the stairs that led towards the comfort of her friends. As she did so her eyes couldn't help but wander to the mangled flooring at her feet. Bending down she spotted the unmissable stain of blood that had soaked into the sordid wood below her.
The sight brought back unpleasant memories of the night before. Hermione reached out, grazing her finger against the stain. Her heart clenched in aguish as she recalled Ron's bloodied face. If she did not tread lightly, it would not be anyone's fault but her own if she allowed something similar to happen like that ever again. She had entrusted her knowledge with the Order, and prayed that they would listen to her warnings as she had undoubtedly done with Malfoy's. But her heart pounded with the wrought-iron fear that made her blood freeze in her veins.
The grim thoughts made her flinch from her crouched position and compelled Hermione to make her way up the rest of the stairs. Rounding the corner, an empty foyer came into view, along with the surfeit of illegal artifacts that belonged to the home. The ones that bothered her most were the haunting faces of previous House Elves that were hung like trophies along the stairwell. Their saucer shaped eyes were sewn shut, their skin sagging with time. The elegiac aura that seemed to radiate off of them was undeniable. Sorrow struck her like a whip, hard and unforgiving. Everything she had fought for— their right for equality in wizarding society and the ban of servitude to their masters had been instantaneously crushed. If they lost the war not only would they be affected but also all those that were league with the Order.
Like a pack of stubborn cards, everything seemed to be stacked against her. One false move and it would come tumbling down on top of her. Malfoy could save her from the slaughter so long as he fought alongside her, like the ally that they were in much need of.
As she reached the landing, her body instantly began to gravitate toward the closed door of the library, instead of her friends. She needed time to think before she sought their advice. Even still the books from within seemed to be calling her name, beckoning her to step inside its confines. As the door slowly creaked open, she snuck a glance through the gap to be sure no one else was in there. It was empty save the number of books that fringed every darkened corner of the room. Leisurely, she rested her back against the termite eaten wood that paneled the walls, inhaling the alluring scent of the ancient tomes that huddled in the myriad of alcoves and shelves.
The library was far smaller than the one at Hogwarts, but the history that filled it dated back as far as the Founders and crammed with the darkest magic she could ever possibly imagine.
Heading toward the farthest wall, she was faced with a pile of books that she personally labeled as safe to read. During her scavenge in the library a few years prior she had come across countless books that had certainly been odd. Some would open to pages written in an archaic script that bore no resemblance to anything she had seen before, others were blank from back to front, not a word scratched or printed onto the paper yellowed by age. Yet, when Hermione first arrived she was admittedly intrigued by their contents, she remembered the destruction that knowledge could cause if misused and was quietly repulsed from then on. She knew curiosity only killed the Crup.
Hermione brushed her hand gently over the various covers, wiping the books free of the perversive dust, sending it into flight in the air around her head. Her hand shied away from certain books, often catching a glance of their titles, knowing she had not found the one she was specifically looking for. One slid from her grasp into the dais of books as she went to put it back, causing the pile to wobble backwards and forward like the swishing tail of Hebridean Black. Slowly, one by one the tower crumbled to the floor skittering across the floor as though gliding on ice.
With a huge sigh, she began collecting the fallen, checking their titles when the open pages met her weary eyes. The last of them resided closest to the dying embers in the fireplace. Its gold trimmed pages gleamed in the fading light like an iridescent topaz. There was something there that made her reach out and begin to sift through the leather-clad volume. Its heaviness weighed down on her thighs as she settled herself in the plush green cushions of the armchair. It sat near the warm comfort of the fire that set her face aglow like an Eastern deity of the worlds from long ago.
With the periodic movement of the turning pages she came face to face with the same elegant penmanship that detailed the extensive labyrinth of the Blacks' ancestry. It was an exact replica of the tapestry that used to hang in the adjacent parlor that had been hidden away in the library when Harry could no longer bear to see its presence any longer. Though it did not consist of the usual portraiture that accustomed each prestigious Wizarding name, it still had a record of every birth, death and marriage that occurred in the infinite confines of Pureblood society. She let her gaze run gently down the newest page, her finger coming to rest at the bottom. She studied the name as though it were the last piece to a puzzle, focusing on the curve of every letter. Her finger tip pressed against it, her nail imprinting a half-moon shape on the page.
Her mind began to wander; as she felt her eyes start to close of their own accord. Sleep was bleeding her awareness dry, and so she succumbed to a moment of sleepy tranquility.
All she could see were a pair of silver eyes that had burned themselves permanently into her mind. Hoping to rid herself of it, she tore herself from the velvety seat. Intently, Hermione looked up at the far wall, spotting the patchy and worn remnants of the infamous tapestry. She stood, oblivious to the book hitting the floor with a resounding thump. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she neared, the distinct flash of white was like a pinpoint of light on a cave wall amongst the pits and craters of the stony weaving.
She was so entranced that when the sudden sound of yelling and screaming seemed to catch her off guard. The library door swung open with such a force that it smashed into the wall. Beside it an antique mirror assembled into an intricate collage of metal and glass as it roughly kissed the floor below.
It was as though she were staring into an abyss. Beyond the door the hall was engulfed by darkness, save the few shafts of light that splintered through the gaps made by the shadow of bodies. The little light that was in the room was sucked by its presence, her only guidance torn away at the time it was most needed.
Hermione gazed on, as though in a dream as the horde of cloaked figures began to close in on her frozen form. Their skull-like masks did nothing to conceal the intruders' identities, she knew who they were, every last one of them. One stepped forward from the congealed mass; his gaunt cheeks mimicked the sallow demeanor of their disguise. His face was like the Angel of Death, calm and composed with an air finality. However, the fiendish smile that was tempted from his lips was none too comforting. The darkly clad figure slowly raised his wand, skillfully training it on her inert form.
Serenely, he lifted his eyes to hers, gradually closing the gap between the two with one lengthy stride. Stopping before her, he whispered to her as though in prayer. The Killing Curse dripped from his pallid lips like a drop of poison, exposing itself as a shot of green light that sped through the air towards her. She could remember his lips still parted, as she felt herself fall forward, collapsing into his embrace. Awkwardly, she lent on the broad expanse of his chest, the air between them cold as death. The cold dew of eternal rest evaded her a moment until she felt her angel bow his head in the curly tendrils at the hollow of her neck.
She still was aware of the tender caresses against her skin as she woke from her dream with a jump. Her heart beat at a phenomenal speed. She shook her head to clear it of the haziness of sleep, cracking her eyes open onto the gloom of the unaltered library. She had fallen asleep with the book still resting open on her lap, yet the gentle touches did not cease. Suddenly, she could feel the earth begin to tremble, the walls around her starting to shake. The vibrations dislodged the abundance of soot and dust that hung on the eccentric antiquities all around her, flicking huge amounts of it onto her. Hermione peeked down at herself, a film of stucco clung to her clothes and hair. She stood hoping to rid herself of the rotten flakes that still held on.
Running hurriedly out into the hallway, the shaking continued. Everything seemed to be falling in on her. The faces of the dead House Elves smashed into the carpet, dissolving into heaps of dust. The tremors ceased only moments later as Hermione clung to the railing for dear life, trying not to fall. Anxiously, she glanced up the stairs, as the spine-chilling screams of Sirius' mother rang in her ears, blasting like a banshee from down below.
Turning her gaze down the stairs she felt the walls tremble again, until it suddenly went deathly quiet. The silence rang as loudly as Walburga Black's screams. In that one moment, she heard the rustling footsteps of the others as they scrambled on the landing above her.
For a split second she stared at the mass of redheads that loomed at the top of the stairs, a look of fear and nausea on their freckled faces. She looked at Harry and Ron, as they swiftly started making their way down the rickety stairs towards her. Yet the resounding explosion that came from the main door sent everyone to the floor. The intermingled splinters of wood and glass shot in every direction, its path of destruction reeking havoc throughout the hall.
"What was that?!" Mrs. Weasley screeched, as she scrambled toward her hoard of children. However, her question was soon answered as the eerie crunch of the debris echoed around them. Her throat was choked by her fear; tight and constricted to the point she could barely speak. She could make out the deft outline of someone's cloak as it made its way into the hall below. Malfoy's warning flashed in her mind. They had to get away or else this home would become a mass gravesite in minutes.
"We have to go! NOW!" Hermione called to them. All looked dumbstruck apart from the Order members she had informed earlier on that day. They had heeded her warnings and were quick to usher the others up the stairs. To where? She had no clue, but her only aim was to get as far away as possible. She stared wide-eyed as she saw the leading Death Eater turn to them. The sight of them made her cry in horror at their advent. The Day of Judgment had come prematurely for the Order and they had nothing but their own skill to save themselves from the threat at hand.
She quickly threw a curse down at the growing number of Voldemort's followers, hoping to distract them for a moment so that she, Ron and Harry could make a run for it up the long expanse of the stairwell.
"Go! Harry, Ron! RUN!" Hermione yelled as she released her hold on the banister. She knew there was no way she could make it safely away from their attackers. An instant before she sped away, she glanced over her shoulder spotting one of the other Death Eaters making their way toward her, treading steadily on every step as they sneaked up the stairs. She threw a spell at them, hoping to deter them for moment.
Without a second thought she sprinted back into the library, begging that her stalker would not find her as she hid behind one of the shelves near the back of the room. She lent against wooden frame of the bookshelf, panting heavily with bated breath, as her mind raced to figure a way out. There was no way she could apparate out of the home. No one could get in or out without using the front door, Floo or Portkey. All three she had no possible access to. The only way she could make it to the fireplace would only expose her, as she would have to make a mad bolt across the room in the hope that they wouldn't spot her.
Her breath hitched when she heard the rustle of a cloak on the other side of the colossal bookshelf. Taking a chance she peeked through a gap made by a missing book. Nothing was there, devoid of any human form. Leaning back she closed her eyes and rest against her only support once again feeling the ridged spines of the books probe her back. Everything was quiet, until she heard the rustling once again, much closer than it had been the time before.
Her eyes snapped open the moment she felt someone's cool breath against her neck. Again a pair of haunting eyes bore into her own. The pure shock of someone before her was enough to coax a scream from her quivering lips.
The Death Eater's hand instinctively covered her mouth, transforming her cries into a stream of garbling. His rough grip shoved her hard against the wall of books, as he removed his mask with his free hand. It disappeared like a cloud of smoke as she beheld the man in front of her.
"Granger, shut up," He breathed in a cool whisper against her ear. He peered down at her for a brief second, a small snicker passed his lips, "Nice bruise, Mudblood," Her hand shot to her cheek, the concealing charm she had cast must have worn off whilst she slept. She scowled at him spitefully thanking him for his double dose of abuse in one day.
"I could say the same to you, Ferret," His jaw clenched at her retort. But again his mouth lit up in a sneering smile as he gazed down on her, as if he were a parent condemning their child of their erroneous ways.
"And yet the last time I checked, there wasn't one."
"Vanity, your only flaw, I suppose?" She smirked knowing, by saying that, she had caused a huge blow to his ego. She knew that was how it had always been between them, constantly at odds trying to gain the upper hand over the other even in the most trivial of arguments. Yet the taste of guilt strangely stung her lips, masking the sweetness of her quick retort.
She heaved a sigh and tried to get past Malfoy. His hand on her shoulder stopped her. Indignantly, she looked at him.
"Malfoy, you couldn't have cut it any closer. Why didn't you warn me earlier?" She gazed up at him, conscious of his vigilant gaze. He still held her close, but slowly relinquished his hold on her when he saw the irrefutable distress in her eyes.
"Oh, I wanted to see how quick you could defend yourself. Seems you were the only one who failed," Her brow knit in anger, as she violently shoved him back into the shelf behind, they could both sense the electric spark that passed between them. His face flared in astonishment, as he saw the incensed witch begin to raise her wand. Hurriedly, he went to take a step forward to stop her, when unexpectedly the sound of heavy footfall broke the unmistakable tension between the two rivals.
"Draco?" They both knew who it was, and her presence was sure to endanger Hermione's chances of escaping unharmed. She looked worriedly at Malfoy, who placed a gentle finger against his lips. Turning away from her, he formed a human barrier between Hermione and the newcomer.
She stared intently at his back, as though she were trying to see straight through him to face the person beyond. As the girl rounded the corner she saw his shoulders tense slightly, feeling ill at ease even with his protection. She subconsciously shrunk further down, hunching forward so that she couldn't be seen as easily behind Malfoy's tall frame.
"Pansy," He said blandly, as though the very word tasted bitter on his tongue. He stepped forward as another one of Hermione's former tormentors at Hogwarts made her way closer to where she hid.
"Did you find her?" The pug-faced girl queried, as she glanced around hoping to catch a glimpse of the wild Mudblood that they had come to hunt and kill by order of the Dark Lord. Pansy shivered at the thought of returning to Him without the Know-it-all's head embellishing a silver platter. They had failed once; He would not show them any mercy if they did not come back with her once again.
"No, Pansy, I didn't," He hissed, as she began to close in on him.
"Draco, what are we going to do? He'll kill us!" Her face was full of genuine distress. The sight made Hermione stiffen slightly, she could see that so many people feared Voldemort that even his followers were afraid their punishment if they failed a task. In that one instant she almost felt sorry for the two, they had both been sucked into the dark world of Voldemort's regime, living lives that were a far cry from what they had ever imagined they would be.
Pansy's arms snaked about Malfoy's waist possessively as she began to lean into him. Dubiously, he pulled away not wanting to be caught off guard, especially when he had to see that the Hermione got away safely. Then as quickly as his hesitation came on it vanished, replaced by eyes darkened by lust.
Never had Hermione seen a spectacle such as this. Though she would never be willing to admit to it, she had come across various romance novels owned by her previous dorm mates, Lavender and Pavarti. Only then had she read of such occurrences, yet even as she had skimmed them with curiosity she slowly began to feel that she could stomach no more. It had all been complete drivel. The content was far from what she would call a good read. But in the moment she saw between Malfoy and Pansy she knew then that the books held some semblance of truth.
She watched on as Malfoy abruptly kissed Pansy with the force and passion that he showed whenever anyone got under his skin. Hermione would not have said she was envious of Pansy's position— far from it, she snorted— but she could hardly deny she was desirous of the fervency of Malfoy taking control. She observed as he pushed Pansy viciously against the bookshelf as he had done to Hermione not long before, however, lacking a certain sensuality that was apparent now.
The scene was so intense that she nearly missed the wave of Malfoy's hand as he gestured for her to go. He had planned to distract Pansy by playing her around, sacrificing himself to her sexual fancies so that Hermione could take the only chance of getting away.
For a brief moment she watched them again, as Malfoy's hand now coiled into Pansy's raven tresses. He started kissing her neck feverishly that stimulated a small moan to pass the girl's lips. She still clung to him, tangling her hands into his blonde locks. However, in a fleeting second Pansy opened her eyes, she swiftly began to notice the outline of someone— namely Hermione kneeling on the floor, witnessing the lovers' tryst.
Malfoy noted as suddenly Pansy froze in his arms. He quickly pulled back in time to see the Pureblood reach for her wand and aim it toward Hermione. Her frightened prey began to stumble backward trying to get up from the floor as Pansy speedily flung a curse at her before Malfoy had any chance of wrestling the weapon from the girl's sweaty grip.
In a matter of seconds Hermione was thrown full force into the wall, temporarily sending her into a lapse of unconsciousness, black spots swamping her blurring vision. She slid down the wall as soon as she felt the impact of the wall, feeling the agony that ensued Pansy's assault.
Her attacker went to scream, but Malfoy rapidly cast a Silence spell over her, whispering urgently to the girl that he clung onto. Hermione could barely make out one word as the pounding surge of blood flushed through her head, each beat feeling like a detonating bomb in her disarrayed mind.
"Listen to me," His vituperative tone only augmented his captives thrashing, "Either you stop and help or I'll Obliviate you without a second thought. Your choice, Pansy," The girl's eyes grew wide with fear, shock silencing her physical protests. After what felt like hours, she anxiously nodded. Malfoy automatically understood he had her support, but unwilling for a few moments to let her go in case she decided to run.
Ending the silencing spell, he cautiously awaited Pansy's reaction before speaking through the taciturnity, "Now hurry up. We need to get away before my father comes."
"Draco," She whispered, her voice doused in her obvious torment.
"Pansy, please. Just do as I say."
Hermione could feel as Malfoy slid his hands none too gently under her body, hurriedly lifting her from her position on the floor into his rigid arms. Pansy never relinquished her grip on him, in fear of being caught by the others, but also the dire consequences if she tried to escape to tell the others. Although, he would not think twice of killing her if it meant it would ultimately be for the greater good.
The last she saw was the tempestuous eyes of Malfoy looming over her weak body, as he hurried toward the fireplace. Even though she hated him with a passion she could not veto the gratitude she felt from Malfoy's protection. He carefully carried her into the darkened hearth, ensuring neither she nor Pansy uttered a single word until they reached safety as he threw the silvery powder into the grate.
Even when she awoke to find what seemed to be over a dozen faces leaning over her body, she still had the image of Malfoy in her head, sucking any sense of time or place from her foggy mind.
Her eyes fluttered open even wider in anticipation as she became more aware of those who were standing above her. As she went to lean forward she felt an agonising pain sear her forehead, causing her to quickly clamp her hand over the throbbing that pounded in her skull.
"What happened? Where are we?"
The crowd dispersed as the face her old Housemistress, tight with anxiety, came into view.
"Miss. Granger we are in the home of Muriel Weasley," The suddenly strong and authoritative voice of Mrs. McGonagall hushed her uneasiness, as she slowly leant forward again resting precariously on the edge of the mountain of cushions behind her.
"You are lucky Mr. Malfoy was there to save you," The older woman's lips pursed in frustration as Hermione tried to get up from the moth-eaten couch, trying her best to scan the mass of faces that now lingered around the skirts of the vast chamber. She looked around the round meeting everyone's eye. Yet, none of them held the pale and haughty features of the youngest Malfoy.
"Where is he?" She queried as she curiously inspected a lone figure that stood gazing out onto the sweeping grounds of the manor house. The figure turned to face Hermione. The glint of a familiar smirk glowed in the scattered motes of moonlight that broke through the windows of the parlor.
"Oh, I'm right here, Granger. Always have been," The curve of his smile like a sharpened scythe ready for slaughter.
Author's Note: Thank you for everyone that reviewed it was extremely kind of you. I just can't explain how much they all mean to me :o) I hope I replied back to everyone. Keep reviewing though. Oh and once again if you are not a Fanfiction member I believe it's possible that you can write reviews! If you have my questions and more importantly find any mistakes/ continuity/ OOCs just tell me. I love to hear any criticism, that's how I can improve on my writing for the next chapter. By the way a Crup is a magical creature created by J.K. Rowling.