A/N: So sorry for the delay. As most of you know the transition into college has gone well, but I've been absolutely overwhelmed with work and personal problems. To find out about future when chapters will be posted, and other important information, please check my profile. It's quick, thorough, and up-dated almost daily. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks so much for all the reviews! There were some really good questions, a few great suggestions, and tons of encouragement. You guys broke my record for most reviews for a chapter! Thanks!

Stolen

Chapter 10: Stepping Outside

Hermione awoke dreadfully early. She had slept fitfully, plagued with nightmares throughout the night. In one, she was caught up in the midst of the wedding of her dreams, but, when she reached the alter, she was facing a pale and red-eyed Voldermort who was grinning mincingly at her. In another, she wandered aimlessly in her elegant wedding dress around Malfoy manor at midnight, lost in its massive dark corridors, covering her ears from the unreasonably loud tolling of the clock. In still another, Narcissa Malfoy accosted Hermione, as she laughed with her friends in the Hogwarts courtyard, and ripped her wedding dress to shreds. Consequently, she awoke in all together foul mood and magiced away her breakfast tray the instant Knobby left the room. The elf had been a bit too cheerful this early for her liking, and, although Hermione had been friendly and patient as ever, she had no desire for all that chat this morning. After the night she'd endured she was simply not in the mood for anyone, despite her resilient triumph of the previous evening. At the proud recollection of that small victory however, she smiled a little in spite of herself.

She then moved resentfully to the desk, still in her clothes from yesterday in which she had fallen asleep. Her hair a mess and her eyes still sleepy, she set to work on the inevitable task of completing the mountains of thank you notes. Within half an hour of beginning them, she was cursing whole-heartedly the idiot who had thought up the custom. Everything she composed to illustrate gratefulness sounded nothing short of retarded and she felt rather 'Ron-ish' about the whole mess, actually slumping in her seat and dragging the torture out by attempting, only half-heartedly, to think up ways of avoiding the forced labor. No strokes of brilliance came to her this morning.

Huffing in defeat, she eventually buckled down and forced her way through stacks of formal paper, telling herself it was, at the very least, the perfect opportunity to practice her calligraphy, which she had always wanted to perfect. Also, while she suspected that nothing she ever did would suit Narcissa Malfoy and this was probably just busy work she would have an elf re-do, it may well be another chance to prove her muggle manners of surprising worth yet again. She relished the opportunity, taking great care to study the guidelines for such formalities as wizarding thank you notes by consulting a book in her room on Pureblood Etiquette and Customs, by Patricia Goyle. Unfortunately, each note also had a tricky little bow to be tied when it was competed- not to mention it had to be folded the correct number of times- so finishing was even easier said than done.

At last, after working painstakingly for hours, she proudly completed the task. Wrapping them neatly in a box of tissue paper she placed a note on top of them to indicate to Knobby that they were to be given to Madam Malfoy. She then stood to stretch and examine her hands. After washing off the layers of ink, she found a grand total of 27 paper cuts. She healed them and applied a salve to work out the cramps.

Finally liberated from the desk, Hermione allowed herself a nice, long bath and felt much better after freshening up. Not happy by any means, she at least felt clean, if a little hungry. She simply couldn't bring herself to try any food brought to her since the incident. The pattern continued at lunch time, when she politely refused another meal. Knobby looked concerned, but Hermione shook her off uninterestedly, insisting she never ate when she was busy. The elf left her to write in her diary.

Even as she opened the desk to withdraw the notorious black leather book of her most secret correspondence, her hand glided over it involuntarily to lift instead that strange artifact that had plagued her consciousness even in yesterday's panic: The Tragic Personal History of Casus Malfoy. The questions that had haunted her thoughts returned in full force. Who was this Casus Malfoy? Why was he not in The History of Magic and yet why did he sound familiar? What was so tragic about his personal history? What was that from the introduction: "heritage and allegiance…horrors of his death…Nulli Secundus…Ciatrix Manet…"?

It had sucked her and there was no escaping it.

'Bloody diary be damned!' she thought, and, within minuets, Hermione was oblivious to all and engulfed in her book. 'Although,' she reminded herself, 'it's not actually my book.'

She had stolen it from the Malfoys ancient library. She giggled at the idea of being so mischievous. Soon, however, all giggling was thrown aside.

"Chapter 1: An Age of Blood and Fear, Casus Malfoy's Birth

"By 1680, most wizards, unable to exist peacefully with the lesser race, had retired unto themselves."

'Lesser race?' Hermione mind growled.

"For the first time since the ancient wars of Britain, 'all magical' communities began to spring up all over the world. The British Isles remained particularly divided. However, after no significant number of years, a new liberal wave of ignorant and lesser born wizarding families would attempt move back into neighborhoods not of their own kind. In simpler words, out of hope for financial gain during an economic slope, many wizarding families would migrate to neighborhoods infested with muggles. In defense of their act of treason against their own race, they preached tolerance and equality of the races. These people called for the rest to not only tolerate, but also seek peace with non-magical beings. Those they asked the purebloods to pity were the very people that had committed atrocities against them simply for the crime of possessing powers and knowledge they could not. The horrific chain of events had occurred less than 300 year previously, and yet some were willing to throw that aside. Let us not forget that the sufferings we, as a race, underwent, although hidden by time, are no more forgivable now than they were 300 years ago.

"In that time, the age in which Casus Malfoy would be born, the foolish breed of muggles had never been so presumptuous, gullible, paranoid or vindictive. That unfortunate combination of characteristics- all too common among muggles- was what bought their bloodthirsty reign of terror to its peak. Wizards and witches everywhere, from Bavaria, to the British Isles, to Romania, even across the sea to the New World, were living in absolute terror. They feared that the muggles' xenophobia would cost them their lives and the lives of their family, even innocent children.

'Oh are we 'gullible, paranoid, and vindictive'?' Hermione frowned fiercely at the pages. Even as she fretted over the book's wording she could not argue with the perspective that some could see it that way. While wizard's hands were by no means innocent, there was frankly no defense for the witch hunts. She shuddered at the mere memory of tales she had heard in the history of magic of witch trials and executions.

"It is vital that it be understood that this condition can be directly traced to the fact that never before this time had muggles been so in control of the government, nor overtaken by such suspicion in trend and religious zeal. However, persecution of wizarding blood was by no means a new phoneme. The dramatic rise of this perception in the muggles was due largely to the Church's controversial and dramatic period of growth and several vengeful squibs, such as Percival Knotting (also known as Matthew Hopkins, witch finder general). Death totals from the year 1690 alone were innumerable and the horror stories endless. Most learned wizards agree that had The International Statue for Secrecy not been passed in 1692 the rampage would not have stopped there.

"It had been at time of panic and pandemonium everywhere. Begun in a jealous fit a rage, the Great Witch Hunt had wreaked havoc and pain in a way no event in our history had. We were being persecuted by the masses, and why? It was for the very thing which made our race superior: the very magic in our blood. The muggles who slaughtered hundreds of magical peoples during this era of terror and bloodthirstiness supposed that were given our magic by evil alone and invented fantastic stories of our intercourse with the devil and nursing of demons.

"What complete cadswollop, as Hagrid would say, nursing demons, worshiping Satan, and all that nonsense." Hermione spoke aloud to her text.

"In their mass hysteria muggles had even slaughtered their own people. They were cannibalistic, superstitious, and genocidal to a degree unequaled by few in history, such as Hitler's regime f Nazis in recent war. Never, in our history, has Wizard kind known such unrighteous persecution, nor appalling hunger for blood as it did in those days, when panic gave way to new breed of evil among men and innocent blood filled the squares of towns world-wide.

"Even with those facts etched along the pages of our history, some dared to claim that a race that nearly exterminated ours was harmless. They took pity on their inability to do magic, forgetting the crimes done against their own blood in favor of the cheaper real estate and, at the time, more expansive economy and wider occupational possibilities. The poor favored this new idea of muggle pacification much more than people of a more prestigious genealogy. These families went so far as to accuse older and more respected families, in reciprocation to claims that their behavior could be considered treacherous, of Dark Arts and other such negative slander.

'Slander?' thought Hermione 'Hardly.'

"In truth, it was a time of the greatest exploration and expansion of the darkest arts in history. No one, since Pharaohs and priests of ancient Egypt, had made such progress. At time of magic so dark and deeds so heinous they people who committed them rarely confess their existence a new evil emerged. Among these was the development of Horcruxes."

She felt herself barely contain a gasp and hers eyes jumped at the word printed inconspicuously on the page.

"However, the Malfoy family was by no means taking place in these acts, nor in the attacks upon muggles. Many not so wicked as the first dark wizards of that particular age were sucked into the following by promises that only Dark Magic spells could fend off the muggles. The Malfoys were no such family. In fact, Persues Malfoy, Casus's father was known to give healing to suffering muggles they could not acquire in their own world. No good deed goes unpunished. "Those who were not as secure financially and not directly effected by such horrors that those years for terror produced, must have felt an inexplicable temptation to turn their back on the past victims and their own world to regain finical standing. For some this temptation was too great. Many followed these traitors, and, over time, there were muggle protection laws, crusaders for muggle rights, and even marriage to muggles had become respectable among that growing sector of wizards. Hogwarts school continued to allow people who had come from no apparent magical heritage to come to the school and learn the arts, despite their predispositions.

"The battle lines were clearly drawn: there were those for forgiveness and growth, and those who remained firm and loyal to their fallen ancestors; the Malfoys in particular. They could never fool themselves sin believing, for any amount of gold, that the death of those like Casus Malfoy was excusable. In 1692 the Ministry of Magic had even ruled that to remain out in the open was no longer a possibility to the survival of the magical race and they must take measures to create a and of barrier which, for the safety of all, could never be breached as it could never be known when these muggles would lose their heads again.

"Even in modern legislation, such precautions have not been thrown off. This serves as sparkling evidence hat the truth is there, obvious as ever. Muggles, not endowed with magic as we are, are, by nature, a less powerful and more mutinous group of beings. They are dangerous and not be trusted. To the noble, the events that passed in the year of 1850 were a bloodstain upon history that no amount of time could siphon off."

Finally she tossed the book into the drawer with a frustrated growl. Rubbish, all of it, rubbish! How outlandish could this historian be? Terms like "lesser race" still made her skin crawl. Reflecting more calmly she tried to see it for the first time for the pureblood perspective. She knoew what is was like to be persecuted for something she could not help. If she looked at from that point of view, the to the extremely loyal it could be seen as nasty as any deep betrayal to side with muggles over family. Was that what Malfoy thought of every time he called her a mudblood? Isn't it the same sort of connotation Malfoy's name had for her, Ron, and Harry? Neither was fair. How could people, even in a depression, take the side of people that had tried to eliminate their race? The death of Casus Malfoy was not something to be forgotten so easily, was it? How clear it all became. All of Draco's odd decisions, all of his seemingly selfish and cowardice actions, all his blind following and taught hatred; all of this was generated by one thing: loyalty to his family. It was his first priority and his most important value. When she thought about it, she really began to understand, and she wondered if perhaps his loyalty wasn't actually a strength just badly placed? After all, wasn't it a trait she had always admired, one she held with her friends and the Order? Was it really so hard to believe how he had turned out then like he was?

The realization shook her. Her skin rippled unpleasantly with goose pimples. Unbidden, a flash of Sanpe's instruction came to her. What was that he had said? The dark arts could creep in unseen and unfelt? They would be on you before you sensed it. The book gave her an odd feeling now, like she was holding something dangerous, or nasty. She slammed the drawer shut, pushed the thoughts from her mind, and swept from the room, desperate for fresh air. This time she was bent and determined to find her way outside. She needed to see the sky and feel fresh air move against her skin and through her hair.

Thus, she winded her way down the stairs drifting along the infamous hallway of elaborate marble archways to the right until she reached its end. Before her there was a pair of French doors. She tried peaking around the corner to check that the coast was clear, but the glass was rippled, not entirely transparent, and partially obscured by pink velvet curtains and golden tassels. Not wanting to turn back now she tentatively opened it. The room was empty, but she could not contain her expression of shock any less then if there had been a dozen or so Death Eaters present.

It was comprised on one side entirely of windows and mirrors, and, as a result, felt unnaturally warm and bright. The others walls were draped entirely in coral velvet. The colors of everything in the room were white, gold, and coral. The sunny sitting room was lovely, but did not hold her interest for long, for the view of outside was even more enticing. She strode immediately to the doors opposite her and was outside in the time it took her to blink.

She had to blink again several times before she could take in the bright outdoors and the beautiful summer's day she was now enveloped in. The air was warm and thick, sweet with nectar and flowery perfumes, but was beginning to cool as evening clouds settled in overhead. The beauty of the place startled her even now. She was at the head of a long stretch of garden path, comprised of perfectly smooth, dark, tiny stones. The path ran the edges of a perfect rectangle, roughly the size of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, lined neatly on the outside by blossoming trees and filled in the center by waist high hedges. In the center, the path cut into the hedges to create a circle around the glistening fountain there. The fountain's waters, not at all unpleasant, were loud enough to be heard from the marble back steps of the house. On each end of said steps were two massive vases, upon them Hermione noted, were a snake and dragon intertwined within a circle bearing also the Malfoy motto: Ciatrix Manet. To herself, she mumbled: "The mark remains." With curiosity she regarded the gardens as she descended the few wide steps into them and eyed the fountain. What was the statue's form from which the water poured?

She headed towards the figure, her curiosity getting the better of her, happy with the sound and feel of the tiny, black stone crunching underneath her shoes.

From the hedges, large blossomed golden, ivory white, and pink flowers popped open. Their pollen glittered and gave off an intoxicating, delicate scent it was pleasant to breathe in as she passed. Closing in upon the object of her interest, she grew even more puzzled. Why would the Malfoy's, a family of Slytherin heritage, have a bird statue in their fountain? As she approached, she was impressed by the sheer size of the sculpture, as well as with its detail and lovely shine, despite its apparent years outside. It was a bird from whose slightly open beak water, rather than sound, poured. Its sweet trickling was a sort of out-of-place peace, for the statue itself was a bit disconcerting.

The sculpture was, she now recognized, a massive golden eagle, with wingspan spread out and properly displayed. The eagle was a bit larger than life size and appeared to be bronze. Rather than gazing up at the expanse of the sky or ahead with a piercing glare to those walking along the path, the bird was looking down, eyes narrowed, as if it glimpsed his prey and about to descend upon it. The expression the bird wore was one that spoke clearly that he wise and dangerous. His very form radiated power. The animal was adorned with wreaths of flowers, like a statue of saint or a Caesar might be. The pool that the water cascaded into was made of pure marble, dotted with a few of the petals that had apparently fallen from the wings of the great bird. Along the rim was inscribed a quote which read: "It is the false sham of fools to try and conceal wounds that have not healed."-Horace.

"Ciatrix Manet: the mark remains." She sighed.

Even as she stared at it, the inscription changed: "It is of no consequence of what parents a man is born as long as he be a man of merit."

She gave a small start. It had read her thoughts. Horace had once said the same thing, she had recalled ironically. Before she could appreciate it fully, a new line of writing was being scrawled along the edge of the fountain. It replied: "Undeservedly, you will atone for the sins of your fathers."

Hers eyes rose to meet the ones of the bird which was glaring at her. Where were the words coming from? She stared back at it, refusing to be intimidated. She turned on her heel and wandered of the direction of the trees. She slipped between a gap in between a pair of birches and found herself in the true garden of the Manor.

Hermione had expected arrogant red roses and neatly trimmed hedges wall, as orderly and massive as everything else the Malfoy's possessed, but this side of the Malfoy's garden was full of wonder, wild antique beauty, and surprise. It was warm and bright, filling the air with intoxicating, inescapably romantic scents. She let her eyes soak in the color and allowed her skin the luxury of feeling the summer warmth as she breathed in the smell of a plush garden hungrily. The vines of ivy had been growing freely for years now, but were trimmed from the path. The hedges were uneven in places, but they flowed over with a gentle grace and their crowded edges kept the turns concealed. The path wove carefree and mysterious, full on all side of bright blues, reds, pinks, purples, and oranges in a sea of green.

Hermione wandered at a quick pace threw the garden, taking things in, stretching her legs, and beginning to feel more alive and fee than she had since she arrived. For a while, the moments strung leisurely together as such, until, however, she cut a quick corner and was shocked into jumping back and squealing. Before her a pair of albino peacocks tramped across her path, strutting shamelessly and, as the tip of her shoe had collided with one, it had let out a horrible shriek, unlike any bird she had ever heard at all. It rumpled its feathers and took off. She turned the other way quickly as she could with any dignity just for good measure. Again she came across the imposing and majestic bird with water pouring from its beak. She walked from it for a reason she could not explain.

She had lost herself, not long after, in the maze of paths and patches of flowers growing freely in a serenade of colors. Every so often she spotted, from a comfortable distance, a dash of white feathers here and there. It was pleasant to become thoroughly lost in the hot summer day with the overcast sky looking down upon her. In such unfamiliar and welcoming surroundings of nature it was possible to forget where she really was. She could be in any enchanted garden in the world. In losing herself, she could lose her thoughts and he impending, dreadful future. Taking random lefts and rights she could have been anyone at all. There might not have been a Draco Malfoy. She might have never been engaged. She pretended she was, in fact, on summer vacation and touring some estate gardens, enjoying every minute of the hot dusk she walked and imagining until the paths came to an end, the trees and flowers thinned, and all opened up into the green fields she had spotted out of the Malfoy's tea room windows.

Down the slope she began to trot. The grass was damp and slippery under her shoes and she slid on it now and again. Reaching a single tree, a tall silver birch perched on the edge of a creek, she watched the water flow over the stones like wool through a loom, glistening like a serpent's cool back. It babbled to her incessantly, but she paid it no mind. Instead, she allowed her eyes to transfix themselves on the dancing water, mossy rock, smooth pebbles of the bottom, and the green bank. Staring at it silently and intently she did not notice movement behind her until she could hear breathing nearby. Uneasy from the unknown presence she slowly inclined her head towards where she had noticed the movement and spotted, through its vibrating reflection, a flash of brilliant white and gold.

Feet from her in this green field stood a huge male unicorn, whiter even than the freshest winter snow, colossus and powerful, with a giant pure gold horn protruding from its wide forehead. For a moment, she could not move or breathe as she stared at the animal. Its eyes casted knowingly over the expanse of the grass before them, it dipped its graceful, strong neck into the water, and drank. She was close enough to hear it swallow and it sent chills down her arms in spite even in the summer air.

Giving it a few moments to drink it which it took no note of her, she then made to stand. Immediately its neck snapped up, its ears stood straight and shifted to catch her sound, and its eyes changed. They were an almost milky-blue with big, black pupils. Knowing enough about these animals to be frightened, she waited until her back began to hurt to straighten it. The animal just stared her down in an imperial manner without moving at all. It might have a been another statue if she could not see the slight contract and rise of the chest as it breathed in the same wet air as she did.

Unsteady in its presence, she stood up. It stared at her, remaining still, until, filled with hope or desperation, she moved forward a gentle hand. No response. She extended her fingers gradually as far as they would reach; the animals concentration visually on them all the while. The apparent intelligence in its eyes was remarkable to her. She began sliding her foot ever so slightly toward her front one. The unicorn stared at her feet. She moved her other hand forward, cupped like a peace offering. Waiting for its reaction, she stepped forward. It cared not. She squatted on the ground and played with the grass, hoping to calm it. The unicorn waited and watched, then shifted his head down tentatively for a drink. Staring in the direction behind them, it did not notice Hermione stand. She did not want to disturb it, but she so wanted to touch it. She wanted so badly to know if that delicately silver coat was as soft as it looked.

As she approached it, its wide and wild eyes locked onto hers causing her to freeze in her tracks. Pushing the air forcefully from its nostrils, it pulled itself up on its hind legs and kicked the sky in a show of magnificent force and power, taking Hermione aback. His huge body whipped around, shot her a violently reproaching look, and galloped off across the field, the ground reverberating under his heavy golden hooves, and his mane flying freely in the breeze behind him. It was surreal. For a while she watched him from her position leaning up against the birch tree as he demonstrated his spirit along the contrasting dim and cloudy horizon. Afterwards, wishing she could run as freely as he did, she turned to make her way back towards the gardens.

As the trickling grew louder, she began to collect her bearings and grew surprisingly tired as she walked. She did not at all enjoying being lost, but with every turn she took she felt her senses flip and heard the fountain remain, as always, just off to the side. As frustration mounted, Hermione pulled her wand from her pocket to direct her to the fountain and made her way rather agitatedly to the center of the gardens once more, intent on returning inside soon. As she rounded the final bend, however, her plans quickly changed, as her breath caught in her throat and she flung herself backwards, flattening herself against the hedge. Daring to peek over, if only to confirm that what she had seen was not a figment of her imagination, her heart leapt in her chest as the bear before her sniffed the ground feet away from her.

Why on earth would the Malfoys have a bear? What reason on earth could possible warrant such a measure? Was if a fetish, she wondered, half sick with notion. Looking closely, she saw that it was indeed a European dancing bear, one of the kind kept in poor captive conditions by beggars and gypsies in the streets of Europe trained in a painful manner to 'dance'. Most such bears went blind from malnutrition and mad from the odd and stressful conditions in which they were force to live out their existence. The bear before her was indeed blind. Hermione felt an overwhelming rush of pity. What an atrocity. How cruel. She was crying before she realized it, feeling the bear's torment. She could not imagine how it must feel-or could she?

Did she look so forlorn, so tortured, so out of place? He pawed desperately at the pebbles. Was he hungry? She noticed, not for the first time, her own hunger. Her stomach growled audibly. The bear snorted and huffed, looking with unseeing eyes alertly in her direction. With a sudden jolt of fear Hermione turned back around and took comfort behind the safety of her hedge, closing her eyes and holding her breath as she listened to the rough breathing and smooth shifting of pebbles from behind. After a short while, the noise stopped. Grimacing in insane expectation, she extended her fingers and felt the hedge she was about to peek around. As she did so however, her fingers felt more than a dry prickle. Her fingertips had come in contact with something very soft, cold, and wet. She looked down. The bear was sniffing her hand. With a gasp she jerked her hand away like it had hit her with a stinging hex and turned and ran.

The bear made an odd cry, or surprise or anger and she glanced back at his confused visage as she ran around the garden of blues, purples, brilliant reds, and twilight pinks all color becoming a blur.

Her own hurried steps were the only noises she heard for a while, but then a baying of hounds because audible. It grew. The sound was unnerving and confusing in the warm, shadowed garden. The beasts were on her heals before she knew it. She was catching glimpses of white, rust, and brown ahead and behind. Still she ran, farther than the screaming stitch in her side told her she could and the faster she ran the louder the baying and barks became. All at once, she burst form the garden on the south side, no less than four English Pointers on her heals. She launched herself forward, hoping to get down the slope faster, but collided with something heavy, unexpected, and vaguely familiar.

The figure grabbed her. She could feel and hear the hounds upon her now and a voice yelling. Quite flushed, hair askew as could be, Hermione looked up into the serenely grey eyes of Draco Malfoy and noticed, for the very first time, a speck of blue there.

"Hush, Porthos." He was chiding. "d'Artagnan, be still. Get down boys." The beasts fell quiet.

"Granger," he hissed, or attempted to. "What were you doing provoking my hounds?"

"I was running and they chased me," came her dull and breathless reply.

"Of course they did. Hounds are trained to chase people running on our property. Why were you running?"

"I saw a bear."

"A bear?" she nodded forcefully, willing him to believe her. He gazed at her as if she was mad.

"Are you sure?" he asked, as if inquiring if she were feeling well.

"Absolutely. It-it came up to me and tried to-to eat me or something."

"Eat you?" he demanded.

"Well, it was sniffing me and-"

He responded in a way she had never anticipated. He laughed. Her eyes widened in pure surprise. Judging from his appearance he must have thought something was truly hilarious. He was doubled over, gasping for breath, red faced, watery-eyed, and chortling more deeply than she had ever heard him. She gazed at him as if he were mad. Somehow it did not seem to fit him to be truly amused rather than arrogantly mocking or entertained. It sounded as strange on him as a dress would have looked.

"I swear it was a bear!" she protested indignantly. This only made him laugh harder. He kept going for a good several minutes, making her more agitated by the second.

Slightly recovered, with tears still streaming down his jovial visage, he finally managed: "For God's sake! That was just Jacopo. He's blind and harmless. Running from Jacopo of all things in this garden… The look on your face-I can only imagine!" He clutched his side and dissolved into laughter again.

"I'm sorry to say I didn't find it nearly as amusing," she commented sourly, slightly embarrassed. How was she to know that the bear was harmless? It was a bear, after all! He had turned away and was walking in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" He looked at her and considered her a moment. God she hated it when he did that. What was he looking at? What was he thinking? Who did he think he was anyway?

"Come with me. I'll show you something."

She followed him in spite of her better judgment warning her it may be a trap out of pure curiosity. If Draco was going to show off something, it was probably something interesting. They made their way, with the now friendly two pairs of hounds at their feet, far in the opposite direction of the field she had found. They continued until again the garden ended at the edge of a wood of tall, dark trees. Stepping into their shade, she watched Draco enter the stone arch of a very old building. He disappeared into its shadows. She waited for a moment, uneasy again. A dog sniffing her hand with its cold, wet nose and took her by surprise. She patted its head.

Draco's blonde head appeared at the entrance way. "Are you coming, or what?" He asked impatiently as ever.

Hermione gave it considerable thought before stepping forward and answering in a voice that was felt alien to her for reasons she did not know: "Yes. I'm coming."

A/N: What's Draco up to? A bit different, but how did you like it? I know the Casus Malfoy bit was long, but it was super important. Hope it was at least a little interesting. Actually, it took a lot of research (muggle and magical history), as did the next chapter for reasons I cannot yet reveal. If you think that bit was long, then you should read the full version of the chapters on my word program! I re-wrote it like 5 times to condense. This chapter was originally this and the next one, but it was way too long so I cut it in half. Those of you who are hankering for more Hermione/ Draco interaction will enjoy the next chapter: "Facing gods and Demons". I would like to know what you would like the rating on this story to be. Please review!