I OWN NOTHING. *cries into soup*


Chapter Twenty One: A Little Ray of Sunshine


Harry lay gasping on the frozen ground, shaking violently in the cold. Droplets of freezing water rolled off his bare skin, dripped into his eyes from his hair and sank into the hard, cold ground. Ron crouched at his side, frantically peering into his face to see if he was okay.

"That was one of the stupidest things you've ever done, mate," he said, and Harry gurgled out a laugh between spitting out mouthfuls of water. The sword of Gryffindor lay at their side, dangerous and mystical, gleaming in the light of the moon.

"Imagine if Hermione were here," Ron continued. "She would have found another way to get the sword without you having to strip down to your pants."

Harry forced out a laugh, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his heart when he thought about Hermione.

"How the hell d'you think the sword ended up here?" Ron asked on their way back to the tent. Harry dove to the beds and wrapped a blanket around himself, putting his glasses back on.

"Someone must have sent it," Harry said. "There's no other way."


Draco didn't visit Hermione for the next couple of days. He made sure she was sent what she needed and that she was eating above all else. He would not let her starve in his care. He kept himself busy, cooped up inside his study, looking over blueprints and plans and talking to Blaise, who would frequently pop in and out of the Manor. Blaise was the only person he truly trusted, he was his best friend and Draco knew he could count on him, so he had given him access to his Manor, adjusting the wards so that they would let him in. Even though Blaise had his own life and had other things to do back in Hogwarts Draco was grateful his friend visited so often. Living in hiding wasn't always easy, and though he had Hermione now he found he still craved company.

'I hate you,' her words sliced through his mind, and rubbing his temples, he sighed. Of course she hated him. Look at everything he had done to her! But that didn't take away the hurt he still felt. He had been so happy and then she had cut him down from his high with those three words. Part of him wanted to punish her for it, but he decided against it in the end. He couldn't stop her hating him. Anything he did would only add to the fuel so there was no point. Unless there was some kind of potion that could eradicate her hatred he could do nothing.

You could always Obliviate her, a voice in his mind suggested, and he paused, his grip on the quill he had been holding slackened.

It would work, too, the voice continued. She wouldn't remember anything that had happened before and all you would have to do is feed her a lie or two and she'd eat it up and will be yours for the wooing. She wouldn't remember the kidnapping or the rape-she wouldn't even remember how you met, and you could both be happy.

The voice was seductive and low and he found himself seriously considering it as he walked aimlessly through his home. Only perhaps his walk wasn't innocent as he thought because he found himself heading towards her room. His hand gripped his wand in a tight fist, his knuckles turning white from the pressure as he reached her door. He looked through the peephole and found her at the window, striking her fists against it repeatedly. He could tell she was using all her strength by the way she threw herself into each blow, her hands looked broken and bloodied and he winced as she continued her attack against the glass that would not yield. It wasn't possible to tell if she was screaming or not-he had soundproofed the room and all he could see was the back of her head. She was wrapped in one of the bed sheets; he could see the tight knots holding it together from where he stood.

She's in pain, the voice hissed. You could make her forget it all.

He nodded, watching as the girl collapsed onto the floor, cradling her broken hands in her lap as she brought her knees to her chest. The tears glinted brightly on her distraught face, catching his eye.

Could I do it? He asked himself. Would I do that to her?

The idea was extremely tempting-but was it worth it? Did he want her to forget everything? How they met? The first time he called her a Mudblood? Her slapping him in Third year and everything else? Their first kiss? Granted, all those memories weren't the happiest but he supposed those instances had been what had slowly led to his falling for her. It would be a shame if she didn't remember them too. Not only that-exactly how much would the spell take away? He eyed his wand warily, unease tingeing his nerves. If she wouldn't be able to remember him, would she remember Potter and Weasely? In short, would she still be the same person?

He looked again. She had fallen asleep, her head slumping forwards and her curls draping over her arms and chest. She had exhausted herself and there was the price she paid. Draco opened the door and stepped through to the girl. There was pain on her face, even in sleep, just like on their first night. Her hands were inflamed and swollen; he swiftly kneeled down before her and took them in his as gently as he could. She stirred a little but did not wake, and relieved, he cast one healing spell after another until her face relaxed and her hands were good as new. He brushed her hair back and picked her up, depositing her in the bed as gently as he could. Once he had covered her with the duvet he stepped back, wand held at his side.

Now's your chance, the voice hissed.

Shaking his head, Draco backed away from the bed, tucking his wand back into his pocket. He wouldn't do that to her. Turning around to leave the room, he stopped short when he heard the girl on the bed groan and mutter something in a raspy voice.

He turned and strode back to the bed where Hermione was groggily pulling herself up into a sitting position, one hand supporting her body on the bed and the other cupping her throat as she tried to clear it.

Draco sat on the edge of the bed, not failing to notice how she shrank away from him. He caught her left hand in his though she tried to pull away and held it in both of his, lightly toying with the ring.

"Why are all the windows covered?" she asked. "Why can't I see outside?"

The ends of his lips curved upwards into a faint smile that disappeared when he turned to look at her.

"The God of the Underworld lived in the darkness; he lived in death, because Death was him. He fell in love with Persephone, the Goddess of spring and innocence, daughter of light. She brought light and warmth wherever she went and the God of the sleeping and the dead decided he must have her as his own. He took her from her home, from the light and brought her to the Underworld to be his queen."

Hermione stared at him, a dumbfound expression on her face. "So metaphorically speaking, you're telling me that I'm in the Underworld."

Chuckling, he straddled her, leaning over her prone form as she whimpered and clutched the sheet about herself.

"I am your Lord," he said, his lips brushing against her skin.

She spat on his cheek. "Go to hell." He laughed, cupping her face in his hands, and said in a low, low voice. "When will you learn, pretty little bird? We're already here."

"That still doesn't explain why you won't let me see outside," she argued. "I've already been there," (she shivered violently upon remembering that terrifying night) "so what's the point?"

"The point is that it's your punishment, Hermione," he said, a little angrily. "When you start behaving you'll be allowed more freedom."

"I will never be even remotely close to freedom as long as I'm under you," she hissed. His eyes darkened and he smiled-she didn't get the double meaning in her own words until he pressed his lips to hers. He shoved his hands beneath her to grope at her bottom and she gave a startled "oh!" when he slipped a hand beneath the sheet wrapped around her and plunged two fingers into her, hissing his displeasure upon finding her dry. He began to thrust, teasing her clit with his thumb, but she couldn't bear it.

"Please!" she gasped, "Stop!"

He paid her no attention, continuing his movements until with a mighty effort she wrenched herself up quickly, restraining his greedy hands.

"Don't," she pleaded shakily. "Please, M-Draco."

She had surprised him-that much was evident by the look on his face. She still held back his arms, away from where they had been moments prior. She, who could barely look at herself in the mirror without feeling disgust because she could still feel him on her, was touching him of her own volition. Even though it was to keep him from using her, the touch had shocked him nonetheless. But as fast as the shock had come, it fled in an instant, and he tore his eyes away from her hands to meet her eyes. The confusion, the surprise was gone in them, and once more the iciness had resurfaced.

"Don't what?"

"Don't touch me," she whispered, flinging her hands away from his and settling back to her legs to pull the sheet down where he had pulled it high. "I can't bear it."

"I've touched you before, pet," he said. "What's the difference now?"

"THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE!" she shouted. "I CAN'T STAND YOU!"

Draco stared at her for a moment, no expression on his face. He raised his hand, and she recoiled, thinking he was going to beat her, but was shocked when his hand stroked her cheek, brushing her tears away and he tilted her head to face him again.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she was rendered mute at the actual sincerity in his eyes, "but I can't let you go. I won't. You're mine now." She turned away, heaving wracking sobs that turned into cries of fright when he wrapped his arms around her and laid them both down on the bed. Hermione pleaded and fought to free herself but he would not relent, and once it was clear he was not going to rape her she calmed somewhat, though she was still stiff and frozen in his arms.

"Get some rest," he pressed a kiss into her curls. "We're to visit Mother and Father tomorrow." How he had come to the conclusion that that was the right thing to say at such a time was beyond her-if she had not been anxious before it was damn sure she was now. He could feel her tremble slightly and he drew the covers over them, pressing himself more firmly into her from behind, rubbing a soothing circle into her stomach.


The Malfoy Manor was large and imposing; the elegant black structure stood proud surrounded by lush, beautiful gardens. Tall, well groomed hedges lined the path leading to the Manor and the grounds that wrapped around it, pure white peacocks strutted about, occasionally bending their long necks to pick at something in the ground.

It had been a quick and terrifying morning-Malfoy had woken her with a deep kiss, and startled, she had flailed around to get him off. He was already dressed in one of his usual impeccably tailored suits, the second she'd caught glimpse of it she had remembered the agenda for that day and shuddered, leading him to break the kiss with a chuckle and pull her from the bed as though she were some sort of rag doll.

"Bogg is waiting in the bathroom," was all he said and pushed her across the room to the bathroom door. Hermione stumbled, her eyes were still unfocused from sleep and it didn't register to her that she was nude until the door opened and the steam from the tub rushed out to lap at her skin. Instantly she had covered herself and turned to Malfoy, who was holding the sheet in one hand and her bum with the other. She snarled an insult and before she could protest that she didn't want a bath, that she could do it herself, and that she had no intention of going to visit the Death Eater and his wife, he had slapped her quite hard on the ass and shut the door behind her.

Bogg ignored her protests and practically tripped her into the bath; when she resubmerged, gasping for air he had set to washing her hair. A half hour of embarrassment and anger later, she was all but kicked out of the soaking room, wrapped in a fluffy towel and shaking, her sodden curls plastered to her skin. She stood there, shaking, and Malfoy, who had been seated on the bed rose and pulled her to the table where a pile of neatly folded clothing lay. He began to peel the towel away from her body and she scrambled away immediately.

"I'm not going," she declared, and felt a wave of nostalgia as memories of her younger self saying the exact same thing to her parents hit her. Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked them back along with the memories.

He scoffed. "Hermione, you're going," he said seriously. "They're eager to see you."

"I don't want to see them!" she snapped. "I don't want to see the people that raised this demon before me! Let. Me. Go!"

He stood before her, having caught her wrists in his hands and he squeezed them hard enough to make her cry out in pain. His eyes connected with hers as he leaned forwards, making her bend backwards as though it would make her bend to his will.

"I'm giving you a choice, Hermione. Either you cooperate or I'll Imperius you again. Be a good girl or I'll have to punish you."

She glared at him, hate sparking in her eyes and he resisted the urge to kiss her. She still needed to get ready, after all. With a sharp tug he pulled her towel off and grabbing the bra that lay on the table, he began to loop it through her arms. Blushing furiously, Hermione slapped at his hands.

"I can dress myself!" she snarled, and he laughed before dropping his hands and handing her the clothing he had chosen for her, then going to sit on the bed. Keeping her jaw clenched and her body hidden as best as she could, Hermione rushed to cover herself. The quality of the clothing was much finer than what she was accustomed to; the lingerie itself made her eyes widen and her anger rise, and was relieved when she practically threw on the lilac dress and the simple (yet costly looking) heels. She turned to face him at last, her fists clenched by her side, and stumbled back in surprise as he pressed his lips against hers. His arms wound around her to fasten something around her neck, when he pulled back she looked down to find a beautiful diamond necklace adorning her collarbone and he was already fastening earrings on her ears.

"Do you like them?" he asked.

"I don't want your jewels," she said stiffly. "You make a mockery of my enslavement."

With a wave of his wand her hair was completely dry and pulled back so that her curls flowed down to her waist.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, "just as you always do."

She refused to look up at him; she felt as though the jewelry and the clothes were weighing her down to the ground. Absentmindedly she remembered the ring and without knowing it, she rubbed her knuckles against her thigh in a quick manner.

"You are my wife," he told her gently. "I know you see it differently but this marriage does not have to be so uneven, sweetheart. All you have to do is play your part. Remember that."

She had ignored him, and he chose not to punish her, knowing how nervous she must be.

They had apparated to the Malfoy Manor after a quick breakfast (meaning he had almost forced some juice and eggs down her throat), and now they were heading up the steps to the grand front doors. Before Malfoy could even touch the knocker one of the doors opened and an ancient House Elf bowed to them.

"Master Draco, we is honored by your visit," it croaked. "Mr. Malfoy is waiting for you." Draco inclined his head and stepped through without another word, pulling Hermione along, who was absolutely reluctant to enter and mortified that he had linked his arm through hers.

She couldn't help but balk at the interior of the grand house. Where she had expected dark colouring equal to the outside of the house, the decoration was light and pleasing, though it could still be deemed lavish and opulent. It was as though she had stepped inside one of the pictures she had often gazed at in the home design zines. Sunlight streamed through the arched windows, illuminating the tasteful rooms they passed through. Draco kept a tight hold of her, carefully watching her reaction to his childhood home. That she was surprised was evident however much she tried to hide it.

"Contrary to everyone's belief, I did not grow up inside a coffin," he said lightly. She said nothing.

At last Draco steered Hermione into a study, which she correctly assumed was his father's. This room had seen better days, she thought to herself upon looking around. The furniture must once have been of great value but had suffered abuse at some point in time; there were deep scratches and scuffs and even what she thought looked like a scorch mark. Two tall bookcases were filled to capacity with dusty old tomes and odd bits and ends that looked as though he'd gone picking things off the streets in Knockturn Alley. Either that or he'd been frequenting Borgin and Burkes for a long, long time.

"Father?" Draco called.

There was no one at the desk nor at the window. In fact, there was no one inside the room other than herself and Malfoy, who, infuriatingly, still had not let go of her arm.

"Congratulations are in order, I believe," Lucius's amused voice came from directly behind them and Hermione bit her lip sharply to keep her gasp from being heard.

The elder Malfoy stood, regal as ever, but the thing that unnerved Hermione was the fact that he was absolutely beaming at them. Rather, at her. She took a step back but Draco brought her forward again, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

"And how is the new Lady Malfoy?" Lucius asked, bending forward slightly. She knew he was waiting for her to offer her hand but she couldn't bring herself to do it. This was too bizarre. Bizarre and totally unwanted. She squirmed as Draco's fingers dug into her waist and reluctantly brought her arm forward, unable to control the way her arm jerked a little as Lucius grasped it and brought it to his lips.

"Don't be afraid, darling," Draco teased. "He won't eat you."

"Can't say the same for you, my boy," his father said, grasping his shoulder and looking at Hermione with appraising eyes. "I knew you would choose wisely. She is divine."

The way they looked at her, as though she were some prized racing horse made her feel sick.

"And of course no one is going to mention the fact that I am here against my will," she said angrily, trying to wrestle herself out of Draco's hold.

"Remember what I told you," Draco said through grit teeth.

"You didn't tell me anything, you threatened me, you sod!" she hissed, and winced as he gripped her upper arm tightly.

"Miss Granger," Lucius began. "I am aware things may have been rough for you-"

"Rough? You try being kidnapped and then raped repeatedly!" Hermione hissed. "What if I hid you from all your friends and family and just about did everything possible to ruin your life?"

Draco had had enough. With a quick motion he brought out his wand and jabbed it into her throat, muttering an angry 'Silencio'. Hermione fought against him but he held her too tightly for her to do much. He pushed her to a seat and forced her down into it, heavily placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her still. Lucius strode to her front and leaned against his desk, watching her. The pleasantry had gone from his eyes and they were once again cold and menacing, just as she was used to.

"You may be resistant of the idea, my dear, but the fact remains that you are married to my son. What's been done has been done, and there is no going back. My son goes after what he wants, and you can be sure that there's no escape for you, so I suggest you wipe that frown off that pretty little face and accept it."

Hermione was mutinous. This was outrageous. This could not be happening. Malfoy's hands kept her practically glued to the chair, it was all she could do to not groan in pain. She knew he was angry, and that he would punish her later, but she didn't care. They had to know this was wrong.

"Has she given you much trouble?" Lucius was asking his son.

"Nothing I can't handle," Draco said smugly. Hermione nearly wrenched herself out of the chair with the wave of fury that hit her, but Malfoy muttered another spell and she found herself strapped to the chair.

"And will I be a grandfather soon?"

Hermione blanched. She could feel the blood draining from her face.

"Not for some time, Father. I want to enjoy her before I have to share her with our children."

Children. Plural. She fought down the nausea that rolled around in her stomach. No. This was degrading. 'Enjoy her?' Draco's hand trailed up to cup her chin and furious, she snapped at it with her teeth, drawing a loud oath from him.

Lucius laughed. "It seems you still have some things to teach her."

"I will," Draco promised, "and I'll enjoy it."

Suddenly Hermione found herself freed from the chair and Malfoy hauled her to her feet, gripping her arm with one hand and her throat with the other.

"I warned you, pet," he hissed in her ear. "Now you're in for it." Hermione gulped, but she kept her eyes ahead, refusing to look at him even as he tried to force her to meet his eye.

"Imperio."

Once again the pleasant waves washed over her, loosening her limbs and forming a smile on her lips. Her anger and fear were squashed down to the very bottom of her stomach so that she only felt eager to please and happy. There was an ominous cloud in her mind, threatening and dangerous and she knew that was how Malfoy felt now. Part of her didn't care; she wouldn't play along with their façade like everything was okay. But the majority of her, the part of her that was under his spell was terribly anxious. She felt terrible for having embarrassed him in front of his father and wanted to beg him to forgive her. She didn't want him to be angry with her.

Draco sat down in the chair she had previously been in and patted his knee expectantly. She could hear his command in her head and swiftly sat on his lap, slinging one arm across his neck and shoulders and the other on his chest, leaning against him like a picture from the cover of a romance novel. Lucius watched amusedly from his desk, holding a tumblr of Firewhiskey to his lips.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, pet?" Draco asked gravely.

Hermione pouted, looking up at him from downcast eyes. "I was disrespectful and embarrassed you. Please forgive me."

"I don't know, my love," he said absently, smoothing his hand over her curls. "I don't think you've fully grasped your situation yet. You don't seem all that sorry. So say it."

The words were on her tongue, waiting to pass through her lips, but she struggled against his pull and her own will to not give in to him.

"I.."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I-I'm your wife," she finally gasped out, her lips trembling.

"Whose wife?"

"Yours," she whispered faintly. "I'm yours."

He practically purred, his hands running down to rest at her waist in a possessive manner. "And?" he prompted.

"You own me," she said, and a tear fell out of her eye and landed on his sleeve. "My place is with you."

"That's right," he said smugly. "You're mine now."

"Will you forgive me, my Lord?" she turned her large eyes up to meet his pleadingly.

"I forgive you, pet," he said, "but you're still due for a punishment."

"I understand," she said quietly.

A slow clap startled them from their interaction and they looked away from each other to Lucius, who had gone towards the door.

"Well managed."

"Thank you, Father."

Lucius opened the door.

"I figure you will not want to waste time with other pleasantries. Your mother is waiting to see you."

Draco eased Hermione off his lap and stood quickly, pulling her after him to the door where his father stood waiting. "Of course."

Draco walked ahead of them, having released Hermione from the Imperius and his hold in his haste to see his mother. The second he had let her go Hermione had made a mad dash in the opposite direction, only to screech to a halt upon finding the elder Malfoy in her direct path.

"Going somewhere, are you?" he asked, smiling.

"Get out of my way."

"I can't do that," he said gravely.

Hermione chanced a look behind her. Draco was gone. She turned back and tried to advance again at the same time Lucius stepped forward.

"Please," she said. "You can't possibly be in accordance to this. This is illegal!"

"In our culture it is not, my dear. You think you are the first slave I have seen? Granted, you are the first to be married to your Master, but this is still no strange occurence for our society."

"Oh, Gods." Hermione clutched at her stomach. Her legs threatened to give out. "There are others."

"All gifts granted by the Dark Lord for good service. Would you like to meet one?"

"No." She looked at him pleadingly. "You must know your son. You know he is vicious. He isn't sound of mind." Her voice was becoming panicked-she couldn't help it. "I fear for my life when I am with him. I can't live like this, I can't."

"The thing is, Miss Granger, you make my son happy. He's never been as serious about a girl as he is about you, and the lengths he went to acquire you only attest to that." He glanced at her anxious face and gave her a small smile. "As long as you obey him there will be no threat to your health. I can tell he deeply cares for you though he may not show it."

"He cares for me in the way a collector cares for his collections," she said agitatedly. "There is no substance behind his obsession."

"Then I advise you to change that yourself," he said, and at her look of revulsion, added, "at least to keep yourself safe until you find...better conditions."

She looked dubious. Lucius put his hand on her shoulder.

"You needn't be so nervous. You make a wonderful addition to the Malfoy family."

"But I'm a Mudblood!" she cried, uttering the familiar slur as a last effort. "And I never wanted to be a part of this family!"

"Blood doesn't matter anymore, I assure you," he said. "If anything, your blood is just what the Malfoy line needs. Your talent, brains and beauty are highly spoken of and are equally matched to that of my son's, if not more so."

"That may be, but none of you seem to take into account the fact that your son has kidnapped another human being. I do not love your son, nor do I believe that what he feels for me is love. I am being treated like a possession; my freedom and my life have been taken from me. You must see how wrong this is!" She grasped the front of his robes in a supplicating manner. "Help me. Please."

Calmly, the older man pried her hands off his robes.

"I have already told you my stance on the matter, Hermione. Even if I wanted to help you, I believe there are numerous things preventing me from doing so." He looked pointedly at the ring on her finger. "Draco told me of all the enchantments he placed on the ring to keep you with him. There are many, and they cannot be removed easily. And only he can remove it, yes?" she nodded. "Even if I could, Miss Granger, even if I could, I would be betraying my son and I cannot find it in myself to do that when he has finally found himself a ray of sunshine in this darkness."

"But-"

"I am sorry," he said. "Truly, I am. But there is nothing I can do."

Hermione couldn't help it. The hope faded from her eyes and her face crumpled; a sound of despair tore itself from her throat and she fell against him, tears leaking from her eyes. She knew her actions were unsound yet there she was, seeking comfort and help from a known Death Eater who had tried attacking her years before and who was the father of the man who was ruining her life. Here she was, crying on his expensive robes like a child against her better judgment. Stupid of her, he was bound to throw her to the floor with a sneer on his face or he would hex her.

So she was stunned when she felt his arms wind around her, rubbing her back underneath her curls.

"I am sorry for what my son has done to you. I do not support the way he has gone about this but he is his own person and backed by the Dark Lord-you see why I cannot interfere? To do so would be to defy my own Master. I would be killed or tortured for speaking against this, and my wife is too ill to manage on her own." Hermione sniffed into his chest, almost choking on the strong scent of his cologne. It reminded her of her father, which only brought more tears.

Almost reluctantly, she pulled back, blushing.

"Why are you being kind to me?" she asked, accepting the handkerchief he offered her.

"Because you need it," he said simply. "You are in a bad situation and it's only going to get worse. I've heard much of your strength and compassion-do not lose it. It might be what saves you in the future."

Hermione looked at him quizzically, but he said no more.

"Thank you," she whispered, wiping the tears from her face before giving him an awkward, quick hug.

He looked slightly embarrassed, but patted her on the back with almost a pleased smile on his face.

"If you ever need a rest, you are always welcome here with Narcissa and I," he said. "And speaking of my wife, I am sure she and Draco are wondering where you are."

He took Hermione's arm in his and together they began to walk down the hall.

Now if this isn't odd, I don't know what is, Hermione thought to herself. Arm in arm with a Death Eater who has actually been kind to me.

All the same, she felt an odd sense of comfort in his presence. Perhaps it was because some parts of him reminded her of her own father, or because he had acted as a friend to her, but as crazy as it would sound, she felt she could trust him.

What's gotten into you, Hermione? She asked herself. Have you gone mad? All this is getting to your head, what's next?

Almost as if he sensed her unease, Lucius gave her arm a soft squeeze, and gave her a small, reassuring smile.

"She has been quite keen to meet you for some time now," he told her.

"I can't imagine why," Hermione muttered.

"Draco and I have told her all about you," he said. "You'll forgive me for saying this, but he is our only child, and she is glad to hear he is married, though she may not know how."

Hermione kept silent until they reached Mrs. Malfoy's room. The door was slightly ajar, Hermione made to enter but Lucius pulled her back from it.

"I won't enter with you," he said, "I've things to do. But remember what I told you."

She nodded and he walked away quickly. She turned back to the door, but she stopped before she opened it. From where she stood she could see into the room where Malfoy sat beside the bed. The hand he held in his was extremely pale, paler than herself, and very, very thin. Malfoy's head was bent low over it, and as she watched he pressed a kiss to it. Looking slightly toward the left, where the arm connected to the body on the grand bed. Most of it the lady on the bed was obscured by the plush bed sheets but Hermione could make out her blonde, graying hair on the pillow. They were talking in low voices and she was startled at how gentle he sounded. His voice sounded like how her parents had once spoken to her, when she was still a little girl. He looked so human, it unnerved her, she had ceased to view him as one a while ago and yet here he was, crying at his mother's side.

She must be very ill if he's like this, she thought to herself. Or could she be dying?

She wasn't aware she had stepped in until the door creaked forward and Malfoy's head shot up to see her there. She froze, not knowing if she should flee or go in.

"Come in." His voice held no room for argument. It was back to the tone she was used to hearing; cold and demanding.

She crept through the doorway, each footstep sounding like a loud crash in her ears as she made her way to the bedside where Malfoy sat. Her eyes were glued to the woman lying in the bed, deathly pale, with some of the veins in her face easily visible and heavy bags underneath her dark eyes. Sweat beaded her forehead and her lips were dry and cracked. The woman smiled at her, and Hermione could see what was left of her beauty, of which she had heard much. Her dark eyes held warmth and Hermione found this comforted her, so she clasped her hands together and said a shaky "Hello, Mrs Malfoy."

"I might say the same to you," the woman said smilingly, though Hermione could see it took some effort for her to maintain the smile. "But please, call me Narcissa. May I call you Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, aware of Draco's intense gaze on her.

"I see my husband and son did not exaggerate your beauty," she said, and Hermione blushed. "As well as your intelligence. I can see it in your eyes. I'm glad my son married a smart girl," she said, smiling at Draco, who gave her a small smile in return, "he finally has someone who can keep up with him."

Hermione smiled woodenly.

"I had hoped to meet you earlier, of course," Narcissa admitted, looking a little sheepish. "If it wasn't for my condition perhaps we could have left the boys here and gone for a walk around the grounds."

"Mother-" began Draco.

"It's alright," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "My health has been failing me for some time now-no seems to be able to be able to find what's wrong with me, I'm afraid. I'm only happy I've lived long enough to see my son married and happy."

"Don't talk like that, Mother," Draco insisted. "Healer Worthington is coming to examine you in a few days. We'll find what's wrong and we'll make it better."

"Of course, darling," Narcissa said, smiling radiantly while cupping his cheek in her palm. Hermione knew she was only doing this to appease her son, she could tell the woman was dying. Narcissa knew it, too, and furthermore, Hermione knew that Narcissa knew that she knew. She could tell because after she had touched her son she had sent Hermione a fleeting glance, with what seemed to be a pleading look in her eyes, as if to say, Please don't tell him.

"We'll take our leave now so you can rest, Mother," Draco said, rising to his feet.

"I love you, darling," she said softly, and he nodded, bending low to press a kiss to her forehead.

"We'll visit again soon."

"It was wonderful to meet you, Hermione" Narcissa told Hermione, extending one hand to Hermione. Hermione took it, surprised at the strength of the other woman as she squeezed it. "I hope next time we can talk more," she said. "There are so many things I'd like to tell you."

"I'd like that," Hermione said, surprised that she actually meant it.

They had just closed the door behind them when Lucius appeared, looking grim.

"We're heading back, Father," Draco said.

"I'm afraid that isn't possible just now," Lucius said. Hermione didn't like the look in his eyes when he looked at her. There was a warning mixed with sympathy in their grey depths.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked.

"The Dark Lord has moved the date of the interrogation. He wants to see her now."