A/N: Thank you for the favorites, follows, and reviews!
I'm sorry I am a day late. I ended up rewriting one of the scenes and it took me longer than I thought it would. Happy Easter!
8
Previously:
When they finally reached the bottom, there was a large wooden door. It had been painstakingly sanded and varnished by a true master. The black iron hinges and handle were twisted into complicated and beautiful patterns. It was a true masterpiece. It shone with an incredible luminescence. Abraxas stepped up to the door and pushed it open, noticing the buttery feel of the wood beneath his fingers. Of all of the things he was expecting to find beyond that door, a diamond coffin holding the perfectly preserved body of Sigurd Malfoy, was not one of them.
**HGHG**
As Abraxas walked farther into the room, torches on the walls lit immediately. The flickering glow bathed the room in just as many shadows as it had illuminated. The diamond casket glittered with a white light, an inner illumination that drew the focus of any eye. Sigurd had long flowing blond hair, small portions were braided away from his face. His long sword laid on his torso, his hands wrapped around the finely wrought hilt. His face was flushed and his eyes beneath the lids were zooming back and forth as if he were dreaming. It could have been a trick of the light but it looked as if he was breathing as well. The men tore their gaze from their ancestor's body and felt each of their jaws drop with the sight that they had missed when they first entered the room.
The room was small, its stone walls were covered with thick hide panels depicting scenes that took their breath away. The art was amazing, with details that stunned the visitors. The three Malfoy men stared as the face of the person they knew best stared back. Hermione's likeness was scattered around the room. Drawings and paintings of her during the war, and after. Even some from before, when she was but a child. There were scenes of Hermione in the throes of passion and of conjugal bliss that somehow all featured the braided locks of Sigurd Malfoy. Some even featured Hermione fighting with Draco when they were younger. Lucius stopped in front of a full-size painting, depicting Hermione's torture at Bellatrix's hand. He was shamed to see himself on the sidelines, a mere spectator. He lightly ran his finger on her face, fully aware that the oils on his hands could be ruining these priceless artifacts.
Draco bumped into a small table in the corner as he tried to get closer to a nude painting of Hermione that was deep in one of the most shadowy of corners. Glass clinked together as he upset the table contents and watched with horror as two vials filled with memories rolled to the edge. His hands shot out in panic, hoping that he would catch them with his seeker reflexes. He looked in horror as one landed safely in his palm but the other slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor. The memory vanished as if it had been sucked into the porous stone.
"What was that?" Abraxas asked, moving to Draco's side of the room.
"There are two memories here- well, there were two. Now, there is only one, and this journal." Draco held the two things aloft so that Abraxas and Lucius could see them. Lucius continued to gaze at Hermione's pain twisted face. He couldn't tear his eyes away. His usually unemotional face crumbled. Loathing and shame battled for dominance in equal measure.
Abraxas grabbed the white leather bound journal and tossed a look of concern at Lucius, who still hadn't moved away from the disturbing painting. Putting Lucius' needs on the back burner for the time being, he tried to open the journal. It zapped him. He released the journal, letting it fall to the floor. Red letters formed over the white leather.
This is the personal account of Sigurd Malfoy. The only two people allowed to read the contents are the author and his beloved. Please desist. If I am forced, I will have to release a curse. Thank you.
Abraxas read the scrolling script with raised brows. It was a very polite book. He took the memory next and was easily able to pop the stopper. Satisfied, he sealed the memory and slipped it into a pocket in his robe. After a second thought, he slid the journal behind it.
Abraxas silently noted the complete lack of dust in the room and began looking through the contents of the things in the chests shoved against the wall. Gold and jewels were crammed in the wooden chest to the very tops. The wealth in the room was staggering, even by Malfoy standards. It seemed that Sigurd was not going to leave the fortunes of the family to fate nor to his offspring.
"See anything you like?" Sigurd asked from the only wooden panel in the room that did not feature Hermione's likeness.
"So, this is where you disappear to," Abraxas stood up and regarded his Viking ancestor. "Maybe you would like to shed some light on what is going on here." He gestured to Sigurd's coffin.
"Not yet, I think." He said with a calculating look in his eyes.
"As much as we would like to stay and catalogue your wealth," He began. "we need to meet with Rosmerta and talk to her about getting into Hogwarts to Hermione."
"Or you could take that door." Sigurd pointed to the door they entered from.
"That is where we came in."
"Yes," Sigurd said. "and no. That door will take you to any doorway that you had ever crossed. If you have the balls to step through."
"What does that mean?"
"If you want to know about the door, you will have to experience it. The more you know about it, the less you will willingly use it. Using that door must mean that your quest is so important that even death couldn't stop you from completing it. That every other option had been exhausted."
"We haven't tried anything else. Perhaps using the door isn't such a good idea." Abraxas mumbled considering the options running through his mind.
"It could take us directly to Hogwarts. I will go alone and bear the burden of whatever the consequence is for using it." Lucius told Abraxas, both men stared at the other, sizing each other up. Abraxas turned away first, an unacknowledged victory for Lucius. "Will I be able to return through it?" Lucius asked Sigurd's painting.
"No."
"You aren't going alone." Abraxas said.
"Go to Rosmerta's and ask her to open the tunnel. I will find Hermione and bring her through."
"Then you should take the map." Draco said, handing the parchment to his father. Lucius smiled at Draco before looking at Sigurd's painting.
"Are you alive or able to be revived?" Lucius pierced him with a suspicious look. The son of a seer is magically preserved in a mysterious room with Hermione's picture tacked to every inch of the walls? Not suspicious at all.
"Yes."
Lucius nodded, a considering look on his face. He turned to the door and caressed the black iron handle, knowing that everything was about to change, again.
"What do I do?" He asked Sigurd.
"Just place your palm to the door and ask it to take you to someplace specific. Try not to think in words though. It confuses it. Form a clear picture in your mind, and then step through."
"Is that it?" He asked.
"Sure." He said with a crafty smile. Lucius narrowed his eyes and placed his palm to the door and pictured the broom closet where he used to snog Narcissa during their seventh year. With one look back at Sigurd, he pulled the door open and stepped through.
**HGHG**
The moment Hermione flushed the toilet, Dolohov was in the bathroom, ready to join her in a shower. It seemed as if, no, was a foreign concept for him. He strode in naked, with absolutely no shame. She turned her head away repulsed. It wasn't that he was bad looking, in fact he was built very well for a man, it was the fact that he had no respect for her. He could care less for what she wanted and on top of that she was pretty taken with the Malfoys and even well-muscled Russian men couldn't tempt her away from them. Not to mention the obscene amount of times he had personally tried to kill her.
Hermione closed her eyes in mortification as he lifted her from the toilet and only set her on her feet once they stepped into the shower. Her face flamed as he pushed her robes off of her shoulders, his fingers lingering on her skin. Gritting her teeth, Hermione turned her back to him, trying to ignore that he was standing naked in the shower with her. All at once, unquenchable anger rose in her stomach. It was ridiculous. She was not the type of girl who just passively let things happen to her. Since when did she back down from anything? Incensed, she whipped around, her finger less than an inch from his left eye.
"Get out," She growled in a glorious rage. "or I swear to Merlin I will ensure that the Dolohov line ends with you!"
He stared at the offending appendage that she stuck in his face. For a moment, she wondered if he had heard her at all but noticed out of the corner of her eye that he was clenching and unclenching his fists. His knuckles were white. She flicked her furious gaze up to his turbulent eyes. She refused to back down.
"Hermione," He said warningly, as if giving her the angry dominant eyes would make her back down. It is a proven fact that she would dig in her heels and fight it out until death. Her parents had learned that the hard way. She was as stubborn as they came.
"No!" She yelled in his face. "I deserve the respect of being able to shower on my own. Where the hell could I possibly go? I can't even leave the damn shower unless you carry me!"
"Why should I go out of my way to carry you like a pack mule? Should I just quietly do whatever you tell me to? What the hell do I get out of this? Your riveting conversation? I have been kind and accommodating. The Dark Lord told me to break you, to make you willingly beg at his feet to be healed. So far, I have given you privacy and gentleness. If you spurn me, you will find that I will not be so damn amenable."
"I don't need you!" Hermione screamed.
That was the moment he snapped. She had no idea he could move so fast. His hands clamped on her upper arms painfully as he pushed her back against the cold tile. She hissed as the back of her head met the tile and her broken ankle sent a zing of white hot lightning up her leg. The force of it made her see stars. She gasped as he released one of her arms and turned on the cold spray. Goosebumps raised on her skin immediately, the cold deluge soaked into her bra and knickers. He moved closer to her, invading her space while simultaneously managing to shield her body from the cold water. His enraged face was an inch from hers, a vein was popping on his forehead and neck.
"Let's see how long it will take you to call for me then." His voice was measured, the words considered meticulously. The grimace on his face indicated that each word that left his throat was coated in broken glass. As if they were ripped from him. He stared at her for a moment longer before leaving the shower, and then the bathroom all together.
Hermione slid down the tiled wall and covered her face with her hands. She was shaking, more afraid of their row than she would admit. Without her wand she felt powerless, ineffectual, and worse of all she felt as if one wrong move would find her slipping off of the cliff she was walking along. Baiting Dolohov was positively suicidal. She also knew that she had to stand her ground if she didn't want to be eaten alive. She needed to use every ounce of Gryffindor courage that she could summon.
After a few more minutes without moving, Hermione decided that she might as well actually shower in case he got the brilliant idea to come back and make her suffer some more. Her heart rate finally slowed down and she stood, twisting the knob for hot water.
It was the fastest shower she had ever taken, despite her leg. She had no desire to be rendered even more defenseless by having shampoo sitting in her hair and possibly running down her face and into her eyes. He kept true to his threat; he didn't put one toe back in the bathroom.
When she was finished, she grabbed the remaining towel and wrapped it around her body. She buffed the water off of her, until the only part that still was damp was her impossible hair. Shrugging on her discarded robe, she stood just inside the shower for what seemed like hours before deciding to see exactly how bad things could get. The moment she resolved to move beyond the shower, a throb of pain emanated from her leg. A warning.
She slid down to the floor and crawled out of the stall, wincing as the agony built in her extremities. Torture under Bellatrix Lestrange was so much worse than this. If she could live through that and keep her mind from shattering, she could crawl out of this damned room.
She made it to the door and pushed it open. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she pushed back her nausea. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and surveyed the room. Dolohov was lounging in a chair next to the bed, his towel slung low on his hips. His fingers were on his face as he watched her progress as she crawled into the room. He looked mildly impressed but still didn't move from his seat.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione ignored her spectator and focused her attention on the bed. Each movement was rough and painful, like a punch to the gut. It wasn't easy but she finally made it to the bed and pulled down a pillow and a blanket. With relief, she began retreating to the bathroom once more. She stopped long enough to throw Dolohov a triumphant look. His expression was amusing, he was astounded.
She smiled and sagged with relief as she crossed back into the shower. Let them underestimate her now. She wanted to sing her victory, small though it was, from the rooftops. Instead, she wrapped herself in her blanket and stuffed the pillow under her cheek, the smile never once leaving her lips. Hermione- one, Dolohov- none.
The next morning, Hermione smiled and stretched as she snuggled into the comfortable bed underneath her. She stiffened almost immediately as she felt a hard, male body roll into her. His arm snaked around her hips and pulled her closer to his sleeping form.
Hermione sat up and scooted away as fast as she could, startling Dolohov awake.
"What's wrong?" He asked with his sleep addled mind.
"Why am I here?"
"I carried you."
"I thought you were going to make me call for you?"
"After your spectacular performance of getting bedding, I knew that you wouldn't ever call for me. So, I decided that I would do what I wanted. And what I wanted was to feel your body next to mine as I slept. You never even made a sound when I came and got you."
"Did it ever occur to you that I may have preferred sleeping on the shower floor?"
"Did it ever occur to you that I don't care?"
"Yes, I was pretty sure that was the case."
He grabbed for her but she moved out of his reach. Letting his hand fall to the bed, he visibly tried to contain his anger.
"I'm hungry." She said pointedly.
"I want to go back to bed."
"Fine." Hermione grit her teeth and stood on the floor, favoring her broken leg. Not only was it broken but it felt as if it had swollen and the flesh was slightly warm. She wondered if Voldemort also sped up the rate of infection or whether that was just a nice bonus for her defiance.
"What are you doing?" He asked exasperatedly.
"I am going to get something to eat."
"You will never make it."
Hermione pursed her lips and took another shaky hop. What started out as what felt like millions of needles being stabbed into her body, now was a raging inferno of blunt steel spikes being driven through and splintering the bones in her body. Each hop was worse than the last. She gulped, and closed her eyes. Dread sunk into the pit of her stomach and solidified into an immovable lump of lead. That begging was going to have to happen. How could she escape if she couldn't even walk? Maybe, that is what they were counting on.
"Take me to Voldemort." She muttered quickly before she lost her nerve. This was going to come with a price, she could feel it.
"Giving up already, Pchelka?" He purred sensuously from the bed.
"I am being practical." She ignored the hell out of his implied seduction.
"Because you can't escape if you have to be carried everywhere?"
Hermione stared at Dolohov. She supposed it wasn't too hard to figure out her motivations.
"Does it matter? Voldemort seemed pretty convinced that I won't be able to escape."
"You are right. He is confident but he is not here at the moment. You will have to wait to do your begging."
"How long is he going to be gone?" Hermione cried, she felt panic beginning to swil in her stomach. She couldn't wait.
"Who knows." He smirked, his eyes roved down her figure. Her lip curled in disgust. He slid his hands behind his head and watched as Hermione continued to hop her way to the bedroom door. The sheets had pooled around his hips and he made no move to cover himself. Hermione ignored him and concentrated on not being sick all over the floor.
Hermione made it to the door and leaned against the frame, uncertain if she could go on. Dolohov chuckled and she heard the whisper of the sheets as he got out of bed. Not trusting that he had clothes on, Hermione kept her eyes shut tight. It was a great relief though when she heard the rustle of clothes and the clink of a belt. She squealed as he unexpectedly swept her off of her feet and walked out of the room.
"You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met." He mumbled. Hermione smirked. She sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy on him.
**HGHG**
Had Narcissa's very life not hung in the balance, Severus Snape would have throttled Harry Potter ages ago. Occasionally Harry showed glimpses of his mother's kindness but more often than not, he was the picture of James Potter. Severus ground his teeth in frustration. Every sentence the boy uttered, was like nails on a chalk board to his ears. They would obviously never be anything other than enemies. Their animosity was too deeply rooted. Despite his severe dislike for Harry, Severus did what he had to for Narcissa. He loved her and he would do anything to free her from Voldemort.
Harry and Snape looked around the recently abandoned camp for clues of where the resistance had moved to. Again. It was the third camp they had found left this way. And just the same as the others, there was no sign of who had been there or where they went.
"Merlin's beard, Harry Potter is that you?" Neville asked as he moved out of the dense woods and into the camp.
"Hey Neville! Yeah, Snape and I need to find someone."
Neville, though meeting them with a smile, never lowered his wand and kept it trained on Severus Snape.
"What spell did Hermione use on me during our first year when I tried to stop you three from leaving the dorms?"
"It was petrificus totalus, wasn't it?" Harry asked scrunching his brows together deep in thought, his hand raised to the back of his head.
Snape snorted.
"Not only did you avoid punishment for attacking another student, the crazy bastard gave you house points for it. Taking the cup, year after bloody year." Snape shook his head in disgust.
Harry smirked and winked at Neville. Neville lowered his wand with a queer look on his face.
"Of all the people, I thought I might find trying to catch our group, I never would have thought that I would find Harry Potter and Professor Snape together, of all people."
"We didn't think you would talk to Snape if he came alone. So here we are." Harry said with a shrug.
"Don't you want to ask me a question?" Neville asked with an answering smile.
"Nah, only you could have been so specific in your question."
"So, you are searching for someone? Who?"
"Helena Macmillan. She was a healer in the spell damages ward at St. Mungos. She comes highly recommended."
"Yeah, Helena, she is the best. Keeps us alive more often than not. What do you need her for? Ron? Hermione?"
"You haven't heard then," Harry said looking away. "Ron died and Hermione has been captured by Voldemort. We need the Healer for Narcissa Malfoy."
"If Voldemort has Hermione, then why aren't you trying to get her back?"
"Hermione resurrected the Malfoys. They will get her back."
"Holy shit. Can she raise anyone?" Neville asked excitedly.
"If she could, she would have started with Ron." Harry said sadly, shaking his head with guilt. Neville nodded.
"Is Healer Macmillan with you?" Snape growled. He was in no mood to sit and bullshit with Neville Longbottom of all people.
"Yeah, I'll take you to our main camp but we are waiting for the portkeys to activate."
"Where are they?"
"They are the rocks under your feet."
"Incompetent, idiots!" Snape yelled. "How much time do we have?"
"A minute or so. Why?" Neville shrugged off the criticism like a pro.
"Narcissa." Harry said in lieu of an explanation as Snape stomped off into the brush. He was back seconds later carrying a comatose Narcissa in his arms. Neville had never seen Snape move so fast.
"Am I in the right spot?" He demanded looking down at the rocks. Neville nodded but was so obviously confused.
"Why isn't her husband here? Why is Snape the one who brought her?" Neville whispered to Harry. Snape glowered at the pair for a moment before turning away.
"It's complicated but let's just say that Narcissa is not married to Lucius. I think once she comes around, she might actually end up marrying Snape. I guess you should consider all Malfoy men married or belonging to Hermione. That is what I have been told anyway."
Neville's brows reached his hairline. A blue light surrounded the party and then they were gone.
**HGHG**
Lucius stepped through the door and paused; he was in a dark room with only a small tapered candle melted to a stone table. The sole occupant was an old crone that looked as if she was born with the world. She beckoned to him and he took the seat opposite, wondering what exactly he had done by using the door. Sigurd Malfoy was a cold bloody bastard for not giving him much of a warning.
"Welcome, Lucius Malfoy, to the end of the world. Every time you choose to use the door you will be told one truth about your life as payment for passage. If you are willing to continue, take my hand. If you are not, you may leave this one time- by the same way you came. This courtesy will only be offered once. How do you choose?" She croaked.
Lucius reached out his hand, scooped up her paper-thin skinned hand, and cradled it gently.
"So be it." She said. As she began to speak, the room around them transformed into a great wooded glade. It was a place that he had visited many times throughout his life, the only thing missing were the unicorns. "Time for us is inconsequential here and as a rule we do not guess when things will come to pass if they had not yet already happened. Lucius, there was or will be a time in your life that you will regret being intimate with your young bride. It will shred and tear apart your very soul. There will be a time that you regret nothing more."
As she finished Lucius' truth, a door creaked open of its own accord behind her and was illuminated from the other side. He was unsettled and his hands shook as he released her and moved swiftly to the door. The last thought that ran through his head was that at least this was something he knew that had already come to pass. The only thing he hadn't regretted about getting Narcissa pregnant was Draco. When he had to give up his life to buy Hermione time to get her out, he had selfishly wished that it was him and not Draco who ran with her. It was immaterial that neither one of them lived long enough to love her the way she deserved. He knew that the truth-saying could have been much worse, the old crone could have told him of his permanent death. That was something that he really didn't want to know.
Without looking back at the candlelit crone, Lucius stepped through the door and into the broom cupboard that he had come to know so well that last year of school. He hoped never to have to use that door again, he could see why it fell out of memory and use.
With a wave of his wand, he turned the door opaque, watching to see if anyone was around. From his pocket, he pulled the marauders map with a shake of his head. He could have just used the map, he supposed. No wonder Potter never got in trouble for being where he wasn't supposed to. With that thought he stopped dead, his face a mask of fury. That Potter boy dragged Hermione into his shenanigans. She could have been killed or expelled. Next time he saw Potter, they were going to have a chat for knowingly putting Hermione in danger time after time.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He muttered with a tap of his wand. Unfurling the map and searching the dungeons for Hermione, he began to grow frustrated as he couldn't locate her. He sighed with relief the moment he found her dot. Perhaps it was the day for him to see red and contemplate the murder of other men because there was Dolohov's dot right with Hermione's. They were just coming out of the Great Hall. So, the question at the center of Lucius' mind was; exactly what was Dolohov's involvement and why was the bastard all over his witch.
With a sharp tap of his wand over his head, Lucius disillusioned himself and slowly walked the corridors. Every time he passed a student or professor, he ducked into the shadows or any place he could conceivably hide in and went motionless. Disillusionment charms weren't fool proof.
Slowly he made it down to Snape's old rooms and dismantled the inclusion wards that allowed access to Hermione, Dolohov, and Voldemort. Eventually she would have to come back. He walked into the rooms and noticed that the Hogwarts elves had already been through, cleaning up and making the bed.
The chair was conveniently placed to watch any and all entry. Lucius lowered himself onto the cushions, his elbows on the arms, and his fingers steepled under his chin. He didn't have long to wait.
Dolohov strode into the bedroom, his arms full of witch. His witch. Dolohov was angry and it would have been obvious to anyone with eyes. He, of course, knew the Death Eater well from his own Death Eater days and knew that Dolohov's famous rage was barely contained under the surface. Whatever the circumstances were that had put them in such close proximity, it was not voluntary. At least on her part. Hermione was smirking, not even bothering to hide her smug expression.
Dolohov tossed her onto the bed and she hissed, glaring at the back of his head as he went into the bathroom and didn't even bother to close the door before whipping out his cock and taking a piss. Lucius watched as Hermione grabbed at her ankle, cradling it as if she were seriously hurt. He reached out a hand to her before pulling it quickly back. He needed to wait until she was alone, he knew that and yet, it took everything within him to back off. To have her so close and not be able to touch her when he finally was able to give in to his feelings was… pure torture. Especially since Dolohov was in the room and Lucius burned to claim her.
"I could make things easier for you," Dolohov said over the sound of running water as he washed his hands. "If you would let me."
"Really," Hermione deadpanned. "because the only condition for making things easier would be to let you do it." She rolled her eyes. "You made it very clear that I would be expected to 'be accommodating'." She raised her hands and air quoted, laying the sarcasm on heavily.
Dolohov turned off the water and walked to the doorway and leaned on the frame, sans robes. The only clothes he had on was a pair of trousers that weren't even zipped. Hermione looked away, straight at Lucius. She did a double-take as the chair rippled and smiled slightly before turning away.
"My only goal is to get my leg healed. I have many books in the library at my disposal to research. I hope you like the library and silence, because we are going to do a lot of that. As long as you are forced to carry me around, you might as well give in with grace. There will never be a time that I will turn to you. I am not interested. Thanks for the offer and all, but no thank you." She said it sweetly but the look in her eye told a different story. Not only was she saying it in a way to purposefully wound Dolohov, she was also trying to fill in her visitor, not that she knew who was there. Hermione was a bright witch, she probably figured it was one of them. Lucius smirked.
Her words began to turn over in his mind. Her leg was broken and Dolohov was forced to be her transportation. Lucius assumed there must have been a spell laid on her to inhibit healing. Lucky for her, this was not an unusual spell cast by Voldemort. It was very popular during his Death Eater days. In fact, had Dolohov been inclined, he could have broken the curse and healed her in moments. Lucius supposed that Hermione being forced to ask Dolohov to carry her was a reward of sorts. Lucius' new plan was settled. He had to wait until Hermione was left alone so that he could heal her then they could both flee out of the tunnel. But, until he heard from Draco, Abraxas, or Rosmerta, they would have to wait anyway. Only Snape and Rosmerta could open the secret passageway, and that meant biding his time.
**HGHG**
Abraxas and Draco were seconds away from begging and Malfoys did not beg. Rosmerta had closed her door in their faces. It had only taken one look at Draco before she glared and snarled in their direction. She obviously still held a grudge for that imperius curse he had put her under the year Dumbledore was killed. Not that Abraxas blamed her, he just had hoped that Draco dying in the interim would have ensured at least a grudging forgiveness, especially since he died for Hermione. But alas, it was not to be.
"Rosmerta," Abraxas cajoled. He turned on the charm that had always won the ladies over, layering a bit of that Malfoy privilege over top. Woman loved that. "we just want to talk."
"NO! Go away!" She yelled through the door.
"Be reasonable!" Abraxas coaxed. Draco opened his mouth to add his two cents in the mix, only to quickly bite his tongue at the glare his grandfather shot his way. Draco was to look contrite and not say a fucking word.
"Or what? You will make me? force me? in my own home? I don't think so, Malfoy!"
"I didn't want to do this out here but you have left me no choice. Hermione is stuck in Hogwarts, Potter would be here but he had to go find a healer in the resistance camp."
"A Malfoy working with Harry Potter and his Mudblood friend? Why do I have such a hard time believing you?"
"Don't call her that." Abraxas growled. Rosmerta opened the door, confusion marring her beautiful face.
"Why not?"
"Because of Hermione, we are alive- not even to mention the fact that she will marry us one day."
"Us?" Rosmerta asked skeptically.
"Yes. She raised the three of us from the dead. Draco, Lucius, and me. We are as bound to her as she is to us."
Rosmerta studied his face to see if he was toying with her and after a tension filled moment, let them in her house.
"You better start talking." She grouched, still glaring daggers at Draco as she crossed her arms.
"We need to use the passageway that Dumbledore set up for Snape to attend Death Eater meetings without being seen."
"You can only use that passageway if the suite of rooms is inhabited."
"Lucky for us, that is exactly where Voldemort put her."
"And you would know this because…"
"Harry Potter told us."
"How can I believe you? Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have a notoriously long-standing feud."
"How can I convince you?"
"You can't. I need to hear from Harry, himself before I do anything for the likes of a Malfoy!"
"Great. How are we supposed to get in touch with him? We have no idea where they went." Draco muttered. Abraxas was deep in thought as he debated his options.
"Do you have a portrait that connects to any of the previous headmasters at the school?" He asked after several minutes of silence and he grimaced.
"Perhaps."
"Ask to speak with Albus' portrait. He will vouch for us."
"And why would Albus Dumbledore vouch for a Malfoy?"
"Because it was my intel combined with Severus' that gave the ministry so many Death Eater names after the first war. When I died, right before the last task of the tri-wizard tournament, I had been working with Albus to find certain items for Harry Potter."
Rosmerta looked like a fish, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. She nodded her head.
"Wait here."
Abraxas nodded absently. He didn't think he would have to fight so hard to get to the passage but of course he missed the years where both his son and grandson were branded and controlled by Voldemort. He winced. That was a low era for the Malfoys, without a doubt.
Rosmerta walked back in with a stunned look on her face.
"I had no idea that your whole family was acting as spies for Dumbledore. You can go through." She said leading further into her home. "I wish Albus had told me though. All he said at the time was that Draco was just a boy and deserved a second chance. Either way, here you go."
Abraxas took a small medallion out of his pocket and rubbed it as if he was worried about something.
"Just one moment." He murmured.
**HGHG**
Lucius slowly moved his hand from his chin and worked his fingers into one of his pockets. His medallion had grown warm, finally, a message from his father.
Ready?
No. Hermione not alone.
Time?
One hour.
One hour or we come.
Lucius watched as Dolohov sauntered into the room sans shirt and bracketed his arms around Hermione's body on the bed. It was in that moment that Lucius started to plan every single gory detail of Antonin Dolohov's death. It would be long and painful and was going to be delivered meticulously by his own hand.
