Bittersweet.

Bittersweet Turmoil.

Almost immediately after she heard Lucius leave, Hermione headed straight for the library. There wasn't anything else to do, was there?

But she did take her time finding it. During their rushed tour yesterday he didn't go into much detail or show her any of the rooms in particular, which she found left her curiosity wanting. She avoided the drawing room again after being terrified he would try something in there, the one room that held the most trepidation for her. But he bewildered her by not only doing nothing of the sort, rather imparting on her a stunning, personal secret she could only assume was not known by many people still walking this earth.

Even more staggering was the thought that she might be the one of the only persons in the world who knew of the Malfoy curse, besides Professor Snape and Voldemort.

There was obviously something up his sleeve but whether it was benevolent or sinister, she couldn't be certain. They way he had spoken with such hesitance at first, truly reluctant to be sharing it with her and then some way or another he spoke with such conviction she had been hanging on his every word, helplessly enthralled. But the fog of his hold on her eventually cleared and she had to seriously consider whether or not she believed him.

Admittedly, she did not see what he stood to gain by making up such a story. It simply was not logical, and she was still nothing if not rational. But trusting the Pureblood Death Eater was much easier said than done…

For now all she could do was reflect on his words and his previous actions, of the less than twenty four hours she had been given to him and of their past encounters before the battle ended.

She had minimal difficulty finding her way around the manor, and she found he was quite right when he said the entire manor was at her disposal as every door was unlocked and there was nothing but lavish furniture, tasteful décor; nothing really of significance behind their wooden walls. She frowned with disappointment as she did not quite remember the Malfoy Manor this way even from her brief glimpse several months ago.

It seemed… emptier. She had explored nearly every room but the bedrooms she had glimpsed the night before and the drawing room but all seemed hollow and left her feeling disenchanted with the supposedly grand manor.

Deciding the library was her only option now; she descended the stairs and made her way to the west wing of the house. But as she passed the banquet hall it piqued her interest and with inquisitiveness she peered into the room, admiring the beautifully marbled flooring and stepping onto the cool mineral, relishing the feeling under her bare feet.

There was an ornate, twinkling chandelier hanging from the center of the room its glow casting raindrops of light all over the room. Hermione held up her hand, watching the illuminated circles pass over her skin.

He must have thrown lovely galas and social events in here once. But as it was now the row of chairs looked dusty, some tables covered with large sheets, all the other lights off except for the one emanating from the chandelier.

Turning she left the banquet hall and continued down the corridor until she reached a door at the very end. She approached and curled her fingers around the old-fashioned doorknob and entered the room, only she stood in awe of the threshold of the room, her touch fading lightly from the silver handle.

If Hermione hadn't known already from snippets and clips of the Daily Prophet that the Malfoys owned an extensive library that witches and wizards all over envied, she would have been utterly flummoxed. But as it were, she had read many things that the journalists raved about when they got their hands on one of their private collections- at a steep cost to them, she remembered.

His library was possibly- maybe- even superior to the one that had been at Hogwarts. The ceiling in the room seemed to go all the way up to the third floor; books up to the ceiling except for the side that had large windows gaping out toward the sky, and even those had rows of books nestled between them. She would have needed to levitate herself to make her way up there- if she ever needed to. There were enough books it seemed, to keep her reading for the duration of her a life only by consuming the ones she could reach.

As she walked through the room, she found that the bookshelves constantly rearranged themselves, but she couldn't figure out why. Some kind of security measure, perhaps? Was there a secret room hiding somewhere in there?

She didn't know, or care at the moment. The books were far too fascinating in themselves. There were so many, she decided just to look for now.

Hermione passed infinite amounts of books, moving out of the way when they decided to shuffle themselves around again. Most of the books were either very rare first editions or filled with Dark Arts materials, but some were in fact quite common. Some she recognized almost every book from her Hogwarts curriculum and she couldn't help but wonder if they were Draco's or merely copies.

One book she found particularly appealing was a rare publication by a little-known author on the theory of Charms, sitting snugly between two other larger books. She reached to pull it out, but it scuttled away.

Frowning, she followed it, running down the rows of books and around to the other side of it as it flipped around in between bookcases. But no matter which way she twisted and turned after it, it kept moving.

Eventually, she lost sight of it, and gave up with a huff.

If she couldn't use magic to freeze the bookshelves from moving, how could she use his library? Had he forgotten to communicate with her that important kernel of knowledge?

Hermione dropped into an armchair clumsily, crossing her arms while she glared at the bookshelves as if her sheer determination could cease their insipid games. Again, experimentally, she reached out to take a book, but it quickly jumped away four cases down. This was absurd.

She really hoped Lucius hadn't done this on purpose, but what reason did he have?

"Unless he really is lying just to trick me…" she said aloud to herself.

But would a man, even as sadistic as Lucius Malfoy once seemed, really go to all the trouble? Surely not… was he really that twisted to make up that curse and the story of his father? And to what end would that have served?

Hermione held her throbbing head and muffled her scream into her knees. She was driving herself mad, there would be no way to know beyond a reasonable doubt unless she trusted him implicitly or defied him altogether.

Because, if by some miracle Lucius was telling the truth and he was discovered, the Dark Lord would certainly execute him and that would leave her at Voldemort's mercy. Who was to say what he would do with her? If she were lucky she would be killed as well; if she was especially ill-fated she would be given to someone else, someone like-

Her stomach turned as she thought of Wormtail.

Perhaps for now the only thing she could do was trust Lucius. It certainly was more preferable to the other alternative.

Oh, if only she had her wand still! She felt a pang of loss for the Vinewood stick she had loved so well. Her wand was one of the many things she missed most. It had been her crutch, her first friend in the Wizarding world. Harry hadn't meant to break it so she was still using a borrowed wand when she was captured, but it had been the only thing she had at the time. If she had it now-

"Miss?" Talia arrived in the Library, huffing and puffing for air.

Hermione rose, startled out of her broodings as she said, "Oh, what it is it, Talia?"

"Talia heard Miss screaming, Miss. What is being the matter, Miss?" Her saucer shaped lavender eyes looked terrified as she stuttered out her squeaky words.

A blush crawled up Hermione's neck. "Oh… I'm sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you. Well, you see, I was trying to pick up a book, like this," she demonstrated, reaching for the closest book, but it escaped her like all the others. "But it keeps doing that."

The House Elf looked very relieved, but then equally sorry again. "Talia is sorry, Miss. Master Malfoy is forgetting to remove the charms."

"Charms?" Hermione asked pressingly.

Talia nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, they are being on the bookshelves for ages, Miss. It was not Master Malfoy who set the charms, but the former Master Malfoys. My Master Malfoy never removed them since…"

"Since what? What charms?" Hermione asked, hyper aware that Talia didn't want to tell her what she prodding her to tell her.

"… Since Master Malfoy is being Pureblood. The books won't be read by any others, like you and me, Miss, understand?" Talia was dancing around Hermione's Muggleborn lineage and when she realized that it made perfect sense.

The Malfoys would have a dark charm like that on their manor, protecting them from anyone they deemed unworthy… But the timid House Elf did admit he had forgotten, perhaps she could take her word…

Hermione bent down, leveling herself with Talia to say soothingly, "I understand now. Thank you for telling me. Do you know how to remove the charm?"

Talia shook her head no vigorously, pale eyes distraught over not being able to help until she remembered something and perked up brightly. "But Miss can read Talia's books!" She burst excitedly, tugging on Hermione's finger so she would follow her.

She had to bend slightly to keep her pinky from slipping from the tiny grip but she let Talia lead her over to a smaller shelf sitting in the corner of the library.

Enthusiastically, the tiny elf began pulling books off the shelf one by one, stacking them up in a neat little pile. "We can read the ones on top first, Miss, all the way until Master Malfoy comes back," she told her so matter-of-factly Hermione was instantly enamored with the dressed-up creature.

Sinking to the floor on the middle of the rug, Hermione sat beside Talia and together they read through every book Lucius had given to her to help her to read and they stayed like that for hours, Hermione helping Talia pronounce words and using silly voices as the elf giggled and mimicked her.

For the first time in over a year, she forgot about everything. Out of her mind was the fact that she was inside Lucius Malfoy's protective manor, wearing his collar and reading to his elf; she did not once recall her torture over the past few months at the hand of Wormtail and countless other Death Eaters; she overlooked the Battle at Hogwarts and watching Harry, among so many others, get helplessly murdered in the name of Voldemort; she simply let herself forget that she had spent almost a year on the run, lost her parents, lost her girlhood in the midst of a war, and she let herself smile and laugh for the first time in ages.

Spending the better part of the night with Talia, Hermione was undeniably more at ease than she ever had been since the start of the war. Even before her torture captivity in the Dark Lord's Fortress, even before going on the run, hunting Horcruxes and evading Death Eaters and Snatchers, and ever since she had Obliviated her own mother and father.

The House Elf was amiable and especially well-spoken and good-mannered, most definitely more so than any House Elves she had ever encountered in the past. Then again, she had never known a House Elf to read before either. In Wizarding culture it simply wasn't a necessary requirement to teach to the creatures as their services were mostly used for housekeeping, running errands, frivolous things most Pureblood witches and wizards amongst others didn't deign to lower themselves to do.

So what was the difference now? Hermione recalled only too clearly how Malfoy acted before the war came to a screeching climax, before he went to Azkaban even, and something had transpired between then and now he still wasn't letting on yet.

For Talia was a sweet and loving elf, and certainly regarded Lucius very highly. She must have been newly acquired by him as well, because she hadn't heard any mention of House Elves from Draco after Dobby was inadvertently set free by Harry.

There had to be a reason for her swift conviction in him, even as an obedient House Elf. It was in their nature to worship their owners and to love serving them no matter what kinds of wizards they were; Kreacher, the Black family's House Elf, was a testament to that, but there was a limit to their blinding trust in their masters and Dobby was that shining example.

House Elves had a strong community that looked out for each other through word of mouth and bad news traveled fast about witches and wizards who mistreated their elves. After the treatment and subsequent freeing of Dobby it would have been difficult for the Malfoy family to acquire a new elf if they had wanted one.

Lucius must have done something kind for her or enacted something that painted him in a redeeming light for Talia to be so taken with him. Hermione suspected the books had something to do with it as well, for it was not uncommon for House Elf to mimic the hobbies and pastimes of their masters. The impressive library he boasted and the countless bookshelves riddled throughout the manor obviously meant something.

It made perfect sense; but then, why did Hermione have such a hard time believing it?

She was so wrapped up in reading her a humorist twist on an elfish Cinderella that she didn't even notice the House Elf was losing her battle with exhaustion and falling asleep until she was already slumping against her arm.

Feeling a rush of warmth for her, she gently began shaking the sleeping Talia awake as Hermione spoke to her softly, "Wake up, Talia… wake up, we can't have you sleeping in the library, can we?"

Talia's amethyst eyes fluttered open unwillingly, forgetting where she was, most likely dreaming about one of her stories as Hermione would have done, as she looked around the room curiously.

"Perhaps it's time we get you to bed?"

The little elf nodded groggily in agreement, pulling herself up and straightening her dress daintily. "Talia thanks Miss ever so much for—reading with her. Goodnight, Miss," she said while covering her mouth through a wide yawn as she replaced all the books neatly on the shelf exactly as she had found them.

Hermione smiled fondly at her and said, "Goodnight, Talia, and please do call me Hermione from now on."

"Oh, thank you, Miss Her-miney!" The House Elf bounded so exuberantly out of the room in sleepy joy that Hermione didn't have the heart to correct her.

Now that she had already read through all of Talia's books, which were quite charming but were also the equivalent of children's books, she longed to read something more stimulating. The brief glimpse into what the library held taunted her and as she looked around the room enviously she spotted one of her favorites at the back of the room.

She so wished she could have managed to pull Hogwarts: A History, off of the shelf near the other school books, but knew that would have to wait until later. Never mind that she had read it more times than she could count…

She yearned to lose herself in his remarkably stocked library like she had done almost every day at Hogwarts. If ever she had a question that needed answered, a problem that required solving, or simply had the desire to find another reality to live in for a few short minutes or endless hours, Books were always there for her. The solace of the Hogwarts Library was one she would miss forever and ever. The Malfoy library was decidedly different, but no less impressive and a challenge she wanted to take on willingly.

Perhaps his collection would reveal pertinent information about him or his family that would be useful to her, or maybe she could even find some sort of documentation of the Malfoy curse…

Just recalling the many secrets buried in the Pureblood family filled her with unease and with the young House Elf gone, her light-hearted mood was rapidly fading as she looked around the library with growing misgivings about the sort of charms at work. A clock hanging obscurely in the middle of the wall told her it was nearing midnight and that meant Lucius had been gone for hours.

Hermione was growing tired as well, but she couldn't bring herself to go up to her bedroom alone. Something simply did not sit well with her about it, so she gave up the subject completely. She would wait for Lucius to return and when he did she might ask him about it, or maybe just ask to sleep on the floor again…

Unsure of what to with herself, she decided to go back the sitting room and wait out the remainder of her time until Lucius got back. His manor wasn't as exciting as she previously thought it would be, but then the place she liked most practically avoided her like the plague.

There wasn't much else to do in a sitting room but sit so Hermione lowered herself onto the floor by Lucius' preferred duvet. She didn't know why she was sitting there rather than on the many chairs and cushions the room provided, but she did anyway and she did not dwell on it.

He had left a book out on the end table so she cautiously picked it up; thrilled it did not deny her its precious contents while hoping for it to be something interesting. She was nearly ecstatic when it turned out to be a rare, ancient biography Professor Binns had once mentioned was lost during the time of Grindewald about the founders of Hogwarts, with lots of facts about their lives before they formed the school not in any of the text books she had ever read. She never expected the Hogwarts creators to be so… dimensional.

With the long settee being so close to the fire she leaned toward the embers and gave herself completely over to the literature. Although it would not have been her first choice, being the only one she had she would take that book over nothing. Focusing her pedantic brain on nothing but the material in front of her, she dove into the pages so fully- delighting in the fascinating stories more than she had expected to.

It was so placating, consuming her thoughts on something other than her past and her predicament for awhile. After her brief respite with Talia in the library she had no desire to return to her previous state. When she dwelled on the numerous things presently nagging at her she felt she was going insane.

Hermione had lived with constant confusion before, always paranoid something was to happen and dreading the day she would be given to him, then being proven wrong by his bizarre reactions- it was too much.

Reading was her constant refuge; obviously not even a war could change that.

But Hermione was so fittingly enthralled in the loose biography she was devouring about Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter that she hadn't even heard him return to the manor, let alone enter the room.

It was his austere inhalations that drew her attention; she was jolted into swiveling her head in his direction with culpability, as if she had been caught in some sort of self-damaging act, awaiting her fate.

Though she could not see his face under the mask, Lucius appeared simply drained as he leaned against the door frame for support. It appeared she was not the reason for his wild, straining breaths but she was no less alarmed as Hermione frantically closed the book and set it back onto the small table as she rose to her feet guardedly.

He was clutching his side during his labored breathing- like he had been running for ages and he obviously hadn't realized she was there yet as he waved the mask off of his face and what she saw thereafter was an uncontrolled expression of utter exhaustion she had only seen on him briefly when she saw brought to his home by the Snatchers. Possible scenarios of what had transpired, of what he had been through, what he was going to do next were all dashing about her mind. Whatever it was that he had done, it visibly had taken a lot out of him.

It was as if something, somehow innately caused him to become very aware of her then as his eyes ripped open and landed on her at once with an accusing and crippling gaze. Haughtily, Lucius drew his shoulders back and raised his chin, pushing himself off the thick threshold with as much sophistication as he could muster while he straightened his robes with practiced dignity. Instantly the silvery-blonde wizard was reminiscent of the man she had known earlier, the faint purple blemishes encircling his eyes the only betraying indication of his weariness.

After he took several measured breaths through his nose, only evident by the heavy rising and falling of his chest he acknowledged her. "Miss Granger, I would have thought you'd be in bed by now," his voice was a low murmur which held no detectable trace of its usual crafted flair. That unnerved her more than anything.

But she was still staring after the area about his ribs, wondering if he had possibly been hurt, or perhaps it was nothing- but should she ask anyway?

Deciding against it, Hermione realized she never did have a chance to bring up her sleeping arrangements with him, having gotten so side-tracked at her late brunch and subsequently becoming engrossed in his private anecdote. She didn't want to seem ungrateful, but standing in that room had felt wrong somehow.

Deciding it was best not to bring up her momentary misplaced concern over him, she let whether or not something did happen go and answered his unspoken inquiry as best she could.

"Well, no sir, I… I didn't… want to," she hesitantly finished, defensively crossing her arms over her chest. She was colder now that she had stepped away from the fireplace and still so very vacillating on the matter of how to act around him.

"You didn't want to," he echoed her words, not with anger or bewilderment, just basic hollowness. He shook his head dismissively and stepped further into the room, lighting the lamps with a fluent flourish of his hand. He stripped the heavy garment off his back with a slight shrug and tossed it on the end of the duvet.

His destination was the impressive wine display adorning the wall, where he plucked a slender bottle at random and magically unraveled the black foil and uncorked the bottle. He conjured himself a goblet and poured the burgundy contents into the glass as he sunk onto the chaise lounge.

Relieved that he wasn't perturbed by her presence, Hermione stayed standing awkwardly in her place nearby watching him with uncertainty. She again resisted the foolish urge to ask if he was all right, not sure if it might set him off or something similar. That might have been the very reason he was partaking in his preferred beverage, she reasoned as she observed him slowly work on his wine, staring down at it in quiet contemplation. Since he was not speaking, she chose not to either, letting him fully regain his equanimity- maybe he didn't want to talk about it.

Why did she want to talk to him, anyway?

"Did you not find the room to your liking?" He asked abruptly, not his steady voice that startled her but the sudden rupture of the hushed silence.

Hermione looked away guiltily. "No, no- it wasn't that- it was perfectly lovely, actually, but it was much more than what I had I anticipated and …" She trailed off as it was only the half-truth and she peered back over at him to see he was leaning back now, reclining and resting the bottom of the glass on the top of his thigh.

"And…?" He drawled, prodding her along.

Rolling the flesh of her lip between her teeth, Hermione tried to think of the best way to phrase her next sentence…

"I couldn't help wondering… if maybe it had been- I just felt so out-of-place, I…" She tried to explain without having to come right out and say it, but as it was he was staring at her relatively blankly, plainly inviting her to explain herself. "Was it… someone else's room before?"

His brow was knitted, but he relieved her unspoken implication as he clarified her concerns. "It was once used by Narcissa many years ago, but she moved to a larger room in the northern overlook and more recently it served its only purpose as a guest room when we entertained."

That put Hermione a little more at ease, knowing it was it not filled with objects and mementos from his late wife. But then, why would he have done that anyway? That certainly would have been off-color and widely out of his character. On the other hand, it only meant though that he had arranged the room for her personally and she wasn't quite sure how she interpreted that just yet.

"Oh…" She uttered rather lamely, her eyes following the fluid motion of raising the glass to his lips, tipping the contents down his cocked head, and the pronounced rise and fall of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. She noticed his fingers gripping the cup just a little too tightly.

"Why should it upset you to use a room once inhabited by one of the finest Pureblood witches who ever resided here?" Lucius pondered aloud, but Hermione had no answer for him.

The way he spoke of his late wife unnerved her in more ways than one, so she had tried to respond, but no words came to mind. It wasn't that it could have been her room, was it? Why did the room give off the vibe that she did not belong there? Hermione couldn't explain it. Briefly, she thought of the possibility that there could have been another dark charm at work in the room, if the library was anything to go by.

Of course! The library, she hadn't been able to ask him about that either. And just like that, at the fond recollection of her oldest friends, Hermione let go of the matter of her bedroom quicker than Lucius could keep up with.

"The library, sir, I wasn't able to read any of the books," she informed him seriously, mentally kicking herself after for sounding so stupid—for abruptly changing the subject and also blatantly ignoring his previous question. Had he wanted to hear her response? Oh, she was so helplessly flustered she didn't know what to do.

Lucius blinked slowly at her under his lifted eyebrows, but whether he was angry or shocked or another emotion altogether, she couldn't decipher; his face was unreadable as per usual so she had no idea.

"The library… ah yes, of course that is the everlasting charm work of my great-great grandfather Nicholas. There has never been any need to remove it before; I cannot say I ever had a habit of inviting Muggleborns into my home," he explained airily, waving his free hand dismissively.

Hermione felt a wave of relief at his words, knowing Talia had been right and that the act was not done maliciously to frustrate her further. "Oh, I thought…" she trailed off, as he started chuckling lightly.

Whatever he was laughing at did not amuse her. She glared at him as angered reticence blurred her usual wariness of him.

"Severus was too right, as usual. 'Give the girl a book and nothing else will matter much,'" he quoted wryly, a smile still pulling on the corner of his lips.

Feeling a sharp pang of… something at the Professor's mention of her, Hermione crossed her arms defensively. Somehow, just thinking about the older men discussing her, her nature, her love of books unnerved her at the same time it filled her with a strange sense of… intrigue.

She had no idea what to respond with, so the room plunged back into tensely threaded stillness- or maybe it was only that way for her. He seemed to be perfectly at ease now that he had returned from his mission and content to coexist with her in the confines of his study.

But Hermione got the sense that every move he made would determine her next one and that was her harsh reality now. She was his Muggleborn slave; she had to accept his rule for she didn't have any other alternative. Even as she pondered this thought, her fingers clasped the warm leather of her choker, proof of his ownership of her. With it, she was feebly at his mercy and whatever he chose to do with her.

And thus far… he had done nothing. Nothing but feed her and clothe her, offer her a bath and gave her a room of her own, and let her live quite comfortably in the grand opulence of Malfoy Manor, nestled securely between its sturdy walls. He only told her something so clandestine, so self-deprecating that she had faith in him almost intrinsically.

"Does it bother you?"

His lilting voice brought her out of her perplexing musings as she brought her attention back to him.

"Hmm? Does what bother me?"

Lucius inclined his head toward her, motioning to her neck with his eyes. "That."

Hermione realized he had meant the collar she was still rubbing the underside of. Already a habit was forming of fidgeting with it as one would a necklace and she dropped her hand self-consciously.

"Oh- it gets a bit suffocating, but not as much as I thought it would," she voluntarily confessed.

The corner of his lips quirked in what could only be the pre-formation of a well-known smirk; his heavy lids a fraction wider as he regarded her. The wine was undoubtedly having its desired effect.

"Not even considering the implication behind it?" He queried mildly but she was aware of the challenge underlying in his tone. Was he goading her now?

"Considering what the implications would be if I was not wearing it- wearing this, specifically- it does not bother me, no," Hermione rationalized wisely, and saying it aloud for the first time only affirmed her belief. What if she had not been given to Lucius yesterday? The previous night she had wanted to scratch his eyes out when he had implied she received the good fortune to be brought under his care, but now all things considered she felt undeniably, if not peculiarly, tranquil.

Seemingly impressed by her answer, he raised his brow in appraisal, but only fleetingly.

"Come. Sit with me."

His arbitrary command caught her off guard but she found herself complying before she could even consider following it. She closed the gap between them and perched herself on the floor under her haunches, in alignment with the angled curve of his knees.

While she had been moving to fulfill his word he drained the remainder of his wine and banished it away once she had rested beside him.

With locked gazes they inspected each other, simultaneously trying to discern the other's motives. Hermione wished to know what he was really thinking under that carefully constructed exterior and knowing that she most likely never would only filled her with indignant longing.

Shifting his elbow onto his knee he leaned forward toward her, reaching his other hand out and softly touching the silver-threaded inscription on the black leather. She half-successfully repressed the shudder her body emitted as his skin brushed hers, but they were both lost as to the reason for the involuntary action.

She raised her chin a fraction of an inch and whether she was drawing back or giving him more access was entirely up to his discretion.

"You know," he mused, in a far away sort of manner, "I helped the Dark Lord create these magical collars. It was many years ago, in fact; because it was one of the only things of that nature I could assist him with that did not rely on my accumulated wealth or Ministry influence. Charms… I'm very adept at all kinds of charms. "

Why on earth he was telling her all that, she would never know. It wasn't as if it were relevant information to either of them…

"The Mudblood Collar is its proper name. That's not to say it can be adorned by no other- quite the opposite, actually. Its purpose lowers the inhibitions and free will of the wearer so they are found to be more… manageable to the inclinations of the bearer, or the owner rather. It suppresses all use of magic, as well, and over extended amounts of time carrying it the wearer's magic is slowly depleted," he added lastly to his spur of the moment speech, his hand never leaving the vicinity of her throat. It was a steady presence on the charmed leather, fingering the elegantly sculpted letters of his initials languidly.

Hermione wasn't sure of what to say; he had to be going somewhere with his interesting little rant, so she refrained from saying something stupid or boorish. However, she couldn't help the pulse-racing anxiety at hearing his admission. Simply wearing the article diminished a person's magic?

"So really, it makes the wearer become like a Mudblood, you understand. The Dark Lord was most pleased with my invention before he was defeated at the end of the First War, but he never really had the chance to use them before now…" Lucius reflected impassively, and his prying fingers became more insistent against her skin.

Panicking for a moment, she tried to look down without thinking she would not have been able to see what he was doing anyway.

"Hold still," he urged, his voice softly subdued.

Her body froze and let him do what he would, realizing with amazement his fingers were nimbly working on the intricate clasp bringing the collar together. Hermione could feel the residual magic from the charm trying to keep hold of her neck, not wanting to let go of its claim on her.

A few moments later, he pulled it from around her neck, careful not to catch it on her hair.

She stared at in awe as it rested casually in his palm, the black strip of leather vastly dark and tiny in contrast to his large, pale hands. It seemed like a foreign object now, like she hadn't known it all- because even though she had worn it for such a short amount of time it had still somehow managed to unconsciously become a part of her.

Touching her neck, Hermione stroked the strange skin there. She could feel a swelling rising on her throat in place of where the collar had been despite the shock of it being removed.

She felt… liberated in a small way; as free as a slave could, at any rate. However, as the shock gradually left her she was acutely aware of her befuddled expression. Still faintly touching her tender neck Hermione looked up at Lucius with incredulity.

"Why...?" She breathed; the proper sentence wouldn't come out as she still was nearly too stunned for words. She had wanted to ask him why; why in Merlin's name would he remove it- and now? It was simply too much.

He cast the Mudblood Collar to the side, on top of his discarded coat and explained coolly, "It was not ever required, Miss Granger. I would have liked to have taken it off when you first arrived, but I had to give you a period of adjustment. Believe me when I say it won't be last time you wear it- this world is not so forgiving. I have, however, offered you a token of my own faith and goodwill by eradicating you from it for now; I daresay I won't live to regret it?"

Shaking her head, still marveling at his actions, Hermione replied, "No, Mr. Malfoy."

"Very good. Now, come along. It has been a trying day."

Lucius rose to his feet and looked down when he saw her still dazedly sitting on the floor, head spinning as it always seemed to be doing since she arrived at Malfoy Manor. A shape passed over her vision and she looked up, seeing his hand was outstretched down to her in offering.

Indeed the insistent pull of the collar was a noticeable absence in the back of her mind and her instinct to obey his order was not there, instead leaving her the choice of deciding whether or not listen to him with her discerning or indiscriminate judgment.

And despite everything, Hermione placed her palm into Lucius' and his fingers curled around hers as he pulled her to her feet and led her out of the sitting room.

The first rays of morning woke Lucius unfailingly as usual.

He could sense the light of a new day tentatively filling the space of his bedroom and hitting the lids of his eyes before even opening them. But as his mind quickly became aware of his consciousness his body recuperated much slower as he started to realize for the second day in a row he was not alone again.

More accurately, Hermione Granger was currently winded into his welcoming embrace with her skull cradled in his hand as his arm encircled her lower back, holding her firmly to him; and he did not need to open his eyes to confirm his suspicions. All too clearly now he could feel her curls wrapped between his fingers as she contentedly used their arms for a pillow more than anything—yes as he took in their position he felt her arm pressed against his under her head and there her other hand was; lightly pressed against his steadily rising chest.

Ever unseeing, he breathed evenly against her quite literally, his drawn breaths pressing against her abdomen which rose defiantly in response. Their legs were twisted together alternately, seemingly undisturbed by their immediate closeness.

And surprisingly so was Lucius, who thought nothing of their delicate arrangement in his fragile wakeful-sleepy state.

It could have been his exhaustion, or perhaps it was just mere numbness; he didn't feel much of anything more these days and fittingly so. How long had it been since he was able to candidly relish in the presence of another?

But here was this girl— so willingly pliant in his hold, inviting him, even. It mattered not who she was and what she had been through, purposefully and inadvertently at times by his doing.

Would she have turned away if she were to wake?

At the treacherous thought, Lucius gathered her closer and buried his nose in the mass of her soft but hopelessly tangled tresses, ignoring the tingling protest of his dead arm as he began drifting back to sleep rebelliously.

No desire to waken fully and end the soothed calm enveloping his mind, Lucius murmured the spell to close the dense velvet curtains so the room was plunged back into darkness.

Just a while longer, only a little…

The fireplace roared to life, jolting Lucius awake more completely than he had been able to earlier.

He stirred, looking around to the hearth where a letter shot out from the residual flames and floated to his desk, floating heatedly in the air as it lowered, the corners still smoldering as it descended. As he started to move, he heard a small squeak of protest from below him and remembered the girl had appeared in his bed at some time throughout the night.

Carefully, he dislodged himself from her limbs, hoping she had not fully awoken yet and discovered their compromising position. Now that his head had cleared from the strongest traces of sleep he did not wish for her to see him in such a state of weakness, permitting himself to bask in her offered comfort…

He stumbled sleepily over to his desk, sinking gracelessly into the chair for more distance between them.

Lucius vividly recalled putting her to sleep in her own bed the previous day, or rather hours ago he amended after checking the time. Not even seven in the morning yet… Having finally learned she had been fretting over the possibility that it was Narcissa's room- which was ridiculous in every sense- he alleviated her concerns and thought the matter had been resolved.

But then, why did he wake to find her in his room once more? And moreover: why had he not done a thing about it?

To deny the encompassing feeling of- of substance he knew while they slept, (well he only half-slept,) would be redundant. All things of their past and present considered, she was all he had now and respectively he was all she would know for quite some time, if they survived this war. They were thrown into this together by pure coincidence, or at least that was what he kept telling himself as he looked over her sleeping form, huddling into the sheets.

Dismissively, Lucius looked away and back to the top of his desk where the letter from Severus was waiting. Too tired to move yet, he waved his hand and leaned back in his chair as the letter unraveled itself and levitated before him so he could read.

Lucius-

I cannot deal with the boy any longer. Please prepare Miss Granger to receive him and attempt to speak on our behalf for he won't listen to me and I cannot—just do it.

-Severus

He could hear Severus' desperately frustrated voice as plainly as if Severus had been speaking the words to him. Lucius wondered what had transpired that had broken his friend's unwavering patience. Severus was blunt and did not play down his dislike for certain people or subjects, but under the supervision of the Dark Lord he had learned how to hold his tongue, what the right words were to have the desired effect on others, and how to hide his most uncontrollable emotions.

Ronald Weasley, it seemed, was having a profound impact on him.

Though if he was being critically honest with himself, could the same not be said for the young Muggleborn witch in his room? When it came down to it, their new possessions were just that- property, things they owned now.