Once again, I'm flattered at the responses! Thanks so much, guys. I initially had written this next part of the story as one chapter, but realized it was a bit too much. And so, for your reading ease, I have split it in two. This is the first part – and erm – bear with me. Though you do get a glimpse into my love of architecture, because I've had Draco's house pictured in my mind for ages, and was so excited to finally write it out! I have never been to Kensington, London, by the way. So if my description is too unrealistic, PM me, and we can fix it.
Enjoy!
LCailan
CHAPTER TWELVE
Draco took a deep breath, and then fixed his face as pleasantly as he could, just as his Aunt glanced up to give him a perusal, her heavily lidded eyes flickering over his face with only half a fraction of interest. She pushed back from her desk and gave him her full attention.
"Weren't you telling me just two months ago that we didn't have enough people to do menial tasks at the alienage?"
The question seemed mild, but Draco knew there were implications for her questioning; she never did anything without a purpose. And, after all, she wasn't wrong. Without blinking an eye, Draco spoke his premeditated lines in a rather diplomatic fashion.
"House elves are slowly becoming a thing of the past. Though they are fast and subservient, I'd much rather have…a house servant that is more….aesthetically pleasing, if you know what I mean?"
Bellatrix's face broke into a leer, her choked laughter following.
"Those elves are ugly little cretins aren't they?"
"Indeed. Not to mention, Flint is in over his head with the numbers of Mudbloods that are coming through the east side of the city. That's not to mention the ones being shoveled into the alienage on the west side. Most of them get the Kiss, but the dementors can hardly keep up nowadays. What's one or two Mudbloods, especially when they can be put to just as good a use?"
Bellatrix ran her long fingered hand along the length of her black robes. Draco could tell she was considering his proposal, and he continued, his tone both emphatic and casual.
"It's been said that Flint takes some of them to bed. One of them hung herself in the sleeping quarters when she realized he didn't actually love her, and had only been using her as his sick little sex toy."
It was disgusting, but quite true, and it made Bellatrix laugh. He nearly grimaced with disgust. And it was this sort that he called his family - the decay of British wizard civilization. His disgust was palpable when he thought about what Mulciber had told him only weeks ago. Flint and the wolf Fenrir sharing Mudbloods – passing them back and forth like they were those bloody wizard trading cards you got in a package of bloody chocolate frogs!
His eyes boring into those of his aunt, Draco continued in the same, bored tone.
"What I was trying to say is what's it matter? Sex or housekeeping? It's all quite the same, really. They no longer have any rights, any way of making money and supporting themselves. Most of them will die anyway. We might as well put them to work as long as we have the chance."
Draco stopped, blinking for a moment, as a horrific realization came upon him.
Merlin's buttock! I sound like my sodding father!
There was a glint in Bellatrix's eyes as she glanced up at Draco.
"And so do you have ulterior motives, Nephew? Is your wife not satisfying you?"
Draco's heart twisted anxiously as he cleared his throat to hide the sudden unsteadiness he felt.
"I'd rather die than defile myself the way Flint and Mulciber do. What with a common Mudblood whore? I think not."
The words were firm and pronounced, and he took great care to add in the disdain that was customary for a Malfoy. The smile that Bellatrix gave him in return never reached her dark eyes.
"Why this particular Mudblood?" she inquired.
Draco wondered if it was simply curiosity on his aunt's part, or perhaps he was becoming paranoid. No, he wouldn't falter.
"I don't know her," he lied easily. "Astoria handpicked her. How can I possibly say no to my own wife?"
It was a lie, he knew. But with enough gentleness in tone and the smile he offered, Bellatrix gave her appeasement, albeit grudgingly.
"Ugh. I never did understand why your father held that little simpleton in such high esteem," she complained. "She is nothing but a pretty face. I would have chosen better for you, Draco. And the abhorrent way you cater to her! It is not becoming."
Draco lowered his head slightly at the admonishing tone, hoping that she wouldn't see his distaste for both Astoria and the rest of his family reflected in his face.
"She is my wife."
That, at least, was the truth.
"I want to see her happy."
Or I'll go bloody mad!
Bellatrix sighed and stood up.
"So Astoria handpicked her, did she?"
Draco was tired of the conversation, but he made the pretense of obedience, nodding only once.
"She wanted a Mudblood who could clean and possibly cook. One that was not pretty, for she doesn't want competition, as if that was possible."
The words were flat, and his eyes held a look of dispassion. Bellatrix let out a giggle.
"I find it amusing. Ah, let them kill each other, yes?"
Draco offered a tight smile.
"It's of no consequence to me."
But he knew his statement to be a lie, if ever there was one.
Hermione stood along the dusty side of the road leading out of the alienage, her arms wrapped around her body tightly. She stared off into the distance, just where the road rounded a corner and faded against the early fall horizon, her face a mask of contemplation and confusion. They sky was a brilliant blue, even that early in the day, and white clouds dotted it like heavy cream.
Behind her, the courtyard teemed with early morning life, as the other inhabitants moved about their daily chores. She could hear muffled talking and the yelling of the ministry officials, a nasty spurt of laughter here and there, and even the musical ringing of children's voices.
She thought of Ginny, the boys, and Lily. Of Justin. Of anyone who had shown her the face of kindness. Her heart wept for her family, and for all those she was leaving behind.
Will I ever be back? Oh Gods, please take care of them.
Certainly, she knew, the alienage had not been home, but for months now it was where she had lived. And she was afraid of where she would end up next.
The Ministry official that was to watch her until Malfoy's arrival coughed and spit onto the dry ground, giving her a leering once-over before turning his head back to the road. She shivered slightly as a breeze picked up, infusing the hot, stale day with a breath of life. Hermione avoided meeting the eyes of the official, for she didn't like the look he was giving her. It was frightening, as if he were undressing her in his mind. She fought the urge to gag, and turned even further away from him, staring listlessly out at the empty road. It was then that she heard the loud crack, and knew that, for better or worse, Draco Malfoy had arrived.
"Right on time," she heard him say.
"You got yourself a nice piece, Sir."
Hermione's skin crawled at the conversation, and she refused to turn around, standing in the same position as before, feeling her eyes burn with unshed, angry tears.
I'm a woman, not an object!
She wanted to scream those words, come hell or high water, but she knew she couldn't. Not if…not if she wanted to be free of Pansy, of the constant, daily pain she had been enduring for months. Justin was right, she had realized. So long as she was with Malfoy, she would be free of Pansy. Of course, Hermione realized things were not so simple; Malfoy was one of them, and she had no reason to believe he would treat her better than any of the others had.
Except that, she did believe it, because he had.
But what will he want in return? And will I be able to give it to him?
Still, anything was better than Pansy's constant tortures, and so she kept her head down and remained silent, biting her tongue until she tasted the coppery taste of her own blood. She was terrified of the unknown, but she was willing to gamble anyway.
"That'll be all, Rookwood. I should have her at the house within the hour, for my wife has her card club this afternoon and I want this one to make her acquaintance," he explained, jabbing Hermione in the side with his wand rather rudely. She only winced.
"Indeed," replied Rookwood. "See you tomorrow, then, Sir."
The breeze ruffled Hermione's matted curls for a silent second, and she didn't dare look up, hoping to make sure that Rookwood, with his strange, lurid eyes, was gone.
When she finally did, Malfoy was staring at her curiously, and just as she met his eyes, he motioned forward. She couldn't, however, move.
A wife? Malfoy has a wife?
Hermione hesitated, wondering where the sudden feeling of heaviness had come from.
Of course he has a wife. Even a snobbish prat can get married, can't he?
Malfoy's look of curiosity had melted away into one of annoyance. The scowl he wore was clearly made for him; it brought attention to his full mouth-
"Do you plan on standing there all day? I've got things to do!"
His tone was as cold as the icy glare he gave her, and Hermione was stirred from her strange musings over Malfoy's mouth.
His mouth? Merlin's beard! I'm thinking about his mouth? He has a wife? After everything he's done to me and my friends and family? I lose a husband and a best friend and he has a wife? Is there no justice?
Feeling her cheeks flame slightly, both from anger and from the confused melee of thoughts she was having, she dropped her head and followed him.
Hermione itched to ask him all manner of questions, but no words passed her lips. They walked down the dusty road a ways, and turned a slight curve into a grove of trees, where Malfoy stopped and turned, rummaging in the pockets of his cloak. She saw him remove a small, gold pocket watch, which he laid on the ground.
"Portus," he whispered, tapping the watch with his wand, and she watched as the watch took on a bluish glow, trembled just a bit, and was still once more.
"You know," he said to her in a low voice, his eyes staring over her head, and not actually at her. "The Department of Transportation has really cracked down on the rules since the new Ministry took over. Mudbloods can't even do side along apparition anymore."
The tone of his voice implied that it was her fault, and Hermione finally found her voice, bristling a little.
"Well then, Malfoy, perhaps your Ministry ought to rethink some of their decisions."
Her brown eyes had locked with his silver ones, and for a moment he looked angry, another distracting scowl marring his shapely mouth, but then the moment was gone, as if it had never happened.
"Perhaps you ought to watch your mouth, Mudblood," he spat.
Hermione felt her heart race for a moment, and she returned his glare, though she said nothing more.
Watching as he did so, she leaned down to touch the watch, feeling the coolness of the metal against her fingertips. The tug to her lower belly and the feeling of suddenly being swept away into nothing overwhelmed Hermione, who hadn't used a portkey in years. The feeling was altogether bittersweet and strange. All Muggle-borns had been reduced to walking, or not going anywhere at all.
Forget that I'm the brightest witch of my generation and I passed that bloody Apparition exam the first time! Stupid Ministry can sod off!
The feeling of breathlessness caused Hermione's anger to melt away, and the next thing she knew, she was standing in a shadowed alley, face to face with Malfoy. Beyond them, she could hear the sound of bus engines, the honking of cars, and the soft murmur of people as they moved to and fro on the nearby sidewalks.
"Come on."
She followed him, realizing that she was completely at his mercy now. There was no Ginny or Justin, no children, no one to whom she could turn if she ended up in peril. Her heart hammered wildly within her, but Hermione could do nothing but move forward. As they emerged from the alley, and Malfoy tucked the watch back into his robe pocket, Hermione stopped and looked around, suddenly slammed with a sharp wave of recognition.
Kensington High Street!
Her battered heart soared for a few glorious seconds, as her eyes took in the buildings around her, the busses and cars gliding along the smooth, paved sidewalks. She could see a barista in the distance, and lines and lines of storefronts on both sides of the busy thoroughfare. The stone buildings around her sparkled in the morning sunlight, and along the horizon she found herself admiring the roofed gardens across the street. Though she had never been, her father had held several meetings at the restaurant there, and had told her stories. She remembered going for tea with her mother as a little girl, and then symphony concerts at Royal Albert Hall as she had grown up, for her parents had always been patrons of the English arts.
Her heart hammering pleasantly, Hermione forgot to move, and only when she heard Malfoy's voice, ripe with irritation, did she tear her eyes away from the sights of the city. It had been too long, she realized.
Too long since she had been amongst people, especially Muggles.
"Last time I checked, Granger, you had legs. Care to move them for me?"
For all the nastiness in his words, Hermione would not be fazed, and she dutifully moved forward, her eyes still trained on the sight unfolding before her. She didn't even speak until they had gone another block along high street.
"You live in London?"
She could feel him slow his pace, but he did not turn to even acknowledge her.
"Muggle London?"
This time, he deemed her a scathing look.
"It's close to work. And, to be honest, Voldemort doesn't care where we live. If he had it his way, Muggle civilization would be a thing of the past, Granger. Just you watch him try to make that a reality."
Hermione followed as Malfoy turned off the high street and they walked down another, less crowded street and turned one final corner. His words had not been harsh, but she understood the heaviness behind them, the oppressive edge.
It's only going to get worse.
The thought dimmed what had been a morning of pleasant memories, and Hermione's heart broke just a little, for, in those few moments of distraction, she had forgotten her place in the new world, what she was now, and that, for her, there was no hope.
Malfoy led her down the tree-lined street, moving gracefully around parked cars and neat wooden benches. Here the shops, restaurants and baristas melted away into sprawling, high row houses made of stone and stucco. Some of them were six or seven stories of flats, and others were surrounded by high, wrought iron fences and gating, signifying wealthier, and most likely, exclusive ownership.
He stopped at the end of the little street, where a small crest of emerald grass rose up in front of them. And rising up beyond that, was one of the most beautiful houses Hermione had ever seen. She swallowed, her eyes making their way upwards towards the sky of deep blue. A part of her twisted with hatred, for Malfoy certainly didn't deserve to be so blessed! But the largest part of her couldn't help but be slightly impressed.
A sweep of steps cut into the grass and led up to a wide, broad shadowed entrance, and the door was tall and wooden, surrounded by an intricately carved stone door case, and flanked by two decorative pillars. A spacious porch seemed to run around both sides of the house. The house itself rose up four, or maybe five floors, Hermione couldn't be sure. But she was awed by the perfect brick masonry and the rows upon rows of wide, sashed windows just flush with the brickwork. As she stared up at the building, the sun gleamed off of limestone as white as snow, which decorated the top of the home, and was covered with detailed carvings. The top floor had wide, oriel windows, and the roof was made of some kind of stucco, and had glorious stepped gabling and a breathtaking stone parapet. It was beyond anything else on that street; a majestic feat of architecture that was more like a mansion than a home.
She scowled, helplessness and frustration flowing through her.
This is where he lives?
She felt her eyes watering as she stood there, staring up at the beauty before her.
That selfish, spoiled prat? While others around him are starved and tortured to death, and the world falls down around us, he's living HERE?
Hermione wanted to scream. She desired to stomp her feet and throw a fit that would send all the other inhabitants of the neighborhood running for the proverbial hills. She wanted to punch him again, the way she had done in their third year, just for being Malfoy. But all those musings would never come to pass, she knew.
"This-this is your house?"
Her voice cracked from withheld emotion. Her eyes did not stray from the exquisite brick and limestone façade before her.
"What? Not good enough for you?"
The words were cold and mocking. Something in the way he said them, and the smug, self involved look on his angular features, caused Hermione to lose whatever had inhibited her before.
"No, not at all. It's rather breathtaking, actually. Which obviously means it's too good for you."
She clenched her jaw and glared at him, just as he turned his silvery-grey eyes on her with an expression of mild shock. His voice took on a low hiss.
"You dare speak to me that way?"
She turned her chin up defiantly towards eyes that snapped with irritation. Hermione felt herself shrink back helplessly when he leaned in to tower over her. He was taller than she was; he loomed over her.
"I'd learn how to check that feisty mouth of yours, were I you, Granger."
Hermione attempted to take a step back, to put some distance between them, because her heart lurched when he brushed up against her and it felt strange, but he reached over, clamping his hand down on hers without mercy.
"You remember who you are, and who I am," he murmured. "And know your place. I can send you right back where you were before, and I don't know about you, but I imagine being here, in the house I'm not good enough for, is safest for you. Or am I wrong?"
Hermione swallowed vigorously, her eyes growing wide as they locked with his. Once again, she was reminded of exactly how undeniable those eyes could be, if he wished it so. Half his full mouth turned up into a slow smirk.
"I'm the Master here, Granger. And my wife is Lady of the Manor, do you understand me? When she tells you to jump, all you need ask is how high. When I give you a missive of things to do, your response will be, yes, Sir."
Hermione bit back a sharp reply, acknowledging his words with a slight nod of her head.
"Yes…sir," she ground out, hear heart thrashing wildly within her chest.
Seemingly satisfied, Malfoy pulled away, and his tone became a bored drawl.
"I realize you're pointlessly stubborn and have the misfortune of being an idiot, so let me help you out, Granger. Don't you forget why you're here, and the fact that you would be dead already, were it not for me. Think about that while you're scrubbing my toilets."
He turned then, and straightened his back, moving towards the house in front of them. Hermione followed, fighting between lashing out at him once again and keeping quiet.
I must keep quiet. I must keep quiet. I must-
She heard the sound of a door opening and glanced up in time to see a woman emerge onto the wide, shadowed porch. She was stunning; the woman standing at the top of the steps clearly surpassed the beauty of the house itself.
But of course, she thought miserably, only the best for bloody Malfoy.
She wore an expensive looking dress tied back with a swath of crimson, and she had hair as dark as night. It fell down her back in shining, thick waves and Hermione knew that every part of her was done up just so she was perfect. And she was. Like a doll, one of those that Hermione remembered playing with as a child. Even her eyes were perfect, wide and soulful in a face of alabaster and high, rosy cheeks.
She watched him finish the climb to the porch, and when they stood together, Malfoy seemed even paler, his hair nearly white as snow against his raven-haired wife. Even from her place closest to the street, Hermione could feel his piercing stare.
Draco felt a nagging irritation in his lower belly as he stared down at Granger, who had stopped moving yet again. It was the fourth time in less than an hour, the first time having been when they had portkeyed into central Kensington, and then once on high street, once on his street, and now at the house.
It was starting to get on his sodding nerves.
"I'm not asking you to do much, am I, Mudblood? No heavy lifting or strenuous chores. No excessive walking, yes? So would you do me a favor, and kindly move your ass?"
Draco watched as Granger blinked furiously, and then hunching over, rushed up the steps obediently. Well, perhaps not exactly obediently, he decided. She had fought him every step of the way, if not with nasty comebacks than with the looks that she deemed shoot him with her expressive eyes.
Expressive? Gods. More like, bloody annoying.
When she reached them on the massive porch, Draco heard Astoria sniff rather loudly.
"I've forgotten how emaciated these Mubloods are!"
Her comment was one of surprise, and Draco rolled his eyes with embarrassment over how stupid his wife really was. He moved his head slightly so he could see Astoria perusing Granger as if the latter was simply an object she was considering for purchase, like a handbag or a new vase for the house.
"And she's dirty, Draco. How is a dirty person supposed to clean our home?"
Her dark eyes traveled up and down Granger's rather dirty countenance as his wife continued speaking, using an incredibly grating simper.
"What if she has bugs?"
Draco had only a moment's time to see Granger's face alight with anger.
"I don't have bugs!" she spat, giving Astoria the same defiant glare she had given him earlier.
And here, he had thought it was patented just for him! Astoria, taken aback by the suddenly outburst, lifted her hand and smacked her across the face.
"Don't you dare raise your voice at me, Mudblood."
Her eyes reflected finality, and her voice begged anyone to argue with her. Draco watched as Granger backed away, her eyes still snapping hatefully, but she remained silent.
Thank Merlin for small miracles.
He turned on his wife.
"We've talked about this. She works for me, and this is my house. If there is any punishment to deal out, it will be at my hand, do you understand me?"
Astoria's mahogany eyes narrowed a fraction, and her jaw clenched, but she let out an exasperated groan.
"Of course she works for you. Spare me the details of what kind of exertions you'll be enjoying," she hissed, her cheeks turning a rosy hue. "Just make sure in between all of that, she does the housework properly."
Draco saw her shoot Granger a look of loathing.
"And make sure she doesn't go near the kitchen, for Merlin's sake! I won't be eating anything made by a dirty, bug-ridden Mudblood."
With a toss of her hair, Astoria turned and flounced back into the house, leaving Draco alone with Granger, who was standing on the top step of his home, staring at the door, as if stricken. He felt somehow badly for her, but decided he was going to try not to from now on.
"Well, don't stand there. Get inside."
The words were harsh and final, and he watched her walk towards the door with hesitation, having said nothing since her outburst about not having bugs. She stopped, her hand hovering over the brass door handle.
"What will you have me do?"
Draco smirked to himself.
"Don't be daft, Granger. You'll make us lunch," he decided and opened the door for her. She gave him a look of uncertainty, but finally, walked into his house.