She did not understand. Why had Malfoy not sold her to the werewolf? Did he really think he could sell her body more profitably? Even though she had once been the greatest threat to Voldemort, along with Ron and Harry, not so long ago, to be precise, now she was nothing more than a Mudblood. She had never been particularly attractive, and certainly not now - what Death Eater would pay for her?
Hermione turned over on her mattress and reflected on the evening. She knew she should be glad that apart from the incident with the werewolf nothing else had happened. And yet - what really unsettled her was what happened outside the room. What did Snape want to achieve with his conversation? Why did Malfoy hold such hatred towards her? Above all, how serious were his threats?
Suddenly, Hermione was wide awake. How could she have forgotten his threats? Could she dare to simply fall asleep? With a beating heart she listened into the darkness, but nothing could be heard.
"This won't do," Hermione said softly to herself, "I cannot lie awake every night in fear of Draco Malfoy. I must stay healthy and strong if I am ever to risk escape!"
oOoOoOo
"Empty words, as usual," she thought.
It had been almost two weeks since she saw anything of Draco Malfoy. In fact, she did not see a soul in that time, apart from the Lord of the house. Apparently, his wife and son decided to avoid the Mudblood slave. Not a single night had she been disturbed.
"Did you miss me, Mudblood?"
The voice that silkily and softly drifted from the kitchen door to Hermione's ear sent a cold shiver down her spine. She knew only too well who it belonged to.
"You should turn around when your master speaks to you," Malfoy continued. Almost teasingly, he added, "One is gone for two weeks and the slaves' behaviour begins to deteriorate.
With wide eyes, Hermione turned, "Gone?"
"Yes, gone. My mother and I took a little city tour on the mainland. Don't tell me you missed our absence."
The teasing, almost playful tone of Malfoy made Hermione deeply afraid. She felt panic creep into her faster than any sharpness in his voice could have done.
"Have you forgotten our last conversation, then?" he asked, as he approached her with a broad smile. Unable to react, Hermione stared at him with eyes wide with fear.
"Ahh, I see!" Draco said and his smile grew even wider, "you thought I'd forgotten my own words.
He stepped directly in front of her, grabbed her hair and violently ripped her head to one side. The smile was now exchanged for his usual hatred as he whispered almost inaudibly into her ear, "Believe me, I haven't."
oOoOoOo
Where did that hatred come from? Hermione couldn't understand. Sure, he had already shown her hatred at school, but she had put that down to his contempt for Mudbloods and envy of her good grades. But now? She was a slave; she was where he thought she belonged. So why was there still this hatred, this expression, as if she was to blame for some personal misery of his?
He did not really hurt her before, but she was sure that his threats were not empty. She had been glad that Lucius Malfoy suddenly turned up in the kitchen, apparently looking for his son who was missing from the Sunday breakfast table. It was almost laughable that she felt safer here, next to the older Malfoy's chair, than anywhere else in the house. In the last two weeks he had neither approached her sexually nor frightened her in any other way.
"Granger, my coffee!" the voice of the same Malfoy tore her from her thoughts.
Hermione scolded herself silently - if there was one thing Lucius Malfoy hated, it was an empty coffee cup at the breakfast table. She quickly grabbed the pot of milk, filled the cup with just a splash, and then poured the hot coffee into it. To her surprise, the Lord of the house gave her a smile, almost imperceptibly, but clearly recognizable to her.
His wife and son also noticed the smile, and when Lucius Malfoy then took a sip with relish, looking his wife straight in the eyes, her face darkened. Wordlessly, but with barely restrained anger in her eyes, Narcissa rose from the table and left the room.
"My wife never learned that I want the milk first and then the coffee," Malfoy commented, taking another sip.
"Yes, very nice, Father," Draco scoffed, "very nice how you use the Mudblood to shame your wife. You're so embarrassing."
"Draco," his father scolded him, "I will not allow you to speak to me in that tone of voice. You may join your mother and leave."
His hands clenched in fists and with a cold, murderous gleam in his eyes he stood up, gave Hermione a meaningful look and left the room as well.
"Ahh, peace at last," sighed Malfoy, "I hate this restlessness and bad mood in the early morning."
The family's brief quarrel lay heavy on Hermione's stomach, for she knew that the son and wife would blame her and take the anger out on her.
"Granger, be a dear, open the window. Here comes Bernadette with the Daily Prophet."
With a nod, she followed the order. As she walked to the window, Hermione wondered if Malfoy was aware that his courteous manner was getting her into trouble. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing it deliberately. Carefully, she opened the large, venerable window of the dining room and let in the magnificent, snow-white family owl. A soft cooing conveyed the thanks before the owl fluttered to its owner and with as much grace as an owl possessed, placed the newspaper on the table next to him.
"Thank you, Bernadette," muttered Lucius Malfoy absent-mindedly as he stroked the beautiful animal's plumage with one hand and glanced at the headline of the day.
"It seems that our Lord has had his first successes in Russia," he said after a brief moment. "It has taken long enough."
Hermione could see how her Master's eyes flew over the lines, how his face darkened imperceptibly and how the hand that had just caressed the owl hung in the air, forgotten. Was the news not so positive after all? Had something happened in Russia that had set the Death Eaters back?
"Apparently, he was able to locate a nest of rebellious wizards... and wipe it out. According to this article, they were to blame for the fact that his efforts had not made much progress in the last few weeks," he continued.
"That's good news, isn't it?" Hermione asked with badly pretended enthusiasm in her voice. She still couldn't quite make out why the article made such a negative impression on the landlord.
"Do you think so?" Malfoy turned to her. "You don't have to pretend, Granger, nobody believes you anyway that you could be enthusiastic about the Dark Lord's cause ... or did you suddenly change your views?"
A suspicious look entered his eyes, and again, Hermione couldn't understand what caused this suspicion. Of course, she hadn't changed her views and of course, he knew that, so why should he mistrust her when he knew so clearly where she stood? Did he think that she would try to play the defector and then stab him in the back? He should know better than that, as it was out of the question for her. So why all this suspicion?
"No, Master," she replied in a low voice, "even if the cause would convince me - which it does not - I would never be able to be loyal to a man who killed my best friend and forced many other friends and loved ones into slavery."
"This sounds more like the Gryffindor I was expecting," Malfoy commented, "never give up, always stand up for what is good, do the right thing, never accept defeat. Isn't that what you lions are like?"
The tone of voice suddenly became sharper and Hermione was unsure whether the characterisation, which she felt was so positive, even praise, was not meant by him as an insult.
"That's right. I will never stop believing that one day Voldemort will be defeated and the world can be as it should be again," she declared in a firm voice, anxious not to let her own insecurity and confusion over the conversation show.
"Believe?" Lucius Malfoy snorted. "you believe? Have you ever seen faith move anything? If you do not act, nothing will change. Anyone who waits and thinks time will tell is a fool. Do you think the Dark Lord would be where he is today if he had just believed and didn't act?"
Irritated and angry, Hermione squinted her eyes together. "What are you trying to say? What do you expect? I'm your slave, remember? Do you expect me to reveal my plans to you, to admit to you that I have any plans at all? You have no idea what my present situation means to me... and it's your fault!"
Anger flashed in the older wizard's eyes and with a jerk he rose from his chair. Hermione, who was standing right next to his seat, noticed now more than ever how much taller this man was. Not only the wizard Lucius Malfoy, but also the man was more powerful than she was and she probably did better not to tease him.
He stood in front of her, both arms supported on the tabletop, forcing her to retreat to the edge. Caught between the table and the tall figure of the man, she suddenly lacked the courage to throw back at him.
"It's my fault, Mudblood?" he hissed, "Mine? You let yourself get caught, you and your silly little friends. The only guilt I carry, if you will, is being on the winning side. And that has nothing to do with guilt, but with prudence."
Unexpectedly, her temper flared up again and made her say words before she could stop herself. "Prudence, huh? I'd call it cowardice or lust for power. No sooner had your master fallen than you came crawling to the ministry to ingratiate yourself. And no sooner was he back than you bowed down in the dust again before him. That is a kind of prudence I will never understand."
No sooner had she said those words than she regretted it again. She did well the last few weeks with her submissive, polite manner, her master did nothing to her and treated her almost humanely. But her words now would certainly not go unpunished. Still - they were said, they expressed what she thought, and Hermione was too proud to give in now. Without batting an eye, she returned the hard look of the blue eyes.
Suddenly, from one heartbeat to the next, the expression on Malfoy's face changed. The wordless staring continued, but his eyes were softer. Hermione thought she could read something like relief in them. Confused, her gaze flickered briefly on the floor and she missed the way her master's eyes fell on her lips. Before she could summon up the courage to lift her gaze again, the silent eye contact was interrupted by a voice.
"Well, Lucius, do we have to discipline our slave so early in the morning?"