The movement of the bed snapped Hermione out of her thoughts; Draco joined her on the bed again and was looking at her thoughtfully. "Don't you have anything to say to that?"

Mortified, Hermione realised that she had been so engrossed in her reflections on Draco's story that she had actually not said a word to him. She was too excited by the possibilities that suddenly opened up to her that she completely forgot that it was now up to her to finally convince Draco that she was not spying for his father or even supporting Voldemort's cause.

"I'm sorry, I was just too surprised and happy," she finally said, full of honest joy, "just as it's hard for me to understand your situation, it's probably impossible for you to understand me. You are the last person I would have expected to turn out to be my ally. Do you have any idea how scared I was of you?"

"Of course I do!" Draco retorted dryly, "That was my goal, after all. But I think you still don't understand something: I'm not your ally."

Smiling, Hermione shook her head. "You don't understand. Anyone who isn't my enemy is my ally. I don't expect heroics from you."

"Good," Draco interrupted her gruffly, "because I'm not going to be a hero! I just want my old life back. Without fear, without all this madness. And right now, I especially want to understand why you're sleeping with my father when you're supposedly not working for him!"

Exasperated, Hermione closed her eyes. Draco's thoughts were erratic, no sooner had they broached a subject than he fell back into an old one or was suddenly somewhere else entirely. She had a hard time following him and keeping her own thoughts in order. She took a deep breath before launching into a detailed reply. "My relationship with your father has nothing to do with what I feel or think ... Or even with my loyalty. You of all people should know that I can't fight back. I no longer have a wand, and your father is quite physically superior to me. Just like … like Snape."

The surprised horror reflected in Draco's face proved to Hermione that he actually thought she had willingly gotten involved with Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape. It was beyond her how he could have come to that conclusion, but she was glad that he finally accepted the truth.

"I'm sorry," Draco murmured so softly that Hermione almost didn't hear. She was about to launch into a warm, grateful reply when he continued, "But that doesn't change the fact that you should expect nothing from me!"

"I get it," Hermione replied. Unsure of what else to say, she fell silent, and Draco also gave the impression that he didn't know what to say. Hermione secretly assumed that sooner or later she would be able to convince him to help her at least a little, but at the moment fear and despair dominated the young man in front of her. She wondered if he felt the same way she did - that he was literally starved by the coldness he faced in this world, that he longed for the warmth of other people, for trust and honesty.

"I still want you to know one thing, though," she ventured one last push, "no matter how much you hate me and look down on me ... now that I know how you think, you can be sure that I will always be honest with you. Even though it probably means nothing to you ... I'm one person in this house you can trust."

Hermione could see that Draco was about to respond fiercely, but she was undeterred: resting her hands over the blanket in her lap, her eyes fixed directly on his face, she braced herself inwardly for another volley of insults. But Draco seemed to have changed his mind in the middle of it. At least as insistently as she, he looked into her eyes, as if searching for an answer to something in them. Silence spread between them again, and just as Hermione was about to lower her gaze, Draco turned his head.

"I'm tired," he said simply as he rose from the bed, walked to his desk chair and began to undress. Confused and somewhat embarrassed to see her former classmate bare-chested in front of her, Hermione carefully stole out of bed to reach for her bra and dress.

"Where do you think you're going?" The cold voice of Draco held her back.

Even more confused than before, she replied, "Well ... I thought you were going to sleep?"

"So, did I give you permission to leave?"

"Do you want me to ... stay the night?" Hermione asked, unable to keep a fearful tremor out of her voice. She didn't understand why Draco suddenly acted as if the conversation hadn't happened before, why he now suddenly wanted to see her in his bed after all. The cold mask his face turned into made Hermione tremble, but she didn't dare oppose him. Slowly, she returned to the large bed, pulled the covers up to under her chin, and watched nervously as Draco, clad only in boxers, joined her.

Wand in hand, he traced the bruises his earlier assault left. Hermione flinched, but then realised that he was silently healing her. She let her eyes fall close, impressed by his proficiency in healing spells. At last, her face stopped hurting and she opened her eyes again.

"Don't you dare run away tonight, Granger!" he whispered in her ear after extinguishing the light with a final wave of his wand. Without another word, he wrapped an arm around her, pulled her back against his chest, and entwined her legs with his. Completely frozen, Hermione waited for him to go further, for his hands to caress her body, but nothing of the sort happened. When, after minutes of waiting, she finally felt the deep, regular breath against her neck, she relaxed.

If he just needed someone to cuddle to not feel lonely, why didn't he say so instead of scaring her here like that? But now that she was sure that he no longer posed a threat to her, she could actually smile a little at Draco. She realised that he would never admit that he craved warmth and affection so much that he would even want to cuddle with her. Instead, he put on his cold mask and pretended to be the bad guy. She would have to be careful in the future to read his mood correctly and to discern from his facial expressions what he was really thinking. Maybe this way she would succeed in getting closer to him. Maybe they would come to a mutual understanding and possibly even give each other a little comfort.

Satisfied to be able to spend the night completely unmolested, even protected, for the first time since she came to Malfoy Manor, Hermione finally closed her eyes as well and surrendered to the restful blackness of sleep.

oOoOoOo

As so often lately, Lucius Malfoy woke up earlier than he would have liked. Sleep seemed to avoid him, and sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't be better to bring Narcissa back to his bed, if only so he wouldn't feel so lonely. But he knew that this thought was ridiculous - last night at the theatre had shown him how far apart he had grown from his wife. While she had proudly gone around talking to all those people who might matter in some way, he had simply sat in the family box and watched the perverse goings-on. Even before, he had inwardly mocked his colleagues who were attending this social event with such seriousness, but at that time he had played the game anyway. Back then, he himself had been one of the important wizards, back then, the others had come to him. Today he would have had to do it like his wife: Leave his own lodge to go to the important personalities. But his pride did not allow that. Furthermore, there would have been nothing he could say to these people anyway.

Sighing, he thought back to sex with Hermione. If she shared his bed every night, he would certainly sleep better. He could no longer deny that he was attracted to this young, brunette woman with the wild curls. He sought sex more out of desperation because he just couldn't stand the loneliness anymore, but to his great surprise, she helped him forget everything for a few minutes. He wished she could enjoy it as much as he did, then they could have exciting sex together and thus pull each other out of this loneliness that Hermione was obviously plagued by as well. But he didn't want to push his luck - if he got too pushy too fast, even what they'd had yesterday wouldn't be possible anymore.

Since sleep was out of the question anyway, Lucius Malfoy decided to simply take advantage of the early hour to have a first cup of coffee in the dining room without being disturbed. Carefully he dressed, combed his long hair and tied it into his usual ponytail. A glance outside showed him that it was just beginning to dawn - autumn was now well advanced and the first rays of sunlight could not be expected before seven in the morning.

A soft click from the other end of the hallway made Lucius sit up and take notice, just as he was closing his own door behind him. Surprised, he turned around - was his son up already, too? - and froze. For a moment, he couldn't believe his own eyes: Hermione Granger, the woman around whom his thoughts had been circling so intensely just a moment ago, stepped out of his son's room. Not only that, but she voluntarily stopped, turned around again, and exchanged a few obviously friendly words with him. Had she spent the night with him - and enjoyed it? Had the fear she had of him and the hatred with which he looked at her been just an act? And why could she sleep with his son without any problems, but not with him?

Annoyed, he waited until Draco closed the door and Hermione was forced to turn to face him. He was not surprised that she turned snow white at the sight of him, but the caught and guilty expression on her face proved to him that his suspicions had been correct earlier. With a raised eyebrow, he looked down at her as Hermione walked toward him with uncertain steps. It took all of Lucius Malfoy's self-control not to simply grab her, drag her into his room, and throw her on his bed so that he could finally do all the things to her that he had imagined in his dreams. In his anger there was also the feeling of having been wrapped around her finger and betrayed - he had opened up to her, shown himself vulnerable, and the next moment she threw herself at his son. He was ashamed to have ever seen her as a trustworthy person, as someone who could give him intimacy.

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione's voice finally brought him back down to earth, "your son did not sleep with me. It would be the last thing on his mind, at least with me. Please don't misunderstand him."

"Do you really think you're in a position to defend him?", Lucius snapped at her more vehemently than he intended. He didn't want to admit to himself or to her how hard he was hit by her betrayal, but despite his years of experience as a Death Eater, he couldn't get his emotions completely under control right now. "I couldn't care less what my son does to a slave girl. That is the only reason you are allowed to live at all - as a satisfaction of our lust. His actions pose no problem."

The confusion that suddenly appeared on Hermione's face, along with fear, surprised the master of the house. Did she really not understand where his anger came from? Annoyed by the situation that all of a sudden overwhelmed him, he turned around and with harsh words ordered Hermione to follow him to the dining room so he could finally get his coffee. On the way down, he tried to analyse what had happened from Hermione's point of view. Could it be that she was unaware that he felt betrayed by her? Did what happened between them the day before mean nothing to her, but was just another unpleasant duty among all the others she had to perform as a slave? Had it been an illusion to assume that she wanted the sex herself? The closeness he felt to her - and not only the physical one - was it all imagination? This thought made him realise that she obviously did not deceive him on purpose, but simply didn't know any better because she didn't return his feelings.

And this insight turned the hot flame of anger he just felt into a feeling of ice-cold rage that seemed to paralyse his whole mind.