Self-Writing Parchment
Hermione takes advantage of some time alone with Draco and Cillian, hoping to make an effect or an impact on them.
Impinging: to make an impression; have an effect or impact (usually followed by on or upon ): to impinge upon the imagination; social pressures that impinge upon one's daily life.
A huge thank you to my alpha reader, Arabellabloodgood, for reading this over for me, Proulxes for the Britpick and for being my locations scout, and to Lady_Rayne and Phoenix, for combing through this and helping me clean up my mistakes. I really appreciate the beta help. Thank you very much.
~o 38 o~
Impinging on Slytherins
Draco had ditched his father at the first opportunity when he'd heard Hermione scream and now stood by the door as he watched as Snape helped Hermione get up. Severus was clearly trying to make it look like he was hauling her to her feet, his expression one of harsh disdain and his voice cold with anger. But Draco knew the wizard better than that; he'd seen the relationship change since that evening when the girl had been dumped at Severus' feet. Severus liked Hermione, a lot, and Draco was certain that there might be an even deeper emotion lurking beneath the harsh façade.
Cillian Gwynek took the girl's other arm, so he and Snape could 'drag' her from the room. Draco slipped through the group lingering outside the doorway and waited for the trio to enter the Grand Hall. He wanted to see Hermione, to…
He scoffed at himself. To what? Console her?
He wanted to see the mark, to see if it was now like his. He wanted to see if she was all right – which was completely irrational. He hardly liked the girl. And yet he wanted to see her nonetheless.
He shoved his hand in his pockets and fingered the potion vials he kept on hand to help with the after affects of the Dark Lord's displeasure. Draco had suffered the Freezing Curse himself and knew well the pain the girl had felt, the indescribable icy-stabbing pain piercing every inch of her body. In addition, if the curse was done with any amount of intent, it could give the victim a bone-chilling cold that could last for hours afterwards, and the Dark Lord was exceptionally gifted with the curse. Hermione would be in pain for a long time yet, unless Snape let her bathe in the recovery bath balm Draco had helped Severus to create. Which he will. He won't let her suffer needlessly.
He saw Severus, Gwynek and Hermione heading toward the door and followed. The other Death Eaters in the large hall were watching or walking by so Draco kept his face as expressionless as possible.
"Severus, one moment," Gwynek's older brother said, walking up to them quickly.
"Yes?" Severus asked smoothly as Gwynek's older brother turned and acknowledged Gwynek with a friendly, "Little brother," and then faced Severus again.
Gwynek responded by saying, "Marc," with a nod.
"May I have a word with both of you?" Marc asked.
Draco stepped closer, catching Cillian's eye but not Severus'.
Severus considered for a moment, giving the impression it was an imposition as Draco approached. "Of course, a moment. Draco, will you keep her with you?"
"Of course," Draco stated, startled for a moment, and then looked at Hermione. He considered the best place to take her. "I'll take her to the dining room; it's empty."
Both Severus and Cillian seemed to consider the option, and Severus nodded. "All right," he said and turned to Marc.
Draco could hear Marcus Gwynek say, "My sister put Sherrilyn on the list…" as the men walked toward a more secluded spot in the Grand Hallway. Hermione paled slightly as Severus moved away from her, and Draco clasped her arm, angry that maybe she didn't trust him to protect her in his own house. She practically fell against him, making him support her, and he could feel her shiver, whether from fear or the effects of the curse, he couldn't tell.
He said quietly, "Runty, light the dining room fire and bring me some hot broth," knowing that the house-elf would respond to his demand.
Once they were inside the dining room, he shoved her into a chair and flicked his wand at the doors, closing them. "Let me see your arm," he demanded, a bit harsher than he intended, as he pulled out the vials from his pocket and handed her one. "It will warm you up a little." At least it would stop her from shaking so badly.
Hermione looked at him curiously.
"I've been the recipient of that curse before." Damn, he sounded like a Hufflepuff.
"Th-thank you, D-Draco," she replied, drinking the potion with shaky hands without even asking what it was.
Gryffindors – so bloody trusting! I could have handed you a bloody poison, he thought as he rolled his eyes and waved her sentiments off. "Let me see the Mark."
She placed her arm on the table and the remains of her sleeves fell away, exposing her forearm. It looked the same, the snake coming out of the lion's mouth, but the colors had darkened. Not black – just darker. He stroked her skin gently, ignoring her hiss, careful not to press into the Mark, and felt the snake undulate. The lion seemed firmer, solid, although the mane was still pliable. Damn. It is a Dark Mark! He did it! He really did. "Do you feel anything when I touch it?" he asked.
She nodded. Her teeth were chattering so badly it made her stammer when she spoke, not that he was surprised. "It still hr-hurts, sh-sharp t-tingles as well as itches, b-but where y-your f-fingers are it f-feels like a p-prickly-burning hot… f-feeling."
His did the same thing. "Do you sense anything from it? Feelings?"
She paused, biting her lip. Her voice was shaky as she spoke, "B-besides the pain? I feel… a-anger… ir-irritation… I think."
Draco looked up as the house-elf set a bowl of steaming beef broth in front of him. He pushed it over in front of Hermione. "Eat. Hermione, you can now feel the Dark Lord's moods, and if you press it, it will connect you to him."
"He s-said it will connect me to S-Severus and C-Cillian," she said, her voice rough, and tasted the broth. The broth sloshed as her hand shook, and he used his wand to clean up the drops that spilled.
She smiled slightly in appreciation of the taste; Runty made really good broth. "Th-thank you."
He could see his potion begin to work as she took the next spoonful; her hands weren't shaking as much. He let her eat some more before asking, "Why did you leave?"
She looked up. "You weren't in there?" she asked, the stammer from her teeth chattering was gone, but she still had an audible quiver when she spoke.
He shook his head, and she sighed. "I had this irrational fear that I was in grave danger – that Severus had abandoned me – that I had to run, get away. I saw your aunt and Cillian's sister following me, so I ran." She took another spoonful of broth, her hands quivering slightly, spilling a drop.
He waited silently, knowing she'd say more.
"I wasn't thinking straight, I know that. But, I can't really explain it. I couldn't think of anything else but running away."
Of course he'd heard the others testify to the Dark Lord about what happened. Most of them thought she'd been hit with the Imperius, and her explanation fits. He asked, "Where did you go?" and she listed off his mother's cousin's house, the Weasleys' burrow and her grandmother's. "Not the castle, then."
"No, I didn't think it would be safe," she replied.
"And you came back?" he asked, still not believing that she hadn't run off to join Potter and the Weasel.
She looked up as she swallowed more broth. At least her hands weren't shaking anymore. "I had no choice. If I hadn't, then Severus might be punished for losing me, or worse. Alecto would be made Headmistress, and I know she'd remove Professor McGonagall and Hagrid from the school – possibly have them arrested…"
"No other reason?" Draco pushed.
"Isn't that enough?" she asked, her voice still a bit rough and tremulous, taking another spoonful. "Then there is you."
"What about me?" he asked, wondering what she was on about. He was fine.
"Who else cares enough to try and make you come to your senses? Who would be your friend and try and save you from all this madness?"
"Save me?" He scowled. Crazy cow. "I'm eat your broth."
"Yeah, you look it," she said, eating some more broth. "I heard them, in the throne room. A breeding program? Maternity houses? Foisting half-blood kids on to pure-blood families in an imposed fostering program? Forcing half-blood girls to have sex with Death Eaters to conceive their babies?" she asked disdainfully, enunciating her words even though her voice still quivered slightly. "I bet your more chavvy thugs really like that plan!"
Draco scowled at her comment. "No," he snapped, but he actually knew that it was true; many of them did like the idea.
"Aren't all the pure-bloods flocking to him, choosing to cower and bow to his might?" she asked, the scorn evident even though her words trembled slightly from the bitter cold she still felt. She sipped a bit more broth and then looked up at him. "I happen to know that the resistance is growing, not crumbling. I happen to know that Dumbledore's Army's numbers are greater than they were in our fifth year and that even though Dumbledore is dead, those who were fighting under Dumbledore's resistance group are gaining support."
What the fuck? "How can you know that if you haven't been in contact with Potter?" Draco asked.
"I read the papers and I listen. You're here, listening in; what have you heard – that everything is going well? Or are things not going as smoothly as he and all the Death Eaters want it to? Simple snatching raids are turning into all out fights, MRC arrests turning into fierce wandfights or traps set for the Death Eaters, and defiance is rising up in unexplained places, and a lot of the Muggle-born targets are not at home when your brethren attack – they've escaped."
Damn. How can she know all this? "No, you're wrong," he said, thinking about everything he'd learned and heard.
"After Mordrid Cravenweld's downfall, his supporters were hunted down, arrested, convicted, and many killed or given the Dementor's kiss – same thing happened after Gellert Grindelwald fell, they—"
"I know," he snapped. I've read the books, damn it.
"—and when Harry wins, it will be the same," she said, pointing her spoon at him.
"The Dark Lord is winning," he said angrily.
"Is he? Then why is the resistance growing?"
Merlin's beard, she's insufferable. "It isn't growing." But that wasn't the truth. She was right; several raids over the last month had turned into wandfights, the Death Eaters defeated by large, well-organized groups.
"So, are you happy, Draco? Is your family doing well? Have you had a nice Christmas?"
You have persistence; I'll say that for you. If he was honest with himself, the answer was no; not that he'd tell her that.
"Because in the end it will come down to him and Harry, squared off, one-on-one, equals, just like in the graveyard, and only one will survive. Believe me, I know. It's fated – destiny."
It's fated? Potter and the Dark Lord – equals – she's barmy! He looked up to see Severus walking toward them, followed by Draco's father, that bloody werewolf and Gwynek. His father's eyes narrowed, as did Severus', and Draco wondered how much his father and Severus had overheard.
Severus stopped right by her chair. "Hermione, it's time to go," he said smoothly, and if he was angry by what he'd overheard, his voice and expression gave nothing away.
Hermione nodded, put down her spoon with a slight clatter and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. "Draco, thank you for the broth. It was delicious," she said politely.
"You're welcome," he said automatically in a flat monotone, watching his father as Hermione rose, still wobbly, before Severus took hold of her arm, supporting her as he led her out of the room with Gwynek right behind them.
As soon as the door closed, his father hurried over. "Draco, what was she saying about the graveyard? Only one will survive – what's fated? What is destined?" he asked as he sat in the chair Hermione had vacated.
"She was rambling, Father, nothing more," he replied, hoping to brush it off. She was hinting about that bloody prophecy. Something his father still wanted desperately. "She's always saying such nonsense. She believes that Potter will defeat the Dark Lord," he added dismissively. At this point, Draco felt that his father was so desperate to appease the Dark Lord, so anxious to gain back his family's honor by any means that his father would turn in his own mother to do so. Draco and his mother were constantly watching what they said and what they did, keeping their emotions and expressions carefully in check, their Occlumency shields up… It was exhausting.
"Draco, she's Potter's friend. It's possible she knows the prophecy," his father said, his voice heavy with desperation. "If you could get her to tell you, to learn the missing parts, he would—"
He looked at his father. The man was the extreme opposite of what he'd once been, the once proud and imposing wizard was a sniveling, grasping, despondent wreck. He was even wandless – the Dark Lord had taken away his wand. "What, Father, honor us? Restore that which he's taken? Look around," Draco said with a sweep of his arm. "We are prisoners in our own home."
"Shh," his father hissed, holding up his hands. "Not so loud, Draco."
"Exactly," Draco snapped, although he had lowered his voice. "Not so loud; He might hear us complain. The Rat might see us or overhear what we say. Greyback might sniff us out. Wretched scum we'd never have allowed to even darken our gate are living in our guest rooms! We have no more honor, Father, we're a disgrace!" He stood up to go, but his father grabbed his arm.
"Draco, do not speak to me like that," he hissed angrily. "I'm still your father."
He tried not to smirk. His father. He was a mess. He was unshaven, his once lustrous hair stringy, and he still bore the stench of Azkaban even after all these months. Had the man forgotten how to groom himself? Did he even bother to bathe? At least his robes are clean, wrinkled, but clean. "Yes, Father, you are," Draco said a bit more politely, although the condescension seeped through. "But we are no longer the lords and masters of our own home, are we? Face it, he has taken over everything, and we are reduced to being his servants. He has no intention of ever giving you any of the things he promised you."
"Draco, we only have to appease him—"
"Where does Mother go late at night? Who is hitting her?" Draco snapped.
"No-no one is…"
"I see her bruises, Father. I see the thick concealers and the high neck robes she wears," he spat. "You think I don't know? I know!" In fact he was all too aware of exactly where she slipped off to at night, and to whom. She even refused to allow him to brew her Bruise Paste.
"Do not speak of these things," his father pleaded.
Draco moved to leave. "Don't worry, Father, Draco be's a good, obedients servant, Draco is," he said, mocking the way house-elves spoke.
"Draco!"
"No, what is said between us stays between us. But I have to go serve my master now," he said. His father's eyes burned with fury at his insolence. "Besides, if you haven't worked out the prophecy yet, you never will." Between what Mother told me – and yes, she told me what Hermione said – to both of you, I've figured it out. "But it won't help our situation. He's punishing us and took what's ours, and nothing we do is going to make it better."
~H~
When the suffocating, squeezing sensation between the Apparition origin and their destination suddenly stopped, the last place Hermione expected to be was along the tree line that surrounded the back garden of Cillian's house. Severus grabbed her arm and pulled her with him across the lawn. The barrier, which had stopped her before, let her pass, but with some resistance, irritating her already curse-tender skin.
"Are you going to help Marc and Sherrilyn?" Cillian asked.
"It isn't so hard if there aren't any physical… impediments," Severus stated.
Hermione wondered what was going on as Cillian looked down and shrugged. "Could be. Marc hasn't been too lucky, and I know they've tried." He looked at Severus. "Do you think all the others are under the same pressure to have their wives pregnant by the end of January?"
"If Ulisses Macaulay is working with Mengele to create the conception potion, then yes. Besides, you know that the Dark Lord wants children," Severus said sarcastically, almost rhetorically, because he seemed to be deep in thought.
Hermione rubbed her arms, waiting patiently.
"For his new world order…," Cillian stated, but his eyes were cast downward, glazed with thought as well. He looked up at Severus. "So will you be going back to the castle or to your house?"
Severus shook his head. "I was hoping to use your basement."
Cillian crossed his arms. "It's one of her haunting places, but if you can put up with her annoyances, okay. What will you need?"
"She's easily handled," Severus scoffed, referring to Cillian's resident ghost. "I will need a few things from home."
Cillian smirked, and Hermione tried to hide her grin.
"Only a few?" Cillian challenged him. "Not your whole lab?"
"Only a few of my implements and some fresh ingredients," Severus said, his eyes narrowed, but Hermione also caught the teasing glint in his eye. "Unless you wanted a fully stocked potions lab? I would be happy to make you a list."
Cillian chuckled. "Potions wasn't my best subject in school, as you well know. I'd rather get my potions from you."
"I should pay Sherrilyn a visit," Severus stated, "to find out which potions she needs before Mengele summons her to his lab."
Cillian winced and made a sweeping motion with his arm as he said, "By all means, sooner better than later. If Sherri isn't at home, she'll be at my parent's house. You still remember where Grouse Hill House is?"
"I remember the house; near Robin Hood's Bay, Whitby." Severus nodded. "Watch her for me?" he said, indicating Hermione, who had wrapped her arms around herself to try to stop her body from shivering from the after-effects of the curse and the cold air – not that it helped any.
Cillian crossed his arms, staring down at her. "Okay." He looked up at Severus. "How long will you be?"
"An hour, at least, perhaps longer," Severus replied and looked up at the sky. "I should be back before dark." He turned to look at Hermione. "I'll bring you something for the after-effects of the curse and a change of clothes before I leave."
"Thank you," she replied, the shivering from the effects of the curse coming back.
"I've got some of the potion," Cillian stated, taking Hermione's arm. "And Dianne can lend her some robes."
Severus nodded, said, "Fine; I'll see you later," and walked back through the barrier before Disapparating with barely a pop.
Cillian helped steady her as they walked through the snow to his house. She was grateful to be able to lean on him. The biting cold did nothing to help dispel the deep penetrating cold from the Dark Lord's curse that had painfully stiffened her muscles and joints. But as soon as they stepped onto the patio, he made her sit on one of the wrought iron chairs with a not-too gentle shove. "Now, tell me – where the fuck did you go?"
She repeated the list of places she'd been, in order, although she said, "a place from my childhood," rather than 'her grandmother's house' as the first location.
"Why?" he demanded. "What possessed you to just run off like that?"
Hermione sighed, shivering uncontrollably. She had expected this interrogation and sincerely hoped to get this over with as quickly as possible, because the bit of snow that had been on the chair was seeping into her jeans. "I was under the Imperius."
"The Imperius. Really?" Cillian said with an incredulous sneer. "You were hit with the Imperius at the Dark Lord's party? Right after he claimed you… after he marked you as his with everyone watching?"
"Yes," she said defensively, her arms wrapped tightly and leaning forward slightly with her legs crossed, trying to fend off the cold. At least he wasn't making her do this in front of the Henley's. "Everything was fine, for the most part, until after the music stopped and everyone was getting their cloaks on to go outside. Suddenly, I was desperately and irrationally afraid and felt an intense compulsion to flee. I felt utterly abandoned and vulnerable and had this absolute certainty that I was in danger. I saw your sister and Bellatrix, neither of whom like me, watching me, and I – I thought they were going to kill me." Her voice was surprisingly strong, but then she assumed Draco's potion was still working.
"Why didn't you call out? Why not run to the Drawing Room or look for Severus or for me?" he asked, glaring at her.
"I couldn't see you!" she said, tears forming. She was so cold, and the metal chair and icy air only made it worse. "I looked for you and Severus; I even looked for Draco."
"And yet you ran?" he asked, his arms crossed as he looked down at her. "Have you ever felt the effects of the Imperius Curse before?"
Hermione crossed her arms tighter and leaned forward more, shivering, her teeth chattering. "Yes," she admitted. "Twice! First in my fourth year when Barty Crouch Jr. used it on me and just this last summer Severus used it on me as well," suddenly remembering that he'd used it to control her that night in the glade, the first time she'd faced the Dark Lord.
Cillian's eyes narrowed. "Was this like those two times? Did you sense a light headiness at all, a befuddled disorientation or muddled stupor?"
She shrugged. "I don't know; I was panicking. I suppose you could say I felt a disoriented sense of fear. I certainly wasn't thinking logically at all." She was so cold. She wanted to get up, but she didn't think he'd let her, and sitting on the ice-cold wrought iron chair wasn't comfortable at all.
"Severus said you chose to come back," he stated, but really more of a question.
She nodded. "I had to."
"Really," he sneered.
She looked up at him and flinched at his icy stare. "Of course I did! I didn't want Severus punished by the Dark Lord! And if anything had happened to him, Alecto would take over the school, and then where would my friends be? Who would protect them from being maimed or harmed?"
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "That's your only reason?"
Hermione was growing impatient with his questioning. Why won't he believe me? She allowed more asperity to come in to her voice. "I didn't know how to find Severus – or you! I was afraid of what the Dark Lord would do, I still am. And I love him – Severus – I love him."
"You have a funny way of showing it," he sneered. "You were gone for a day and a half. In all that time you couldn't have thought of one place he'd look for you? Nor did you wait around at the places you did go long enough for him to find you. He went to all those places you've mentioned. You could have waited, hidden somewhere and waited. You could have gone to Severus' house. Draco was waiting for you at the castle in case you went there. I tried each of your friends' houses—"
She sat up straighter to stare at him, ignoring the melting snow seeping through her jeans and the uncontrollable shaking in her limbs. "I couldn't remember Severus' house well enough to visualize it! All I remember was the bloodstained flagstones and the blood-splattered fanged ivy. And I was afraid to go to the castle! I had no idea you were looking for me, and I had no idea Draco was at Hogwarts! Besides, I was afraid to go to Hogwarts in case the Carrows or the security officers were there. I could have contacted an Order member, but thought better of doing so in case…" She was not going to admit to contacting Harry and Ron.
He stood there, arms crossed, a scowl on his face, staring at the… distance? At the trees.
She threw herself back into the chair and crossed her arms, glaring at nothing in particular. It was damn cold, her forearm hurt – throbbed, and she was shivering uncontrollably, but she was too angry to say anything to him about the cold. The ungrateful git. She came back. She came back for Severus, for Ginny, and her friends, and for him, and she knew that because of her flight, things at the castle were likely to be worse than before. The Carrows would be relentless in her punishments if only to teach her obedience and put her in her rightful place.
"And are you going to behave yourself?" he finally asked.
She looked up at him, her arms still crossed tightly under her breasts. "If you mean, like I was before, being polite to the Carrows and keeping my head down, relinquishing my wand to you after each lesson and not talk back – yes. If you mean am I going to stop recruiting? No."
He glared at her.
"I'm right you know," she said. "We can win this."
"You're a stubborn, insolent chit," he snapped.
She sat up and her arms relaxed a bit. "I know that you're not as steadfast in your beliefs as you want me to believe."
"Really?"
"Cillian," she said, her tone softer than before, even though her teeth were chattering wildly. "I'm not just saying this to anger you, I see it. Being here, meeting Dianne and her parents, confirmed my suspicions, and… you're not a bad person. You're a good person caught up in a terrible situation with horrible people—"
"They are not horrible people," he snapped.
She couldn't believe his denial. She was so incensed, she forgot the cold. "Are you kidding me? Really? Greyback a bit of a lad, is he? And Pettigrew isn't a creepy toad? The Carrows are chavs; Alecto, what a daft cow, and Amycus, what an idiot! He doesn't even know the counter curses to his own spells! We – his students have to look them up for him. VanHalal and Crabbe are knob heads, and Travers and MacCavish are stupid thugs, Macnair and Rowle are scrubbers."
He smiled, barely, but a little.
"I know that the Glenwrythes, Whitehalls and Malfoys are toff, and I think the Roquewoods and Rosiers are too, but the Lestrange brothers are mong nutters, and do you really think that Bellatrix hasn't lost the plot? And those are the ones I know!"
"Rubbish," he said, but he still had a crooked little smile as if he found what she'd said amusing.
She slumped back into the chair, hugging herself. "Well, you know them better than I do. I've only seen them at formal parties and when they attack children."
He arched an eyebrow at her.
"The Department of Mysteries – my fifth year. Malfoy, Yaxley, Avery, Mulciber and Dolohov were there. I think Crabbe and Goyle were too," she said with a shrug. "Dolohov – what a great guy! I mean he could have used a Stunner – but nooo – he hit me with a really nasty hex that nearly killed me! Ronald Weasley, Luna Lovegood and I all have scars from that day, and Neville, who'd been hit in the face, had to have magical rhinoplastyand maxillofacial repair. And then last May, when the Death Eaters broke in and attacked the school, not one of them held back or used impediment or immobilization spells that time either. They used curses – severe curses – on underage children! They tried to kill us!"
"Not all of them are like those thugs," Cillian stated, but for a moment, she could see shock and indignation reflected in his eyes.
"No? All right, how many of the Dark Lord's followers are fine, upstanding citizens of society and good people?" she challenged him.
"I can name several: Brian Petersen, Edgar Walsingham, Henry Westmore…" he said quickly, possibly naming his friends.
She sat up again, leaning forward slightly. "And how many of them are Marked? How many are in his inner circle? Or are they simply supporters, caught up in all this because they are afraid for their families?" she asked, already knowing that Messrs Glenwrythe, Lockhavens and Whitehall were not Marked. In fact, Hermione strongly suspected that Mr. Glenwrythe might be hiding undesirables in his cellars. "In fact, I strongly suspect that there are many so-called followers who are acting as supporters simply to protect their families."
Cillian looked away again.
Dianne came out of the house, wrapped in a thick cloak. "What are you two doing out here?" she called out, waving at them to come to her as she added, "Come inside, it's freezing."
"Coming," Cillian shouted back and hauled Hermione up out of the chair. "Don't give her any grief. I don't want you to discuss any of this with her," he warned her, guiding her into the house. "Dianne, please take Hermione upstairs and show her the guest bath. I'll be up shortly with her oils."
"All right," Dianne said, slipping her arm around Hermione's.
She was so cold, shivering so badly that all she wanted to do was curl up in thick blankets by a roaring fire. She even thought that she might ask for a bottle of Firewhiskey.
Dianne rubbed her arm. "Let's get you warm. You must be utterly freezing." She shed her cloak and led Hermione through the long foyer to the stairs, holding Hermione's shaking body firmly to her side. "He cursed you, didn't he?"
Hermione nodded. "The Freezing Curse."
"Oh gods – he's used that on Cillian! And you were sitting out there in the snow?" she asked, letting Hermione lean on her as they started walking up the stairs. "What did you do?"
"I tried to run away," Hermione admitted.
Dianne stopped, gaping in shock. "You did what? And you're alive?"
"Apparently," Hermione said. "Although alive may be a relative term. I'm freezing to death."
"Let's get you in the bath; that will warm you up. Cillian's oils will help," she said.
As the girls climbed the stairs, Hermione's joints hurt as if she were an old maid. She could feel the effects of the potion Draco had given her beginning to wear thin.
"Why didn't you come straight into the house?" Dianne asked. "What were the two of you talking about on the patio?"
"Same as before," Hermione said, finally glad to reach the top of the stairs.
Dianne gave her a quick disappointed glance and then turned to their right, indicating the way with her hand. "Down here."
The house was large; Hermione could count at least six doors, just on this side of the house, and she was sure she spotted another three, maybe four, down the other side of the hall.
"You should keep your opinions to yourself, you know," Dianne warned her, the disapproval apparent in her tone.
"You do know that if the Dark Lord wins, this house will become your prison," Hermione said.
"I'm quite well aware of that," Dianne snapped as she pushed open a door, revealing a lovely bathroom with a large, clubfooted tub. The room was blissfully warm and humid from the steaming hot water. "Oh good," Dianne said and turned to Hermione. "Ella is really efficient. Do you need help undressing?"
"No, I can manage," Hermione replied politely.
"All right," Dianne said, turning to go. "Call Ella if you need anything."
Hermione undressed gingerly and was about to enter the tub when Ella appeared, holding a bottle with one hand and the other hand over her eyes. "Ella brings this for Miss. Master Cillian is with the Muggles," she said in a husky voice, but without any rancor or malice, so Hermione assumed the elf didn't dislike Muggles. Ella poured the contents of the bottle into Hermione's bath and disappeared.
Saying her thanks aloud anyway, Hermione stepped into the tub and gingerly sank into the hot water even though the contrast of the heat and her cold body made her skin prickle painfully. She lay back, lifting her hair over the side and rested her head on the bath pillow as her body adjusted to the heat with a sigh of relief. The contents of the bottle made the water smell divine. She could easily discern eucalyptus, camphor and wintergreen oils, and guessed that the potion might have castleberry, vervain and St. John's wort essence from using them in school. There was a subtle hint of lavender and peppermint that wafted up on the steam, and there was a tingling sensation all over her body. Never had a bath felt this relaxing. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift.
Hermione woke with a start when a small, long-fingered hand nudged her arm. "Is Miss wanting to comes to dinner, or is Ella to brings Miss her foods here?" the elf asked.
She had no idea how long she had been soaking. "Oh, no, I'll get out," she replied and thanked the elf, but Ella disappeared immediately without reply. Hermione dried off and looked about. Her jeans, under garments and socks were folded, apparently laundered, next to the robe Ella had left for her. She wondered where her long-sleeved T-shirt, flannel shirt and jumper where, but considering that the left sleeves had been severed by the Dark Lord, she assumed that Ella still had them, maybe even trying to repair the damage.
Hermione sat on the edge of the tub, wrapped in her towel, staring at her Mark. There was little doubt now; the Mark on her arm was different. Draco had warned her not to touch it too often, that He'd feel her if she did, so Hermione resisted the urge to touch it, just in case. Still, even just watching her Mark, the snake seemed to undulate slightly even though it didn't actually move, and she could feel it in her skin now as well. It was an odd sensation, an irritatingly itchy feeling, as if something was moving beneath the skin. It felt alive.
Sighing, she dressed, putting on the dark orange gown and a cinnamon Elizabethan loose coat style robe with her boots that Ella had laid out on the settee, noting that the clothes were a bit long for her. As Hermione descended the stairs carefully, she glanced up and saw Severus waiting for her. She hurried down the last steps and rushed to his arms, almost tripping on the landing.
"What's wrong?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her.
"Nothing – everything," she said, hugging him tightly and smiling against his chest as she inhaled his familiar scent. "It's just – I couldn't say thank you for making him stop, and then you left…"
"I didn't stop him, Hermione," he said, and she pulled back to look him in the eyes.
"Yes you did," she said, confused. Of course he did. Didn't he do it intentionally? "You told him that I came back to you, I heard you. He stopped when you spoke up."
His lips twitched, an almost amused smirk. "Do you feel better after your bath?"
She nodded. "Much better."
"You should soak again before bed," he said as he led her through the parlor, where she'd first seen Dianne reading, and into the dining room. Hermione smiled; Mr. Henley was pushing in Mrs. Henley's chair for her at the long mahogany table. Cillian and Dianne were already seated.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Mr. Henley commented on Hermione's robes, apparently a style Dianne liked, saying, "She always did like the Middle ages and the Renaissance," and then asked if Hermione liked wearing the 'romantic medieval' styles, too. They talked about theater and books, then movies, Mrs. Henley asking Hermione what was the last film she'd seen.
The last ones Hermione remembered seeing were Jurassic Park and Mrs. Doubtfire.
After dinner, the men retired to the sitting room, but Dianne excused herself, going upstairs to retrieve what looked like a large antique tea caddy. She passed Hermione in the parlor and walked into the dining room.
Not wanting to be alone in the parlor, Hermione followed Dianne, curious as to what her hobby was.
"Cillian gave this to me for my hobby," Dianne said with a smile. When she opened the top of the tea caddy, then swung open the front, Hermione was quite surprised; it had far more drawers than Hermione thought possible. The top tray was full of delicate tools and wires. Underneath it there were several little cubbies and the drawers, which appeared deceptively small, were full of all sorts of beads as well. Dianne removed a tray from the bottom that had several pieces in progress laid out in the ridges.
"You make jewelry?" Hermione asked, amazed.
"I do," she said, searching through the compartments for something. The small compartments rearranged themselves within the ancient box with each wave of her fingers and began to move and switch with each other, rather like an intricate puzzle. Hermione saw glimpses of all sorts of beads, crystals, loops, clasps and findings. One small compartment rose slowly upwards, above the others. Dianne smiled, picking up the little wooden compartment and plucked out twelve of the small crystal beads.
"Who do you make them for? Do you sell them?" Hermione asked as Dianne sorted out where she would put the crystals on one particular line of beads.
"I used to," Dianne replied. "Vivienne Lacewell, Chantilly Hanretty and Hilary Walden – they were my friends in school – used to love my jewelry, and there were others who would buy pieces or sets. It was quite the rage for a while. Not that I can do much with them now." She lifted out another compartment, considered the beads, then put it back, choosing another. "My father is a jeweler, and my mother used to help in the shop when she wasn't teaching."
"My parents are dentists," Hermione stated, watching Dianne work with a mild sense of awe.
"My mum told me that you had to send your parents away," Dianne said, stringing the beads on a wire.
"Yes, for their protection," Hermione said with a nod, not really wanting to say too much.
"Surely they could've been hidden," Dianne said, rather more like a question, not looking up from her task.
"They are Muggles, and I'm fairly well known because I'm best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley," Hermione said. Not that Harry is all that keen on me right now. "I was going to go with them, but I was captured." There, that is safe enough.
Dianne's hands, still holding the bracelet she was working on, dropped to the table. "Captured?" she asked, surprised by the statement. "But I thought…? But you're with Severus?"
Hermione shook her head. "I was dumped at Severus' feet, and forced to… I-I—" She couldn't say it; she felt her face flush with embarrassment.
"But that doesn't make any sense! Cillian tells me that he loves you, but that you are also one of the Dark Lord's prisoners," Dianne said, her brows furrowed, then relaxed.
Hermione forced herself not to react to her innuendo that there were other 'prisoners'. "I am."
"At least you can attend Hogwarts," Dianne said wistfully.
Hermione didn't know what to say; she didn't want to tell Dianne how horrible it was at times – she'd sound ungrateful. So, she just watched Dianne organize the order of the beads on her tray.
"Would you like to see some?"
"See some…?" Hermione asked, unsure, as Cillian entered, holding a snifter in his hand, and sat down.
"Ella, bring me the jewelry case," he said quietly. Ella appeared a moment later carrying a huge jewelry box. "Thank you, Ella."
"Master," Ella said with a bow and disappeared.
Cillian flicked open the latch on the front and opened the case while Dianne continued to work on her bracelet. Hermione was stunned. There were hooks on the doors of the case, holding all sorts of necklaces, bracelets and anklets. In the middle were many long, flat drawers with all sorts of bracelets, earrings, necklaces, and even a few tiaras. Many were laid out as sets. "These are amazing," Hermione said, lifting out a bracelet with a combination of semiprecious gemstone beads and crystals. She picked up another and smiled at the intricately detailed hippogriff beads at intervals on the necklace. The matching bracelet had several magical animal charms. "You made these?"
"She's talented," Cillian stated, and Dianne blushed prettily, lowering her head slightly. "Well, you are."
"Where do you get your beads?" Hermione asked, examining another bracelet with lapis lazuli, blue topaz, blue goldstone and moonstones interspaced with small intricately carved gold beads.
"From gems shows, specialty shops, flea markets or in Portobello and Piccadilly and carboot sales, catalogues… all over, actually. I've been collecting for years," Dianne said, finishing off the strand. "Cillian finds some interesting beads for me as well."
"I have my sources," he said with a proud grin.
After a long pause, Hermione said, "I love your house," to Cillian as Ella placed mugs of hot cocoa in front of Hermione and next to Dianne.
"My grandfather gave it to me," he said dismissively.
"Oh, don't be modest, tell her the history of the place," Dianne said with a grin, adding a clasp. "It's fascinating; you'll love it."
He shook his head and smirked at her. "You like the fact that it's infamous."
Now Hermione was intrigued. "Infamous?" she asked before sipping on her cocoa.
"Crydeyrn Mordaunt lost the island to my great-grandfather, Caddaric Gwynek, in a bet," Cillian stated.
Hermione paused and looked at him from over the rim of her cup. Island? Where were they? "Mourdaunt. I've heard of Barcus Mordaunt – isn't he the assistant head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission? Is there a relation there?"
"Yes, and Mordaunt claims to be a direct descendant of Merwyn the Malicious, whose real name was Merwyn Mordaunt, by the way," Cillian answered with a smirk and then smiled at Dianne as he brushed a strand of her hair back over her shoulder. "At least according to the records my grandfather found in the attic."
Dianne smiled up at him and then went back to choosing beads to finish her next project.
"So what was the bet?" Hermione asked. If she could get him to talk about the place, he might let slip where they were.
Cillian turned to look at her. "The bet? That he could get a Muggle to accidentally row his boat to the island. Crydeyrn said he could, but the Muggle still wouldn't see it," he explained with a smirk. "So, Caddaric used the Imperius to make a Muggle in a boat row to the island. However, once the Muggle reached the shore, he saw the island but didn't know which one he was on."
There is more than one? I wonder how many? "What is the name of the island?" Hermione asked, enthralled, and trying to fathom where they could be by his story. They had to be close to land since someone could row to the island.
"Cravenweld Island, of course, this is the Cravenweld House," Dianne said with a smile. "It's haunted, but the lady rarely comes out of her room."
"Or paces the gallery on the first floor," Cillian said. "At least she's not a nuisance." He turned back to Hermione. "According to what my grandfather said, Crydeyrn Mordaunt claimed thatthe island and the house once belonged to Mordrid Cravenweld," Cillian added with a smirk.
"The Mordrid Cravenweld?" Hermione gasped in shock. "The Dark wizard who rose to power during the beginning of the High Middle Ages?" He had been the Dark Lord of his generation, almost as dangerous as Voldemort, and was thought to be a direct descendant of Mordred from the Arthurian period. Professor Binns said he was from Alloway in South Ayrshire, Scotland, on the coast of Firth of Clyde. The Isle of Arran is in the Firth of Clyde…and a few small islands. Maybe we are in the Firth of Clyde?
Cillian simply shrugged, but the glint in his eye told Hermione that he was proud of the fact. "Of course, anyone who took History of Magic knows that. Caddaric refurbished the house, practically rebuilt the place, and my grandfather made further improvements to suit his needs."
Much to Hermione's irritation, Cillian wouldn't say anything more about the house, saying that was all there was to tell. "Did the records your grandfather found indicate that the Mordaunts were related to the Cravenwelds?" she asked, hoping to draw out more information.
Cillian shrugged. "Mordaunt claims they do, but no, I don't recall my grandfather saying so. I only saw the old books when I was a young boy."
"So, who is the lady that haunts the house?" Hermione asked, curious. Maybe she could find the ghost and talk to her.
"Her name is Igraine. She is either Igraine Malory or I remember my grandfather mentioning an Igraine of Alloway. Either way, she avoids everyone," he said. "Unless they use her bedroom or the room in the basement where she dried her flowers."
Hermione was once again intrigued by the mystery, first the location of the island and now this mysterious lady ghost. Unfortunately, Cillian and Dianne began to talk about mundane things, like grocery requests, her mum wanting more yarn for knitting, and her father wanting more tobacco for his pipe.
Severus walked into the room. "Hermione, come with me," he said and waited for her.
She rose, thanked Cillian and Dianne, and followed him out of the room. He led her into the foyer, up the stairs, down the hall, to a bedroom across the hall from the bathroom she'd used earlier. The room was large, with a sitting area, two open doorways, a large double wardrobe, a writing desk and a huge bed.
Once he closed the door, he turned to face her. "Well…?"
"Well, what?" she asked, still taking in the guest room. The doorways led to two small chambers: one that may have served as a servant's room at one time and the other a large closet.
"How are things going with your task?"
She turned to face him. She knew exactly which task he meant. "I'm trying."
"But, as yet, clearly without success," Severus said sternly.
She sighed in frustration. "I'm trying, really I am, but he's… he's almost there. I can see it, but he's irresolute." She took a deep breath. "I think that if you confided in him, he'd sway."
"I can't," he said, turning his head and crossing his arms.
"Why?" she asked, befuddled. If he knew Cillian was on the verge of trading sides, what was he afraid of?
He turned to stare at her. "Because I don't want to Oblivate my best friend if I'm wrong."
"You're not wrong," she said, wondering at his hesitation. It was a risk, a huge one, but she knew with every fiber of her being that Cillian needed to hear him say it. "I think he's afraid because no one has ever turned away from the Dark Lord before and survived – well, as far as he's concerned anyway. He knows people who were killed for desertion." She paused. How to make him understand? "He's afraid to – there is so much that he's responsible for, the weight of his commitment to Dianne and her family." She stepped forward to him, and he dropped his arms to his sides. "You may have to show him your true loyalties so he knows it's possible."
He turned and stared at the candle on the mantelpiece. "I can't; the risks are too great." There was a tick in his jaw, a firm determination in his expression. "Ella, draw Hermione a bath." He faced her again. "I'll be right back."
"Severus, no – wait!" she cried as he turned to leave. She moved to follow him. "I'll keep trying, but he's convinced that desertion is impossible, and I don't think he's ever considered walking the line like you do."
"Then make him see it," Severus said sharply as he opened the door. He was gone before she could retort.
Sighing, Hermione walked over to the guest bathroom and sank once more into the luxurious bath, inhaling the relaxing lavender infused with the refreshing peppermint eucalyptus, camphor and wintergreen aromas. Turning Cillian from Voldemort was proving to be an almost impossible task. She closed her eyes. If Severus would just talk to his friend… give him any indication of his true loyalties, she was sure that the younger Slytherin would become an ally.
When Hermione opened her eyes, Severus was leaning against the counter, watching her.
"I'm not angry with you," he said softly. "But I need him turned before school resumes."
"I can keep trying," she said and swirled the water with her hand. "But he may not come around just because I tell him it's possible. I think he's seen too many of the others punished or killed to take it on my word alone."
"Please, just try." He grabbed a towel and stood up. "Stand up," he urged her quietly.
Nervously, Hermione stood, wishing there was less light in the room. The water ran down her exposed body, making her skin tingle from the change of temperature as he stared at her. His eyes were dark and unreadable in the shadow from his hair. She covered the apex of her groin with one hand as her other arm moved across her breasts automatically.
"Don't. Drop your arms."
It was an order, softly spoken, but the lust in his voice made it sound like velvet and smoke. She dropped the arm covering her chest, wanting to clasp her hands in front of her sex.
He reached out and moved her hand away. "Don't," he said, almost a deeply strained plea. "You have no reason to hide from me."
She could see the reflection of the candlelight in his eyes now that he was closer, and she shivered under the intensity of his gaze. "You really don't know you're beautiful, do you?"
"Me?"
"You."
He opened the towel and began to dry her, the fluffy terrycloth soft and luxurious on her skin. He knelt in front of her, and she felt suspended, like time had stopped, as he ran the towel down her arms and over her chest, as if worshiping her. Severus leaned in as his hands holding the towel moved down her body, and he sucked on her nipple. She inhaled deeply at the contact of the warm feel of his lips and the flutter of his breath on her skin. She exhaled with a soft moan as he switched to her other nipple, making the first one pucker from the instant chill of the air. As the towel moved down her front, so did his kisses.
She closed her eyes, every fiber of her being focused on the sensation of his lips, the caress of his breath, and the tingle when his warmth was gone, only to touch her on another spot. She felt utterly exposed, yet adored. He dried off her back, his lips brushing languidly on her stomach in a way that made her innards flutter in response. The towel slid down her legs, one at a time, as he placed random kissed on her heated flesh.
He stood and turned her around to face the mirror so he could watch her reflection as he stroked the side of her face with one long finger while trailing the fingers of the other hand on her arm, down to her waist. She could see his eyes clearly, and she stood frozen, seeing the look he usually gave her just before he entered her. Her shyness warred with her desire to see him look at her this way, as if he truly wanted her and liked what he saw.
His gaze traveled down her reflection as his hands, one sliding down her neck, across her collarbone to her chest, the other moving down her abdomen, seeking her groin. "Yes, you are lovely," he purred, his voice thick and deep. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? How much I want you?" His hand cupped her breast, holding the weight as his other hand brushed her pubic hair. His stiff penis pressed against her, twitching.
She swallowed, meeting his gaze in the mirror, her arms at her side, unsure if she should move. She ached to have his fingers lower, to have him touch her sensitive nub, already throbbing with want. "Yes," she replied breathlessly.
He leaned his head down, his eyes still on her reflection, until he kissed her right where her neck and shoulder met. She angled her head to give him access, and his lips trailed upward to right below her ear. He pinched her nipple and slid one finger into her as he kissed her, his breath hot against her ear. "Yes?"
"Yes," she replied, so wound up she was breathing hard. She ground her buttocks against him, loving the answering growling moan he made.
"Bend over."
Another command, softly spoken, and it sent shivers through her. She did as he asked, placing her hands on the counter. He pushed her legs apart as his fingers slipped into her heat. She could see him watching her, see his expression as he stroked her and felt him push at her entrance, filling her. His thumb caressed her nipple with feather light strokes, and she pushed back onto him as he slowly sunk into her. The look on his face was one of pure bliss, and she bit her lip as she watched him. He leaned forward, making her lower herself on to her forearms, riding her. She closed her eyes a second, loving the sensations he created. His hand grasped her hip, pulling her back into him with each plunge, and she tried to match his movements, moaning in pleasure. She reached down to feel him slide in her, her fingers raking his penis as it slid in and out of her.
"Gods, Hermione," he growled, quickening his pace. He grunted, his face contorted, and he pulled out suddenly.
He pulled her up, turned her around and sat her unceremoniously on the counter. He lifted up her legs as he knelt down and sought out her wet lips, moving from her knee to her entrance and then finally to where she wanted him the most.
Hermione hooked her legs over his shoulders as he feasted, falling back against the mirror with a thunk of her head, totally uncaring if he kept doing what he was presently doing. He rose slightly, as if on a stool of some type, pulling her bum all the way to the very edge of the counter, his fingers digging into her flesh. She tried to pull back, gain better purchase on the hard marble, feeling like she was slipping, but he pulled her toward him, sucking, nipping, his tongue making her mind spin and her core throb and pulse, the pressure building deep within her. It surged, growing outward while at the same time tightening toward her center. She inhaled, sucking in full gasps of breath as the sensations spread and pulsed until finally she felt it break, the release exploding in deep strong spasms, pouring through her and down, and she cried out, grasping for anything to hold onto.
He stood up, grinning and plunged into her, making her cry out in sheer overload. He drove into her, his movements hard and forceful, making her head slide on the mirror and the counter edge dig into her bum, but she was far from caring. The sensations, the release she felt seemed to pull back, grow and surged forward again as he pounded into her, growling her name as he came – she came again. Her cry echoed in the bath, as feral as his.
His head landed on her chest, his hair as wet as hers, the warmth of his breath, ragged and labored, matched hers. She slid down his body, her feet landing on a small padded stool, and his arms tightened around her holding her up, their bodies pressed together.
Only when his breathing slowed did he move away, still keeping his arms around her waist. "Thank you."
~~o0o~~
Author's Notes:
When Draco is listing off the places Hermione mentions she's been to, he considers Grimmauld Place as his mother's cousin's house – he's not acknowledging that it is Harry's. As for the 'Weasley's burrow', it's lowercase because Draco is being condescending. He considered their house a 'pig sty' remember?
Hermione is guessing at the location of Cillian's house based on what she knows about Mordrid Cravenweld, but she's wrong.