If It Was You

A/N: Chapter title borrowed from the ever-ingenious Death Cab for Cutie. Thanks to Johnnie Blue, my wonderful beta, and thanks to all of you, for being my constant inspiration. In here: Hermione finds out the biggest Malfoy secret! Now read the chapter!

To Mimi, who has been very generous in offering her assistance for my website to my technically-disabled bad self. Cheers to you.

This Place is a Prison

"… A very grave situation, indeed," said Remus, agreeing with Dumbledore while eyeing both Harry and Hermione. "But what I don't understand is why Hermione didn't tell anyone that she thought she was being watched."

There was silence in the room as everyone turned their eyes to Hermione, who looked down in shame. She'd thought telling someone would have been ridiculous; it didn't seem so ridiculous now. "Well," she said quietly. "I thought I was just being paranoid. I didn't want to worry anyone. Certainly these things happen all the time, I mean, anyone could have a stalker in the Muggle world –" she said pathetically, before Lupin cut her off with some dry humor.

"So apparently Miss Granger thinks having a stalker is okay," said Remus amusedly.

"This is serious," said Mister Weasley. "Please be serious, Remus, the children just got their home destroyed! What could be next – who knows!"

"It's quite obvious what they're trying to do," came the monotone, dank drawl of Severus Snape, looking very dissatisfied with the situation. "They're trying to draw Potter and Granger out."

"But surely they'll think that –"

"Exactly. That they'll be seeking refuge somewhere else. The most obvious idea for them would be for Potter and Granger to lodge at Hogwarts; I believe they're counting on that. But their attentions will shift once they find out they aren't there. Then they're going to start hunting them down."

"So where on earth will they stay?" Misses Weasley cried.

"I'm afraid I already have the answer to that question," responded Albus Dumbledore. "Mister Potter and Miss Granger will be staying here, at Malfoy manor. They will be safe here, and the Death Eaters will surely not guess that they are hiding here – at least, not for a while. Its sole promise is that it will buy us some time, which is certainly what we need."

The Order was quiet, each of them staring at Dumbledore. Hermione was looking around, mentally begging for one of them to say something.

"I think that's a capital idea," said Narcissa Malfoy, who was sitting down beside Tonks, who nodded her head in agreement. "I certainly do agree with you, Albus. The Dark Lord wouldn't guess it."

There were a few mumbles and nods amongst the other members, and Hermione silently sighed, before looking over at Harry. She noticed he had a very taut and determined expression on his face.

"What about you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "Do you think it is a good idea?"

Snape pursed his lips before answering in his same drawl. "It is the best choice we have. I don't see how it can be of any harm."

Draco scoffed. His head of house never could say a straight out Yes.

They moved on quickly. "We searched the house," Dumbledore continued on. "It appeared as if they had been looking for something. I've asked Harry if he thought he had anything they could need, but he said that he didn't have anything of possible significance to them."

"I doubt the Death Eaters were involved in the ransacking," Severus said. "It is too… unlikely. They have been quiet for the past months; it would be strange for them to suddenly strike without my knowledge. And I haven't heard of anything that the Dark Lord might be wanting from Potter. Besides the obvious fact that he wants to kill him," he said, sneering at Harry.

"Very troubling," said Mister Weasley. "The possibility of two evils out for Potter. I daresay this is going to be very difficult to digest," he said with a deeply concerned and worried look on his face. He'd always considered himself the second father to both Harry and Hermione.

"I'll ask around at the ministry," said Tonks. "I have an odd feeling about that Auror bloke you mentioned before."

"Very good, Nymphadora. Now, there is also something else we must discuss in length. Charleston VanMussen was murdered last night."

There were numerous loud gasps from the Order. Misses Weasley had her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Are you sure?" choked out Mister Weasley. "Charles?"

"It was in the Daily Prophet. Young Malfoy informed me of it. Good thing he did, too, or else we would have missed our first possible lead. You are all aware of Charles' theory, am I correct? About his work on the Absolution potion?"

"Who hasn't?" one of the members said.

"I have a suspicion that Voldemort may have been behind the murder. There was that rumor, long ago… although it was never confirmed, for his downfall came almost immediately after, I have a feeling that he still believes in the potion. It is a highly plausible idea."

"The Dark Lord does have tremendous skill in Potions," Severus said lowly. "I cannot disagree. But I cannot be certain. The Dark Lord has not called a meeting in months. I can't say I am not worried," he said, his swampy black orbs flickering to Dumbledore. "Either this is something vast or he suspects disloyalty among one of us. Still, it proves very inconvenient at this time. We need more information."

"You are right, Severus. We cannot go into this blindly. That is why we are buying time. For the potion to work, Voldemort will need both Mister Potter and Miss Granger, as well as his pensieve."

Many pairs of eyebrows rose at the mention of Hermione.

"You mean—"

"Yes, that is what I mean," said Dumbledore, "but that is beside the case. The Auror may have been watching Miss Granger on this idea, as well – he just may be on our side. But we cannot take any risks. Meanwhile, if they do discover that the Malfoys are hiding what they need – if they find both Mister Potter and Miss Granger – we are sure to lose everything."

"What exactly are you saying, Albus?" said Minerva McGonagall.

"I am saying that it is time for Mister Potter to own up to his abilities. Remus," he said, turning to him, "you will be taking Mister Potter with you to a secluded place called Flockstaff Island. You are well educated in the Dark Arts and the ways to battle them. There you will be teaching him and training him in everything you know. Mister Potter, you will have to work hard," he said, looking at Harry with a firm gaze. "Which means that Miss Granger," he turned to Hermione, "you will be staying here with Mister Malfoy."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? I have to stay here?"

"It is for your own good, to be divided. That way if the Death Eaters find out about your whereabouts, they cannot have the both of you. You must understand, Miss Granger. This is a time of high alert. You must be separated. There is also the possibility of distractions. Mister Potter must focus. It is important for him to focus."

"But –" said Hermione, her eyes flashing wildly. "Certainly I have to be trained as well! I'm going to fight with you!"

Many members of the Order looked down and scratched their heads, hiding doubtful looks.

Hermione watched them with an incredulous expression. "You've got to be joking! You expect me to just wait here while Harry's out training and everyone else is doing something important –"

"But you'll be doing something important too," said Remus. "You'll be waiting here like a good girl."

Wrong answer. Her face clearly signaled this as her brows furrowed angrily and her mouth warped into a fierce glower. "I am not staying here. I am going with Harry. I am going to train and fight at the Final Battle along with the rest of you."

"Oh, Hermione, shut up," said Harry. But what was also surprising was the fact that another voice had joined Harry's effort in promptly telling her to be quiet – Draco Malfoy's vicious bark had been audible in the scold. Narcissa looked at her son with raised blond brows, but he did not notice, for he was too busy glaring at Hermione Granger.

"Miss Granger," snarled Severus Snape, "this is no time for you to be acting like a petulant child. You are staying here with Mister Malfoy, even if it means we have to hide your wand, tie you up, and gag you, do you understand? Perhaps you are only battling our expectations of you, but there are lives at stake here. Not everything revolves around you trying to prove yourself to the world. So cease your useless arguments and let us move on."

Hermione's face was a vibrant red, scowling at Snape. "I realize there are lives at stake here, thanks," she said through clenched teeth, "but I really do insist that I'd be of much better help out there fighting than sitting here and waiting."

"I disagree," retaliated Snape.

There were mumbles and nods of agreement among the other members.

"I can't believe this!" Hermione cried. "I simply cannot!"

"Miss Granger, your cooperation is needed. But we must be firm and forceful. You are staying here. I apologize, but that is our final word about this. I do hope that someday you will understand why we had to do this," Dumbledore said quietly, sympathetically. "Sometimes our own desires to be useful blind us from seeing what is truly required of us." Dumbledore's intense blue gaze then shifted to Harry.

"Now, Mister Potter, you will be leaving early tomorrow morning. I expect that is enough time for you to have your goodbyes in order. Do not worry about informing Mister Weasley – you won't be gone too long, I hope. Just long enough to get you ready."

Harry only nodded, not saying a word, ignoring the look that Hermione was sending him of utter helplessness.

ooooo

"Why didn't you say something?" fumed Hermione as soon as she and Harry had entered his temporary room in the manor. "Why didn't you – you could have at least stuck up for me, you know!" she said, throwing her hands up in the air. "Surely you don't think it's the best thing for me to be cooped up in here doing nothing while you're—"

"You really don't get it, do you, Hermione?" Harry said in a sharp tone, his back still turned to her. "They're looking for both of us. We have to be separated. Having one of us is always going to be better than having both of us."

"But I want to fight!" she insisted.

"And maybe you will!" said Harry, whirling around to face her with narrowed emerald eyes. "But this is not the time. This is not that time, do you understand, Hermione?" His face was so close to hers now, having taken a few steps towards her, and she could feel his frenetic breaths against her face, Hermione looking straight through the slight shine of his glasses and into his livid eyes. Her face was stony, watching him, as he sighed and stepped back, sighing, running one hand through his tousled hair. "For once in your life, Hermione, don't be difficult. Just… don't. You could have been taken today, you know? We were worried sick about you. And we can't risk that anymore. You're in danger now." His voice sounded scornful and resentful. "We can't risk that anymore."

"But, Harry," she said, feeling something hot and dry burning through her throat. Her tone was beseeching. "I just want to help. You know I do."

"And you can do that," he told her, "by staying here. Malfoy's going to take care of you here. I trust him."

"Oh, don't lie to me, Harry," said Hermione in a stern voice. "Please at least spare me that."

"I wouldn't lie to you."

"You, of all people," said Hermione harshly, "don't have a single drip of respect towards Malfoy. How on earth is it that you're telling me that you trust him?" she scoffed. "Now?"

"Because I have to," he snapped. "Sometimes you just have to trust people, all right, Hermione? And maybe you should try that once in a while. Trusting people. I've heard it helps you get out of a lot of shitholes in life."

"I don't believe you," she said hoarsely, her eyes starting to burn.

Harry's gaze turned to ice. "You don't have to." Then he paused, averting his eyes to the floor, before looking back up at her. "Is that why you're so scared to be left here alone? Because of Malfoy?"

"He can be on anyone's side," she said darkly. "You know that."

Harry's expression softened just a touch. He seemed to be analyzing her, as he looked square at her face, his presence now a little daunting. "He brought you back to the flat, you know, and he stayed with you until I got there. You passed out." A mildly perplexed look then waved over him. "Why were you even drinking in the first place?"

"T-that is none of your business!" Hermione sputtered. "And I don't see how Malfoy's acts of pretend chivalry have anything to do with this! I can fight! I just don't understand why they're acting like this is still the 1800's – women can kick some bloody arse too, you know! I'm just as good as any of the men here!"

"You just don't get it, Hermione," said Harry, shaking his head. "This isn't about you being good enough. I'm sure you're as good as any of them. But you don't have a choice. I don't have a choice. You have to stay here. Even if I wanted to bring you, I couldn't. It'd be too much of a risk, and a burden. You heard what Dumbledore said. I need to focus. I'm already sorry I got you involved in this. Can't you just cooperate? For once?"

Hermione sighed, her teeth still clenched. She was looking away. "Fine. Fine. But I won't stay peacefully."

Harry cracked a smile. "Didn't say you had to."

Hermione looked at him for a moment, before managing to laugh a little, her chuckles weak and forced. She walked over to the edge of his bed and sat down, and Harry soon followed. They were quiet for a while, staring at the sliver of moonlight that had eluded the thick velvet curtains. They were in a vast, slightly chilly room. Hermione wasn't surprised. She'd even expected the manor to be made of ice way back when. She'd gotten over that whimsical fact, but the coldness of this place still never managed to overwhelm her. They were sitting in darkness, for neither had bothered to turn on the lights in all of their hasty arguing, and even when both realized that fact, neither Harry nor Hermione got up to turn them on.

It was one of those moments that could have done perfectly without lights. One of those moments where she was sure everything was meant to be this way, because it certainly felt like it, like she wasn't supposed to move and neither was he. It was an uncanny feeling, bizarre at most. But she could not help but feel a deep throaty sadness slowly inch over her, knowing that her best friend was going to be leaving her here, alone – voluntarily, at that. She wasn't resentful, though, because she perfectly understood the situation although she had acted so petulantly back there. All that time she argued she'd heard the voice of reason in the back of her head, crowding in around her ribs, but sometimes – that time – she persisted on her ridiculousness.

Because, yes, maybe she was a little bit scared.

The manor was a big, scary place full of shadows. But what scared her most was its inescapable owner: Draco Malfoy. That was what scared her shitless. She got so rash around him, and certainly the contents in her head seemed to reach a boiling point twenty times more quickly than when she was around anyone else. She was impulsive and reckless. Careless and stupid. Yes, she definitely would not be staying peacefully. Perhaps it was just the way Draco Malfoy worked within her: his supercilious swagger and haughty drawl tampered with her usual attitude that even when he did seem sincere (he was not) it only pricked her finger and sent her into a rage.

Or, perhaps, it was their highly explosive history.

Eh, it was just a mix of everything.

"You shouldn't be scared, you know," Harry finally said, trying to sound reassuring. "I bet you could take him on if you wanted. Totally mess him up. You did it once before."

Hermione snorted. "What? And get reprimanded by numerous adults of significance? I think they've got their point well across that while the fantasy was a great idea, it was far too… reckless to carry out into reality." She sighed heavily, looking down at her feet. She really did hate it when certain things forced her into contemplation of her faults. But she didn't really consider them faults. More like Damn Awesome Deeds to the Benefit of Humankind. It was just sad to her that everybody else failed to see that.

"They do have a point."

"Sadly," she frowned. "They failed to see that he deserved it."

Harry smiled a little. "Listen, Hermione, I hope it won't be too hard to behave yourself. Give him what he deserves, but don't be irrational. I don't want to come back and see him half paralyzed and limping around." Hermione laughed, because the image was funny, even in such a serious conversation as this. He nudged her gently. "You know what I mean. Don't do anything stupid."

"I'll try, for your sake. But I can't guarantee much improvement. I just hope you'll be all right on that island. That Remus won't overwork you, you know. You'll be pretty burnt out. You'll be learning about Dark spells…" Her voice quieted down. "You'll come back a different person. I'm just… concerned, is all." She remembered that learning Dark Magic always changed people. Made them more… hollow.

He let out a sigh, the kind of sigh that goes well beyond the lungs, and Hermione got the clear hint that his burden was certainly swelling bigger over the horizon now. She tried to look hopeful but knew that the darkness had the inexorable ability to distort even the most earnest impressions. "Everything's going to change, Hermione," he said, looking at her. "Sometimes you just can't hold on to things the way you want to."

ooooo

True to his word, Dumbledore saw them off early next morning. Hermione roused as soon as she heard muffled footsteps in the hall, getting a robe and covering herself up (Malfoy's servants had brought her some things to wear) before quietly sneaking out of her room. The portraits were still asleep as she passed, some snoring loudly and some stirring as she hurried past, and finally making it out to the top of the stairs just as she caught a glimpse of Harry and Lupin. They were talking in dulcet mumbles, as if trying not to wake anyone, although as Hermione descended the marble stairs she saw that everyone in the house was up already and that she was the last to wake. She felt a cinch of annoyance at this, thinking that perhaps they wouldn't have even woken her up to say goodbye to Harry, but shook it off as she finally reached the final stair. She felt the bare soles of her feet slap against the cold floor, shivering a bit as she felt chills up her spine, as she made her way over to them.

She could feel Draco's eyes on her as she walked towards them, for he had been the first to notice her presence, before his mother, who greeted her, hence drawing the attention of everybody else.

"Ah, Miss Granger, we apologize, we didn't mean to wake you," said Dumbledore with a smile.

"You didn't," she reassured him as she stopped in front of Harry, who tried his best to smile widely at her. "I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Very well, then," said Dumbledore. "We'll be in the parlor. Make it quick, please, as they must leave soon." Hermione nodded in reply as Narcissa Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Draco and Dumbledore headed towards the parlor. Not before, however, Hermione caught the look that Draco had given her. Not particularly a look of conceit or despicable manner, but a look that was hard to register. She felt her insides shudder as she quickly looked away, hearing their quiet conversation continue on as they walked.

"You didn't have to come down here, you know. I didn't want to wake you up and –"

"I wasn't sleeping," Hermione told him. "I couldn't sleep. Too much weighing in my head. I'm sure you know the feeling," she said quickly. Her voice seemed to falter a little in strength and tone, so she tried to bolster it a little. "But I wanted to come down here to say goodbye, and also to wish you luck. Not that you need it, for I have flawless confidence that you'll be working rigorously hard. And I have perpetual faith in you, Harry Potter," she stated. "I know that whatever happens… you'll get through it, because you have to, right? You told me that once."

Harry smiled. "Right. I did. But I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

Hermione nodded, not being able to help but get a little misty-eyed. She then startled him by suddenly throwing her arms around him and hugging him close. He stiffened at first, caught unawares, but finally gave in. She spoke as indifferently as she could, but her throat had begun to get scratchy and rough again. "You take care of yourself, Harry. And I don't blame you at all for leaving me here," she told him. "But I'll be downright angry if you don't come back soon. Understand?"

"Perfectly," said Harry, nodding solemnly. He tried to keep a passive expression on his face but found it somewhat hard. "Now let go, will you? You're hurting me a little."

Hermione, a little embarrassed, immediately loosened her embrace and let go. "Sorry," she muttered. "Don't have an exact measure of my strength."

He laughed good-naturedly. "It's all right." Then he sobered, looking at her with smiling but dark eyes. "Be good, all right, Hermione?"

She attempted to sound chipper, but all it ended up sounding was fake and silly. "The effort's there, Harry."

He didn't seem to notice. "Good. That's all I need to hear."

Dumbledore and the others appeared in the doorway. "Mister Potter? It's time for you and Remus to go."

Harry nodded as Remus Lupin was soon at his side, clutching a bag, and he said his goodbye to Hermione as well, assuring her that Harry was going to be in good hands. She felt Dumbledore at her side as she and the others watched Remus and Harry stand beside each other, perfectly still like statues. Harry was forcing a lost smile that dwindled away into a look of pure determination as Remus held up an odd-looking object in his hand and Hermione immediately knew that it was a portkey. Harry rested his hand atop of it. He looked up at her and slightly waved, but before she could wave back, there was a gentle sound, like the sound of a gust of wind against glass windows, and Harry and Remus were gone.

"Do not worry about Mister Potter, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said to her. "He knows what it is he has to do. He carries a large burden, but I daresay I don't think anybody else could have taken it as well as he has in the past. Now, let's shake off all of this melancholy and have some tea, shall we?" He patted her grandfatherly on the shoulder before he began to whistle to himself, Narcissa Malfoy joining his side as they headed towards another part of the manor. Draco stayed with Hermione awhile as she simply stared at the spot where they once stood, and as she turned she was startled to see him there, watching her. He nodded at her with no particular expression on his face.

"You're going to be fine," he said, and then he turned his back and began to leave. "And you ought to stop worrying. I have a feeling your Hero Boy's going to be just fine. I mean, it'd be awfully sad for him to die before he got the chance to fight the Dark Lord, don't you think?"

Hermione scowled at his back, all the while trying to subdue the beating of her heart. It took her another minute standing there and watching him as he disappeared (he had a talent for that), and she discovered the strange feeling in her stomach, making her feel dizzy and flustered at the same exact time. She was trying to imagine how the next few weeks were going to be like, and to be honest; she really couldn't do it at all.

ooooo

When Hermione woke up the next day she did not move from her bed. It wasn't because of depression or anything, since she wasn't atomically sad enough to actually lapse into what they called "episodes," it was just that it took her a minute or so to blink her eyes a few times and actually register that she was here, in the Malfoy Manor, and that Harry was gone and had left her here all alone to go train on an island with a silly name called Flockstaff. It appeared that she had woken up from a heavy sleep and was absolutely befuddled whether what had happened was just a dream or was actually real. Part of her had not believed it until she opened her eyes and recognized this room to be unfamiliar. She then remembered that her room, her real room back at her former home, had been destroyed along with a number of her possessions.

Now that was depressing to think about, but it was not only that thought that occupied her mind as she lay there in expensive, body-warming silk sheets. She stared out at the closed curtains of her room's veranda. This room seemed abnormally large in the morning. She closed her eyes tight, trying to shepherd all of her nebulous thoughts that all seemed to whisper on about Draco and his mother, and Harry and that island, and that Auror who'd followed her, and about that attack in their flat. Everything seemed so complicated now that she looked back on it. And now she was faced with the debacle of staying here in her ex-boyfriend's home (blech), with his mother. One menacing question boomed inside her mind: how on earth was she going to survive?

She wondered if Narcissa knew all about her history of physically injuring her son. Probably. She then wondered if they were going to gang up on her and lock her up in the dungeon (she knew they had one) and leave her there with only gruel to eat and stale, nearly inedible crackers. At that thought, there was a knock on the door that startled Hermione so much that she almost rolled out of her bed.

"Miss Granger, it's me, Narcissa Malfoy. Are you decent? I'd like to come in and talk to you," said a voice from the other side of the door.

Hermione began to subconsciously panic. 'Oh no,' she thought. 'They're going to fetch me for the dungeons now.' Nevertheless, she mustered up the incredible nerve to announce that yes, she was decent, and made sure she was covered up with her blankets.

The door opened slowly and revealed Draco's mother, who, Hermione noticed, walked with such apparent grace and elegance that made her feel self-conscious about the way she walked, whether it was graceful or not. Probably not. But the Misses Malfoy gave her a polite smile as Hermione observed her delicate limbs, her slender neck, and admirable figure that was hugged closely by the silk of her dark emerald robes. 'How apt,' she cynically thought. 'Slytherin colors.' But the gentle smile she was giving her was off-putting. It as almost as if she sympathized with her.

"Good morning, Miss Granger, I hope you've had a good night's sleep?"

"It was… well," Hermione croaked, failing to mention that it had been heaven and that she wondered what mattress they used.

"Excellent. I hope I didn't wake you, by the way, it's just that I wanted to speak with you before I run some errands." She paused, readjusting her ladylike smile, perhaps to silently tell her that it was going to be okay. "Now, I know that you aren't exactly… comfortable with staying here with me and my son. I can't blame you. I know how hard it can be, especially… well, considering your history with my son," she chuckled lightly, and Hermione's brows furrowed.

"Wait a minute, which history?" she found herself blurting out.

Narcissa winked at her. "A mother knows everything about her son, Miss Granger. That is one magical power all mothers possess, Muggle or Magical."

Hermione sunk back further into her sheets, feeling nervous. Great, his mother knew about them. Great. Just great.

"I don't have a problem with it, by the way," she said sincerely. "I myself know a thing or two about adolescent flings." Hermione's brow twitched at the F-word. Flings. She inwardly growled. "And I can tell that you are a very respectable woman, Miss Granger. Intelligent and just in your ways. I even suspect my Draco well deserved that broken nose you were so generous to give."

Hermione's face flared a vibrant red.

"But I must say… though your grudge may be well-founded… I am only asking that you can disregard the past and trust us. I know my husband did many things to hurt you and your friends. But I must remind you that we are not my husband – despite appearances," she added, referring to her secret agent job as Lucius Malfoy. "And my son… I am not asking you to change your opinion of him, for that is yours to change or keep. I am only asking you to consider giving him the benefit of a doubt. He is, after all, human just like the rest of us."

There was silence, and Hermione felt her throat dry out, her heart wailing miserably in her chest. Being told off by Draco's mum? Oh, how she reached a whole new pathetic low. She couldn't believe this. Though Narcissa Malfoy was going about it perfectly nice, Hermione still felt like crawling under her covers and not coming out until Harry returned and they could escape somewhere – like, say, Flockstaff Island – where she would never have to encounter Misses Malfoy again. For self-evaluation reasons.

She could not keep her steady gaze and had to look away, for even though Draco's eyes slightly differed in color, her eyes had reminded her of her son's. They both had the same indomitable, daunting quality – to look straight into a person and immediately fluster them.

"I hope I haven't offended you," she then said. "And, again, I offer the most sincere apology if I have. Please come down to the dining hall for breakfast after you freshen up – you must be starving. Do not be shy with any of your requests, for one of the servants would be happy to carry them out for you. And if you ever need to tell me anything," she smiled, "do not be so timid. Draco and I are here to take care of you, and we intend on doing just that." She then began to turn away, heading towards her door.

"Wait," Hermione suddenly called out.

Narcissa stopped and turned around, looking at her.

"I just… I apologize," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. "For what I did to your son. I realize it wasn't… the nicest thing to do. But you have to understand, I had my reasons. But even so, I suppose I could have acted… decently." She swallowed hard. Those words had been difficult to say, and it left a tangy, salty, coarse taste on her tongue. But her conscience stung. She had to say something. Even though he deserved it… oh, it was a complicated thing. Maybe she couldn't apologize to his face, but she could apologize to his mother for having such a punchable son. "And I am grateful that you let me stay here, Misses Malfoy."

She smiled. Again, that smile. It was like a smile from Helen of Troy. "It is no problem of mine, Miss Granger. But thank you. Have a good day. Oh, and call me 'Narcissa.' " She glided to the door and left, closing it softly behind her.

Hermione sighed, lifting her head up from the pillow before letting it fall again. She began to think about Draco.

"Bollocks," she grumbled.

ooooo

On her third day at the manor Hermione got lost trying to look for the dining hall. She swore that their manor had endless corridors and there always seemed to be locked rooms everywhere (she'd tried the doors sometimes when she had to use the loo), which piqued her interest, at most, and even her suspicion that she'd tried to keep subdued after the Misses M had come in and nicely reprimanded her about her behavior. Hermione tried to budge a few of the doors. There was a saying in her head that kept repeating like a nursery rhyme: "In a house there were no locked rooms without secrets."

She entered another corridor, which led to another, and there she found herself wandering a hall of portraits. These were different sorts of portraits – not of haughty, sneering Malfoys. She reckoned these were the ancestors of Narcissa, as many of them bore the same graceful attributes. Most of the paintings were of women, and they fawned over Hermione as she passed, asking her for her name and her business. Hermione didn't oblige many answers, but felt her curiosity take a deeper root within her of Draco's family's past. Why were his mother's relatives hidden back here in a corridor that took her almost twenty minutes to stumble upon?

Then as she walked further down the hallway, one painting called out to her. It was of a dark-haired woman with a cunning smile. "I know why you're here," she told her in a knowing voice, her smirk widening. "A curious little madam, aren't we?"

"No, I-I got lost," said Hermione.

"Oh, don't be afraid, and certainly don't lie about it," said the woman in the painting. "It's no secret about how this place gives people the shivers. And I ought to know a thing or two about secrets, you know. This house is full of them. But I bet you know that already, don't you? You felt it, right when you stepped in. The Malfoys have a dark history. But that shouldn't daunt you, darling, they're respectable people. But do you want to know their biggest secret?" she asked, her voice lowering and her dark eyes glinting.

Hermione felt the steady beat of her heart increasing its tempo, her mouth slightly parched as she stepped back. There was something very creepy about this woman, but she could feel her intrigue growing at a dangerous pace and couldn't take her eyes off of her. She shook her head quickly but listened as the woman told her anyway.

"Go to the end of the hall. There should be a painting of a castle. There should be three horses in that painting. There is one horse reaching for an apple on the ground – press your palm against the horse."

"What will it lead to?" Hermione asked, feeling her hands tingle with anticipation.

She only smirked. "The Malfoys' biggest secret. I told you."

Hermione was reluctant. She knew it wasn't any of her business to be wandering around here anyway, and to go prying into their secrets? It was dishonorable. But the adventure was too great. She felt her feet taking her there, towards the end of the corridor, her mind misted over with the unexplainable crisp sensation of wonder and captivity. She stopped in her steps a few times, shaking her head, telling herself to just get out of here and ask one of the less creepy portraits the way to the dining hall, but she only ended up drawing towards it again, until she was face to face with said painting. It was a vast painting, bigger than her, that extended towards the ceiling and was past her arm span in width.

It was intricate and detailed. She could see every blade of grass, every small blossom in the courtyard tree, and every speck on the stone of the castle. She was fascinated by the painting, staring at it in awe, before she remembered that she was to look for the horse reaching for the apple. She searched for the horse, and it was extremely difficult, for the painting was so large and had so many details. She found the other two horses, but the third one was nowhere to be found. She looked harder, taking it in inch by inch, before she finally found it hiding behind one of the apple trees. Hermione raised her hand, drawing it closer to the painting, and a breeze was suddenly illustrated in the painting, causing some of the leaves in the trees to rustle and the flags to wave.

Then she stopped, hesitant to go on. Did she really want to know the Malfoy family's biggest secret? There had to be a reason why it was a secret, right? Yet half of her yelled in protest, arguing that it wouldn't hurt to find out, and that she wouldn't tell a soul about it anyway. It was just for the sake of her curiosity. Maybe, if she found out, this house wouldn't seem so large and frightening anymore, nor so ominous.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione placed her palm over the horse, which had strode out of the forest during the breeze, and pressed it against the painting. Instantly she felt her body freeze, a strange feeling rocketing up her arm, like electricity, to the tips of her hair. Then the painting began to change, quickly, as the sky flushed the vibrant red of a fiery sunset and the clouds disappeared and then appeared to transition into night as it darkened and began to glitter with stars. There was a large gust of wind pervading the once peaceful scenery, and she watched with wide eyes as the horses began to violently ram into each other. There was a window in the castle that was suddenly lit, and she saw the silhouette of a figure inside.

Then Hermione heard a series of noises. A loud, creaky groaning, and thumps of wood as she suddenly spotted something out of the corner of her eye. She watched as a wooden, medieval-looking door was revealed at the dead end of the corridor. She looked back at the painting, and was surprised to see that it had gone back to the way it had exactly been before – with blue skies, no wind, and cherry blossoms. Except now the third horse was nowhere to be found.

She stepped back and headed towards the door, feeling fear take root in her, and again she had second thoughts about what she was doing. But something inside her, something that wanted to understand Draco and his family a little better, something that would convince her that they were human just like they said, pushed her on until she stood face to face with the heavy door. There was black steel nailed onto the wood, and a niche for a lock, but there was no lock. She gripped the handle and was surprised as it creaked noisily and began to open.

She walked in slowly, not having a single iota of a clue what to expect, feeling her blood pound along with the fierce hammering of her heart. Her brain was paralyzed with a mixture of raw excitement and fear as she looked upon a room with walls and the floor made of pure stone. There was a table by the side that held concoctions of potions and a few bottles, some still steaming, but what Hermione's gaze found directly across from her was what caused the color from her face to drain away.

It was a prison cell. Black iron bars, crisscrossed perpendicularly, from floor to ceiling. And it wasn't the fact that they had a prison cell inside their home that shocked her – it was that they had a man in it, a very old man with frizzy, fine white hair, slumped down on the floor. Hermione felt her heart stop as she stared at him, dressed in tatty robes and looking almost malnourished, and gasped when he suddenly began to move. She wanted so badly to get out of here now, to run out and cover her ears from all of the things the paintings would say, and the most horrible thing was that even now she could hear the dark-haired woman wickedly laughing at her.

But as the small gasp was emitted from her throat, the man jerked his head towards the sound. His icy eyes locked onto hers and she stumbled back, so overwhelmed with this situation that her knees swayed and her mind felt tangled and useless from the barrage of blood pounding to her head.

"Who are you?" the man demanded, his voice hoarse. "What are you doing here? Have you come to get me out? Come get me out, now."

Hermione could not say anything. She was still so startled.

"Well, what are you, mute? You can at least hear me, can't you? Come get me out! I've got things to do!"

"W-who are you?" Hermione finally managed to ask.

"I'm an innocent man locked behind bars, what do you think?"

"I'm-I'm sorry, I don't—"

Then the man's expression changed. His face crumpled down into a wretched expression and he began to cry. "Oh! The injustice of this world! After I've been tortured and locked in here for a decade! I've done nothing but try to save the fate of the world – and here I am, locked up, with a mute that talks but can't even save me! Curse the blood of the Malfoys! They lock up innocent men! Especially that young one, Draco – oh, I'd hate to see the man that he becomes! Just like his father! Carrying out wicked deeds and helping to reduce the world to rubble! He's going to ruin us all, you know! Ruin us!"

"Hold on a minute," said Hermione, still wary but nearing him now. "What did you say?"

"I said he's evil!" he sobbed. "Just as evil as his father! Evil blood! Evil! Helping the Dark Lord! You're next, you know! You're next!"

She was horrorstruck, staring at the man with wide eyes. Her breath had completely flown away now, and she could no longer breathe. "What?" Her legs felt weak. She felt as if she was going to faint any minute now.

"He isn't helping you! Always a plan! He's good at making those, you know! Master planner just like his rat bastard father!"

Hermione didn't feel well. She felt her whole world spinning around her, and her stomach was queasy, her mind feeling blocked from the air. "You're lying," she wheezed. "You're in a prison cell. You're lying. You'll say anything to get me to help you get out. Who are you?"

"I'm his grandfather!" he barked. "Who else?"

Just then, Hermione heard footsteps. She whirled around as she saw Draco rush into the room, and she stumbled back towards the cell. His face looked livid.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here?" he demanded. "You aren't supposed to be here! Get out!"

"Who is this man?" cried Hermione. "And why is he – why is he locked in a prison cell?"

He drew closer to her, but Hermione backed up against the bars, trying to get away from him. A dark fist enclosed around her heart. "You don't understand, Hermione, you don't know," he said through clenched teeth. "Get away from there. Now. Don't listen to anything he says – he isn't well."

"And to keep him in a prison cell?" she said incredulously, swallowing hard to keep her throat hydrated. It wasn't working. "Seems to me he isn't the only one unwell."

"He's a cheat!" yelled the old man behind her. "He's lying to you! He isn't helping you at all! He's trying to help the Dark Lord kill Harry Potter!"

Hermione stared at him, suddenly terrified, feeling the painful spasms inside her chest. She was overcome with a very cold feeling. "I knew it," she breathed. "I knew it couldn't be true."

"Oh, don't be so gullible, Granger," he snapped at her. "He's a mad old man. What else could explain the cell? And I'm not helping the Dark – I'm on your side, remember?" he insisted in frustration, and his silver eyes gleamed meaningfully, but Hermione tasted salt on her lips. "Why would I help the Dark Lord?" he asked her firmly. "Why?"

"I don't know. You tell me," she bit out.

Draco walked towards her, trying to grab her hand. "Get away from there, you'll –" while Hermione shouted at him to get away from her and slipped her arm away, breathing raggedly with stinging eyes. "You don't understand," he shouted. "This man, he isn't –"

Suddenly, Hermione cried out as she felt something pull her hair back from behind with extreme force, slamming her head against the iron bars. Everything, then, with the hot piercing pain pummeling against her skull, seemed to go in a fast haze. She whimpered as she felt a cold, strong hand gripping her throat so tightly that she felt her gullet getting crushed and felt a sharp jolt of pain against the skin of her open throat. There was something solid and sharp digging into her flesh.

She recognized the old man's yells directly behind her. Her ears began to ring as she tightly closed her eyes, trying to breathe. She didn't know if he was aware of it, but he was strangling her.

"Let me go!" he shouted. "Let me go! Let me go or I'll slit her throat!"

Draco did not waste any time with words. Instead, with a vicious glower on his face of rage, he drew his wand and stunned the man so quickly that Hermione might have even missed it in all of her dazed thinking. She heard the dull sound as the man's heavy body collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap and felt his immediate release from her throat, Hermione falling to her knees on the stone, wheezing for breath, her throat burning almost unbearably.

She felt warm hands against her skin, trying to lift her up, but she suddenly felt too tired. She heard a familiar voice that was soon muffled, fading away into incoherent but dulcet mumbles. Draco was the last thing she saw, his molten gray eyes peering worriedly into hers, before – for the second time that week – she fainted dead away.