Out of breath, Draco pushed open the door to the library and the morning sunlight streaming through the high windows momentarily blinded him after the darkness of the hallway. Putting a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare, he used his other hand to brace himself against the doorframe, breathing heavily. Before his vision could adjust to the new conditions, he heard his father's voice, soft, and close enough to feel his breath against Draco's ear.

"Why, my dragon," he murmured, "good of you to join us. Let's come in and close the door, shall we?"

Lucius's hand gripped him roughly above the elbow, pulling him into the room, and Draco stumbled as his foot caught the edge of the rug. His father's grip on his elbow kept him on his feet, but just barely. He was dragged along the length of the library's Persian rug, which his mother so favored, and deposited unceremoniously on a settee. With his back to the windows it was much easier to see the room, but it took Draco a moment to process the scene.

Hermione sat in the chair behind the desk, but there was something unnatural about her position. Straight and still, she had turned her eyes toward him, but not her head. His father stood between the two of them, wand in hand, and though it seemed relaxed, was clearly trained on the desk. When he met his wife's eyes, her anger apparent, the pieces fell into place for him.

Draco raised an eyebrow at his father. "You've lost patience for playing fair, then?"

A cool smile curled the corner of his father's mouth, but as always, it didn't quite reach his eyes. "This isn't about fairness. I merely needed to keep Hermione in one place - she was intending to hex me, I believe."

"And it's your intent to go back on your word, father."

An irritated sigh escaped Lucius's lips. "Draco, it is my intent to take your bride to my bed. I promise you that it would be more comfortable for her than if I were to have my way with her right here to give you the ability to supervise." Lucius closed the distance between himself and Hermione in a few steps, and as he approached her chair, Draco saw saw her eyes well with tears, although she remained stock still.

"If I take Hermione's wand," Draco uttered quickly, "will you release whatever charm you've got her under? I promise that we'll cooperate."

Now his father's lip finally curled in an expression that Draco recognized. The end of Lucius's patience had been reached. "Your cooperation is not in question," he snapped. "If I asked you to deliver her to my chambers wrapped in silk ribbon, you would do it, Draco." Lucius returned his attention to his captive, reaching out the hand that wasn't wielding his wand to stroke pale fingers down her cheek. "And you," he purred at her, "if you were playing a game, it has come to an end. I've been looking forward to this conclusion." He cupped her jaw with in his palm, tipping her face up to him. She winced, and Draco began to rise, but a look from his father set him back on the settee. "Sit," his father admonished him.

"You're hurting her," Draco murmured under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?" his father asked, his voice now deadly quiet.

"I said, you're hurting her," Draco repeated, more breath behind his words this time. He squared his shoulders defiantly.

Lucius rolled his eyes, and for the briefest moment, his attention was taken from Hermione. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Gasping against the pain of the web's constriction, she grabbed her wand and the moment his attention turned away from his son, Draco sprang from the settee and had his arms around Hermione before he'd quite thought it through. As she jerked against the spell, her elbow connected painfully with his midsection and his breath rushed out in a huff as he gripped her more tightly against the cold swirl of apparition. The moment of darkness seemed to last forever, and then there was weak grey light and thick dust rising around them.

Hermione choked and sputtered in his arms, sagging weakly against him, and he scrambled to set her on her feet, to push her back and away from him, checking to be sure she was whole and unharmed. She struggled to regain her balance as he appraised her critically, continuing to support her even after he was satisfied with her physical condition, until she seemed as though she might be able to balance on her own. Then, steadying her on her feet, he left her to her coughing to quickly circle the dim room where they stood, muttering the right words to set a few simple cloaking charms around them. He wasn't precisely sure how angry he'd just made his father, but he could make an educated guess.

As she regained her breath, Hermione's eyes darted to the darker corners of the room. "Where are we?" she murmured quietly. Draco wasn't sure if she was asking him or trying to work it out for herself, but he answered anyway, fighting back the tremble that threatened his voice.

"France. The estate belonged to my grandmother when she was alive. No one comes near the house now because the wards that she always had set have made the local children believe the place is haunted." A faint smile crossed his lips. "The front door shrieks when you touch it."

Hermione seemed to be carefully minding where she placed her feet as she made her way deliberately toward the collection shapeless, dust-laden dropcloths shoved haphazardly into the a corner of the room and lifted the edge of one to reveal the ornately carved legs of the table underneath. "So it's abandoned then?"

"I was hoping so," he admitted, parting a set of heavy curtains delicately with one hand and momentarily allowing a muddled shaft of morning light to fall through the window's grimy glass onto the moth-eaten carpet, "though I didn't know as I hadn't been here since I was a child. It appears to be rather disused, doesn't it?"

"It does," she murmured, using her fingers to comb at a cobweb which was floating through the musty air they'd disturbed. And then, just as quietly, "You apparated us here."

Draco chuckled as he lifted the corner of a flowered bedsheet draped over a chintz armchair as though something sinister might be hiding beneath it, then discovering only chair, threw it off. It crumpled to the floor as he collapsed onto the cushion, raking his fingers through his hair as he allowed his first full breath in several minutes to escape in a rush. He rubbed his side ruefully. "Well spotted. And I believe you might have broken a few of my ribs for my trouble." He looked up at Hermione, whose hands were worrying a corner of the dropcloth. The dark circles under her eyes stood in stark contrast against her pale skin and she looked tired but she was unharmed and Draco was overwhelmed for a moment with gratitude. He offered a wan smile. "I was only joking - I don't think anything is broken." He reached out his hand to her. She looked confused for a moment, but then realization dawned in her eyes and she took a few steps closer, reaching toward him to wrap her small, cool fingers around his. He pulled her down into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, and as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, he felt her come undone, her breath hitching in a soft, exhausted sob. It was several long minutes before her breath had steadied again, warm against his neck, and he waited her out.

"Will he come here?" she asked him under her breath, her head still resting heavily on his shoulder.

"I don't know," he muttered. "Maybe you should tell me about the rest of what you've learned."