"Draco?"

"Father?"

"Where's the portrait of Abraxas?"

"Threw him in the cellar."

Lucius tried to suppress a grin as he strode alongside his son. Draco noticed and was delighted immediately. Then he frowned.

My father's homecoming is turning me into a sap…

He continued, a tad disgruntled at the idea of being a sissy boy,

"He was shrieking too much, spluttering some nonsense about the Dark Lord and my ears were practically bleeding. Needed to shut him up somehow."

They continued to walk down the hallway. Lucius was pleased when he realized Draco and the house elves had cleaned up the Manor; it had become Draco's mission after the war to restore the mansion's interior to the days of his father's youth; pristine, elegant, and void of all remnants and reminders of the Malfoys darkest days.

After Winky and Draco gave him a tour of the newly refurbished home some evenings ago, Lucius retired early to the bedroom he shared with Narcissa. To Draco's relief, his father had not asked where his wife was, but instead requested some strong Arabic tea with a dash of Draught of the Living Dead.

Three days ago Draco had rubbed his eyes when Lucius entered the dining hall; after all, he had been eating alone for years. The walls began to cave in and the breakfast china appeared to tremor as his father walked achingly slow down the length of the table – and it was a bloody long table, they were Malfoys after all! – and seated himself next to his son. Despite Lucius' new wrinkles and fading scars, his father seemed… reborn.

Lucius felt young again. There was a spring in his step, a shameless twinkle in his cobalt eyes.

Of course there were times when Lucius was hardly recognizable, shrouded in dark memories and horrifying nightmares. Draco would sit with his father occasionally. He would never touch Lucius, but his presence seemed to appease his father's trembling form. At least his frightened illogical ramblings would end too.

As Draco faced his demons, Lucius did too. He had forgiven his father a long time ago for inadvertently destroying his childhood, and Lucius was making up for it each day by simply coexisting.

Just yesterday Lucius picked up a broomstick and challenged his son to a game of one-on-one quidditch.

"You know, I was an excellent Seeker back in the day."

"You're not the same man you were when you attended Hogwarts, Father. In fact, I haven't seen you use a broomstick in years."

"Don't you get smart with me, boy."

"You played centuries ago. Or was it millenniums ago…"

Lucius' eyes narrowed.

"At least I beat Gryffindor."

Silence.

"You're on."

Smirk.

A smile formed on Draco's lips at the memory. When his father had unexpectedly thrown a broom at him – and thank Merlin for Seeker reflexes - Draco thought he had woken up in his third year. Needless to say he beat his father in the impromptu game, but it was the laughter and honest fatherly attention that counted.

"Are you ever haunted by it all, son?"

Draco sucked in harshly. He certainly hadn't expected his father to ask such a question. It seemed all too sudden.

"I was. I still am, but it isn't nearly as bad anymore. Every time I dream about the war, I just wake up hating Him… and hating myself. There are times the nightmares are so intense and real that I wish I could turn my wand on myself and end the suffering with an Av–"

Draco shook himself. Had he honestly told that to his Father?

"But then the stillness reminds me that he's gone. That the war is over. Th- that I did the right thing in the end by helping them."

"We're all healing, Draco."

His father moved his hand to Draco's back, rubbing in a jerking motion; he was somewhat new to this whole affection thing. Draco wanted to laugh, but his father's genuine concern was, in a way, uplifting.

"We were lucky," Lucius continued, adjusting his expensive robe, "I could've been in Azkaban for the rest of my life if it weren't for that Potter boy."

Lucius spat those last words. Sure, he was indebted to the Boy-Who-Lived but by no means was Lucius now his friend. The inane idea of it even sounded acerbic on his tongue.

"I'm going to take a stab in the dark and guess he's an Auror? What? You didn't think I could guess correctly? Son, Potter's the most predictable man I've ever met."

Draco crossed his arms at Lucius and leaned back, rolling on the balls of his heels with a smirk.

"Yes son, the Dark Lord is dead and with him my hatred for mud-Muggleborns. He was a raving mad lunatic who wanted power more than anything. And in my hunger for it, I almost lost myself too. My views did not die in one day, but I have come to see the absurdity of his preaching, now that I've paid my dues, served my time."

He took Draco's face between his calloused hands. From his youth, Draco remembered how smooth his father's palms had been, like paper, soft like goose down. Days of dueling, wear, and tear were stark evident.

Draco shivered from the touch.

"I did everything I could for you and your mother. You may not realize Draco, but I care for my family more than anything the Dark Lord could ever offer me. We are Malfoys."

Lucius drew a long elegant ringed finger from his son's cheek to chin; Draco gulped as their eyes locked. Lucius tilted his head, resting his hands on Draco's shoulders. He smiled and announced with steely resolve,

"I'm repenting my sins, atoning my mistakes everyday. Our blood, Draco, is thicker than water."

"I thought you were going to marry that Parkinson girl."

Draco choked and looked up at his father with watery eyes.

"We separated, and frankly, I couldn't be happier. She was a thorn in my side."

"Hmm," Lucius appeared to be deep in thought as he ran his fingers through long silvery hair, "She was always too stupid and bothersome to be a Malfoy wife anyway. Never did like her."

Draco smothered his guffaw and absently flicked a page of his book.

They sat in Narcissa's drawing room, surrounded by some books Sperry had procured from the elder Malfoy's library. The sun's rays spilt through the trellised French windows and bathed the room in light. It was actually Lucius' idea to spend the warm day in his wife's haven, muttering something about Draco always having a book or a broom in his hand when he was younger.

"So, have you another betrothed?"

Draco closed the volume in his lap and rolled his eyes.

"I'm too busy with work but sure, I've dated a little here and there."

"Too busy for the throes of passion?"

Draco choked again. Was he hearing his father correctly?

"What?" he spluttered.

"Shagging?"

"It's none of your bloody business old man!"

"You must be referring to that old kook Dumbledore."

Lucius clucked his tongue and smirked at the discomfort on his son's face. Draco was obviously avoiding the subject.

"And how is my business anyway?"

"Didn't you read the expense reports I left in your library?"

"Of course I did. But I am most curious to hear what you think of Malfoy Industries and the direction you are heading the company in."

"Hmm, we've continued operations in insurance, antiquities, banking, investment, and real estate. Research and development is our busiest department as we've recently acquired a large chunk of the magic electronics industry."

Draco hesitated; he wondered what his father was thinking.

"We've had to, erm, purge and liquidate some of your more lucrative investments, but the company's been completely clean since. In fact, the corporation's working on our fifth prototype for magicked cell phones – and if all goes to plan, our product will be on the market by next quarter."

The ends of Lucius' lips curled into a deceptively casual smile.

"It would appear the company is doing quite well in your hands, Draco."

He averted Lucius' overpowering gaze and opened the book he was pretending to read. When he heard his father's snigger, Draco flipped to the cover: "101 Ways to Charm a Wealthy Witch".

Oh. He hadn't noticed…

"It would seem you've hurt your hand."

"Lucius Malfoy and the power of perception," Draco joshed, "Honestly Father, you should consider writing a book…"

"Sass me one more time boy and you'll find your body thrashing in the Whomping Willow."

Draco chuckled and lifted his right arm, inspecting the yellowing bandages around his hand and wrist. He had almost begun to forget insufferable know-it-all Granger.

"I got into a brawl with Blaise over which of us could throw the hardest punch. As you can see, I won."

The lie rolled off his tongue so naturally Draco almost believed himself.

"You didn't get into a fist fight with my library wall, then?"

He scowled darkly at the flicker of mild interest on his father's face. Draco remained silent.

"It must have done something quite terrible to upset you so."

"I thought you got rid of your sadistic sense of humor, Father."

"Well, Draco, you thought wrong," the elder Malfoy mused, rubbing his finger deliberately against the peacock speckled stone on his gold wedding band.

Then, the room was still.

Silence always unnerved Draco. To others it symbolized peace, serenity; to him, it empirically meant someone was plotting, thinking. During the Second War's bleakest hours, the Dark Lord established himself within the walls of the Malfoy Manor.

His home.

It had meant the disgraced Malfoys were back in favor; Voldemort's new headquarters had a clandestine significance that Lucius prided upon.

He dreamed about it sometimes. Nightmares. They came and went like fleeting ghosts, haunting memories. They were often hazy, every sound subdued by the all-consuming reverberations of his own blinking and the heavy drumming of his heart. In those hallucinations he stumbled through the Manor, unable to make out one silhouette, one obscured image from the next.

The dreams were always slow and painful as though Nagini was ever so sluggishly slithering up his body. The dreams of torture were the most vivid. Blinding lights and shrill voices, a mirage of Aunt Bella's cackles and the piercing shrieks of victims. Draco tried to remember their horror-stricken faces, but they all blurred together in the mist of his deliriums.

But the silence always terrified him most. It meant that somewhere, the Dark Lord sat with his men, his obsequious followers scheming, fantasizing about the havoc they would wreak the next day. Draco remembered sitting cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, the only place he could find solitude, rocking back and forth on the dust covered floor. Every black silk curtain was drawn. Every creak and scrape ceased to exist. It was as if the world around Draco was frozen, suspended in time.

In these stolen moments, he would hang his head in some disturbed sort of prayer. He would close his eyes, and will himself to forget the aching in his black soul.

But then a wand light would glint somewhere, or a plate would smash, or someone's throaty laughter would resound down the shadowy hallway to wake Draco from his short-lived escape.

And the world would come crashing down on his shoulders and he would remember that in the silence, it meant that He was thinking, discerning ways to ruin and decimate any shred of happiness left in the world.

That scared Draco more than anything else.

He turned back to his father who was staring out the window into the wispy ashen clouds, pale blue eyes glazed in reflection. Draco wondered what his father was thinking now.

He closed his eyes.

"When will I see her, Draco?"

His father's voice was but a whisper, the question almost cautionary as if the elder Malfoy was terrified and anxious to know what would come next.

"Soon, Father."

Lucius' body eased, and he seemed to sigh in relief. Draco opened his eyes and visibly relaxed as a trademark smirk resurfaced on his father's lips.

"Soon," Lucius echoed.

The scrumptious aroma of Mrs. Weasley's blueberry pies wafted from the kitchen through the house and to the deck, where Hermione and Theo sat side by side, snickering at one of George's inappropriate jokes.

When Hermione had announced to the Weasleys at brunch last week that Theo was coming for dinner on Saturday, Ron had thrown a fit.

"So, was Malfoy not good enough for you?"

"Hermione's dating that prick?"

"Who, Malfoy? It can't be!"

"I'm not da-"

"Since when?"

"Secretly for months!"

"Shut up, Geo-"

"Bollocks."

"Who's Malfoy, Mommy?"

"A boy we hated at school, Rosie dear. Now finish your broccoli like a good girl."

"I can't believe it. Why, Hermione, you sly wench."

"Always knew she went for the disturbed mysterious stranger complex."

"Sacrédieu!"

"Fleur, I'm not, honest! Ron's kidding or confused or delusional or something. Audrey, he's hardly a stranger, and Angelina you know I would never ever date that pale bouncing fer-"

"I'm saddened Hermione dear that you couldn't tell us sooner. How about inviting that nice boy over for dinner?"

"He's not a nice boy, mom! He's DRACO EFFING MALFOY. He was only a Death Eater and made our lives hell for a decade!"

"Watch your language at the dinner table, Ron Bilius Weasley! There are children around."

"Cause Potter just keeps 'em coming, eh?"

"GEORGE!"

"Dad, tell George to shut his mouth, or I'll–"

"Or you'll what, Gin Gin?"

"Don't use that tone on your sister!"

"Don't say that to Mommy, Uncle George!"

Hermione slammed her head on the table repeatedly, letting the debacle continue. It was minutes until Harry realized her silence.

"Hey," he asked shyly between Ron and Ginny's bickering, nudging her in the side, "Ron's giving you a hard time, and I apologize on his behalf."

"He always acts this way whenever I want to bring home a date. First Goldstein, then Terry, Seamus, and now Theo!"

"He just cares about you 'Mione. He doesn't want to see you get hurt."

"Or, he's jealous."

Harry took her hand, rubbing light concentric circles on her knuckles.

"Maybe a little."

Then Harry's nose scrunched up and he looked at her curiously, green eyes inquisitive.

"But what's all this about Malfoy?"

She shrugged.

"Malfoy showed up at my apartment and begged me to return to his company. Being ever the sniveling gentleman we know him to be, he made a few double entendres and riled up Ron."

"Ah, I see. Don't worry about it. Tell Theo that we'd love to have him for dinner, right Gin-"

"Hermione's been dating Theo for weeks!"

"WHAT! And why didn't I know?"

"You didn't know, Ron," Hermione exclaimed pointedly, "Because I knew you would act this obtuse!"

"Hrmph."

And that had been the end of it.

Hermione had invited Parvati so that Ron would stop his relentlessly owling her co-worker, but perhaps harassing was a more apt description. And because she was a bleeding heart, Hannah and Seamus too. She expected a ridiculously awkward dynamic.

After all, she was just throwing an Indian temptress, airhead, and a good-natured but bothersome Irish man at the Weasleys. Oh, and not to mention a not-incarcerated-but-possible-former-Death-Eater. What could possibly go wrong?

Theo had surprised Hermione by taking to her surrogate family, the Weasleys, like a fish to water. He conversed effortlessly with Percy, Bill, and Arthur about the Ministry and possible improvements, and then jumped into an argument between Ron, Seamus, Harry, and George about a recent match between Puddlemere United and the Caerphilly Catapults. She very nearly fainted when Theo talked to Fleur and Ginny about possible baby names. And she almost had a seizure when Nott asked Parvati, Audrey, and Angelina their opinions on the new Marc Jacobs' dress robes sold in Diagon Alley.

Even the kids clung to his arms and legs as soon as he agreed to play hide and go seek. Hannah politely tittered when he commented on her new hairstyle and Molly too gave him the seal of approval when she asked if he'd be the first to taste her delicious chicken strudel. If Theo kept this up, he'd be indoctrinated a Weasley by the end of the night.

"Hermione, should I go get you a slice?" Theo purred, resting his hand on her knee.

"Yes, thanks."

He winked and sauntered after Seamus and George to the kitchen to help Mrs. Weasley bring her pies outside. Hermione sighed. Theo had played the perfect gentleman in every way and charmed everyone. But for some reason, he just wasn't… him.

Ginny and Angelina leaned across the table, eyes wide and giggling like teenage girls.

"Gods, Hermione, he's incredibly handsome."

"And book smart of course, which counts the most," Audrey supplied with a wink.

"I'd let him read me any day," Parvati added dreamily.

Ron cleared his throat at her declaration. Parvati wiggled her eyebrows at him, challenging a response, and her best friend colored like a tomato.

"Well, though Harry and I do not share his views on the Holyhead Harpies new Beaters and the Falmouth Falcons expulsion of their best Chaser, he's not bad."

"What Ron means to say," Bill chimed in, rolling his eyes at his brother's maturity, or lack thereof, "is that he's great. We all really like Theo."

"And I 'ope you all really like pies too!" Seamus called with George and Theo on his heels, towing Mrs. Weasley's creations in hand.

The eldest female Weasley cut slices as the honorary guests and family settled back into comfortable conversation. When Molly placed Theo's dessert before him, he rewarded her with a dazzling smile, causing her to flush and tell him he was a doll. He responded by telling Molly how delicious her food was and asked if she'd be his personal chef.

My, Theo sure knew his way around a woman.

Hermione studied him, from his sharp nose to his observant jade eyes. She liked the way his wavy brown hair fell, and she was even compelled to brush it from his face. But that would only make him want to snog her – and she didn't really want that right now. His knowing expressions, honesty, and intelligence were his shining qualities, but his eloquence and quick ability to make friends helped too.

"Hello? Hermione?"

"Uh- yes?"

"I thought you were off somewhere else. You looked terribly pensive, and I didn't want to disturb you."

"You didn't," she replied with a smile, and rested her head on Theo's shoulder.

Traitor traitor traitor TRAITOR!

She shot up, looking about warily.

"Hermione, you look as though you've just seen Voldemort back from the dead."

She glared at Angelina's smart-aleck grin, but felt Theo shudder beneath her.

"Theo, is everything alright?"

He grimaced.

"I-I- It's silly."

"You know you can tell me anything," Hermione offered, pursing her rosy lips.

"I guess I'm still not comfortable with hearing His name."

"Why not?" Seamus interjected, furious, "You were one of his followers!"

"SEAMUS!" Hannah scolded, her cheeks tinged pink from the embarrassment of his outburst, "Not here."

"He makes a point, Hannah. You were one of his followers, I know as much. We even dueled during the final battle and you sit here as if nothing ever happened, as though I never fought you."

"Shut up, Ron!"

"And why should I, 'Mione? You invite a former Death Eater to dinner and don't expect us to ask him questions like, oh, I don't know, why exactly you're dating someone whose blood disgusts you?"

"Ron…" Harry warned.

He didn't need Ron to blow any information about their investigation. It was bad enough that Hermione's life was on the line, but he couldn't let a possible suspect know they were on to him. If Rodolphus and Rabastan were even telling the truth…

Nott's jaw visibly clenched and he snarled back.

"So what I fought for the other side Weasley! Big whoop! I can't sit here as a changed man? Is that not good enough for you?"

"It most certainly isn't!" Seamus seethed, "You don't get it, do you? You mur'ered our friends and family mate."

"And your side killed too! Open your eyes Finnegan. Last time I checked we fought a fucking war where everyone killed each other to survive. We were kids, damnit!"

"Ron, Theo, Seamus, please stop!" Hermione pleaded, taking Theo's arm. He shrugged her off.

"At least we fought for the right cause."

"I fought for the only cause I knew Weasley! I was forced to sleep, breathe, and drink my hatred for those of lowly blood. You don't think I see my mistakes now? I can't help that I was born the son of a Death Eater. Do you think I could just waltz up to my father and tell him I wasn't interested in fighting for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"If you wanted to, you could have. I can't forgive you, or forget that you silently tormented my friends, that you called Hermione a mud-mudb- "Ron retorted spitefully.

"It's not as simple as black and white, Weasley. You'd have done the same thing!"

"Like hell I would have!"

Ron and Theo drew their wands at equal speed and everyone jumped from their seats. Bill and Fleur rounded up the kids and ushered them quietly upstairs, and Percy – ever the coward – Apparated with Audrey to his apartment as fast as he could.

Harry stood protectively in front of Ginny and the rest of the women snuck to the kitchen, watching from a distance.

"Put your wands away!" Hermione yelled, "This is absolutely ridiculous."

But the men just continued as if she hadn't spoken at all.

"Fuck you Weasley, and you too Finnegan. You have no idea what it's like to be-"

"To be what? A cold-blooded bastard? A murderer? You're right cause we don't."

"SCREW YOU!"

"And you deserve a cell in Azkaban just like your filthy fucking fath-"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Impendimenta!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Stop it! Both of you!"

"Get out of the way, Grang-"

"Sectumsempra!"

Theo staggered and collapsed beside Hermione's shaking body. He began to convulse in her arms and she felt her tongue go dry.

"Theo?" Ginny asked quietly, falling at his side.

She shrieked as the blood welled beneath Theo's now weedy complexion, and Harry tumbled next to his wife, calling the rest of the Weasleys for help.

"Holy fuck, Finnegan."

Hermione's senses suddenly kicked into overdrive as she saw the invisible knife marks appear beneath Theo's skin.

"Hospital," she croaked, "I've got to Floo him to Mungo's."

"I-I'm sorry 'arry. I jus' thought… you used it on Malfoy!"

"Yeah, once!" Ron bellowed, throwing Seamus lethal looks, "Years ago before he realized how dangerous it was!"

"Let's get him to the fireplace," Arthur instructed, trying to calm everyone amidst the chaos.

George grunted as he pulled Theo to his side and slung the Slytherin over his and Bill's shoulders.

"Mon pauvre…"

"Yeah, Fleur, I hope he's going to be okay," Parvati murmured.

The two brothers, Harry, and Hermione squeezed into the fireplace.

"I'm really sorry, 'ermione."

"Finnegan, I think it's best you leave."

Seamus crossed his arms defiantly at Hermione's bluntness, but knew it was best to take his jacket from Hannah and Side-Along Apparate home.

"I hope we're not too late," Hermione whispered, eyes blurred with unshed tears.

The last thing Theo remembered in his lucidity was her lips brushing ever so slightly across his left temple.

"For the umpteenth time, Hermione," Harry sighed irately, "I don't know how Theo's doing, and the more you ask, the more irritated I'll be."

Hermione crossed her arms at a peeved Harry and sunk lower in her chair. She couldn't help acting so cranky; she wasn't running on much sleep after all.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes and looked up at the healer who stood before her. She clambered to her feet.

"How is Theo? He's fine right? When can I take him home? Can I see him?"

"Relax, Miss Granger. He's stable now, and that's all that matters. We'll have to keep him in seclusion for a while as some healers mend some internal tissue scarring, but he'll be out in a few days."

She sighed in relief.

"Now dear," the healer advised, "Let's get you some warm pumpkin juice and send you home, alright?"

Harry appeared at her side and put his arm around his best friend's lithe waist, drawing her in close. He kissed her cheek that was pallid from worry, and answered the healer,

"Yeah, let's get her something to drink."

Fifteen minutes later, a scowling Hermione nursed the tepid pumpkin juice in her arms and cursed whoever made such a drink so damn… tasty. She wanted to wait outside Theo's door and be the first to greet him when he awoke. She knew he'd have done that for her despite any obstacle that lay in his path. Yet here she was, sitting in the healers' canteen, deprived of precious hours of sleep, and drinking juice.

It was all her fault that he was in Mungo's anyway.

Damnit Finnegan! Let's see if you even have a job in my department next week…

Hermione's petite body wracked with grief, and she slurped down the remains of her pumpkin juice. She waggled her tongue when the last of the thick delectable liquid drip-drip-dripped to her tongue, and frowned.

She dropped her cup on the table and looked around slyly; there was only an unsuspecting Harry Potter snoring beside her to guard his own unfinished mug.

"Accio pumpkin juice!"

The drink flew to her hand and she simpered, content at having this liquid drug in her hands.

She tied her uncontrollable curls behind her face, and rested her head on the arm of her chair, wondering about Malfoy. Harry told her at dinner that Lucius had been released from Azkaban and was now in Draco's custody. Though she despised his father with every fiber of her being, she was curious to know how much the elder Malfoy had changed. Was it worth a trip to the Manor? Probably not, she answered herself.

Even while praying for Theo, she couldn't seem to rid a pair of haunting grey ashen eyes from her thoughts. Not to mention his soft lips that managed to part hers so easily, and pillage her mouth, drinking her in. She'd felt supple in his arms, and though Hermione was one of the most in control women, she knew he could have her begging and whimpering for more if he wanted to.

He just had that bloody affect on her, and Hermione despised it. Abhorred it. Resented it.

She didn't even like his personality. Okay, he was somewhat attractive, and intelligent she supposed. His impeccable tastes and predilection for all books from Muggle to Werewolf didn't help her cause either. He always kept her on her toes, never just agreeing for the sake of agreeing – he most likely argued just for the sake of arguing with her. She liked when his face crinkled into one of those rare – exceedingly rare- honest smiles. She even liked his slight air of arrogance, and when he scowled…

If Hermione was going to be frank with herself, which she wasn't, Draco was a perfect match for her despite his beliefs.

That is, until, he opened his big pompous mouth.

But his mouth. Oh, his soft warm mouth…

Alright, this was getting ridiculous. Immediately uncomfortable and positively disturbed by her own devious thoughts, Hermione leapt from her seat to find the bathroom.

She left Harry's keeled over snoring form and stuck her curly head out the door. Bollocks, she had no clue where the bathroom was in this white washed labyrinth! Hermione meandered down the hallway of flickering white lights and unnamed doors, shading her eyes from the blinding brightness of it all.

As she turned the corner, she stopped dead, hearing voices coming from the end of the ward. Hermione and her insatiable curiosity followed the sounds till she could hear each individual voice. A door clicked shut. There was a shuffle of feet, a heavy bereft sigh, and muffled tones. She moved closer and pressed herself against the wall; the voices cleared.

"She's not getting any better I'm afraid. She's stopped responding to our potions or spells too."

"Yet she remains stable?"

"She may look like death, but don't let that deceive you…"

"It's a shame she shows no signs of healing."

Silence.

"He visits her during lunch breaks, always with white roses in his hand, everyday like clockwork. He's such a gentleman but the agony in his eyes makes me want to shake her and tell her to wake up, if not for herself but to save her own son."

No…

"He's bringing a visitor next week, you know."

"Who?"

"Didn't say."

It couldn't be…

"Youthful reticence."

"I think he's rather beautiful in a striking regal sort of way. Just like his mother."

Hermione heard an elderly chuckle.

"He's far too young for you, Betty."

As the soft laughter faded to naught, Hermione tried to steady her breathing, clutching the wall behind her to sturdy herself. There was a niggling in the back of her mind that confirmed her instincts were correct.

After all, her instincts were always correct.

Hermione needed to know who that patient was. She needed to see for herself.

She lurched towards the direction of the room, stopping stone cold as she reached the drawn white curtains.

She wondered if this was even legal, but let inquisitiveness get the better of her, and she reached for the doorknob. It was freezing to the touch, and Hermione wondered if that was some sort of caveat. She took a deep breath, looking both ways before opening the door and closing it quickly behind her.

She couldn't have possibly prepared herself for what she saw next.

There she was, as pale as death itself, her complexion as white and sallow as the freshest snow. The woman was unnaturally thin, her head appearing to devour the rest of her skin and bones. The sheets were drawn to the woman's waist – covering but outlining the knobs of her knees and length of each leg.

Hermione's sorrow-filled eyes flicked up to her face. She was, as the nurse had rightly said, simply beautiful. Scarily so. She was taken by the woman's striking complexion, pale and ethereal from the half-light of the hallway; the sharp curve of her Patrician nose; her gaunt Slavic cheekbones and pale parted lips.

Hermione's feet were planted to the floor. She wanted to run from here, forget what she had seen and return to her beloved pumpkin juice, but her body would simply not respond. She was enchanted, bewitched by the breathtaking woman. As she finally tore her eyes from Narcissa Malfoy, regaining control of her body, a tall shadow covered Hermione's own.

She didn't have to see his tell tale white blond hair or his angry grey eyes to know he was here. His baritone drawl resonated in the small room, misleadingly flat and emotionless.

"And what, pray tell, are you doing in my mother's room, Granger?"

To look forward to: Hermione snogs and gets kinky with (insert name here), Parvati accepts a date, and Lucius Malfoy unexpectedly visits Malfoy Industries and has a run in with our favorite feisty little heroine.

To my loyal and dedicated readers who haven't left me, even when I hadn't written for months.

Take as my humble apology, the longest chapter I've ever written!

*winks*

Review if you want to see Hermione get it onnnn!