Chapter Twenty-Five
"He's a vampire ?"
Hermione, with her chin in her hand, lifts her gaze up from where she's slowly stirring her tea. Tillian and Faye are seated across from her at the circular table in the tearoom. Behind them in the corner of the room, the enchanted piano plays soft music like a soundtrack. It's early afternoon, so the sunlight that shines in through the windows is bright, begging to be seen the way it bathes their table.
She doesn't notice it anymore.
"Yes," she says with a heavy sigh. "He is. And that's part of the reason why I'm here, and why we were in the pits."
Faye chews on her lower lip, a worried expression on her face. "We're food, aren't we?"
"Technically, we're supposed to be. The pit we were in is one of many, all part of Blaise Zabini's oubliette."
"Oubliette?" Tillian asks.
"The prison under his estate. The people in the pits are people he captures and sells to vampires for food. Other creatures, too, but mostly vampires. Malfoy originally purchased me from Blaise."
"Well, now I'm pissed that I was so friendly with him," Tillian says with a sneer. "I had no idea he was our handler."
"Blaise is...Interesting." Hermione drops her hand from beneath her chin and folds her arms on the table. "He's not a good person, and he's got galleons for brains. But he did agree to release you two for a considerably less sum than what he normally charges."
"That sounds sickening," Tillian spits. "I get it, though."
"Yeah, we understand, Hermione," Faye says, offering an encouraging smile. "You promised you'd come back for us, and you did what you had to do."
What she had to do.
Flashbacks of Charon Palace flicker across her mind. They'd done what they had to do that night, too, and it ruined everything. From Malfoy's panic attack to her attempt to end her own life, to him letting his guard down and drowning in his emotions, to now him blocking her out and pushing her away–she didn't know how things could ever go back to normal. Not after what he did this morning.
"I made a deal with Malfoy," Hermione explains. "I would be his blood supply, and he would get you out of the oubliette."
"So he was just feeding off of you this morning?" Tillian asks, his brow furrowed.
"Yes. It was nothing out of the ordinary." And it wasn't, if she determined her opinion based on everything that happened before the day Lucius attacked her.
"But he was standing over you while you were on the floor," Tillian protests. "I mean, you wept, Hermione. That's what's normal for you two?"
"It's..." She sighs again. "Complicated."
"I'd say so."
The three of them sit in silence for a few moments before Hermione speaks again.
"I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you about the oubliette and why we were in the pits, but I didn't want to upset you."
"We aren't upset," Faye says. "We knew it was only a matter of time before one of us was taken away, anyway. It's only logical that galleons were changing hands in the process."
"We're just glad that it was you who got us out, and not someone else," Tillian says, his smile sincere. "And we're glad to be here with you on top of that."
Hermione can't stop her own smile. "I'm glad, too."
"That piano is neat." Faye points at it. "It plays nonstop?"
"I've only been in here once before, and it was playing when I peeked in," Hermione says, glancing behind her at the grand white piano. It looks no less expensive than anything else in the manor. "It sounds nice."
"Didn't you say once that you used to like to sing?" Tillian says, sipping his likely-cold tea for the first time since they sat down. "In the pit. I think you said so."
"Oh...Yes, I once did." Hermione says. "Only in passing, and at home on the holidays. I liked it, but it wasn't my passion."
"What's your passion?" Faye asks.
"Before the war, I was hoping to work at the Ministry after Hogwarts. I wanted to work with magical creatures at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I had a lot of ideas for extensive reforms, to help close the gap between them and us. I don't like that they're seen as less-than."
"I wanted to work at the Ministry, too," Tillian says with a grin. "But I wanted to be an Auror. Cliche, I know."
"Aurors are important," Hermione says. "At least, they were before the war. I don't think that department is around anymore now that the Dark Lord has his Death Eaters, though."
"Like Malfoy," Tillian says.
"Unfortunately yes."
Faye and Tillian both grimace.
She recalls the night Malfoy asked her if she had any talents. That the men at the parties would be less interested in untoward activities if she had some sort of talent to perform. As she gazes at the piano, she wonders if maybe it might be time to get some practice.
At least, before the party.
"I wanted to be a professor," Faye says. "I didn't know what I wanted to teach, or what school I wanted to teach at. I just knew that I wanted to help students learn. I tutored a lot at Hogwarts."
"I loved to learn but believe it or not," Hermione says, "I wasn't the best tutor. I could answer questions well enough but I didn't have the patience for it."
Tillian holds up both hands. "Don't look at me. I was the one being tutored."
"It's sad to think about," Faye says in a wistful tone. "What could have been. Everything's different now. I mean, we live in the Malfoy Manor . I never would have thought I'd be here of all places. I'm not even a Pureblood. I'm a Halfblood."
"What about your parents?" Tillian asks.
"Gone." Faye lowers her gaze, her shoulders slumping. "They both died when Death Eaters attacked our village. They burned it to the ground, and my parents were inside our house when it happened. I only escaped because I was at school."
"My mum's gone," Tillian says sadly. "I never knew my father, but my mum was everything to me. She passed away shortly after the final battle."
"Because of Death Eaters?" Hermione asked, reaching to squeeze his hand.
"Cancer. She was in hospital when everything was happening. She passed in her sleep. And I know it's bad to say
"And are you...?"
"I'm Muggleborn, just like you, Hermione."
"I'm so sorry, both of you." Hermione gives them both sympathetic looks.
"Where are your parents, Hermione?" Faye asks.
Hermione averts her eyes. What she did to her parents was necessary, but a source of great shame. There is solace in the knowledge that they're safe in another country, but it doesn't erase the fact that Hermione feels guilty for having done it. No one should ever have their memories taken from them without their consent, and Hermione had done exactly that.
"They're in Australia," she says, pulling her hands back and fidgeting with them in her lap. "I...I had to obliviate them."
Faye gasps, her hands flying to cover her mouth. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm sure it was necessary, but it had to be so difficult."
"It was," Hermione replies, her voice cracking. "But if I hadn't, I think the Dark Lord would have come after them. So it had to be done."
The three friends chat for a bit longer, steering the conversation to more positive things, like Hogwarts memories. About thirty minutes later, Tillian and Faye start exchanging glances. Curious, Hermione asks what they're up to.
"We're gonna head outside," Tillian says.
"Oh, Malfoy said you could?" Hermione asks, surprised.
"Sort-of." Tillian scratches the back of his head. "We asked the house elf Dipsy, and she asked him for us. Came back and said we could, but not to go past the hedge mazes."
Hermione can't help but feel a small pang of jealousy. She wishes she could go outside, but she knows she can't. Not when they're being watched so closely. Tillian and Faye can be explained away as cousins or friends. Hermione can't. When Malfoy told her she wouldn't see the outside of the manor walls ever again, she had believed him. She knows that's not exactly the case anymore, given she's been to Charon Palace and the Zabini estate. But that was before the Dark Lord had his suspicious, watchful eye on Malfoy. If Hermione were seen out and about on the Malfoy estate, there would be questions. Questions, and she could be sent away.
She wishes that Malfoy wasn't so volatile. Things were going so well, and then he just...Couldn't handle it. From her perspective, it looks like he'd do anything to keep from feeling things, but that everything that had happened since she arrived at the manor was too intense. The autumn morning that they'd spent together, he hadn't Occluded–not even once. He hadn't bitten her. He'd opened up to her. They'd been some form of intimate.
And he couldn't handle it.
As her friends take their leave, chattering excitedly about the hedge mazes, Hermione finds herself wishing more than ever that she could go back to before the war. Before the Dark Lord's regime took over and created a new, dark world. She can see that Tillian and Faye are so happy, so excited to explore the manor and its grounds. Their carefree nature.
She envies that.
-
Hermione watches her friends running across the lush green grass, headed out of the hedge mazes after hours of running around in them. She can see them from the window she likes to sit at, at the end of the corridor. The window seat is comfortable, and it's the perfect vantage point to see as far as she can.
She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She wishes she could remember what it feels like to be so carefree. Tillian and Faye truly seem at home here. There hasn't been an adjustment period for them, as far as she knows. They're at peace.
She's ecstatic her friends are here. Over the moon. She wishes she could fully enjoy that happiness, but it's difficult when she's dealing with things that have to do with Malfoy. She truly thought he...They...
To be honest, she thought they fancied each other.
Looking back on it, admitting it to herself, she feels embarrassed. He's a vampire, and he's getting blood from her. He'd been telling her whatever she wanted to hear. Doing what she wanted him to do. Caring for her well-being at Charon Palace had been because he didn't want to get in trouble. Being so distraught over her after Lucius attacked her, and after she jumped from the second floor–those were just because he wanted to protect his fifty-two thousand galleon food source. Everything else had to be lapses in judgment. Sentimentalities. Holding her while she healed because he knew she wanted it, not because he did. Lying in his bed with her and spilling secrets to her was likely an oversight. Maybe he hadn't expected her to act like a lovesick Hippogriff over him telling her a few things about himself. The laughter, the tickling, the teasing...Just him being a prat, like he always had been. His mouth all over her body, his lewd words and questions, and his head between her legs meant nothing . That was just him being a man, and men like bodies. Everything can be explained away.
Unless it's real, and he's just hiding it all with Occlumency.
Well, fuck him. He can die in a sink, for all she cares.
Okay...That's too much. She doesn't want him to die, and certainly not in a sink. She's hurt. She feels embarrassed and betrayed. She feels ashamed for letting him see parts of her body and touch them, taste them. This is why in school, Hermione preferred her books and studies. She watched the girls around her in various emotional states of up and down as they wove in and out of relationships. She saw girls in love, and she saw girls wallowing in devastation after a break-up. She'd always been glad she didn't have to deal with those emotions.
But this isn't Hogwarts. She's not a student anymore. She is a full-grown woman, and she thought a man fancied her. He doesn't. Now she'll have to not only live with him, but continue to let him have access to her body while he feeds and essentially forces her to feel arousal that she no longer wants to feel towards him. And she can't switch to feeding him from a cup–it would break their deal.
She's miserable.
"Granger."
Hermione doesn't flinch. She doesn't jump or jolt or startle. She stays in her seated position, arms around her legs, and continues to stare out the window. Malfoy has approached, coming from the corridor. She hadn't noticed he was walking toward her. How much of her thoughts had he heard?
It doesn't matter. He doesn't care.
She speaks to him in a flat tone.
"What do you want?"
"We need to prepare."
At this, she gives him a confused look. He's wearing a simple pair of black trousers and a white button-up; his hair is pushed back with a few stubborn strands falling onto the sides of his face at his temples. His grey eyes are empty, blank expanses of dead land that aren't capable of hosting life. Occluding, as usual.
"What are you talking about?"
He arches one eyebrow. "Did you forget?"
She stares at him, searching his eyes for a moment before it clicks. The throne room. Burning. Voldemort's red-eyed smile. Countless greedy eyes watching her, finding joy in her pain. Malfoy's hand, covering her own, fingers intertwined where no one else can see.
She banishes the thought, before she allows herself to fall into sadness again.
"The party," she says. "At Carrow's estate. I remember."
"Yes. It's tomorrow night. Since Carrow's going to be especially hopeful that I slip up, we're going to need to pull the false memories out, and add a few more to cover the two weeks since the Dark Lord last looked."
Hermione doesn't care. She'll endure it. It's no worse than being so hopeful that someone cares to keep you safe in a world that wants to hurt you, only to find out you mean absolutely nothing to them.
"Okay."
His gaze flits down to her lips and back up again, like he's analyzing her. "Will you be able to cope?"
She scowls, threading as much vitriol as she can into her glare. "Do me a favor, Malfoy. Stop pretending to care. When are we doing it?"
He narrows his eyes and she sees a muscle click in his jaw. "Later tonight, after dinner. That way you can sleep afterward."
She doesn't think he really cares about her sleep. Hermione turns her head back to the window, resuming her dejected, wistful staring.
"Fine."
"You should think about what you're going to sing," he says.
The hair on her body stands up straight. Her head whips to look up at him.
" What ?"
"You don't remember? I told you that–"
"I know what you said. I didn't think it would be at the first one."
"Why wouldn't you think it would be?" He slips his hands into his pockets. "Having some form of entertainment will be the best way to direct their attention elsewhere, rather than on their 'tests.'"
"Yes, well...I suppose it'd be best so you don't have to touch me more than is necessary." She gets to her feet, smoothing out her dress as she does so. She'd had to change this morning, after his little display. "I'll practice in the tea room."
"What will you sing?"
"I don't know. Maybe something Muggle, just to piss them off."
"Granger–"
"How would they know?" she snaps. "I'll take whatever chance to be defiant that I can."
"As always."
She gives him a disdainful onceover. "What, do you like me better when I'm afraid and looking to you for comfort? Or do you like me better when I'm whimpering and pleading with you? Which is it, Malfoy, because I can't play my role as well as you can without the script."
Malfoy looks down at her without speaking for a few seconds before he says, "Let's hope you're skilled at this."
"Oh, don't worry," Hermione spits out, brushing past him none-too-gently on her way to the stairs. "I am."
-
Hermione enters the tearoom, eyeing the enchanted piano with a wary eye.
She isn't sure where to start. Will the piano automatically know what it needs to play? Will she need to say the song's name, and if it's Muggle, will it know?
It's been a long time since she sang, and she never did it formally. Her singing has always been a hobby, done while bathing, alone in her common room, or walking in the woods behind her family home. She likes it well enough, but like she'd told her friends–it's not her passion.
She supposes she had better turn it into a passion if she's going to survive these stupid Death Eater soirees, hadn't she?
With a heavy sigh, Hermione takes a seat at the piano bench, watching the keys play themselves a beautiful song. She's got to think of something to sing that's going to be easy to remember, simple to sing without getting too in her head, and that will please the attendees as much as she can manage. She doesn't want a repeat of Charon Palace, if she can help it. She's not too fond of Malfoy right now, and she doesn't trust him to keep her safe anymore.
This is going to be awful.
Hermione tilts her head back and stares up through the glass sunroof, wracking her brain. What song? What song ?
A candle in her mind flares to life, the small flame flickering with promise.
There's a Muggle song that she remembers her mother liking when she was little. When Hermione thinks back on it, she can remember her mother listening to that song at least once a day. She'd listen to it while cooking, sing it under her breath, and dance with herself. Little Hermione would watch her twirling about, smiling, and she'd marvel at how beautiful her mum was.
Hermione opens her mouth, about to say it aloud, but to her surprise, the piano begins to play it. Her eyes pop open as the black and white keys press themselves, the familiar melody filling the room. It pins her heart in place with nostalgia, a painful twist in her heart as she thinks of her mother.
Yes, this will be the song.
Hermione spends all the time she has left before dinner, practicing and practicing. It's not as rough as she thought it would be starting out, and she finds that her body naturally eases into the same soprano that she's always had. It's like she never stopped singing. The longer she practices, the easier it gets to hit the runs and notes that she wants to. By the time she's ready to go eat, she feels more confident in herself than she has about anything. She's still nervous about having to sing in front of a room full of reprehensible men that aren't going to spare the girls who don't have talents–men who might still decide she needs to put on another show like the one at Charon Palace.
But she's not that nervous. Not when it comes to books, not when it comes to her studies, and now when it comes to this. She may not have much power in the Dark Lord's world, but she can control her voice.
Like the foolish girl she is, she can't help but wonder...
What will Malfoy think?