Trigger Warnings: I'm not exactly SURE what triggers are in this chapter, because I don't know how to word them. but there's references to future dub-con, when they talk about the upcoming party. If you know the specific name for a trigger you see, just comment and I'll add/fix the warning.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hermione wakes early the next day, already shaking with nerves. Her dreams were just like they were the last time Malfoy filled her with horrific false memories: fraught with nightmares, terror, pleading, and pain. She lays in bed, staring upward and wondering what tonight's going to be like. Will it be as awful as Charon Palace? Is she going to have to put up with being tortured again? She's not sure she could survive it this time–not with how distant she was from Malfoy. She wouldn't have anything to hold onto.
She recalls the dinner weeks ago, where Malfoy told her these parties included "tests." How he'd alluded to there being events similar to the dinner at Charon Palace, where Voldemort and his Death Eaters watched what they thought was her being raped. Is that going to have to happen again? If it's a test, won't more attention to detail be paid?
What if there really isn't a way out this time?
She hauls herself out of bed, knowing she needs to go downstairs and practice. If having talents is a way to hopefully avoid the "tests," then she should make sure she sounds as perfect as possible.
After bathing, she dresses and heads downstairs to breakfast. To her surprise, Malfoy is at the table. He's slouching back in his chair with one of his elbows on the arm of the chair, his fingers rubbing his jaw. His other arm rests on the table, silver fork in hand. He's wearing a black tee shirt, and she can't see his trousers from her vantage point.
She hesitates at the doorway. She doesn't want to eat with him or be around him. Him holding her last night wasn't something she believed, let alone wanted him to do. She isn't sure if it made her feel better or worse.
Malfoy glances up and down toward the door. Then, he takes a second glance as though surprised to see her, too. They hold each other's gazes. For the moment, he's not Occluding. She sees a firestorm of emotions she can't place, swirling around in his grey irises, but as soon as she registers one of them–frustration–they're gone, locked behind a wall of iron and stone.
He drops his gaze to his plate.
Hermione takes a deep breath. She might as well sit down to eat. She doesn't have time to waste waiting for him to finish. Besides, if things at this Carrow estate party are anything like Charon Palace, it will be worse if she can't even look at him.
She takes her regular seat across from him, unfolding her napkin right as Pinky appears to fill her juice glass and snap a plate of steaming hot breakfast into existence in front of her. Without acknowledging him, Hermione tucks into her food.
"We'll be leaving at eight tonight," Malfoy says, still rubbing his jaw. She wonders if it's a self-soothing action. What would he need to feel soothed for? "Through the Floo."
"Okay," she says, taking a bite of her food. It tastes amazing, as always. She wishes she could enjoy it.
"Blaise and Tracey will be coming with us."
"All right." Then, after a pause, she says. "Does Tracey belong to Blaise?"
He nods.
"Then...Why was she at Charon Palace?"
"Blaise is helpful when I need him to be, but that doesn't make him a good person."
Hermione frowns. "But he gave her his wand."
"Because Tracey knows Healing spells."
Confusion starts to spin in her mind, which is still heavy with the remnants of her nightmares and the false memories she's going to have to endure until after the party.
"I don't understand."
Malfoy's fork clinks against his plate as he taps it against it.
"Blaise is my friend, if you could call him that," he says. "I needed his help."
Hermione feels stupid. Unintelligent. Like she can't catch up. "So...He gave her his wand to heal me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Granger." Malfoy tips his head back with a heavy sigh. "Because I asked them to help."
"Why?"
Malfoy throws his fork down. "I can't deal with this right now."
"Is it because you didn't want me to die?"
"I told you this already," he bites out through clenched teeth, glaring at her.
"Yes, but you lie about everything. You are a liar." She takes a bite of her food. "How am I to know what's true and what isn't?"
"I don't lie."
Hermione raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. "It's all right. I already know the answer."
"And what, pray, is the answer?" He's clearly angry.
"You don't want me to die. Why? Because I'm an excellent blood source. You've got me wrapped around your finger, trapped by deals and promises. As long as you keep me alive, you have blood, and you don't have to buy people anymore."
"That's not–"
"Oh, but it is," she interrupts, taking a sip of her juice. "If it wasn't, you would already be across the table with your hands around my throat, choking me into submission at the disrespect of my insinuation."
His eyes flash with indignation built upon a foundation of disturbance.
She's right.
"Is that what you want?" he hisses, placing his hands on the table. "Because I can do that for you if you wish."
"Of course not." She scoffs. "I only want you to know that I'm aware. I'm aware of the game you've been playing. You like to keep me on my toes, believing things that aren't true so I don't make things more difficult for you. Dealing with a complacent, mewling, wanton Hermione Granger isn't as difficult as dealing with swotty, defiant, angry Hermione Granger. You don't want me to put up a fight."
He stands up. "What if that's exactly what I want?"
"It's not." She spears food with her fork. "You don't like it."
"And you would know that, how?"
She chews, glancing up to meet his eyes. "You prefer me pleading."
To her triumphant satisfaction, she sees a red flush crawling up his throat. It may be from fury. It may be from embarrassment. She doesn't know.
All she knows is that yet again, she's right.
"Sit down, Dramatic Malfoy," she says, an order. After another bite, she says, "I don't know anything about these parties, and I'd like to."
He looks shocked. In spite of his Occlumency, Malfoy's been caught off guard by Hermione.
Again.
"I suppose we should...Talk about it," he says, his words halting. "You're right."
"I'm always right."
He sinks down into his chair, his hair falling into his eyes as he lowers his gaze to the table.
"These parties aren't like audiences with the Dark Lord," he says, placing his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. "Those are more about pleasing or impressing the Dark Lord, giving him information, punishments, worshiping him, etcetera. But these parties are...A little more selfish in nature."
"Selfish how?"
He doesn't look at her, keeping his eyes down. "I don't think we'd get away with pretending. Not at Carrow's. If you think the Dark Lord is ruthless, it's nothing like Carrow. The Dark Lord is interested in power. Carrow is interested in...Other things."
Hermione looks at him with slightly widened eyes. She hasn't heard him sound like this before. When they went to Charon Palace, he was confident. Sure of himself. He knew what would happen, what would be possible, and how to speak to make everyone think that what he was doing to her was real. He handled everything.
Right now, he seems nervous.
Why?
"Okay," she says, frowning. "So, does that mean we avoid him?"
"Granger." He breathes a weak laugh. "There is no hiding from Carrow in his own manor. Especially not for you."
She tilts her head to the side. "What do you..."
At the look on Malfoy's face, when he meets her eyes, Hermione realizes what he's saying.
"By 'other things,' you mean me, right?"
He nods. More of his hair falls forward onto his forehead. He makes no move to push it back.
"Right." She places her fork gingerly on the table beside her plate. "What does that entail?"
"He may ask to see you alone."
"And you'll allow it?"
His eyes flash, dangerous and ice-cold.
"Never."
A chill runs down Hermione's spine, confusing her further. He makes no sense. He doesn't care about her. Everything between them so far has been a lie–just part of his enjoyment of his food.
Why would he care if Carrow wanted her?
"What–" Her voice cracks, faltering. She takes a quick sip of her juice, trying to hide the strange emotions that are warring with her hatred of him. "What other things would he do?"
"Ask me to do things to you in front of people."
Her cheeks feel hot. "That makes sense. What else?"
"Are you sure you want to know this?"
She gives him a short nod. "The more I know, the better prepared I can be to play my role. Just like last time. Tell me what else?"
"He may ask me to let others do things to you."
Her mind flashes with all sorts of horrible images, some worse than others. They intertwine with the false memories Malfoy created, making her feel queasy. Her throat aches with fear and her eyes sting.
"These aren't the problems, though," Malfoy says quietly, closing his eyes for a second. "Do you remember the night before we went to Charon?"
Malfoy telling her to fight. Him begging her to stop him. Her becoming overwhelmed and giving in. She'll never forget it.
"Yes."
"He might do that again–compel me."
"How does–How does he do that?"
"I can't tell you that."
"That's right," she says, remembering what he told her that night–that it was similar to an Unbreakable Vow, but that he couldn't tell her what it exactly was. She bites her lower lip. "So if he compels you...You can't exactly fight it. Not in front of all those people."
"That's the issue."
Hermione looks down at the table. Why would he find any of this an issue? She means nothing to him, so he might as well just do whatever he wants with her. There's nothing between them.
Right?
"Well, then you'll just have to do it." She picks up her fork, attempting to hide the fact that her fingers are trembling. The thought that tonight could be...That he could... She doesn't want to think about it.
"No."
Hermione lets out an exasperated sigh. "Malfoy, if he compels you–whatever that entails–then you won't have a choice. Neither will I. At that point, it's either you do it, or everything falls apart."
As if it hasn't fallen apart already, she thinks, trying to keep the misery out of her already-anguished mind.
"No," he repeats, his eyes glittering with something akin to anger.
"Yes," Hermione insists. "It doesn't matter what I want, or what you want. If you're forced, then we have no choice. Unless you want me to go to someone else."
"I'd rather die."
Hermione feels the heat rushing to her face again, but she wills it to cool. It's a lie. It's fake. He doesn't care about her–he's only concerned about how many galleons he spent on her, and having a long-term blood supply.
Malfoy sits up in his chair, leaning forward.
"I don't think you understand me," he says, his voice soft. It brings her gaze up to meet his. "I will not share you with anyone. I will not have anyone else touching you. When I told you that you were mine, I fucking meant it."
Hermione's heart skips several beats. She almost gives into it–to the desire to believe that he's concerned and possessive over her, and not just her blood. But then she remembers what he said, and a whip of anger cracks through her.
"Stop it," she hisses, standing up and slamming her fork down as she fixes him with a murderous glare. "Just stop . You told me you wanted me to hate you. You told me I would never mean anything more to you than my blood does. So spare me the false proprietorial bullshit. The second you find a better blood source, you'll turn me over to the first person who reaches their hands out."
She turns and storms toward the door.
A rush of air.
Malfoy's standing in front of her, towering over her and seething. He'd moved so fast that his hair is an unruly mess. His eyes are molten pools of lava, infuriated and loathsome. She can see now that Malfoy's wearing dark grey trousers.
Hermione doesn't want to step back, but the state of her mind the false memories have put her in tells her to. Tells her he's going to hurt her. To throw her on the table, tear her clothes off, and have his way with her. That he's going to rip her apart and make her bleed.
Against her desire, her body cowers away from him, her shoulders rising and her hands coming up.
The anger cools, but only marginally so.
"Granger," he says, slow and careful, "I do not care what you think of me, what you believe, or what you want me to do. I will never turn you over. I will never let Carrow have you. I promise you that if anyone touches you at that fucking party, they will lose their fucking hands. I promise you that."
Hermione inhales and doesn't let it out.
"Do you understand me?"
She nods.
He stands up straight, his gaze flickering over her. "Relax. You have nothing to fear from me. I won't hurt you."
"Is that a joke?" She straightens her back, but her legs are shaking. Fuck these stupid memories.
"No, Granger," he says, his tone a plateau. "It's not."
They stand there, staring at one another in silent challenge. Hermione isn't sure what to make of the things he's saying. She wants to believe he doesn't care–that he's only concerned about her blood.
But when he looks at her like that...
Her heart twists. If that's the case, why did he tell her she didn't matter to him? Why did he say he felt nothing but hunger?
She frowns, and breaks the silence.
"Is that everything I need to know for tonight?"
"No," he says with a mirthless laugh. "But no amount of preparation will ever be enough."
"Try me."
"At Charon Palace, you were being presented as a slave. At Carrow's estate, you will be perceived as what you really are to them: a toy. Therefore, it will look suspicious if you don't act like one. The general rules apply–eyes down, speak only when spoken to, do exactly as I say. But there are more rules for this event."
"All right."
"As far as they know, you're something I use any way I want, whenever I see fit." Hermione feels an uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach. She'd seen as much in the false memories. "They'll be expecting to see what the others saw at Charon. Not everyone who will be there tonight was at that dinner, though. That means anticipation via word of mouth has likely grown over the past fortnight."
"Should I be resistant at all?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Yes, but only to a point. They've seen that you do have the ability to break."
"And will you have to do it?" She feels sick with disgust and vexation. "Break me?"
"I'll fight as hard as you do." His eyes glint.
"And if you're compelled?"
"I'll try to find a way, just like last time."
Hermione lowers her head, letting out a huff of irritation. She knew this was coming–she knew that Charon would be the last time she would find herself in another dangerous situation with Malfoy. She just wishes they were going into this the same way as last time. Instead, they're walking in with her hating him and him not caring about her.
She doesn't trust him.
"Give me an example," she says, holding her head up. "Of something that happened to someone else."
He grimaces. "Well, I've only been to one of these parties, and–"
"Really?"
"I never had a toy to bring. I made excuses, did things for my father or the Dark Lord, or lied."
"That's surprising."
"In what way?" His brow furrows in ire. "You think I'm like them, do you? That I'd bring someone in there against their will and do what those animals do?"
She arches one eyebrow, another challenge. "Would you?"
"No, Granger. I'm not a fucking monster."
"Could have fooled me."
He lifts his hand, and Hermione scrambles backward. He sighs and pushes his fingers through his hair, just like the last time he raised his hand and caused her to flinch. Then, he mirrors her earlier pose and folds his arms over his chest.
"I work for the Dark Lord because I have no choice. It's do what he says, or die. He told me I was his executioner–so I am. He tells me to torture information out of people–I do it. I'm a vampire–I've killed people on purpose and by accident to sustain myself. But am I depraved? Do I enjoy pain and suffering? Do I enjoy the thought of hurting people for the sake of those men's sick fantasies? No. No, I do not."
"And what about me?" She draws herself up to her full height, which only brings her to his shoulders. "Do you enjoy the thought of hurting me?"
He runs his hands down his face, clearly frustrated. "Salazar, fuck. Do you hear yourself, Granger?! Think with that brain of yours! The only pain I'd enjoy when it comes to you is the pain I'll cause to anyone who does hurt you. In fact, I'd relish in it. Does that make any sense to you?"
"Quite frankly, no. Nothing you say ever makes sense to me."
Malfoy takes a step closer to her, causing their bodies to be mere millimeters apart. His eyes blaze down into hers, an inferno trying to escape past the walls of his Occlusion. Hermione feels like she can't breathe, lest they touch and shatter whatever confusing moment this is
"The only blood sweeter than yours is the blood of those who hurt you."
She doesn't know what to say to that, so she mumbles about needing to practice her song, and leaves the dining hall like there are demons at her heels.
-
"Would you both mind listening to me sing this song? For practice."
Tillian and Faye both look up from their individual projects–Faye from her knitting, Tillian from cleaning his wizard's chess set. They grin at each other, and then up at Hermione, who stands before them in one of the random sitting rooms in the manor.
"Hell yes we do," Tillian says, setting down the rook he's been polishing.
"Practice?" Faye asks. "For what?"
Hermione purses her lips, debating how much to tell them. They don't know about Charon Palace, or any other details regarding the Dark Lord. And since they moved to their new room together last night, they seem so happy. Blissful. She doesn't want to upset that.
"Malfoy and I are attending an event tonight," she says. "I'll be singing a song for an audience. I've been practicing all day, and soon I'll have to stop and get ready. But I wanted to see what you think before I do."
She doesn't add that it's in the hopes she won't be as much of a target for depravity.
"Is this event safe?" Tillian asks with a dark look. "Malfoy won't be hurting you, will he?"
If only they knew the possibilities.
"No, he won't be. It's an event for his...Well, the Dark Lord's constituents, for lack of a better word."
"Won't that be dangerous?" Faye asks, her brows coming together in concern. "I thought you said you weren't allowed to be seen?"
"Erm..." Hermione anxiously tugs on the end of one of her curls. "I don't know how to explain."
Tillian narrows his eyes. Hermione can see his brain working, adding things together and subtracting what doesn't make sense. Then, his eyes widen.
"They think you're his prisoner, don't they?"
"In a manner," she says, voice weak. She doesn't like lying to her friends, even if it's by omission. "But I swear, Malfoy has no intention of hurting me at all ."
"Didn't seem like it yesterday morning," Tillian says angrily.
"Well, we're having a...Thing right now. It's complicated."
"You have a lot of complications, Hermione."
"Please," Hermione says. "Please just let it go. Trust that I'll be okay."
Tillian doesn't look like he likes the sound of that, but he does as she asks and lets it go.
"Well, let's go!" Faye says, clapping her hands.
Her friends hop to their feet, excitedly following Hermione to the tearoom, where the enchanted piano automatically begins to play upon their entrance. They take their seats, pulling chairs away from the round table and setting them next to each other, facing Hermione.
"So, this is a song my mother liked," Hermione says as she sits down at the piano bench, faced away from the self-playing keys. "It's Muggle and we all know how they feel about Muggles."
"Oh, yes we do," Faye says, and they all laugh.
"I figured it's a bit of revenge, making them listen to a Muggleborn sing a Muggle song. In any case, I'm nervous about singing in front of people, especially people like them , but it's necessary. So I'll just do it in front of you."
The piano begins to play the song she's been practicing, and she starts singing. It's not as difficult to sing in front of her friends as she knows it will be at Carrow's party, but it's helpful to see their reactions when she hits the notes she wants to. Hermione feels a bit odd, thinking back to Hogwarts and how the only things she cared about were books and learning. Her hobbies were few, and the few she had–like singing–she'd kept locked away.
When the song is over and her friends are fawning over her voice, she feels her confidence spiking. Not just for the song, but for the entire night. Confusing situation with Malfoy aside, she knows the only person she can trust tonight will be herself. As long as she holds on to that, she'll be able to endure without needing his support.
Faye and Tillian insist she sing the song a few more times, just for good measure, so she does. This time, she stands up so she can see what that feels like. Just as she's getting to her feet, she glances behind them. At the open doorway, she thinks she sees someone who had been standing there turn and walk away. Someone tall, with pale blond hair.
-
Just as Hermione's stepping out from her second bath for the day, a knock comes at her bedroom door. She hurries to tie her robe on, wondering if Tillian or Faye have come to wish her luck. When she opens the door, however, she's surprised to see Malfoy standing there. He's not alone.
Behind him, stands Tracey Davis.
"Oh," Hermione says, pleasantly surprised. "Hello, Tracey."
"Hi, Hermione." Her voice is soft and melodic. She seems very kind.
Malfoy gestures to her. "She's here to help you get ready."
Hermione's gaze hardens when it settles upon him. "Thank you."
Malfoy nods, turns, and walks away.
Hermione gives Tracey a bright smile and steps aside, letting her into the room. Her eyes sweep over Tracey's appearance. She's wearing quite the risque outfit, and some very high heels. Her lavender dress is short and tight, stopping just beneath her rear. It's got thin straps that cross at the back and ruched sides. Her hair flows down her back, ink-black and shiny.
"This room is beautiful," Tracey says, looking around and taking everything in. "Draco's really kind to let you have such extravagant quarters. I sleep in Blaise's room with him, so I don't have my own space. I don't mind it, though."
Hermione fights the urge to laugh. "Malfoy is anything but kind."
Tracey gives her a strange look, then moves to sit on the edge of Hermione's bed.
"I'm sure you don't need help getting ready," she says, "but I was told this is your first one. So I thought I could answer questions and sort-of help you be prepared. Blaise and I are going tonight as well, you know."
"I had heard," Hermione says. She fidgets with her nails in front of her stomach. "Did you...Are you okay?"
"Of course," Tracey says with a soft laugh. "I'm very fortunate that Blaise found me. And you?"
Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but doesn't know how to answer her. She's not okay at all. She never feels safe. She and Malfoy don't get along.
"My friends are here," she decides to say instead. "Their names are Tillian and Faye. They went to Hogwarts with us, but they're younger."
"I met them, actually," Tracey says, leaning back on her hands and crossing one leg over the other. "When I was here helping out."
"Oh! I wanted to thank you." Hermione clasps her hands in front of her chest. "I owe you my life, it would seem. You and Blaise both."
"It was nothing," Tracey says. "The only reason I'm alive and escaped during the battle is because of you, Hermione. I don't think you realized, but you fended off a curse that could have killed me, right as I was escaping."
Hermione presses a hand to her mouth. She feels the ache returning to her throat. "I–I didn't know."
"You saved a lot of people that day."
"It doesn't feel like it." Hermione turns her face away, before Tracey can see her eyes fill with tears. "I escaped with some of my friends, and we went on the run. I was the only one who survived that."
The corners of Tracey's lips tug down in a sad expression. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."
Hermione sniffles and wipes a stray tear from her cheek. She offers Tracey a smile. "Anyway, how did you come to be with Blaise?"
"He found me," she says. "In Diagon Alley. I wasn't exactly an Undesirable, but he spotted me and knew that if anyone found out what side I fought on, I'd be killed. So he took me in."
"And you...You're his...?"
"I'm not his slave or his toy, no," Tracey says, and her smile reaches her eyes. "I love him."
Hermione goes to sit beside her. "And you know? What he does below his estate?"
"Yes, I–I do." Tracey reached for Hermione's hand. Both of their hands are warm. "I wish there was something I could do, but there isn't. Vampires and other creatures who consume blood will continue to do it, whether their food comes from a pit or a town. I know there's nothing else for me, and Blaise is all I have. I just accept what he does because I have to."
"And does he send you to the Dark Lord to...Accompany Death Eaters all the time?"
"Not all the time. The time I saw you there was a time when Blaise had been ordered to. Carrow threatened to expose his business to the Dark Lord. So I told Blaise to just send me."
Hermione frowns. Carrow had said the slaves were graciously offered. He'd lied to the Dark Lord.
"But you had to...With Rowle."
Tracey lowers her eyes. "Unfortunately. But sometimes, we have to do what we can manage. If I don't, they could take me away from Blaise. I don't want that."
An eerie bell rings in Hermione's mind, temporarily blocking the loudness of the false memories that are poisoning her thoughts. She'd felt the same about Malfoy. Fear of being taken away. Determination to do what it takes. Acceptance because he's all she has.
All she had.
Hermione feels morbidly relieved. She'd been feeling remorseful about her knowledge of the oubliette, and of accepting her situation, turning a blind eye to what Blaise was doing. It's comforting to hear that there's another person who understands that. Who understands what it's like to be powerless in the Dark Lord's Britain.
Still. If anyone from her past knew who she'd become, or the things she'd done with Malfoy, they'd detest her. Even though they're dead, sometimes, she feels Harry and Ron watching her with disappointment.
"Well, you should start getting ready," Tracey says. "There's only an hour left."
"Oh, that's right!"
Hermione jumps up from the bed and rushes to sit at her vanity. She does her make-up as simply as she thinks she can get away with. She doesn't want to draw more attention to herself than is necessary. She sticks with rouge and a dark red lipstick that makes her teeth look whiter than snow. For her hair, she decides to wear it down and curly, using a pick comb to fluff it out as much as she can without disrupting the curls that she'd defined with cream. By the time she's done with that, her hair stops at her waist.
She smiles at herself in the mirror, as though she's going out for a normal day, and not a very disturbing party. It'll have to do.
"I don't know if I have any dresses like yours," Hermione says, eyeing Tracey's short dress warily. Hermione's never worn anything that short and tight before. The shortest skirt she's ever worn was her Hogwarts school skirt, which stopped at mid-thigh.
Tracey opens Hermione's wardrobe, sifting through the dresses and dress robes that Pinky had provided her with. "Give me one second."
Hermione watches as Tracey leaves the room. She can't help but notice that even on carpet, she knows how to walk very well in her heels. In her absence, Hermione goes to her wardrobe and looks at the bottom. She finds a pair of strappy white platform heels that aren't as tall as the ones she'd worn to Charon, but that are tall enough to mean something.
Tracey comes dashing back in. "I sent Blaise back through the Floo to get one of mine. I think you'll like it. Anyway, I've got to use the loo."
She disappears into the loo, leaving Hermione in the room to try on the heels and make sure she likes them.
Knock. Knock.
Since Tracey's in the loo, Hermione goes to the door. Since she's only wearing her robe and the heels, she opens it and peeks outside. It's Malfoy. He's got one hand in his pocket and the other arm has some sort of burgundy satin folded over it.
The first thing she notices is his hair. The platinum blond strands have been swept back, away from his face and into a coiff that's got a bit of unruliness to it. He's wearing a pair of slim black trousers, a black blazer open over a white button-up, a black belt with a silver buckle, and a pair of dragon leather shoes she's only seen him wear one other time. They look shiny and polished. The top three buttons of Malfoy's shirt are undone, revealing some of his many tattoos.
Oh, dear.
When she opens the door fully, she sees his gaze dropping first to her robe, then to her thighs, then to her high heels, and then bouncing back up to her lips. A few seconds later, he drags it up to meet her eyes.
Wordlessly, he hands her the fabric. When she takes it from him, their fingertips brush. She jolts, yanking her arm back, and the dress with it.
"Thank you," she says.
He nods, turns, and walks back down the corridor.
"Is that the dress?" Tracey asks excitedly, having exited the loo right as Hermione's bedroom door clicked shut. She comes to Hermione's side, taking the fabric from her and holding it up for them to view. "Isn't it cute?"
Hermione reaches out to touch the satin. It feels as expensive as anything else in Hermione's wardrobe.
"Is it going to be comfortable?" she asks, trying not to show too much discomfort. If she can't deal with a dress, how is she going to be able to deal with whatever happens at the party?
"It's got some stretch to it," Tracey says, tugging the fabric in opposite directions to show her. "Wanna put it on?"
"Sure. I've just got to put on–"
"Oh, of course! I'm sorry." Tracey turns to face the door.
Hermione takes off her robe and puts on her knickers. She almost puts her bra on, then stops.
"Should I be wearing a bra with it?"
"I wouldn't. The back is pretty much completely open."
Hermione already feels flushed with heat, thinking of going out without a bra on. She's never done such a thing. To do it at a party full of lecherous peons is nervewracking.
"Here's the dress," Tracey says, blindly holding it out for Hermione to take.
Hermione moves the dress every which way, trying to figure out the right ways to put it on. Once she figures it out, she lowers the zipper on the side. After shimmying it on, she realizes it needs to be tied in the back. Tracey helps her and when it's nice and snug, Hermione goes to look at it in the mirror.
The dress is tight and ruched, just like Tracey's, but it has an asymmetrical hem that looks like it's been wrapped around her chest and thighs. The straps are simple string straps, and the back is open with the same straps weaving from side to side like a corset. Against the rich russet brown of her skin, the bordeaux fabric looks striking. It brings out the coral undertones in her face, adding to the flushed look she'd given herself with rouge. It's a shade of burgundy that is as vivid as garnet. Together with the white heels, dark red lips, and her big curls, she gives off a sultry vibe.
She doesn't recognize herself.
Tracey approaches her from behind, placing friendly hands on her shoulders.
"I think you look stunning, Hermione," she says. "I definitely think that Draco will appreciate it."
Hermione's entire body fills with heat. "Oh, no...We're not..."
"I saw the two of you holding hands that night at Charon," Tracey says. "I was the only one who noticed."
Hermione lowers her eyes. She remembers it well. It was her anchor.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Tracey assures her. "Who we were before the war isn't who we are today. Everything is different."
"Well, we aren't anything. At least, not right now. Things are...Complicated." Hermione says with a frown. She hasn't discussed this with anyone, but Tracey seems like someone she can tell.
"I know he's a vampire," Tracey says. "And I know that Draco bought you from Blaise. So I know how you came to be here. It's okay if it started one way, then became something more."
Hermione looks at her reflection again. She's standing here, done up like a doll with a dress that looks like it belongs on a Muggle runway, being forced to go to a strange party where she'll likely be made to do strange things. To imagine her Hogwarts-age self doing any of this is laughable.
What has her life become?
"Everything feels tangled," Hermione says, running her fingers over her collarbone. "Like who I am and who he is are tangled up with who we both used to be. It's confusing and it's complicated and he's...He's difficult."
"Just remember that nothing's out of the ordinary." Tracey gives her a disarming smile. "Things are bound to get tangled up when the feelings are there in the first place."
She walks away, heading for the door. Hermione stands there, admiring her reflection for a few moments longer. The only time she's felt this beautiful was in her dress for Charon Palace, and that was destroyed. Tainted. Will this dress be tainted, too? Will there be blood and pain and torture? Will this be another bad memory to add to the box of memories that have to stay? Will this–
Her brain catches up.
What.
Feelings there in the first place?
Hermione's head snaps to the right, tearing away from her mirror and over to the door, which is still open. Tracey's waiting for her there, looking puzzled.
"What's the matter?" she asks.
Hermione starts to reply, to ask her for more details. Did Malfoy have feelings for her before the war ended? How could that be possible? He'd despised her very existence, and he'd shown it over the years of their childhood. He had told her he was attracted to her in school, but to have feelings?
And yet...
Some of the things Malfoy had said to her this past month-and-a-half are making sense now, puzzle pieces clicking into place in open spaces. The things he said to her in moments that she can only describe as panic, or anxiety. Hidden meanings that she'd thought were strange, but now might have purpose.
Well, in any case, if those feelings were there, they're gone. They couldn't possibly have been very strong in the first place, given the only interactions they had in school were spiteful. Hermione hadn't even thought he was attractive until Sixth Year, when she started to look at all the boys around her and analyze them.
She banishes it from her mind. Wills it into the box of memories. She doesn't want to deal with this–not tonight. Not when Malfoy can read her thoughts. It will only complicate things further, worrying about things that don't matter anymore.
Still.
The slight chance that he might actually have had feelings for her–that his possessiveness might actually make some damn sense–makes her heart shiver. It feels like a betrayal. He's already hurt her by telling her that she means less to him than her blood. Why can't her heart understand that?
Hermione makes sure her heels are buckled tight, and then follows Tracey out into the corridor. She glances down, watching the way she walks and does her best to mimic it. The confidence to hold her head high, know where her feet are going to land, and allow her hips to sway naturally. Hermione needs to have that. She doesn't want to look weak, even if she has to defer to her master .
"Are you nervous?" Tracey asks.
"A little. I'm singing tonight."
"You are? Oh, that's good." Tracey appears relieved. "That's good. They like when performances take place. They like to see things that entertain them, and they don't always have to be sexual in nature."
"Malfoy had said that if we had some sort of talent to showcase, then they'll be less likely to want demonstrations from us. Is that true?"
"Yes, in some cases," Tracey replies. She grimaces. "I'm not sure how it'll go for you, though. You're...Anticipated."
Hermione sighs. "I know."
"It can't hurt to try. At the very least, it'll help for the next party. By then, you won't be as interesting to them. They'll have something else to interest them, hopefully."
That doesn't make Hermione feel any better. She's going to sing the song because it might help, but the thought that it might not isn't something she's prepared for. She knew some things might be expected with Malfoy, but she'd thought that entertaining the party in other ways would reduce the amount or intensity. It would seem that that is not the case.
"Just remember to appear demure," Tracey says as they walk. "You don't want anyone to suspect there's anything there between you two."
"There isn't."
Tracey looks at her out of the corner of her eye. "Right. Either way, just make sure you remember who they perceive you as. The dinner at the palace was less exposed because of the table and the wall. This won't be. It's an open room with different levels, couches, lounge chairs, things like that."
"And a stage?"
"No, not a stage. If anyone wants to perform a dance or song, they stand on the lowest level and everyone looks down to watch them."
"So...Are there many other girls who perform?"
"A few. Most like to dance. The men seem to like that."
"What kind of dancing?" When Tracey's mouth pulls into a frown, Hermione holds up a hand. She knows what sort of dancing. "Never mind. I know what kind."
"You should be okay," Tracey says. They're nearing the door to the upstairs Floo room. She stops Hermione by touching her arm, and the two girls face each other. "I'll be there the whole time. If you need support, just look at me."
"Will you be next to me?"
"Not always. Blaise is the type to take turns about the room, which means I have to hang off his arm and look like I do anything he asks."
"Do you? Do anything he asks."
Tracey laughs. "Oh, absolutely not. He does whatever I say. But they can't know that."
Hermione smiles, thinking of the grinning wizard being ordered around by quiet witch Tracey Davis. Instead of saying anything more, she squeezes Tracey's hand. They walk into the Floo room, seeing that Malfoy and Blaise are already there. They're standing near the Floo, each with a drink in their hands. Blaise is dressed similar to Malfoy, just without a blazer.
"Well, well, well," Blaise says, his arm lifting to wrap around Tracey as she comes to stand beside him. She wraps hers around his waist and places her other hand on his chest. They look comfortable. "The little Gryffindor cleans up nice."
Hermione feels exposed. She's suddenly aware of her legs, and how short the dress is. How visible her thighs are. Her body feels like it's on full display, spared only by the way her curls hide her chest, shoulders, and upper arms.
And when her gaze travels over to Malfoy, the feeling intensifies.
He's staring at her, his eyes absorbing every inch of her that can be seen, lingering on her thighs, her chest, her throat, and her dark red lips. Nothing is spared, not even her feet wrapped in the white platforms. Even though his face is impassive, his expression blank, she feels like he's trailing fire along the path his eyes are taking. He's Occluding, but something's breaking through.
Her traitorous mind goes right to Tracey's words.
"Things are bound to get tangled up when the feelings are there in the first place."
Her cheeks are hot. Too hot. She watches him, waiting for any sign that he'd heard her thoughts. Any acknowledgment of what Tracey said.
His eyes don't leave her lips.
"Don't just stare at the witch, Draco," Blaise says. "Tell her what you think."
"Stunning," he says immediately, his forefinger tapping against the glass that his drink is in. Though it sounds like he's just described the weather, it feels like he's just dressed her in gold and draped her in diamonds and rubies.
He's called her beautiful twice, stunning once.
Does he believe it?
Does she?
"We'll head on over," Blaise says, taking Tracey by the hand. He calls for a house elf and Blimsy appears, accepting his half-empty drink glass from him. He then pulls Tracey to the Floo, steps in, and calls for Carrow's estate.
They're alone.
Hermione purses her lips, twisting them to the side as she crosses her arms over her chest.
"I feel silly," she says, forgetting that they hate each other right now.
"You don't look silly," he says, his voice quiet. He takes a sip of his drink, looking at her over the rim. "Not in the slightest."
She's tired of her face feeling hot.
"Should we go?" she asks.
"Yes. Did you have any questions before we do?" A house elf appears unbidden–her name is Moe, if Hermione remembers correctly–and accepts his glass. He thanks her, and she pop s out of the room.
"I–Well, yes." She averts her eyes. "And something I should say."
"All right."
"How am I supposed to know when to sing? Like, will they call me up, or will you present me, or...? I'm just not sure how it works."
"I'll tell the hostess when we arrive, and then someone will come to tap me when they're ready for you."
"I need a piano, like the one in your tearoom," she says. "An enchanted one."
"They already have everything you'd need."
"Okay." She lets out a harsh breath. "I guess that works."
He tilts his head to the side and Hermione notices that the sides of his hair are shorn, leaving the hair long on top. "Did you want a Calming Draught? It won't work all night, but it will for at least a couple of hours."
"For what?"
"Your nerves."
Hermione cast him a wary glance. Why does he care if she's nervous?
She agrees, and Pinky appears with a small glass vial. Hermione accepts it with a smile, pops the cork, and downs it. While she waits for it to start working, she looks up at him again.
"I suppose I should give my prior consent," she says with a decided nod. "Not that I've got the option, really. Dubious though it may be, I consent to you doing whatever you need to do to make them believe you."
Malfoy fixes the cuffs of his shirt, ensuring they're folded correctly. "Noted."
"Just...Try not to..." She bites her lower lip for a second. "Try not to go all the way, okay? Unless you're forced by the–the compulsion, or whatever."
"Okay."
"What happens if I resist?"
"It wouldn't matter. I'd still have to do it."
"And if I give in?"
His gaze snaps to meet hers, still empty but searing hot. "Don't."
Hermione swallows, her cheeks once again as hot as the sun.
Malfoy approaches her. Hermione holds her breath, trying not to cringe away. There's nothing he can say or do right now to erase the way the memories are making her feel, and she can't rid herself of the fear they create.
He stops in front of her, looking down at her through his lashes. She trembles as he brings his hand up to her shoulder, seeking it beneath her curls. Without saying anything, he pushes, grabbing her other shoulder and pulling, turning her around. She feels his fingers, soft against the skin of her back as he unlaces her dress, and it makes her shiver. Her heart is pounding, her body unable to move.
What is he doing?
Suddenly, he pulls the laces tight. Tight enough to push some of the breath out of her. It cinches in her waist. When he's finished tying the strings, she realizes that her dress had actually been a bit loose.
He'd noticed.
When he's still standing behind her, she asks her final question.
"Will there be pain?"
He lets the strings of her dress drop, where she feels them brushing against her rear. She doesn't turn around, even as she feels the knuckles of one of his hands trailing up her side and over to her upper back, where they linger between her shoulder blades.
Then, she feels his hand slipping down to her hip where he drags her backward against him. His other hand slides up the front of her throat and he tilts her head back to look up at him. His eyes search hers for a moment, and she feels his finger tapping against her pulse. His eyes drop to her lips for a moment and she feels her heart trip over itself.
"It's not a place of pain, Granger," he says, his voice low. It rolls down her spine like smoke, making her shiver again. "I think you know that."
"I know. I'm just...Afraid."
There's a moment's hesitation, and then his hand slides down, away from her neck, and all the way down to her hand. He wraps his fingers around it and squeezes it once. Hermione holds her breath, feeling electric currents shooting through her stomach, born of his touch.
"Don't worry. I'm gonna take care of you."
Hermione knows he will.
That's what scares her.