Five days later Hermione was seated on the floor by the window folding what was, by her count, her two hundred and thirty-sixth paper crane when the door opened and a young man peered through. His eyes swept across the room and when they landed on Hermione he entered the room and quickly closed the door behind himself.
His expression was shifty and he stared at her intently as he came forward.
He seemed hurried.
He was solidly built with dark hair and an angular face. He was wearing formal, dark blue dress robes. He had thick stubble across his face.
Hermione's instinctive response at the sight of him was utter terror.
She froze as though petrified and stared.
There was nowhere to run. She couldn't even scream.
It hadn't ever occurred to her that a stranger might just walk into her room one day.
He paused slightly as he approached, noting her expression.
"You don't remember me," he said in a tone of surprise. There seemed to be a hint of offense in the words.
Hermione studied him desperately, trying to guess who he was. He seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps from school? Someone she hadn't known well.
He kept coming across the room. He was halfway across it and Hermione's hands started spasming as she struggled to think of what to do. If she bolted, she'd have to get out of earshot or he could just order her to stop. Perhaps if she plugged her ears...but he could just stun her.
She couldn't-
He was only a few feet away and his expression was growing triumphant.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack and Malfoy appeared beside her out of thin air. Hermione started and shrank toward him, away from the approaching stranger.
The intense, triumphant expression on the young man's face faded sharply into indifference at the sight of Malfoy. The shiftiness of his posture falling away as he straightened and glanced around Hermione's room.
"Lose your way, Montague?" Malfoy asked coldly as he stepped slightly in front of Hermione.
Montague shrugged.
"Just exploring," he said. "I got curious when I saw her. You've got a lot of protective wards on this room, Malfoy."
Hermione's eyes darted to the walls. Were there? She'd never noticed. It was difficult to detect certain types of wards without a wand or a bit of magic to press into them.
"The Dark Lord entrusted her to me with specific instructions regarding her care. It's always useful to know when someone is trespassing," Malfoy replied. His tone was pure ice.
Montague laughed. "Is she not allowed visitors?"
"She is not," Malfoy said, stepping away from Hermione after giving her the most perfunctory glance. "And if you were just curious you could have asked me. It's nearly midnight. Perhaps we should return to the party. I'm sure Astoria will be wanting us."
Malfoy stalked across the room and waited for Montague to follow him. Montague seemed to intentionally take his time.
He glanced around the room again and then back at Hermione. The intensity returned to his eyes as he stared down at her with Malfoy behind him.
Something. There was something he was trying to communicate to her.
Then he turned and followed Malfoy out.
Hermione stared at the door that closed behind them for several minutes.
Montague.
Graham Montague?
He'd been on the Inquisitorial Squad. And he'd been captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Fred and George had shoved him into the Vanishing Cabinet during Fifth Year.
Hermione barely knew him. He barely knew her.
When had she known him to the extent that he would expect her to recognize him?
While she was thinking, Hermione laid aside the piece of paper her spasming fingers had wrecked.
The Malfoys were hosting a New Year's Party in the manor. She would have had no idea if Montague and Malfoy hadn't appeared.
She stood and went to the door, hesitating. She wanted to see people with her own eyes but the thought also terrified her.
If anyone saw her they could do anything they wanted to her unless Malfoy showed up and stopped them. Her sharp, instinctive relief at his arrival earlier unsettled her in more ways than she wanted to think about.
Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.
She stood at the door for several minutes before hesitantly opening it. She crept down the hall and slipped into one of the disused servants passages, winding her way toward the main wing of the house.
Gradually the sound of a string quartet began to reach her ears accompanied by the buzz of conversations. She stopped and listened.
Music.
She hadn't heard music in years.
She paused and leaned against the wall to absorb it. Shutting her eyes and breathing to the tempo of the strings.
She had forgotten how it felt to hear music.
After fifteen minutes she remembered herself and continued on her way. She cracked open a door and peeked into a darkened hallway to see if it was clear. She was about to step out when she heard a rustle of fabric and a woman's giggle. Hermione stepped sharply back and watched Astoria dart around the corner grasping someone's wrist. A male wrist most distinctly not belonging to Malfoy.
Hermione couldn't see clearly in the darkness but the build of the man was wrong. Broader and shorter. And not pale enough or blond.
Astoria leaned back against the wall and the man closed in on her until Hermione couldn't see the blonde witch at all. Hermione's eyes widened as the giggling gave way to breathy gasps.
She hadn't-well, it wasn't necessarily surprising-Hermione just hadn't expect to encounter it.
Suddenly two, milk white legs became visible as they were wrapped around the man's hips and the noises took a turn from gasping to moaning.
Hermione found herself weirdly fascinated until a horrifying thought occurred to her-
Malfoy would find it in her memory.
She stepped sharply back and fled silently up the stairs. She took another route toward the ballroom.
She had gotten quite good at navigating most of the manor. As long as she didn't rush herself and used the walls as a touchstone she could go almost anywhere.
On the third floor there was a cramped, twisty little stairway that led to a balcony alcove over the ballroom. Hermione assumed the party was located in the ballroom.
She'd hoped to go somewhere where she could listen to conversation but Astoria's hallway affair had interfered. Hermione replayed what she had witnessed. The act itself wasn't surprising but the indiscretion seemed excessive. Cheating on her husband in a hallway filled with his family's portraits. Even if it were an open-marriage the overtness seemed impolitic.
Hermione slipped into the alcove, knelt down and peeked over the railing, down at the party. The ballroom was filled with people all decked out in their most lavish robes. The room was resplendent in its decorations. Glittering. The chandeliers were lit with fairy lights and in the center of the room a tower of champagne belle coupes had been constructed and stood at least six feet tall; champagne was flowing down it in an endless magical fountain.
It was a party meant for the society pages. There were several photographers snapping pictures for the next morning's paper.
Hermione saw Pius Thicknesse and several other important figures in the Ministry. There were dozens of Death Eaters Hermione recognized.
A flash of pale blond caught Hermione's eye and she found Malfoy engaged in a conversation with Dolores Umbridge. The Warden was dressed in pink and fuschia dress robes with a plunging neckline and a pendant suggestively nestled in her bosom.
Umbridge was simpering and touching Malfoy on the arm while he remained stone-faced. His eyes kept surreptitiously flicking down to her chest in a way that appeared to be a mixture of curiosity and malaise.
Before Hermione could take further note of the interaction, a scarlet figure caught her attention. She glanced over and then did a double take. There was a surrogate at the party.
Hermione's eyes raced across the room and she realised there were nine of them there.
She stared in astonishment. She couldn't recognize any of them; they were all bonneted and following wizards around as though they were shadows. Their heads were tucked downward and their shoulders curled forward submissively.
Some of the wizards they accompanied were Death Eaters. Hermione recognised Amycus Carrow, Mulciber, and Avery. The other wizards were younger. She thought one might be Adrian Pucey and another Marcus Flint.
The surrogates, Hermione realised as she watched, were being used as status symbols. Paraded about to show off a bloodline's importance.
Hermione's chest grew tight and her face twisted as she watched.
The women didn't go near each other. Presumably they had been ordered not to wander. But as two of them happened to pass each other Hermione saw their hands brush for an instant. To pass a message or merely for comfort Hermione couldn't tell from the distance overhead.
Hermione had assumed that the other surrogates were kept cloistered away in houses the way she was. Clearly it was a mistaken assumption.
It was Hermione who was the exceptional case. Order member. Hidden memories. Blood-bound manacles. Given to the High Reeve. Taken to Voldemort.
It was possible the other girls were even permitted to go out alone. In fact, given that they were traceable, there wasn't necessarily any reason that they couldn't.
Perhaps Hermione was even technically allowed to do such a thing. Although somehow she doubted it. If she wasn't allowed visitors it seemed dubious that Malfoy would let her leave the estate.
"One minute till midnight!" a witch with a sonorused voice called out gaily, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "Get ready for your New Year's kisses!
Astoria swept back into the room. Her robes were straightened and her expression innocent but there was a faint sense of dishevelment about her person that seemed obvious to Hermione. Her lipstick was faintly smeared so that it didn't rest entirely within the lines of her lips. Not an overt smudge, but enough that the shape of her mouth was carelessly softened. Her expression was smug.
Hermione watched Astoria make her way over to Malfoy. Astoria's expression schooled itself into that of affection as she drew closer but there was a spark of something else in her eyes.
Malfoy looked her over carefully but his expression didn't so much as flicker. Hermione couldn't see Astoria's face well from her angle.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!" The room started chanting a countdown to the new year.
As the numbers wound down Malfoy reached forward, his expression still blank, and ran his thumb across Astoria's mouth.
At zero he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Astoria's. A camera flashed. The room exploded with magical fireworks and cheers and clanking glassware as people toasted.
Malfoy's lips remained pressed against Astoria's but as he kissed his wife he raised his eyes, looking over Astoria's head. His cool, grey eyes immediately locked onto Hermione's face.
Hermione forgot to breathe.
She stared back. Frozen.
Her stomach flipped sharply. Her heart started pounding until she could hear it in her ears. She shivered. She felt she should draw back out of sight but found herself trapped, as though she were locked in place by the cold silver.
He continued to stare up at her until Astoria broke off the kiss and turned away. Then his eyes dropped and a false, aristocratic smile curved across his lips as he glanced around the room, clapping without enthusiasm for several seconds before snatching up a flute of champagne from a floating tray.
He knocked it back as though it were mouthwash.
Hermione sat back and pressed her hands against her chest and willed her heart to stop pounding.
The party lasted for hours. Hermione watched the social interactions carefully. Looking for signs of tension and alliances. Trying to identify the social order that existed in order to understand what was left out by The Daily Prophet.
She spotted Graham Montague mingling and watched him for some time, trying to discern if there was anything familiar about him. He seemed entirely foreign to her.
Malfoy did not mingle. He stood and let other people mingle with him. It grew steadily apparent to Hermione which people knew him to be the High Reeve and which were unaware. There was a sort of reverence and delicacy in how young Death Eaters approached him. Older Death Eaters like Mulciber and Nott Sr and Yaxley treated him with a mixture of deference and resentment.
While others there might not have known why Malfoy was treated so carefully by the Death Eaters, the respect was contagious. The room oriented itself around Malfoy in a way that was unnerving.
Malfoy played his part like a benevolent king. The coldness and the sense of danger to his person was undeniable but he layered it beneath aristocratic courtesy. The hard unyielding expression he wore around her was absent. He looked indulgent. He smirked and engaged in what appeared to be endless streams of small talk with anyone who approached. But to Hermione, unable to make out his words and simply watching him, he always seemed cold and bored.
It was nearly four in the morning before the last guests departed.
Hermione made her way cautiously back to her room. She didn't want to run into Astoria again, or any stragglers. When she reached the hallway leading to her room, she peeked around the corner and found Malfoy standing there.
He glanced over and caught sight of her immediately.
"Have fun?" he asked.
She hesitated for several seconds before she walked around the corner and came toward him, shrugging.
"It was more interesting than just reading about it," she said.
He snorted.
"Words I would never have expected to hear from you," he said. Then he stared at her, his eyes narrowed.
"Why is Montague interested in you?" he inquired, arching an eyebrow.
Hermione glanced up at him. Of course that was why he was there.
She was surprised he was asking. He had, she'd realised, a schedule for examining her memories. Approximately every ten days. He'd skipped the last session and left it to Voldemort, but she was expecting him to show up at some point the next day. If he wanted to he could have just waited.
"I don't know," she said. "I barely knew him in school."
Curiosity bloomed in Malfoy's eyes.
"Really? How intriguing," he said in a musing tone. "You are so full of surprises."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Do you say that to every girl?" she said in a sarcastically sweet tone.
He looked at her sharply and then chuckled.
"Go to bed, Mudblood."
Despite the phrasing it didn't feel like a command. Hermione stared at him for a moment longer before she walked into her room anyway.
He was still standing in the hallway when she shut the door.
The next morning's paper had a picture of Malfoy and Astoria on the cover. It captured the moment Malfoy reached forward and ran his thumb across Astoria's lips before leaning down to kiss her, fireworks and streamers exploded behind them.
It looked sweet and romantic and intimate.
On the next page was a picture of the High Reeve killing several people in France. One girl looked vaguely familiar. Hermione thought she might have visited Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament.
Hermione hadn't realised Malfoy had left the country earlier in the week.
Hermione folded the picture of Malfoy and Astoria into a herringbone tessellation and amused herself by making Malfoy and Astoria bounce apart and then squash into each other.
She tore the picture of the High Reeve into tiny strips and wove it into a coaster. In another life, she thought, perhaps she might enjoy creating complex lattice-work pie crusts.
Then she stood up and started her exercise routine.
She was getting ridiculously fit, which was a satisfying although mostly pointless feeling. It didn't really matter how much of a punch she could pack if she wasn't able to actually drive her fist into Malfoy's face. There wasn't much point in stamina when she nearly had a panic attack every time she pulled her hand away from the yew hedges or tried to move at a speed that wasn't glacial.
Malfoy appeared late in the afternoon to go through her memories. He didn't seem to find anything of particular interest in her recent past. He didn't even react when he encountered her memory of Astoria shagging someone in the hallway. The portraits had probably already informed him. When he finished sorting through her memories he straightened.
Hermione blinked away the headache and sat up, looking at him.
"I'll be sending a final vial of the potion up tomorrow," he said.
Hermione nodded. He didn't say anything else before he turned to go.
That night Hermione laid out a careful plan for the next day in her mind. If it was indeed her last dose of the potion then there were a number of things she wanted to try to attempt before the effects wore off.
The next morning she did not pause to read the newspaper. She knocked back the potion before she could hesitate or dread the withdrawal she'd suffer later. Then she headed out the door with cool determination.
Her first destination was the South Wing of the manor. The only part of the house still unexplored. She started on the uppermost floors and worked her way down. They were the ones in which she was least likely to encounter anyone so she could move more quickly.
As she reached the first floor she felt the air take on a cold, twistedness that she could detect even through the cushioning effects of the potion. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her body broke out in a cold sweat.
Dark magic.
It was so thick in the air she could almost taste it.
She froze on the stairway for several minutes calculating.
Hermione's instincts were strongly urging her to turn around and leave. But they were smothered under the potion.
Her curiosity wasn't.
She descended the last several steps and moved in the direction of the feeling. There was a door ajar. She peeked in. It was a large drawing room. Entirely bare. Not a stick of furniture. No drapes. No portraits on the walls. Even the wallpaper appeared to have been peeled off.
There was nothing but a large cage sitting in the center of the room.
The dark magic hung over the room, but seemed most concentrated around the cage.
Hermione walked slowly into the room and approached it.
People had died in that room. A lot of people. Slowly.
Hermione's mind automatically began cataloguing the dark rituals she knew of that created such a lasting presence of twisted magic.
It had probably corrupted some of the ley lines of the estate.
As she drew nearer she found that the cage was built into the stones of the floor. Quite literally irremovable unless the foundation stones of the manor were torn out, and even that might not be enough.
Just standing near the cage caused her to taste a tang in her mouth like the copper flavour of blood.
She looked it over carefully.
It was an inch shorter than her. Probably exactly five feet tall and about three feet wide. Tall enough for a prisoner to stoop or huddle in.
She wondered how many people had been kept inside it.
A noise startled her. She turned and found Malfoy at the door staring at her with irritation that bordered on rage.
"Of course you would lack the sense not to come in here," he said in a hard voice as he stalked toward her.