Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (17/39)
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, some voyeurism, oral, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.

Many thanks to kazfeist for improving this chapter!


Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Seventeen - Of familiar faces, unlikely friends, and old friends



The morning passed in virtual silence, and despite being one who enjoyed the quiet, Hermione could not feel the least bit comfortable as she sat across from Draco in the Ristorante Araliki in the hotel. Over plates of carne salata, the silence between them was tense and strained. She could feel his eyes upon her when she was not looking, and he looked away when she glanced at him. Hermione never would have imagined that they would be sitting in awkward silence when the evening before they had been quite vocal about their wants and needs. In any case, it was frustrating to sit in silence, but before Hermione could open her mouth to 'break the ice,' Draco spoke in her stead.

"This changes nothing, Granger," Draco muttered, cutting his meat daintily with two hands instead of fumbling with only one. He had charmed the silver arm to appear flesh covered with a simple glamour; one had to look very closely to tell if the hand was an obvious imitation of a sinew, blood and bone.

"'This?'" she asked in reply, her hand on the stem of her wine glass, about to raise it to her lips.

"Must you be so daft?" he hissed quietly, glancing at the other guests who were sitting too far away to hear any sort of conversation from Hermione and Draco's table. However, the clear separation did not keep the other guests from glancing curiously at them.

Hermione sipped her wine, relishing how well the wine went with the 'meat salad.’ It was not a heavy red wine, but quite subtle in flavour with very little woody aftertaste.

"I have no assumptions about 'us,' Malfoy, if that is what you are fearing."

She was lying. Hermione had wanted to hope that something had changed between them, perhaps a sort of understanding that would make their arrangement a bit more pleasant. It was a vain hope, apparently, that Draco would treat her any differently after confessing some of his feelings toward her. Then again, his confession had only inspired a sense of pity, akin to morbid attraction, and Hermione could not help but feel a bit guilty for giving in to a singular evening of intense pleasure...

"I should hope not, Granger. I should reiterate that I am just using you...as if you had forgotten."

He took up his wine and drank deeply, finished with his light lunch. Once finished with his wine, he dabbled his lips with the napkin on his lap and rose from the table.

"I will allow you to finish your lunch. I must make a few arrangements, and I will then return. Do not leave the hotel."

With that, Draco left the small indoor portion of the restaurant, leaving Hermione sitting with her hands clenched around her knife and fork.

She should have expected it. Nothing had changed really, except her. Regret flooded her as well as anger. Only the night before she had contemplated just ignoring him, to let him wallow in his own self-doubt and self-loathing, and once again, he had used her as he wanted. Granted, she had felt incredible pleasure at his hands, but she now knew she was a fool to think that he was going to be any different than the first time she met him...cold, cruel and closed.

After so long, after so many failed relationships, had she somehow lowered her standards and allowed herself be taken into the madness that consumed her companion? Hermione knew that loneliness played a key role in all of this, but the fact that she felt no better about herself than to cherish the impermanence to Draco Malfoy's sexual attentions just proved how desperate she really was...

Hastily finishing her lunch, Hermione rose from the table, thankful that she did not have to think of paying for the meal since it was covered in the total bill, and moved through the hotel to the lobby. Already she was beginning to feel the ache in her chest now that she was alone. This ache was becoming all too familiar, not only showing that her blood oath with Draco was still in affect, but also showing that she had made herself dependent on the Pureblooded wizard for more things than his vow not to harm her and to accompany her back to Britain...thus terminating all contracts, verbal and magical.

They could not get home soon enough...

Stepping off the lift to the fourth floor, Hermione entered the suite, forgoing the use of a key in lieu of her wand hidden in the sleeve of her jumper. It was almost a luxury to be alone, but Hermione could not help but wonder where Draco had gone and what sort of arrangements were being made and for what purpose. She knew that they were going to a dinner party that evening, but her dress had not yet arrived. More than anything, perhaps, Hermione hated not the knowing...plans, intentions, feelings, and most of all what to do when the ache in her chest felt like a nasty case of heartburn or the signs of a heart attack.

It was a bit past noon, and Hermione felt as if she had been awake for days.

Kicking off her shoes, thankful that today her leg did not bother her too much, she lay atop the made bed, the maid having been in while they were at lunch, perhaps...and rested her head on one of the many pillows, gazing out of the French Doors to the bell tower of the Duomo across snowy rooftops. She felt like crying, but what would that accomplish other than making her feel more foolish than she already felt? So, Hermione Granger closed her eyes and fell into a doze with visions of a time when she thought she knew it all...a time when she was not so confused...to the year before Draco Malfoy led Death Eaters into Hogwarts and Albus Dumbledore was still alive.



* * *



The sound of a door slamming woke Hermione with a jolt, and she sat up on the bed, her wand automatically in her hand, her bleary eyes searching about the bedroom. Two hours had passed, perhaps, for Hermione noticed that the sunlight streaming through the windows had changed.

"Get your cloak, Granger!" Draco's muffled voice shouted through the bathroom door.

Hermione blinked, and sat still for a moment. By the time Draco had exited the bathroom she still had not moved from the bed, and her wand was still drawn. One glance at Draco and Hermione began moving. Draco seemed upset, his face a bit flushed, rosy points of colour high upon his cheekbones, and his arms firmly crossed before his sweater-clad chest.

Sliding off the bed and slipping back into her shoes, Hermione moved to the wardrobe and pulled her cloak out.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked quietly, fastening her cloak under her chin and tucking her wand back into her sleeve. One quick look in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe and Hermione knew that at any moment Draco was going to comment that her hair had somehow reverted to the rat's nest it had been during their days at Hogwarts.

"The train station."

Hermione watched Draco as he moved across the bedroom and drew his cloak from the wardrobe as well, his elbow brushing her right shoulder. Hermione sighed, and walked past Draco into the sitting room, grabbing her cane from where it had been placed leaning against the couch. Although she was not sure she needed it, the winter air might just cause the usually consistent and enduring ache to return. She was tired of trailing behind him like a shadow and for once wanted to be in the lead of wherever they were going...and luckily, she had a good sense of direction.

It was indeed satisfying to see Draco a bit flustered to keep up with her as they left the suite and descended the stairs. Outside and into the icy air, they began their short trek to the train station. For the first time Hermione saw that there were indeed people walking about, bundled in heavy parkas, hats, and scarves. Also there were cars, most of them small compact cars that zipped past them as they walked along the park across the street from the train station. Quickly crossing and careful of slick spots on the pavement, they entered the wonderful heat of the train station. Instead of buying their tickets, Draco produced two tickets from his cloak and led her outside to the pavilion of the first track. The train that they boarded was a smaller, inter-provincial train, but it was heated and that was all that really mattered to Hermione by that point.

Soon the train began moving and Hermione saw the city of Trento in daylight for the first time. It was not a large city by any means and before long the train wound its way around the city and above into the mountains that surrounded the river valley. Draco seemed to doze across from Hermione, but when the conductor came to check their tickets, Draco simply handed the tickets over and grunted when the conductor smiled kindly and passed them back. Hermione sighed and gazed out the window again, they were now speeding along what seemed to be steep ravine and soon entered the darkness of a tunnel. She made attempt as to ask where they were going for she knew that Draco would only reply scathingly.

Twenty minutes and the train had stopped several times, people moving up and down the aisle to either enter or exit the train. Passing an icy lake and snow-covered mountains, Hermione could not help but feel better about her situation...at least she was seeing some beautiful vistas and quaint hamlets. Another twenty minutes and the train slowed for another one of many stops. Draco opened his eyes and rose from his seat, paying no heed to Hermione who clumsily scrambled to follow.

Borgo Valsugana was the name of the hamlet from which they exited the small inter-provincial train and stepped into the particularly cutting winter wind. Into a minuscule train station, Draco stopped before the doors leading out into the small street and began glancing around. Hermione stood just behind him, wondering what was going to happen next, assuming that Draco was looking for someone who was to meet them.

"He's late...typical," Draco muttered, turning suddenly stepping to the side of Hermione who had the sudden urge to trip him in his long cloak, designer black slacks and haughty expression.

Hermione moved away from the doors as Draco began pacing impatiently next to the ticket booths. Watching only a handful of people moving about the lobby of the train station, Hermione sighed as Draco began muttering curses under his breath eliciting strange glances from passers by. Again, Hermione felt the urge to trip her companion just to get him to quit acting like a spoilt child and more like a man.

Glancing out through the glass doors, Hermione noticed that it had begun to snow and the sunlight that had made Trento seem like some winter wonderland was now obscured by heavy, snow-laden clouds in the hamlet of Borgo Valsugana. There were few people about outside and when a black sedan pulled in front of the station and a tall black man exited, Hermione blinked.

The doors opened, and suddenly Draco was laughing in an obscenely loud voice.

"About damn time, Zabini!"

Hermione gripped her cane tightly in her left hand as Draco moved to meet a black-clad Blaise Zabini half-way and embrace him like an old friend. From all appearances, Zabini seemed pleased to see Draco, and Hermione wondered how long the ex-Slytherin had known that Draco Malfoy was alive and well.

"Daphne had a small crisis with the house elves, but let us go before the roads get too bad..."

Blaise Zabini had not changed much since the last time Hermione had seen him. He was still strikingly handsome, tall with a very intelligent manner about his elegant face and dark green eyes. His voice was very deep and clear, and Hermione blinked self-consciously when those dark green eyes fell upon her form.

"Good day, Miss Granger. Daphne is very excited that you have come, as are some of my other guests for this evening's gathering."

Hermione did nothing but nod, and when Blaise Zabini approached her and took her hand, she felt as if she were still dreaming. Zabini had been quite indifferent toward Hermione as long as she could remember, pleasantly indifferent, and Hermione wondered if Zabini had been enlightened as to her bond with the Malfoy heir.

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously at Zabini's courtesy, but fell in behind Hermione as they exited the station. Opening the door for Hermione to enter the back seat, Zabini smirked at Draco in a manner that would have made most people uncomfortable. Draco grinned and slid in beside Hermione. Soon they were off, Blaise Zabini driving with care as Hermione glanced out the tinted window to the small hamlet of Borgo Valsugana. Across a river and slowly up a winding road along the side of the mountain, Hermione first saw the castle on the mountain and quirked her lips as she realized that this castle, snow-covered and majestic, was their destination. The trip was completed and I’d use in silence and by the time they had passed through Muggle security gates and through the gates of the castle and into a small courtyard, the snow was falling so heavily that the stones were covered in almost an inch of white blanketing.

As they moved out of the car and across the snow to a large wooden door that was the modified entrance of the castle, Hermione glanced about the courtyard and up the stone walls to the few windows and derelict towers, wondering how liveable this castle was and if it had been Charmed to look almost abandoned.

"...Learn to drive a Muggle car, Blaise?" Hermione heard Draco asking in passing as they followed Zabini through the door and into a dark hall.

"Ten years ago. I have always been fascinated by them, and when I relocated back to Italy, I bought my first Ferrari. But you wouldn't know what that was, I suppose. I'll show you someday."

Hermione tapped her cane as they walked down a long hall, lined with tapestries too obscured by darkness for Hermione to examine. At the end of the hall was a larger room with a large stone staircase leading into the upper parts of the castle, a high wooden roof above them with floating candles hovering about the rafters. In this room, Hermione saw that the tapestries that hung upon the walls were non-magical and did not move, but several of the paintings on the wall did, and Hermione found herself staring at the portrait of a dark skinned lady in a black dress with a sloping neckline against the wall beside the foot of the staircase. She held a fan in front of crimson painted lips and smiled secretly at Hermione as if holding in something important.

A set of large doors right of the foot of the staircase were open to a large sitting room with a fireplace that rivalled that of the one Hermione remembered in the Gryffindor common room and inside the grate was a roaring fire with several silhouetted figures standing before it, talking quietly. To the left of the steps were another set of double doors looking into a lavish dining room with gorgeous bone china place settings, silver candelabras with green candles, and a centrepiece made of ivy, white lilacs, and fragrant mint sprigs. Beside the sweeping staircase was another set of stairs that led downward and off to a place Hermione could not see.

Hermione left her quick study of what she could see of the castle as she felt an insistent tug on her cloak. Turning, Hermione glanced down to stare eye to eye with a very nervous looking house elf dressed in what looked like the remains of a seventeenth century shirt and cravat.

"Signorina, may Pimsy take your cloak?" the green-skinned elf with large yellow eyes asked, in a strange mixture of a British and Italian accent.

Hermione nodded, and shrugged off her cloak that seemed far too warm to be worn comfortably in the castle. The elf bowed, its large bat-like ears flopping as it popped away in a flourish with her cloak. Hermione cleared her throat, and checked her wand in her sleeve. Blaise Zabini had been watching her with great interest while Draco was doffing his cloak to be gathered in the arms of another elf dressed in nothing but red tights with floppy toes.

"Welcome to Castello Telvana, Miss Granger. I'll call for Daphne; she was very much wanting to get you settled in...and possibly for a bit of gossip," Blaise said pleasantly, but by the expression on his elegantly sculpted face, Hermione felt ill at ease, as if he knew something she did not.

Draco approached Hermione and smiled devilishly, passing her as he entered the sitting room to the welcome of several male voices. Hermione could only stand looking at Draco's back and the mane of silver hair that flowed down the middle in a thick tail.

"Hermione!" a deep feminine voice announced, causing Hermione to turn to the steps that lead downward, and standing at the top was a figure that Hermione recognized as Daphne Greengrass. Daphne had grown a bit plumper since Hermione had last seen her at a charity action in London two years before sans Blaise Zabini. The silvery velvet of her dress robes could not hide the fact that the girl had filled out a bit, making her appear more healthier, and more feminine than what Hermione remembered.

Hermione smiled as warmly as she could. Daphne had never been unkind to Hermione, but, just like Blaise, Daphne had been kindly indifferent. As Daphne crossed the hall and grasped Hermione's right hand, Daphne smiled, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulder in an intricate braid, her blue eyes flashing in the candlelight.

"Your dress arrived! I could not help but take a peek at it; where did you ever find something so elegant?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but Daphne continued, her deep, sensuous voice stopping all of Hermione's attempted answers.

"Ah, we can discuss that later! I want to show you your room, and of course pry some answers out of you!" Daphne laughed, pulling on Hermione's hand to the foot of the staircase, but after five steps, Hermione froze.

She could not move, no matter how she wanted to, or how much Daphne pulled upon her icy hand.

"What's the matter?" Daphne asked, turning on a step above Hermione, her eyes concerned.

"I..." Hermione began, but she knew what the 'matter' was...it was the oath. She could not even turn when she heard footfalls behind her and a warm body pressing against her back.

"You may go...Hermione," Draco whispered into her ear, pushing her hair back from her neck. With that, Hermione could move and nearly stumbled forward as if she were suddenly released from a petrifying spell. Turning to deride Draco quietly for treating her like a mere servant, Hermione could only watch Draco's hair sway as he skipped uncharacteristically down the steps and moved to the sitting room again, making quick and haughty apologies to whoever was in he room. Daphne squeezed Hermione's hand, sending Hermione's amber eyes to meet Daphne's. The woman in the long gray velvet robes tried to smile at Hermione, but her eyes flashed down toward the door of the sitting room and back to Hermione again.

Finally, they made their way up the stairs, Hermione's leg aching at the steep ascent. At the top of the stairs hung a large tapestry portraying what looked like a scene of a long ago battle, the silver of the armour upon ambiguous soldiers woven in silver thread and the blood from the fallen in harsh crimson. Hermione did not like the tapestry for all its craftsmanship it was a stark reminder to Hermione of her own travails in the time of war. Daphne scoffed at the tapestry as they turned to the right and began down a long green carpeted corridor set with many doors and a large casement window at the end revealing a dark and snowy sky.

Passing at least ten doors, Daphne led Hermione to door at the end of the corridor to Hermione's left. It was a large oak door with an ornate silver hand, fashioned to resemble the head of an eagle with a razor sharp beak that seemed more dangerous to touch than to use as a doorknob. Entering the room, Hermione found herself in a large sitting room with high vaulted ceilings with raw oak rafters and painted cream plaster over what she assumed was stone. There were no windows in this room, but it had a large black marble fireplace with a roaring fire and a brown bear skin rug lying on the floor beyond a tarnished silver grate. Beyond the sitting room was a large arch with heavy green velvet drapes, partitioning the sleeping chamber from the rest of the room.

"Well, here it is. Blaise insisted that we give you this room because it is one of the finer rooms in the castle, but I told him that you would probably prefer a room separate from the one intended for Draco..." Daphne began.

"It is fine, Daphne, thank you," Hermione said as the door closed magically behind her, thudding shut with a deep echo of oak against stone.

Daphne only nodded, and motioned for Hermione to follow her through the curtains. Hermione glanced about the room once more, noting the large divan before the fireplace, a sidebar with an assortment of whiskeys, cognacs, and brandy decanters. Above the fireplace was a stark winter landscape of the Dolomite Mountains and a few deer enchanted to hop about the craggy peaks like tiny dark dots that came and went from the background to the foreground. Through the drape, Hermione found herself in a chamber almost as large as the sitting room dominated by a gigantic four-poster bed with green velvet hangings with gold embroidery about the edges. The posts were thick carved oak that wove in and out to form a type of latticework and the duvet, also green, had an embroidered representation of a tree, winding in and on itself, mirroring the design of the posts. This bed stood in the middle of the room, the floor strewn with thick fur carpets and two large stained glass windows with pieces of clear glass revealed that this room was facing down to the hamlet of Borgo Valsugana, now lit with twinkling streetlights far below.

An ebony wardrobe stood opposite of the foot of the bed which faced Hermione's left and a door beside the wardrobe revealed a large green marble surfaced bathroom that would have rivalled the Prefect's Bathroom at Hogwarts. It was all far too extravagant, almost decadent, for Hermione to care much for the roomand its green velvet wall hangings. It was far too Slytherin in colour, and, granted that Hermione did harbour a great love for the colour, she felt as if the embodiment of Slytherin house spirit had been regurgitated all over this room.

"The elves placed your dress in the wardrobe, and the bathroom is stocked with whatever supplies you might want. Oh, and if you should need anything just call for Pimsy, he has been charged with your care, Hermione."

Hermione nodded as Daphne glanced around the room, visibly wondering if there was anything else to mention, but when Daphne's gaze fell upon Hermione, the tall dark-haired witch in the gray velvet robes smiled.

"Shall we sit and talk a while?" Daphne suggested, motioning to Hermione that they should return to the warmth of the sitting room. Hermione could only nod and follow Daphne as she moved to the drapes and pulled them back for Hermione to pass. While Hermione moved directly to the divan and sat down, Daphne moved to the sideboard and began producing glasses and pouring what Hermione could see was whiskey. When Daphne sat to the right of Hermione, turned slightly to look at Hermione more closely, she passed Hermione a glass which Hermione had half the mind to refuse...it was far too early for whiskey and Hermione preferred wine or the occasional vodka to sip on in social situations. Saying nothing, Hermione took the glass at any rate and took a sip, noting that her glass had been watered down so it was almost bearable to drink.

"Now, let's see...has it been three years since we last saw each other?" Daphne asked, more to herself than to Hermione who set her cane against the cushion of the divan to her left. "Oh yes, the Charity Ball for St. Mungo's! You wore a long blue gown with silver beaded bodice...and Millie had on that tired looking black ball gown. How is Millie?"

Hermione held her whiskey glass in her hands and sighed, she had forgotten that Daphne was the sort of woman who blathered on and on about almost nothing at all.

"She's well, and she retired that dress two years ago," Hermione answered blandly, staring at the stuffed head of the unfortunate bear that now served as a rug at her feet.

"Have she and Longbottom decided to have children?" Daphne said in a voice much different than before, a more serious voice that caused Hermione to glance over at the woman.

Hermione just then noticed how utterly sad Daphne seemed to appear, her face slightly strained, the mask of the hostess slipping away to reveal the true woman underneath. Daphne was a beautiful woman, but Hermione could tell that there was a great despair in her dark azure eyes.

"They would like to in the near future, but our firm is still growing...and until we can finally unload our duties to junior employees, I do not think Millie and Neville want to have a family just yet."

Daphne nodded, and lifted her glass to throw back the rest of her whiskey. Hermione blinked at the gesture, but smiled as Daphne sighed after swallowing.

"I have a son," Daphne said plainly after a moment, smiling slightly so that her full painted lips curled pleasantly.

"I did not know that."

"Not many do, and he does not live with me...my parents have taken custody of him..."

Hermione said nothing, but studied Daphne's face through her eyelashes, the warm glow of the firelight illuminating Daphne's velvet robes so that they appeared to made of pure silver over her voluptuous form.

"I have very few women I can ever speak with, so forgive me if I come across so forward...but you are an old schoolmate, and I, for one, am glad that you are here.

Now...about Draco. I would like to know how in the world you and he came to be together...here, in the backwaters of Italy."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed softly. "It is a long story really, but I am a bit confused...why do you not seemed too surprised to see him since he has been considered missing and dead for so long?"

At this Daphne giggled. "He's a Malfoy, for one. We never believed that he would ever be found after what he did that night at Hogwarts. We had all suspected that Draco had left and gone into hiding so deeply that even the Ministry could only assume he was dead."

Hermione wondered at Daphne as the woman's face cracked into a large grin.

"Blaise and I believed that in time, Draco would reappear...and so he has. Even after Narcissa was murdered, and Lucius caught, we knew that Draco would not give himself up...and believe me, many of our associates in the Slytherin house went to their dooms by allying themselves with a mad man...but Draco was smarter than that. We knew he had taken the Mark, we knew, later, that he had led Fenrir Greyback and the Carrows into Hogwarts, and we knew that he had fled the grounds with Snape. So naturally, we then assumed that he went into hiding along with Snape, and apparently, our assumptions were correct. Snape returned, fought against the Dark Lord, but Draco stayed away until it was safe to return. He has been cleared of all criminal charges, his estate has been unfrozen, and he has returned."

Hermione really did not want to tell Daphne that Draco Malfoy could not have returned sooner if he had the choice, but Hermione remained silent, knowing what Daphne was going to ask next and that she would have to tell the ex-Slytherin...

"But the question is this: Why is Hermione Granger, a woman whom Draco Malfoy openly hated at Hogwarts, travelling with him like a close companion?"

The moment of truth...and so Hermione opened her mouth and began telling Daphne Greengrass the events that led up to her arrival at the Castello Telvana, omitting the more unsavoury, personal and possibly dangerous bits of the story...the last thing Hermione needed was for Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin House alumni, telling everyone things that could be used against Hermione in the future.

The telling took almost an hour, and all the while Daphne sat silently, her face betraying her emotions, most of all, her surprise. Hermione did not tell Daphne about Draco cutting off his arm in a fit of madness or the fact that Draco now wore a dark artifact. She also did not tell Daphne about Yuki Matsumoto or about the blood oath other than to mention that she had an agreement with Draco that would assure that they could be safe in each other's presence. Finally Hermione ended her tale and fell silent, gripping her whiskey glass tightly between her hands.

"I can hardly believe it!" Daphne gasped, standing and moving back to the sideboard to fill her glass again. When she returned to the divan, leaning back and crossing her legs, Daphne began laughing, throwing her head back as she did so. "And here you are, suffering with Draco's temper tantrums, mood swings and crass personality...taking it like the Gryffindor you are!"

Hermione did not know whether to be offended by Daphne's words or to smile at a compliment.

"I hope you give him his just desserts when he acts like a total git...I used to. Ah, Pansy would lick Draco's boots like the bitch she was, and it was absolutely disgusting. You ask Millie, she and I would not put up with Draco's holier-than-thou attitude, and as children we give him many a black eye when he would get too far out of hand," Daphne chuckled. "He was so spoilt, more so than Millie and I ever were...and all of our families were rich...and decadent...but Pansy...poor, stupid little Pansy..." Daphne trailed.

Silence fell between them, and Hermione had to suffer with the knowledge of what Draco had done to Pansy Higgs nee Parkinson, and the how and why of Pansy’s unfortunate end. Just thinking of pug-nosed Pansy made Hermione's stomach knot...Draco had used Pansy like he had always used her, and now Hermione wondered if she were just a substitute for what Pansy had been for Draco. The thought made her insanely angry...but no one would ever know by looking at Hermione at that moment.

Hermione took a deep breath, stifling her anger to ask Daphne the question that had been in the back of Hermione's mind ever since she and Draco had come to Italy.

"When did Malfoy tell you that we were coming?"

"A few days ago and believe me when I say that Blaise and I were quite surprised to get an owl from Draco. Of course, Draco phrased his letter as if he had never been gone for so long... After that first letter, Blaise took care of some things, and it was only yesterday that he told me that you were with Draco. Imagine my surprise!"

Hermione smirked; she could imagine it quite well...just as she could imagine the shock and surprise of many people when they would eventually return to Britain. Hermione knew she would have to prepare herself for whatever onslaught would result from the knowledge that she...Hermione Jane Granger, sworn enemy of Draco Malfoy, was the one who had brought him back after eleven years of exile.

"Blaise left it up to Draco to make himself known to our other guests, but did mention you specifically. Actually... Merlin! What time is it?" Daphne exclaimed, jumping up from the divan and glancing about the sitting room to find a small Louis XIV table clock sitting on another small sidebar in the corner of the room beside a vase of white lilacs. "It's nearly time for dinner, and here I am talking your ear off when you should be getting ready! Even I need to get ready!"

Hermione could not help but chuckle slightly at Daphne's distress, and soon found herself in the warm embrace of the woman's arms.

"I'm so glad it was you, Hermione...no one else would give a damn about Draco if they were asked to bring him home. Granted, Draco and I have been fair weather friends at best, but I can only hope that this time he has spent away from home has changed him for the better."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak as Daphne pulled away, smiling warmly. As much as she wished to tell Daphne everything...about the blood oath, about Draco's undulating moods of madness and sanity, about the fact that she and Draco had a relationship built more out of lust and gain than anything...Hermione could not speak these things aloud, not to Daphne Greengrass, and perhaps not to anyone at all. It just was not safe, and Hermione feared what could happen if every fact and detail about her arrangement with Draco were known. As kind and welcoming as Daphne had been, Hermione now missed Millie more than ever...

Daphne excused herself, telling Hermione that she would return to collect her before supper. With a smile, Daphne disappeared behind the oak door and left Hermione quite alone to suffer in silence.



* * *



Placing the last silver pin in her caramel hair, she sighed. Hermione did not look like herself, or at least the self she was used to seeing everyday in the mirror. She had applied only a bit of makeup, a whole chest of new, expensive makeup supplies that she had found was laid out on the marble counter vanity adjacent to the bathroom sink. Just a bit of mascara, pale green eye shadow and clear lip-gloss was all Hermione dared use. Even the pins, which had come as an accoutrement to the dress when Draco had bought it at the boutique, seemed a bit much for Hermione's sense of fashion taste. However, the dress fit like a dream and despite a few glamours to cover some bruises about her throat and shoulders, Hermione looked more elegant than she could have ever remembered. She had not felt so dressed up in so long, nor so bare with the satin and taffeta clinging to her body like a second skin.

Dabbing a bit of expensive perfume onto her skin, Hermione slipped into a pair of dark dyed satin heels with black sewn beads in an ivy pattern atop the toe and rose a few inches taller than her normal five foot six inches. All in all, she felt silly...like a little girl trying to wear her mother's clothes to seem more mature.

Hermione was hungry, and could only look forward to a good meal and perhaps some interesting dining table conversation now that Draco Malfoy was making his first appearance before familiar faces in eleven years. She both dreaded it and anticipated it at the same time.

Speaking of Draco Malfoy, he had not come to the room, and Hermione wondered, after seeing several black outfits of dress pants, shirts, and dinner jackets, if Malfoy wanted to dress appropriately for dinner at all. It had been a day where she had not been troubled with his presence much, but she could still feel the strain in her chest when she was stilled in thought and body.

Hermione tucked away the makeup and hair supplies, trying to be content with the simple upsweep of her hair in tiny silver pins with small green painted ivy leaves. She could not think of herself as beautiful in the least. As she began to move to the bathroom door, Hermione heard the heavy thud of the chamber door shutting and expected that any moment Draco would be pushing through the drapes into the bedroom in a flurry to get ready for dinner, but as Hermione moved into the bedroom to greet Draco in some fashion, the person who pushed through the drapes was not a person Hermione ever imagined to see in a castle owned by Blaise Zabini.

"Hermione?"

She could not breathe, partly from surprise, partly for shock, but mostly from the fact that it had been years since she had seen this face...

He could pronounce her name correctly, but Hermione remembered fondly when he had called her 'Herm-own-ninny.' His voice was still quite harsh and deep, his nose still hooked slightly, his eyes still like dark amethysts, and his mouth still set in a hard line. He wore a pair of pressed black slacks over dragon skin boots, a deep red shirt, the top button undone to reveal a glimpseof chest sparsely covered with black hair, all of which was under a handsomely cut dinner jacket...

"Viktor?"

Suddenly Hermione found herself, for the second time that evening, in a warm embrace, caught up in arms as wide and strong as tree trunks, a chest as warm and solid as a sun heated rock, and the familiar, memory-inspiring scent of pine and mint that was intrinsically Viktor Krum. Hermione was laughing as Viktor picked her up and swung her around as if she were as light as a feather, clinging to her as if he needed her to breathe. When Viktor sat Hermione down on her feet and stepped back from her, his large hands at her waist, he frowned.

"Are you crying, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked, feeling hot tears trickle down her flushed cheeks and her lips trembled. Why was she crying, she wondered? It had been seven years since she had last seen Viktor, and just as long since she had actually spoken to him. The last time she had seen him was at a Quidditch match: Viktor's Bulgarian team versus England during the World Cup...and he had been astride a broomstick and Hermione in a box seat.

"I am so glad to see you, Viktor," Hermione answered quickly, wiping away her tears, thinking that she would probably have to fix her makeup again.

She was very glad to see Viktor, but Hermione had not thought about telling Viktor why she thought she might be crying. It was perhaps that in the time she had spent away from home, a familiar, friendly face was one that she could gaze at and trust above all others. Not Daphne, not Blaise, not even Draco could make her feel any more at ease than seeing Viktor again. Viktor represented a part of Hermione's life that was untainted by adult worries...Viktor had made Hermione feel beautiful for the first time in her life, and had it not been for her so-called love for Ronald Weasley, Hermione knew that she could have been very happy with Viktor...perhaps.

"I am glad to see you too, but Hermione...vhy are you here? And vhy iz Draco Malfoy with you?"

Viktor was frowning, his heavy brow furrowing. Hermione sighed. She was not in the mood to recount, again, everything that had happened to that point and softly said: "We'll talk about that later, but I want to know why you are here."

Viktor nodded sharply and Hermione knew that her old friend would not forget to pry the information out of her later. "Blaizy invited me," he said, apparently his English still lacking a bit with the mispronunciation of Blaise's name. "He haz theze dinner parties every year, and I come. Blaizy and Daphne are good friends, and they come to all of my games."

Hermione nodded. So Viktor was still playing...she had not known. In fact, looking at him, Hermione could not help but notice how fit Viktor was, taller, more mature than when she had last seen him in her fourth year at Hogwarts. Even watching him through Omnioculars, she had noticed how trim he looked on his third-generation Firebolt at the World Cup. He still had a severe countenance, but was still as warm toward her as ever.

"But, Hermione...I am vorried. I..." Viktor began, but Hermione pressed the tips of her fingers against his thin lips.

"Later, Viktor, please... I will tell you later..."

Viktor grasped Hermione's wrist gently and pulled her hand to cup his cheek before pulling her into another embrace. For once, Hermione felt completely comfortable, ever since the beginning of her journey. It did not matter at all that she had been estranged from such a dear friend for so long, the feelings between them had not changed. They were still friends, and Hermione felt a small pain of regret for not being a better friend.

During the War, Viktor had begged Hermione to leave Britain to stay in Bulgaria where it was safer, but Hermione had kindly refused. In the end, Viktor had had to battle his own Death Eaters at Durmstrang, where he occasionally taught Transfiguration when he would tire of Quidditch. Ever since Karkaroff's murder at the beginning of the War, Durmstrang's curriculum had changed under the new leadership of a more liberal Headmaster. Instead of teaching the Dark Arts, it began its own class on the defence against what was originally taught. Also after the War, Durmstrang had changed considerably, although they were only admitting a limited number of Muggleborn children. It was still considered a dark blight in the Wizarding world as a whole, but in the end, many of its pupils and staff had fought against the further rise of Voldemort, thus lending to the destruction of the Dread Lord and his followers. Viktor had been one of these people, earning a European Confederacy equivalent to the Order of Merlin First Class. Not only was he a Quidditch pro and champion, he was a war hero.

But as Hermione stood with her arms about his thick neck, she was only thankful that she had a true friend at her side.

"I haff thought of you often, Hermione...vondering how you vere...if you vere happy..." Viktor whispered into Hermione's ear, his hand flat against the bare expanse of Hermione's back where her dress hung low.

"I should have written more often, but I kept telling myself I’d do it later...later, and then I’d get too busy, and now...I..." Hermione trailed, feeling more hot tears welling up in her eyes.

"I understand...I too, haff been busy."

They fell silent and parted again, holding each other's hands, Viktor's drastically larger than Hermione's, and they smiled.

"You haff become beautiful, Hermione," Viktor said with a smile and wink.

Hermione felt a blush rise high in her cheeks and shyly looked away. "Thank you..."

Another embrace and Hermione laughed, despite feeling as if her ribs would be bruised from Viktor's crushing hugs. Kissing either cheek in greeting, Viktor wrapped one large arm about her waist and wiped away an errant tear with the side of his thumb. Kissing her temple, Viktor hummed with happiness. Hermione smiled into his shoulder as he held her again. Years of hugs, kisses and friendship missing, Hermione wished she could just forget everything about Draco Malfoy in Viktor's embrace...but as she peered over the shoulder of his black dinner jacket, Hermione stiffened.

"Vat iz it?" Viktor asked, pulling away, sensing Hermione's change in composure.

Hermione felt as if icy water had been poured down her bare back and no matter how warm Viktor's hands were on her waist, it could not deflect the cold she felt from a pair of slate grey eyes glaring at her from behind Viktor's form.

"Oh please do not let me interrupt such a heart warming reunion, Krum, I only came to change for dinner."

Viktor turned, his arm pushing Hermione behind his back as if trying to shield her from some assault. Hermione closed her eyes and grasped the back of Viktor's coat, feeling suddenly very faint.

"I only came to see Hermione, Malfoy..." Viktor intoned sternly, never one to let any person intimidate him.

"Hm...I see. Well, Blaise is wondering where you are...and your entourage as well... Now excuse me while I change?" Draco said smoothly, passing Viktor and Hermione to move to the wardrobe.

"Hermione, come vith me to dinner?" Viktor asked, turning slowly to Hermione, but his dark amethyst eyes locked on Draco's back.

Hermione opened her mouth as Viktor began to pull her along.

"I will escort Miss Granger, Krum. Don't worry; she'll be down in a moment."

Hermione felt Viktor's grip on her hand slip as if suddenly her hand were wet with some thick goo, but she knew it was a spell of Draco’s as he turned and glared maliciously at Krum, itching to banish the Bulgarian from the room. Viktor stood straight and cocked his chin, his eyes hardening, and his jaw tensing. Without another word, Viktor turned, pushed violently through the curtains, and left the chamber with a hard thump of the door slamming.

Hermione shivered at the sound, and felt suddenly that she was going to freeze to death under Draco's gaze. Her eyes locked upon the fur rug under her emerald shoes, Hermione listened as the rustling of clothes filled the room as Draco dressed for dinner.

"He slipped past me while I was talking to Gavril Urquhart, the bastard," Draco muttered under his breath, causing Hermione to glance in his direction as he smoothed his dinner jacket over his tight fitting black turtleneck. "You sure have a following, Granger...first Yuki, now Krum...do you have lovers on every continent?" he sneered.

She raised her head and sniffed disdainfully. Hermione would not let Draco Malfoy ruin an evening when an old friend was near...especially Viktor who had been nothing but kind and caring to Hermione ever since they had first met. She was half-tempted to tell Draco how repulsive he was compared to Viktor, but thought better of it. Although Viktor was a formidable wizard, she did not want to match her friend against a madman like Draco Malfoy.


A knock on the door brought Hermione out of her thoughts and without asking permission, Hermione pressed through the hangings and moved through the sitting room, Draco hot on her heels, to open the door to Daphne and Blaise, calling them to come to dinner.