Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (20/39)
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, voyeurism, oral, anal, 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 Twenty - Of pleas, agitation, and homecomings.



Of all the many ways Hermione Granger had been roused from sleep, her least favourite method was being pecked on the hand by impatient owls, and that particular morning three owls were pecking her in turn. Growling, Hermione sat up swiftly, frightening the owls so that they fluttered upward and off the bed to perch on the crosspieces of the bed, eyeing her warily.

It took a few moments for Hermione to remember where she was and why her right hand was aching from holding her wand in a death-grip. Then she remembered, and anger filled her like a pot of hot tea being poured down her throat and filling her belly. She glanced around the bedroom, midday light streaming through the windows, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, but her anger did not fade.

"You!" Hermione snapped, pointing to the nearest owl that was pulling at the small string tied about its leg, which held a small roll of parchment. Apparently the owl was wanting to leave the missive, and be gone and away to wherever it came from, but at Hermione's word, the owl jumped slightly, and fluttered to land on the duvet of the bed, waiting for Hermione to pluck the letter away.

Hermione scowled as she pulled the scroll away and read over the words quickly. It was from Mr. Watanabe, expressing concern for her well-being. A tiny bit of guilt penetrated her anger, but not too deeply. Summoning the next owl, Hermione found there was a letter from Millie, and this letter deflated her anger totally.

'Hermione,

You have no idea how angry I am with you right at this moment! For one thing, you haven't written, you haven't Flooed, you haven't come home, and now I hear that Draco Malfoy is alive and you are with him!

Hermione Jane Granger, come home this instant! I knew that I should have gone with you, I should have never let you go in the first place. I swear, if you do not contact me within 24 hours of receiving this letter, I WILL send Aurors after you! AND, if for some reason you have found yourself in a situation where you cannot leave Draco, I will come for you myself.

Millie.'

The guilt spread into Hermione's rage and made her wince at the sight of Millie's shaky handwriting. What an awful thing to do to her friend...to make her worry...to make her think about contacting the Ministry to come and retrieve Hermione... Millie had been such a good friend, replacing all that Hermione had once felt for Harry and Ron and ‘then some. Millie had been the only close female friend Hermione had ever had besides Ginny...and Ginny was now more concerned about Harry than anyone else.

Hermione felt as if she had been shirking her responsibilities as a friend, a business owner and as the person she prided herself in being...a levelheaded, no-nonsense witch. Draco Malfoy had befuddled, mesmerized, and distracted Hermione for long enough.

The last letter was a note from Gringotts...informing her that a Viscount D. S. Malfoy had deposited a considerable sum of funds into her account...

The anger returned doubly quickly and Hermione began yelling for Pimsy.

How dare he? Viscount? Bollocks! Bastard!

The expletives began streaming through her mind and out of her mouth just as Pimsy popped into the room, eyes wide and frightened. Barking orders, Hermione rose from the bed and limped as quickly as she could to her wardrobe. Dressing in clothes that Malfoy had bought, she thought that as soon as she could, she would have a nice bonfire in Britain to rid herself of everything Malfoy had bought for her, thereby shackling her to him in some almost insignificant material way.

The poor house-elf began summoning other elves to pack up what was left in the wardrobe, to bring some lunch, to bring a writing table, ink, quill and parchment and by the time Hermione found her cane, everything she had commanded was nearly done. A birch wood writing table sat under the windows of the bedroom with everything Hermione needed and as she sat down in the comfortable Louis XIV style chair, a plate of sandwiches popped into existence to levitate at her side.

Stuffing a small cucumber sandwich into her mouth, Hermione literally got down to business, growling as she ate ravenously, her provided eagle-feather quill scratching rather abrasively against clean parchment.

First was a short note to Mr. Watanabe, abjectly apologizing for her rudeness, begging forgiveness, and offering to have the kindly gentleman visit Britain at his leisure, noting that she would appreciate his expertise and insight on several lectures she had planned to organize through the firm later in the year. At the thought of all the things she needed to do at the firm, Hermione began muttering under her breath.

How could she have let herself become so distracted? There were events to be planned, dissertations to finish writing, and consortiums to attend... She had no time to waste in Zabini's castle...no time to think about how wanton she had been the night before...and no time to think about Draco Malfoy other than the fact that she wanted out of their oath and to be free of him and his confusing presence. Hermione wanted out...and wanted to be home.

Growling at one of the owls that had not yet left the room, Hermione tied her note to Mr. Watanabe to its leg, nearly choked the bird by forcing it to eat a bit of her sandwich, and waved it away to fly toward Japan... The owl screeched at Hermione disdainfully and flew up to the vaulted ceiling and through a small round window above the window under which Hermione sat, penning her next missive to Millie Longbottom.

It was a horribly short message, stating that she was fine, and would come home with explanations a plenty. Hermione did not write that Millie should not worry, Hermione did not believe in false reassurances. Millie was worried...Hermione was worried...it was a worrisome situation indeed.

When that owl took flight with her short, poignant and dry letter, Hermione waved the last remaining owl on to eat what was left of her hurried lunch, smirking as the owl landed on the levitating plate and eating crumbs with fervour. Leaning back into the chair, Hermione let her amber eyes be dazzled by the sunlight streaming through the window before her. It was a winter sunlight, glaring off a fresh coating of snow, the sort of light that was more cold than warm.

"Pimsy?" Hermione asked out loud, offhandedly.

"Si, Signorina?" the strangely accented elf asked, appearing at Hermione's left side.

"Mr. Malfoy...where is he right now?"

"In the sitting room, downstairs, with the Master and his guests."

Hermione hummed in the back of her throat. The party was obviously continuing, and she was sure there would be another round of some entertainment of the libertine sort that night. Hermione smirked despite feeling quite sick to her stomach; she would not be participating.

"Please see that everything is ready for departure, Pimsy," Hermione muttered, rising to her feet and firmly planting her cane into the fur rugs.

"It will be done, Signorina."

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she limped from the bedroom. Her leg was paining her greatly and she felt incredibly old... Passions and reason could never coexist peacefully, at least not for Hermione Granger. She felt too old in soul to be consumed by passions, but that did not mean that she would not indulge herself... she vowed, however, passing into the corridor, that she would never let someone else stir her so chaotically as Blaise Zabini had, or Draco Malfoy for that matter. Hermione did not like losing control over herself, and as far as she was concerned, she was going to reclaim much of her ground lost with both men.

* * *

She realized, when she came to the foot of the staircase, her leg burning with pain, her brow coated with cold sweat, that she had not felt the ache in her chest that morning. Ever since bonding with Malfoy, whenever he was not at her side or vice versa, the strain would pull at her chest, like a string pulled so taut it was on the verge of breaking.

Subconsciously, slowly be ‘coming to the forefront of her mind in the form of realization, Hermione felt as if something had changed. It was a vague and almost indescribable feeling; something that had been overwhelmed by arousal, but in her anger and clarity of mind was becoming something more. She paused at the foot of the stairs, her cane planted between two stones in the floor, her eyes unfocused as she thought to herself.

The oath...the condition that she was not to leave Draco's side was still in effect as of the day before when she could not ascend the stairs with Daphne without his permission...but that had been an extreme circumstance of merely forgetting about the condition. Hermione knew that if she were to start walking down the main passage and out of the castle, she would never make it past the threshold. However, something was changing in her blood. The oath was slowly dissolving somehow, and Hermione could not think of a clear reason as to why. She felt no strain being separated from Malfoy, at least not at that moment or when she had woken. In fact, it seemed as if some fog was lifting from before her eyes...

Shaking her head slightly as if to shake away her thoughts, she stood straighter and clutched her cane, her wand was tucked into the waistband of her skirt and her eyes were sharpening as she felt her face flush with renewed frustration and anger. She could hear the voices of Blaise Zabini's guests drifting from the open doors to the sitting room to her right. There was a bit of laughing, feminine, and much deep conversation, masculine. Steeling herself, she ambled to the doorway and surveyed the room.

The decor had changed, apparently charmed, now and was a warm room coloured with cream walls, pale green couches and chairs, even the glassware from which many of the guests drank were frosted crystal. A cheery fire crackled in the large fireplace, the marble mantel no longer black with white veins, but a burnished red with silver veins.

Hermione's eyes moved from the left of the room where Volkov and Urquhart were playing Wizard's Chess, dressed in casual clothing of slacks and jumpers. On a divan close to the fireplace, Giselle Krum and the brothers MacFadden were lounging, talking, and sipping glasses of what looked to be champagne. On a small loveseat, Tracey and Yvette were talking quietly, leaning close to each other like familiar friends. Hermione noted that Yvette, despite what Hermione had witnessed the night before, seemed much more plain and not so feral, her face relaxed and her clothing very subdued, a pair of long gray slacks and a long sleeved gray silk blouse.

Sitting in separate wing-backed chairs, facing the fire, were Daphne and Viktor. Hermione's eyes narrowed as Viktor seemed to brood over a cup of tea, watching Daphne read a small book, a pair of Muggle reading glasses perched on her nose. And then, in the far right of the room, smoking what smelled to be hashish...Blaise and Draco sat in a small alcove, sunlight pouring through the window and making the air around them hazy. They were facing each other in two more wing-backed chairs, talking quietly and quite separately from everyone else in the room.

No one seemed to notice Hermione, or at least that was what she thought as she took a step forward, aiming to confront Draco and Blaise, and demand that they make their departure as soon as possible, but before she could take another step, a face appeared before her eyes. A large hand encircled her right forearm and suddenly Hermione found herself being pulled from the room and toward the steps leading downward to where Hermione had seen Daphne appear for the first time yesterday. Down several steps, Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but as soon as she gained her bearings in a darkened and low corridor, she found herself pushed back against a damp wall.

"Viktor, what do you think you are doing?" Hermione hissed, eyeing the two bulky arms on either side of her head as Viktor Krum leaned in toward her, his face only inches away.

"I vant to talk to you."

In the dark, Hermione could only just see Viktor's eyes, gleaming with determination of a sort Hermione could not identify.

"I don't have time, Viktor..."

"I do not care. You vill listen," he growled low in his throat.

Hermione winced at the sound of Viktor's voice, a mixture of anger and frustration that was all too familiar to Hermione at that very moment.

"I did not tell you about Giselle...ve are getting a divorce. My marriage to her does not matter. So, I did not mention it."

Hermione said nothing as Viktor paused, his eyes locked on her face coolly. What could she say? It was obvious that Viktor could sense her disappointment in the fact that he did not tell her of his marriage, thus threatening a friendship based on honesty and courtesy.

"I vish you had not come here, Hermione. Not with Malfoy..."

Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but Viktor continued.

"I dislike him, I alvays disliked him. Vhy are you vith him? You could not be lovers."

She sighed and closed her eyes. Lovers...of a sort perhaps, but there was no love on her part, only pity, and growing resentment.

"I told you I would explain, and I suppose this is as good of a time as any," Hermione muttered, gripping her cane tightly in her hand, leaning more heavily against the cold wall at her back. And slowly she began, Viktor's face betraying his dismay, anger, amazement and jealousy... He backed away from her as she finished her abbreviated order of events and leaned against the opposite wall, his arms crossed before his wide chest.

"I thought you vere smarter than that, Hermione."

She blinked in surprise. Viktor had said in one statement all that she had been feeling ever since finding Draco Malfoy at the Matsumoto ryokan, and it hurt to hear her friend say it, no matter how accurate it was, or how true.

"I know..." she whispered. "But what is done is done, and I am leaving this place, with Malfoy, even if I have to hex him into a coma."

Viktor grinned. "This place iz not for you, Hermione. I am ashamed that you know that I..." he trailed off quietly, his eyes fixing upon Hermione's cane.

Blanketing silence fell between them and over them, awash with regret and unease. Hermione could only think of Harry and Ron, and all the things that had lead led up to their sundering of the so-called Golden Trio. They had grown up and into different people...they had fulfilled their common goal and afterwards all that remained were bad memories of the War and the realization that they had nothing in common any longer. They did not really know each other any longer, and the same could be said about Hermione's feelings towards Viktor. Granted, he had been a crush, a first love of sorts, and a friend, but the man that stood before her now was almost a complete stranger. It irked Hermione...and made her want to go home more than ever.

"I haff no right to ask, Hermione, but when this iz over...can I see you?"

Hermione blinked again. What was he asking? She pressed her lips into a tight smile...

"I don't think so, Viktor."

His face was filled with more emotion than Hermione ever remembered seeing on the Bulgarian's face before...he was crushed. His face contorted only slightly as he hugged his arms tighter before his chest, but the expression was fleeting and soon only the familiar, stony facade that was Viktor Krum remained.

"I understand. But I vill not let Malfoy hurt you."

His voice was resolute, and Hermione could not help but feel her heart flutter a bit, just like it had when Viktor had asked her to the Yule Ball all those years ago.

"If I ever learn of it...I vill kill him."

Unwittingly, tears began to fill her eyes, and she had to fight against herself to keep from stepping toward Viktor and crying into his large chest. Oh, how she wanted somewhere safe to fall, but the Viktor Krum she had known and loved was long gone and only this unhappily-married man remained.

Hermione nodded, hoping that Viktor did not see her tears. They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, until Hermione opened her mouth and spoke with a tremor in her voice.

"I want to talk to Daphne, and then I want to leave."

"I understand."

She nodded again and pushed off from the wall to begin walking in pained steps to the steps and into the lit hall above. Viktor did not follow her, but remained where he was, staring at the spot where she had been. Hermione felt as if her heart was crumbling and the old feeling of loss filled her as she struggled up the steps. There was no helping it, she thought bitterly. Things change, and people more so than anything else, and as she approached the sitting room door, she found Blaise leaning against the door jamb, a long stemmed pipe poised between his lips and his eyes watching her with a mixture of amusement and desire.

"You plan to leave us, then?" he muttered, exhaling as cloud of blue smoke from between his sculpted lips, a slight cough marring his voice.

"Yes."

Hermione paused just before Blaise, looking up into his dilated eyes and grimacing. He was perhaps the most beautiful, most uncouth man she had ever known, but now was not the time to pepper praises and insults to the lord of this castle. Instead, Hermione pushed past Blaise and limped into the sitting room. Everyone was still lounging about and Hermione wished she could hex them all...even Daphne who was still reading her book by the fire, dressed in a loose fitting black dress, her dark hair braided thickly and falling across her shoulder much like it had the day before. Moving to stand just at the arm of the chair, Hermione gazed down at the woman, wondering how in the world the she had let herself be so weak, be so used, and become so weak, so used, so miserable.

As if reading her mind, Daphne looked up from her book and over her reading glasses. "I cannot leave him and as much as I appreciate your concern, Hermione, he is my mate and my life..."

Hermione bit her lip roughly. She wanted to snatch Daphne up and forcefully take her away, consequences be damned.

"How can you stand this?" Hermione whispered in a pained tone, her eyes filling again with tears.

"I just do."

"But your son? What about him?"

Daphne closed her book slowly, placing it in her lap. "You wouldn't understand..."

"You're right, I wouldn't...I couldn't!" Hermione gasped, her voice so loud that the rest of the room fell silent, watching the two women interact, the tension quite visible between them.

Daphne plucked her glasses from her nose and turned slightly in the chair. She seemed old in Hermione's eyes and grief filled Hermione as she saw something very familiar in Daphne's eyes, something that Hermione had seen in her own eyes every time she looked into the mirror...loneliness, resignation, pain and a fleeting hope that everything would somehow work out when everything pointed to futility. It disturbed Hermione to the point that she was openly weeping at the clear reflection of the person she was on the inside.

"Please, Daphne...you cannot..."

Daphne's facade was beginning to slip, her lower lip trembling slightly while she and Hermione shared a silent conversation of what it was like to be an emotional creature...a woman in a world, a magical world that seemed too harsh to live in happily.

"That's enough, Granger."

Hands grasped Hermione's forearms and pulled her backward so that she stumbled slightly, her back falling against a hard chest. Hermione took a deep breath, her eye contact with Daphne lost as Draco Malfoy broke through the spell that was working between the two witches.

"You have no right to demand anything from Daphne," Draco whispered into Hermione's ear.

Hermione felt her tears dry, being burnt away by the anger that had ignited again in her crippled and sore body. Swinging her cane around, Hermione whacked Draco's lower right leg and suddenly the hands that had held her fast fell away with a curse and a thud as Draco fell to the thickly carpeted floor, holding his bruised leg.

"You are all monsters!" Hermione roared at the eyes that were watching her in the room. "You disgust me, all of you!"

Hermione turned on her heel, her knee cracking and strode from the room and into the hall beyond. She could hear giggles and open laughter coming from the room at her back, but it did not matter. She was convinced that every person in that room was either innately stupid, soulless, or inherently insane. And as far as she knew they were all Purebloods, and thus genetically inferior through inbreeding as compared to the Muggleborn she was and was proud to be at that very moment.

Stalking toward the stairs, Hermione's eyes alighted upon Blaise Zabini again as he sat on the steps, leaning back and inhaling his sweet-scented hashish.

"I used to think you were so smart, Hermione."

She stopped upon the first step, her hand clutched her cane, ready to use it as a cudgel to beat the arrogant smirk off the dark man's lips.

"Don't talk to me, Zabini. You're the worst of all."

He chuckled, throwing his head back so that braided locks of his hair fell over his back, the silver beads tinkling together melodically. "You think you're so moral, Hermione, and yet you watched me fuck Yvette...and you enjoyed it, didn't you?"

Hermione frowned. "I will not discuss myself with you, Zabini. But I will say that you are scum...scum for hurting Daphne this way.

You call yourself a libertine, but you are just a...a whore! You do not want any responsibility; you won't take any responsibility for anything, will you? You're no better than an over-large version of a spoiled brat!" Hermione shrieked, her anger becoming frenzy, and soon violence as she tapped the silver end of her cane impatiently into the step, ready to use it if the moment took her in that direction.

"And you're an ungrateful bitch."

Hermione blinked at Blaise's threatening tone, but let it wash over her, feeding the fire that was becoming an inferno in her belly.

"Say what you will, Zabini, but you will never be a man worth more than what your money or name could buy. You are a coward; you have never earned anything more than the contempt of those around you. You have been forgotten because you did not have what it takes to defend yourself during the War, and you ran, you hid...and made the excuse of being a 'neutral party.' You are a clown, a fool, a coward and a..."

Hermione could say no more as a dark hand wrapped easily about her throat, choking off not only her words, but also her air. She could only look up into Zabini's cold eyes, her face flushing as her body suddenly became weak.

"Your throat is so small, Hermione, I think I could snap your neck with just my hand..." Zabini snarled, throwing down his pipe and grasping her arm so that her cane fell from her hands to land beside the still smouldering pipe on the stairs.

Hermione gagged as she opened her mouth to force out: "I...always better...than you..."

Blaise's face was suddenly blank, and before Hermione could prepare herself, she was being pushed backwards, off the stairs and onto the floor of the hall. It was not a far fall, but with Blaise's strength, Hermione landed on her left side, her head cracking against the stone floor.

Hermione retched as air filled her lungs, and her vision blurred and swirled before her eyes. She tried to push herself up, to stand again, to confront the injustice that marked Blaise Zabini, but she could not move.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Blaise was roaring horribly, his voice echoing through the hall with an intensity that seemed to be amplified by Hermione's dizziness.

"MUDBLOOD, FILTHY, FILTHY WHORE!"

Hermione rested her cheek against the stone floor, wishing in vain that Zabini would shut up and that she could move her numbed and stone-heavy limbs. Her was ear pressed against the floor, her mind was filled with the pounding of many feet, and suddenly other voices were shouting besides Zabini's who continued to demand that Hermione left his home...and oh, how she wished she could.

She could hear someone screaming, but who it was, Hermione could not tell. There were angry yells and the distant sound of a fist hitting flesh, scuffling and more angry voices. Hermione did not know who lifted her up or who carried her into the sitting room, but she did know that house elves were touching her face and her head, healing her. The only reason she knew this was because she started to feel the pain.

"I will rip YOUR limbs off, if she is permanently damaged, Zabini!"

It was Draco's voice, snarling, and growling somewhere far away from Hermione, but close enough to hear clearly. She tried to see...anything, but she only saw darkness. She moved her hands to touch her face, but felt cool, feminine hands force her to keep still.

"Stay still," a voice said with a strange accent, and Hermione struggled for a moment, realizing that it was not Daphne's voice, but Yvette's. "Ze elf needs to bind your head..."

Hermione did not move as she felt cool, damp linen dab at her face and then light, dry linen being wrapped about her eyes and her head.

"Hermione...you might have a cracked...a cracked skull, so don't move yet..."

It was Daphne's voice, weak, but concerned.

"Her hip iz broken, Daphne..."

Hermione began panting, trying not to move, but suddenly feeling the pain at Yvette's words.

"Vhat has happened to Hermione?"

It was Viktor, distantly, and quickly Hermione heard his heavy footfalls and knew that he was at her side.

"She needs hospital..."

Hermione winced as she felt her jaws being parted and tasted a potion being poured down her mouth. She spluttered, but felt cool fingers massage her throat to help her swallow.

"I'll Floo Millicent, Yvette, can you make a Portkey?"

"Oui, but..."

"Do it! Viktor, stay by Hermione. And Giselle, stop your moaning, the blood has been cleaned away, make yourself useful and see that Draco has not killed Blaise!"

"Hermione? Can you breathe? No...don't speak... I vill..."

Hermione began to feel the affects of the potion, and she knew it was a Sleeping Draught as her brain began to become very fuzzy and the voices around her became indistinct. Before she let herself be taken in by the draught, Hermione ascertained that she was possibly lying on a divan near the fire. House elves had healed the superficial wounds, but there did not seem to be any potion to mend her bones, or anyone capable of casting a spell to alleviate much of the pain that was wracking her body to the point where she could only breathe in gasps. Viktor was holding her hands, and cooing to her softly. Somewhere Draco was making threats and yelling like a madman, but had not touched her, or even bothered to learn if she was alive...

The last thing Hermione knew was Viktor promising to see that she was safe and back in Britain.

* * *

And just like that, Hermione was home.

Millie had taken charge of the situation, in whole. Yvette had constructed a fantastic piece of magic, and Hermione was Portkeyed straight to St. Mungo's. From St. Mungo's Millie had Hermione transferred to the hospital ward of the apothecary, reserved for VIPs and staffed with specialists that healed Hermione's broken hip in an instant and began repairing her skull.

When Hermione was finally fully aware and conscious, Millie was sitting at her side, with a very irate Neville and a very dour Viktor Krum.

"Broken hip, cracked skull, severe concussion, fractured zygomatic bone on the left side, contusions, abrasions...are you going to press charges, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked and then thought better of it, her head still ached and the light streaming through the tall windows of the small VIP ward was too bright for comfort.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

Millie smirked sourly. "Five days. We healed everything, but kept you unconscious. We were afraid that there might be cranial swelling."

"Where's Draco?"

Neville growled deep in his throat at the mention of Draco's name, but said nothing. Millie narrowed her dark eyes, and it was then Hermione noticed that dark circles around her friend's eyes.

"He iz at the Ministry, testifying to the solicitors about his vhereabouts," Viktor answered, walking around the foot of Hermione's bed and to the windows, pulling the curtains, aware that the light hurt Hermione's sensitive eyes.

"And why are you here, Viktor?"

Viktor turned slowly, trying to smile. "I vanted to be sure you vere all right."

Hermione said nothing, but turned her eyes to Millie again. Millie seemed exhausted and Neville seemed very, very angry, but whether it was directed at Hermione, she could not tell. All Hermione knew was that she was lying on a hospital cot, dressed in a long white gown and tucked tightly under soft cream-coloured blankets. The ward was empty except for Hermione, and she began to feel very guilty for not coming home sooner or in a better state.

It was a complete and utter mess...her life, her head, her thoughts, and her emotions. And as she lay in the bed, enduring the gaze of three friends, Hermione began to sob.

At the very least, she was home.

* * *

Hermione did not press charges against Blaise Zabini, not in the sense that she brought the appropriate Ministries into the ordeal, but she did have her solicitor contact Zabini and request ‘out-of-court an settlement...which was quickly agreed to and once again Hermione found that Gringotts was contacting her about a considerable deposit having been added to her vault.

It was another week before Hermione was back on her feet without feeling horrible pain in her maimed leg. Neville, who had been quite angry when Hermione awoke, was determined to find a method to address Hermione's handicap, by either healing it completely or finding a treatment that would lessen her pain. In the days that followed Hermione's awakening in the VIP ward, she told Millie and Neville everything that had happened in Japan. Of course, she did not mention the more personal details, and she did not tell them of Severus' son. Yuki Matsumoto would remain Yuki Matsumoto, as far as Hermione was concerned, and she thought of him only a short while before Millie and Neville began questioning her.

"So, all that while, during the War, Malfoy was hidden away. He had no way of returning because of Severus' wards, and Severus modified his memory so he could not tell anyone that he had hidden Malfoy?" Neville asked, speculatively.

"Yes. All that Severus knew was to tell me that he had left something in Japan. He had modified his memory so that in the event of his impending death, he would pass the information along to someone he trusted. Me... Whether or not he remembered anything more than what he told me, we will never know."

"But he placed you in a precarious situation, Hermione. Did he ever realize that he would be placing you in danger?" Millie asked, sitting on the edge of Hermione's bed, across from Neville who sat with arms crossed on a bedside stool.

"Apparently not. It seems that all Severus really remembered was Kaede...his...his wife."

Hermione winced as she said this, and knew she had to be careful of what she would say.

"So old Severus was married..." Millie chuckled.

Hermione tried to smile. "For a while and from what I could tell, they loved each other, but it was the Matsumoto family that trusted Severus and vice versa. He trusted them so far as to harbour a criminal...of sorts."

"He is a criminal no longer, though. In fact he has returned to reclaim his inheritance...and gods knows what will come of that," Neville growled.

Hermione nodded. "He is not his father, Neville, but he is still very much the boy we knew in school. I just hope he gets his estate settled so I can be free of him."

Millie frowned. "I will tell you right now, Hermione, that it was sheer idiocy that you went to form a blood oath with Viscount Malfoy. The act itself has only minor implications to you, and pardon me for saying this, luv, but you're a Muggleborn witch and the meaning of a blood oath is so much more than what you think. For a Pureblood to mingle their blood with a Muggleborn is akin to being a Blood Traitor. Or, at least, that is the general perception in the older wizarding families."

"I did not realize that..." Hermione trailed, her eyes glazing over as she began thinking of what it really meant to form a blood oath with the remaining heir of one of the more notoriously prejudiced Pureblood families in Britain.

"If things had not changed, and it was known that Draco had formed a blood oath with you, he would have been disowned. I am sure if Lucius Malfoy, may he burn in hell, knew...well, you can imagine what would happen," Neville continued. "My own family, although very liberal, does not look kindly upon blood oaths with Muggleborns...it is something that has been ingrained into my family for generations. And although we have a few Muggleborn ancestors, and many Muggleborn friends, that Pureblooded pride is still there...and will probably always be there..."

Millie sighed, rousing Hermione from her thoughts. "The fact remains, you are bonded to Draco, and until whatever conditions he has set are met, you will not be rid of him. It is to be thought of as hopeful that he is actively pursuing regaining his estate and status, but you know how difficult the Ministry can be...and because he is a Malfoy..."

Hermione nodded. It would be a while before Draco would be independent and have his estate back in full.

After the in-depth conversation with her friends, and mending in the VIP ward, Hermione returned to her flat to find she had a stack of owl post on her kitchen table and that all the food in the cooler had spoiled. Hermione seriously considered contracting a house elf.

Two days out of the ward, Hermione was roused from a nap in the library, her head next to her laptop, by an insistent knocking on her front door. Still a bit groggy from several pain-reducing draughts and her nap, Hermione managed to make it to her front door before it was blasted off its hinges. Lowering the wards with a flick of her wand, she pulled the door open to find a very rain-soaked and sourly scowling Draco Malfoy standing in the corridor outside the flat.

"Miss me, Granger?"

His long silver hair was dripping and his cloak clung to his body like wet silk. Trickles of water ran down his forehead and the silver hand, which was drawn up into a fist, was flecked with drops of water. Hermione blinked at the sight of Draco Malfoy, a suitcase in his right hand, also soaking wet and dripping onto the doormat.

"Are you going to let me in, or make me stand here looking like a drowned ferret?" he drawled with a chuckle.

Hermione stepped back to let Draco enter into the marble floored vestibule and shut the door behind him, replacing the wards and locking the door. She was stunned to see him again, after not seeing him for so long...

"You would have to live in Muggle London and so far from Diagon Alley, wouldn't you? I had to walk all the way from the Leaky Cauldron because your Floo was warded...you did not answer...and I walked."

With that, Draco sneezed loudly, making Hermione jump physically.

"You could have taken the Tube."

"Fuck that. It smells like piss, rotten food, and body odour...well, are you going to stand there looking like an idiot, or are you going to show me my room?"

She blinked. "What?"

Draco dropped his suitcase and shrugged out of his wet cloak so that it fell with a wet thud to the floor and when he turned to Hermione, grinning maniacally as if he knew something she did not, Hermione bit her lip in hesitation.

"I have nowhere to go...unless I book a room somewhere, and the Leaky Cauldron is full. I haven't a friend in the world and the Manor is still locked until my solicitor gets off his fat arse and procures the suitable documents... I need a place to stay, and I think, considering our agreement, that you should have been expecting me a while ago, Granger."

Bugger... Hermione sighed.

With all the so-called excitement of her being in the hospital, coming home and enduring Millie and Neville's questions, and Viktor's presence and then absence...suing Zabini and finally being able to come home, Hermione had forgotten about Draco only a little bit...thankful that she did not have to face him while she had been recovering. But now he was here, in the entry way of her flat, dripping onto the marble floor and glowering like the irascible, arrogant git he was, Hermione had no other choice but to employ a house elf and put Draco up in the guest room...indefinitely.