Bride of the HP Dragon

Give him a pus-soothing bobweed to make him less manic, give him a firetail bone spur and make him full of rage to fight a Romanian camel beast for the glory of pure blood.God damn it, make him a slave to Neville Longbottom for two damn weeks.

Just don't send him home.

It's too late to change your mind now, isn't it?

Yes, Draco told himself, it was too late.Especially since he and Granger were waiting in an uneasy silence on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor.

Draco rolled the stones under his feet, his sweaty hands scrambling in his pockets.For a brief moment, he amused himself by imagining what would happen if he rang the bell, left Granger here alone, and drove the carriage frantically back from the old manor gate.

As if knowing what he was thinking, he felt Granger slowly turn his curly-haired head around, staring at him with bright eyes, and then automatically and spontaneously approached him.

If she was also afraid, she would really pretend to be calm.Apart from betraying her sweaty hands, which he knew she would do when she was nervous, she was calm on the surface.

Their stay in Diagon Alley had been uneventful, and she was calmer than he'd imagined.Draco thought she'd be crying and fussing, which was why he kept her distance on purpose (and she seemed to be gushing nonsense questions all the time).

But Merlin knew that she did have a problem.

On the one hand he had been so desperate to fill the garden under her peach-colored satin lace panties when he found the little thing under a hotel pillow and purposely refrained from talking about it, amused to watch her spend three or ten minutes looking for it. All over the room.If she would admit that her panties were missing, he would have given them to her.

And it was already lunch time when they arrived in Diagon Alley, and his absence from school breakfast would only cause some Slytherin students to frown, and Granger's prolonged disappearance would cause some confusion, so De Laco suggested she write two letters to her friend, to those two annoying idiots, and an extra text to Meg.

The Hogwarts vice-headmistress didn't even have the slightest idea that her precious Head Girl was in trouble.

Draco assumed his bed was synonymous with trouble.

As soon as they got to the post office, he felt that he had been very generous in paying Granger for the postage to send the letter.But the ungrateful, disheveled know-it-all returned the look, as if he wished his hair would turn into curls.She snorted contemptuously, threw the money back in his face, and whirlwinded into the post office, not seeing his amused smile.

The girl was everything a Gryffindor was, and he watched her outside the post office, lest she do something ridiculously stupid, like burst into tears in the midst of a relaxed weekend crowd.

She was very dissatisfied with him, frowned and even wanted to kill him with an eye knife.But facing the honest, squat and bald postmaster standing behind the counter who received her, Granger was all smiles and very polite.

At least she was a sentimental person, Draco thought.In the case of Ron Weasley, on the contrary, the redhead seemed good-natured at first, and then his nature was revealed.

Draco watched her nibble the tip of her pink tongue, wondering what to write.It was stuffy in the post office, and Granger took the hood off her head.The soft fabric was removed to reveal jeweled barrettes in her hair, and the hat hung from her shoulders.She brushed her hair absently as she wrote, playing with the curlers with fingers biting her nails.

Granger didn't look coquettish in what she was wearing, but Draco had to admit she was surprisingly feminine.At school, she's often clutching mountains of books or behind the Head Girl's daily affairs notebook, and you hardly notice her lithe gait and the alluring sway of her slender hips.

Yes, she should have dressed better, the rags she wore after class were little better than a sack with two cuffs cut off, rough, drab, shabby and lifeless.Draco knew a lot about clothes, and he had a secret penchant for herbal shampoos (this month he liked Rosemary and Helvetia Fenner), a trait he got from his mother.

As he idled, he assessed Granger with his eyes, imagining her in an expensive, brown velvet gown, cut low and showing off the smoothness of her skin between the two dumplings.

Going a step further, he blinked and imagined putting on a pair of high heels for her, and tying a silver anklet around her left ankle, the damned girl would look alluring because of these clothes.In fact, the more clothes he tried to dress Granger, the angrier he got to see her the way she was.

Or maybe the less she wears, the more upset he gets.

Yes, that's the problem.

He guessed that maybe the night they spent together had awakened her femininity a bit, and it would be a pity if a girl with a passion inside turned back to her old cold self.

Granger doesn't need a crystal ball to predict the future, she just needs to do her job well.Minova McGonagall is a brilliant teacher and a powerful deputy headmaster, but as a woman she's only worthy of attracting Flobberworms.That's really unfortunate, because witches live longer and fall in love longer than wizards.

If Granger had taken the time to look at the prefect's roster, she might have noticed more interesting entertainment at Hogwarts, rather than running up and down the corridors like Filch, sniffing for violations of school rules. breath.

Or she might have noticed that she was missing out, which would explain why she was suddenly interested in his "prefect services" on graduation night.

What an interesting thought, Gryffindor's golden girl can also be seduced.Maybe, with just a little encouragement, he'll be able to...

"Uh, Malfoy." Granger decided to speak, interrupting Draco's wild thoughts.

He stood straighter before the doorstep, and then looked down at her: "I don't think anyone will answer the door." She was about to ring the doorbell with silver tassels for the second time, and he quickly grabbed her hand to stop her.

Then there was a slight, irregular sound from the latch at the other end of the oaken door, and out came a wrinkled, elderly elf in a pink patched teakettle warmer.

The elf was panting, looked at Draco with watery eyes, and rushed over quickly: "Master Draco is home! Oh! Tory is so happy!"

Face twitched, and Draco (and the excited elf) stepped forward.

"Nice to see you again, Tory," Draco said coldly.He patted the elf's gray head, but his eyes quickly scanned the empty hall.

The manor was as cold, dark and gray as Draco remembered, with the sun struggling to penetrate the stained curtains.A few beams of soft light projected on the black marble floor, as if the dust accumulated on the ground was illuminated by a spotlight.The house was bare and empty, and there were some wooden boxes piled up beside the spiral staircase.

"Master Draco has brought back a young lady!" Tory the elf turned to welcome Granger, who was staring dumbfounded at the empty hall.The elf seemed to have forgotten his old arms and legs, and gave her a perfect and respectful curtsy: "Miss, welcome to Malfoy Manor."

Granger looked down at the animated elf.

Draco rolled his eyes, and the sooner Granger closed her silly gaping mouth and turned her attention back to their own business, the sooner they could talk it over with Lucius.

"Elves don't bite," Draco said as he took off his cloak and handed it to Tory.

Hermione had calmed down and glared at him.

"It might spit on you, though," he sarcastically said.

Hearing this, she glanced at Draco in panic, but bravely stepped onto the threshold and stood on the cold marble of the hall.

"Where's my father?" Draco asked Tory, as the elf stared at Draco's rumpled robes with intense disapproval.

"Master Lucius is in the study." Tory replied, his high-pitched voice getting harsher: "Do you want to see him now?"

"Yeah, we don't want to wait unnecessarily." Draco sneered at Hermione and offered her an arm, which she, of course, didn't see.

Tory led the way, Draco ahead, and this time he noticed that Hermione had no objection to following behind.

There's no pure-blood wizard looking more authentic than Lucius.

There is nothing to be done about the gradual thinning of blood ties, which is better than the gradual abandonment of family traditions.Like when admonitions become a daily part of the family, when future generations are asked to memorize a family's lengthy genealogy, there are standards for everything, such as how to ride a horse, or how to appease an irate lover.

This was the kind of elegance inherent in old Malfoy, and Draco knew he was far from it.Lucius is very similar to Snape in some respects. If you want to describe their potions professor, this man's movements are like ink dissolved in clear water, conspicuous and elegant.

Lucius is the same, but he is more prominent and powerful.And it's clear that if Snape's actions are sometimes confusing, the whole wizarding world now knows that Lucius Malfoy is the villain's villain.Even though people knew that a wizard with his wand confiscated was as incompetent and depraved as a whore in Knockturn Alley, Lucius couldn't take it lightly.

Now Hermione Granger is an accident, this girl was given the surname of Malfoy because of her marriage contract, this matter has to be resolved now.Especially if she was willing to accept a monetary exchange in exchange for keeping the annulment a secret.Even if Draco thought he knew her well enough, that possibility could almost be ruled out.

Granger has no interest in money, and she probably doesn't understand what money does.

For the past three years, Draco had been maintaining the daily needs of Malfoy Manor. Lucius may have been poor, but his son was far from it.Draco received a monthly portion of the generous inheritance from his grandfather Julius.In addition, since his mother could no longer fulfill her duties as a mother, she made a lump sum payment to her son.

So money was no longer an issue, but since magic was banned on the property, and ultimately the remaining employees were unwilling to continue working without their wands (understandably), Draco struggled to maintain his home. The burden of decency is heavy.

It is impossible to tend 300 hectares with two hands, even with the help of extremely loyal and extremely old house-elves.

Draco didn't think his father would blame his son for the situation, but he would certainly still be angry.Lucius was no mindless lunatic, but despair, gloom, and expensive brandy had taken the worst of his spirits for the past three years.

Perhaps the slightest anxiety caused by the sudden news of the marriage would be the straw that broke the camel's back, and if so, he would still have a companion on the road to exile.

Just a month before Oro, who broke into old Avery's house and oblivioned him, used a An ancient samurai sword decapitated three elves.

Likewise, Malfoy Manor faced the same threat, with Guardian Charms engraved on every single stone of the estate's foundations, and even the slightest sign of the Dark Arts would attract a dozen Aurors.

It would have been a lot easier if her father had decided to pick up the heavy onyx paperweight on his desk and beat Granger to death.But that's clearly impossible, brutal murder is not Lucius' style.If Lucius was going to do that, it was probably because Granger's blood had stained his favorite Aubusson rug.

Draco was standing on this rug right now, telling his father he'd gotten a tattoo and married to the Gryffindor Muggleborn witch standing beside him.If the damn thing was going to spin out of control, it could happen in the next few minutes.

At first glance, his father was accepting their drunken absurdity, which was better than expected.But because it's Lucius, first impressions can be deceiving.

"Through?" Lucius asked, trying to express his disgust, horror and cold anger in one short word.

The old wizard was standing in the middle of his study, wearing a blood-red raw silk morning coat, but it was already three o'clock in the afternoon.An empty glass flagon and a large shot glass half-filled with cognac lay on his desk. Lucius' hair was long and loose, and the veins on his left temple were throbbing.

It looked like it was off to a bad start, Draco speculated, but doing anything now was futile.

As far as Granger was concerned, she didn't like Draco's recounting of his memories to his father in a clear, monotonous tone.She'd prefer to shout and speak her mind, but she'd accepted the offer of silence so that Lucius could understand everything quietly and concisely.

Draco started with them leaving the graduation party, then they went to the Serpentine tattoo parlor, skipped what happened in the lobby of the tattoo parlor, followed by the wedding ceremony, and ended up waking up in a run-down London Muggle hotel.

Not surprisingly, Lucius didn't look at her from the time Tory led them into the study until Draco finally started describing their tattoos.To Lucius, she was like an invisible person.

There was a long, eerie silence in the study after Draco had finished speaking.

The only sounds were the wind blowing leaves across the courtyard and Tory's worried murmurs.Lucius remained silent, and as an inner tension in the room from this irritating dispute slowly eased, he slowly brushed a lock of his platinum hair behind him, sipping A sip of brandy.

"This spell, if I remember correctly, is called FidaMia." Lucius explained very softly, and Draco wouldn't have heard it if it wasn't so quiet in the room.

Granger lived up to expectations and broke the silence with a series of stammers at a critical moment: "But... isn't... Isn't FidaMia illegal in England?" The smartest witch at Hogwarts said: "To be precise, it's because of this spell Irrevocable? I mean it originated from the Tracking Charm, which medieval wizards used to create a mark that identified their indentured servants so they couldn't run away."

Draco was already walking towards the wall shelf opposite the fireplace: "Oh, the Covenant Charm has a counter-spell, you know," he said, "I'm actually sure there's a volume in the old…"

Lucius was as fast as lightning, and Hermione didn't even have time to yelp in shock, watching Draco get his hands twisted behind his back by his father, before being thrown with such force.He slammed into a small coffee table full of fine china and untouched lunch.

Tolly yelled and covered her face, her grunts getting sharper and faster.Hermione rushed forward without thinking in vain to catch Draco, or at least cushion him.But she wasn't fast enough. He slammed into the exquisitely crafted table at an angle. The fine china shattered and the silver rolled all over the floor.

Hermione bent down to help Draco up, the look of horror on her face a perfect reaction to Lucius' relentless attack.

"Don't," Draco groaned, avoiding her.Hermione let her hand slip back to her side without a word, then glanced at Lucius with disgust.

"Are you trying to challenge my patience?" Lucius asked his son angrily.

"But patience is an advantage, isn't it, Father?" Draco shot back, standing up on his own, pressing his fingers over the gashes on his cheekbones where the shards of porcelain had cut them: "I believe that's what you taught me .”

There was a hostility in the room, hatred like the choking smoke of rotten wood.

Lucius decided to end the conversation: "Tory, you accompany my son back to his room, I want to talk to Miss Granger alone."

"No." Draco protested.

"Okay." Meanwhile, Hermione agreed.

Draco turned around and glared at her. The reddish freckles on the sides of his nose were extremely pale compared to Hermione's face. Draco glanced at Lucius again, indicating that the girl couldn't start to break the spell, and then He quickly left the study with Toli, slammed the door and left.

Lucius sat behind his desk, scribbling quickly on expensive, thick cream parchment that Hermione had never seen before.

"You can have 15 minutes of my time this afternoon, Miss Granger, and then you will be accommodated in the guest quarters for the rest of the time. Before you return to Hogwarts tomorrow, I'll give us a... small question Think of a way. The choice is yours, and my son will give you the reward you deserve according to your execution ability."

He paused to look at her, noticed her fierce stare and waved his hand.

"It looks like you don't agree with what I'm doing?" he said in a casual tone, even a little vague.For some reason, this made Hermione feel less disgusted with him, the man was drunk.

But that wasn't an excuse for what he did, but Hermione prayed that Merlin would be a good father when he wasn't so drunk and raging.

"As a father, you are incompetent. What you just did is belittle yourself, your son and your family's honor. However, it is meaningless to discuss the family now, right?"

"I lost my composure earlier, Miss Granger."

It's weird how similar he and Draco look, but he's more beautiful than Draco, if that's the way to describe it.Hermione felt that Lucius was like Goya's oil paintings, the contents of the paintings were often disturbing, but the brushstrokes were so exquisite.This is a kind of beauty with a knife-like contradiction.At the same time, Draco's features are undeniably more masculine.

He may have inherited his father's strikingly bright looks, but he also inherited the typical Black bone structure.Tall, thin, with slightly pouty lips, and a physique with broad shoulders like Sirius.

Hermione wanted to use her trembling legs to escape from the house desperately, but the other half of her brain that lost her mind made her sit still, just staring at Lucius like watching a ferocious jungle cat in a zoo .Only in this case, facing the predator behind the cherrywood desk, did she feel safe from it.

Oh my God, she felt sick again.

"I'm responsible for the mistakes I made." Hermione kept her voice steady: "Even if I tell my parents the truth, they won't lift a finger from me."

"My son is not an orphan, Miss Granger. I don't care who he hangs out with, but if he takes the booty of his pleasure seriously, well," Lucius looked at her sternly: "It's my duty to say Upset as a parent. But let's get back to business, right, obviously you're a smart young girl, so I guess the question is..." He folded his arms. "What's the price?"

"Ask Draco?" Hermione felt suspicious and ashamed: "You can get him for the price of a chocolate frog, if not, maybe what about those illegal and priceless Egyptian spells that are legendary that you hid ?" she suggested, in a tone of mock excitement: "Oh wait, I just remembered, you got all your stuff taken by the Ministry, didn't you? I'll have to settle for just a Chocolate Frog."

Well, she'd just been having sex with Draco all night, and if Ron were here now, he'd be slapping his thigh and yelling with excitement.But Lucius identifies her as an easy money digger, and that's annoying.

Although now it seems that the truth is that bad, because the object is Draco, which makes it look like she is doing fairy dance.

The muscles on Lucius's rigid and numb face twitched. If the eyes could activate the Unforgivable Curse, Hermione was sure that she would be writhing in agony before getting a death curse.

"Don't test my patience, girl." Lucius sneered, leaning back on the chair, baring his teeth threateningly: "I can remind you, no one knows you're here now."

He doesn't look very bright, Hermione thought disappointedly, she thought the challenge would be greater: "I don't want your money, I want to dissolve this marriage, and the sooner you help us, the sooner I can get out of here. "

Lucius judged her silently, his hands were clenched into fists on the desk: "Very well, I will provide a useful name, let's say he is an expert, someone who has the ability to undo FidaMia. Considering I You can't leave here, and it's up to you and my son to annul the engagement as soon as possible."

When Lucius and Hermione were discussing many details, it was not difficult to guess that Draco was waiting for her outside the study.

After being invited out by Lucius, Hermione left the room, closing the door firmly behind her, leaning heavily on the smooth mahogany panel.Her heart was pounding almost uncontrollably when Draco grabbed her arm and dragged her further down the corridor.

He had just had a combat bath, and his face was completely refreshed.His hair was still dripping water on the collar of his snow-white long-sleeved cotton shirt, and he was wearing jeans, with a troubled expression on his face.

Surprisingly, even after seven years at the same boarding school as him, Hermione had absolutely no memory of Draco wearing anything other than school robes, Quidditch uniform or assembly robes.She realizes that Draco Malfoy owns and wears jeans like a teenage peer is a bit of a surprise.

"What did he say to you?" Draco demanded.

His still-damp hair smelled of rosemary, the shampoo he used, and Hermione noticed that the bottom two buttons of his shirt were buttoned incorrectly.

"Huh?" he said suddenly, because Hermione didn't answer right away.

Hermione sighed, trying to massage her temples to relieve the coming headache.She preferred to stay in her single room at Hogwarts now, brooding over a steaming cup of tea by herself.Her brilliant ideas in school came from a big cup of rich and sweet black tea.

Given that she doesn't have the comforts she's used to now, she intends to settle for second-rate pleasures that annoy an already annoyed Draco Malfoy even more.

"Your father traded you a chocolate frog and a spell book, and I think I've taken advantage of the deal."

Oh, she must have spent too much time with him, his meanness has infected herself.

He looked stunned for a moment, and then startled Hermione the next, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her against a portrait in the hallway.

“Hey, people over there,” mutters a dozing wizard in a ruff (a style of clothing in the 16th and 17th centuries) in a nearby painting, “it doesn’t have to be.”

Hermione blinked in pain as the back of her head hit the gold frame.At the same time, a strange tingling sensation hit her buttocks and thighs, and traveled down her thighs to the nerve endings in the soles of her feet.Her legs were nearly numb, or the silver dragon that streaked her body suddenly tried to come to life.

The latter thought was horrifying to think about without a library for Hermione to consult.

"Can't you talk well without some wrestling skills?" Hermione spat at him, scratching his arm with her fingernails.

Draco squeezed her chin and forced her to look up at him, the first time he'd been this close to her since the early morning confrontation in the hotel room.But suddenly, very quickly, Hermione saw that she was looking into a pair of eyes as clear as forest springs, although they were looking at her fiercely.

"Listen, you stupid piece of shit," he began, clearly disliking her impolite manner: "In two weeks I'll have enough inheritance from my grandfather not to have to go back to this place. I admit it This disaster is not entirely your responsibility, but if you interfere with my interests, I will make you regret it."

Well, here's the news.

Hermione stared at him, her brain gathering information from the news: "My God, you hate Lucius as much as anyone else."

He frowned, looking flustered for a moment: "You don't understand what hatred is, Granger. Real hatred will make your blood boil, and you will see the green light of the Avada Death Curse!"

"I hate you." Hermione was shocked to find herself using the word hate.

Draco tilted his head and looked at her for a long time: "No," he said affirmatively, shaking his head like a thinker: "What you said is not true."

Then he smiled, like a cat with a habit of grinning, white teeth and ambiguous purpose.

It was the exact same smile Hermione had when she accepted his invitation to leave the graduation party.Because of this, Hermione immediately became suspicious.

It's like being caught in a cold breeze, lively and frightening, but not entirely obnoxious, especially if you're partial to colder weather.

But then something weird happened, his condensed eyes gradually melted, almost as hot as the body temperature that was about to seep out of his shirt.There was something new about the warmth in his eyes, something Hermione had never experienced in him before.

Shocked and extremely curious, she raised her hand to touch the long, thin scar on his cheekbone.Frowning, she brushed her thumb over the small, clean scratch, then looked up at him, unaware that her eyes were eager to apologize for his injury.

His eyelashes drooped slightly, and he seemed to be breathing deeply.His hand moved under her chin, scraping her cheek with his knuckles.He couldn't get closer to her, but he still wanted to be closer.

This is summer, hot summer, but the heat suddenly ignited between the two bodies is almost unstoppable.The collar of his shirt was wet from dripping hair and stuck to his body.The cotton material is almost transparent, revealing the curve of his collarbone and the faint muscle contour of his chest.

Hermione's heart was beating like a drum, and she watched his injured lips not more than an inch away from her.

Obviously, what happened next could be something they both regretted later, not to mention that not far from them was the now very angry and potentially unstable Lucius Malfoy.She moved her head slightly and nudged his chest, otherwise he would have slapped himself on the blood theory in his mouth.

"Master Draco," Tory's small, trembling voice interrupted abruptly, and the elf stood less than two feet away from them: "I should take the lady to her room."

Draco froze, and for a moment Hermione thought he wouldn't let go.But he nodded, a small gesture that brought an end to this weird episode.

"I promise you'll hate me when this is over," he whispered to her.

Hermione froze in place and could only watch him move away from her, leaving with his very different warm and cold stare, his warm body and the kiss that was about to happen.

"You're a big bastard!" she told him defiantly, her chin tilted upward.

"There are many kinds of jerks, Granger. My dear father was one of the worst kind, so hold your tongue till we go back to school." He wagged his finger at her like she was an unteachable child. : "I won't say it a second time."

Hermione slid down against the corridor wall, and she stayed there until Draco knocked on his father's study door again, before disappearing into the room.

Oh, and Draco Malfoy was a well-deserved jerk, but he made Hermione think about just how much of a jerk he was.

For the rest of the day, Tory accompanied Hermione to a guest room in the right wing of the mansion, where she would stay until the next morning before finally departing for Hogwarts.The old elf rattled off some history of the house, and Hermione, too exhausted to think otherwise, wasn't really listening.

The guest room was large and spacious, but still extravagant by Hermione's most modest standards.Her eyes drifted wistfully over the teak furniture and the abundance of velvets, satins, brocades and silks that adorned the interior.

This was a room for ladies, Hermione guessed, as could be deduced from the expansive expanses of pink and cream.Men's rooms are more likely to use masculine browns, burgundy and earth tones, with hippogriff heads adorning the walls and iron shackles hidden in the closet, which if one wants to indulge in being a Death Eater brings words of carnival and torture.

"Miss, is there anything else you need?" Tory asked, snapping Hermione back from her sullen contemplation.

She shook her head, sitting on the edge of the bed, and on the side table she saw a bottle of steaming potion in a pewter cup.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, stepping forward to examine the glass of liquid.

Tolly was busy getting two huge frilly pillows from the big sandalwood box at the foot of the bed.

"You'll have to drink it before dinner," the elf instructed Hermione.

"Yes, but what is it?"

"That's just in case, miss," Tolly said.

Hermione stared at the glass with a frown, then sniffed suspiciously at the steam, Lucius must have thought she was imbecile enough to accept any potion he offered. "Just in case?" she asked Tory. "I don't understand."

"You had to drink it for Master Draco, didn't you?" Tory asked very gently, and Hermione suddenly realized that it seemed like a big basin of cold water had been poured on her.

The old elf came over and patted her on the arm: "Today is the best medicine. If you miss today, tomorrow's medicine will taste worse." Tolly wrinkled its crooked nose.

Hermione stared suspiciously down at the potion, which seemed to welcome her warmly from the bubbling foam.

Tolly clicked his tongue: "Is there anything wrong with the potion? I made it myself, see?" The elf stepped forward to take a sip by himself: "Of course, it smells like ashes, but the cook has already added it. Honey."

Floo powder ash, lotus root, mallow bark and saffron flower, and honey for taste.Apparently this was the standard formula learned in school the old year, and all fifth graders knew how to make contraceptive potions.Most wizards use spells these days, but Hermione was the second person to be sure that neither she nor Draco remembered to cast a spell, and Lucius was the first, of course.

She sighed, what the hell happened to her?Have you ever thought about contraception?God, she never gets drunk again, alcohol is the devil.It distorts people's reasoning, degrades people's morality, and makes her completely out of the norms of daily behavior. She can't even imagine what it would be like to impregnate Draco, but the appearance of the potion calmed her mind.Especially for Lucius, judging from the terrible scene in the study earlier, Lucius's remaining sanity guaranteed Draco's safety after all.

Hermione thanked Tory quickly, and took the potion.

"Have you been here long, then?" she asked, feeling a little uncomfortable when the elf cared too much for her in a motherly way.No doubt Lucius had ordered to make sure Hermione drank every drop of the concoction.

"Oh, yes," Tory nodded, "I've been here a long time before becoming Master Draco's nanny."

Hermione choked on the second sip. "His nanny? I mean, are you still his nanny?"

Tolly shrugged, but a humorous gleam flashed in her foggy eyes: "He doesn't need a nanny anymore, of course, I have my insistence."

"No doubt." Hermione smiled at the elf.

Tory put away the empty glass and left. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and paced the room, but she wasn't going to cry silently for four or ten minutes because of what happened to her.

Three hours later, she finally succumbed to the lure of the plush silk satin duvet, setting aside the nagging rationality in her head that was berating her for accepting the comforts offered by Lucius Malfoy.