Chapter 10
Hermione felt like a feather in his arms, her limp body seeming weightless compared to the heavy burden he constantly carried within.
Limp, quiet, her face remained frozen in perfect peace—she was beautiful.
Wild, untamed curls cascaded freely beneath her head, the only movement coming from Draco's long, urgent strides.
Her soft lips parted ever so slightly.
Her long lashes swept delicately across porcelain cheeks.
Hands lay motionless, dangling lifelessly as his arms cradled her back and knees.
Hermione’s weight may have been nothing to him, but the feeling of her skin was something he urged to get rid of. In all his privileged youth, he had remained far from innocent, yet a sense of propriety gripped him fiercely whenever Miss Granger was near.
He could not allow himself to touch her, to gaze openly into her eyes, to speak to her in anything less than irritation.
To do so would be to want more, to give in to a strange fascination that both drew him to her and summoned his anger like nothing else ever could.
He had known of his dangerous admiration from the first moment he saw her, yet he refused to welcome it.
Her complex mind, her intolerance for him, her unnamed ability to make him feel capable of crumbling at her knees.
It was all so horribly improper, and Mr. Malfoy always minded his propriety around the maddening Miss Granger.
Draco despised Hermione for the very same reasons he felt inexplicably drawn to her - and her disdain for him was evident.
As he carried her limp body through the misty gardens, he was hyperaware of potentially being watched. Though he moved with urgency, he took care not to jostle her, oddly desperate to ensure her safety. With no hesitation, he brought her to the carriage he had arrived in with Potter, barking orders for the coachman to take them directly back to the manor at once.
Not even for a moment did he consider bringing her to Stagfield Park instead.
As the carriage jolted into motion, Hermione lay unconscious across the seat, head cradled in Draco's lap. Yet, he did not touch her skin, he wouldn’t.
The carriage arrived at Malfoy Manor with impressive speed, the horses urged faster by their anxious master. Draco gathered Hermione's limp form into his arms once more as he climbed his tall frame out into the night. His imposing height and broad shoulders dwarfed her delicate body as he held her tight against his chest. Her eyes remained closed, oblivious to their dark surroundings.
He ascended the stone steps swiftly, his polished boots echoing in the silence.
Stopping abruptly on the seventh step, he took a deep breath, gazing down at the woman cradled unconsciously in his arms.
Though her form was wrapped in at least two layers of fabric, she felt dangerously warm against him, as if she might melt into his body at any moment.
Like a flickering candle of lavender and honey, she was disarmingly and uncomfortably mystifying.
Draco observed Hermione so intently that it seemed to rouse her back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open slightly, and upon seeing his face so close and feeling herself carried in his arms, she jolted upwards in alarm, nearly tumbling from his grip.
"Malfoy! What in the hell?!" she shrieked, writhing wildly to escape his hold as her feet scrambled for purchase on the ground.
She thrashed about like a caged animal, her billowing dress flapping violently in the wind as her wild curls whipped repeatedly across his face.
"Miss Granger, I'm trying to help you," he grunted through gritted teeth, one arm clasped firmly around her waist while the other pinned her against his chest.
"Have you gone mad? You've kidnapped me!" she continued hysterically, now resorting to kicking her legs backwards against his sturdy frame.
Draco tolerated her frenzied tantrum a moment longer before growing weary of her antics. Here he was, rescuing her after her own thoughtless, reckless behavior had led to her injury, and her response was to flail about like an untamed beast, hurling ludicrous accusations. Though Hermione Granger may have been remarkably beautiful, he had quite enough of her ridiculous dramatics.
"Enough!" he hissed through gritted teeth, his stormy eyes boring intently into hers.
"Cease this foolishness at once before you cause yourself further harm."
But Hermione continued thrashing against him, pummeling his legs in vain.
With a frustrated grunt, Draco released one of his arms from around her torso and grasped her jaw tightly in his hand, forcibly turning her face towards his. Grey eyes piercing hers like daggers, he spoke in a dangerously low tone that sent shivers down her spine.
Boring knifes into her eyes, he spoke clearly in a tone so low that it reverberated down her spine.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growl that sent a chill through her body. "I will see to your injury, so help me Merlin. But if you dare to strike me again, I promise I will make you forget you ever wished to raise a hand against me."
His breath was hot on her face as he held her firmly against the solid muscle of his chest, her heart ricocheting wildly under his iron grip. Eyes wide, she drew a shaky breath and gave the slightest nod.
"Okay," she whispered, the word barely a breath on her lips.
Overwhelmed, her heavy eyes slipped closed as she surrendered again to the blackness that beckoned. Her body went limp and heavy as darkness consumed her, supported only by him.
A string of curses tumbled from Draco's lips as he carried Hermione through the sprawling manor, making for the guest bedchamber.
Laying her gently atop the plush duvet, he stepped back, raking an agitated hand through his hair.
Mrs. Flick appeared in the doorway, her dark hair pulled back severely into a knot, a sleeping gown peeking out from under her hastily donned apron.
"Welcome home, Mr. Malfoy. Shall I ready your bedchamber? Forgive me, I did not expect your swift return," she intoned respectfully in her gentle voice, wiping her hands on her apron.
Nearing the bed, her keen eyes assessed the unconscious girl. "You've brought a guest, I see."
Draco watched as Mrs. Flick leaned closer, noting the crimson stain seeping from Hermione's hairline. With a flick of her wrist, a silver tray bearing a pitcher of water, dish and gauze appeared on the nightstand.
As she reached to tend to Hermione, Draco stayed her hand.
"I will see to her wound. I gave my word."
Mrs. Flick nodded and stepped back. Eyeing Hermione's dress, she added delicately, "The poor girl will need undressing, sir. Did you also give her your word concerning that, sir?"
Draco froze, his fingers inches from Hermione's delicate skin.
Clearing his throat, he withdrew his hand swiftly.
"No need. Please see to it once I've gone."
"Very well, sir," Mrs. Flick nodded deferentially, moving to the fireplace in the corner and igniting it with a flick of her finger.
She stood with her hands folded, waiting respectfully for his exit.
Draco's fingers moved carefully as he dabbed the blood from Hermione's hairline, the white gauze making contact with her skin as gently as a whisper. With each delicate stroke, his eyes traced her features intently, analyzing every detail. He studied the elegant shape of her eyes, the contour of her full lips, the feather-soft strokes of her eyebrows.
Draco observed her like an artform, her every feature etching itself unto his unwavering memory.
The crackling fire was the only sound piercing the heavy silence as he committed her to his mind's eye, burning her image permanently into his consciousness.
When the task was complete, Draco rose slowly to his feet.
Turning to Mrs. Flick, he offered a curt nod before striding from the room, his polished boots echoing down the cavernous hallway. He intended to sequester himself for most of the night, restless thoughts plaguing him until sheer exhaustion forced him to seek his chambers.
Mrs. Flick approached Hermione's prone form and gently pulled the duvet over her, concealing her body from shoulder to toe. Retrieving her wand from her apron, she whispered an incantation that made Hermione's dress dissolve away, leaving only her thin lace and cotton slip.
Ensuring the girl was properly covered, Mrs. Flick went to the armoire and found her gown hanging within.
She scanned it slowly, admiring the delicate embroidery.
Her task complete, Mrs. Flick extinguished the lamps with a wave of her wand.
Moving soundlessly to the door, she cast one last look at the sleeping girl, bathed in firelight. With a small smile teasing her lips, she slipped out, closing the door firmly behind her.
It was nearly dawn when Hermione finally stirred, the sweet scent of orchids and smoldering firewood slowly drawing her from deep slumber. As consciousness returned, she became aware of smooth black satin duvet engulfing her body.
Confused, she ran her hands along the luxurious bedsheets, relishing their cool, liquid softness.
Where was she?
This was certainly not her bed.
Hesitantly, she sat up, wincing as the injury at her temple gave a sharp throb of protest. Spying the gauze and washing bowl on the nightstand, the hazy events of the past night came rushing back.
Pale moonlight filtered through heavy velvet curtains, casting the ornate, unfamiliar room in silvery shadows. She traced the carved mahogany bedposts with her eyes, the dark wood intricately worked with serpents and thorned vines.
No, this place was not familiar at all.
The furnishings were far too fine, the space too generous.
Throwing back the covers, Hermione slid her feet to the plush carpet, treading on her toes as to draw no attention to her.
She crept cautiously to the imposing door and eased it open, wincing as its hinges emitted a drawn out groan into the silent manor. She froze, listening intently for any signs of movement. Hearing nothing but the quiet crackling of dying fires, she deemed it safe to venture out.
The frigid floor bit at her bare feet as she stepped hesitantly into the shadowy corridor. Weak moonlight filtering through the tall windows provided her only guidance as she made her way forward.
An eerie stillness permeated the manor, broken only by the soft swish of her nightgown.
With painstaking care, she descended the grand staircase, avoiding the creaking center as she gripped the ornately carved railing. The marble chilled her palms as she peered warily into the cavernous foyer below, swathed in darkness.
Barefoot and lost, she adventured the manor.
Door after door, corner after corner, she turned wherever her instincts took her.
The drawing room was nothing short of grand, the luxurious yet dark gothic furniture spoke volumes of Mr. Malfoy’s wealth, the kind of wealth that could establish numerous families into great societal standing.
The cold air that traveled through the manor was palpable.
It was certainly a house, a massive one at that. But it did not feel one bit like a home.
Emptiness and sadness tinged the air, almost like a body whose soul has been removed.
Perhaps he lives here alone, Hermione thought.
Coming upon a corridor shelf decorated with trinkets, she touched each one gently, so as not to disturb the delicate ceramics. They seemed so carefully placed, as if arranged in just such a way by their meticulous owner.
What stories might they tell of his solitary life within these walls?
She studied a small silver horse, galloping forever in place, its once-bright finish now dulled by time and the shadows of the hallway.
As much as Hermione let her investigative mind take over, she also searched for a way out of this luxurious maze of riches and solitude.
The dark corridors led her everywhere, yet also nowhere.
Still, she continued her way through the stately house, increasingly aware of how careful she had to be in her search for an exit.
Walking through the main entrance hall, she crossed toward the East wing.
There, a spark of firelight caught her eye, the warm glow of the room calling to her instinctively.
Hermione's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as she quietly entered the library, illuminated only by the center fireplace. But the room appeared empty, as silent and still as the rest of the manor.
Her fingers trailed across the endless book spines, some familiar titles bringing her comfort, others mysterious and foreign. The nostalgic scents of parchment and dust were deeply soothing, reminding her of simpler times before the war had changed everything, and her current lifetime where she worked hard to move past that period of her life.
Intricate plaques and lavish paintings decorated the few empty spaces amongst the towering shelves. Hermione examined each one as she wandered through the labyrinth of books.
Mother - a striking portrait of Narcissa Malfoy. Her cold beauty was flawlessly rendered on the canvas.
The Sun - a moonlit manor, pale and luminous under the glowing orb.
Hermione moved as if in a trance, slowly following the trail of paintings that led her inexorably onward. She was only distantly aware of her surroundings, too focused on each artwork to heed where her feet carried her out of the library and down the corridor.
Absolution - an angelic figure with somber eyes against a stark black backdrop, seeking redemption that would not come.
Sanctuary -
The sight of the luminous lake made her shiver, but she could not look away.
The sparkling waters glowed unnaturally, their glassy surface illuminated by an otherworldly light. Lush flowers swayed gently in a midnight breeze, but darkness loomed at the water's edge. It was etched perfectly from her dream, the one with Malfoy she had tried desperately to forget.
Yet here it hung, captured in flawless detail on the manor wall.
Just seeing it again made her skin prickle with unease.
How could this be?
Hermione's mind raced, grasping for logical explanations that eluded her. Heart pounding, she slowly reached out, fingers brushing the painted canvas. She could almost transport herself back to that vivid dreamscape - feel the cool mist against her skin, hear the lapping of the darkened waters.
A flush crept up her neck remembering the scandalous imaginings of her slumbering mind...thoughts entirely irrational and improper.
But above all, impossible.
Shaking herself, she noticed a slim beam of firelight spilling from a nearby door left slightly ajar. Drawn like a moth, she crept closer, peering cautiously through the narrow gap into the room beyond.
It appeared to be a lavish study, a roaring hearth bathing the space in amber glow.
Canvases and painting supplies sat tidily organized in the corners, tools awaiting their creative master. In the room's center stood an easel displaying a half-finished work, the firelight illuminating the image ominously.
Hermione craned her neck trying to glimpse the painting, her curiosity getting the better of her. But the canvas faced away from the door, denying her prying eyes.
Curiosity unsatisfied, Hermione crept forward, bare feet soundless on the icy floorboards.
The whisper of Hermione's satin and cotton slip was deafening in the silent studio as she crept forward, the white fabric swirling softly around her bare legs.
This intimate space felt worlds away from the vast, imposing manor. It was cluttered with the tools of creation - paints, brushes, oils, canvases. The soul of the artist laid bare for keen eyes to read.
Drawn inexorably, she glided closer to the shrouded easel, her nervous heartbeat pulsing through her veins.
With a trembling finger, she reached out and brushed the corner of the canvas, feeling the thick ridges of the fresh, wet paint.
A gasp escaped her lips at the tactile confirmation - this was a new piece, the oils glistening with life. She inhaled the earthy scents of linseed, turpentine and sage that permeated the studio.
Transfixed, pulse thundering in her ears, she took in the breathtaking artwork before her.
Delicate brushstrokes of pink,
Barely-there inclusion of green.
Shadows and light artistically captured the contours of the subject, so exquisite in detail it was like gazing upon a photograph.
Yet most shockingly, as Hermione exhaled shakily, she recognized the subject as herself. Her eyes, gazing over a bare shoulder. Her wild curls tumbling down her back. Her body submerged waist-deep in the dark lake from her dreams.
The revelation rooted her to the floor.
He had painted her.
Not in simple portraiture, but like a figure from myth made flesh - rising from the midnight waters, ethereal and haunting.
The care lavished on each brushstroke made her tremble.
A sudden creak down the corridor snapped Hermione out of her thoughts, her senses heightening at the disruption of the heavy silence engulfing her.
Frightened of being discovered somewhere she shouldn't, she desperately searched for a hiding place amongst the shadowed paintings.
There - a dark nook behind a thick, heavy curtain.
She rushed towards it, her bare feet soundless on the cold stone floor.
Heart pounding, she squeezed into the narrow space, hardly daring to breathe as she strained to listen for more sounds of approach. The musty darkness around her provided slight comfort, but dread curdled in her stomach - she had glimpsed something deeply private, something never meant for her eyes.
If caught, she feared the worst.
The steps grew louder, echoing off the walls as they entered the room. The old door creaked closed slowly before a thud sounded against a wooden surface.
The stool in front of the easel moved, the scrape of its legs on stone barely audible, yet still reaching her hyper-alert ears.
She felt the reverberation on her bare feet, the proximity terrifying her.
Hermione remained frozen, regulating each shallow breath despite the terror rising within her. She dared not make a sound that would reveal her hiding place.
Her own deafening pulse and the tightness of her chest drove her mad.
Unable to shut her eyes, they remained wide in the darkness, straining for any hint of movement.
Suddenly, she heard the door creak open and closed once more.
A heavy sigh of relief left her involuntarily. Her fingers shook as she pried the velvet curtain open and stepped with utmost care back into the dim light of the room, ready to flee this dangerous scene.
Hermione's hand reached the door handle, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she prepared to flee the forbidden room.
But as she went to turn it, a voice spoke behind her, the deep richness of the tone rooting her in place.
"What are you doing in here?"