The Price of Harry Potter

Chapter Two: Head held high

"We want you to betray him."

The seconds must have stretched into minutes, but Hermione hadn't noticed. She knew she had to say something. To affirm to Lucius that she was willing: Harry's life for the lives of her parents, Ron and his family. But the words stuck in her throat, choking her.

They stood in silence watching each other. Hermione felt that she was floating somewhere else, watching herself stand in the hall in Malfoy manner, watching herself condemn her best friend to death.

Far, far away, as if crossing miles to reach her rather than metres Hermione heard someone cough, clearing his throat as if to break into her concentration.

"What do you want?" she heard Lucius snarl.

"Has she agreed?" She knew that voice, that cut glass, cultured accent. Draco.

"I have," she replied with a smile, cutting in to their conversation. How dare they discuss her as if she wasn't there? "I will do as you wish."

She wanted to punch them, to wipe those identical, smarmy smiles off their beautiful faces. "I will do as you wish," she repeated. "When I have proof that in return you will meet your end of the bargain."

"Of course, of course." Lucius assured her. "We wouldn't expect you to do anything without proof of our good intentions. Draco - "

The younger man was watching Hermione with an intent expression. His eyes refocused at his name and he turned politely to his father.

"Please show Miss Granger to her room."

* * *

Hermione stood in front of the huge, double wardrobe, frowning at the contents. Rows of robes and gowns frowned back.

"Go put on something nice for dinner," Narcissa smiled. "We have bought you some new things. I hope they fit. If not I can have things altered."

Draco pushed open the door, handing her the intricate silver key on a black, velvet ribbon. "This is yours. This is the only key. Even Mudbloods are entitled to privacy."

It was silver and black. But she hadn't exactly expected anything else. It was thoughtfully decorated, there were cushions on the window seat, and pine scented soaps at the washbasin. There was a bathroom en suite, and a small balcony overlooking the park. Even the blankets on the bed were tastefully arranged with pillows and cushions. Hard as it was to admit, it did look very comfortable.

She fingered the fabric of the robes. Some were too thin for December, or felt scratchy. Others were meltingly soft against her skin. She pulled three out and spread them on the quilted end of the bed.

Green velvet robes. Sheer black satin gown. Gold brocade dress.

She hung the green and black back up. The gold won out on principle because of the colour. I won't let them forget who and what I am, she decided.

The majority of the clothes were black, green or silver, she noticed. But there were blue robes, and white, pale yellow, purple, and as she pulled some aside, a deep scarlet, silk gown.

She spread it out next to the gold dress. Gently she smoothed the fabric out. It was beautiful, rich and heavy. Hermione had never been overly interested in her appearance, although she had loved the powerful feeling that she had discovered in her fourth year: the powerful feeling of beauty, the feeling that she could do anything.

Perhaps, she thought, I need that courage tonight...

Eventually she put the scarlet silk back into the wardrobe, for another time, she told herself, slipping the gold brocade over her head and feeling its weight on her breasts and hips.

She turned to the floor length mirror. "Beautiful, dear," it commented. Hermione had to agree. The dress fit as if it had been made for her, like a second skin, curving in all the right places and flattening everything else.

A swish of her wand smoothed her hair to chocolate silk, but it still flew out around her head in its customary bushy fashion. Her hair was as un-tameable as Harry's.

Harry. No. Prevent that thought.

She looked back in the mirror.

Perfect, she thought. I will show them. And she turned to the door with a smile.

Yes - perfect for joining the other side. Perfect for betraying someone you love. Perfect for seducing Draco - where did that thought come from?

She had to come up with some way of getting what she wanted without betraying Harry. But surely double-crossing the Dark Lord was next to impossible? Could I get Draco to help?

A sharp rap on the door broke her reverie. On opening the door she was faced by the boy she had been thinking about. His self-satisfied smirk wiped any thoughts of confiding out of her mind.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded coldly. Well she might as well enjoy the riches she had for the next few days. She swept out, locked the door and slipped the ribbon around her neck, tucking the key out of sight inside her bodice, and took Draco's arm. As they descended the stairs to cross and enter the dining hall Draco paused briefly. "Just be polite. You can get through tonight."

She raised her eyebrows gracefully. "Thank you for your reassurance. I know I can 'get through.' I shall be fine," she returned regally, her smile not reaching her eyes. Then she tilted her chin upwards and entered the room, prepared to hold her own against the onslaught of darkness.

* * *

That supper was the longest meal that Hermione had ever eaten. Houghton, the ghostly butler, kept appearing with yet another course, and Lucius and Narcissa seemed to have to savour every mouthful slowly before proceeding.

Draco ate patiently, with the air of one bearing something that had to be endured. Hermione tried to do the same, but with more grace. Never had she thought she would see the day when emulating Draco was the only way to get through.

The silence was overpowering. Did this family never speak to each other outside the constraints of formal discussion? The cold clink of silver on china and the eerie wail of the wind in the park were just about the only sounds. And somewhere faintly she could hear a clock ticking. It seemed to be keeping pace with her heart.

Tick... tick...

Lucius handed her the rolls to accompany the carrot and coriander soup. She smiled politely and chose one.

Tick...tick...

The main meal was served. Hermione had never tried venison before. She wasn't entirely sure that she liked it either, but she ate it, because there seemed to be no other option.

Tick... tick...

Draco met her eyes across the table. Both paused and then their gazed slid away. Neither acknowledged anything had happened.

Tick...

Hermione began to wonder how many hours had passed. She would have given anything to escape to her little room, to lock herself in and to throw herself onto the giant, four poster and sob her heart out.

Tick...

Tiny delicate wafers and some kind of fruit trifle, followed by cheese and biscuits, and then coffee... this must be it now, Hermione thought. Any minute I can escape.

Tick...

"Miss Granger?"

What does he want?

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you care to accompany me through to the drawing room to discuss the details of our business?"

Why do I get the feeling that wasn't a question?

* * *