A Surprising Safety

Chapter 3: An Unexpected Necessary Meeting

He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare,
And he who has one enemy will meet him everywhere.

- A Hundred Sayings, Ali ibn-Abi-Tahib

Hermione remained in that desk for hours, reading straight through the book. It was surprisingly unbiased, written by a hermit in the early sixteenth century. In that time, according to Benedict of Bryher, the Dark Arts grew in popularity, use, and capability. The introduction of new wand materials from North America allowed for witches and wizards formerly limited by inadequate wands to perform magic to their full ability for the first time.

Inevitably, some turned to Dark Magic, a previously limited field. Religion played a major role in the Muggle world, but the societal guidelines established therein did not extend to wizarding communities. The morals that prevented some Muggles from turning to murder, theft, adultery, and the pursuit of power were lost on many witches and wizards.

It was during this time, Benedict wrote, that the first Unforgivable was developed; Crucio, the most basic and inhumane of the curses. It presented a major break from ordinary magic, and even from previously practiced dark magic, because it required a desire and intent to cause and enjoy pain. The stronger the hate, or desire to cause pain to the victim, the stronger the curse. This is what classified all later Unforgiveables, as they were developed by different wizards at separate times.

So if Lucius Malfoy wants me to learn how to use the Unforgiveables, then I'll have to want to cause pain. But I don't want to do that! Hermione thought with horror.

Except to him. Oh. Clever.

But Lucius would never allow her to simply practice casting the Cruciatus and Imperius on him.

He would expect me to lose control and curse him, neatly teaching me the capacity to hate and creating an excuse to curse me. So to beat him at his game, I can't hate him. Or rather, I can hate him but I can't curse him.

It was dark outside, and the study was shadowed when Hermione finally left. She had kept the book with her, wanting to reread it, and even commit several passages to memory. She had a feeling she would be tested.

Upon leaving, and walking down a hallway, Hermione discovered that she was lost. No one had returned to take her back, so it appeared she was on her own to find her room again.

There were four different halls she could continue down, and ahead she could see one led to a set of descending stairs.

Do not wander - it is easy to become lost in the Manor.

Narcissa had it right, Hermione thought. This place is a maze.

"Tilly?" she called, hoping the house elf would appear. "Mr. Malfoy? Mrs. Malfoy? Hello?"

There was no answer.

"Perfect," Hermione muttered. She sank down the wall and sat.

She waited.

And waited, taking the opportunity to memorize the lines from A Treatise on Dark Magic she'd thought especially important.

Halfway through the sixth chapter (Dark Potions and How They Inflict Suffering), a person began making their way up the stairs at the end of the hallway directly before her.

A blonde head appeared - though the whole family's blonde, so it could be any of them - and Draco Malfoy looked up in surprise to see Hermione sitting on the floor in a corner.

He smirked, and sauntered over. "I know you're probably homesick, Granger, but the house elves try to keep the Manor clean of the usual filth," Draco said, leaning against the wall across from hers.

Hermione was about to tell him to shove off, but remembering she was lost in a labyrinth that he called home, she swallowed her pride, and asked, "Could you help me get back to my room?"

"Is that an invitation?" Draco answered.

Hermione looked up at him in disgust, and he stared back in feigned innocence. "I know the Malfoy charm is hard to resist, Granger, don't be ashamed or anything...."

"You never stop, do you?" Hermione interjected.

Draco arched an eyebrow, looking at her quizzically.

"Every chance you get, you have to throw in some sardonic remark, or insult me, Harry or Ron. Every single time!" Hermione ranted, thoroughly fed up. She stood, getting in his face as much as possible for her height. "Do you think I want to be here? Your father kidnapped me - after his colleagues killed both my parents and Ginny." She laced the last sentence with venom, wanting to shock or anger him.

Draco didn't answer. But for him, that is different, Hermione thought.

"My father is not a nice man, Granger. That's a fact I made my peace with a long time ago," he finally replied.

Hermione was taken aback. She hadn't expected him to explain himself, and now she didn't know what to say to him. I'm the wronged one, she thought argumentatively, I don't have to answer.

"Do you want me to show you back to your room or not?" Draco asked, after allowing Hermione a moment of silence.

"Yes," she said with resentment. Depending on Draco Malfoy....

He directed her with a flourish or his arms, the irony apparent in the movement. Hermione folded her arms, refusing to take a step before he did. There was no way she was going to let him go behind her. Draco shrugged, and led the way.

"Why did you stay?" Hermione queried suddenly. "In the study, after your father dismissed you. You stayed and watched him. Never seen him work before?" She added the last sentence with sarcasm.

"No," Draco answered with disinterest, "I was just curious to see what he'd make you jump off. I actually only had to use a chair. Of course, the carpet was cursed to strangle you, but that's still fairly mild. Then again," he mused, "I was nine, so Father probably felt inclined to go easy on me."

"A carpet that strangled you?" Hermione said.

Draco smirked. "You're standing on it."

Hermione scuttled backwards off the carpet, which lay docile. Warily watching it, but apparently in vain, she realized he was teasing her.

She stomped across it into a room. "Hilarious, Malfoy."

"Don't go in there, you idiot!" Draco exclaimed, running over and yanking her out of the room. His face was serious.

Hermione turned. "You just pulled that trick, Malfoy, do you honestly think I'd fall for it again?"

Draco shoved her away, and said, "Move back."

Hermione folded her arms again, and wouldn't budge.

Draco stepped back with irritation. "Fine." He sauntered back ten feet.

The doorway remained still for a moment, the interior calm - it was an empty room, with a gleaming wooden floor, antique chair rail, and mirrors with golden phoenixes trilling on the side. Then Hermione felt a slight drift of air from the room - hot air. Then another and the dust in the room seemed to sparkle a bit, floating golden in the mirrors' reflected light.

The room exploded with sudden heat, and Hermione was thrown to the ground in the burst. Burning air whooshed above her, and the doors blackened, the floor incinerated, the phoenixes melted. It ended as quickly as it'd begun, and the doors and room repaired themselves, right down to the dust motes floating through the air.

Hermione didn't move, her mouth gaping open in shock. What was that? she thought. Incendio based charms use fire, this was only heat - but it would still incinerate anyone who walked inside.

"I warned you," Draco said mildly, strolling back over to the astonished girl.

"How many more rooms in your house are like that?" Hermione cried.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "Most of them are safe for me, because I have Malfoy blood. You bring almost all the full wards up automatically. You should bring the full wards up."

Hermione stood, and noticed Draco was still taller then her. Annoyance washed over her briefly.

"So why don't I?" she countered.

"Well," Draco answered tonelessly, walking again, "The wards will only work at half-strength if the person has some sort of Malfoy blood in them, but not by birth or marriage. This actually doesn't only apply to blood, but any body fluids in general."

Hermione flushed, understanding the reason he kept the casual and uninterested tone. He knew that Lucius had to have done something to her - would his father have told him he kissed me? Hermione wondered. I doubt it. Though knowing Malfoy he probably assumes something worse. It was still a bit of a relief - at least that gave a reason for Lucius' actions.

Draco didn't turn around, but he could guess at Hermione's reaction. Which is exactly why he'd said it.

"Take a left," he announced, making an abrupt turn in the center of the hallway, straight through a wooden beam. Hermione quickly followed, biting back her angry reply at his lack of warning.

She walked straight into blackness. "Malfoy?" she cried, turning around in surprise and fright.

"Just keep walking straight," Draco replied, his disembodied voice carrying back to her.

"But I already turned!" she shouted back.

Footsteps followed, and Hermione felt a hand grab her arm, gripping it gently, and steering her through the blackness. "No need to scream, Granger, I can hear you just fine," Draco muttered.

"Where are we?" Hermione demanded.

"In a secret passage, obviously. Deep breath."

This time, Hermione obeyed, taking a huge lungful of air, and holding it. They continued walking, and she knew he wasn't breathing because all she heard were their footsteps.

"You can breathe again," Draco pointed out.

"How was I supposed to know?" Hermione ranted.

He scoffed. "Obviously you didn't read that book Father gave you as well as I'd have expected, Granger. Chapter four clearly explains the effects of various articles collected from dark creatures, in this case, grindylow horn. Only it can maintain effect under blood-based wards, and only it can have an effect of asphyxiation if inhaled. You just passed through air thick with powdered grindylow horn," Draco summarized.

"I'm beginning to really hate your house. I pity your mother for having to come and live here. And you sound like Snape," Hermione commented, letting Draco turn her down a different passage, still holding her arm and leading her.

"I do not sound like Snape, and the Manor isn't all dark. Mother's married to Father, and that gives her as much safety as he or I. Besides, most pureblood family homes are like this, so she's used to it. Mother is a Black, after all."

"And their house was awful," Hermione divulged appreciatively.

Draco stopped, with both of them still in total darkness. "When did you see the Black home?"

Hermione felt blood rush to her face. She could not let slip about the Order. Draco's father would know about it, but neither knew of her involvement. What to say, what to say, what to say?! she though desperately. "It was a museum tour," she blurted out.

"A museum tour," Draco repeated.

"Mmhmm," Hermione asserted weakly.

"Since when does the Black family give museum tours of their mansion?" he parried.

Hermione shrugged, and Draco tightened his grip on her arm.

"No answer?" he asked slyly. "Are you lying, Granger?" He brought his face down close to her ear. "That wouldn't exactly be safe, would it? Alone in a dark corner of the enormous Malfoy Manor with the heir, who is your only protection against dark spells made for intruders like yourself." He added special emphasis to words, and Hermione shivered as he said them. "Want to know what would happen if I let go of you right now?"

"Nn-no," she answered, stuttering.

"Then when have you seen the Black home?" Draco stated. He knew the scare tactics were working perfectly - she was cracking quickly.

Hermione bit her lip, and felt Draco begin to let go of her arm. She opened her mouth to tell him, but only said, "It's the _____ of the ______ of the______in _______." The Fidelius Charm! she thought. I can't tell him where it is, or what it is - only Dumbledore can! Hermione almost laughed. Draco would have to accept the fact she couldn't tell him, and her secret was safe.

"God! What kind of spell are you under?" Draco exclaimed. He yanked her arm, and she tripped the last few feet back through another wall.

They were standing directly outside Hermione's room, and he pushed the doors open, pulling Hermione inside with him. A portrait across the hall woke up and started shouting at Draco in a gruff voice. "Young man! What is a Mudblood doing in this noble home?"

"Shut up," Draco answered, slamming the doors shut behind them to the portrait's indignant yells.

He let go of Hermione and stepped back. She rubbed her arm where he'd grabbed it.

"Why didn't you take me the normal way?" she asked. "Would your father have approved of that?"

Draco sat on the arm of a chair, leaning against it, arms folded. "I didn't really intend on asking him, actually."

That's different, Hermione thought. Draco had always been a slave to his father's opinion in school. Was this teenage rebellion, or had he changed? She studied him, and Draco was bemused as she pondered his face.

She bit her lip, ruminating over his expression. Draco stared back, a faint smile on his face, eyebrow raised.

"You only have to ask, you know," Draco commented haughtily.

"Ask for what?" Hermione replied, snapped out of her trance, frowning.

Draco sauntered over, and Hermione had to look up to see his face. She folded her arms defensively. "You were staring," he stated. "And you may be a Mudblood, but I'm not blind, nor do I want to be in this case...." His eyes didn't move from her face, and he kept smirking.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Why you arrogant little ferret!" she gasped. "Malfoy, you, you!" She shoved him away from her, and the bedroom doors blew open. Hermione pushed him again, and he flew across the hallway, slamming into the wall opposite, right beside the affected portrait.

"Damn it, Granger!" Draco yelped.

Hermione banged the doors shut, and locked them.

That- that irritating, pompous, rude, little ferret! He is such a - Hermione thought. She gritted her teeth. "I hate, hate, hate, hate him!"

Draco beat his fist on the door outside. "Granger, open the fucking door!"

"Shove off, Malfoy," she replied fiercely, feeling for a wand in her robes.

She found it, and uttered, "Silencio!" pointing the wand at the doors.

His shouts stopped.

Hermione flopped down into a chair. Her knees began aching again, and her arm still hurt. She curled up into the armchair, closing her eyes, which were aching. Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn't had dinner or any water since waking up.

Then Draco smashed the door down. He actually only broke one door, hacking at it with a battle axe conveniently hung up outside. Stepping through, he stooped to make it, and tossed the weapon aside.

"Your wand doesn't work, remember?" Draco offered. He brushed a wood chip from his hair.

"You! Boy! The Manor won't tolerate that sort of behaviour! You'll be thrown out, I tell you!" the portrait shouted. Other pictures down the hall began to yell at them too. "And he's the heir!" one exclaimed in a scandalized tone.

"Oh, and you behaved so much better in your day," another painting argued.

Draco turned, yanking the door knob, which was still locked. He stuck his head through the hole and screamed, "Shut up all of you!"

They continued jabbering, and Hermione began to get worried. "Malfoy, can't you get them to be quiet? If your mother or father hears...."

"I'm trying to, Mudblood! I don't need them angry at me either!" Draco snapped.

"Lucius is coming!" a jolly knight cried. "Lucius! My great-grandson. How goes the fight?"

"My name is Narcissa," Narcissa replied icily. "You are blind, Tiberius, and a fool." She continued down the hallway, which was now silent except for whispers from the portraits as they dashed from painting to painting.

"Oh, shit," Draco muttered with feeling.

Your mother? Hermione mouthed.

Draco cast a disgusted and sarcastic look at her.

"Draco! What - what have you done to this room? Where is the girl your father brought back?" Narcissa exclaimed, halting before Hermione's bedroom.

Hermione stood, moving so she was in Narcissa's field of vision. The other woman peered through the hole Draco had made. "Alohomora," she said, flicking her wand and unlocking the doors.

Narcissa opened the door, which promptly collapsed, almost falling on top of Draco. She examined the scene, seeing Draco, an axe, and Hermione anxiously standing there. Ignoring Hermione for the moment, and spoke to Draco.

"Are you aware that the Manor pulled me here?" Narcissa asked Draco, her tone one of displeasure.

Draco's eyes flicked to his mother's face, and Hermione noticed he seemed alarmed for a moment.

"I apologize, Mother," he answered. His voice was sincere, but devoid of the emotion he'd shown with Hermione.

"Your father is out, and I was down by the lake. Fortunately, I was able to make it here before the pain charms began," Narcissa continued severely.

"Pain charms?" Hermione blurted out.

"The Manor is tied to the Malfoy family," Narcissa explained offhandedly. "When it is attacked, it summons the closest family member to its aid."

This only, Hermione thought fervently, reinforces my belief that this house is mad. Draco must have had a terrible childho - well, perhaps radically different is better. My parents never - Hermione felt that bubble of grief hard in her, and quickly stopped thinking about them.

"You," Narcissa said to Draco, "Will fix this room." She turned to Hermione, "And you are to come with me." With that, Narcissa turned and swept out of the room.

Hermione followed, leaving a very disgruntled Draco pondering how exactly he was going to fix this without magic.

As she followed Narcissa down the hallway, the portrait began to talk again. "Your mother's right, boy. Good to know at least someone's got enough blood and sense these days."

"Fuck you," Draco sighed, beginning to clean up the splinters. "Tilly! Rollop!" he bellowed, calling for the house elves

Hermione wanted to object - surely he had to do the clean up himself - but Narcissa was turning to walk down a flight of stairs, and then Draco and the portrait were gone.