His Mistress

- CHAPTER SIX -

The Rendezvous and the Choice

Hermione stepped out into the night, lingering on the doorstep of her house for a few moments. Her wristwatch indicated ten minutes to midnight.

It was a warm night, one of the rare warm autumn nights, and sky was a clear shade of navy. The moon hung in a crescent overhead, its chilly light illuminating the surroundings.

Taking a deep breath, the witch Disapparated, repeating The Malfoy Gardens in her head.

WHAM!
Hermione felt as though she had been slammed into a wall with such force that it sent her flying backwards ...

Crack!

Opening her eyes, she found herself not in a garden, which had been her Apparition point, but in front of an imposing metal gate surrounded by an intricate fence which, upon closer inspection, revealed to be comprised of various serpent designs.

"Damn it! Anti-Apparition wards ... should have known," Hermione was muttering furiously under her breath. Why didn't he warn her? Apparate to the gardens, indeed ... he would probably find this amusing ...

The Auror examined the gate again. It was a superb work of wrought silver and behind it, she could get a glimpse of a majestic aisle of oak trees, illuminated by a row of lanterns. A coat of arms was carved on the metallic gate: a dagger in the form of the fleur de lys, flanked by serpents on both sides so as to form the letter 'M', with a crown above it. It was the same heraldic shield Hermione had seen in miniature on the seal of the letter she had received.

Three words were carved in the metal below, under the crest, forming what Hermione figured should be the Malfoy motto, Oderint dum metuant. The Latin words, with little thought, could be interpreted as 'Let them hate, so long as they fear'. Yes, a fitting credo for a family like the Malfoys, Hermione concluded, judging on what she knew of the family's history.

Hermione looked away from the crest, which for some reason fascinated her, and searched for a way to get past the gate.

The gate had no handle, only a silver knocker shaped like a serpent's head.

Hermione reached out and knocked three times. The sound, which seemed oddly chilling to Hermione's ears, echoed all around her, obviously magically amplified. She waited, forcing herself not to shake in nervousness and apprehension.

The gate opened after a brief delay. The form of a house-elf, clad in a white pillowcase, emerged in the frame of the entrance and bowed to Hermione.

The elf straightened up, its huge eyes examining her from head to toe with a very inquisitive look. "Is you Miss Hermione Granger, Miss?"

Smiling, Hermione bent down to look at the creature. "Yes, that's me. And you are ...?"

"I is Coddy, Miss. Miss is asking Coddy's name ... Miss is being kind to Coddy," it commented in wonder, bowing again, this time so low that its nose touched the ground.

Hermione was reminded of the strange way Dobby acted around Harry. This family's house-elves were definitely strange ...

"Master is awaiting Miss. Coddy is escorting Miss to Master."

The creature stepped aside, finally letting Hermione embark upon the Malfoy grounds. The gate snapped locked with a loud click the second she had stepped past it.

The house-elf started walking and beckoned Hermione to follow. The path edged around flowerbeds and fine gardens, and led to a completely white mansion of which Hermione could see the outline, built on a hill, towering against the starry sky, surrounded by a mass of tall trees. But instead of walking straight towards the residence as Hermione had expected, her guide soon turned into a narrow, uphill lane on their right, bordered by woods.

Between the trees, Hermione noticed that the alley they were in overhung another, wider one, shadowed by more woods.

A little farther, she discerned a set of stairs that led downwards into the lower alley.

The house-elf led Hermione down the staircase promptly left with a pop. Hermione turned around to find Lucius waiting for her, his head tilted back proudly, his pale hair gleaming an iridescent colour that rivalled the moon, though it was a little darker, a pale yellow with a silvery sheen.

They were in a small garden, shielded from view by thick curtains of foliage. A few lanterns hung from nothing, as though held in mid-air by magic, and their flickering glow gave an air of mystery to this isolated garden filled with sweet, flowery scents.

Their gazes met for a moment, warm brown clashing against cold grey. Neither spoke for a moment.

Then he broke the silence. "So - you decided to come. How very judicious of you."

He drew his wand and waved it around, not seeing the flash of fear in Hermione's eyes.

"Do sit down." He gestured to the two chairs near a small round table and sat. Hermione perched on the edge of the seat.

The house-elf reappeared, carrying a bottle of champagne and a tray of biscuits, which it deposited on the table before vanishing with a pop again.

"I trust you not to endeavour anything as stupid as attempting to use your wand against me."

Hermione felt insulted. Did he think she was so stupid? After she had taken such a risk to help him escape the clutches of her colleagues in Diagon Alley, why in the world would she ...? Then the rest of his statement registered with her, and felt her eyes widen.

"You trust me?" she exclaimed in disbelief. "You trust an Auror?"

"My dear girl, you can be so naïve sometimes. A Death Eater trusts nothing but his own judgement, and if I do not foresee an offensive attempt on your part, it is because I know you too well. From the way you acted in Diagon Alley and the risk you took to intercede for me, I have understood that I've found in you an ally who would never betray me."

She wanted to ask him why he had cast the Cruciatus Curse on her, then - what was she supposed to have done to deserve it? Then she looked into his eyes and decided that it didn't matter. He had simply been behaving like any Death Eater ...

"You appear startled. Is it, perhaps, because I know you better than you know yourself?" he suggested with a hint of mockery.

She stayed silent, although she wouldn't be able to tell why she did so. Lucius Malfoy had a way of dominating people, and she was conscious of the influence she had, willingly or not, allowed him to have over her.

"I need to thank you for your actions that day in Diagon Alley," he said. "The Dark Lord is never pleased with followers who get apprehended by the Ministry, you know. He questioned me about how I managed to evade capture when the others winded up in Azkaban. Imagine how his curiosity must have been piqued when I told him that an Auror had helped me behind the backs of her colleagues."

He took the bottle of champagne and filled two crystal goblets. Wordlessly, he offered one to her. Hermione looked at it suspiciously, remembering the colourless, odourless poisons she had learnt about during her Auror training. She knew that a wide array of these poisons were stored in a secret chamber in the Malfoy mansion, a chamber Aurors had searched for during several raids but had never managed to find, probably because only a member of the family could access it.

He scoffed at her caution. "Good Lord, surely you realise that I have had the opportunity to annihilate you at least a dozen times already. Do you really think I would use this occasion to poison you?"

"I suppose not, but Aurors are trained to seek plots to eliminate us at every step," she explained. "Not that I haven't been the target of such plans," she added with a slight shudder.

He raised his goblet and she imitated the gesture. "The Dark Order."

Hermione's eyes narrowed but she didn't say anything. What was the point? What else could she have expected from a Death Eater?

She drank after him, and she had to admit she had never tasted anything so delicious. Her tongue still burned with the taste of alcohol when she found the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing her for weeks, if not years.

"Why did you choose me?"

He looked calculatingly at her, and she had the impression that whatever his answer would be, it would not be fully truthful.

"The first time I saw you closely, I noted a particular - air - about you, one very different from your friends'. It was a quality that I would never have expected to find in a Gryffindor, let alone one of no wizard family. I saw inherent darkness in you, and it intrigued me. Presently that darkness is more evident than ever ..."

"If that's the case, how come nobody else has noticed it?"

"Well, you see, only a person deeply immersed in the Dark Arts would be able to recognize the Darkness in others. To perceive it, one has to be very familiar with it oneself, to the point of being surrounded by it every day -"

Now that Hermione thought of it, the concept made sense. Barty Crouch senior, who had been an Auror before he had gone into politics, must have sensed her affinity for the Dark Arts. That must've been why he had been so quick to suspect her of conjuring the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup.

"- but it is also a question of how powerful the wizard is ... no doubt the Dark Lord would have no trouble picking you out in a crowd, just by the Darkness emanating from you. He would recognise it instantly, for it is the same that he seeks in his Death Eaters. And speaking of the Dark Lord ..." He paused.

Hermione held her breath. She had an idea of what was coming. How could she not? It was what she had expected ever since he had first expressed interest in her. She opened her mouth to say no before he even asked ...

"Hermione ..." It was the first time she heard him call her by her first name. The sound of it took her breath away, and the 'no' died silently on her lips. "The Dark Lord entreats you to accept a great honour he has bestowed on you, considering that you are not even a pure-blood. He offers you a place by his side."

He slipped a white hand under her chin and tilted her head so that he could stare into her eyes. The Auror looked back into cold grey eyes, just like the first time, at the Quidditch World Cup ... only this time, she did not blush as she gazed into the eyes of the man she loved. "Join us, Hermione," he drawled, "Join the Death Eaters."

She shook her head quickly. No. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to take that decision. She needed to think rationally, to consider all sides of the question before making up her mind, especially on such an important issue. She was afraid that she would make a reckless choice if she were to decide now ... in fact, she felt tempted to accept right away, reasoning be damned, just to make him happy. He wanted her to join Voldemort, he was asking her to become a Death Eater, and Hermione was afraid that she would do just that, regardless of the consequences, unless she kept a strict control over herself.

She couldn't allow herself to make a decision only to regret it later, for once she became a Death Eater, there was no way back, and if she declined, she would probably be killed. She had to do a lot of thinking before making such a choice.

To avoid answering, Hermione asked another question. "Why would Volde-" she stopped. Lucius did not flinch at the name; in fact, he was the only Death Eater she had met who didn't flinch, gasp, wince or hiss at hearing his Master's name spoken aloud, but she still judged it inappropriate to pronounce it in his presence. "Why would the Dark Lord want a Mudblood among his followers?" she asked.

She noticed distantly that she had actually pronounced the word so shunned by many that some even went as far as to say a 'you-know-what' instead. Really, it reminded her of the fuss people made about speaking Voldemort's name. It was just a word, honestly! She was also conscious of the fact that she had called Voldemort 'the Dark Lord' for the first time. All that in a single sentence ... what was happening to her?

"The Dark Lord has been expressing interest in you ever since I mentioned your particular qualities to him. He wishes to meet you to see them for himself. If the encounter happens as he expects, he is willing to make an exception for you, to overlook your blood.

"Yes, Hermione," he insisted, noticing her astounded, and somewhat doubtful, expression, "the Dark Lord does allow Muggle-borns to join him ... under special circumstances. That case applies to you - as one of the most powerful Aurors of our time, you would be an immense asset to our cause."

"I'm touched by the distinction," Hermione spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "That one of such power considers me worthy ... for that alone, I can't bring myself to refuse right away. However ... I'd appreciate a time of reflection before making a decision of such magnitude."

"Very good, very good, you may take your time ... the Dark Lord expects your decision by the end of the coming week. You need to owl me with your answer."

"Mr Malfoy -"

"You may call me Lucius."

"Very well, Lucius. I think it's ... less than safe for us to correspond that way. My ... friends wouldn't be pleased if they were to accidentally fall upon a letter signed by you at my place," Hermione said, not noticing that she had started referring to Harry and Ron with nothing less than disgust just because she thought it would please him.

"In that case, I would suggest avoiding signing our letters in a way that could allow others to identify the correspondent."

Finally, they agreed on using their middle names to address and sign their letters.

"Altair," he said shortly. "Well, Hermione? Tell me your middle name. I wish to know who I will receive an owl from before the end of the week."

Hermione wrung her hands in her lap. "It's - at Hogwarts, I told everyone that it's Jane, but -" She looked down at the table, blushing.

"You lied?" he guessed.

"Yes. I didn't want people to laugh at me ... they had enough reason to do that already, and I didn't want them to laugh at my weird names as well. I mean, Hermione sounds weird enough, doesn't it? My middle name, it's - it's Antares, all right? I know that it's not very - um - feminine, but my parents had an obsession with strange names - it's not my fault," she said defensively, expecting him to laugh. Girls at primary school always had when they saw the tag on her schoolbag, where her parents had insisted that she write her full name.

"Hermione," he said firmly, interrupting her embarrassed explanation, "in the wizarding world, a name such as yours - either of them - is entirely acceptable. In fact, to be named after a celestial body is a mark of distinction among wizards." He leaned over the table towards her. "My great-great-great-grandmother was named Antares. She led an illustrious career and was greatly respected in her time. What I do find astonishing indeed is the idea that Muggles would name their daughter after a star ... it is a tradition in some ancient families of our kind - the Blacks, for example, are notorious for it - but amid the common folk ..."

He looked at her questioningly.

"Well, my parents had a knack for all kinds of unusual things ... including names, unfortunately," she said hesitantly, "you know, a bit like Arthur Weasley's obsession with Muggle contraptions ..."

"I see ..."

He sneered at the mention of Mr Weasley, and Hermione wondered when the feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys had started. What could possibly have caused such enmity? Not that she didn't sincerely consider Arthur Weasley's fascination with everything Muggle utterly ridiculous ... in fact, in Molly's place, she would have been ashamed. But Hermione had never admitted her secret irritation. She smiled indulgently every time Mr Weasley asked her about the way some Muggle appliance worked ...

She decided to change the subject. "Just how large is the Malfoy estate?" she asked. Such curiosity was probably inappropriate, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Well, the grounds surrounding the manor amount to 22 acres; that is, approximately one fourth of the surface of Wiltshire County," he answered.

Hermione listened with interest. In the wizarding world, a single family's land never extended farther than to one village or a town at the most. That is, the wealthiest, most prominent families - and those were rare. Apparently, the Malfoys were even higher-ranking than that, with such huge properties. The average magical household owned no more than a house with a small back yard, just like in the Muggle world. That was the case of the Weasleys, for example - the garden around The Burrow wasn't small, only badly cared for.

Keeping in mind that the acre was a unit of area equal to 4,000 square metres or 0.40 hectares ... she did the conversion in her head and couldn't help feeling impressed. A domain of eight hectares was one huge chunk of land.

"We have an area of woodland around the house, enclosing a river and two small lakes, one of which is directly behind the manor." Lucius continued, obviously seizing the occasion to brag about his wealth. Hermione did not mind; she found herself genuinely interested. "Beyond the woods lies an expanse of semi-wilderness. Naturally, the whole surface is Unplottable and concealed from Muggles."

Hermione suddenly remembered a passage she had read years ago, in a book she had found lying around in Grimmauld Place. Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy devoted several chapters to the Malfoy family, most of which were filled with complicated charts composing a family tree, but she remembered a particular page on the family's history:

The House of Malfoy is unquestionably the most prominent pure-blood family in wizarding Britain, with their genealogical tapestry dating back twelve centuries. There is no family that holds to English traditions more fervently than they do, which is rather surprising, given their ancestors were of French descent.

The Malfoy family has always been renowned for their use of Dark magic. They have always relied on the Dark Arts to deal with hardships as much as with everyday life. Their faith in the power of the Darker sorts of magic has never wavered, enough to earn them a surname referring to it. As a matter of fact, the name Malfoy literally means 'Dark faith' in French.

The Malfoys have been the most prosperous wizarding family of France. They were forced to emigrate from their fatherland during the times of violent persecution our kind suffered at the hand of Muggles, the situation in France being the most critical in all of Europe. It is said that they were exiled from the French wizarding community during the XVI^th century because of their refusal to stay concealed from the common folk. Indeed, the patriarch of the family at the time claimed he would never accept to hide from those inferior to him, because it went against his family creed.

Antoine Malfoy and his wife chose to establish themselves in Wiltshire, purchasing a large plot of land in the northeast of the county thanks to the extensive amounts of gold they had brought with them. They quickly adjusted to their new homeland and adopted the English language and traditions, which their descendants still respect with such rigour that is rarely found even among the native, although they keep the custom of having their heirs learn French.

According to old custom, the head of the Malfoy family inherits the title of Earl of Sarum that had been given to Antoine Malfoy upon his acquisition of an area amounting to a significant part of the surface of the region, thus placing the Malfoy family among the highest-ranking landowners in magical Europe. In the magical British Isles, this is the highest hereditary title of the nobility, and such a title always accompanies the possession of an area of land of the dimensions of a village or larger.

The residence, commonly known as the Malfoy Manor, is also referred to as the Salisbury Hall. To this day, the Malfoys retain their status of the wealthiest family in wizarding Britain ...

Hermione suddenly felt very flattered to be a guest here, at the home of one of the most illustrious wizarding families in Britain and probably in all of Western Europe.

"This is the main courtyard of the manor," her host explained. "The lake is on the other side, but it is not - prudent - for you to venture there, not when some prying eyes could catch a glimpse of you, if they just happen to look through a window."

"Prying eyes?" Hermione repeated. "And who would that be?"

"Narcissa tends to stay up late ... so do my son and Pansy - my, ah, daughter-in-law. They need not work, you understand, with our fortune, so they simply stay at the manor all day, slothful as they are. I had hoped that my son would amount to something respectable, but he has inherited too many of his mother's shortcomings to be fit for anything more."

Hermione agreed with that. Draco Malfoy, as she remembered him from Hogwarts - and she supposed he hadn't changed much - had always been lazy, brash and careless, not to mention his highly inconvenient habit of talking too much. She had heard from Harry and Ron that Draco had carelessly told his dim-witted friends (or at least whom he thought were Crabbe and Goyle) that there was a room full of Dark Artefacts concealed under the drawing room of the manor. Hermione had no doubt Ron had owled his father with the information as soon as he could - not that it had proved of any use to Arthur Weasley. Many Aurors had searched the mansion, back when the Malfoy family still had the reputation of being respectable wizards, and they had never found anything. Of course, Hermione was sure the secret room was hidden well enough that no Ministry official would ever find it.

"If I may ask ..." she started, the Auror side of her mind taking over, "where in Wiltshire are we?"

"In the environs of the Salisbury Plain ... the commoners call this area 'Old Sarum'. It is not possible to define the exact location, as the manor and the grounds are Unplottable. The Muggles believe this area is uninhabited - there has been no Muggle living here since the 1200s, and there are charms on the area that make it appear deserted to those without magic. And as no wizard can find the Malfoy residence unless the head of the family - that is, I - gives the invitation to them ... that is the reason why the Ministry fails to gain access to the manor no matter how hard they try, even though nearly a decade ago, they did visit me to search the house for Dark Artefacts, but only because I agreed to it - else they would never have found it."

"So not only the domain is Unplottable, but it's also magically Untraceable?" she said, amazed. "To make an area of eight hectares Untraceable ... it requires a huge amount of magic! Not even Hogwarts is Untraceable, and I'm sure Dumbledore would've made it so if he could ..."

"My ancestors were powerful wizards, Hermione, very powerful wizards," he drawled, his eyes flashing at the mention of Dumbledore, "though one of my forefathers - my namesake, Altair Malfoy - surpassed them all. He brought the name Malfoy to the height of power ... but he realised that with such power, our home was in need of protection from - ah - those who were less than pleased with our standing."

Lucius paused, his eyes fixed on the outline of the mansion glittering against the black sky, framed by trees. There was something akin to wistfulness in his expression.

"Altair was the one who made the manor Untraceable, not that it stopped what he had foreseen all along ..."

Hermione detected bitterness in his voice and it puzzled her. Aurors were trained in interrogation techniques, and Hermione had taken a class called Advanced Magical Communication at the academy, where she had learnt to detect and interpret subtle hints of emotion in speech in order to determine the truthfulness of the speaker. With the skills she had acquired during her training, she could easily tell that there was more to the issue.

But the bitterness was masked by a terrible spite, and his grey eyes gleamed with a suppressed hatred. Even though Hermione was sure there was more to the story, she wasn't going to ask - the rage, barely hidden, was visible to her, and she did not want to risk provoking him with questions on a subject that was, by all signs, highly unpleasant. Hermione only wondered who it was that he hated so and what they could have done to earn such spite.

"Would you like a tour of the area?" Lucius drawled, hasty to get away from what Hermione guessed to be bad memories. "I have a garden of roses you might enjoy seeing."

"I would like that very much," she replied, hesitating for a second before adding, "my Lord."

She hoped he wouldn't take offence to her calling him by a title no one used anymore. She knew that he blamed the influx of Muggle-borns into their world for that. In reality, a reformist half-blooded politician of the nineteenth century had thought it in his interests to abolish the wizarding nobility's privileges. He had used the increasing number of Muggle-borns as an excuse, true, but it made no sense to anyone who knew that even the Muggles still respected their aristocracy, at least in Britain.

Lucius did not show the pleasant surprise that he felt. He had not expected a witch of Muggle descent to know the old traditions. The majority of the magical population (even the pure-blooded families) were unaware of these customs, which angered him greatly. And here was a Mudblood who was not only well-informed on the subject, but who also paid him the respect nobody bothered to anymore. It only reinforced his conviction that this woman, Mudblood or not, was very different from the others he had met.

When they entered a lane full of rosebushes of the rarest kinds, Hermione was speechless. They were her favourite plants and she had even planted some around her house, but she had never seen any so beautiful, not even in Muggle botanical gardens. She knew that this garden had to be maintained by house-elves, and they had done their job skilfully, she thought as she took in the blossoming stems that were coiled around the closest pillar. Their flowers were of a satiny yellow tinted with pink on the central petals. Hermione bent down, inhaling the fragrance that reminded her of the French perfume she had smelt on her mother once when they had been going to a theatre.

"Well? What do you think?"

"It's ... it's magnificent."

"I knew you would like it, my dear." He used his wand to clip off one of the flowers and offered it to Hermione.

"Would you allow me offer this to you as a present?" he drawled.

She thanked him, dropping her gaze. With shaking fingers, she drew out her wand and cast a charm to stick the flower to the front of her robes.

He observed her attentively. Hermione's eyes, the pure, dark eyes that had captivated him so many years ago, looked deeper when reflecting the stars shining above his home. She was extremely pretty, so unlike Narcissa's blonde resplendence, darker yet just as alluring with her youthful energy, her enigmatic soul shining through.

"Now why don't you come here?" It sounded like a request, but Hermione knew it was a command. Voldemort's right-hand man did not ask people to do things.

She took a step closer.

Lucius wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her. She closed her eyes and relaxed in his embrace, gently responding to his kiss but generally just giving in to his passion. She knew that she would never be his equal, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be. He would always dominate her ... she wanted to keep it that way. It just felt right.

From all the times she had been kissed in the past by Viktor Krum and her subsequent boyfriends, not one kiss had been so exciting, so intense. In fact, no man had ever given her the pleasure she knew with Lucius.

When she was completely out of breath, he pulled his face away from hers but did not release her. He stroked her cheek, staring into her eyes as though he was trying to find her soul so that he could take charge of it like he had done with her body and her mind. His grey eyes looked deep and dark with desire and she simply couldn't look away ...

Hermione kept looking into his eyes and shuddered at what she saw in them. A pitiless desire to take, to control ... it frightened her, but she was also curious, and secretly thrilled to be the object of such a strong passion. How could it not flatter her that he found her - a plain Muggle-born - so irresistible? On some subconscious level, she wanted accommodate his incomprehensible hunger to know all that she was.

At least there was none of the usual indifference in his expression. She realised with a surge of happiness that she had woken a need for affection in him, a need that his cold and prim wife could never satisfy.

"You never answered my question," she said suddenly, regaining some sense. "Why are you doing this with me? I'm sure it's not just because - as you said - I have a potential for the Dark Arts!"

"I touch you simply because I want to," he drawled. "And to give you a reason to join our Lord," he added frankly.

She felt a prickle of indignation. Our Lord?

"You are a genuinely pretty witch," he continued before she could remind him that she was an Auror and firmly on the Light side. At those words, she forgot her anger entirely. "You have no idea, I am sure, of the power your eyes hold ... what is it that gives them such fire? Is it the darkness you harbour inside?"

Nothing could have prepared her for a confession of this sort from him or for the incomprehensible emotion it brought out in her. She hugged him tightly to show her gratitude. It had been such a long time since anyone had complimented her looks ... Viktor had been the last to do that, and how quickly he had forgotten her, once she had told him that she felt nothing but friendship towards him ...

Her best friends didn't appreciate her looks, or maybe they didn't even realise that she was a grown-up woman now... they probably still saw her as the girl with tangled hair and large teeth whom they had met on the Hogwarts Express and who pulled them out of trouble every time they did something stupid, not noticing that she was no longer bucktoothed, and definitely no longer a girl ...

Lucius buried a hand in her hair, enjoying the sensation of the soft ringlets between his fingers. He felt her eyelashes flutter and close as he kissed her again. Letting go of her head, he curled his hands impatiently around her sides as he held her close to his body. He had been looking forward to this for weeks. His wife's frigid eyes and the distant composure that she retained even under his touch were very off-putting. And there was nothing that turned him off as instantly as when Narcissa tried to take charge, taking away what was the basis of all pleasure to him: to have power over others.

It was the reason he had joined the Death Eaters and also the reason why he found it so addictive to touch Hermione. But there were other things that drew him to Hermione ... her fiery spirit and her artless, uncorrupted purity had always stirred up a wild covetousness in him. It wasn't just desire - he could control his desires - but a need, a thirst to conquer everything about her and to keep it for himself. He wanted to become one with her if only for a moment, to unite with her by taking complete control over her, to know what it felt like to be her ...

After Narcissa, he found Hermione's unguarded reactions pleasingly different. And he did not need to treat her as an equal; she had been far from complaining the last time, as he recalled ...

"I hope I need not threaten you with strangulation this time ... do I?" he whispered.

Hermione looked up, meeting the fire in his eyes. She smiled faintly, remembering how scared she had been that night. "No, you don't need to."

-

Shifting in her lover's arms, Hermione closed her robes to shield herself from the fresh night air. He had covered the ground under her with his cloak. They were surrounded by grass and dry leaves, and the moon, silent spectator to their duplicity, shed its dim light on them from above. When he moved off her, she placed her hand on his arm and held him back, staring at him with curiosity.

She moved her hand up slowly, hesitantly, to touch his sleek hair. He did not push her away, although she was sure that he wasn't used to gestures of affection being initiated by a woman.

He sat up on the ground next to her. "Look up, Hermione," he murmured, lifting her chin in the palm of his hand.

She looked at the sky. The moon shone above them, surrounded by stars that looked much brighter than those she was used to seeing over London. There were so many of them here ...

"Draco," said Lucius, "the constellation."

She looked more carefully at the stars that were like a long ribbon spread across the sky. She recalled her Astronomy lessons at Hogwarts, the observations made at night using magical telescopes, Professor Sinistra's crisp voice giving names to the patterns they were seeing ... putting her imagination to work, Hermione saw that the stars above the mansion looked like a snake reared up to strike, with the two brightest as its head - its eyes? - and a long, glittery tail ...

"We see him all year here, as Narcissa likes to point out," Lucius commented softly. "It was a tradition in her family to watch the stars, and since moving in at the manor after our marriage, she spent more hours on the balcony observing the sky than in her bedroom - or mine. She noticed that Draco was always there during these nights, shining above her, and she chose to name our son after him."

Hermione's eyes glittered, full of interest, as they reflected the stars. "That's a fascinating story," she breathed. "I never knew ..."

He shifted her so that her back was pressed to his chest, and started stroking her hair. Soothed, Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder and kept gazing at the many stars above the house. She tried to find other patterns that she would recognise from her Astronomy classes. Before she realised it, her eyes were closing ...

When Lucius looked at her again, she was fast asleep, her breasts heaving slightly under the robes that covered them. Her soft dark hair, damp with sweat, clung to her forehead in rebellious curls.

He stared at the sleeping young woman. He remembered the first time he had met - or rather, noticed - her when she had been but a girl soon to start her fourth year at Hogwarts, a girl who had stared at him rebelliously. Her expression had lacked the hatred he had seen in the eyes of Potter and the eight Weasleys. He had known then that she would haunt him for a long time.

And haunt him she had. He supposed that was when it had begun. Her brown eyes had troubled his dreams ever since that day. Sometimes those eyes glowed with a golden light in his dreams; on other nights he would see them deep and velvety and no less enchanting ...

He had waited for years and whether she wanted it or not, he wasn't going to let her leave now. To hell with Narcissa - he would let her think what she wanted; there had never been any sentiments between them anyway. Their marriage was one of convenience, a dynastical alliance between two influential wizarding families, like in the old days.

He would have wished Hermione was a pure-blood, but even if she wasn't, it was not going to stop him. As for what the Dark Lord would say ... well, if the Dark Lord himself was willing to accept her, a Mudblood, into the Dark Order, Lucius could overlook her blood as well, couldn't he?

He strongly believed in Slytherin's ideas about pure-blood supremacy, but he did admit that there were exceptions to the rule. He had always known that the Dark Lord was a half-blood yet he still served him, because in his eyes, the power Tom Marvolo Riddle possessed and his direct blood connection to the great Salazar Slytherin compensated for the Muggle taint in his blood. Hermione was yet another exception. In her case, it was her uncommon intelligence that counterweighted her lack of a proper wizard surname.

His arms tightened around the bushy-haired Auror. An Auror... who would have thought? Who would have expected that she would be so easy to convince? Aurors did not side with Dark wizards. It was simply unheard of. But this woman seemed to be the exception to every rule ...

From a window high up in the manor, a pair of blue eyes watched. There was a look of disbelief in those eyes, as if the person they belonged to believed herself the victim of a hallucination.

-

In a spacious room on the second floor of the manor, a blonde woman sat in a high-backed chair facing the window, a leather-bound book on her lap. She looked very slim in her robes of indigo-blue silk.

Diamond-encrusted clips held her long blond hair in a knot behind her head, and her bare arms were adorned with narrow gold bracelets incrusted with sapphires. The gems sparkled at her every movement, while others, forming a thick necklace around her neck, set off lingering flashes of blue.

Although every feature of her face was of a symmetric, aristocratic beauty, there was so much hardness in the set of her mouth and her rounded chin that it undermined her attractiveness quite gravely. Still, she had an imposing kind of beauty.

The walls around her were a pale lavender colour and the furniture in the room was made of a pale, exotic rosewood that must have cost immense amounts of gold. In fact, everything in the room looked expensive. The huge wardrobe in the corner was full of satin, velvet and other fine fabrics in all imaginable shades and the vanity next to it was cluttered with bottles of extravagant French perfume and cosmetics.

The tall woman could not believe what she was seeing. Lucius with another woman? This was impossible. Her husband would never cheat on her ...

Her eyebrows furrowed as she squinted to see better in the distance, but she could not distinguish the other woman's face in the dark. All she discerned was a mass of dark hair. Her confusion quickly turned to fury as she jumped up from her chair and moved closer to the window, jerking the violet curtains aside. Her book fell to the floor but she did not notice or if she did, she paid it no heed as she continued to stare, transfixed, her cheek pressed against the cool glass, at the scene in the distance.

How could Lucius do this to her? She was his wife, for Merlin's sake! How dare he?

Her pale face flushed suddenly in rage. This was one of the rare occasions when the aloof, disdainful Narcissa Malfoy lost her rigid composure, not that anyone was here to witness it. I am going to kill that wench, whoever she is ...

She sat back into her chair, a sudden weakness falling over her. Her mind had not yet recovered from the shock, but a dozen ideas were already swirling around in her head. She feverishly vowed to find out who the woman was, dazedly contemplating possible courses of action, trying but failing to form a coherent plan.

-

Lucius accompanied Hermione back to the gate. The mansion was visible behind them, illumined from above by the moon and the stars.

Hermione turned back to take one last look at the imposing building. She was once again astonished by its nocturnal beauty. It almost glowed, with its dimly lit windows and pale stone walls. She wished she could see what it looked like on the inside, but that was too risky. Perhaps one day ... but not while Mrs Malfoy was there. Merlin knew what the woman would do if she found out ... And suddenly, Hermione felt a rising hatred for the lady of the manor. She loathed that woman ...

Lucius reminded her of Voldemort's offer, drawing her away from her dark thoughts.

"Think about it, Hermione. I have seen the turmoil you Aurors live in. It is a lifestyle that does not suit you."

What went unsaid was that the turmoil was caused by those like him. "So you expect me to kill my kind?" she exclaimed before she could stop herself. "That's treason, that's ... that's despicable!"

"Ah, but my dear Hermione, would you prefer to die with the rest of them?" he asked softly. "You are not that much of a Gryffindor. You want to live your own life. You have let your friends influence you yet you resent being in their shadow. Convince me that I am mistaken, Hermione."

She looked away, defeated. He was right, too right: it was as though he was reading the darkest part of her mind. "Fine ... I'll consider it, I promise."

"Good. I'll expect your owl shortly." The look in his eyes told her that refusal wasn't an option.

She looked down, feeling a prickling sensation in the corners of her eyes. "Goodbye," she said unsteadily, staring at the ground. She couldn't bring herself to ask whether she would see him again ...

As though he knew what she was thinking, he eased her worry with his next words.

"Until next time, Hermione."

She smiled gratefully, almost shyly at him, and he saw that her eyes were twinkling with tears.

Then the gate snapped locked between them.

-

Hermione Apparated a few streets away from The Wildrose Den. She stepped under a streetlamp and examined herself carefully in a small pocket mirror. Were there any remains of grass or dead leaves in her hair? Lucius had assured her there weren't any, after removing everything that could have hitched in her brown mane. But she felt so guilty, when she approached her house after spending these moments with him, that she was sure her shame must have been visible on her face.

Hermione felt a surge of anger. Why did this damned thing called conscience have to torment her so? Why couldn't she just make it shut up?

Sure that she had regained her usual appearance, she walked the rest of the way to her house determinedly, forcing all thoughts of 'wrong' and 'traitor' out of her mind.