Perished Dreams

Perished Dreams - Chapter Three

Malfoy Manor

Chapter Three: Malfoy Manor

Neither Hermione's lively imagination nor her extensive reading could have prepared her for the sight of the building that for awhile was going to be her home.

Malfoy Manor appeared to be taken straight out of a gothic story. Enormous, built of charcoal black stone, more resembling a castle than a mansion, it lay veiled in darkness hovering in the midst of a vast park. The lit windows gave an eerie, greenish glow, as if the house were inhabited by demons rather than humans. Which probably wasn't very far from the truth, she thought waspishly. The windows that revealed nothing but darkness were like empty eye sockets, reminiscent of those of the Dark Mark. The property itself was surrounded by more deadly obstacles than she would have thought possible, which had quickly obliterated any plans of escape she might have had. All that was needed to make the picture complete, was...

Crack.

Draco cast a sideways glance Hermione, wondering why a bolt of lightning would make her smile. He wanted to ask her, but thought the better of it. She had not spoken a word to him since his explanation. He had the nasty feeling he might have insulted her in some way.

In his life he had seen many reactions to the first viewing of the Manor. Everything from a silent "God be merciful unto us" to outbursts of envy and greed, but never before had he seen someone who actually seemed to be amused. He found it both peculiar and annoying. After all, his ancestors had not built this to the pleasure of the unworthy (in other words anyone who was not a Malfoy). In fact, he doubted that his forefathers had ever done anything to the pleasure of anyone, he thought, feeling the usual touch of family pride. They had designed this building to impress, and terrify, and in the 1200 years since it had worked perfectly. Until now, that was. He shot Hermione a sharp, reproving look.

Her smile vanished, leaving him with the ambivalent desire to bring it forth again. If she had been talking to him, Hermione would have said something venomous in response to the utterly unfair correction. As it was, she settled for a bat-with-rabies look.

As they drew near the Manor, he regretted worsening her mood further. There were things she had to bear clearly in mind before they entered, which made it up to him to break the unpleasant silence that had descended on them.

"Granger," he started determinedly, "there are certain things you must accept before we go inside. It is best that my parents are not aware that you are here...er...not entirely voluntarily. You must not do anything to give them that impression."

Now she gave him a soon-to-be-dead-bat-with-rabies look and said, enraged, "If you think that I am going to behave as your obedient little marionette, you're wrong, Malfoy. I doubt if your father would have cared if you so had killed me. In fact," she added spitefully, "he would probably joyfully participate himself. But I do intend to implore to your mother or anyone else who might have the common sense and the compassion the two of you lack."

Now Draco was, for the first time since he had found her in that cell, truly furious. His silver eyes darkened to near black, an angry red colour spread over his cheekbones, and every pore of his body emanated the rage that filled him. He radiated some kind of power that sucked all of her will, strength and magic abilities out of her. Now she understood how Draco had come to rank so high among the Death Eaters, and the godlike way in which he was treated. Tilting her chin upwards, he forced her to meet his gaze. Feeling weak, exhausted and petrified with fear, she heard his low, menacing voice. "Do you feel this, Granger? And this is only the beginning of what I can do to you if I choose. So far I have tolerated your obstinacy, but rest assured that if you provoke me too much, you will find yourself experiencing things that will make death seem like a mercy. One thing is what you say to me when we are alone, but together with others you will always show me the outmost respect. You will not make any scenes, or in any way inconvenience my mother or any guests or visitors we may have. Defy me in public, and you will be punished in public. Is that understood?"

She nodded meekly. There was no resistance left in her.

Satisfied, he let her go. "Good. Now let's get inside. It's freezing out here."

By that they started climbing the steep staircase. The door opened before them and Hermione stared at what had to be the butler. Except from the fact that he did not look like an ordinary butler. His skin was ghostly pale and somehow reflected the light, his eyes were iridescent, and when he greeted Malfoy, she saw that he had...fangs. Automatically she made as if to take a step backwards, but Draco grabbed her arm and held her firmly.

As they followed the servant, Draco whispered in her ear, "Granger, you mustn't show Damian that you are aware that he isn't a regular butler. He's quite touchy about it."

He is on first name basis with his vampire butler, but me he has kissed and still continues to call "Granger," Hermione thought annoyed. Perhaps it was that which made her temporarily forget about the death-is-a-mercy part of their conversation, and reply with, "Can't see why. I heard soulless blood drinkers are all the rage this season."

The look he gave her, however, quickly made the recollection vivid. Hermione cleared her throat, and said hurriedly with something she hoped he would take as genuine interest, "How did he come to be working here, anyway?"

"Damian had through years of selfless service to the Malfoy family shown himself indispensable. On his deathbed one of my ancestors made him what he is today. We reward those who are loyal to us well," he said with a meaningful glance at her

For a moment she could just goggle at him, hoping against hope that becoming a zombie wasn't actually his idea of a reward. "Remind me never to do anything you might consider a favour, Malfoy. Oh, no, wait, you don't have to. It comes natural."

Judging by his facial expression very luckily for Hermione, they in that moment reached one of the sitting rooms.

To busy with their bickering, Hermione had hardly noticed the beautiful interior of the castle. Therefore it struck her with even more force now. While the outside of the Manor was designed to impress and intimidate, the inside was decorated with impeccable taste, not only making the house fit to be in a Beautiful homes magazine, but also making it strangely...homey. Well, as homey as anything can be when it consists of 600 ancient rooms belonging to one of the most notorious families in Europe.

This drawing room was a good example. It had cream coloured wallpaper with a gold pattern, peach curtains and exquisite Louis XIV furniture.

In one of the chairs sat an elegant, regal woman embroidering. She looked up as she said, very politely, "Yes, Damian?" This surprised Hermione. She remembered poor Dobby, and had expected the Malfoys to behave in the same manner towards all of their staff. This was apparently not the case. At least not when the servant could rip your throat open and enjoy its content as an appetiser. Then Mrs. Malfoy saw them standing there, and her eyes lit up.

Narcissa Malfoy was a very pretty woman. Her long, flaxen hair was put up in the nineteenth century-style that was so common in the Wizarding World among ladies of breeding and fortune. Her eyes were startlingly blue and expressed immediate warmth at the sight of her son. Her slender form dressed in periwinkle blue silk robes rose and approached them.

Draco kissed her powdered cheek, and introduced them formally. All rules of etiquette were obeyed slavishly at the Manor, as Hermione was soon to learn.

"Mother, this is an old friend of mine, Miss Hermione Granger," Narcissa flinched slightly, and her eyes flickered questioningly to her son. It was obvious that she had heard him speak of her before, although then not in particularly friendly manner. Draco, however, continued unmoved with the presentation. "Hermione (she scolded herself for enjoying that he said her name. He emphasised it unlike anyone else, so softly, lingeringly...), this is my mother, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy."

Hermione smiled uncertainly. "How do you do." Narcissa returned the smile with a hesitant, "How do you do."

Hermione's only impression of her from before had been the day of the Quidditch World Cup, and then Draco's mother had seemed a cold, distant woman. Knowing Malfoy's attitude towards Muggles and Muggleborns, and assuming that he must have picked them up from somewhere, she now expected to be treated as if she were something unpleasant Mrs. Malfoy had got under her shoe.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Narcissa proved to be a tactful, gracious hostess who in spite of the somewhat awkward situation (the Malfoys were for the annihilation of all Muggleborns, and, of course, supported the Dark Lord who had put an end to Hermione's life as she had known it) managed to create an enjoyable atmosphere.

It wasn't until Mrs. Malfoy wondered if Hermione were going to spend the night there, that tension filled the air again.

"Actually, Mother," Draco said with a charming smile, "I thought Hermione could stay with us for a little while. As you probably have heard, it isn't really safe to be out there for Mud...er...Muggleborns nowadays."

Because of people like you, said the furious look Hermione sent him.

"I see," Narcissa said with an unreadable expression. "So you offered her to stay here. That was very nice of you."

"That's just the kind of guy I am," he replied modestly. "Always ready to reach out a han...ouch!" (That would be an exclamation to the sudden contact between Hermione's foot and Draco's shin)

Hermione smiled angelically. "Your vocabulary never fails to impress me, Drakie. Up until this moment I had actually never heard the word "hanouch."" Isn't it just marvellous what taking a couple of classes twice can do?"

Whether it was the kick, the taunt, or being called "Drakie" which triggered it off, remains unknown, but Draco's facial expression was now set on murder. "But I really cannot take the credit for the idea of providing protection for Hermione myself, Mother. It was she, you see, who came to me. "Draco," she said... "

"Not "Drakie?"" said Narcissa, the corners of her mouth twisting oddly.

Draco resumed undisturbed, ""Because I'm a Muggleborn and therefore not worthy to associate with proper wizards,"" (here Hermione's eyes started blazing) ""the powerful, intelligent, invincible Death Eaters might come and kill me." Of course, I tried at first to calm her with that she is far too insignificant for anyone to bother, but then she fell too her knees clutching my robes, crying piteously. And in the midst of the violent sobbing she managed to press forth..."

""In that insensitive, cold, possibly non-existent heart of yours there must be something that will allow you to help me. To just for this once deprive yourself the pleasure of seeing someone writhe in pain."" Hermione stared at him in seeming innocence. "And you said "Hermione, keeping the world in terror isn't just women, booze and all-around fun, you know. There are people to oppress, school busses to blow up and small animals to torture. And if you can't even relax by taking a beer and killing a Mudblood when the hard day's work is over, then what would the point of it all be? It's not as if any of us have a life."" She smiled sweetly at him. "Isn't that approximately what you said, Drakie dearest?"

Just in that moment, when we were about to learn exactly what Draco had picked up from his extra tutoring, a little house-elf appeared. "Master is home," it announced. By closer investigation, it was a she. She had big jade eyes and had a green tablecloth draped around its tiny body like a kimono.

The effect this message had upon the assembly was remarkable. Narcissa stopped staring in fascination with a half horrified, half entertained expression at Draco and Hermione who were about to go for each other's throats. Instead she now looked entirely horrified. Draco stopped glaring murderously at Hermione, who felt a twinge of fear in her stomach.

"Although I'm sure your father wouldn't mind you bringing home a friend," Mrs. Malfoy said, looking very much as if she indeed thought he would mind, "I think it would perhaps be best if waited with the introductions for a bit. He has probably had a hard day," here her voice trailed off and she avoided meeting Hermione's gaze, "and he will be in no mood to socialise. I will take Miss Granger to her room while you greet Father," she added giving her son a look which very distinctly said Stall him.

Draco had opened his mouth to say that he could take Hermione to her room, but the finality of Narcissa's voice made no room for objections.

"The two of you can get acquainted tomorrow." Mrs. Malfoy smiled encouragingly to Hermione before she turned away to confer with the house-elf.

"Yes, bonding with a guy who thinks I ought to part of an extinct populace would fit in so nicely with the recent events in my life," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Draco squeezed her arm threateningly, not so that it really hurt, but as a reminder as to what he could do with her if he pleased. "Watch it, Granger. There are limits to even my patience."

"You said I could say whatever I wanted as long as no one else could hear it." The tone of her voice was whiney.

"I said that if you spoke to me in public the way you speak to me when we are alone, you would not like what would happen to you. I did not say that you have the liberty to address me in private any way you choose."

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

Narcissa, clearing her throat, said with a twinkle in her eyes, "Even though I hate to interrupt you in the middle of this...er...mature and very giving conversation, I think it perhaps would be best if we hurry?"

As Draco hastily made to exit the room, another little house-elf entered. Dressed in a worn, filthy pillowcase, it gave him a cup and announced loudly, "Your hot chocolate, Master Draco."

"Master Draco's" cheeks turned a not unflattering shade of red, and he gave the poor thing the look he had previously bestowed on Hermione. Unlike her the tiny creature squealed and shrank away.

Mrs. Malfoy whispered confidentially to Hermione. "Draco has always had a weakness for chocolate. He has always felt guilty and slightly embarrassed about it, too. I think he feels that it breaks with..."

"The whole really evil Slytherin/Death Eater/complete jerk image?"

"Although that may not be the exact words I would have chosen," Narcissa said, her lips doing that strange twisting again, "that is the essence of it, yes. The truth is that he has never been able to resist anything that he so much as associates with chocolate."

Both then stared wonderingly at Draco, not understanding why he had suddenly turned a bright pink.