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It seemed strange to Hermione to be sleeping at 12 Grimmauld Place instead of in the tent. She and Harry had been hunting horcruxes so long, she’d forgotten what a real bed felt like. Of course, a week ago she would have thought she’d still be in Ron’s bed, but that disaster had been so short-lived as to be laughable. He had not been able to get past all of their childhood interactions, and had found himself unable to take the relationship where they’d expected it to go.
Hermione sighed, thinking about it now. How had she expected to be with him, when even their first tentative kisses were awkward and felt strange? It just seemed the two were destined for friendship, and nothing more. She supposed she didn’t mind, really, except that now she had no idea what to do with the rest of her life as a result.
From the sounds coming from the other side of the wall, it seemed that Harry and Ginny had not met with a similar difficulty. Hermione groaned, and pulled a pillow up over her head in an attempt to block out the noise, but to no avail. Besides, she had suddenly heard a distinct rapping sound which had nothing to do with the ardent pair.
Uncovering her head, Hermione slid out of her bed and opened the window to let in an unfamiliar owl who had been pecking mercilessly at the glass. She took a letter off its leg, and the bird flew out again, leaving nothing but a slight breeze in its wake for her to stare at.
After she shut the window, Hermione brought the unexpected letter back to her bed with her and pulled the covers up over her legs for warmth before she unrolled the parchment. She did not recognize the handwriting, but the scent upon it smelled slightly of a manly aftershave that for some reason she felt she had encountered before. Though she could not place the scent, it gave her a slight shiver she could not explain.
Dear Miss Granger,
I wonder if you will do me the great honor of meeting me at the edge of the Forbidden Forest near Hogwarts
at your earliest possible convenience, as I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you.
--LM
“LM?” she whispered, trying to think who she knew that would be writing her that had those initials. She immediately dismissed her first thought, of course, for no Malfoy would have anything of importance to say to her, and most especially not the elder one. Still, his name kept returning to her mind each time she tried to think of any others, and finally she gave an exasperated sigh.
The only way she would be able to discover who had owled her would be to meet the person and see for herself. So she pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt, threw her cloak over her shoulders, and Apparated straight away, forgetting even to tell the amorous pair in the next room that she had gone. She supposed the letter she had left on the bed would have to suffice.
“Hello?” Hermione called out softly as she wandered around near the edge of the forest waiting. “Is anybody here?” Finally she turned around to see a tall, familiar figure looking down his nose right behind her. “Hmph, I thought it was you,” she said with a disdainful voice.
“Greetings, Miss Granger,” said Lucius as he continued to stare at her. “I hoped you would come. It saves me the trouble of trying to get past that Potter boy to have our little chat. Somehow I don’t think he would have been amenable to arranging a tete a tete between us.”
“What could you possibly have to say to me—a detestable Mudblood—that I haven’t heard from your snide lips before?” Hermione wanted to know. The only reason she did not leave straight away was that her curiosity was so piqued.
“I know that I have been an unbearable prat to you over the years, my dear,” he said, his voice sounding more wheedling than apologetic. “But as you may or may not know, both Draco and Narcissa were killed as we fled the Battle of Hogwarts two weeks since, and I fear that I find my job at the Ministry in grave danger.”
Hermione glared as she watched him begin to pace, swinging his walking stick instead of using it, and expecting her to follow simply because he was—well, he was who he was, she supposed. He was used to his commanding presence being heeded, and though she hated to give him what he wanted, she found herself walking alongside him anyway.
“And what does that have to do with me?” she demanded hotly.
“Ah, that is something I have always admired about you, Miss Granger—Hermione,” he said, beginning to sound almost nervous. Hermione shook her head in surprise at the sound of her name. “You have always preferred to come straight to the point. And so shall I. It seems that if I wish to keep my position, I must prove that I have truly renounced the Dark Lord and all his ways. I have been asked—no, ordered, really—to do something that in my wildest dreams I would never have done. As I no longer have a family, I have been asked to marry—well, someone who is not pure-blood. There was only one person that came to mind for me when I heard this, and that was you, beautiful, spirited, determined girl that you are. If I must marry outside my inclination, then I will have only the best of the breed. I would be pleased if you would agree to the thing willingly, of course, but I must make myself clear at this point by saying—I will have you either way.”
“Have you gone completely mental?” Hermione practically screamed.
“I rather thought that might be your reaction,” Lucius continued calmly, though he stopped walking and turned around to look down on her again. “That is why I took the liberty of casting anti-apparation spells around the area the moment you arrived. I fear that you won’t be able to leave me, now that you are here.”
“You what?” she gasped, trying to Apparate just to check.
“Don’t bother, Granger,” he said. “Must you be so tiresome? I had hoped you’d at least try to be a little bit reasonable—after all, you’re a clever girl. Would you not find it enjoyable to be on the arm of a rich and powerful wizard and reside in the lap of luxury?”
“With you?” she growled, making the word sound as detestable as she possibly could.
“Yes, with me,” he commented lightly. “And don’t begin to dream that this arrangement will be all for show, either. As my son is lost to me, the Malfoy line is in need of another heir. You are going to have to be my wife in every sense of the word.”
“Do you really think that I’m going to marry someone like you, and have s—sex to make a baby?” she hissed, trying to walk away from him instead.
Lucius made short work of grabbing her arm and pulling her backward so that her body was trapped against his. “I rather thought that was going to be the best part,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “You have no idea the kinds of thoughts I’ve had about you over the years, my dear. No idea at all.”
“You’re disgusting,” she told him, but the sudden rapidness of her heartbeat belied her words.
“Hmm,” he said curiously as he nuzzled the side of her face. “Perhaps I was not the only one?”
“You’re dreaming,” Hermione spat vehemently.
“Well, my dear, I find I cannot allow you to return to your friends, for fear you would find a way to avoid the wedding,” he said as he still held onto her. “It seems I will have to bring you with me now instead—though I do intend to wait to take the prize, in case you are worried about my intentions. I find that anticipation can be quite—exhilarating.”
With that, Lucius Apparated them away, and Hermione found herself locked in one of the rooms at the top of Malfoy manor, with no way to tell anyone what had happened.
“Great!” she growled fiercely. “Now what do I do?”
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