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Hermione could hear the sound of voices from somewhere above her, but she could not make out any of the words through the addled haze that still fogged her
aching head. She could feel the warm trickle of blood oozing down the back of her neck, and she felt a moment of panic. Just how hard had she been hit, and
just who was it that had done the hitting?
Of course, she had no way of knowing the answer to either one of those questions, the first because she had been knocked unconscious and therefore had not
witnessed the event in question, and the second because she was in a completely unknown land filled with unknown persons. The only thing that she knew with
any certainty whatsoever was that nobody here liked her very much, and it was not a far stretch of the imagination to think that perhaps someone her may want
her dead.
That was the thought that had her heart pounding in her chest so hard she thought the people who were conversing could probably hear it. There were two of
them, a man and a woman, and they did not sound kind. She realized after a time that they were not speaking in English, but whether or not the language they
were speaking was native to this area or not she could not say, as she had no idea how to speak any languages in Scotland, nor was she entirely certain what
languages they spoke here in this day and age.
Well, that ought to teach me a lesson, Hermione thought wryly. The one time I don't bother to research a place I'm going on the way, and it's the one time
I probably ought to have done it. She shifted her position slightly, and discovered in having done so that her hands were tied behind her back, her legs were
trussed up, and she had been blindfolded as well. That did not bode well as far as she was concerned.
Was it a testimony to just how disgustingly in love she had become over the past month that the only thing she could seem to feel about this whole thing was
sadness that she might not get to see her husband again? Her husband! It was still hard to fathom that she had one of those, and he happened to be Lucius
Malfoy, of all people. But he was, and she loved him so madly that she could think of nothing but his taste, and his touch, and how desperately she wanted
his child to be inside her now.
It made little sense to her why that should be, that if she was about to die that she would want someone else to die along with her, yet her heart wanted
this one thing with a tremendous longing. To know that some small part of him was with her when the life left her body, to know that even though they had
taken her life, they had not triumphed completely because she and her lover had succeeded in their small victory first. It was unfortunate that she would
never know if they had.
With a heavy sigh of defeat, Hermione settled back down again and took notice of the gentle swaying movement beneath her body, the creaking noises that
suggested they were in some sort of wagon. Listening harder, she heard the clopping of a horse's hooves hitting cobblestones, and she realized that they
were no longer in the castle.
Her heart sank even further at the realization as all hope of Lucius coming to her immediate rescue plummeted. If they were taking her somewhere else, he
would not even know where to look for her. He would not even know where to begin his search. Her last vestige of hope that she would once again look upon his
beloved face dashed, Hermione felt tears welling up within her eyes.
But then another thought occurred to her. If she was not dead yet, if they were taking her somewhere else, perhaps they meant to simply keep her from him, not
to kill her. It was foolish of them to believe she would stay away, if that was their intent, more foolish still to believe that her husband would stay away
from her, but she was willing to let them believe it if it meant saving her life. Yes, she was willing to let them believe anything, willing to say or do
anything it took so long as she could live to see him again. Thus resolved, a small smile returned to Hermione's lips as darkness overtook her once more.
"Don't even try to tell me this bloody farce of a story is true, Egremon!" Lucius bellowed for about the third time. He had never been this angry in his entire
life, not even when Narcissa and Draco were lost to him. He had allowed himself an indulgence that he had never before permitted in loving Hermione, and now the
pain that came with such pleasure was imminently apparent.
"My Lord, the letter says it all," the man insisted, trying to stick the offensive piece of parchment in Lucius's face yet again. The Earl tore it from his hand
and cast it aside, pinning the man to the wall with his other hand in a stranglehold so tight he immediately began to turn blue.
"Allow me to make myself plain, you mewling piece of filth," Lucius growled, baring his teeth as sweat broke out on his brow. He moved forward and shoved harder
than ever. "Do you believe for one moment that I did not take the time to familiarize myself with every aspect of the woman I intended to marry? Do you think I
am a complete and utter fool, not to do so? I learned a great deal about Miss Hermione Granger before I sent her my missive inviting her to the meet me in the
Forbidden Forest that night."
When he shook him, waiting for an answer, Egremon just gurgled in response. Lucius scoffed as he continued, "I discovered the size of her dress, the size of her
shoes, her favorite color, her favorite scent of perfume, and the types of foods that would be most likely to entice her. I even spent three days observing her
as she went about her business in Diagon Alley to see the types of places she liked to go."
At this, Lucius dropped the man, who fell at his feet with a loud thud. He kicked him in the back and held him down with a booted foot as he attempted to slither
away.
"I also familiarized myself with her exacting, graceful penmanship. The smooth yet forceful curve of her capital letters, the way that she likes to come back
around to dot her i's and cross her t's without quite lifting the pen. The sensual lower loops she makes that told me how very much she was going to enjoy it
when I made her my own."
Lucius smiled at this memory as he helped Egremon up and dusted him off. "So it is with great authority that I can tell you, you foolish man, that the writing
on that so-called letter from my wife explaining that she has returned to London so I can marry that silly pure-blood strumpet you people have selected for me
is not hers."
"Just what is it you are saying, my Lord?" Egremon demanded indignantly.
"I am saying, my dear sir," Lucius said as he smoothed the front of Egremon's robes before he grabbed ahold of them again, "that if someone bloody well doesn't
find my wife and right quickly, there's going to be hell to pay. And I do believe I'll start the ass-kickings with yours."
"I understand you completely, my Lord," he said, unable to look him in the eyes. "I will—I will see what can be done right away."
"See to it that you do."
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