Unbethink

Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Harry Potter; I do not earn money by writing this story.

A/N: A huge thank you to nastygrl and dynonugget for all the beta work, encouragement, feedback and kind words.

Unbethink

The gentle light from the narrow opening of the door when he slipped into the guest room and illuminated her dark, long hair, a stark contrast to the light coloured bedding and making the sheets appear white in the dusk of the room. For long minutes he stood listening to her soft, even breaths.

When he was sure that she was sleeping soundly, he silently moved towards the bed and crouched down beside her. He brushed a stray curl from her face, and as he did so, her relaxed features seemed painfully familiar, like a forgotten dream that would not come back to mind, no matter how hard he tried to remember.

Somehow, within a few, short days, this girl had become the very centre of his thoughts. After that first fateful meeting, when the doors had closed behind her and he knew she was being escorted through the halls of Blackhearth and back to the Warren, he had wanted to fling the door open and bring her back right then. Bring her back and never let her go, because he inexplicably knew that, were she to walk away never to return, he would lose so much more than just a bit of pleasant company or a witch to warm his bed.

She had been humanity amidst the circus of delusions that life had become.

She was too thin. Not in the way of a petite woman, but thin in a malnourished, weakened way.

It would be so easy to push down the duvet and slide the smooth fabric of her nightgown up her thighs. She would not put up much resistance. She lacked the strength to.

"They don't give you enough to eat out there, do they?" He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. Inside his head, an insistent voice reminded him that with 'they', he really meant 'we'. "Stay with me, please. I promise I will take care of you."

Instead of touching the shoulder that had been revealed by the downy cover, he touched a finger feather-like to the back of her left hand. It was tiny, with long, delicate fingers that now lay open and relaxed against the pillow. It was so close to her face that he could feel her warm breath caressing his hand steadily. Her right hand was tucked underneath the eiderdown pillow, cradling it closer to her.

A sudden feeling of nostalgia and homesickness filled him at the sight of the girl sleeping in his home. So trusting.

Contrary to common belief, his parents had never been cruel to him. Certainly, in public, there had been the secure and steadfast walls of power, wealth and superiority of the Malfoy family which he had learned to erect around him like a fortress at an early age. But when the acquaintances and business contacts left, when the doors of the manor were closed to the outside world and it was only the three of them, he had seen Lucius and Narcissa as no one else ever had.

There had been quiet evenings in front of the fire, reading and lively discussions in the dining room that somehow had seemed far less imposing, far less vast and less... hollow than now.

When he was maybe five or six years old, every day his mother would sit and read to him and then he, in turn, would pick a book and read to her. She would sit on the wide sofa in the family drawing room, her weight resting on her hand behind him so she could look over his shoulder. His feet had hardly peeked over the edge of the upholstered seat, so small had he been, his legs so short. There would always be a difficult word and he would hesitate and look up into the smiling face of his mother, who would then encourage him:

"Go on, Draco, sound it out."

And he would try to put the letters of the infinite seeming word together:

"La, ee, na, da, ..." until finally, finally he could read the name of his favourite dragon.

"Lindwurm!" he had shouted in triumph, and she had dropped a kiss onto his shoulder and exclaimed how well he had done.

On warm summer afternoons, his father would tirelessly fly next to him, hovering two or three feet over the ground, one hand on the broom, the other outstretched behind his son's back, not touching him, but never straying too far, should he ever slip. They had flown wobbly, excited circles around and around the lawn adjacent to his mother's rose garden until Lucius had been satisfied with Draco's ability to control his miniature broom. He had stepped off his Nimbus Silver and to the side, watching his son zoom around the space confidently, waving every time Draco would fly past.

He had found his father dead after one of the minor battles, named such because nothing of historical significance had occurred during these altercations between Light and Dark. His eyes had been large and surprised, as if he had not thought anything could ever happen to him. Draco had tried to close the blue, unseeing eyes, but the lids had slipped open again and again until, in grieving desperation, he had dug out two sickles from his robe pockets and gently laid them on top of the closed lids.

"For the passage", he had whispered and left to tell his mother the news, that he was the new head of the Malfoy family, barely 20 years old.

A year later, a barely lucid Dark Lord bestowed the honour of a suicide mission on Draco after decimating the ranks of experienced Death Eaters in a fit of volatile temper without any apparent reason. His mother had stepped in front of him, a snarl on her face, protecting her child. Lord Voldemort had barely looked her way, but wordlessly waved his wand in a lazy fashion in her direction, and she had slowly and noiselessly sunk to the ground. Draco remembered how he had stood and known that he was not allowed to fall to his knees or even look down at her.

"Are you loyal to your Lord, young Malfoy?"

The Malfoy mask that he had inherited from his parents firmly in place, he gathered his robes with an elegant, practised gesture, stepped over his dead mother's body and knelt at the Dark Lord's feet. Kissing the hem of his robes, he had sealed his fate, choosing life over death.

"Undoubtedly, my Lord."

He had chosen life back then, but with that choice, he had also lost it to the darkness.

Draco knew that the girl in the blue guest room could not give him back his family. He knew that, by law, anything beyond an affair with a half-blood would be severely punished. There would never be a future with this girl. Not even for the High Reeve.

But maybe, maybe, he could buy himself an illusion of it.

Without touching her further, he quietly straightened and left the room, making sure the door shut with an almost inaudible click.

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she allowed the carefully suppressed tremble that his presence had caused to run through her body. With great care she relaxed her hand around the small tweezers she had found in the bathroom earlier. Too small and ordinary, neither Draco Malfoy nor the house elves had thought of removing them from the room. Small enough to fit easily between the curled fingers of her fist, she had tucked her weapon under the pillow, ready to either release it inconspicuously or draw it over an attacker's face.

It had been in his power to do with her as he saw fit. Warren-dwellers frequently disappeared, the law made not even a semblance of investigating should someone report a missing person to them. And then, since he was the law, who was there to question him? The situation was so volatile. She had to leave while she still could.

***

Nippy brought her breakfast in the morning and insisted on dressing her in one of the day robes that were not much different from her own. Only the fabric felt infinitely smooth to her skin, and there was a soft, pleasant rustle of silk when she moved. With a sigh of regret, she unlaced the bodice and let the silk fall around her feet in a light, a voluminous cloud in tones of burnished gold. Her own robes had been laundered and mended where needed, the simple cloth finally free of stains and layers of grime that her weak Scourgify could not remove.

The red ribbons around the sleeves and the hem of the skirt sat brightly against the darker cloth of the robe. Hermione drew a finger over the markings. It was good to be reminded where one belonged.

Malfoy had not shown himself all morning, and she started to become nervous. He had promised her to let her go... back. She could not bring herself to think of the Warren as home. Attracting his attention probably meant attracting the attention of other Death Eaters. Discovery was imminent; she was sure of it.

With determined steps, Hermione crossed the room for the door. The doorknob turned without effort and admitted her into the hall. She heard a faint sound of voices and followed it through the staircases and corridors. The voices grew clearer, and when she thought that she must be quite near to the persons speaking, a door opened a few meters ahead of her. Hermione pressed her body into an alcove and held her breath.

"I will get you the lists and testimonies from that hamlet near Canterbury by the day after tomorrow, Draco." There was a sound of movement, probably the two men shaking hands.

"See you then, Theo."

The door closed, and footsteps came closer to where she was hiding. A tall man wearing black Death Eater robes with several scrolls of parchment tucked under his left arm came into view. Just as he passed her, he turned his head and looked directly at her. He never slowed or missed a step, but in the moment that he was looking at her, he assessed her body head to toe, and an ugly smile lingered over his features. Then he was gone.

It was in that instant that Hermione made her decision. An insane and dangerous decision, but for her it was the least, and possibly only, thing she could do. With a deep breath she approached the door she suspected Draco Malfoy to be behind, and knocked.

"Enter."

The door swung open under her hands, and he looked up from his papers that were strewn over the large, polished desk. A look of apprehension ghosted over his face, and his anxious eyes flickered over her threadbare robe before he smiled a reassuring smile.

"Did you have a good night? Have you come to a decision?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I have." She met his eyes boldly and tried a small smile. "I would like to discuss the terms of this arrangement."

***

Hours later Hermione stared at Jeanne's reflection in the mirror. The periwinkle robes Nippy had put her in were just as beautiful, elegant and expensive as yesterday's. Hermione tucked at the straps, worried that the colour might remind him of another dress from a long time ago, when she had caught him staring at her open mouthed as she walked into the Great Hall on the arm of Viktor Krum. Back then she had tossed her head back and smiled in triumph. All night she had felt his eyes on her.

Over and over she silently thought of the agreement they had reached. She knew she was stalling, but could not help it.

Draco and she had spent more than two hours discussing what was expected of her.

There would be the possibility of sending letters and money to an OP box – an owl post box – that would be accessible to the holder of a password that was hers to set up and pass on to whomever she would like to benefit from it, without ever giving revealing a name or address to anyone.

She would be free to roam the Manor at her leisure, but some of the doors would be closed to her when he was not in the house.

She had to admit defeat when it came to her wand. She would not have it while she was with him. Inside the Manor she was safe, and a wand could mean that she might accidentally trigger some dark magic that lay within the building. Draco and the house elves would provide for her needs.

When she went out, she would be accompanied by either Draco or a bailiff assigned by him, so she did not need her wand for protection, he reasoned.

There was no stipulated end to the contract, but either party could end the arrangement without further notice. The contract would end by definition the day Draco Malfoy would marry. Marry. Not court or affiance. The possibility of a new negotiation and contract to follow this one was stated without any shame. A given.

He obviously expected whichever pureblood witch would become the next Lady Malfoy to overlook the fact that her fiancé lived in close quarters with his mistress. Hermione thought about whether she would end the contract should he start courting somebody seriously or should he announce his betrothal. Or would she be the other woman? She could not find an answer.

He would pay her a hefty amount of Galleons on a weekly basis. Knowing that she wanted to send money home, weekly payments would make life considerably easier for her family. She had had no idea how much money to ask for, so she was relieved to see the amount already written on parchment, the number much higher than she would have ever dared to demand. Her heart had leapt at the thought of a softer mattress for Arthur and Molly, who had given their thin, straw-filled pad to Ginny to double up her own, adequate nourishment and maybe even some knitting wool. Simple things, yet... She had to blink rapidly to prevent her eyes that felt so full all of a sudden from overflowing.

In return, she would keep him company when he was in the house. She would take her meals with him, converse and spend her time with him in whichever way he deemed fit. She would share his bed when he summoned her, and he would be allowed to kiss her mouth. He had been very insistent about that, and she had not seen why she should deny him this request. She would be doing much more than just letting him kiss her. A business arrangement. It was nothing more.

Nevertheless, her hand shook when she touched the soft swan feather quill to the parchment and signed with a simple Jeanne.

Trembling as she was, it could have been read as Jean as well.

An imposing eagle owl had taken a short note to the Weasleys, assuring them of her safety and informing them that she had found work – Hermione cringed at the word while writing the missive – she also explained how they could access the OP Box and that she would be sending some money in a few days. The letter was indeed painfully short and to the point, but she did not dare to add a personal word or hint at what was happening to her.

Later in the day, her hair was shiny and arranged on top of her head in an artful coiffure. Nippy had renewed yesterday's denuding charms on her legs and had gone on to remove all of her body hair. The little elf had ignored Hermione's embarrassed protests and had dutifully manicured and pedicured, combed and arranged her hair and applied makeup.

The person in the mirror looked less familiar than ever. She wished she could remove the makeup, let her hair fall down her back and wipe off the perfume that Nippy had sprayed on her.

She finally uncorked the small vial in her hand and tipped back the deep red, illegal potion Nippy had discreetly left on her dressing table.

It was time to keep up her side of the bargain.