Unsettled

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

A/N: Thank you so much, nastygrl and dynonugget, for the beta work, the suggestions, comments and encouragement!

Unsettled

She woke to rumpled satin sheets and bright sunlight streaming through the French doors onto the off-golden bed covers. As if she had been embracing the person who had lain next to her, her arm was extended to the other side of the bed, relaxed on the soft surface.

In broad daylight, every crease, every stain in the once pristine sheets was painfully visible. A reminder of what she had done, how she had let him take over.

With a groan she placed her arm to cover her eyes.

She should have been more careful.

How could he make her forget so easily?

Resolved to concentrate and keep her wits about her, Hermione gathered the voluminous duvet around her as best she could, looking a bit like a golden version of the Queen of the Night from Mozart's Magic Flute with her stage-covering, gigantic dress. Clutching the edge of the cover around her upper body, she shuffled towards the middle of the room, undecided on how to proceed.

He had let her sleep in his bed.

The robes she had worn last evening and that had been discarded somewhere on the floor were nowhere in sight. The elves were very efficient.

Which left her in his room.

Alone.

Naked.

Hermione inhaled deeply and slowly released her breath as she looked around. Although the room looked cosy and inviting, it did not have much furniture. The room was sparsely populated with a single armchair in front of the window, a bed and two bedside cabinets on either side of the headboard.

In a house as large as the manor, rooms did not need to serve more than one purpose. This was the Master's bedroom, and it was only used as such.

Dragging a trail of silken duvet behind her, Hermione made her way to the first of two mahogany doors. It opened at her touch, revealing a spacious bathroom with gleaming twin sinks and creamy marble walls and floors.

Hermione closed the door and padded towards the other. Maybe she could borrow one of Draco's shirts so she would not have to sweep the hallway with his coverlet.

The sting the wardrobe door delivered to her fingertips as soon as she touched the surface explained why he had left her alone in his personal suite.

Sucking on her tormented finger, Hermione contemplated looking for a large towel or a bathrobe she could use in the bathroom when with a considerate, muffled crack of elf apparition, Nippy appeared.

"Oh! Miss is awakes!"

Nippy disappeared with a much louder sound only to reappear almost instantly, holding a flat box covered in black velvet and a small, folded piece of vellum.

It proclaimed 'Jeanne' in a bold script.

A sinking feeling taking over her chest, Hermione reached for the message, hoping he had not decided that last night had not been satisfactory and would dismiss her before her time.

Jeanne, it read,

I had hoped to spend the day or at the very least the morning with you; alas, I have been called away on business.

Draco

Draco.

The name echoed in her mind and left an achy, guilty, yet bittersweet feeling behind.

Not D. M., not Draco Malfoy or any of his titles. Hermione felt her cheeks heat as she recalled that she had called out his given name last night and his delighted reaction to it.

Nippy extended the box to her, and she flipped open the ornate silver clasps. The inside of the box was padded and lined with ivory silk, supporting a pair of emerald drop earrings together with the matching slim bracelet and pendant necklace. It was rather simple in design and would not look out of place even when worn during the day.

The colour matched her choker almost exactly.

As she looked at the precious jewellery, the guilt settled deep in her heart.

***

"I don't think so, Theo."

This was exasperating.

Draco had been woken by searing pain in his left arm long before dawn. The Dark Lord had sent him on an erratic series of errands and raids, one more ridiculous than the other.

Hours after his early audience with his Master, he had finally found the time to write a short message to the girl in his bed. It had taken all of his willpower to move her arm away from its position on his chest, her hand resting above his heart.

How he would have preferred slipping back under the cover and shut out the world instead of sitting in his office with his friends, listening to Theodore Nott whinge about the High Reeve's lack of compassion towards his friend's quandary.

"Why not, Draco? Re-instating Jus Primae Noctis would certainly be an incentive for the liege lords to build more wizarding dwellings on their lands."

The High Reeve narrowed his eyes.

"Just the way you have done, Theo? I am not ignorant. I know very well that you have founded three new wizarding villages in the direct vicinity of Nott Manor. As have one or two of your ... friends." Draco had kept a close eye on the newly founded villages. Theo was not the charitable kind. "The only thing Jus Primae Noctis would accomplish is that paedophiles would run rampant. I will not re-instate that archaic law just so you and your friends can legally rape any girl living on your premises as soon as she starts bleeding."

"I am not a paedophile! The girls in my bed are of age. At least that's what they say! And if the families I take in are grateful, what am I to do?" Nott replied in a petulant voice.

"Just be careful, Theo. I am watching you. I better not hear about girls being harmed in your liege."

"So," Theodore Nott asked casually, directing the attention away from him, one leg draped over the armrest of his thickly upholstered chair. "Who is the mystery woman that keeps you away from us?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Nott," Draco spat.

"Oh, come on, Draco! I saw her the other day, when I came to collect the maps of the inhabitable areas. I first thought she was a servant, dressed as she was. But since you have been avoiding us for anything other than business of late..."

Theodore Nott let the end of the sentence dangle openly in the quiet room. All eyes were on Draco, who was not inclined to elaborate on the subject.

Vincent swallowed what he had been chewing. "So, you actually found your Warren-girl?"

Eyebrows shot up and the Death Eaters sat up straighter to regard Draco curiously.

"A Warren girl?" Theo laughed. "I thought you had a more exclusive taste. You could have any girl, from any good family."

"My private life is not open to discussion." When Blaise Zabini made to open his mouth, Draco looked at him pointedly and said with conviction, "NOT open for discussion."

"Will you at least still allow us into your home?"

Eyes narrowed, Draco looked sharply at his friend.

Blaise held up his hands in surrender.

"It is your turn to host next month."

Draco rubbed his hand over his face.

"Has another six months passed already? Very well, then. Next month. Now fuck off everyone, I want to go home."

He closed his eyes, pressing thumb and fingers against his brows.

He never saw the smirk exchanged by Blaise and Theo.

***

Days and weeks trickled away in a slow, viscous stream, like thick, sweet syrup.

The manor was grand, with high ceilings, wide halls and spacious suites. Reception rooms, both public and private were ample.

Hermione felt suffocated.

The library was extensive and she thoroughly enjoyed her time there. Lost in ancient tomes of magic and history, she felt transported back to Hogwarts when it was still standing and she had felt safe in its thick walls.

Although she was able to leave the building, the wards were drawn tightly around the neatly tended gardens. The silence surrounding the manor was haunting. No bird, no rustling of fallen leaves, no distant sound of church bells or a Muggle road distracted from the fact that she was alone. In some of the more desperate and insane moments, she asked herself how far she would make it until she would reach the invisible barrier of the snow globe that had become her residence. Maybe she was enclosed in a tiny structure on Draco's desk, for him to observe at his leisure.

Without the regular distractions of Ron and Harry dragging her outside, going on and on about Quidditch, or Crookshanks demanding to be petted or brushed or entertained with the newest magical mouse toy for Kneazles, she suddenly felt the weight of being truly alone. How often had she wished for solitude, to be free of interruptions so she could lose herself in her books? Now that she had all the time she could have ever wanted, it enveloped her with heavy, swanlike wings and would not let her escape.

The House Elves chased her out of the kitchen whenever she sought their company, and even Nippy remained deeply suspicious when she tried to instigate a conversation.

The portraits looked at her, her robes and the thick history volume pressed to her chest. Determined, she approached one of the older Malfoy family members, by the look of him from the Elizabethan era, hoping for a historical discussion, lecture or whatever he would be willing to share with her. The noble wizard loftily enquired about her station in the household, and when Hermione stuttered that she was a friend of Draco's, that she kept him company, the wizard turned around wordlessly and left to another frame, leaving her to stare at his empty chair, a mink-lined cloak draped over its high back.

The words 'mistress', 'bondmaid', 'serf', 'thrall' spread like wildfire from frame to frame, floor to floor, wing to wing. They followed her along the corridors, hissed and whispered should she dare to enter one of the reception rooms.

Soon, she kept to her rooms or sat in the library in silence. When the stillness of the space became too much she would imagine herself in better days, escaping to a time that was long lost.

Draco came home sometimes once a week, sometimes every night. There were nights when he silently slipped into her bed and buried his face in her hair. Although he was always careful to Scourgify himself, she could still smell the smoke lingering in his hair and clinging to his skin.

On other days he would wordlessly shove her up against the wall, gathering her skirts. Knickers were pushed aside, his belt opened and she was jerked against silken wall coverings or polished wainscoting or ancient gobelin tapestries by his urgent thrusts.

Surely, his moans and grunts were just that.

Surely, the wetness she could feel on the skin of her throat and in the crook of her neck was sweat.

Surely.

***

She did not hear him entering the library. Quill in hand, she stared into nothingness. Just as he wanted to make his presence known, she suddenly spoke up.

"I can't go out for Quidditch with you."

Draco stopped in his tracks. Had she known he was here all along? Why had she not looked at him?

"It's a whole new world now. Sometimes I am glad you never got to see it. It's ... different. If I'd tell you where I am and why, you'd think I'd gone barmy."

There was a faint splat as a tear hit the parchment before her on the table.

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing..."

Slowly, careful not to make a noise, he backed out of the library, the tiny sound of tears on parchment more and more frequent.

***

A few hours later he found her curled up on a window seat, her face as close to the glass as the wards would allow her. He extended a pale hand.

"Come."

She startled out of her musing by his uncharacteristically early presence. He pulled her down the stairs and towards the large double doors of the entry hall. At a wave of his hand, the thick wings opened and she could feel the warmth of a late autumn sun on her face and gentle breezes rustle her robes.

***

The falcon gingerly stepped onto the thick leather glove, the sharp beak framed by a decorated mask. Draco stroked the feathered back with light touches.

"The noblest sport."

A wide smile appeared on her face. Her unguarded joy made his heart leap. She sat perched on a sturdy fence, the wind whipping her hair and skirts around her. In moments like this he thought he could remember her from before, as if she had been part of his life for much longer than a few short weeks. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"You just reminded me so very much of my father."

He smiled to encourage her to go on. She had never before confided any personal details in him.

"He loved to play cricket. He would dress up in his immaculate white uniform and tap his cricket bat against the ground, his stance absolutely perfect and then he would look at me and say:

'A most noble sport. A gentleman's sport.'"

"Your father liked to play Muggle sports?"

Her smile faded and the carefree moment slipped away like water through his fingers, no matter how much he tried to hold it. She worried her lip.

"He didn't ... I didn't mean to ... "

Again she was afraid of him, afraid of the High Reeve. How he hated the alarm in her voice, thinking he would turn against her and her loved ones. Determined he stepped closer, still carrying the heavy bird on his angled arm.

"I did not mean to trap you with my question." He smiled one of his rare smiles. "I used to sneak out of the manor down to the Muggle village when I was little. Every weekend I would watch the men and boys dress up in white and play a game for hours and hours. Their easy companionship made me feel how isolated many Pureblood families live." With a single finger, he stroked the masked head of the falcon. "Sometimes I would fantasize that they would find me in my hiding place in the shrubs and invite me to join them. It all stopped when my father found out. That was a year before I started Hogwarts."

With this admission he had given her a powerful tool for blackmail, should she choose to use it. He had trusted her with an innocent anecdote of his childhood that could cost him his career. Or much more.

Hermione smiled.

"Are you going to let him fly?"

Draco's face lit up and she thought she could see the little boy who had been hiding in the bushes at the edge of the cricket pitch, staring longingly at the fun that he was not allowed to have. He stepped back and removed the mask from the falcon's head. Bending at the knee, he gathered momentum and flung the bird into the air. The bird of prey soared into the sky with a high pitched cry. Draco watched her follow the bird's slow circle above them with unadulterated joy.

"He will never hunt for me; will never bring the prey to me, as a dog would. He just follows his instincts. His entire being demands of him to hunt. I will never truly tame him. I can only treat him well and hope that he will stay with me."

He stepped closer, whispering to her.

"I hope you know that you are not my pet. I have been negligent. The wards have been modified. You are free to explore the grounds at your leisure. Just please inform Nippy when you go outside, the grounds are extensive."

He kissed her temple and Hermione felt a sharp twinge of anguish at his kindness. She had noticed that she had been looking forward to the evenings and occasional days in Draco's presence. Trying to tamp it down, she firmly told herself that she was experiencing a variation of Stockholm Syndrome, as could be expected with Draco as her only human contact.

Nevertheless she leaned into him as they both watched the falcon soar down towards the ground.

***

The manor was completely still as she wandered through the corridors toward the library.

Draco had not come home for two days and the small collection of books in her room was no longer enough to distract her from her inability to sleep in the dark and silent mansion.

Without any light Hermione moved through the halls past countless doors until she was near the tall doors of the two storey library.

All of a sudden he was there. There, right in front of her. The sharp crack of apparition echoed in the empty hall.

A Sweeper! was all she could think. In her mind she was transported back to the Warren. Sweepers were known to appear without warning or apparent reason. They would come to the most overcrowded dwellings and sweep them clean of the ailing and frightened inhabitants. Clean for the next wave of refugees to take up residence.

Hermione screamed.

She could not stop.

The Death Eater recoiled and took a step backwards. She did not have her wand, she was all alone. Her throat hurt from the screams that she could not end.

The silvery mask was yanked away from the Death Eater's face and the hood pushed back. Blond hair spilled over his forehead. She did not see it, did not see the grey eyes or the familiar face. All she could feel was the horror of the situation that she thought herself in. Her legs would not turn to run; her eyes were open but did not register what was in front of her. Her hands were locked into fists and pressed to her chest all the while her voice was beginning to leave her under the strain it was put in.

Struck with shock and panic Draco stood, not knowing what to do. He had seen wizards slap witches to snap them out of hysterics, had done so himself on occasion. He did not want to slap her. Lost for a better thing to do, he grasped her firmly around the shoulders and drew her tightly to him, ignoring her desperate fighting. The words that he spoke into her hair were sense- and meaningless but he did not stop to reassure her that she was alright, that he would not hurt her, that it was only him, as if this would be a likely consolation to anyone.

He had not been fortunate enough to go home after the meeting with his friends, but had been called away. He had not thought to remove his mask.

He kept holding her to him in an unwavering embrace until she finally slumped against him and her cries turned to quiet sobs.

What a world we have built.