Wrapping Gifts

Author's Notes: This chapter is much darker than previous ones. Although not particularly graphic, the text does convey several unpleasant themes. I am highlighting the warning of 'horror' in this note. If Bella's actions and plans to date have disturbed you, then please read this with a friend and all the lights on.

Someone spying on him standing by the window would think him intent on something of great interest beyond the frame; in truth, he was lost in thoughts so confusing and defiant of definition that they were almost alien. Understanding them was like grasping smoke.

He was in a state of despair as he trudged through the mental fog, seeking his way home. He felt as though Hinkypunks were luring him ever further into danger, and he had grown to distrust his own sense of direction to the point where he now feared moving. Even when someone had emerged from the grey mist with a lantern and a guiding hand, he still feared making a step. It was an agony of indecision.

"Draco?"

He heard something, but his mind brushed it away like a hand would brush away a fly. Nothing was more important than his current dilemma.

"Draco?"

The annoying little fly was persistent! He turned away, hugging himself, isolating himself from the superfluous. They'd leave him alone, if he left them alone.

"Draco!"

Ah! The fly was a wasp! It stung him on his forearm, making him jolt. He twisted round, and his eyes focused on a thin and pale face. Hermione was looking at him as though she actually worried over him. The notion that someone seemed to care for him had him hovering back on the dreadful precipice of indecision: was she really concerned for him, or was it just some tactic to make him lose a little more of himself? She had been one of so few to extend a hand out to him, and whereas Hardwicke was an unknown, Hermione had been a part of his life for nearly seven years... and he so desperately wanted to reach out to someone.

"Are you alright?" she asked urgently.

No! I'm lost... no idea where I am. I need help... anything! Help me, Hermione, please. Help me find...

"Of course I'm alright," he said softly, frowning down at her, as if the question had been ridiculous. He may be lost, but he wouldn't be weak. His father had asked him to help her, and he had sworn to his distant father that he would help to the best of his abilities. He couldn't do that if he was weak. In a way, it helped; it gave him some long-sought strength. Working for someone else had been his motivation and purpose for so long that giving his energy and thoughts to serving someone was almost second nature. At least this time, it really was for a greater good.

"You seemed so... focused on something," she said, her tone conveying her concern and her scepticism about his assurance.

"I was just thinking about things," he said with a forced smile. She still held his arm, and the touch was both needed and bothersome; he wanted to yank his arm away, yet craved the warmth she gifted. Perhaps thankfully, she let go, but held him with her gaze.

"I've been thinking a lot too," she said in a whisper. "And I need your help."

Draco stiffened and glanced along the dim corridor; it was deserted, but you could never trust your eyes when magic was at the ready. Hermione belatedly realised her possible indiscretion and blushed. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she backed away and studied the shadows between the pillars and plinths.

Hermione felt her cheeks burning...honestly, I can be so dense sometimes...and she hoped that she hadn't made herself look foolish. Despite Draco's demure aspect these days, she still knew that beneath the downcast expression, his mind was skilled in stealth and politics to a level that she could never hope to master. She disliked the way he inspired her to feel incapable...not that he intended too, she was sure, but she felt so... lacking in his presence. Draco was a puzzle to her... just like his father. Her blush deepened... Oh my! she thought, and a giggle escaped her parted lips. Have I got a thing for Malfoys?

She was lost in her flight of fancy; so lost that she had failed to observe Draco bending closer. Her mind was so busy pondering the Malfoy thing that Draco's sudden whisper into her ear actually made her yelp... and shudder.

"Follow me," he had breathed into her ear.

Hermione had to jog to catch Draco up, but she kept a step behind so he couldn't see her slowly fading flush. From the corner of her eye, she watched him walk. Each step was careful and precise, so unlike Ron's gait where he seemed to lumber from one foot to the other. He also walked straight, as though his pains and the world could never wear him down; she had once seen that as arrogance, but now, she saw it as strength. His face had also changed. He had been furtive and condescending, his expression radiating every negative and vile emotion that a boy could express, but now, there was a serene quality smoothing his features.

She was surprised by the wave of loneliness that suddenly broke over her. It almost snatched her breath. Being so busy with Legilimency and the potion...all that training and reading...had distracted her from the fact she had lost touch with so many people: people who were important to her. Lucius had spent more time with her than any of her peers. They had crammed in sessions and discussions, even talking about the struggles that she was facing and dealing with the dark thoughts that plagued her. She fell out of step with Draco. She and Lucius had spent most evenings together in the Room of Requirement, and now that Lucius was planning to leave... Who was it that she was missing? Ron? Harry? Or Lucius?

Draco led her towards his special retreat. Part of him quailed...did she have to know about his one and only sanctum?...while another part was thrilled that he could share his hidey-hole. It somehow made him feel less alone. He knew Granger wouldn't tell anyone about the room...she was far too noble...and he knew she deemed their project too important to risk it through tittle-tattle about his sanctum. He settled on relaxing into the feelings of comradeship; what was the worst that could happen?

"What is this place?" she asked while stepping inside the oddly-shaped room. Her eyes glanced towards the narrow windows and the collection of pillows on the stone floor before moving up to study the glorious wooden beams holding up the turreted roof. On the left, in the far corner, there was a single-burner cooking stove and a collection of small boxes and tins.

"Just my little sanctuary," he said rather too glibly.

Hermione was keen enough to pick up on what she perceived as a hint. "I guess that we all need a secret place to help get away from it all."

She saw him nod slowly before he stepped past and over to the stove.

"Tea?" he asked.

"What?" she asked unthinkingly; his accommodating attitude had taken her by surprise. Were manners from Draco such an oddity? She sagged in light of her own prejudices and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I'd love some, thank you."

"Grab a cushion. I'm afraid that I couldn't get anything else." He struck a match as he spoke and lit the hissing gas. His nose wrinkled at the harsh smell of the sulphur, and he held his hand out cautiously...he felt the stove had singed enough of him already. "I had my eye on a lovely chaise-longue," he added while straightening, "but the delivery company were ridiculously demanding; they expected me to stay in for them. Can you believe the impertinence?"

Hermione giggled at his manner, and she was gratified to see him smirk. "You just can't get the staff these days," she replied with an equally snobbish air as she sat on a plump, purple cushion. "I trust you told them who they had just offended."

Draco laughed as he placed the saucepan on the ring to boil. This isn't so terrible, he mused. At least she's treating me as a person.

"Indeed! The Malfoy family will no longer patronise that particular owner."

Hermione blinked. "Surely you mean store, not owner?"

Draco turned to her with an innocent expression. "I'm sure that you're right," he sighed, "but patronising the owner was more fun."

Draco laughed when he saw her bemused and slightly pained expression. Her sense of fair play and generosity meant she felt awkward about appreciating darker forms of humour, but he knew...absolutely...that she was so eager to let those reins of appropriateness slip so she could let her sense of humour gallop. There was nothing inherently wrong in it; it just limited the audience who would appreciate the joke.

"Go on, Granger," he said kindly. "Just the two of us in here, and I won't mind if you relax and say all those things that you keep hidden from Potter and Weasley."

Her gaze slipped from his, and he felt both a flutter of excitement and a twinge of remorse. He selfishly saw an opportunity to deepen their relationship, and he also saw how much she had kept herself in check to keep her friends. He knew how destructive it could be to live solely to appeal to someone else. He spooned out some tea into a teapot he had 'borrowed' from the kitchens and wondered how much of Hermione Granger had been buried so she could 'fit in'. He recalled her desperate efforts to do well in class, and he had seen it as arrogance, but now, he wondered if her efforts had been fuelled more through fear than pride.

"I know what it's like to keep things hidden," Draco said softly. "I know what it's like to mould yourself to suit other people." He paused until she raised her head and looked at him. "Never feeling free; always monitoring what you say and do."

"Psychoanalysis must be a family trait," she mumbled.

"Sorry?" Draco asked with a frown.

"Oh, nothing," she said sweetly.

Shrugging, Draco finished preparing the tea and sat down on a red cushion next to hers. "It will take a while to boil." He suddenly snorted. "No wonder Muggles are so inventive; waiting for something as simple as a cup of tea must have been the prompt to discover electricity."

Hermione was surprised into a laugh. "I guess so. They do say that necessity is the mother of invention."

"Speaking of necessity; you said that you needed my help."

Hermione sobered and sat up straighter on her cushion. "To be honest, there are a few things that I need help with."

"I told my father that I would help you, and I will," he stated simply and sincerely.

"Firstly, thank you for your help. We couldn't do this without you." She licked her lips and frowned as she gathered her thoughts together. "You know that I've been meeting up with your father," she said carefully, fearful that her admission would stir up some bad feeling, but the face before her was as smooth and unruffled as it had been before she mentioned it. "He's come up with a few plans during our discussions." She fidgeted into a more comfortable position. "One plan is to leave the Wizarding world." That got a reaction; Draco's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"Leave?" Draco croaked out.

"I know that it seems too extreme, but he thinks that it's the best for the family," she pleaded.

"Go on," he said tonelessly; his face schooled to hide his emotions.

"Well," she continued uncertainly. "I've agreed to help, and I think I can get them into a Muggle home by Wednesday of next week." At Draco's lack of reaction, her awkwardness increased. "Your mother and father will be staying in the Room of Requirement until then." Draco stiffened and blinked several times, but remained silent. "Once they move into the Muggle house, you'll find it... difficult to send them messages because... of the... uhm... the Unplottable nature of the property."

She had thought that the news would be welcome, but the more she talked and the more she listened to herself, the worse the news actually seemed. Once Lucius and Narcissa left, Draco would not be able to send or receive mail from them.

"They're going to live in the Muggle world?"

"Yes, Draco." She studied him carefully. "How do you feel about that?" she asked tentatively.

A manic laugh erupted from his mouth. "I never thought that he'd do it!" he exclaimed passionately.

"It may seem harsh, Draco, but..."

"Oh no! You misunderstand me, Hermione," he said with frantic delight. "I never thought they'd find a way to get out from that cesspit they make us live in. I never thought we'd ever escape."

Hermione squealed out as Draco lunged forwards to pull her into a tight hug. He mumbled into her ear; the words incomprehensible as they tumbled from his lips. Unsure what to do, she raised her arms and patted his back gently.

The muted roar of the boiling pan pulled them apart. Draco grinned awkwardly and moved to finish making the tea. His arms felt empty; she had felt so good. But he knew that it was useless. Hermione was out of his reach.

The tea was rather good, and they sipped in companionable silence. Birds chattered outside, and the evening sun was beginning to flood into the room, coating the pale walls in an amber glow. It was such a remarkably relaxing place, and Hermione almost envied Draco having it. It was so quiet and snug.

"So, what can I do for you, Hermione?" Draco asked animatedly. He placed his mug on the floor and leant forwards, as though her words were something that he craved.

Hermione smiled across at him and tapped a fingernail against the mug. "You know that we intend to cure Professor Snape," she said, "and to do that, Lucius and I have had help from a porter at St Mungo's: Fulton Meadowes. I plan to meet up with him tomorrow to bring him up to date and to arrange getting some money to sort out your mum and dad's move. I was hoping that you'd come with me."

"To meet with Meadowes?"

"Yes, and also to help me find the right house for you."

"Do you trust Meadowes?"

Do I trust him? She couldn't fault the wizard's dedication to helping Snape, but his methods of motivation were questionable; she would never forget or forgive the way he had tried to teach her Legilimency. No matter now if she said that she did, she knew that she had hesitated for too long; Draco would never be convinced.

"I trust that he wants Snape cured and will do nothing to endanger that goal."

She felt exposed under Draco's gaze, but she knew that he wasn't trying to pierce her mind; Meadowes' terrible assault on her had actually worked to increase her Occlumency skill. However, it was no real assurance; she believed that Draco could read her like a book even without Legilimency.

"Sometimes, that can be enough," he finally said.

oooXooo

The room was rather lavish, but not gaudy; sometimes, he thought that Malfoy Manor had been an extravagant monument to avarice. A fire popped and crackled in a grate surrounded by a rather austere hearth topped with a thick, dark wood mantel. Above it was a rectangular mirror with a simple and elegant gilt frame. It reflected the rich tapestry hanging on the wall behind him. On the walls to the left and right there were towering bookcases, each shelf crammed with thick tomes. Four leather chairs curved around the fire, and a circular occasional table had been placed between them and the fire. It was comfortable. It was homey.

But the décor was not his main focus. Hermione had passed on a message that his mother and father were coming to the Room later, and he had spent what felt an age, waiting for them. The thought of seeing them enhanced his joy at knowing that his family was on its way to leave the dire life they had been enduring. There were no doors out of the room, but beneath the tapestry behind him, he could make out the edges of some passageway. Turning his back on the chairs, he stepped over towards the tapestry; he smiled when he saw that the tapestry depicted Ariadne giving Theseus her thread. So apt!

The heavy material twitched, and Draco stopped, his heart stuttering and his chest tight. His eyes widened when he saw a pale hand emerge past the edge to pull the tapestry out of the way. Taking a deep breath, he lunged forward to help and nearly hurtled slap bang into his mother.

"Draco!" she gasped. Her blue eyes widened and drank him in. Her lips trembled as a thousand words died on them, and she resorted to the truest thing she could say. Narcissa darted forward and held her son in a tight embrace. The force of the hug belied her slight frame; her desperate need granted her preternatural strength.

They wept on each others' shoulders. While they cried, Lucius entered the room and brought his arms around both of them. He felt complete for the first time in a very long time. Held together, they mumbled words that only scratched the surface of their thoughts and feelings. The soft touches and smiles and the holding of hands conveyed all they really needed to share with each other.

How long they held each other, they couldn't say...not long enough, they would argue...but they eventually moved away from each other and slipped into the chairs. Draco almost purred as he sank into the soft leather; it seemed an age since he'd sat on anything so comfortable. It was with some wry amusement that he wondered why he had never thought of ensconcing himself in the Room of Requirement. He'd missed out on some luxury.

"You look pale, Draco," Narcissa said after they'd settled. "Are you eating enough?"

Lucius smirked at the strained expression on his son's face; mothers were always mothers.

"Yes, mother," he replied firmly. "I've just spent a lot of time indoors, studying."

And that prompted a barrage of questions. Draco was almost overwhelmed by his mother's arsenal of queries and observations; the NEWTs couldn't be as exhausting! He could tell by his father's smirk he would be getting no help from that quarter: where was a nosy know-it-all when you needed one?

"I think that you've quite worn the poor boy out, Narcissa," Lucius said after observing Draco's sixth yawn of the evening. "We have days and days ahead of us."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Draco," Narcissa said.

"It's quite alright, mother," he soothed, reaching out to grasp her hand.

"Any plans for the weekend, Draco?" Lucius asked. He was still overwhelmed by his family being together. In such a room, it was easy to think that nothing bad had ever happened. It was easy to smother the knowledge of the damage the Ministry had done to his son in a perverse bid to exact revenge upon him... so easy!

"Granger asked me to meet with Meadowes and then help her with securing our new home."

And how easily his delusions were shattered! Lucius choked on his coffee. Draco had been dragged into this with alarming alacrity. It was quite sickening, and made all the worse by the fact that Draco was needed and that he had asked his son to be party to this. Lucius wiped his lips and smiled across at Narcissa, who had asked him if he needed assistance. Too late to have doubts now.

"Meadowes has... unusual methodologies, but he is determined to see us cure Severus."

"That's what Her... Granger said," Draco added doubtfully, "but she doesn't trust him."

"She has her reasons," Lucius said darkly. "I would advise that you pay attention to Meadowes' ramblings; he dissembles, but always gives you something relevant. Other than that, he is a rather harmless old man."

Narcissa felt her smile freeze. She had never felt happy to be left on the edge of things, and her son and husband were discussing things in the same format that they had when they had existed in Voldemort's shadow. It felt like a knife in her gut. She glanced across at her husband and was startled to find herself locked in Lucius' azure gaze. He knew what she was thinking; she could tell by the way he smiled sadly. A flicker of guilt twisted her insides. Why should she doubt him now after everything that he had done and arranged? They were almost free. It came down to power; Narcissa despised feeling powerless, and being excluded from something that was within her family was the ultimate in feeling powerless.

When Draco excused himself, Narcissa had kissed him goodnight. Lucius had walked him to the door, which had appeared within the flaming hearth. Draco had found the exit quite dramatic, almost romantic, and he had grinned as he strode through the flames and into the corridor beyond. Narcissa and Lucius had watched him until the door closed and the fireplace was whole again.

"He still looks pale," Narcissa said to the flickering flames before turning on her heel and pacing back to her chair.

"He does," he agreed, "but this situation is enough to weaken the strongest of people."

He watched her trace patterns on the leather chair arm with her fingertip. He knew that she would ask questions again, and he wished he could answer the ones that she needed answering. Magic was a fine thing until it was aimed at you... Until it was used against you.

"What is it that you and Hermione have been doing?"

My word! Lucius thought with some surprise; his wife's comment had distracted his mind from its dark musings and presented a far more enticing scenario. Is she jealous?

He licked his lips and let his gaze wander down her slender form sitting primly on the chair. Time and circumstance had not been kind, and she was far too thin for his liking, but he could remember all too vividly how she had felt. His palms itched when he recalled the soft curves they had cupped and the smooth skin they had caressed. If his wife were jealous, then that suggested passion. It suggested a proprietary need.

"We have been planning Severus' rescue and healing."

He could tell that Narcissa's pride had been wounded; he knew he should have involved her in his plans, but he had wanted one place where he could forget about all these plans and machinations. Narcissa had become his grounding force, his sanctuary in a world going slowly mad.

"And I couldn't have helped?" she asked bitterly.

At her words, he fell from his chair to her feet. Grasping her hands and kissing her knuckles, he looked at her intently.

"You have helped in ways that I can't begin to define, let alone thank." He turned her hand over and kissed her work-roughened palm. "I could not have worked this hard or travelled this far without you." He caught her soft sigh and ran his tongue along the underside of her forefinger; her breath stuttered. "The fact that we can complete our plans is because I have had you to support me through this ordeal." He closed his eyes and gently sucked her fingertip into his mouth; Narcissa squirmed beneath him.

He paused. It had been a while. He would have to go gently; Narcissa wasn't as strong as she had once been, and he knew he wouldn't be able to... restrain himself. Letting the finger fall from his mouth, he resumed kissing her fingers and hand. When her thighs parted, he slowly eased forwards, careful for any sign that Narcissa was becoming reticent. He had been truthful when he had encouraged patience: they had days and days ahead of them.

Her free hand moved to cup his cheek, and he moaned into her fingers when she caressed his face. This was glorious. Still maintaining restraint, Lucius stopped tormenting her hand and looked up towards his beloved's face. Her eyes were dark and... oh Merlin!... so needy. Had he entertained the idea of taking his time? How foolish! Obviously, Narcissa was very impatient! He barely had time to draw a breath before her mouth was on his, her fingers tugging on his hair and her hand roughly pulling his hand to cup her breast.

The Room of Requirement, as obliging as ever, morphed the chair into a bed, which Lucius scrambled onto, lured by the siren that was his wife. Her soft sighs were the most intoxicating sounds, and her warmth was something he craved. While the lights dimmed, they frantically pulled off the unnecessary clothes and slithered under the sheets. On some level, Lucius was aware that they were silk, but what did that matter? What did that matter when he would soon be slipping into warm satin?

"Lucius," she called out, her tone indicating some distress.

He stopped and looked down upon her, his brow furrowed in concern. "What? Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry, Lucius, but... I..."

"Oh Merlin! Have I hurt you?"

"No," she sobbed out. "It's just that I wanted... wanted this to be gentle... and I can't!"

"Oh," he responded in feigned disappointment after his brain had processed her words and sent a fresh surge of blood to the appropriate area. "I suppose that I could cope with a lack of proper etiquette."

"Good!" she snapped out before flipping him onto his back.

In the gloom, he grinned, but not for long. He'd forgotten when they had last enjoyed each other, but Narcissa had not forgotten any of her tricks. All too soon, he was begging for her to be gentle, but hoping that she wouldn't be.

oooXooo

"Meadowes said to meet him here?" Draco said in disgust.

Draco felt rather disappointed. He had sneaked down to the Room of Requirement, dealt with his frustration of his parents not being there, scurried down the tunnel after Hermione, crawled out into a room in the Hog's Head, and spent an interesting hour, strolling through Muggle London to end up outside a cheap, Muggle pub.

"Err... yes," said Hermione with the same level of disappointment.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to have just met at the Hog's Head?" Draco groused.

"Oh, come on," Hermione snapped impatiently. "He must have had his reasons."

Bella had seen them walking down the small path towards the pub. She had gone through a range of emotions, not all of them hers, when she had seen Draco.

"That treacherous brat!" she snarled out. "After all that I did for him, and he's the one who has been helping you?"

She drummed her fingers on the rotten sill and studied the pair through the dirty pane. Her lips curled up; they seemed so... chummy, chatting there. It was disgusting. To think that a pureblood had sunk low enough to consort with Mudbloods... It was appalling. Such anger coursed through her. Draco was family! How dare he abuse the noble names of Malfoy and Black! How she would make Draco suffer for his defection! Her thoughts delved into what she would do, what curses she would use and what she would do with his corpse: he'd make a sweet Inferi.

They disappeared from view as they approached the entrance, and she shifted away from the window. She'd kill them both...No! She'd make one of them kill the other... that'd be fun! Such ideas blossomed in her head, and she tittered as she crossed the room to the door, but as she moved to take up her post, her eyes latched upon the drawer holding her precious parcels.

The next thought to bloom made her stop dead. It was staggering! It was beautiful! It would satisfy her need for vengeance, and it would help her complete her aims. The knock on the door made her heart pound, and almost breathless with the thrill of her idea, she moved to answer.

Meadowes ranted and raved; he threw every ounce of his remaining strength into escaping his terrible prison. Thoughtless with horror and grief, he flung himself against the mental barriers... again and again. All around him, he could hear her vicious laughter; he could see her gloating face, and through her eyes, he could see her hand turning the knob. He screamed, and she mocked him, her own high-pitched screams drowning out his own cries. His mind stretched to snapping point as he stared out, knowing that there was nothing he could do. And when the door opened to reveal a smiling Hermione and a dour Draco, his mind shattered.

oooXooo

What was happening? How had it all gone wrong? Hermione was still screaming, or was it him? He couldn't tell anymore. All he knew was that he was lying on the floor, staring up at the mottled and cracked ceiling with movement flickering in the corner of his eye. The screams must be coming from Hermione, he reasoned; he couldn't move.

"Hush now," crooned Meadowes, which was followed by a flash of light. "I'm just about to start. Now, don't you worry, dear; I'll heal you up nice and neat. You'll never know what happened."

Draco gagged and wished that he could close his eyes and stop listening. Hermione had stopped screaming, but was whimpering in a way that made him wish she screaming again. He couldn't see what was going on, but he had just felt something warm and wet hit his cheek, and Meadowes' words incited terrible images. He managed to swallow the bitter bile: vomiting while under a full Body-Bind was not a good idea.

"It's quite an art, you know," Meadowes said conversationally. "You'd think that cutting into flesh was a simple and unscientific act, but there's skill to it. I could cut you and slash open any number of useful veins and arteries; that wouldn't do, would it?"

Draco's vision blurred as tears flooded his immobile eyes. The voice was unfamiliar, but the words were chillingly recognisable: it was Bella! He was sure...how, he had no idea, but Bella had possessed Meadowes...just as he was sure that they were both dead. How unfair! Just when he thought he'd found a way to live again. Knowing Bella, their deaths wouldn't be short or simple either; she had once bragged that she had taken hours to kill a man, that she had killed him by degrees. If he could, he would have screamed.

"Such a thing as this can't be rushed. You have to pause to admire what you've done. And I do admire this; it pleases me immensely," Bella sighed. "You have such a flawless canvas, Hermione. It's so soft and smooth; quite beautiful. And it's a delight to cut. You may have noted that I'm using the lesser variant of the Cutting Hex. The stronger form would go too deeply, and I want shallow cuts; that way, I can peel you open almost one layer at a time."

Bella gasped and Hermione groaned.

"Ah," breathed Bella, almost ecstatically. "Did you feel that?" she asked breathlessly. "Did you feel that last cut? It pierced the fascia. Did you feel your insides shift? Oh, Hermione," Bella rasped out. "I can touch your heart!"

oooXooo

He must have passed out. The room was darker than he remembered. Over Bella's humming, he could hear the wet gurgles of Hermione breathing through a damaged windpipe. He tried to blink, but he was still held fast by the spell.

"Back with us, Draco?"

Draco felt his heart hammer away. This was some nightmare; that was it. He was asleep, and this was some nightmare from the blackest parts of his mind.

"It'll be your turn soon, Draco," she said consolingly. "I'm sorry that you've been neglected for so long, but Hermione was such a delight that I was loathe to hurry with her."

There came a soft organic sound, one that Draco had heard once before when Severus had healed his torso after Potter's sectumsempra. His mind had gone through fear to land on the shores of delusional peace, and Draco idly wondered just how deeply and extensively Bella had cut Hermione.

"There we go, my dear," Bella said again after a long and significant pause. "All healed. That wasn't that bad, was it?"

Draco heard the soft smack of a kiss, and his head began to spin once again. This is no nightmare; it's real! Oh Merlin, help me!

"Thank you, Hermione," Bella whispered almost lovingly. "You sleep now; you've earned it."

The rustle of heavy material heralded Draco's impending torture, and when Bella's shadow fell across him, he felt his throat burn from the effort of trying to scream with frozen vocal cords. Tears ran from his eyes, and as the blurred outline of his torturer came closer, he saw it lift something white: something small and slender, wrapped in white linen.

"This one," she said, showing him the wrapped finger, "is yours, my little avatar."