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Under The Cool Shade Of Virtue	By : LauraGlauce Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 4350 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the canon characters and situations, all credit goes to JK Rowling. I'm not making any profit from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
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"Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?" Mark Whitman

The Strangest of Days

"It is simple, effective, practical and most importantly faultless. Seven locking charms – you'd need the power of ten giants to rip it apart. Nine, " the Auror tapped his wand on the white board smartly and as the sketch shuffled and rearranged itself in numbers and letters he turned to them looking exceedingly professional, "I repeat, nine levels of responding curses. Think about it! It has never been done before, it is a revelation in the procedure and practice of modern magic, a seemingly simple object to respond in such way to just a thought. Hate or rage, prepares the device for its response, the actual violent intention automatically – and I mean automatically, it only takes a fraction of second – triggers the punishment, which is so effective that the subject will be unable to take action again for at least half an hour." The room was filled with gasps and excited murmurs. The auror smiled pleasantly and then turned to one of his assistants whispering something in his ear. The man scuttled away through a back door, re-emerging in moments with a delicately ornate box. He placed it in the auror's waiting hands and moved away, hiding in the darkness. The auror greeted the crowd with a charming smile and lifted the box like an offering, nodding and opening it with a flourish.

"This is it! The long awaited Collar of Holding."

IIII

I have done terrible things. I know I deserved everything I received. This is what I should think, the only thought in my mind must be repentance and I must express it with everything I have, with my words, with my gestures, with my eyes. Do I feel repentant? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is that I haven't lost my will to live. Punishment, such a small word, insignificant, inconsequential, but yet it is the only one that can be used. Three years suppose to be nothing in a man's life. Until I came to Azkaban three years used to pass by like mere moments. Now three years are my life. I am only three years old. Eternity can be measured in a tangible manner only in direct parallel to one's life. Three years are my eternity.

I was afraid of this place once, now I'm afraid of the world outside. I can feel the change that happened there, it courses through the air like an unseen energy. I don't know anything; most of us never know anything in here. I realise now that pride is my greatest fault, the reason I was and still am such a good servant. I should have left it behind, I should have done what others did, then I would have known something factual about my situation. No room for regrets anymore, I don't need this, I don't need my own consciousness admonishing me again. Even if I would have killed my pride then, I would still be a mere servant to them – a servant with an advantage, yes – but still a servant. My actions would never rise to the ideal of my house or family but in such a situation and with such people these ideals, these imbecile dogmas are flimsy and shallow. It is my own personal victory that I held tight to myself, to my identity - proud, stupid and tactless it may be – I never forgot who I was. Because in the end all you have is yourself.

IIII

She was dizzy, lightheaded and confused for no other reason than rage. Rage mixed with disbelief and the worst thing for her was that she couldn't do anything. There was nothing more horrible for Hermione Granger than powerlessness.

She looked around herself with disgust at the ecstatic expressions on everyone's face. The room was filled with ministry's officials, famed aurors and self-important entrepreneurs and they suddenly seemed very ugly with their indecent anticipation – scaly lizards and fat toads drooling at the prospect of owning and using the collar. Her annoyance didn't only make her want to hex everyone in the room starting with the auror that was still bragging on about the "amazing device", but almost pushed her to stand up and tell them all how preposterous they were. It was a bad idea to say such thing, she wasn't a child anymore and she definitely wasn't Ron to lack prudence.

She made a huge effort to calm her jumping nerves, stood up and walked out of the room ignoring Ron's questioning look. Oh how she would love to just go back in there and tell them, with the calmest voice possible, that they were stupid. She paced the corridor up and down a few times thinking things over. Organizing ideas and labelling different facts calmed her in moments like these. She was an auror now, she had a license, she had authority, she could take decisions and influence, if not even sway those that were above her. She didn't want to limit her career to that of an auror, she wanted to work in politics, wanted to do something worthwhile and decisive for the Wizarding World but this latest idea that Kingsley came up with was another pointless aggravation; just another thing to keep her mind off of important things and distract her from what she had in mind. She knew that with that in her house she would never go about her business calmly.

"'Mione, what's wrong? Why did you run like that? Get back in, people are asking questions." She turned around to see Ron's head poking through the door. She heaved a sigh of impatience and pierced the redhead with a cold look.

"Has all the Wizarding World lost its mind? Did Voldemort imperiused Kingsley from beyond the grave or is Kingsley the new Dark Lord?" She asked as quietly as possible but not without venom in her voice.

"Love listen…"

"No Ron, this is too much. Who came up with that ghastly Collar anyway? Who's the inventor?"

"A large team of people from the Mysteries did. The only one I know is Creevey; he has been leading the team of designers and draftsmen. You know Dennis he's always been good at mechanisms." Ron looked apologetically at her and started wringing his hands together leaving the door to the meeting room fall open.

"Good at mechanisms but not at charms…" she mussed. "And that has to be a very complicated charm, not anyone can do such a thing, Ron." He shrugged at her words and looked down.

"I don't know anything else, dear…"

"Yeah well, no one seems to know anything around here lately…" she frowned and realised how menacing she must be looking in the state she was. "And please close the door Ron, this is a private conversation in case you didn't notice."

"I did notice Hermione, I'm not an idiot, alright!" he said, his voice growing harsher, a sure sign he was getting annoyed. He turned and closed the door quietly and then approached her a little too cautiously, which only helped to offend her more.

"You don't understand, do you? You think this is alright and you agree with them?" They were very close to each other and she whispered up to him looking him straight in the eye, trying to convey what she felt through all means.

"Look Hermione, I never said I agree but it is a very good solution."

"You don't have a problem living with a Death Eater under the same roof? You just think that you'll wake up every morning and put your feet up while one of Voldemort's followers serves you toast and maybe even invite him at five to have tea with you. All this sounds perfect to you, doesn't it?" she finished her rant with a mock, lopsided laugh that only made Ron roll his eyes.

"The Collar of Holding is there for a reason. They won't do anything; they will obey us in everything!" he hissed.

"How can you be sure of that? What if it doesn't work that well? What if it malfunctions?"

"Muggle stuff malfunction Hermione, not magic!" his voice was starting to rise and she sensed they were very close to one of their yelling matches.

"I won't get into that because I know you are wrong…Either way," she waved her hand dismissively at the subject, "how do you know it works? You haven't even seen the thing before. How can you trust…" She stoped and looked at him frowning. His emotions were usually very transparent and he could rarely hide something from her and right now his eyes were squinting suspiciously. "Ron, what am I missing?"

"Well, this isn't the first I see it."

"Oh! You saw it…working, did you?" she asked half admonishing and half urging him for details.

"Well, yeah, I did."

"When?"

"I went with Williamson to the Department of Mysteries after the Auror graduation party and he made a demonstration."

"You never told me…"

"I'm sorry, it was secret, and we made a vow not to talk about it until it was officially released."

"Not even to your future wife? And why wasn't I invited? "

"It was a very private thing, it was only me, Harry, Williamson and Kingsley." He answered apologetically.

"And you liked it, did you? You thought it was a great idea. I mean you went on with your life for almost a month after seeing such a thing without even a hint that something was wrong?" Her temper was rising again and try as she might, this time she couldn't smother it.

"Nothing was wrong Hermione!" he exclaimed throwing his hands in the air.

"NOTHING WAS WRONG? HOW CAN YOU EVEN…" she took a deep breath and levelled her voice. "Not only that having one of those people in our home is not safe and completely stupid but the way that Collar works is ghastly and inhumane. Frankly, I think Voldemort would have been green with envy to see us using such a device." She tapped her foot and Ron started rubbing his face distressed. The door behind him opened and Hermione saw over his shoulder Harry's mop of dark hair poking through. He smiled, closed the door with a soft click and made his way to them.

"Hermione…Oh dear, I knew you would misunderstand this." He came by Ron's side and looked sheepishly at her.

"I have nothing to say to you, Harry!" she said with finality turning around and walking briskly to put as much space between her and them as possible.

IIII

It is evening. The twilight is casting its orange glow through the carriage window and over my soiled trousers. For a moment they look almost acceptable in that soft light, until I realise that the holes and dubious spots are even more obvious creating brutish, detailed patterns. I look like the lowest of paupers. I belong to the slums of London, begging and sleeping on the pavement. I'm not even fit for pick pocketing. If I'd have at least a little of my old pride left I would bask in some ego inflating saying like "Lo' and behold how the mighty have fallen!", regrettably the constant worry that I have lived under the past three years has rendered me paranoid and exceedingly suspicious, so much that I am inclined to doubt my once so-called greatness. I have always been aware that many of my associates and business partners gossiped and talked behind my back a lot but that was and still is unimportant; now it is a feeling of caginess and circumspection that haunts me. It is what I hated most in others, it is the most evident proof of weakness and the more I ponder on it the more it deepens and longer are the roots it grows in my personality. It is my utmost priority to get rid of this blatant proof that I lack confidence. I shudder at the thought; confidence has been the stuff that built my empire.

I have arrived. So immersed I have been in my thoughts that I haven't even noticed the one hour of flying over the sea passing. The tiny waves glisten merrily in the fading sun and the few gentle turns that the carriage takes allow me glimpses of muggle London, I can see rooftops of all shapes and sizes, the top of Big Ben and panoplies of crenels and towers, the hideous glass buildings rearing their ugly, glimmering heads over everything. Nothing has changed, though everything seems strange and alien.

I have no idea where will be my next stop, I suspect it will be the Ministry; they need to have an official document that I'm back from the dead and apt to be exploited. There is only one thing that makes me want to face them all, my family, even if I fear thinking of them, of Cissy especially. I have seen Draco many times but I haven't heard anything of or from my wife since the day they have taken us to Azkaban, five years ago. I don't even want to conceive what has happened; I'd rather fool myself for the moment. A little self-deceiving can only be healthy, it keeps me sane.

The carriage lands in a back alley. I get out and so does my escort, a fledgling auror. Gone are the days when I was watched by a pair of idiotic animals, now that I'm free I need to be taken care of by a green, cape wearing auror that, judging by his strut, blatantly overestimates himself. I don't know whether to be flattered that they sent someone that can read to escort me or rather worried that my actual state of helplessness didn't ask for anything more than an unseasoned school boy.

The air is thick and suffocating, I don't know whether it is because I'm not used to temperatures over 10 degrees C anymore or rather a miracle happened and Britain is experiencing a worthwhile summer. The narrow alleyway opens to a small, deserted, but neat and nicely looking square surrounded by brick buildings. It is odd to see this orderly and clean place with green grass and tall trees. Every sight and smell hits me, amazes me, wakes me, it's like I've never seen trees with lush, green leaves or thick clouds travelling at impressive speed along the dome of the sky.

The auror holds me at wand end and directs me to the nearby and strikingly familiar phone booth confirming my earlier suspicion regarding my destination. We cram together in the tiny space and still keeping up his act, the boy folds his arm awkwardly at his chest with the wand held in a death grip and pointing at his nose rather than me. He then widens his eyes in realisation - the actual muggle contraption that allows us in is behind me. He glares at me as if I planned this. I shuffle around ineptly to allow him access to the machine and frown at him, he shrinks down and his wand almost travels up one of his nostrils. Finally he manages to make the call and we start descending. I realize now that I know the boy – from where, I have no idea. I'll remember eventually.

There is a sense of dread coming here as I haven't visited this place since the embarrassing incident six years ago that brought about my impending downfall. I hear a strange ruckus as we approach the "bowels" of the Ministry. The door opens and I'm presented with its source. A blinding flash of light welcomes me and a roar of voices assaults me. Reporters, a horde of them, surround me from all sides; meek, petty little creatures with no other goal in life than creating chaos and obsessive suspicion in susceptible minds. Small-minded worries only lead to stupidity, so their only contribution is that made to the growing number of idiots.

"Mr. Malfoy do you feel redeemed of your terrible sins after those years in Azkaban?" stupidly asks a gangly young man in my left. My auror can't hold his own against the excited herd and as he tries to call for others to help him he is overwhelmed by the reporters and I see him bullied behind a mass of shoulders and heads. The hysterical mob jumps me with sharp quills and teeth. The first and closest to me is unsurprisingly that obnoxious Skeeter woman. Her face looks like a freshly whitewashed wall and she has thick green lines on her eyelids that match the rheum in the corner of her eyes. I think she could use some of Azkaban's superb hose-wash treatment.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she screeches. "Such a surprise to see you out and about!" her clownish lips stretch into some sort of smile. "I would like to say that you haven't aged a bit but that would make me a liar." A leer and a suggestive movement that invades my personal space. "I bet you haven't seen yourself in a very looong time!" Her shoulders shake in her amusement at her own joke. "Or your son and wife." She adds with a forced pout of pity. The others start to ask questions louder than before roused by her insinuations. I'd smash her head now. "Speaking of which, how will they cope with the scars left by the situations you forced them into? How will they cope with their suffering for a father and a husband that turned their family from great and prominent to an exiled pariah?" She should receive an award for the most oxymoronic oxymoron.

"Get away from me you harlot!" I hiss quietly in her ear and push myself through the wall of bodies.

I am assaulted by questions, the reporters yell and run after me, and I can't make out much except for Skeeter's last words. Where is that boy when I need him?

"All you have is words now Mr. Malfoy! You won't even have yourself soon." And she laughs meaningfully. I don't know what she is trying to say but knowing her it is something significant. She is happy about something and I'm sure it is something that I won't like. Death Eaters and reporters are very much alike; they bask in other people's ill fortune, I'm not judging though, it is a matter of survival.

I finally find my sandy-haired auror; he comes to me followed by others he must have picked up for his fight against the journalists. They all surround me and we go to the throne room or in other words to the Wizengamot Courtroom.

The trial is long and tedious, a repeat of the same old accusations I have heard every time they called me, but the result can only be summed up in one word – lurid. It's amazing, really, I'm starting to think it is a nightmare or perhaps I died and this is hell. Unfortunately everything is disappointingly real. I think I preferred Azkaban.

IIII

She looked at him twisting her hands nervously. Her feelings and thoughts were all an incoherent jumble. She still had hopes that this will somehow be resolved, that she will find a way to undo this. For the moment she had to get used to the situation and most of all to the man in front of her. To a man that was going to share their house from now on and for an indefinite period of time. She had to adapt to a man that tried to kill them numerous times. She had to adapt to the shuddering fact that Lucius Malfoy will be living with them at the Peverell Mansion.

She tried to subdue her anger and looked up at the man in front of her, the stranger in front of her. She couldn't even recognize him, he looked like a beggar and the feeling of uneasiness could only be magnified by this fact. He was older, centuries older, his hair seemed even whiter than before and his face held a wild, haunted expression. But yet the filthy prison uniform and the long tangled beard that concealed most of his face couldn't hide him, the real him. She thinned her lips and frowned at him starring back determinedly just like she always did every time they met. Nothing had changed in neither of them, she was still as determined and unshaken in her beliefs and ideals and he just as stubborn and convinced of his. She could still look at him without a trace of fear etched on her face and he could still confront and deride her with a mere stare.

His answer was a short bow of his head and a tiny move of his moustache that signalled a small mocking smile. What was left of his old supercilious self combined with the new embittered and haunted air only made him more terrifying. But she swore that whatever she felt, whatever feeling of fear or uncertainty he might give her, will be well hidden behind a perfectly orchestrated attitude. She had to learn to live with this; she had to learn to live with him. She knew she was capable of anything she put her mind too and Lucius Malfoy was not going to be the man to stop her from living her life the way she had planned. He or anyone else could not stand in her way. She was going to manage, she had been through worse after all, she had seen death more times than she could count, she resisted Bellatrix' torture and never gave in, never told her about the sword despite the pain and horror that, even now, still haunted her in her sleep. She was an auror, in the last three years she learned things that could definitely match whatever training he had. She remembered the lessons in her Auror training, clinging to the knowledge she received to convince herself that this was a mere trifle, he was nothing.

Williamson and Smith came behind Malfoy, Williamson was carrying the famed collar and Smith was pointing his wand at him a little shakily. She shook her head; she still couldn't understand how a coward like Zacharias Smith entered Auror training and got his auror badge. She suspected his father had something to do with this.

"Restrain him Smith!" boomed the baritone voice of Williamson.

"Yes, I knew that's what I was supposed to do sir…I was just waiting for your command" grumbled Zacharias glaring at his superior.

"Work now, chat later." Retorted Williamson.

Smith sighed and finally casted Incarcerous on Malfoy. His body became stiff, his head the only part he could move and he did move it, he couldn't miss the chance to throw an amused stare at Smith that was standing to his left.

"Ah, young mister Smith!" he spoke for the first time in a slightly raspy voice. She shuddered when hearing him again after so long, memories of the Department of Mysteries and the Malfoy Manor all coming back to her. "I thought I knew you from somewhere…" he said in a falsely thoughtful tone while Smith looked away and started fidgeting with his wand. "I trust you father is alive and well?" he continued and kept staring at the young man that seemed to have shrunk under his gaze. She frowned in confusion wondering under what circumstances Malfoy met Mr. Smith.

"Control yourself Malfoy!" said Williamson in a threatening voice at which Malfoy turned away calmly from Smith.

"I meant no harm, I only wanted to ask Zacharias to send my best regards to his father." He said lightly.

Williamson who was now in the process of pushing Malfoy's hair and beard out of the way to make room for the collar stilled and looked at Smith pointedly, Zacharias palled.

"Well, Smith aren't you going to answer such a polite request?" asked Williamson obviously digging for information. Hermione smiled and listened attentively.

"I- I don't know what he's talking about." He stuttered making his statement sound hilariously implausible.

"Of course you don't…" said Williamson frowning as he won the war with Malfoy's hair and proceeded to fasten the collar around his neck. She thought she could see a ghost of a smile under the tangled moustache and beard on Malfoy's face. She always suspected the Smiths of having some ties to the Dark Lord in the past and now she was certain that it was true. She made a mental note to research the problem.

Williamson finished tying the collar around the man's neck and now he looked proudly at his own handy work. She glared at the both of the aurors not even bothering to look at Malfoy, only the idea of his presence in her house making her sick to her stomach.

"And I should trust that piece of leather he has around his neck, right?" she asked unable to control her attitude anymore. At that moment the aurors and their obliviousness to the situation was annoying her more than Malfoy's presence.

"Yes, actually" answered Williamson looking at her with a raise of his brow as if she lost her mind. "It's infallible and this one is the best that has been made. Also the collars will be changed regularly every time a new and more advanced model is launched." He said.

"Why would I want this…this beast in my house Williamson? WHY?" her head was starting to ache and her temper was increasingly out of control as she looked at the bewildered faces of the aurors.

"This is the best solution Hermione! They have been re-educated. Not only that the collar will stop him from doing anything destructive or wrong but the program he went through while in Azkaban has been conceived to break them, to bend their perception and thus making them easier to be reintegrated into the new society." Williamson tried to convince her. She looked from Malfoy to the still pale Smith that was standing a few steps behind him. She returned her eyes on Malfoy letting her stare linger on his. His eyes narrowed in a very calculated manner, considering her, analysing her. She could see the same intention in that loathsome stare, his inexorable search for weakness in all around him. His critical eyes seemed to delve deep into her brain, judging, evaluating, cutting her into fine pieces and then storing her into the well labelled drawers of his bigoted, narrow mind.

"I see no difference. He is still the same vicious criminal! Prove it to me Williamson, prove that he is harmless!" She hissed at the auror approaching him. She didn't want to come close to him because that meant being closer to Malfoy so she stopped at a distance she considered safe.

"We need Ron so that we can perform the tying, the collar doesn't work until we perform that ritual. Both his owners must be part of it." He said.

"Owners!" she snorted.

"Yes, well technically you will own him." He said and waved a hand towards a seething Malfoy. For a moment she felt like she was about to burst out laughing but then a vicious thought crossed her mind. She turned back to the still Incarcerated man before her and smiled as derisively as she could, trying to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"Wow Mister Malfoy, you are our new house elf! What should we call you, hm?" She stared at him thoughtfully. "Grumpy, Sneery, Blondie or…oh yes Dobby fits and I'm sure it's your favourite too, isn't it?" He frowned at her but she didn't budge, watching him serenely.

"Such childish baiting is not even worth an answer, Miss Granger." he answered through gritted teeth but yet calm as ever. She looked at him strangely half-way loosing her smug smile and felt her face burn with shame and annoyance at her own silliness. She knew that her comment hit the spot but yet his composure and sudden neutral expression made her look like fool.

"Hermione, let's give this a chance, I'm sure it will all work great." Said Williamson looking between the two. He was clutching his wand tightly in his hand prepared for any unpredictable incident that might flare between the two.

"He's not even grateful for the undeserved freedom he got! He doesn't even see what kind of burden this is…he is." She kept her eyes on him, not even turning to look at Williamson. The older Auror sighed and before he could say anything Malfoy spoke in a strangely forlorn voice.

"Grateful for slavery, Miss Granger? Hm, I'd like to see you in my place!" If he was someone else she might have felt sorry and might have actually relate to his suffering or even felt compassion, but this was him and despite the fact that she forced herself to feel humane towards him her mind was a huge block of ice devoid of any emotion but the most wretched, that of spite. And the fact that he made her sink into such malicious feeling only made her hate him more.

"You ungrateful old sod! After everything you did!" her voice had risen to a screech. "How dare you? This is not enough for you, not worthy of you?" she said, one of her hands shooting around her to show him the impressive parlour of Peverell mansion. "You don't deserve anything, not even that hell in the middle of the sea! Oh, yes, even Azkaban, that rat hole is to good for you!" He kept looking at her pointedly, a dark menacing cloud settling over his face. She breathed in shakily. That was the moment Smith found appropriate to escalade the argument.

"I can assure you Hermione, that Azkaban is the finest institution of its kind, far from a rat hole!" he said primly. He was hunting a post in the leading of Azkaban and he was blatantly striving to make a good impression to whoever might talk about him in the future. She grimaced and finally tore her eyes away from Malfoy's piercing stare to look at the suddenly upturned face of Smith.

"Oh, shut up, you pitiable fruit!" she retorted, images of a drunk, giggling Zacharias running around half naked through the forest around the Auror Camp trying to hide from her and Harry as they caught him in a not so decent position with another boy, dancing before her eyes. Two pairs of shocked brown eyes turned to her while a third, grey pair, turned to Smith. Williamson had his mouth half opened in a half shocked, half amused expression, Malfoy was looking pleased in a very disturbing kind of way, which only made Smith shrink further while Hermione was surprised at the out of place satisfaction she was feeling. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

"What the hell…" a very familiar voice blurted out from the door of the parlour. All the attention turned to the wide eyed Lord of the Manor that was staring at them as if the house was on fire. Truth be told if Ron would have arrived just a little later the tension could have escaladed to a just that. She turned to him and didn't know whether to feel relieved that he had arrived or annoyed at him that it took him so long.

"What did you do all this time?" she asked throwing her arms in the air.

"I don't know what the hell happened, the man fainted after I obliviated him! I don't understand what went wrong; I did it like I always do." He said closing the door with a deeply frustrated look on his face.

"I told you I should do it Ron."

"I will never again tell you when I'm making a mistake. I'll just act like everything is as perfect as you are!" he said accusingly. She looked at him not understanding where all this antagonism had come.

"Ron, I never implied that I'm perfect or reproached anything…" She almost made it a question even though she didn't want to find out what in her attitude made him have such ideas.

"Forget it." He blurted out waving a dismissive hand her way. "What's done is done." The tension crept back like a fog over them.

"Err…Ron, Hermione, we need to close the agreement, make the vow. It's kind of late and I have to write a report on Malfoy's reintegration tonight." said Williamson careful not to make any of them blow a fuse again.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry mate. Let's get to it then. Where are the others?" Asked Ron shrugging his cloak and rolling up his sleeves with determination. He looked around for the head of houses, his brother and the minister that only half an hour ago stood with them on the field, not hiding his relief at not finding them present.

"They all flooed back to their business, we can handle him here by ourselves." Said Williamson professionally, glancing shortly at Malfoy. Ron nodded in understanding and walked to them.

They all gathered around Malfoy who was looking murderous making inhuman efforts to not throttle them all. Smith again received the task of keeping Malfoy at wand end, looking far from pleased with his unexciting position. Williamson spoke some incantations casting various spells that made the infamous Collar of Holding glow from red to green and then settle on a bright, shimmering blue. After the main part of the ritual was over the actual vow was made and Ron was the first to go in front of Malfoy and with a disgusted grimace on his face entwine his hand with his and repeat the words Williamson was uttering. Both their fingers were curled around the other's forearm, the Unbreakable Vow grip, how she remembered it was called.

Hermione felt strange and she didn't even know why. After waking from her rage induced obliviousness she looked at the situation with different eyes. The ritual of tying this man to them, to their family, came to confirm the utterly unreal state of the affair. For weeks as she waited for Malfoy's release she had a sense of fantastic, she consciously cultivated self-denial living under the impression that it was the only way she could learn to adapt to this. A feeling not unlike the disbelief one experiences at the death of a loved one when, despite the awareness of the sad event, a call or visit from the deceased wouldn't come as a surprise. She really didn't like the automatic manner in which the brain functioned at some levels, creating standard thinking systems and forcing its owner into narrow mindedness. The powerful glowing threads around Ron's and Malfoy's entwined arms took her mind away from her ponderings and she looked from one man to another noticing a barely visible flinch shaking the older man's otherwise stiff frame.

Soon it was her turn and Williamson nodded at her to approach. She hesitated a little before touching the pale forearm that was extended to her, the very idea making her skin prickle. Steeling herself and determinedly avoiding to look up at him she extended her own hand and grasped his forearm lightly, her hand feeling like ice against his warm skin. As his long fingers almost encircled her own forearm she realised that his hand was as cold as hers, the sensation making her hairs stand on end. She listened to Williamson's words, repeating them mechanically, not understanding anything she was saying as she was more concerned about the frailty of her arm with his much stronger one coiled around it. She felt awkward and uncomfortable, for a reason or another the contact felt intimate with a person like him. The tender skin on the inside of her forearm was the most sensitive and responsive zone on her body and having his hand there was extremely intrusive. She cringed and waited for Malfoy to repeat his vows. She looked up at him to escape the unnerving image and was relieved to find his eyes averted to a spot on the wall behind her. She concentrated on his face and on the two voices that were deftly saying the same words to distract herself from whatever her mind might unsettle her with next.

Finally Williamson touched their entwined arms with the tip of his wand and the same glowing threads sparkled and slithered around like vines.

"Adstringo Perfecto.*" finished Williamson quietly as if coming to a conclusion.

The light threads flared shortly and then disappeared as if absorbed by their skin. The blinding blue light seemed to have travelled up around his neck as the collar flashed. This time she felt rather than saw the flinch that went through his body, his arm flexing and his fingers digging into her skin instinctively. It was obvious that he was trying to mask his reaction but being so close to him she could see it clearly. She remorsefully tried to reprimand the feeling of satisfaction she felt at witnessing his pain.

As soon as she was allowed she slipped her hand out of his grasp as if burned, the cold air causing goose bumps on the area warmed by the skin to skin contact.

"Finished! Well, what can I say? Good luck, I suppose." Said Williamson. For moment she thought he was going to say something crazy, like "Congratulations", but was glad to hear that he had put an end to the awkward situation in an honest manner.

After the Aurors took their leave the awkwardness could only increase. She tried to act natural, to not be affected by the intruder in their home but it was impossible. Ron sat in one of the baroque armchairs by the fire, looking tired and worn - his only preoccupation being Malfoy, observing Malfoy, glowering at Malfoy. She, on the other hand, felt faint and could only think about a warm tea and an equally warm bed where she could stretch her tired limbs. She looked at her future husband sitting tensely in the armchair and then at the object of his intense stares. Malfoy was standing in the middle of the room glancing in a very calculating manner around himself, in a second, as if sensing her eyes on him, he looked straight at her. She felt the surprise that etched itself on her face and as much as she steeled herself she was unable to engage in a starring match with him so instead she pursed her lips, blinked and announced that she needs a tea. Without even asking Ron if he would have liked one too she turned on her heels and fled from the parlour and down into the kitchens.

She stumbled down the stairs through the darkness - forgetting to light her wand - and pushed herself into the heavy door. She fumbled with teapots, teaspoons and mugs agitatedly and after a lot of fidgeting and pacing along the kitchen waiting for the water to boil she finally brewed herself a cup of tea of the most calming combination of plants she could find. On her way back up, the bottle of fire whiskey sitting inconspicuously on the kitchen counter attracted her attention and she gave in and poured a little into her tea.

The parlour was under an even bigger cloud of tension. Ron was standing next to the armchair he occupied before and Malfoy was with his back to her looking at him. The few sips of tea had strengthened her and given her courage, so she walked determinedly between the two men, decided to get this over with, call it a night and get some well deserved rest.

"What's going on here? What is it Ron?" she asked looking pointedly at the two.

"He insulted me…" hissed Ron not taking his eyes of off Malfoy who looked back at them with his expressionless face.

"What did he say?"

"He said I'm not worthy to live in a place like this…" Ron growled. Malfoy sighed and shook his head.

"He can say whatever he wants, Ron. The truth is that it is us that live here." She said not without a hint of smugness.

"You can at least refrain from making comments about my family. If you wouldn't stoop that low I might actually consider you worthy of living in a place like this." Said Malfoy in a vicious tone subduing a rising temper. His eyes were glued to Ron as if he thought possible that the intensity of his stare might kill.

"Stoop low? STOOP LOW?" yelled Ron, the veins on his neck bulging. "You know everything about that, don't you? You've been through the lowest pits of human dirt that exist!" Hermione flinched at the loud sound of Ron's voice.

"Shut up Weasley!" warned Malfoy.

"Don't you tell me to shut up Malfoy! You have no more right over me or the Weasley family, its over! You won't ever, ever in your worthless life have the chance to spout that shite you used too about red hair, hand me down clothes and poverty! Look at this place, look at the clothes we're wearing and look at yourself. You have nothing, NOTHING! What do you say about that?" His face was contorted in a grimace of rage and arrogance that made him unrecognizable, utterly frightening. The horrible words coming out of his mouth and his insensitive bravado were turning him in a completely different person, but she thought that it was an evil that had boiled in him for years, a frustration that waited its release since the first day Malfoy's eyes looked down at him in distaste and mockery.

She hastily placed her mug on the coffee table and took her wand out ready for the impending peak of the raging tempest. Malfoy's eyes were flaring but the rest of his body looked deceivingly relaxed. She watched in fascination as the Collar around his neck started flashing odd colours.

"No matter how much you pay for you damned clothes or food and no matter how much you scrub yourself in your marble tub that filth won't ever come off boy!" he said making a swift movement with his arm as if deciding Ron's faith. "And you know exactly what I'm talking about!"

Ron was red and she didn't put the killing curse past him at that moment. She thought that perhaps letting him vent his pent up anger might do him good but the situation was getting seriously out of hand so she touched his shoulder lightly trying to calm him but he shrugged her off with a muttered "Lee' me alone!"

"And you? Still proud of being a Malfoy, are you? Even now after being beaten down so many times you're still proud of what you and your bloody family did, aren't you?" he went on as if it was normal to scream like a lunatic at ten in the evening. She was thankful that there were no neighbours close by to listen to their show.

"Don't go there again, boy! Don't presume anything about my family!" his breathing became ragged and his lips were thinned into slightly lopsided line. The Collar flashed again shortly.

"And am I not right? Aren't you all a family of pathetic, snivelling, slaves? The position you have now fits you perfectly. What else do you know but serve?" asked Ron half laughing. She looked at him shocked. Despite all the resentment she held for Lucius Malfoy insulting his family like that sounded terribly wretched.

"Ron, Ron calm down!" she said as commanding as she could, taking hold of one of his shoulders again. She wrestled himself from her grasp but she didn't gave in, incessantly trying to get his attention away from Malfoy. "Ron for God's sake, stop this! Get a hold of yourself!"

Before she could do anything else she saw movement in the corner of her eye and turning around she saw Malfoy marching towards them with a determined look in his eye and the collar flashing wildly around his neck. She took her wand out swiftly and pointed it at him but surprisingly Ron's hand shot out and pushed her arm back down and away from her target. He smiled strangely and whispered, "No, no, put it away! Watch this!"

She didn't have time to ask any questions because in the next moment a frightening howl hit her ears. The image that met her eyes was more shocking than anything else, Malfoy was in a heap on the floor thrashing and clawing at his neck. He turned on his back and then on his side towards them, his face was contorted in a ghastly silent scream. And then silence. The Collar stopped its wild flashing and Malfoy's body slackened falling limp, looking like a nightmarish rag doll. She gaped and turned to Ron who looked equally shocked but with a hint of amazement to his expression.

"I hope he's not…Is he?" she mumbled, afraid to say the word she was thinking.

"Dead? No he's fine, don't worry. He'll come around in a half an hour or so." He said and she tried to deny that it was excitement she saw in his eyes. "'Mione, don't look so shocked, just last week you were wondering how the thing works. Well, here it is!" he waved his hand pointing to the unconscious body on the floor. "I think I need a snack. And something strong to help me sleep. Merlin knows I'll toss and turn after this crazy row without the help of an Ogden's." He said looking suddenly refreshed at the idea. He walked to the door to the kitchen and wrapped his fingers around the door knob.

"Ron don't go!" she said in a commanding tone, afraid to be left alone with him. He stopped and looked back at her in confusion.

"Half an hour at least, love, don't worry, he's harmless, just look at him."he smiled reasuringly. "I'll be right back." He spoke casually and disappeared through the door, the sound of it closing thundering in the perfect silence of the night.

She was left standing there with the pitiable relic of one of the most unassailable people she met – afraid to approach him, not because he imposed any threat, not because the antipathy she felt towards him infused her with that much loath but because. despite everything, he didn't deserve her pity.

I'm not very sure how you will take this. It is a rather odd turn and I am nervous about how it will be received. This is where the real plot starts, I will tell you again to not make any assumptions and wait patiently for the next odd and perhaps equally shocking piece of the puzzle to come. You will understand everything in the end. I hope you like it and even if you don't, tell me, I love hearing your thoughts on my work! Thank you for reading this.

*Adstringo Perfecto - Bond Done (along those lines, I used an ordinary on line english latin translator so if it's wrong let me know)
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Under The Cool Shade Of Virtue