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The Tyger and The Lamb	By : crzydiamond Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 42078 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to Harry Potter in any way. No money is being made from this story

Chapter List
- 6
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Chapter 7

A/N: Who I envision playing the Zabinis

Elia Zabini, the beautiful Iman. Her graceful stature and striking face fit the bill-

http://d1v2fthkvl8xh8.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/Iman.jpg

I know Louis Cordice plays Blaise in the films, but I have someone a little different in mind- Isa Rahman, http://jeremydante.files.wordpress.com/2009/06/a8.jpg?w=500&h=359

Whatever happened to Blaise Zabini?

Hermione was having tea with Narcissa, on the back patio of the Malfoy Estate located about two miles away from the Manor. Situated on three acres of grassy knolls and slopping hills, the property epitomized the beauty of the english countryside. For as far as the eye could see, there were fields of lavender and blooming flowers and beyond that, green. The house itself was styled like an Italian villa, with a terracotta tiled roof and stone terraces that overlooked the property. It was smaller than the manor, with only two floors, five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a dining room, living room, and a small ballroom. The furnishings were more updated and less lavish as well. Hermione almost wished she could live in the estate rather than the manor- its laid back, simple style suited her tastes much more than the opulence she was currently living in.

The tinkling from the nearby water fountain intermittently broke the silence she and Narcissa were sitting in. Birds bathed in the water before flying over to the nearby feeder nestled between two tall well groomed hedges.

“So,” Narcissa began after taking a sip of her chamomile tea. “What has happened between you and my son?”

Hermione itched to tell her mother in law what was going on but Draco had bound her to silence. “I just...learned his true reasons for forcing me into marriage.”

“I assume he forbade you from telling me what the reason was?”

“He did,” Hermione admitted. “I would tell you if I could Narcissa, I really would. But I can't. I can only say thats its much more complicated than I originally thought.” She glanced over at an old man seated in a wheelchair, near the edge of the terrace. He was looking out over the land, silent and unmoving. “Who exactly is that?

The Malfoy matriarch sighed and pursed her lips. “That is Abraxas Malfoy.”

Hermione blinked, briefly stunned into silence. “But I thought-”

“Yes everyone thought he was dead. Lucius won't tell me the whole story but the dragonpox didn't kill him, it just left him disabled. I guess he would rather live out his days in seclusion than let others know he can't walk.”

From what Hermione could see, the dragonpox had also scared Abraxas' face. He was handsome, even near ninety, but one could see the vivid dark spots amidst the fine wrinkles on his cheeks and around his mouth. He hadn't spoken since Hermione arrived and for the hour that she had been there, he just stared at the rolling hills and flowers. He was a shrunken thing, with shriveled legs covered in an expensive cashmere blanket. An old house elf, dressed in surprisingly nice clothing, attended Abraxas and was always by his side.

Hermione helped herself to a croissant. She was absolutely starving. For the past couple of days, she avoided Draco as much as she could. If he couldn't find her, he couldn't command her to do things she didn't want to. Amazingly, an old hidden room Snape had used in the Manor during the war remained intact and still undetected by the manor's wards. Hermione enlarged it and added a comfortable twin bed. The first night, when Draco couldn't find her in the Manor, she heard his enraged roars from the dungeons. He had come into Snape's old labs but couldn't find the secret room, lucky for her. Even at work, she had told her co-workers to notify her immediately if he came through and made sure to lock and ward her office when she was in it.

“You look exhausted dear,” Narcissa said, her brow furrowed as she took in the bags underneath Hermione's eyes and her wild hair.

“I am,” she admitted. “I've been...avoiding Draco as much as possible.”

“Is it that bad?” asked the other witch. When Hermione remained silent, Narcissa shook her head in disapproval. “That son of my mine, up to no good just like his father was.”

“It must be genetic,” Hermione offered in good humor.

But Narcissa didn't seem amused. Her blue eyes had a troubled look to them for the rest of the hour and she often drifted in and out of conversation. Hermione knew that more than anything, her mother in law was concerned for Draco's safety. At least when her son and her husband were Deatheaters, she knew where they would be, usually in revels or raids. But without any information from Hermione and Draco, Narcissa was left in the dark this time around.

Hermione laid a hand over Narcissa's motionless one. “I'll take good care of him, I promise. I don't like him, but I'll keep him safe to the best of my abilities. For your sake.”

“Thank you my dear,” the blonde said with a small smile. “ I know you'll do your best.”

The House Elves came shortly after the conversation ended to take away the dirty plates and bring another pot of tea, a lavender chamomile blend this time. They also served little sandwiches, small and ridiculously indulgent. The first that Hermione ate was a pancetta and goat cheese combination. The second was sweet, its insides filled with melted brie and peach preserves. The newspaper arrived and Narcissa quickly flipped through it, finding nothing of interest. Hermione read it next. When she turned to the second page, she saw someone she hadn't seen in a very long time.

Above the article were two pictures. The one on the left was of an extremely beautiful woman in her forties, with nut brown skin and very curly black hair that framed a face that one could only describe as exquisite. Her eyes looked empty though and almost frightening, in a sense. The one on the right was of Blaise Zabini. The picture was from Hogwarts, because the Quidditch field could be seen clearly in the background. She clearly remembered his discomforting smirk and those cold, brown eyes. He was Malfoy's sidekick for most of their time in Hogwarts, although the last year, he drifted away from his Slytherin friends and became more of a loner than he already was. Hermione always saw him in the library studying and had a grudging respect for his intelligence and love of books. What she didn't appreciate was the hoards of girls who followed Zabini around, even into the library to ogle him. Their twittering often disturbed and interrupted Hermione's studying time.

Zabini Villa Raided by Italian Ministry of Magic!

The historical pureblood home which has been in the Zabini family for generations was raided two nights ago. Numerous reports from insiders about the significant amount of dark magic items in the home prompted the Ministry to take swift action. The villa which was the home of Elia Zabini and her son Blaise, had a basement level packed with items which “would be extremely dangerous in the hands of anyone without a moral concious,” said the Italian Minister, Filipo Puopolo.

Among these items were various torture devices thought to be used during He Who Must Not Be Named's reign. Cursed swords and dark magic tomes were also among the items confiscated during the raid.

Neither Elia or Blaise Zabini were home during the time of the raid and all efforts to contact them have proved fruitless. “We are considering them fugitives at this point,” Puopolo stated at a press conference. “They've returned none of our inquiries and considering what we found in the Manor, both are currently charged with multiple serious felonies, one of which is willingly serving He Who Must Not Be Named.”

The Zabinis, who were previously thought to be neutral during the war, are now exposed as He Who Must Not Be Named supporters and have many war crimes to answer for as well. Puopolo went on to say, “We found a myriad of incriminating evidence which proves Blaise Zabini was an ardent follower of He Who Must Not Be Named although he previously stated otherwise. There are also bank statements which prove Elia Zabini was providing monetary funding for Deatheater activity in Britain.”

The Italian Ministry of Magic has requested assistance in catching these war criminals. If you see either of them, contact your nearest authority as quickly as possible. You can also send an owl to Heathridge Primrose, Level 4 at the Ministry of Magic.

Written by :Jonas Jabberwick

For more information on Italian Vacations offered by Hilda's Magical European Tours, go to page 17. For more on Filipo Puopolo, go to page 24.

“Did you read this?” Hermione asked, absolutely shell shocked. She knew Zabini was a pureblood fanatic but throughout the entire war, the former Slytherin had never been spotted on the battlefield.

“I did,” Narcissa answered dryly. “I can't say that I'm surprised, Hermione. I had tea and lunches with these types of women. Elia was the worst. Especially the way she talked about her dead husbands. Seven times widowed? What are the chances of that?”

Zabini's mother had often been referred to as the Black Widow during Hogwarts due to the amount of dead husbands she left in her wake. Blaise hated anyone referring to his mother in any way and sometimes engaged in duels with other students who dared bring up his mother's name.

“I wonder where they are,” Hermione wondered to herself.

“Probably somewhere in Saudi Arabia,” Narcissa said. “I know one of Elia's husbands was an oil tycoon in the Middle East. He was a muggle born wizard who preferred to earn his money through black gold. He owned an estate along the coast in Jazan.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How do you know all of that?”

“I went there once, before we turned to the Order for help . Lucius was afraid that the Dark Lord would turn against us and perhaps take my life. Elia offered to let me stay with her at the time.”

“She was kind to you?”

Narcissa nodded. “Very, though I wouldn't trust her more than I could throw her. She was always invested in the affairs of protecting women which is probably her only redeeming quality. I wish I could say she was as interested in keeping her husbands alive.”

“Why do you think she'd be there?”

“If there was one thing about Elia, it was her connections. I imagine it'd be quite difficult for the Ministry to even get to Jazan, let alone convince Saudi Arabia's magical ministry to extradite her back to Italy. Her own father was a political leader in Saudi Arabia and their ministry still quivers at the mention of their family name.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Hermione couldn't get Elia Zabini's face out of her head. For some reason, she seemed more and more familiar the more she thought about her though there didn't seem to be a particular reason why. Blaise also relentlessly plagued her thoughts and she couldn't forget that smirk of his.

The two women chatted for another hour or so before Hermione stood and told Narcissa that she had to get back to the Manor to make sure she had enough time to hide from Draco. The blonde witch laughed and kissed her on each cheek.

“Make sure you make him wait as long as possible,” she said. “My son is addicted to instant gratification and when he doesn't get it, it makes him furious.”

Hermione wasn't so sure she wanted Draco furious but accepted the advice all the same. “Alright Narcissa, I'll see you in-”

There was a loud pop that disrupted the quiet atmosphere on the terrace. It startled even Abraxas, who jerked in his wheelchair and craned his head around to get a better a look at the source of the noise. At first Hermione thought that Lucius had returned from some day out he had but quickly remembered that he wasn't allowed to Apparate under any circumstances. And then she saw the smooth face and the cold fury in those grey eyes and knew that she was in serious trouble.

“I found you,” Draco said in that low terrible voice of his, the one that sent shivers down her spine. He could make a child shit their pants with that voice. “After days of playing this game of cat and mouse, it seems I've finally won.”

Narcissa cleared her throat and stood. “Draco. I'd like an explanation as to why you have Hermione doing something highly unethical-”

Draco cut his mother off. “I'd like an explanation as to why you've been harboring my fugitive wife when she's under a life contract to help me as I requested.”

“She didn't know,” Hermione said, guilt eating at her for putting Narcissa in an awkward situation.

“Well now she does,” Draco snapped, striding over to them. He grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her away from the table. It looked much more forceful than it actually was because Narcissa gasped at the manhandling.

“I did not raise you to treat women like that!” she exclaimed. “Unhand her now Draco!”

“Mother, stay out of this,” he growled. “You don't understand-”

“I understand that you are barging onto my property and treating my guest with the ultimate form of disrespect!” Narcissa crossed her arms and gave her son a look so withering and angry that Draco actually let go of Hermione's arm and stepped away. “Now she will return to the Manor when she and I have finished our afternoon together. Is that clear?”

Draco didn't answer. He only glared at the two women before he apparated away.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, rubbing her wrist where Draco had grabbed her. “I'm sorry to put you in the middle of our personal war.”

“Don't worry about that dear. Is your arm alright?”

Hermione nodded and sighed in defeat. “I guess he's caught me now. I might as well face his wrath. Better sooner than later.”

“Just make sure,” Narcissa began, her voice deadly serious, “that if he ever mistreats you, that you tell Lucius or I immediately.”

“I will,” she promised.

With one last look at the woman and the place that offered her sanctuary, Hermione apparated back to the Malfoy Manor.

“How long did you really think you'd manage to elude me?” Draco snarled at her as she sat unmoving on a chaise in the drawing room.

“For as long as possible,” she answered, her eyes trained on the roaring fireplace. “Though I didn't manage to elude you for as long as I liked to.”

“Do you think this is funny Granger?” her husband asked. “Do you know how much valuable time you've wasted?”

“No. And I don't care.”

Draco's looked so furious that she was sure he was going to hit her across the face. Instead, he turned away from her, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. “You're forcing my hand Granger. Do you want me to command you to stay inside the Manor?”

Hermione's eyes widened with horror. “No Malfoy don't-”

“Then promise that you won't hide from me again, as long as we're working on this project.”

She reluctantly assented with a small nod.

“I also require one more thing from you,” he added stiffly. “I had planned on doing this obligatory appearance days ago but it was then you pulled your disappearing act. Put on something decent and come with me. Its time we make our first public appearance as Mr and Mrs Malfoy.”

Somehow, Hermione knew that this was coming. Draco was known around the wizarding world for wining and dining his womanly conquests and due to his reputation, the media was panting for the next appearance of Mr and Mrs Draco Malfoy. The paparazzi was posted up outside of every high class restaurant in the wizarding world, cameras poised to take as many pictures as possible to sell to the highest bidder. Considering Draco's need to upkeep public opinion, she knew that it was only a matter of time before she was forced to make appearances and put on a farce that she was happily married.

For the dinner, Hermione chose a simple red dress that had an off the shoulder neckline. The boned bodice accentuated her ample bosom and waist while the soft, swing pleats flared out to give her an hourglass shape. Along the sides of the dress were mesh inserts which lent the dress a more modern feel. Hermione left her curls down and donned simple black strapy heels. Her makeup was simple, with just liner on her lids and red lipstick to tie the look together. When she looked in the mirror, she felt classy and polished.

When she returned downstairs, Draco was dressed somewhat casually in a white shirt ,with the sleeves rolled up, that was tucked into black slacks. He wasn't wearing any robes which was odd for him, and his hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. He stared at her for a brief moment, his gaze intense.

“You look the part,” Draco said softly as he gently pulled her mass of curls so that they fell over her right shoulder. Hermione flinched away from him. She could see the insulted look that flashed across his face. “We should leave now.” He offered his arm to her.

She slid her hand in the crook of his elbow and didn't bother to ask where they were going. No matter where they ate, the dinner was sure to be equally miserable. She closed her eyes and felt the usually whoosh of apparition. When she opened them, she was in Diagon Alley. Or rather the posh part of the alley called the Jubilee.

As Knockturn alley was the skeezy, dangerous part of the wizarding world, the Jubilee was where the crème de la crème of wizarding society went for entertainment. The alley was lined with a myriad of shops though they all had one thing in common- they catered to the ridiculously wealthy.There were high fashion robes boutiques with magnificent dresses made entirely of Acromantula silk. Rare antique dealers had store front windows filled with giant emeralds and canary diamonds. There were cafes where they served tea brewed from the rare Kadupul flower, a flower that bloomed only for a night before withering at dawn. There was also an opera house down the alley where wizarding operas and musicals took place. It's structure was reminiscent of the Pantheon in Greece, with an elaborately decorated domed roof boasting an oculus in the middle which illuminated the round stage with either real or artificial light.

The most expensive restaurants also made their homes on the Jubilee. The one they were in front of was called the Titan's Daughter and it straddled the Jubilee river which split the alley through its center. Hermione had heard of this restaurant- it was famous for its central seating which was situated on a glass floor that looked down onto the blue waters of the Jubilee. Reservation lists also took months to get onto- even the Minister was sometimes turned away in favor for even more affluent clientele. The entire structure was mainly glass reinforced with magic. Some of it, like the front, was made of green marble.

The street seemed quiet enough, punctured only with floating remnants of conversation from people both down the street and in the restaurant and the soft roar of Jubilee, as it swept beneath the bridge. The air was sweet and still warm from the unusually hot autumn day. Hermione saw no paparazzi as they approached the maitre d standing at a podium at the front entrance and thought that perhaps, she'd managed to make it through the evening without her eyes watering from camera flashes. But as soon as they reached the other side of the street, she heard someone call out,

“Its the Malfoys!”

Immediately, her vision was barraged with a series of loud, aggressive flashes followed by a rush of questions, half spoken half shouted. “How do you feel about being a Malfoy Hermione?”

“Where are you taking your honey moon?”

“Are you really pregnant?”

Draco raised a hand to silence the reporters, while keeping the other firmly around Hermione's waist. Once the din had quieted, the blonde replied, “All of the answers to your questions will be answered in the interview we'll be having with the Prophet in two days time.”

That comment immediately sparked another series of questions but the couple just walked on to the Titan's Daughter. The maitre d was a short brown haired man with a pointed, rat like face. He was dressed in ridiculously elaborate dress robes which were a little too small to accommodate the impressive girth of his midsection. Not bothering to even look up, he said with a curl of his lip, “Whoever you are, you will not be getting in-”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he interrupted in an icy tone. “Even when this customer owns over half of the restaurant?”

The maitre d's face paled and he looked up, nervousness etched into every crevice of his face. “I'm so sorry Mr. Malfoy, I did not realize-”

“Make sure it doesn't happen again,” was all Draco said before they swept past him into the restaurant.

Being in the Titan's Daughter gave one the impression that the restaurant was outside. The entire thing was clear, from most of the floor to the ceiling so the only decorations in the place were the night time sky, the twinkling lights from the alley and the waters below. Huge crystal chandeliers were suspended midair in central parts of the restaurant while iron wrought candelabras of ever burning candles hung over each individual table. A two person orchestra, a witch on a cello and a wizard on a five string viola, played from a corner to the right of the entrance. Every table was filled, from old business men dining their young spoiled girlfriends to groups of pureblooded women wearing dress robes that would cost a year of Hermione's salary. Though the dress was somewhat casual, everyone was still wearing ridiculous designer items that she'd only ever seen in magazines. At the far end of the restaurant was a solid wall and a swinging door, out of which waiters and waitresses hurried, juggling carafes of wine and trays of food.

Their hostess, a tired looking young witch with cat like eyes and red hair, led them to their table in the middle of the restaurant and handed them the elaborate, leather bound menus. Hermione noticed, as she opened hers, that each page was rimmed in delicate gold leaf. To some, the extravagance was lovely but to her, it was just that- extravagant and wholly unnecessary. She itched to say something as she glanced around the restaurant again but bit her tongue when she remembered that Draco was already in a nasty mood.

“The entire restaurant is staring,” she commented when she noticed that the white noise of incessant chatter had fallen to near silence. Everyone in the near vicinity was fixated on the couple, hoping to catch a glimpse or hear a snippet of the newly weds' conversation.

“Get used to is, dear,” Draco drawled, heavily emphasizing the 'dear'. “Most of these sad, lonely socialites have nothing better to do than stare at others and gossip. Its the way this society works.”

“Well I don't like it,” she said in a petulant tone, sounding like a child.

“I don't either Granger but its a necessary evil. Public opinion matters, especially when parts of your company are publicly traded with shareholders.”

The whole concept baffled her and made her question her marriage to Malfoy even more. She wasn't cut out for these types of situations. Of course she had impeccable manners, honed to perfection by eating with the Malfoys every day, but mentally, Hermione wasn't sure that she could play in this charade. Fame, she was used to, but this was like being surrounded by a pack of salivating hyenas.

“Relax,” Draco commanded when he noticed her stiff back and clenched hands. “Get a glass of wine.”

Hermione chose an aged Merlot while Draco ordered cognac on the rocks. By the time their drinks arrived, Draco put in an order for an appetizer- honeyed figs stuffed with goat cheese and a spicy mesclun salad drizzled with a dragon's blood dressing. Hermione could barely believe her ears. Dragon's blood was expensive and rare to come by for potion's ingredients- it'd taken her nearly three years to acquire the small reserve they had at the Ministry. It was unbelievable that a restaurant would waste such a valuable resource on a salad garnish.

As they ate their appetizers, the silence in the restaurant grew exponentially until it was totally uncomfortable and unbearable. She could hear someone sneeze from across the restaurant. Even the cellist and violist had decrescendo-ed into a low, keening murmur that barely broke the level of a loud whisper.

Draco sat back and drank his cognac, his grey eyes fixed on Hermione over the rim of the glass. She followed suit and took a sip of her wine. She normally wasn't a fan of wine and when she went out, ordered fruity, girly drinks with hard liquor like rum and vodka in them. But this wine was incredibly smooth and flavorful- she guessed it could be expected considering the glass alone cost nearly 50 galleons.

When the waiter returned to get their dinner order, Draco whispered something in his ear to which the other man replied quickly, “Of course Mr. Malfoy.” The waiter rushed back to the kitchens. A minute or so later, Hermione felt the slight ripple of magic around them.

“Malfoy,” she said in a low voice. “What did you do?”

“Impenetrable privacy charm,” Draco answered, popping a cheese stuffed fig into his mouth. “Well, impenetrable except for the staff. I developed it for the restaurant so that clientele who wished to discuss business could do so without fearing that others would overhear. Its been immensely popular so now its a standard feature- for a price of course.”

Hermione could see the confusion on the other patrons' faces as they looked at the couple's mouths moving and connecting it to the lack of sound. Some had turned around in their seats or were straining their necks to see what was going on. Eventually, it caught on that there was a privacy charm on the table and in that way, it was a blessing. Everyone immediately lost interest at the loss of being able to eavesdrop and turned back to their conversations. The orchestral arrangement resumed playing at a reasonable level and the restaurant seemed to burst out of a still life painting into actual reality.

“I guess its a clever idea,” Hermione admitted grudgingly. “But it does make me question exactly what you want to talk about and if you wanted privacy, why we came here in the first place?”

He ignored her for a few moments, flipping through the menu pages. “I already told you Granger,” he said, after making up his mind about the entree. “We needed to make a public appearance. Especially since we're not going on a honeymoon.”

“Thank god for that,” Hermione muttered into her napkin as she daintily wiped the edges of her mouth.

Draco narrowed his eyes and continued. “Our honeymoon will be a classified trip Granger. And I'm thinking you can already guess why.”

The dragon saddle myth hadn't left Hermione's mind since their wedding night. It haunted her dreams and gave her nightmares that often included Snape vehemently accusing her of abusing the powerful things he entrusted only to her. The guilt had eaten away at her to such an extent that she didn't even quench her infamous curiosity- she refused to look through Snape's old books to find mention of the black flame spell. But now that Draco had a hold of her again, there was nothing she could do to avoid the seemingly inevitable.

“I'm telling you Malfoy, abandon this quest. You're messing with things that should be left alone.”

“Your advice doesn't interest me. I'm going to find the saddle and you'll join me on my trip.”

They lapsed into silence when the waiter came back to take down their entree order. Draco chose a crown roast of lamb for the both of them and a cream of watercress soup to proceed the main dish. Once the waiter had gone, Draco continued speaking. “Like I told you, I need you to find that spell and the potion. It has to be somewhere in Snape's texts.”

“I've never seen anything of the sort,” Hermione said. She was telling the truth though there was something prickling her in the back of mind that reminded her that perhaps she'd seen something similar before in a very rare book...

“Snape will have written it down,” Draco insisted impatiently. “And I need you to brew the potion. You'll have everything you need sent to the manor.”

Hermione sat back and chewed on her lip. “Who else is searching for this saddle Malfoy? Why are you in such a rush?”

The eager look slipped from his face and was replaced by his usual stony expression. “People who would use it to worse ends than I ever would. You're not naïve enough to think that since the Dark Lord's fall, the Deatheaters have mysteriously disbanded and dispersed.” It wasn't a snarky question but a statement.

“I'm not.” Hermione, Harry and Ron were often called in on private assignments locating new sources of Deatheater activity. In the recent year, it had declined to nearly nothing but perhaps that was a strategical move rather than just a decrease.

“I'm also sure you know that there are very influential officials in magical ministries around the world who were and still are sympathetic to the pureblood cause.”

“Yes, yes these are all things I know,” Hermione answered. “But you haven't answered my question Malfoy. You're dancing around it.”

“What I'm saying is that these same people responsible for these hate crimes around the globe are part of a much larger organization. These attacks are not groups of random Death eaters acting out of vengeance. They're not as disorganized and random as they seem to be. If you take a look at the major attacks in the past couple of years, most of them have been on places of national interest. Museums, antique collector's homes, rare book dealers. These aren't all coincidences.”

Suddenly, the article about Blaise Zabini's home seemed suspicious. Cursed swords and dark magic tomes were also among the items confiscated during the raid. “Blaise Zabini's house was raided a couple of days ago by the Italian Ministry of Magic,” Hermione pointed out. “Was that orchestrated as well?”

Draco shook his head. “I'm not sure. I know the level of corruption goes up to the top in the Italian Ministry- they haven't had the intense cleansing ours went through after the war. Its extremely possible that someone put in a false tip, hoping for the Ministry to uncover something that would either lead to the black flame potion or to the dragon saddle itself.”

“Have you ever thought that perhaps its the Ministry itself?” Hermione questioned. “Or perhaps someone who is helping to run the Ministry? But my question is why Zabini?”

“His family is known for collecting and storing ancient artifacts,” Draco said. “In fact, thats how a lot of their wealth was accumulated in the 1800's- the buying, selling and trading of important items, both wizarding and muggle.”

“And what about you? Don't you think you make a good target? You're known for buying ancient artifacts as well, not to mention the trove of dark objects hidden in the manor's dungeons.”

The blonde only smirked at her and finished off his cognac. “I've taken every step necessary to ensure that every single artifact in the manor is hidden. Its impenetrable. And strategically speaking, it was another reason why I married you. I'm much less likely to be targeted for a raid when my wife is a muggle born, war hero philanthropist who helped bring down Voldemort. It would demonize the ministry to the public and cause discord.”

Hermione had to admit that Draco's scheming abilities went much deeper than she originally thought. A small, vain sliver in her personality thought that perhaps he really was totally enamored with her. But she had to say she was relieved to find out that their marriage was so much more than Draco trying to relive his old conquests. The excitement of going on a dangerous adventure piqued her interest and was entrancing- it made her reminisce about the old days with Harry and Ron, when they would do incredibly stupid and live threatening things with no care for immediate consequences.

But the drawbacks of helping Malfoy considerably outweighed the benefits. She had no idea what his true intentions were with the dragon saddle- she knew he no longer supported the Death eater cause...that much was certain. But that didn't mean he'd object to selling the saddle to the highest bidder. And if the saddle fell into the wrong hands, there'd be no telling what kind of havoc would be unleashed upon the world. A fleet of dragon lords? It sounded like the stuff of nightmares.

She figured that was where trust came in. Did she trust Draco? Personally, no, she didn't trust him. But morally...she liked to think she could. Of course he did highly immoral things most of the time, but he wasn't evil- the thing that kept him from being evil was his compassion. Throughout the war, he demonstrated this, though he hid it behind an armor composed of vitriolic comments and seeming indifference. But Hermione knew him better than he thought. So if she was being totally honest with herself, did she think Draco would truly use the dragon saddle to gain power? No. He loved artifacts and history too much to see such a treasure wasted in a struggle for world domination.

“What're you thinking?” Draco asked abruptly.

“I'm thinking about whether or not I trust your morals,” Hermione answered before taking another sip of wine. “I'm thinking about the consequences of helping you retrieve this extremely dangerous artifact.”

He leaned forward, placing his chin atop steepled fingers. “Let me make it easy for you and put your little head at ease. There's no thinking to be done. You have no choice.”

“You know Malfoy,” Hermione said, leaning forward as well. “There's one thing about contracts that you seem to forget- every single one has a loophole. And believe me, I'll find it.”

At that moment, the soups arrived. Hermione wrinkled her nose- watercress soup looked like a bowl of warm baby food. It was delicious though and she ate it all the same. Soon the entree followed and as expected, it was absolutely divine.

“If you think there're other people trying to get their hands on this saddle,” Hermione began, finishing off her wine, “Then we'll need to be careful about everything Malfoy. Even ordering potions ingredients, if I find out how to make the potion. Anyone tracking you can try to deduce what it is I'm making depending on what I've ordered.”

They lapsed into silence, although Draco ordered them a second round of drinks when the waiter returned. Hermione was reflecting on how complicated her life had just become- a couple weeks ago, she was blissfully unaware of how things could change in the blink of an eye. And now, instead of enjoying the job she loves, the flat she owned and the friends she had, she was forced to live in a cold, lifeless manor, married to someone she didn't get along with. And now, she was globetrotting to find an artifact that could potentially cost her her life. All because of a life debt she owed to Malfoy.

It was only when a five layered tiramisu was placed on the table did Hermione think of one last thing. “I forgot to ask Malfoy,” she said as she put a piece of the spongy confection in her mouth. “Where are we going exactly?”

Draco smirked at her. “That is for me to know and for you to find out.”

“This is insane,” Draco whispered as he followed Blaise through the tunnels that made up the bowels of Zabini Villa. Catacombs would be the best term to describe the series of winding hallways. Without their modified point me charm, the two boys would've surely gotten lost by now. What was more amazing was the amount of stuff crammed into every corner. There were ancient swords and tapestries and even gold wrought goblets filled with queer looking silver coins. Books upon books lined the built in shelves that lined the walls. Skulls intermittently interrupted the spines of the old tomes- one had a mouthful of gold teeth.

“My family is famous for artifacts,” said Blaise as he deftly wound around corner and corner. “We've been collecting all this stuff for centuries.”

“So your family is a bunch of hoarders?” Draco said jokingly. But Blaise didn't find the jape very funny and just continued walking.

After fifteen more minutes of what seemed like mindless wandering to Draco, they emerged from the clutter into a great cavern whose ceiling was painted over in still lives, all boasting colors that seemed too vivid for reality. It took a moment for him to realize that the still life portraits weren't exactly still- they were all moving slightly. Blades of grass bent in the wind in one, in another, the nose of a pudgy aristocrat twitched. The cavern itself was just an immense museum, filled with more books, daggers, helms, armor, and boxes.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Draco asked.

“My father once mentioned, before he died, that he accidentally sold something that was really important.”

“But he died when you were five,” Draco pointed out. “How can you be sure you remember correctly?”

Blaise paused and Draco could see the muscles in his neck tense. “I'm sure because its the last memory I have of him.” Blaise continued with his search, fingering through books and riffling through papers.

“But if he sold it, why are you looking for it?”

“Because,” the other wizard said, his voice growing impatient, “my father said there were two. He sold both but there was a box that he had them in. The box is here in this room, and should have the information about what that book is.”

Draco fell silent since it was obvious Blaise was getting irritated with all of his questions. Besides they hadn't really been friends for long- they'd only just met last fall during their first year at Hogwarts. Besides Crabbe and Goyle, Draco didn't really have any friends. So when Blaise invited him to his villa in Italy for a couple of weeks in the summer, Draco accepted, eager to escape from his fighting parents and dunderhead sidekicks.

“Blaise!” A sonorous charm carried the voice of Elia, Blaise's mother, from the manor to all outlying parts of the villa, including the catacombs. The exclamation echoed and echoed until it died away, only to be replaced with another, “Blaise! Where are you dear? I have some news!”

The boy in question wrinkled his nose. “She probably came home to tell me that her third husband died.”

“Third?” Draco asked incredulously. In England, most wizarding marriages were for life and divorce was nearly unheard of, even if the marriage was absolutely miserable. At times he wished his parents could get a divorce but they never would, due to the scandal it'd cause. “Did she divorce your other stepdad?”

“No, he died,” Blaise answered shortly. And he had a more than sneaking suspicion that his mother had been the reason why. He had actually liked Jorge and was devastated when they got the news that he passed away. However, his mother was suspiciously calm and level headed about liquidating Jorge's assets and having them dumped into her own personal account.

“Oh,” was all the blonde could reply with. “One last question- why are you looking for this now? I mean, why're you so interested in some old books?”

“Ah!” exclaimed Blaise. “I actually found it!”

Draco rushed over to his friend and looked over his shoulder to get a good look at what Blaise had found. In his hands was a slim wooden box, worn and incredibly old. The wood looked extremely expensive though, despite the aging and on the front, there was a name scrawled in what looked like gold print.

“Blaise!” Elia called again. Except this time, it wasn't the sonorous charm. When she couldn't find her son, she figured he had made his way down into the catacombs again and went down to get him. She was only a minute or so away down the corridor.

“What does it say?” Draco asked excitedly.

Blaise squinted his eyes and brought the box up to his face. “Po...Potionabus Antiqua? By Adrianus Barnabus.”

“Ancient Potions?” translated Draco. The buzz of excitement quickly wore off. “Sounds boring.”

“Yes,” Blaise agreed, his voice filled with disappointment. “It does. I thought it'd be something more...”

“Interesting?” finished a voice from the doorway. The two boys spun around to see Elia Zabini standing there, with a small smile on her face.

Draco's cheeks reddened. He knew it was improper, but he had a crush on Elia Zabini. She was beautiful, smart, and most importantly a pureblood. Her skin was the color of polished chestnut and her dark hair stood about her head in a halo of dense curls, framing a divinely designed face. Everything from her high cheekbones to her full lips, to her dark slanted, sloe like eyes lent Elia a sense of ethereal beauty. Her beauty was only enhanced by her tall figure and swan like neck. She was dressed in a sleeveless yellow silk dress, over which she wore a fox stole to keep herself warm in the chilly air of the catacombs.

“What are you two doing down here?” Elia asked in that lilting voice of hers. Whenever she spoke, it sounded as though she was singing. “I told you that you weren't allowed down here without a house elf to chaperone.”

“Mother,” was all Blaise said in response as he bowed his head.

“Mrs. Zabini, we didn't mean any harm,” Draco said. “We just got bored.”

Elia didn't answer and drifted past them to the bookcase where Blaise had hurriedly replaced the useless box his father told him about. “I remember this box,” Elia said. “Your father inherited it when his own grandfather died. We were going to throw it away- the books inside were worthless pieces of junk written by a wizard driven insane by Syphilis.”

Neither Blaise nor Draco knew what Syphilis was but they nodded all the same.

“Why were you looking for it Blaise?” she asked, turning her eyes on her son.

“No reason,” he said. “I just remember father talking about it, thats all.”

Elia adjusted her fur. “Your father was a drunk Blaise,” she said bluntly. “You can't go searching for everything that he said was important. He didn't know what he was talking about half the time he was sober.”

Draco was glad he already knew the history behind Luciano Zabini or else it would've been an extremely awkward moment for him.

“Come along,” Elia beckoned as she spun on her heel and walked out of the cavern. The two young boys reluctantly followed. As they followed Elia's bright yellow dress through the darkness, Draco whispered to Blaise, “Why'd your dad say the books were important?”

His friend shrugged. “I guess in his drunken stupor, he thought he'd sold them to Dumbledore.”

Draco blinked, astonished, and then couldn't help himself from laughing a little. “Can you imagine? Dumbledore in some pub talking to your dad?”

Blaise's face remained stony before it cracked into a small grin. “I know. My dad was unpredictable when he drank. I can just see it now, him pouring firewhiskey down that old coot's front.”

The two of them snickered at that as they ascended back into daylight.
- 6
- 7
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The Tyger and The Lamb