Narcissa Malfoy turned out to be the single most intimidating woman Hermione had ever laid eyes on. Her features, though fair, looked sharp enough to cut any hand that caressed it. She was tall and slender, standing proudly separate from the crowd, at the same time somehow managing to seem a part of it. The Malfoy matriarch appeared to be listening to a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Pansy Parkinson and was dressed with about as much sense. Draco pointed them out to her, grimacing slightly as he shifted his grip on his trunk. "That's mother, and the dark haired woman is Pansy's mother, Prudence Parkinson."

"Ironic," Hermione muttered, letting her trunk clunk as it slipped off of the steps leading into the train. "Since that's the least prudent dress I've ever seen."

"It's a gown. And it's Mrs Parkinson. I think she models for Witch Weekly." He smiled as Hermione groaned.

"Of course you know someone who works for a trashy magazine."

"'Trashy'? Really? Are you sure you aren't just jealous of people with better positions than you and your parents?"

Hermione was wondering if divorce rates were high- or, indeed, existent at all- in the wizarding world. "My parents are dentists. We're rather well off, at least according to the standards of our neighbourhood. For example, there's room for all the books you've sent me because they could afford to build an extra room at the back of our house."

"They built an extra room? You didn't already have a library?"

"Where exactly do you think I live? I grew up in the suburbs of London, Draco, not an estate in France." She laughed aloud, shaking her head. "Honestly, I swear I said 'rather well off', not 'rich as the Queen'."

"Draco." Narcissa had drifted away from Prudence Parkinson, her calm, cold voice filling the lull in conversation between the pair of students.

"Mother!" Draco beamed at her, dropping his trunk again to hug her. Hermione looked on as the woman returned the gesture, releasing him after a brief moment. "This is Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"Your betrothed," the woman nodded to her, and Hermione had never felt so self-conscious about her buck teeth or frizzy hair, the things that made her seem real and human when she looked in the mirror. These little imperfections made her herself and not some other shallow girl, set her apart from, for example, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, two gossips who kept her up at night with their inane chatter in their dorm. "It's my pleasure, Miss Granger. Are your parents aware of the decision we've agreed upon?"

Hermione swallowed, trying to make herself look taller and, in her own opinion, failing spectacularly. I had to choose jeans and a sweater, she moaned internally, looking at Narcissa in her emerald green coat. "Yes. My mother is aware of the arrangement, I checked everything that Draco suggested with her. She agreed after I promised I'd ask you to have me spend a day with her just before Christmas. She'll understand if you can't, of course, she'll just be disappointed."

"We can't have that, can we, Draco?"

He was shaking his head when Hermione looked at him. She wasn't sure, though, if this was him agreeing or disagreeing with his mother, not until he spoke. "Hermione agreed to stay with us as a favour to me. I promised she could see her parents ."

Narcissa's expression didn't change from the polite mask, but she wasn't looking at the young witch, something that soothed Hermione's nerves considerably. She drew her wand; Hermione winced unnecessarily as Draco's mother cast a spell to shrink the trunks. Hermione lifted her own, while Draco's was removed from him. "Aren't you going to offer to take her trunk?"

Draco blushed. "Hermione, do you-"

"I can take my own," she interrupted.

She wasn't entirely sure, but she thought Narcissa's expression changed, curiosity showing through as she peered at the muggle-born. Hermione didn't think capturing the womans attention was a great idea, not then, not ever. But of course, she would have her attention for a long while yet. That came with the Malfoy name.

"Take my hand, Draco. Hermione, have you ever Apparated before?"

"No, Mrs Malfoy. I've read about it, though. Is it true that most of those who experience it are sick immediately after?"

"You'll have to tell me. Don't let go. And do keep your mind blank, I have no interest in being splinched today." And Narcissa Malfoy took Hermione's hand, holding it with the same gentleness with which a child clasps her doll. Hermione, expecting a crushing vice from this stern woman, was taken aback.

And then, she saw black.

✦

Finding her feet, Hermione had never felt quite so nauseous. She stumbled away from Narcissa and Draco, feeling as though her throat were burning, her lungs aching. Apparition felt awful, like being forced through a tiny tubular passage. Her shoulders were shaking as she coughed, praying to anyone who might be listening to prevent her from vomiting. A warm hand touched her arm without warning; she could feel it through the cream wool of her sweater. She very nearly hit the person who touched her; only refraining because she was shaking too hard.

"I didn't think you'd take Apparition as badly as you and Neville took flying lessons." She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. She sneered at him.

"I bet you end up being sick the first time you go on a ship or a plane!"

"I've been on a ship. Family holiday when I was seven. What's a plane, exactly?"

"Muggle transport. It lets them fly."

"Fly? Like a broom? You said you hated flying."

She pushed her hair out of her eyes, grimacing. "I do. But planes at least have a floor, padded seats, catering. Brooms don't have that."

"Flying carpets have a floor. Sort of."

"We don't learn to fly a flying carpet, though, do we?"

"Draco, walk Hermione inside. And call Dobby to clean up anything that needs cleaning."

"Yes, mother," Draco agreed instantly. Hermione looked up, and her mouth instantly fell open.

She was leaning against a tall hedge, standing before a wrought iron gate that had been left open. The driveway, if that was what it was- why do they have a driveway? I doubt they own a car- ran straight from several metres behind them to several more metres ahead, where the smooth stone met the house. For the first time, Hermione fully appreciated that it really was Malfoy Manor. The building was the same size as the school she had gone to until receiving her Hogwarts letter, the one that had to house the boarding students it took on from all around the world. She counted what looked like three stories of windows, one double the height of the others, and six turrets rising above it all. Dark shingles gleamed, as pristine as the day they'd been laid centuries ago, if Draco's tales about the age of the Manor were anywhere close to accurate. And the grounds! She couldn't see another house in any direction and, though she was fully aware that she was too short to see over the tall hedges, she got the impression that it was also because the property itself was the size of a village. "Draco."

"Hermione."

"Please tell me I'm not going to be locked in the same room the entire time I'm here."

"Of course you won't. Why would you be? You'll get a tour from Dobby."

"I thought you'd be the one to do that."

He stared at her. "Do you want me to?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but didn't get the chance. A sharp pop cut her off, and twin eyes the exact shade and size of a tennis ball were suddenly fixed on her. "Mistress has told Dobby to take Misses things to Misses room. Miss is to sleep in the room next to Master's. Dobby cleaned it for Miss, just like Mistress said." The creature smiled nervously; Hermione wondered if it was more afraid of her than she was of it. The philosophy applied to spiders, why shouldn't it be appropriate when face to face with strange wrinkled midgets with bandaged fingers and snouts and bat-like ears?

"Thank you, Dobby," Hermione said, forcing her voice to remain calm despite the fact that she was sorely tempted to run right into the house and lose her way as whe explored the first magical home she'd ever seen. "I'm sure it looks lovely."

The thing looked at her as though she were some kind of dangerous miracle, shaking visibly. Draco stepped closer, and it stepped back. Draco took her trunk, prying its shrunken form out of her fingers before he could pass it to the creature. "Take these up to our rooms and return them to their normal sizes. I will show Hermione where to go."

It nodded and vanished again with a pop, and Hermione turned to glare at Draco, her nerves firing erratically and herself out of patience. "What was that- that creature? It looked like a goblin, only goblins aren't obedient."

He frowned. "Did he really? He's a house elf, nothing like a goblin. Not greedy or selfless or anything, really, just a servant. He does the work around the Manor, him and a few other elves."

"His hands were bandaged. He can't possibly be working properly, not in that state."

"His hands are almost always bandaged. It just means that he didn't do a good enough job for father."

"That's- that's awful! Treating it- him- like a slave!" She was following him up the drive now, towards the gargantuan Manor. "Slavery has been illegal in England for over a hundred and fifty years. It isn't fair that that poor thing be expected to be obedient. It just isn't right!"

"House elves are meant to serve wizards and witches, Hermione. That's how it's always been, for as long as history says they've existed."

"That doesn't make it right," she tried to object, but cut off as she stepped into the Manor proper. The room they were in now must surely be nothing more than an entrance hall, but just the crystal chandelier hanging high above their heads seemed to be larger than her dresser at home. The grand staircase was to the left of the door as they stepped inside of it, two separate staircases sweeping along the wall on either side of the room. Hermione could see a stone table lined with flowers, and photographs lined the wall behind the table. The dark wood of the stairs looked darker against an emerald green runner that must have been enchanted to never slide, and a wrought iron banister along the edges prevented falls with a design repeated from the gate outside.

Draco led her up these steps and along the halls, dark wood echoed everywhere. Hermione was too awed to speak, having never pictured anything of this scale, no matter how many times she had heard the Slytherins call this place a 'Manor'. She followed him up another staircase before he finally told her to stop. "If it's not to your liking, there are other rooms to choose from," he promised. And then he opened the door.

The room was only slightly smaller than her dorm, and that slept five girls comfortably. The floor was covered with a luscious carpet, softer than anything she'd felt before beneath her feet. The bed was twice the size of the one in her dorm back at Hogwarts, and the desk off to the side was certainly large enough to fit three people sitting side by side. There was a sitting area in front of the engraved stone fireplace, and a bookshelf full of tomes she recognised, and some she didn't. Cream walls made the room seem lighter and the rich wooden accents seem darker. "Oh my."

"If you want to try another room, the red room and the blue room are just down the hall-"

"Draco."

"Or the ruby and amethyst rooms are on the second floor."

"Draco."

He turned to face her. She was surprised to note that she'd never seen him quite so nervous. "What?"

"It's fine. I just didn't expect something quite this big."

"Big? It's one of the smaller..."

"It's bigger than my parents living room. That's all I mean. I can probably manage getting a little comfortable."

"A little?"

"Well, if I don't get lost in the bed." The joke felt wrong on her lips, particularly as she didn't usually tell jokes. Draco chuckled, and that didn't suit him any more than the joke suited her. She silently promised herself that she'd never repeat anything akin to a joke again, lest she managed to dig her own grave with the words.

"My room is right next door. We should get changed for dinner."

"Changed? Into what? I don't have anything even a little bit fancy to try."

"Just choose something a little bit dressy. Skirt and blouse, maybe. It doesn't have to be warm, there are heating charms everywhere. I'll be back in ten minutes to show you to the dining room we'll be eating in."

"There's more than one?"

"Family, formal, and great. Is that a problem?"

Oh dear, this house is bigger than I thought. Much bigger. "Not at all."

✦

She managed to find a white blouse that wasn't too creased and a black skirt that didn't look quite too school-ish. She took a deep breath, shot one more look at her hair - she'd managed to pull it out of her face, but beyond that it would not be reasoned with - in the reflection, and opened the bedroom door again. Maybe Draco's tour would tell her whether or not she should think of this place as a gilded cage, but until she knew for sure she was going to stay on guard.

There were no windows in the hallway, but there was a portrait directly across from the door to the room she had been given. The man was quite attractive, despite the rich unconvincing colours that had been used to create his likeness, and the eyes were almost exactly like Draco's, at least at first glance: twin moons in a pale face. He carried a sword sheathed on his left hip, and a long, thin wand was clasped in his right hand. He raised it as she looked on, looking her over. "You must be Miss Granger." His voice was smooth and deliberate; this was a man who never uttered a word when it was not necessary.

"Yes. Hello." She hoped she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. "There's no title on your frame."

"Of course not. Those who need to know my name are taught it."

"Well, you're obviously a Malfoy ancestor. Only the Parkinson's are as arrogant as you sound."

"Be nice, grandfather," Draco ordered sharply as he closed his own door. Hermione peered at him, curious and offended.

"He's not behaving badly. He's just... related to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Her expression changed quickly to one of exasperation as she shook her head. "This is your grandfather? He doesn't look like how I pictured Abraxas."

"That's because he isn't. This is Armand, the Frenchman who started the Malfoy's in England. He oversaw the construction of the original Manor himself."

"Of course this isn't the first."

"What was that?"

"Where's this dinner we're supposed to be attending?"

"Family dining room. Ground floor. Keep up, Hermione, it's a bit of a walk."

"Probably closer than the Great Hall is to Gryffindor Tower."

"That's a seven floor difference. It doesn't count."

"Well, it should count."

They were still debating whether or not it counted when they finally entered the family dining room several minutes later. The so-called family dining room had the same rich dark woods and stone motifs that were repeated throughout the public areas of the Manor. The table was long enough to seat eight but was only laid out for four, the other four chairs nowhere in sight. The chandelier overhead was a smaller version of the one that hung over the entrance hall, still lit by candles despite the fact that electric lighting would be much more efficient. The chairs themselves appeared to be lined with velvet.

Narcissa Malfoy, lady of the house, was already seated at one end of the table. She had changed out of her coat into a dress that seemed to brush her knees. She looked every bit as imposing as she had on the platform, her back straight, pristine blonde hair now cascading down over her shoulders. Her makeup seemed to have been removed, but other than that, she looked as terrifying as she had earlier. Hermione met her gaze, resisting the urge to swallow nervously.

Looking at the other end of the table, she came face to face with a man who looked every bit as cold as his wife. His eyes were slate gray, like Draco's but without the life she had come to associate with the young Slytherin. Pale blonde hair and pale skin had him look very similar to his son, but his expression betrayed none of the emotion that usually played across Draco's face: she couldn't imagine this man angry or happy, grieving or playing. She had the distinct impression that he played for blood.

"Miss Granger," he spoke in a low, cold voice, barely more than a whisper. He rose to his feet, raising his glass. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor."

She had never drawn away from anybody as quickly as she snapped away from Draco when Lucius addressed her directly. The words were welcoming, but the tone was anything but. "Thank you," she fought the fear, forcing any hint of it out of her own words, "for inviting me, Mister Malfoy."

"Oh, no. The letter may have been in my hand, but I assure you, it is Narcissa's words."

"Now, dear," Narcissa said sharply, interrupting any play. Hermione's soft brown eyes darted to her cold, dark ones, searching for any hint of the emotion she'd heard in the voice. Nothing. Narcissa Malfoy's eyes were as lifeless as those in a muggle photograph, no motion and no energy visible within.

It was with suppressed reluctance that Hermione took the seat Draco didn't stand beside, alone on her side o the table. She imagined that this was what it would feel like to be alone in the Hogwarts dungeons, part of her convinced that the walls were closing in on her. And then she tried to convince herself that her hands weren't shaking and that she wouldn't disappoint Draco as she began to eat.