Carefully pinning a dark jewelled brooch onto her light grey coat, Hermione couldn’t help but stare forlornly at her pale reflection in the gold-framed mirror.

Her soft brown hair was tied up neatly in a severe bun and there was an impassive yet nonchalant expression plastered on her smooth face.

As her cold brown eyes slowly trailed past the elegant lacy gown she had reluctantly adorned as requested by Malfoy, Hermione winced slightly at the sheer fanciness and extravagance of the dress.

The obnoxious Malfoy had simply not paid the slightest attention to the exorbitant price when he had bought it for her. Wincing at the painful reminder of her soon-to-be husband, she chose to subconsciously divert her thoughts away from him. Instead, she concentrated on drafting out her plan.

Gently, Hermione extracted a perfume-scented letter from within the folds of her robe. The letter's red wax seal was broken and it was slightly crumpled due to Hermione's constant folding and refolding of the pages after reading it every night since she had received it.

There was a messily scrawled note written on the cover of the page.'To my love,' it read. It had been secretly delivered to her via an owl a few days ago.

Thankfully, it had escaped the detection of any of the Malfoys' house elves who would have intercepted and confiscated it - or worse, reported the contents of the letter to the Malfoys and Voldemort.

As Hermione slowly inhaled the delicious fresh aroma of the letter, she thought of the solemn promise which she had made to a certain someone. And that reminded her of the secret plan she would soon be enacting in the hopes of reuniting with him.

‘Are you done Miss Granger?’ a loud booming voice interrupted from the dark corridors. Hermione swiftly glanced at the large wooden door with slight annoyance.

The Malfoys' ever efficient housekeeper, Mrs Fidge, was, simply put, overbearing and tyrannical. The poor exhausted house elves suffered nothing but pure torture and punishment under her iron-handed rule.

Needless to say, Mrs Fidge showed an unwavering support and loyalty towards the prestigious Malfoy family and even agreed with their view that Mudbloods should be annihilated without any further consideration.

I should be thankful that I’m alive. Hermione closed her eyes-scared to even speak of her own fears aloud. Ever since Voldemort’s victory a year ago, all dark wizards previously sentenced to Azkaban had been released from their rotting cells.

Patrolus Bungle, a previously condemned murderer imprisoned for killing twenty unsuspecting Muggles had been reinstated as the Minister of Magic with other ruthless Death Eaters as his underlings.

It was absolutely mad and ludicrous - putting a dangerous criminal in charge of the entire Ministry. These days, nothing seemed to make sense.

Many good and law abiding powerful wizards were forced to quickly flee abroad; attempting to steer away from Voldemort’s controlling wrath.

Hermione clutched her heart tightly as her endless thoughts flew to her best friends - Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.


Thankfully, Harry had managed to successfully escape after the last battle at Hogwarts. From what she had last heard, Harry was still hiding in the snow mountains near the North Pole with Ginny whom he had vowed to stay with for the rest of his life.

Meanwhile, Ron and the other Weasleys had managed to avoid being caught or spotted for almost a year. And hopefully, it would stay that way.

Hermione shuddered at the mere thought of the possible cruel punishments or torture that might be inflicted on the Weasleys if they were to fall under the brutal and cold-blooded Death Eaters’ hands.

Ron, where on earth are you? Hermione quietly released a melancholic sigh. She had never gotten a real chance to speak properly with him after they were separated during the last battle at Hogwarts.

I wonder how he’s coping. Hermione frowned unhappily- wondering for the hundredth time about his current whereabouts and health. She knew the overbearing pressure and stress that could possibly evolve from the constant moving of the entire family from place to place.

It simply did not help much that the Weasleys had been blacklisted as some of the most dangerous blood traitors in modern history - having faithfully chosen to side with the Muggle-borns instead of Lord Voldemort.

Mudbloods. Hermione winced slightly at the sheer remembrance of the offensive name frequently hurled in her face. It was one of the several central yet trivial reasons this entire unnecessary war had started in the first place.

Initially, the scumbag - Voldemort - had persistently tried to destroy all the wizards with dubious family histories in order to ensure the supremacy and purity of the old blood line.

However, a huge problem soon arose due to the new law implemented. Hermione chuckled quietly at the mere thought of it.

Voldemort’s supposedly supreme plan to eliminate all Mudbloods had unfortunately backfired when he realised that the number of wizards and witches’ had dwindled drastically - causing the wizarding race to face possible extinction.

After all, what was a king when there weren’t any subjects to rule over?

Reluctantly, Voldemort chose to review all the Mudbloods and Half-bloods while selecting the best wizards and witches who would be offered the chance to live with one strict condition which was to be forced into an immediate marriage with a Pure-blood.

The urgency for more marriages arose after the corrupted Ministry had realised that more babies had to be produced to compensate for the number of deaths from the war.

Distinctly remembering her torturous trial at the Ministry, Hermione cringed with anger and disgrace.
*******
The scene of the cold dungeon where the pending trials had been held was vividly etched in her sharp mind.

‘Miss Hermione Granger,’ Dolores Umbridge called as her eyes flew to the girl’s pale, sallow face.

‘You can kill me right now,’ the young witch said in a hollow and strained voice - displaying her idiotic courage; a trait that was not often appreciated among the Death Eaters who valued power and glory more.

‘Now dear, we can’t possibly let you off so lightly,’ Dolores Umbridge murmured in a taunting voice - satisfied with the stricken look which momentarily passed over the pale face of the girl.

As much as she wanted to personally witness the girl suffer the immense physical and mental pain experienced in the Death Chambers, Lord Voldemort had given her specific instructions and threatened her to keep this witch, for she possessed undeniably powerful skills despite her contaminated blood line.

‘You will be arranged to marry a Pure-blood wizard of your age in exchange for your life,’ Dolores Umbridge pronounced, nodding, a mocking grin plastered on her smooth face as she watched the girl carefully.

However, Hermione gave no visible reply or reaction as she eyed the panel of judges with speculation.

‘I can see you are an extremely talented witch, Hermione,’ Dolores Umbridge murmured swiftly.

‘I’m a Mudblood, isn’t that sufficient reason for you to end my life?’ the girl spat loudly as her cold brown eyes raised with distaste and distaste at the mere sight of the woman whom she hated to the core.

‘Ah, but I’m afraid your talent cannot go to waste my dear,’ Dolores Umbridge continued in a dangerously soft voice. Lord Voldemort coveted talents and loyalty - and this girl possessed both though she made the wrong choice to support that filthy half-blood friend of hers, Harry Potter.

'Well, then what do you want me to do?'

'Simple, you will just go through with the marriage and help us to restore the wizarding race to its former glory by bearing children.' Dolores Umbridge brightened, as if she was announcing a grand master plan instead of a rendered punishment.

'You want me to be a puppet - to help you?' the girl screamed in agony- almost to the point of sheer insanity after being ruthlessly locked up and beaten in the cold and gloomy dungeons for countless weeks.

'Consider the choices before you girl. Denying yourself this opportunity is simply a foolish act.'

At that point in time, Hermione stilled herself as she laid out her limited choices.

She could live - or die; depending on which path she chose to take. Meanwhile, Dolores Umbridge gazed at the girl triumphantly, confident that she had finally nailed the girl to a corner.

Breathing steadily, Hermione replied in a strangely determined voice while glaring at Dolores Umbridge with a scathing and piercing look. 'I will take the offer.'

Finally. Dolores Umbridge smirked. The girl would be under the Ministry's control for she would no longer have any power to resist - without the help of her 'loyal' friends and the aid of her magic wand, which had been confiscated.

After all, she couldn't possibly rebel against the Dark Lord any further at this stage even if she possessed unlimited talent and skill.

'Who will I marry then?' Hermione Granger said while trying to stifle her agitation. He - or, this person - would be relatively important to her escape plan.

Of course she would never follow the Ministry's orders. She would just happily play along with them for the time being and hopefully, be able to take a chance or risk and reunite with Harry and Ron,Hermione thought grimly.

Dolores Umbridge frowned before scanning through the long list of names floating in the air.
Alas, she nodded and announced proudly, as if she was conferring a real honour to the girl, 'Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius Malfoy.'

Draco Malfoy? Hermione's heart almost stopped in fear at the mere thought of the disgusting slimeball - whom she shared a deep enmity with. However, he could possibly be extremely useful to her.

After all, it could be much worse. Furthermore, considering the fact that Draco Malfoy was only a mere coward and lacked any initiative or motivation, Hermione was extremely confident that she would be able to trick him and lay out her plan under his nose without him even realising it.

Hermione pretended to hesitate before muttering quickly, 'I accept the offer.'

‘This is the only way to carry out my plan. I must bear with it,’ she thought determinedly.

'Wonderful,' Dolores Umbridge exclaimed, clapping. The judges at the panel nodded politely as they hurriedly noted the decision made for this particular case with their quills.

As Hermione gazed sharply at Dolores Umbridge, she couldn't help but feel immense hatred for this despicable woman.

As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, Dolores Umbridge proclaimed with a victorious and malicious smirk, 'From now on, you will be Mrs Hermione Malfoy.’

‘Remember to address the Master, Mistress and Young Master,’ Mrs Fidge rattled on incessantly as they sauntered down the dark corridors of Malfoy Manor.

Carelessly nodding away while pretending to be vaguely interested in the topic of their conversation, Hermione gathered her long skirts and concentrated on walking in the most graceful manner - as expected from Narcissa Malfoy who had continuously drilled into her the proper etiquette for a woman.

The last thing Hermione needed was yet another hour-long lecture from her soon-to-be-mother-in-law.

As they quickly emerged into the large stately dining room, Hermione tried to avoid being intimidated by the Malfoys and the constant reminder of their seemingly immeasurable wealth.

Somehow, the sheer monstrosity of the entire mansion scared her - the expensive leather couches, the rare collection of paintings and the illusory statues loomed menacingly before her.

Hermione feared that a simple touch would accidentally cause any of these priceless and antique ornaments to crumble into pieces.

Instead, she tried not to show her anxiety by jutting her sharp chin out and proceeding confidently to her place at the dining table - opposite Draco.

‘My Lord, the young mistress is here.’ Mrs Fidge, bowing, announced her presence and title somewhat grudgingly before moving swiftly off to supervise the kitchen staff and house elves.

Secretly relieved to be out of the nosy housekeeper's supervision for a while, Hermione turned her attention back to the dining table.

‘Mother, Father and… Draco,’ Hermione greeted reluctantly. Narcissa Malfoy gave a curt nod and pretended to be absorbed in examining the uncreative floral pattern of the red dining cloth.

Lucius Malfoy didn’t respond and was busily flipping through some official documents bearing the conspicuous stamp of the Ministry of Magic.

Meanwhile, Draco was eyeing his soon-to-be-wife speculatively, his blonde hair brushed messily to the side.

Unlike the usual frown which was always so prominent on his lean face, he wore an unexpected smile for the girl. Scowling, Hermione turned away and tried to avoid his disturbing stares.

For a moment, the absence of any sound or talk made Hermione slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't exactly the peaceful tranquility one would expect from the silence.
Hoping to ease the tension, Narcissa spoke up gently, 'My dear, how's your work today?'

'Great. The Dark Lord has plans for us. It seems-' He paused, before glancing at Hermione with suspicious cold eyes. His pointed face rippled with dissatisfaction - possibly angered by the fact that he was unable to speak freely even within his own residence due to the Mudblood.

Sensing his immense discomfort, Narcissa Malfoy mumbled quietly, ‘The girl won’t talk. She has already been bound to us. What more can she do?’

Hermione shrank inwardly under Narcissa's sharp, and firmly cautioning, glare.

‘Why did Umbridge arrange a Mudblood for us?’ Lucius Malfoy grumbled - voicing his endless complaints.

Again, he was referring to Hermione in the third person - as if she was invisible and not sitting right before him. Hermione hated to be treated like a powerless object - something that was being carelessly thrown around to her owners.

‘Father, Hermione’s not as bad as you think-‘ Draco began. Hermione’s head jerked up at the realisation of the meaning of his incredulous words.

Was he actually defending her? DId the sun rise in the west today without her realising?

Ever since the day she set foot in Malfoy Manor, Hermione hadn’t been able to talk to or come into contact with him - her assigned husband. Occasionally, he would throw her a coy smile when they happened upon each other in the dark corridors. His grey eyes held a certain intense longing and desire that was simply indescribable.

‘We could have arranged for you to marry Pansy Parkinson,’ Lucius Malfoy continued in a low voice.

‘Shush my dear. Didn’t the Parkinsons lose their fortune recently? What would a girl like Pansy amount to without the family’s backing?’ Narcissa Malfoy continued as her voice deepened into a soothing whisper - an attempt to calm her hot-headed husband.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought of Pansy Parkinson, the unlikeable and notorious bully from Slytherin. She wasn't that attractive - possibly bearing a closer resemblance to a pug rather than a human.

‘That’s true.’ Lucius Malfoy nodded unwillingly at his wife's words. ‘And don’t forget—‘

This was how all the meals at Malfoy Manor had started ever since Hermione’s arrival. Launching into new topics of gossip or conversation, she would be deliberately left out. Nobody sought out or asked for her opinion on certain matters.

And besides, the entire meal consisted mainly of Narcissa fussing excessively over Draco while Lucius would keep quiet as he silently witnessed the unbearable spectacle. The entire mealtime was like a torture.

Hermione simply couldn’t wait to escape from this awkwardness and return to her solitary chambers - lost in her own thoughts.

Her life ever since her arrival here had been utterly transformed for the worst. She could distinctly remember the mealtimes she had as a child - Dad would share his funny work experiences while Mum would crack up a few hilarious jokes while whipping up her signature dishes using the old family recipes.

Mealtimes used to be a source of laughter and enjoyment for her. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed.
Stifling the tears welling up in her eyes, Hermione tried to bite her lips - hoping that a tearless sniffle wouldn’t escape from her hollow throat.

At this moment, a soft voice broke through her thoughts. ‘Hermione?’

Startled to hear her name even mentioned in the presence of the in-laws, Hermione lifted her head hurriedly and caught sight of Draco Malfoy smiling at her.

‘Yes?’ Hermione gazed at him, wide-eyed - completely forgetting the current setting. Had she gotten into any trouble unknowingly?

‘Why are you wearing a cloak inside of the house?’ Draco asked with an interested expression plastered on his face.

Couldn’t he choose an easier question to ask? Must he pick on the one aspect that might threaten her escape plan?

‘I’m…I’m going out later…dear.’ Hermione added the last reference to Draco somewhat hastily. She had no wish to get started on yet another lecture on formal and informal greetings to all relatives and descendants of the Malfoy family.

‘To where?’ Lucius Malfoy asked questioningly. His cold eyes ran over the bare thin layer of the tattered cloak covering Hermione's fragile body - hoping to find some incriminating evidence that pointed towards her treachery against the Dark Lord.

Thankfully, Hermione had cleverly cast a masking charm over the letter - to prevent any prying eyes from noticing the object.

‘To Daphne Greengrass’ house,’ Hermione answered confidently with the alibi she had carefully thought up with a few hours ago.

‘For what?’ Draco couldn’t restrain his naked curiosity.
When Hermione shot him an irritated look, he muttered defensively.

‘You hate her.’ He meant it as a statement, not a question.

‘Possibly,’ Hermione tried to say haughtily in the Malfoy way. ‘But it would be extremely helpful for us if we were to establish good connections with the Greengrass family. That’s my job.’

As your wife. Hermione’s heart silently rang out with this bitter realisation of the unspoken truth which she had repeatedly tried to deny.

‘Hm.’ Lucius Malfoy was still rather sceptical but he relented. ‘I suppose it’s true,’ he said gruffly. 'The Greengrass line does have powerful connections and great wealth. They would be very useful to us.'

‘We are pleased that you have contributed to the family.’ Narcissa Malfoy nodded approvingly - unable to hide the obvious relief that had flashed across her powdered face.

She had been overly afraid that a violent uproar would ensue between her husband and the Mudblood with her unfortunate son being caught in the middle of the argument.
Hermione merely suppressed a sigh of relief.

They had almost caught her in the lie which she had so carefully spun out and woven for the past few days. I must be more careful in the future.

‘And Hermione?’ Narcissa’s hard voice sounded out.
‘Yes?’ She squeaked again- afraid that Narcissa would launch into another interrogation about her whereabouts and destination for her trip later.

‘I will buy you a new woven cloak. The dull grey one which you are wearing right now fails to flatter your curves,’ Narcissa uttered involuntarily before she returned to examining her blood red nails.

‘Thank-you… Mother,’ Hermione was unable to conceal the noticeable surprise laced in her thick voice. It had been a long time since anyone had expressed any praise for her - however crude and impolite the comment might have been.

If she wasn’t mistaken, that was Narcissa Malfoy’s way of complimenting her.