‘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.