Chapter 9

The next day, Hermione woke to a painful pulsing in her head. It felt like something inside her skull, determined to break its way out. She sat up on her bed and pressed the heel of her palms on her forehead, massaging in a circular motion as if it could ease the pain.

As she did so, flashes of memories played themselves in her mind. She stilled. Cold splashes heaped down her aching body. Feelings of different sorts began to hit her like arrows she couldn't even dodge.

She felt the vivid sense of his touch lingering on her skin. Hermione exhaled sharply after she remembered she holding her breath whilst the events set themselves free for her to recall.

Hermione spent several minutes rolling around her bed. Her chest seemed to swell with embarrassment that she felt the need to strain her lungs until she heaved for breaths. Screaming in her pillows while her face was buried in them gave her convenience.

She later began to accept it. She wasn't forced to do it. She did it at her own will. It took numerous forms of gaslighting herself before she decided it was partway her fault. Or was it entirely her fault? She let her mind fly up to multiple possible verdicts trying to weigh the mass of her part.

She rinsed herself off and stepped out of the shower. Another disadvantage of not having her wand was that she'd have to use a t-shirt to dry them. She wrapped her curls into the cotton muggle shirt and twisted it, securing the excess fabric to keep things in place. She immediately changed into warm clothes as the winter rage wasn't due yet.

Hermione stood on her window. Her view was foggy as the winter frost crept on her glass window. It was the same window that she had dreamed about. The dream is about Ron visiting her and telling her that her window is open. A swift stroke of shivers ran down her spine, and goosebumps appeared on her skin.

What was that dream supposed to mean? Was it a warning? Was it even supposed to have a meaning? Or was it only her grief messing her head?

Hermione shook the thought away and distracted herself by wandering her eyes on the view of the Malfoy estate, varnished wild winter. The fact that Malfoy brought a Manor for them to live in had crossed her mind. It somehow terrified a part of her.

She was perplexed about how she will play the role of a Malfoy's wife - Draco Malfoy's wife, the Lady of the Manor. She had observed Narcissa exert efforts on numerous things, which drove her into supposing that if she were to do the same things too.

Mostly everyone who looks up to the Malfoy family has already concluded that he will be the perfect husband - that any woman would gladly take her place. As Malfoy's already been expected to be the perfect husband that he should be, the pressure of being the perfect wife for him drilled deeper. All eyes are darted on her now, watching her every move in detail. She should expect more pours of criticism from mostly everyone.

What exactly are her duties to be the perfect wife to him? Is she obliged to greet him every morning and kiss him goodbye whenever he leaves for work? Does she need to cook for him? Would he even eat whatever she serves on his plate? Does she need to scrub the floors of the manor?

A question forced itself in front of Hermione's eye-opening thoughts.

Does she need to sleep with him in the same bed?

The thought rang in her head loudly.

A knocking on her door retrieved her from her pool of thoughts. She turned sharply and walked over there.

"Granger?" Malfoy called from outside.

She opened the door, and it revealed Malfoy - her husband in a complete uniform. She observed him subtly and then remembered what had occurred last night.

She tore her gaze smoothly, not to alert him with her observation of his figure.

There was a pause of silence then she decided to look up at him.

His face glowered. Cold and dim like the winter outside.

"What the fuck?" He asked in an irritable tone as he caught sight of her hair.

Hermione blinked and touched the wrap on her head.

"I don't have a wand to cast a drying charm. I had to use a shirt to dry my hair." She confessed.

Malfoy's eyebrows had scrunched in the mid-gap.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders dismissively.

"You look ridiculous," he said. He gave a quick nod, eyeing the wrapped curls.

Malfoy drew his wand from his back pocket, and with a quick flick of his wand hand, a gust of warm wind whirled around her drying her hair within seconds.

"Where's Kristell? I believe drying your frizzy hair is one of her duties?" Malfoy asked as he crossed his arms across his chest, looking down at her unamused.

"I gave her two days off. She'll resume her duties the day after tomorrow," Hermione replied.

One of his eyebrows arched. "It didn't occur to me that you're the boss of her now?" He said as though he took offence at her decision.

Hermione strolled her sight somewhere else but had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Come on. Let the girl have some decent holidays. Her sister needs her," Hermione explained.

"As she is needed here too. Mind you, I wouldn't always be around to dry your hair," Malfoy responded.

It felt like she was nailed onto the spot where she stood. There was something different with him. The ambience around him felt vaguely familiar.

"Damp hair won't kill me, Malfoy. Kristell's sister needs her as well."

"I see," he said stiffly. "If - she is too needed by her sister, then I think it's fair to think that we should replace her then?"

Hermione alerted.

"What do you mean replace her? She needs this job for her sister - "

"Well, I don't see her doing her job," Malfoy countered - he made sure his tone would sound like the conclusion of their conversation.

Her eyes squinted as she scoffed. "You're unbelievable - "

"I'll send an elf here - "

"Why?"

"To help you pack your things. We're leaving."

Her eyes widened, processing what he announced.

"If you want to pack your things yourself, just say so."

Hermione dropped into silence. "Anything else?" She asked him, her voice loosened.

"Nothing further," he said and turned.

Hermione watched his back until he disappeared into the hallway, descending the stairs.

She had anticipated multiple kinds of interaction with him that day, but what just occurred was undoubtfully not one of those.

Was there something she drunkenly said last night that slipped from her recollection? Was it something she did?

Hermione settled with idea that Malfoy was merely an enigmatic man who shifts from one mood to another.

An elf appeared in front of her before she could shut her door.

"Bobby is sent here to help Mistress pack her things!" Bobby the elf announced as her waxy ears twirled.

Hermione was unsure how to react to what the elf had just called her - bewildered even if she had heard it correctly.

"Where does Mistress want to begin?" Bobby the elf asked, blinking her eyes at Hermione while she played with the tips of her wrinkled fingers.

It felt new to her.

She struggled to reconstruct her words and her entire manner. Was she obliged to react a certain way an elite Mistress should?

Hermione smiled politely - the only way she could think of.

"Let's start with the clothes, Bobby," she said gently, as though accumulating the elf to realize that she was a safe place.

"Right away, Mistress," the elf replied and dashed inside her bedroom towards the closet.

The elf conjured four large trunks in the middle of her bedroom.

"How does Mistress want her things organized?" The elf asked, scratching the back of her head.

Hermione stilled. "Oh, uhm - "

"Bobby likes to organize according to colours!" The elf cut off and then seemed to regret it right away by the way she shut her mouth and avoided Hermione's gaze.

"Actually, I love that idea," Hermione said encouragingly and stepped inside her closet.

They started with the clothes, and then they dealt with her shoes. The elf was persistent on doing all the work and having Hermione sit down or order her around, but Hermione insisted she'd help. She'd rather keep herself busy and talk to the elf than sulk in one corner, skimming pages of her mind to reason out Malfoy's odd behaviour that morning.

They were down to her personal things she considered as her sentimental possession. Clippings for her journals, her notes, old photos of her with Harry, Ginny, and Ron, letters addressed to the fire, and some random thoughts she articulated into words. She put them in a box, wishful that she could ward them with protective charms.

"That's all of it, Bobby. Thank you," she said, sitting on the edge of her well-made bed.

"Anything else Mistress wants?" The elf asked softly.

Hermione shook her head with a thin smile. She spent her time reading a book in her bed, waiting for Malfoy.

That book was the closest thing to understanding her thoughts than anyone.

Minutes later, Bobby appeared in her bedroom once again with her breakfast.

She completely forgot about it until Bobby delivered it.

Hermione had just finished her meal when Malfoy knocked on her door.

"It's open," she said, then Malfoy entered.

His expression is still sharp and gloomy. He could almost be considered the omen of misery.

Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh at the thought or feel gloomed by it.

"You're done?" He asked as he turned his sight on her trunks.

He turned to her. "Shall we?"

"The trunks?" She asked.

"I'll have it delivered there by an elf. It will arrive there first before us," Malfoy assured, his voice still flat.

"I see," Hermione replied.

She picked up her book and followed him as they strode along the hallway headed toward the stairs, down the main hall.

She dwelled into her old habit as they descended the stairs, allowing him to walk a few steps away from her, two for the least.

It seemed like his parents were out.

Hermione anticipated Narcissa would weep in the doorway as she watched her son move out or insist she goes with them to see Malfoy's newly bought estate.

The enormous main door opened upon detecting Malfoy's presence - she wondered if his manor would do the same now that - she is a Malfoy.

Malfoy paused abruptly and turned sharply at her - a hint of aggravation seemed to stir him.

"Can you walk faster? Or do I have to drag you myself? Do you really enjoy following me around like a puppy?" He snapped.

Does walking beside him one of her duties as his wife?

She composed herself. "I'm sorry you haven't noticed how long your legs are compared to mine," Hermione replied sarcastically. She lied.

"Well then, keep up, Granger," he said and turned.

Hermione had to almost run after him. Walking briskly isn't enough to keep up.

When they arrived at the apparition point she saved herself from his irritable mood. She'd wrapped her arm around his.

Without a word, he grabbed her closer and held her arm firmly on against him. "Hold on, unless you'd rather splinch half of your body."

They landed in a dim-lit main hall. It was as extensive as the main hall of his parent's manor.

There were paintings already displayed on the walls, held in golden frames. A chandelier hovering above was lit with enchanted candles that provided gentle light. The morning sunlight peeked through the black velvet drapes on the large windows. A grand staircase in the centre back of the main hall led to the second floor, separating two hallways. She was certain there were more staircases somewhere in the halls leading up to the other floors.

The ceiling was high.

"Wait, how are you able to apparate directly inside the Manor?" Hermione asked curiously.

Apparition laws are strict to be followed.

"Privilege. The Dark Lord has granted me an apparition permit. He wanted me to access the Manor immediately without having to walk down from an apparition point to the estate. The Dark Lord is rather strict in monitoring you," explained Malfoy as he dragged his eyes to the view of his newly bought property.

"Oh," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Anyways. I am certain that you would prefer to have your own bedroom. You may choose which bedroom you want, or better, choose a wing to yourself."

Hermione felt as though she was shrinking slowly onto the polished marble floor. Something inside her had felt the sting of his words and stern behaviour.

That person in front of her is distinctively far from the Malfoy that approached her before their wedding. Was all that merely for a show? To collect everyone in his favour? To condition everyone into thinking he was the ideal, considerate, trying husband, trying to win the empathy and cooperation of his unwilling wife-to-be?

There was a lump starting to form in her throat. It stung like acid was forced down her throat.

"Sure." There's nothing more that she could think of saying.

"Great," Malfoy replied.

Malfoy glanced at his wristwatch - he was watchful of his time.

"Follow me," said Malfoy as he walked past her, and she did as commanded.

"You are ought to be familiar with all the floors, rooms, passages, staircases, gardens, and even the walkways before I finalize the wards of the Manor. As the Lady of the Manor, there must be a connection between you and the estate. If not, you'd be identified as a threat, trespassing on the property." Malfoy explained as they headed towards the kitchen on the ground floor.

"This is the kitchen. Everything the elves need to cook is already there."

Hermione nodded as they walked in.

It was a spacious fancy kitchen, already furnished with new cauldrons, pans, plates, cups, glass, utensils, a marble sink, a chandelier in the ceiling and many more. There were huge cabinets that Hermione assumed to be a pantry, and the rest were storage for the rest of the kitchen tools. The kitchen looked more touched with modernity than the one at Lucius' Manor.

They headed towards the cellar, except it was clean and tidy. It looked pretty upright for a cellar.

"I will have your name as one of the authorities for the wards. You'll be able to feel it when someone crosses the wards in a room, or someone had set foot anywhere in the estate, even the gates."

They went up to the second floor. There was a room that he claimed was his office.

"Along this hallway is the Manor Library - if you can't be found anywhere else in the Manor, I'll assume you're in there." Said Malfoy as he turned to the hallways towards the library.

They spent almost thirty minutes touring the manor, and then they decided to return to the main hall.

"I have to go," said Malfoy, glimpsing at his wristwatch.

"Now?" Hermione asked.

"Your dear husband must go to work." Said Malfoy, his tone dripped with mockery as he emphasized some words.

"But - "

"There's an urgent call. I only asked for a few minutes so I could show you around. I'll - try to return as soon as I can."

"But, what about the wards? What if someone breaks in? I - " Hermione took a step forward as he turned on his heel.

"We'll deal with that later. Besides. I'm already registered with the wards. I'll know when someone's fool enough to trespass."

Then Malfoy vanished before she could say something.

Hermione let out a profound sigh, and her shoulders dropped as she looked around. The silence seemed to condense the air of her surroundings, and her eardrums felt constricted by it.

Malfoy has mentioned there will be elves cooking in the kitchen. She wondered when they'll arrive. It would be nice to have someone to converse with.

Hermione weighed the grounds of the sudden strike of loneliness. Was it because the place was new to her? Was it because she knew most of the time she'll be left alone in that Manor while Malfoy was out for his job? Was it something else? Could it be regret?

A knot tightened in her chest. She never thought she'd feel that kind of loneliness to such an extent. Hermione lived independently when she was hiding from the Ministry. She had neighbours and few friends, and she could hear the sound of people beyond her yard from where she lived.

Hermione was alone but not isolated.

Never in her life had she imagined that she'd miss the aristocratic home-like ambience back at Lucius' Manor - let alone appreciate it. As much as she hated to admit it to anyone, even to herself. Narcissa Malfoy has an aptitude for setting a homely atmosphere despite the upsetting history of that estate.

Hermione felt the pressure collapse on her shoulders. Being the wife of Malfoy raised expectations for her. They will be watching her. Or would she even matter to Malfoy's circle? Was she even worthy enough for a display? Does he even require her to be -to function like a wife?

Considering such thoughts was almost nonsensical. After all, she's nothing more than a mission. Their marriage was simply an assignment.

She should remain professional and clinical about her obligation.

The decision to marriage with Malfoy caught her off guard. It was abrupt. She was cornered. The Dark Lord had confined her options, taking advantage of his dominance over the lives of the Order.

She was too inconsolable about where her fate had led that she overlooked a segment of its consequences. Everything had just sunk in.