Hermione's heart was suddenly pounding.
Graham Montague was Astoria's lover. Montague, who had just 'happened' to come across Hermione during a New Year's Eve party. Who had expected Hermione to immediately recognize him.
He was having an affair with Astoria. He was visiting the manor almost daily. He was looking up toward the windows where Hermione's room was with an expression of intense determination.
Was it all a coincidence? Could it possibly be a coincidence?
Hermione reviewed all the scenarios she could think of.
What did she know of him?
Slytherin. Former member of the Inquisitorial Squad. Badly injured by Fred and George. At some point during the war Hermione had known him and forgotten it. He was having an affair with Astoria. He seemed to be looking for Hermione.
Was he a Death Eater? Hermione didn't know. Unless he had been working in the Ministry he would have had to join Voldemort's army in some capacity. He seemed too high socially to have been merely a snatcher and he hadn't demonstrated much familiarity with Ministry officials at the New Year's party.
Hermione replayed everything she could recall from the night. She'd been so absorbed watching Malfoy and then the surrogates she hadn't connected that Astoria and Montague had been missing at the same time. When she'd watched him later in the evening he'd been mingling, but he'd seemed most familiar with Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey.
Despite her uncertain memory regarding the war Hermione was fairly certain that Flint and Pucey had been, last she recalled, mid-tier, unmarked Death Eaters.
Earning a Dark Mark had been considered significant distinction; an admission into Voldemort's most select inner-circle. As Voldemort's hold on Europe had grown more certain he had Marked fewer and fewer followers.
Therefore the logical conclusion was that Montague was also a Death Eater. Marked or unmarked she didn't know.
But that didn't explain why he would have any interest in or acquaintance with Hermione.
Unless....
Could he—
Hermione was half afraid to even contemplate the notion; to allow the thought to exist in her mind where Malfoy might find it, but she couldn't stop herself from thinking it.
Could Montague have been a spy for the Resistance? Could he still be? Could that be what he'd been trying to communicate to her before he'd left with Malfoy?
She started watching Astoria and Montague carefully whenever they weren't having sex. She spied on them from the secret passages and grew increasingly convinced that Montague had ulterior motives for being in the manor. He was extremely interested in the house and his eyes wandered strangely whenever Astoria was distracted.
Hermione weighed the risk of trying to approach him. He was rarely alone. Astoria didn't ever seem to go more than a few yards away from him.
On the few occasions when Hermione did spot him alone she hesitated. He felt so unfamiliar. Surely, if he were someone she trusted, she'd feel it instinctively.
She tried to reason with herself. If he were a member of the Resistance and she were to approach him prematurely she might expose him. If he didn't have a way to remove the manacles it would all be futile.
Hermione decided to bide her time and continue watching. Better unconfirmed suspicions than anything concrete for Malfoy to get from her.
She kept wavering.
Healer Stroud came and found that Hermione was, once again, not pregnant. Her expression as she surveyed the diagnostic result seemed irritated. Hermione stared determinedly at the clock on the wall.
"Why are your sodium levels so low?" Healer Stroud asked after performing several more tests on Hermione.
Hermione glanced over. "They don't provide any salt with the food."
"They don't?" Healer Stroud said in a tone of surprise. "What are they feeding you?"
Hermione shrugged. "Boiled things. Vegetables and meat and eggs. And rye bread."
"Why?"
"I assumed it was what they were instructed to feed me. It's not as though I have the freedom to question anything," Hermione said coldly.
"You're supposed to have a balanced diet. That includes salt," Healer Stroud said with an expression of annoyance. She reached forward and tapped the manacle on Hermione's wrist with the tip of her wand.
A minute later Malfoy entered with a scowl.
"You called?" he said.
"Yes. Is there a reason why she isn't being given any salt?" Healer Stroud said.
Malfoy blinked. "Salt?"
"She says her food is all boiled and has no salt. It's starting to affect her sodium levels," Healer Stroud said, her eyes narrowed as she stared at Malfoy.
Malfoy's eyebrows went up in apparent surprise.
"The elves were instructed to provide her with meals. I assumed she was eating what Astoria and I do," he said. Then his jaw clenched slightly and his own eyes narrowed. "Astoria's responsible for approving the menu. I'll find out what happened."
"Please do. The Dark Lord is growing impatient over the lack of progress. We don't want anything interfering."
"Indeed," Malfoy said coolly, meeting Healer Stroud's gaze. "Now, if there's nothing else, I must return to my work."
"Of course, High Reeve, I won't keep you," Healer Stroud said giving him a final look before turning back to Hermione.
That night Hermione received a full meal with side dishes and a fresh salad, seasonings and, most significantly to her, a salt shaker.
She hadn't realised how much she had missed salt until she finally had it again.
In retrospect it wasn't exactly surprising to realise Astoria had decided to order the house-elves to keep Hermione on some kind of — prison food? Peasant's fare? Hermione wasn't even sure what it had been intended to be. The woman was — odd. Her indignance over Hermione seemed to manifest in whatever strange way she thought she could get away with it.
And gotten away with it she had, for three months; approximately two hundred and seventy meals. Hermione never wanted to eat another over-boiled vegetable.
Malfoy entered Hermione's room when she was almost done eating, and walked over to survey the food on her plate.
"Apparently I am obliged to personally assure everything," he said with a scowl after the meal apparently met his expectations. "You could have mentioned it."
"If I were to start complaining, the food would not be the first thing I'd bring up," Hermione replied, stabbing a tomato viciously with her fork.
He gave her a thin smile. "No. I don't suppose it would be."
He walked over to the window and stared out over the estate while she finished eating. She intentionally took her time, and mentally recited all the irritating repetitive songs she'd learned in primary school.
As she finished she glanced over toward him. She could see his profile and noticed as his eyes became briefly unfocused. I hope you die the slowest and most horrible death anyone has ever devised, Malfoy, she immediately snarled in her mind. After a moment he blinked and glanced over toward her expressionless. She met his gaze unapologetically.
"Noted," he said and then gestured toward the bed.
Hermione walked over resignedly and seated herself on the edge before looking up at him, unblinking as his cold silver eyes sank into her consciousness.
She always ended up flat on her back by the time he finished going through her memories.
He watched her memory of Ginny several times.
Then he watched her spying and wondering about Graham Montague. He withdrew from her mind.
"Montague got a Dark Mark after the final battle," he said, staring down at her. "It was, I am told, in acknowledgement of the exceptional services he rendered."
He was sneering as he said it.
"Did you provide exceptional services too?" she asked gazing up at Malfoy. She had no idea if he were lying to her about Montague; whether he would bother to.