Her face was not one he had expected to see in the row of impoverished, sad ones. It took him a while to realise it was her, because she looked far too different from what he remembered. Her fiery eyes were staring meekly at the ground as he stood in front of her. She looked as though she had not had a square meal in a while. She did not even lift her head to face him. In that moment, he made a decision.
"How much?" he asked the wizard standing nearby. It pained him to be a part of the crowd that treated her like an item, but he had no choice.
"For this one?" the wizard asked with a sly smile on his face.
Draco nodded.
"Two hundred thousand galleons."
He sighed at the exorbitant amount. He knew Lucius would have insisted on a better deal, but he was not Lucius, and he simply did not want to bargain.
"She's yours," the wizard said, pushing her towards him once he had handed over the money.
It was then that she dared to look up, to sneak a glance at her buyer. She stared at him in shock, recognising him immediately. The trader opened his to reprimand her for her boldness, but Draco held up his hand to silence him and led her away silently.
He spoke once they had reached the mansion.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. She didn't seem convinced, however. Nonetheless, she kept her silence.
"You can speak, you know. I'm not going to treat you as a slave, Hermione."
"You certainly bought me as one!" she exclaimed, indignantly, and then stopped, as if alarmed at her own courage. She must have suffered for speaking up like that. He was not ignorant about the way the Muggleborns were treated under the new regime. Sometimes he wondered if the ones who had died in the war had it easier. He felt guilty for all of it, but there was not much he could do.
"It was the only way. I'm sorry," he repeated, walking over to her to lay an arm on her shoulder. She flinched at the contact, and he noticed that she had a lot of healing to do. He called Penny, his house elf, to show her to one of the empty bedrooms and give her some proper clothes. She still looked suspicious, but she followed the little elf upstairs.
Draco sat down on a chair nearby and held his head in his hands. He could only imagine what she must have gone through, to have her fierce spirit broken like that. In a strange way, he missed the old Know-It-All. It would have been a relief to see her amidst all the chaos that Wizarding Britain had fallen into.
When she came back, and sat opposite him at the dinner table, she was smiling slightly. Draco was glad to see some of the colour come back to her cheeks as she ate her food somewhat ravenously.
"You could get in trouble," she spoke up suddenly. Draco looked at her, fork halfway between plate and mouth, and then smiled warmly.
"Don't worry about that, Granger. This is not a decision I think I'll regret."
He was wrong, all those ears back, he realised, as he sat on the chair helplessly. He shouldn't have taken her away and given her hope that she could have a happy life. The Muggle identity and glamour had worked well enough...until it hadn't. The Dark Lord had found out, and she had taken the fall for all of it, making sure Draco got away with only an obligatory warning. Never had the Dark Mark on his skin felt more like a burden to him. And yet there he was, watching her face a fate worse than death like Gryffindor that she was.
She convulsed as the wave of Crucio hit her again. Draco felt sick at being related to Bellatrix Lestrange. Lucius met his eye and cast him a sympathetic look, while also signalling him to calm down and keep his temper. Every inch of Draco Malfoy longed to spell the wand away from his aunt, but somehow he restrained himself. She screamed out again, her shrieks echoing from the dark walls, and the Death Eaters laughed louder. Draco blinked rapidly to keep the tears away as he was forced to watch the horrific show. This particular wave of the spell seemed to be lasting much longer, he realised. If this continued, she would...
He gripped the arms of the chair tighter, even as the thought entered his mind. Surely they would not be so cruel? he thought, but he knew he was hoping in vain.
Suddenly, she stopped moving. Her chocolate eyes that had laughed so well, now stared blankly at the old ceiling. A soft "No!" escaped his lips inadvertently. Fortunately for him, the Death Eaters were too busy celebrating the demise of yet another Mudblood to notice it.
Draco didn't cry. Not until he was sitting beside her cold bruised body, alone, after they all had left. There were hundreds of apologies on the tip of his tongue, but no words came out. He simply sat there, sobbing and holding her lifeless hand. He cried for himself, for her, and for the countless souls that had been lost in the war and after it.
Notes: Written for the Fluff vs Angst Competition!