Prologue
"Pass the wine," Lucius told Draco, his ten year old son, who took a large gulp of his own glass of wine and passed the bottle to his already drunk father. Narcissa glanced over at them and returned to her conversation about dragon hide exporters with Hermione Granger's mother, Jean, while Jean's husband, William, looked on with great interest. Hermione peeked out through the open doorway leading onto the terrace.
"Um, mother, can I be excused?" Draco asked, already getting up to leave. He made eye-contact with Hermione, silently telling her to wait.
"Sit down," his father barked, though he made no effort to chase after Draco when he left anyway.
He rushed after Hermione (she knew his house better than even Draco himself) until he caught up to her at the bottom of the grand spiraling staircase hugging the walls of a large, circular room. The last step ended in front of a large stone door. Instead of entering it, they made a sharp turn immediately to the left, then back around to the underside of the bottom of the staircase. At their touch, a nearly transparent trapdoor revealed itself next to their feet, which led through a tunnel into their secret room. Draco didn't hesitate when he jumped into the darkness. Hermione followed.
Hermione flicked on a lamp, illuminating her tired face. The project they were working on had been very time consuming, but with it came an immense amount of excitement. They were on the verge of a major breakthrough, and she couldn't wait to get back to work.
Draco decided otherwise a few days ago; for the past week he'd been seated in a chair at the corner of the room, playing with his shoelaces, which changed color every second (a simple charm afflicted upon them by his mother). She told him to help, but he'd lost his hope of ever going anywhere with this hopeless cause. But today he seemed different, Hermione didn't know what had gotten into him, and he stood next to her at the low coffee table, which was dimly lit by glowing constellations shining brightly on the walls of the small room. They had always felt safe here, away from the outside world. Draco and Hermione, who were both ten years old and had a knack for exploring things, often disappeared to this very room whenever their parents decided to have lunch, or dinner or something, and occasionally when Lucius got drunk at the end of the night and tried to teach them muggle games. And for that especially they were greatful for this room. (For Lucius often lost control and wound up slapping them when they played patty cake.)
Hermione carefully splayed her palms across the table and fell into deep concentration, her eyes slowly closing. Her breath quickened and her cheeks turned a bit pink as she began to sweat uncontrollably. The middle of the table began to discolor and melt, and soon the top opened completely, revealing wilted paper with various codes and potion recipes, which they found along with their very first visit to the room, and then fairly new paper distributed randomly along the thick stacks containing combinations of Draco and Hermione's own creation.
At that moment, Hermione dropped and crumpled to the floor. Draco rushed to her side.
"I'm okay," Hermione waved away the hand he offered, then struggled to her feet and lifted the papers she had just risen from the table with trembling, damp fingers.
"I told you not to do that," said Draco quietly, not looking at her. "We could have just hid it in the corner or something."
Hermione pretended she didn't hear him and defiantly began organizing the papers into neat, sorted piles. She left one sheet in particular on the side, purposely putting it in Draco's line of vision. Draco examined it, and his eyes went wide with delight.
During the time he hadn't been helping her, she had begun her own little project. She smiled expectantly when he flipped the paper to the back.
He stared at her with a dazed look in his eyes. "No way," he whispered.
"Way."
He laughed and began flipping the paper back and forth in disbelief. "So, how do you pronounce this? Empress?"
Hermione rolled her eyes half-heartedly. "Imperious – the Imperious Curse. We can do anything we want with it," she said quickly, as if to not lose his attention. "Even get your mother to stop talking about preserving dragon hide. And stop your father from slapping us when he's drunk!"
Draco raised his eyebrows at this, as if to say "When he's drunk?", but at that moment, Hermione's mother shouted loudly from the terrace, telling her they were leaving soon and that she had a couple of minutes to say good-bye. Disappointed that they didn't get much work done, Hermione fumbled with the papers and put them in the center of the table. She put her fingers at the center, and was just about to hide them again when Draco stopped her.
"Let me do it this time," he said with a worried glance at her over his shoulder.
He hid it twice as fast as it took Hermione to hide the first time, and then they hurried up the ladder shingles, through the trapdoor, 'round the spiral staircase, and then spilled onto the Malfoys' long, convoluted driveway.
Hermione quickly said good-bye to Draco without giving it much thought, for she knew she'd be seeing him again tomorrow.
Hermione and her parents piled into their metallic blue MINI Cooper convertible, which they'd gotten while in The States. It was a particularly nice night, so they decided to keep the top down. The wind gently ruffled Hermione's hair, blowing delicate strands around her face. Her slightly drunk, rowdy parents blasted the muggle radio with their fists pumping the air above them to the beat. Hermione laughed. Her mother preceded to sing the lyrics:
"Got my glasses, I'm out the door, I'm gonna hit the city.
Before I leave, brush my teeth, with a bottle of jack.
'Cause when I leave for the night, I ain't comin' ba – "
The car suddenly lurched, and she saw a white light coming towards their car at nauseating speed. At first Hermione thought she was going to be hit by a spell. But upon further inspection, she realized it was a car. It was the last thing she saw before waking up at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
She slowly opened her eyes, first registering the solid white walls around her. Immediately a nurse rushed to her side. She looked wide-eyed and flustered.
"Oh, good, Dearie, your awake," she set her clipboard on the nearby dresser. She kneeled beside Hermione's hospital bed. She hesitated before saying quietly, "It's too bad I can't say the same about your parents."
"W-w-what do you mean?"
At this instant Narcissa and Lucius burst through the double doors. The nurse looked up to see a tall, thin blonde women that walked with an air of elegance and grace; A sharp-looking man with a chiseled jaw, who looked grim; and a young blonde boy creeping out from behind his father's legs, who looked extremely puzzled.
Draco noticed the silence. "Who died?" he asked, not noticing the terrible relation to the situation.
The nurse shivered. Hermione ignored him and repeated her question.
The nurse turned her gaze back to the little girl.
"Your parents are dead."
The only person taking this news as badly as Hermione was Draco Malfoy.
The nurse then turned to Narcissa. She looked prepared for whatever the nurse was going to say.
"I just need to examine her once more. . . . Then you can take her home."
"H-home," Hermione stuttered.
Suddenly each Malfoy turned towards her, addressing her for the first time.
"Yes, Sweetie – your coming to live with us, since we're your godparents, and, well, for the time being anyway, we're also your legal guardians now."
The Malfoy's exited the room to allow the nurse to examine Hermione before she was permitted to leave.
* – * – *
Hermione exited her room to find the Malfoy's patiently waiting at the receptionist's desk.
Narcissa looked up from the bell she'd been inspecting with a puzzled look. "Are you ready to go, Dear?" said Narcissa delicately. She had a sorrowful gaze.
Hermione quietly nodded. They each took a handful of floo powder and arrived at The Manor. Narcissa and Draco escorted Hermione to the room she stayed in every time she slept at their home, so it was quite familiar.
Hermione spent weeks on end just sitting on the bed in the corner of the room, occasionally excepting food from the house elves. After three weeks of solitary confinement, it became apparent that she needed some type of human interaction. So she finally allowed Draco to enter, but no one else.
"Are you okay?" Draco asked timidly. He didn't walk past the dresser next to the door.
Tears stung at the back of her eyes, and she immediately regretted allowing Draco in. She tried to resist rolling her eyes, but ultimately failed. She shook with irritation when saying: "Of course I'm not okay."
Draco was taken aback, and to be honest, a little hurt. "You're going through tough times, I know. But that doesn't mean you should take it out on the ones you have left."
Hermione went stiff but kept quiet.
He advanced towards her and spoke a bit more loudly. "You've sat in here for too long. You have to quit wallowing in your own self-pity. I can't stand seeing you like this – it's so depressing!"
"How could you possibly be so insensitive?" Hermione cried. She stood up.
"How could you be so insensitive? You have no idea what you've been putting my mother through. You aren't the only one that's suffered a loss here," Draco retaliated.
The weight of his words came crashing down around her, but she refused to back down.
"I didn't ask for this! I don't want your pity!" Hermione spat. Draco glared at her with a venomous gaze.
"No one asked for you to come," Draco spat back with malice in his eyes.
He abruptly turned to leave, slamming the door in his wake.
Hermione slumped onto her bed. She dragged her knees to her chest and began to sob uncontrollably.
When her desperate cries segued to whimpers, she realized, with a great deal of despair, what she had to do.
She had to get away from this place; she had to run away.