So...I told myself not to get involved in Harry Potter fanfiction because I've read so many amazing stories out there already, that I would not even begin to try and live up to them. But the writer in me eventually gave in.
Damn you plot bunnies.
Disclaimer: I once walked into a pole and a person across the street burst out with laughter. On an unrelated note, I don't own Harry Potter.
The Bittersweet Camaraderie
To say that her lungs were burning would be an understatement. The motion her legs moved as she raced away did not even register within her. Her mind was an effigy of itself; thoughts all jumbling together in a collision she would not dare parse out. The pocket of time in which she had been running did not nearly encompass the long, arduous war this would turn out to be.
Her hips were a collision of movement; drawing together to prevent themselves from further injury. Intermittently, she would let out a breathless huff, followed by a grunt laced with pain before she would leap off of the roots that swerved sneakily on the grounds of the forest. In one hand, she grasped her wand, the other, the Sword of Gryffindor. After it been tossed between the group, she had realised she had lost sight of Harry and Ron, while they had diverted from the Snatchers, steadily creeping on their trail. She could only hope that they were having better luck than she was and that they had stolen away to safety. Their separation must have stemmed from Scabior's attempt to throw a hex between them. She felt a certain tug begin to ebb away within her; a harboured loneliness that she thought she had managed to tuck away long ago. Propelled by the cacophony of flying debris and shouted spells, she continued on.
"Locomotor Wibbly!" Hermione heard someone yell in the distance; and the next thing she knew, her legs gave out from beneath her, her wand and the word flying from her hands.
The next few moments fell into each other like dominos – Hermione scrambling for purchase, hands trailing downwards in a dismal attempt to stay rooted, dirt digging into her fingernails. Grimacing, she palmed the area around her to locate her wand but gathered that she must have dropped it when the Jelly-Legs Curse was thrown at her. Understanding that she didn't have long, she brought herself a few inches closer to where the sword landed after it practically flung itself from her arm. A crooked arch of tree roots became its refuge.
Unexpectedly, a hand entwined itself around her arm and pulled her upwards, bearing her weight. A gather of slimy-looking Snatchers and pseudo-Death Eaters surrounded her.
"Now, let's see who we've got," said Greyback's gloating voice beside her ear. "Who might you be, girly?"
"Penelope Clearwater," Hermione responded, failing to hide the slightly terrified waver in her voice.
"What's your blood status?" he spat.
"Half-Blood," she immediately answered.
"Easy enough to check," said Scabior, walking closer to the muggle-born. "But by the look of 'er, I reckon she could still be 'ogwarts age."
Greyback grunted. "She look familiar to you?"
The gang gathered closer and eyed her carefully. Scabior broke the momentary silence. "Now that I think 'bout it…"
Hermione resisted the urge to let out a shaky breath. "Just let me go."
Laughter followed. "And why would we do that, lovely?" the werewolf sneered. "Letting a pretty thing like you roam all by yourself? There are some pretty nasty creatures that linger around the woods, y'know." He licked his teeth manically.
" 'ey, lookie what I found," one of the Snatchers called out, pulling out a sword before him and twirling it with admiration.
Hermione's eyes widened, panic shooting into her throat. To think she concealed it well enough.
"'ang on a minute…" Scabior said, fondling his stubble. "She look an' awful like that Mudblood. Wha's 'er name?"
"Granger," another member spoke up. "Look 'ere." He handed a wanted poster of the Hogwarts Trio to Scabior.
Greyback snatched it before it reached Scabior's hands. "You're right." He gripped Hermione's arm tighter and harshly shook her. "You little liar."
Hermione cried out in pain, her legs quivering beneath her.
"This is good," Scabior smirked. "She could lead us straight to Potter."
"Let's take her to the Ministry," a member suggested.
"No," Greyback rebutted. "Those blasted imbeciles wouldn't know what to do with her."
"Not to mention they'd take all the credit of finding her and leave out any rewards for us," Scabior added. "I say we take 'er to the Manor. They'd know what to do with her."
xXx
Hermione was never one to assemble her anger in expletives, but if there was ever a moment, now would be it. For she was almost one hundred percent convinced, being dragged to the Malfoy Manor where the meetings of the Dark Lord resided an' all, that she was screwed. Big time.
With Greyback on one of her arms and Scabior on the other, she was hauled through the gates of the large, gothic mansion and then thrown in the midst of the drawing room floor. It was filled with familiar Death Eaters; amongst whom immediately recognising, in a momentary graze of sad, jarring reality, the face of a boy who was a classmate not too long ago.
"Wait," Narcissa's sharp tone ended Hermione's glimpse of introspection. "Yes, yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter. I saw her picture in the Prophet. Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
Draco's eyes darted back and forth from his mother to Hermione (whose expression almost pleading). "I... maybe... yeah," the youngest Malfoy responded, a linger of uncertainty failing to mask his tone.
A second later the drawing room door opened and a woman's voice put a hold on the current events, her voice screeching with wild curiosity, "What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"
Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoner sprawled on the floor and stopped before her, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes, "But surely," she said quietly, "this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"
"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" cried Lucius, relief in his voice. "She could…she could lead us to Potter!"
Hermione watched as Bellatrix's attention suddenly wavered across the room. "What is that?" She heard her suddenly say and to her utter horror discovered she was asking about the treasured Gryffindor weapon.
"Sword," grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.
"Give it to me," the crazy witch hastily demanded.
"It's not yours, missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it."
In an instant, there was a bang and a flash of red light; in all the years of studying Hermione immediately identified the spell. The Snatcher had been Stunned. What followed was a roar of anger from his fellows.
Scabior drew his wand. "What d'you think you're playing at, woman?"
"Stupefy!" she screamed, "Stupefy!"
Even with the impossible situation Bellatrix was in, the others were no match for her cunning throw of hexes and curses. Despite her questionable sanity she was a witch of remarkable, dark skill. Nothing as trivial as a conscience could hold her back.
All Snatchers fell where they stood, with the exception of Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corner of her eye Hermione saw Bellatrix's waxen expression bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor grasped tightly in her hand.
"Where did you get this sword?" she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.
"How dare you?" he snarled, baring his teeth at her. "Release me, woman!"
"Where did you find this sword?" she repeated, brandishing it in his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"
"From the forest grounds," rasped Greyback.
"When?" she hissed.
"When we captured the girl." He gasped, "Release me, I say!"
She waved her wand, and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy curved nails clutching its back.
"Draco, move this scum outside," said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."
"Don't you dare speak to Draco like-" Narcissa snapped furiously, but Bellatrix halted her with screams of frustration.
"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy." She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at the silent prisoner who was visibly shuddering in her breaths. She threw Greyback's wand back to him as he forced the rest of the Snatchers to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.
"Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her?" Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor.
"What else did you take? What else?" Bellatrix demanded. "ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
Hermione's screams echoed off the walls.
"How did you get into my vault?" She gripped Hermione's collar, almost cutting off her air supply. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"
"I only met him tonight," Hermione wailed in exhaustion from the physical torment. "I've never been inside your vault...It isn't the real sword. It's a copy, just a copy!"
"A copy?" screeched Bellatrix. "Oh, a likely story!"
"But we can find out easily," Lucius added. "Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not."
Without question, Draco hurried to his father's request and came back with the diminutive prisoner.
"Well?" Bellatrix said to Griphook. "Is it the true sword?"
Hermione waited, holding her breath, fighting the urge to cry out in pain as the feeling of warm, salted water prickled at the corner of her eye.
"No," Griphook finally concluded. "It is a fake."
"Are you sure?" panted Bellatrix. "Quite sure?"
"Yes," said the goblin with as much certainty as he could muster up.
Relief broke across the dark witch's face, all tension drained from it.
"Good," she said, and with a casual flick of her wand, she slashed another deep cut into the goblin's face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside. "And now," she said in a voice that burst with triumph before toning it down to seriousness, "Potter. Where is he?"
"I don't know…" Hermione panted.
"Crucio!"
A burst of evident aggrieved screams followed.
"Don't make me ask again."
"I swear I don't know, we separated in the forest," the young witch hastened to answer, dragging out the smallest words in wounded breaths.
"That's just too bad. Crucio."
The feeling of a thousand hot knives carving her insides prompted Hermione's voice to amplify her cries. She didn't know how much more she could take before losing her mind.
"You don't suppose you know where he's heading?" Bellatrix asked, almost expecting her to say no, or anticipating.
Hermione shook her head, letting a sob escape her lips. "No…" she quietly gasped.
"Liar. CRU-"
"SHE SAID SHE DIDN'T KNOW!" The sudden yell put a halt in every activity in the room. All eyes turned to Draco who had previously been attempting to harbour an expression of stoic importance, and was now standing there breathless.
Lucius gaped at his son and Narcissa immediately tried to pull Draco back a few feet away from her deranged sister, but he just stood there, motionless.
Bellatrix stood her full height, a strange, unreadable expression on her face as she warily approached her nephew. "Have a little critique-" she emphasised on the latter word, "-to share on my methods, Draco, dear?"
The youngest Malfoy took a small step back. He lowered his head and shook it slightly.
Bellatrix turned to her sister. "You should do well in detaining your son, Cissy."
Narcissa immediately held her son by the shoulders in a gentle, motherly fashion, guiding him back from the midst of the chaos. Draco bowed his head in shame.
Bellatrix turned back to the muggle-born who was now in an unconscious state. She scornfully sucked some air through her teeth and let out an exasperated huff, perturbed by the slight blip in her plan of further punishment. She manoeuvred Hermione's slumbered face in her line of sight with her foot. "Passed out."
"Finally," Greyback approached the unmoving form. "I can 'ave 'er."
Bellatrix elegantly flicked her wand out from her side, inches from the werewolf's neck, halting him abruptly. "Not. Quite. Yet."
Greyback stood still, waiting for the unstable witch for enlightenment.
"We can dispose of the Mudblood once she tells us of Potter's whereabouts, or better yet, when he comes for her. Till then, you are not to play with her. Do I make myself clear?"
The werewolf bared his teeth at her for the second time that day, and without moving them he grimaced, "Crystal."
She edged her neck to the boy curled in the corner with his parents. "Since you're so eager to accommodate your cooperation you can haul her to the dungeons." Bellatrix stormed out of the room, with the rest of the Death Eaters, "Come along, Cissy," leaving Draco alone with the unconscious ex-classmate.
Kneeling beside her, Draco felt his breath hitching. He wanted desperately to say something placating, some token of consolation to make her feel better about all this. He hoped, in turn, that it would alleviate the roiling in his stomach that this whole mess had brought on. But of course, no syllable expelled past his lips would garner to any worthy cause, if she could not hear him.
She appeared absolutely wrecked - broken. The skin around her eye was puckered - slightly bruised in an array of purple hues. Her pale, nearly-ashen face marred by tear tracks and smudges of dirt. Her usually wild, frantic hair swept across her face had transformed into tame waves - a small detail that was imperceptibly acknowledged and subsequently pushed out of his mind in fourth year. Her fingers were filthy, some soiled in dried blood. Again, he felt an unpleasant reaction in his stomach from this guilt. He conceded to himself that he had not been the one to bring the physical brutality to her - yet he couldn't help but feel like he had brought her into the situation. Years of his bullying and taunting flashed back to him in scrapbook form – clamorous pages of the past. His throat was on the verge of closing.
Shaking his head, he inhaled a deep breath. In quick succession, Draco tucked an arm beneath her knees and hoisted her against his chest, bracing one arm behind her back, slightly startled at how light she felt. His chin grazed the top of her light brown hair as slowly, he headed down to the empty cellar. His grip tightened on her, attempting to expel the further trembling in his hands. The silence in the basement almost stressed the echoes of her screams - a resounding noise imprinted in his mind.
A/N: I found out that two of my friends (whom I've known for a long time) were also Dramione lovers. Which was such a lovely surprise. It was due to their encouragement that I posted this online.
I know some of the material here is very similar to the book but that was the intention for this opening chapter - I wanted to keep it as close to the canon as possible.
Also, A SUPERDUPERMAJORHUMUNGOUS THANKS TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READER, MegalegU (or as I like to call her, M-Dog). I could not have simply done it without her. She did post this adorable one-shot of a lil' Draco, so if you wanna melt in a pile of some cute (and slightly angsty) Draco fluff, you're welcome to visit her page.
Moving back to the story, please review and let me know if it grabbed your interest enough for me to post the next chapter :)
And just so you know, the more reviews I get, the more I'm encouraged :D
Mrs-N-Uzumaki xx
P.S. This story was previously called "A Force of Allegiance", but I liked the sound of camaraderie a lot more.