NOTE: This was something I wrote for the Celebrate the Season with Draco and Hermione at the dmhgficexchange ljcommunity. I just got around to post this now because… Weeeell… Yeah.
Title:
Gemini
Rating : R (slightly)
Disclaimer:
I'll let you in on a secret. I am JK Rowling… Yeah
right. Okay screw it I'm not.
Author's Notes: Please don't kill me if I didn't meet your expectations; I'm just a struggling author. Though I did try my best to follow i exactly /i what is in the request. (DON'T go to the reference; read first! ) Some HBP spoilers, though non-compatible with it. (Actually, this is just the effect of overdose from anime and coffee so excuse all the lameness – but coffee is the i best /i thing in the world -) Try listening to the song "Gemini" by Spongecola (something I got anonymously in the net) while reading this. It reminded me of Draco – hence the title! - And my thanks go out to my friend, Xie, who stayed up until the wee hours of the morning just to listen to my endless rattle, and Ginny for (allowing me to gouge her eyes out) beta-reading this.
Summary: Gravity is on the increase / as time goes by / my body returns to the earth / there is sky up in the air / my body is in your sky / and your life is in my cosmos / we never come close to each other/ but here we exist as it is...
- - - - - - - -
It would be nice / if we could put away / and throw out everything / except what really mattered / but reality is just cruel.
Hamasaki Ayumi
- - - - - - - -
She could never be mistaken.
After all, the moment the doors opened and ushered the other person inside the dank room, the dim light emitted by the torches outside gave him away.
Well, it was nice that these people still thought of giving her company, no matter how notorious their reputation may be, or no matter how incorrigible her new companion is.
Though she still could not understand – for an always-tagged know-it-all she couldn't understand – how someone like him could be sent here, together with her. She was a (prisoner) hostage -- someone they could use against the Order, while he… He was among their ranks.
But then again, The Dark Lord -- no -- Voldemort (she could still see Harry's scrunched up face as he would always reiterate that the fear of the name increases the fear itself not only to her but to the others as well) is quite an unpredictable master, and from what she could deduce from what she had researched, gives out punishment at whim, despite justified actions and successful missions.
Take Peter Pettigrew, for example. And (how fitting), Lucius Malfoy.
It had been around ten minutes and he was still standing there; stiff, unmoving, so different from his slightly limping state earlier. And quite infuriating, too -- she had almost given up hope that she would be seeing another person, despite allegiances and beliefs.
Almost.
Hermione dragged herself up from the wooden chair she was sitting on; ball and chain shackled on both ankles and all, and stared at the back of the newcomer. Maybe he was sent here too because he's changed, and he's turned around from the Dark and into the Light…?
"Hello mudblood."
Er, scratch that.
"Malfoy."
G E M I N I
by The Orange Girl / Melissa Spitfire
It was more… vexing to see him smirk like the old days.
And she couldn't take it. Honestly, the Dark Lord, sending him into the dungeons to guard her? She had lasted at least three months in the dungeons alone, wandless, defenceless, with scarce water and food – and now Voldemort, he , wanted her guarded at all times? Or was this some kind of sick prank Malfoy was playing at her?
But they weren't in Hogwarts anymore – they were already over the legal wizarding world age, and they are now more than capable of handling themselves. Ergo – too old for childish pranks.
"Missed me much, didn't you?" Draco's voice drifted to her side of the (rooms) dungeons.
"Eat crow, Malfoy."
Draco merely smirked wider. "Four years, Granger, four long years of not seeing each other and all those times, your knickers are still in a twist? The last time I saw you during sixth year you wore the same expression. Weasley not up to par, I presume?"
Hermione's scowl grew darker as her face looked redder. "Stop making fun of Ron, he's not like—"
"Though come to think of it," he continued, "you have always looked like you're struggling with that stick up in your arse."
Her mouth formed a thin line reminiscent of McGonagall.
"Loosen up, will you? I'd think three months in this, this room would at least make you less tense and all that shit you could associate with it." He stood up from his chair and walked toward her.
Her hazel eyes crinkled as she laughed mirthlessly. "Loosen up, Malfoy? I think not. Not when I'm sitting here in the dark, literally and figuratively. I don't know what's happening outside these walls and you expect me to loosen up? Have you gone daft?" She didn't notice that she had stood up from her chair, had crossed the room and had stood her ground in front of him, practically yelling him off.
And shouting at him felt damn good.
"And that, my dear, filthy mudblood, is the reason why I'm here." He stepped forward, dragging the other leg, invading her personal space. "To keep you preoccupied."
Oh how she wanted to wipe that galling, smug look that replaced his smirk. Maybe it would feel much, much better if she would hit him as well.
Fists balled, she lifted her arms to hit him, but he caught her halfway. "No need to thank me, Granger. It's called civic duty ."
It was so uncomfortable to feel his hands on her wrists, so she pulled away immediately. "And you expect me to believe that? You, Malfoy, are definitely out of your mind." She turned her back at him and sat down on her rickety wooden chair.
Draco wiped his hands on his coat, as if he was burned by the mere act of catching her wrists, before walking toward the door and looking through the steel bars.
Hermione began to grow uncomfortable with the silence that enveloped them. In fact, she had been more comfortable when she was alone – there was the gut-wrenching worry for her comrades, of course, but it was much better and tolerable if it was in solitude that you are held in custody instead of having a pureblood prat prattling round and about in the small confines of the dungeon cell while you worry your heart out.
She honestly wanted to take back her earlier thoughts of thanking the Death Eaters for sending her company. It was plain awful now.
"I'm hungry."
That was random.
And being the nosy know-it-all she is, Hermione could not help but wonder why the Death Eaters placed him in the dungeon as well. It had already been around two days, and yes, there was the occasional hooded figure who stopped outside their door and talked to him, but other than that, there was not an indication that he was going out anytime. He even wore the same robes he'd been wearing since he'd come in – surely someone so vain would not stand having to wear a set of robes for ten hours, despite the robes being clean. And he was just the type to complain of scarce food, water and ventilation (as the earlier statement just proved). And if he, indeed, was there to guard her (though he kept on insisting that he was there to keep her company), he wouldn't be too friendly.
And there was no wand anywhere on his body to keep her in line when things go awry.
"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be out there, hurtling the Killing Curse at random people like you're playing Russian roulette?"
He turned, his face obscured from the light the small opening of the door let in the dark, cold room, but it was evident he was smiling. "That's the twenty-seventh time you've asked that question, Granger. And it's just, what, two days?"
"Because what you're trying to tell me is just… Just…" Her hand gesticulated slightly, "… impossible."
"Well you better believe it."
"But I don't. And I won't satisfy myself with that absurd answer."
Draco turned to his side, again looking out from the small opening of the door as he leaned on it. "Ever the know-it-all, aren't you?"
There was something in his voice that she could not identify. "I can't help who I am."
"Too true."
Why is there a bitter smile on his face?
"You don't have a wand." She stated matter-of-factly.
She swore she saw his countenance stiffen for a fraction of a second before he turned to her. "And your point is…?"
"And my point is," Hermione swallowed slowly. "… You're a Death Eater who's supposed to keep watch over me day in, day out. Now isn't that queer?"
Draco walked back to his side of the room and sat down on the cold floor, glaring at her.
Hermione was surprised, to say the least. Was there something wrong with what she had said?
"Don't get your hands full with other people's business." Came his clipped, icy voice as he cast her a lingering scowl – and was that a growl she just heard? – and lay down on his side, his back to her.
"Ever the insufferable prat, aren't you?" She couldn't help but quip.
"Je suis qui je suis."
Hermione was growing too frustrated for her own good. Did he think she couldn't understand French? "How original." She said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
He did not answer.
She shifted in her place. "Malfoy, how can you watch over me if you're facing the wall?"
…
"Is that even the right way to actually gur your charge?"
…
"… I could just run away from you without you even knowing it."
…
"Argh…" She groaned, infuriated. "I'd love to kill you right now, don't you know that?"
…
Still not receiving an answer, she stood up and walked toward his reclining body briskly, intent on giving him a piece of her mind, make him notice her and answer her questions and not just dismiss her and hit him silly until he was black and blu—
The sound of strained chains and a solid body falling hard on the flagstone floor resounded throughout the dungeons.
"… Oww…"
She groaned. Sometimes, anger gets the better of rationality and practicality.
From her place on the cold floor, body prone and feet flexed a bit abnormally due to the pull of the chain on her ankles, Hermione could feel the room spinning slightly as she tried to push herself up.
Draco snickered.
"Stupid bastard…"
88888888
It was four days (?) after before she actually felt like talking to him.
"What are you doing here in the dungeons any—"
"Bloody hell, Granger! Can't you think of anything, anything else you could ask me apart from that?" Draco snapped.
"Well, seeing as you haven't given me a satisfactory answer every time I asked you that question—"
"I do not answer to anybody ." He retorted.
Hermione's mouth opened and closed, as if about to say something, then decided to keep it to herself instead. "… Right."
Her breath smelled like hell. She could tell – just breathing through her mouth for three seconds and she couldn't stand her own exhalation.
And paranoia had long left her. Her parents being dentists, she was one for healthy gums and teeth, as well as personal body hygiene. But three months in a dungeon did away with that irrational yet not-so irrational annoyance of non-performance of proper hygiene.
Hermione cupped her palm against her mouth again and exhaled forcefully, wincing at the smell of her breath. To add to that seemingly-chronic halitosis she was developing, she couldn't even try to use her throat and sing or speak or recite anything – she was too conscious of the other person in the room; mindful of his rights to a comfortable sleep and all those humanitarian rights (which she now personally believes should have certain exceptions for incorrigible bastards like him) while he blatantly ignored hers.
Hermione cast her brown eyes to the other side of the room, and she could hear Draco mumbling quietly before breaking into a grin. Oh, dear – did spending time in the dungeons loosen the screws in his brain? Poor guy.
And worse, she found it funny.
She didn't notice his blond head turn up and look back at her; silver orbs locking with her chestnut ones.
Hermione couldn't suppress the slight smile from breaking out in her face.
It surprised her even more when Draco's crooked grin widened and turned into laughter.
Later on Augustus Rookwood walked – more like stalked – out of the dungeons and immediately looked for Gregory Goyle, Sr., telling him that there was a phantom down there.
88888888
They were sitting on the cot on Hermione's side of the dungeons.
"Malfoy, you really haven't answered—"
"That again?" Draco's posture went from relaxed to tense.
"Well," Hermione turned to face him, "I know you don't answer to anybody and all those principles you uphold, but—"
"It's enough that you know that much, Granger. Just this once – forget you ever were a stuck-up know-it-all and let it slide." He answered tritely.
They grew silent after that.
"… You'll have to tell me eventually, Malfoy. I know that you're not here to watch over me."
"… Whatever."
88888888
Hermione woke up abruptly when she heard a whimper coming from the other end of the room. Her eyes adjusted to the dark quite faster nowadays, having spent almost four months in the dark dungeons and her breath hitched when she saw Albus Dumbledore's old, dead body in the middle of the room – a stark contrast against the pitch black darkness engulfing the whole room.
Her throat went drier when she saw Draco huddled there in the corner trembling.
"… Malf—" The word barely came out of her mouth when…
"Riddikulus!"
She whipped her head toward the direction of the voice when the dead body in the middle of the room turned into a dead bunny and the hooded figure suddenly laughed – a shrill, high-pitched and cruel one – before the Death Eater Evanescoed the boggart and walked toward Draco.
"Aww, poor baby." The hooded figure bent down in front of Draco, a slim hand reaching out to touch his cheek.
"… N-no…"
The moment the Death Eater bent down in front of Draco it obscured him from her line of vision, and as Hermione watched on helplessly, she felt her heart beating erratically against her chest thump thump thump thumpthump, not knowing what was happening, thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump until she couldn't take it anymore—
"Don't touch me." Came Draco's tight voice.
"Why ever not, my dear? Didn't you even miss me at all?"
Hermione knew that voice and it disgusted her to the stomach.
"Well—" She could almost see Draco swallow thickly, "I-I didn't. Get away from me."
Hermione was about to go tell the intruder to go away, because she could practically feel the fear and dread emitting from her dungeons companion, when the Death Eater suddenly stood up and moved away from him.
"You're disappointing, Draco. Just like your father and your mentor. And I even taught you Occlumency!"
She flinched when a curse went Draco's way and threw him against the wall with a sickening thud.
Her hate toward the intruder intensified when the Death Eater turned to her before walking out of the room, her cold, black orbs narrowed and full of loathing as she closed the door and sealed it magically.
The moment she felt that Bellatrix Lestrange was out of earshot and definitely not going back again she crawled toward Draco, her chains screeching happily against the flagstone floor.
"Malfoy, what happened?" She found herself saying as she made her way toward him.
So it is true. Malfoy was not there to keep watch over her.
Draco's eyes flashed menacingly as he recoiled against the wall. "Drop the sympathy, Granger. It doesn't. make. any. difference."
The compassion she felt for him while she watched what happened earlier on immediately flew out of the window only to be replaced with utter aggravation. She stopped midway, seeing as she really could not get any nearer to him and pulled herself into a kneeling position, arms akimbo.
"You know what, Malfoy? I think I know why you're here." Hermione gritted out. "You pretend like you're sent here, your pathetic excuse of a Dark Lord—"
"Watch your mouth, mudblood!" He hissed.
"— asking you to guard over me, a helpless prisoner here who's been rotting for three months already because you fell short of your Aunt Bellatrix' and Voldemort's expectations! And don't you dare interrupt me; I will not believe anything you say anymore because you, like your father, are a sick bastard and a pathological liar! I bet you couldn't even perform a mission even if your life depended on it and you are here in this fucking dungeons because you, like me, are—"
"OKAY FINE I AM A PRISONER JUST LIKE YOU! HAPPY NOW?"
Hermione remained frozen in the middle of the room, eyes wide as saucers and mouth hanging open while the walls of the dungeons reverberated with his angry outburst.
"And I know what's running through that fucking bushy head of yours right now and you bloody better stop being a fucking know-it-all all the time because not all the fucking time you're fucking right!"
88888888
Sometimes, Hermione wished she wasn't herself.
But it can't be helped. She can be cold and calculating, or really funny and carefree when she wanted to. But most of the time, she was a girl who felt a lot of emotions and always had empathy for random people because of their trials and tribulations in life. And much worse, she has a knack for feeling it for the wrong people at the wrong place and time. That brat in the neighborhood. Cinderella's Evil Stepmother and Maleficent. Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde. Judge Geoffrey Pyncheon. Ivan the Terrible. S.P.E.W. Sybil Trelawney.
And now, the newest addition to her list – Draco Malfoy.
It was difficult not to feel sorry for him – it was evident he didn't want to be punished (after all, who would want to be?) but not this way. It's not everyday that you get stuck with one of your eternal nemesis in a dark, frigid room with meager resources and no magical capability whatsoever. Really, she could see from what side he was coming from. But Hermione, being Hermione, still wanted to do something about it.
Not that she could do much unless he wanted her to do anything for him, really.
Hermione clucked her tongue in annoyance as she remembered her futile attempts of freeing the House Elves of the wizarding world.
Draco's head turned fast in her direction – just to glare at her.
Honestly, when will he stop acting so childish?
But she knew him, oh yes she knew him – pride is something he could never let go.
Hermione sighed. She knew him to be like that, and it's quite difficult to admit that she was someone like him at times too – pride never tasted good when swallowed.
"Look Malfoy…"
A piercing glower.
Another sigh. Well, it can't be helped. "I-I'm so… I apolo… Okay fine I was wrong the other day." She said in one breath.
…
Okay, here we go again. Last time she did a monologue, rage overruled reason. It was better to keep the brain in check when dealing with difficulties and enigmas and, well, Draco Malfoy.
"It was not, well, appropriate that I actually jumped into conclusions… But you never really answered my question… And there—"
"Did you speak up just to rub it in my face? Then it worked, very well in fact, thank you very much, now will you bloody stop because I don't fucking care whatever you say…!"
"Why are you always all worked up?"
"None of your business!"
"I was merely concerned—"
"Concerned?" Draco stood up and stalked toward her place on the cold floor, amazingly fast despite his injuries, and he crouched down in front of her and looked her in the eye. "Take your bloody concern to the Bermuda Triangle because I don't need it."
She could feel her temper flaring even though she tried to keep it down while she met his gaze squarely. "Don't tell me what and what not to do."
"Why not? You're just a filthy mudblood."
She didn't miss out on the emphasis – she wanted to let it slide, really, since she knew she was more rational at the moment, and that she would not gain anything from reacting but only falling into the opponent's bait, but the words that followed…
"You are beneath me, Granger."
She could not be held responsible for her actions.
Draco fell to the floor, sprawled a bit as he clutched his stinging cheek, but he didn't stay there for long, because he suddenly moved and grabbed her, eyes wide with fear or whatever he didn't know; Draco lifted his hand, ready to hit her. "Why you—"
His hand stopped just a fraction of an inch before her cheek; he was suddenly held frozen by her stare – defiant, unwavering. She didn't even move to protect herself.
"… What? Why did you stop?" Hermione's voice was low, as she fixed her eyes at him. "Go ahead, hit me. What, you won't hit me? Come on, slap me, punch me, I'm helpless, you could have your way with me!" She shouted as she grabbed his hand and hit it against her cheek, gripped his wrist and forced him to grab her tattered clothing and to punch her... "Come on, I'm just a filthy mudblood, aren't I? I'm at your mercy right now! You could just kill me…!"
Draco, Draco, you are not a murderer…
Draco dropped Hermione abruptly, his eyes turning silver as his hands ran through his hair frantically.
I-I can't… He'll kill them…
No…
… Consorting with the Order…
No…
Kill your…
NO!!!
"MALFOY!" Hermione screeched as she shook her companion vigorously. "Malfoy! Malfoy, what's happening to you? Oh Merlin, Malfoy! Stop it!"
Draco stopped shaking as his eyes turned into focus, only to find himself face to face with Hermione. "Wha…"
"Merlin, Malfoy, what happened? Tsk! Oh tosh, are you all right?"
88888888
"So, uhm, how's Pansy?"
Hermione looked up from pulling at the threads of her robes upon hearing his question. "What?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "I know you heard me the first time, don't make me repeat myself."
She blinked, once, twice, and then shrugged. "The last time I saw her, she was well and good… She's engaged to Ron, though five months in this cell would probably make my answer inaccurate. I hope not, though."
"Well that's good to hear… did you just say engaged to the Weasel?" His back came up from leaning on the wall.
"He's got a name , you prick. And yes, she is engaged to him. Blissfully engaged, if I may say."
"But I thought… You, Weasel… You know…" Draco put both his index fingers together, side by side, "like this…?"
Sometimes he was just like a kid – those are the times she found him bearable. Childish, but bearable.
"Back then in sixth year, almost. But after that… let's just say that we didn't exactly click that way."
"And he and Pansy clicked that way…" He trailed off.
"You could say that."
"… I used to like her, Pansy..." Draco said after a few minutes.
"You did?" She asked; her voice a bit doubtful.
He shot her a withering look. "Of course I did." Seeing her expression, he scowled. "What in the bloody hell are you implying, Granger?"
"No, nothing actually."
"I know what's running through your head right now, Granger, and believe me you're wrong."
"Oh yeah?" She huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "What am I thinking right now?"
He leaned back against the wall and mimicked her actions, crossing his arms over his chest as well. "You're thinking: What? Malfoy, the utter prat, actually liking someone? But he's got no heart!" He exclaimed, his voice an irritatingly high-pitched one – a feeble imitation of hers.
"I did not think that…!"
"Defensive?"
"I am not!"
"Okay, then. So your ears turning pink is a sign that you are being terribly honest. I'll remember." He smirked.
Somehow, the word pink in any sentence pertaining to her didn't sound so pleasant.
"… Je vous déteste. "
His brows wiggled. "Sentiment shared."
Hermione laughed.
88888888
"If the Weasel is with Pansy, then what about little miss perfect?" Draco's voice sliced through the cold air, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon.
"You know, for someone who's hated me since I was eleven, you seem to find my stories interesting." She retorted.
"You know, for someone who's been in this wretched room for half a year, you seem to find it very homey."
Hermione wished she could reach the spot he was currently reclining at. But now she was hoping that her eyes would burn his skin raw. She could have smiled at how right her thoughts were when she saw Draco shift and push himself to sit up and look at her, but insults weren't very much welcome. She might as well remove that doormat and Incendio it.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Her voice sounded too sharp for her own ears.
His long, slender fingers – she did notice them; after all, it was only the wall, her miserable clothes or him that she could waste her time with (the index finger on his right hand was quite interesting, too)— ran through his silvery-white fringes (and his hair – it was difficult not to notice because it was so gloomy in this room) while he mumbled under his breath, before he spoke something coherent enough to float to her side of the room. "When I came in from… When I came down here, you weren't pulling your freakish hair or trying to gouge your eyes out."
She didn't feel like answering. Of course he knew how she was captured – and she really didn't want to remember that moment of lapse – and of course, any prisoner would definitely want to get out.
"Don't you even want to get out?"
Exactly.
'Is that a rhetorical question?' she wanted to say, but surprisingly another set of words came out. "Don't you wish you could?"
And she had expected that silence, too.
"I'll answer your question you answer mine."
Laughter bubbled up from her chest, but there wasn't even a tinge of humor in it – it was all so artificial and hollow even to her own ears that she flinched at the cruelty of it all. "No, I don't, because in this dungeon I cannot perform any magic and I can worry about my friends out there and Harry, oh yes, I could just love Harry from behind these walls while he battled outside to save me and it'd be the perfect romantic story. Oh and the greatest perk in this cell? I could fear for my own life all the time because your kind would love to get rid of me and it does not make me anxious that they still won't kill me after six months."
She wanted to revel in the feeling of having Draco Malfoy squirm in uncertainty and actually feel uncomfortable in her midst, but it was just too damn blurry in the cell at the moment. But it was strange, though, because she could feel a lump in her throat as she spoke the next words with as much joy in her voice. "I answered your question." She sniffed –
Why did she sniff when she had no colds whatsoever anyway?
"Uhm, maybe I have the same answer as yours."
Salty seemed to be her saliva's flavor of the moment, she mused as she swallowed. "Maybe?" She asked incredulously.
"Yes, maybe."
88888888
"So… Potter, huh?"
"What?" Hermione whipped her head to look back at him, for she was busy counting the number of chain ringlets attaching her feet to the wall.
"Yes, Potter." He smirked.
She turned to look back at her interesting hobby of the moment, hiding her blush from him because she knew he'd make fun of her, before shrugging. "More or less." It is better not to divulge too much, isn't it?
Though she couldn't help but say some truths – there's nothing left to do in this room, and nothing much to talk about if they wanted to come out of the cell alive. She wanted to come out alive, of that she was sure, but as to him…
… Maybe I have the same answer as yours…
She felt Draco sit beside her. "It's boring here, isn't it?"
She almost laughed, but she caught herself. "… No, it's not." She could see, from her peripheral, that he just rolled his eyes at her as she continued to count. "If I asked you a question would you answer me truthfully?"
"Where did that come from?"
Same thing that came into mind, actually.
She turned to look at him and as expected, a perfect, aristocratic eyebrow arched upward. "Well, seeing as you too find this place a very interesting one…"
"Whoever said that?" He huffed.
"No one."
"I say this place is just the best place, actually. I could think, i especially since you just keep your mouth shut most of the time, and well, brooding is not much of a privilege in these uneasy times. This is just the best place to have that. You missed a ring, Granger. That's the forty-eighth, not forty-seventh."
" Okay, fine, forty-eighth… Brooding, huh?"
"Yes, brooding. You see, angst is the luxury of the rich." Draco was smiling triumphantly. "Sixty rings on your right ankle, and possibly the same on the left, too."
She nodded sagely. "So, will you?"
His eyes crinkled. "Will I what?"
"Answer my question truthfully."
"Je ne sais pas…"
"Malfoy…"
"Look… Just because I'm talking to you does not mean you could pry into my life all of a sudden."
Hermione grew silent after this. "… Well, I know it's not that much, but I'll answer some of your questions truthfully as well."
She could see him weighing her words as he looked at the wall ahead of them. Well, in all honesty she wanted to know a lot of things about him, and she couldn't really rest her case until she knew the answer… But maybe she shouldn't have suggested giving answers to his questions, if he did agree. It might be detrimental, not only for the Order and the cause, but for herself, too… Maybe it was a bad idea…
"Fair enough." His voice was so soft she barely heard him.
"What?"
"I said, fair enough." He replied, this time his voice much louder. "Though I think, since we are in this both, we are not allowed to ask each other questions that may endanger our beliefs."
So he was thinking along the same lines. "Agreed."
88888888
They would eat anything, anything that would be sent their way.
And that is how Draco and Hermione found themselves days (or months) later, huddled over a single plate that a Death Eater – presumably Gregory Goyle, Jr. because he bothered to call Draco by his first name – brought in.
Hermione scooped the soggy mashed potato on the plate savagely – it looked two days overdue – and pushed it into her mouth, not even caring to chew on the food as she swallowed it hungrily. She had never felt so hungry all her life; the Death Eaters only gave them water occasionally, and it was a rare treat that food, leftover food would even be sent their way. In her days in the dungeon she could count with one hand how many times it happened.
"I'm so hungry." Draco said through bites of half-cooked herring, eyeing the plate. He had eaten at least three fourths of the food that Goyle gave them.
"Shut up and eat." Hermione answered, massaging her sternum as she tried to push the food down. It felt like her throat restricted food from passing through it, as an effect of not eating for months. After feeling her breath return to normal she swept her hand over the remaining mashed potato and brought her hand to her mouth, but not before noticing that Draco had stopped eating and just stared at the plate. "What?" she asked, her mouth full of potatoes, not even minding her manners (who would, at their situation, anyway?).
She could see the hesitation in Draco's face while he contemplated on what he was going to say – she only noticed now the stubble growth on his chin – and when he looked up at her, he looked like a child pleading to go see the circus.
"Are you going to eat that?"
He pointed at the chicken leg on her side of the plate; bony, deprived of meat and already touching the dirty floor.
"Uh, no."
"Can I have it?"
"Yeah, sure." She spun the plate, placing the chicken leg near him, while she nibbled on the leftover potatoes on her fingers. "I don't eat chicken."
She hadn't even finished her sentence yet and he already tore the measly meat from the bone and chewed away greedily.
"Why don't you eat chicken?" He asked when he swallowed thickly before turning the food over and tearing the chicken skin from the lower leg before throwing it out of the small window and into the dungeons hallway.
"When I was small I had a pet chick, and I took care of it until it grew into a chicken, and then one day when I came home from a friend's house I couldn't find it anywhere. When we had dinner that evening I ate a lot and especially loved the main dish, thinking it was turkey but afterwards, I found out from my cousin that it wasn't a turkey at all – it was my pet chicken."
Draco brought his hand up to his mouth when a lump formed in his throat and then...
"Eww! Oh Merlin, Malfoy that is gross!"
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"Why did you go out with Krum in fourth year?" She heard Draco ask when she shifted in her cot, just when she was about to fall asleep.
"… Do I really have to answer that right now?" She yawned through the sentence.
"Yes, of course."
She groaned. "I'm trying to sleep, Malfoy. Ask me tomorrow."
"I can't sleep, so I want the answer now because I asked the question now."
Argh. Incorrigible bastard.
"Well, what? Is it because you want to spite Weasel?"
"It's Weasley." She grumbled as she turned to her other side to look at him.
"Whatever. Did you want to spite him? Or spy for Potty since he was Durmstang's champion?" He turned from the wall to face her.
Hermione could see his mercury orbs staring at her, waiting for an answer. "No I didn't. I just liked him because he was… Viktor's nice."
"Nice?"
Why did she hear a bit of resentment in his voice?
"Yes, Viktor is nice. We're still exchanging letters until six months ago. Well, you know why it stopped, really, but we're still friends, I guess."
"He's not nice at all!" It was as if she didn't say anything after his outburst when he said that.
"Oh? As if you've been benevolently finicky these past years now, haven't you?"
"That's different!" He cried out defensively. "It's different when you tease or play pranks on someone your age; you could at least expect them to fight back – they can retaliate, just like how Potty and the Weasel do. But when you play pranks on a helpless four-year-old, that's… Never mind."
Never mind?
Hermione cannot deny the fact that her curiosity was piqued. "Oh I do mind, Malfoy. A traumatic childhood?"
"Let's save it for tomorrow; I'm sleepy."
"Oh no you don't! You tell me what happened." Hermione smirked in a non-Malfoy way. She could see his indignation even in the dark – his face is definitely a blush indicator.
"Come on, Malfoy, what did he do to you? Hang you on a tree upside down? Pull your trousers down to leave you butt-naked in public?" She could actually imagine a four-year-old Draco Malfoy hanging on a tree by his leg, upside down, and a naked Malfoy…
Argh, terrible imagery!
"Go to sleep, Granger."
"Or maybe we could just agree on the fact that Viktor is indeed nice."
He scowled when she saw Hermione smiling. "The Malfoys and the Krums were friends, so one time we went to a vacation in Venice when I was three. My parents and his parents all wanted to go for a Gondola ride through the city and, well, the grown-ups paired off as expected, leaving me with him in the third gondola. For a nine year old he was really tall, and well, I was small back then… and then when I was busy looking at the water, he pushed me into it and I fell."
"You were kids, though." She answered, trying to justify Viktor. After all, kids, and boys especially, go through that stage of power-tripping whenever there is someone younger around.
"Yes, and I almost died and he didn't try to save me at all, and I could actually feel that I was helpless and I didn't even remember anyone actually jumping in to save me so let's all conclude that he is a nice guy."
She didn't know how to answer that. Though that was quite a grudge he was holding against Viktor – did Viktor really do much pranks on him during his childhood? So maybe his inferiority complex did come from that…
"I bet you haven't really experienced that, haven't you? Being totally helpless, trapped, left with no other option, not powerful enough. You're a know-it-all; you'll always have a plan and contingencies, plus you're Granger."
"O-Of course not, Malfoy. I… Maybe when… Well… Well I couldn't swim, actually…" She drifted.
Hah. As if that helped.
There was quite an awkward silence that stretched between them before Draco turned to face the wall and mumbled a faint 'go to sleep.'
She fell into a fitful slumber after that.
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When Hermione woke up the next day, she felt something was wrong.
She stood up, her eyes and body still protesting due to lack of sleep, her instincts telling her to look for Malfoy when she didn't see him on his cot.
"Malfoy?" She asked as she trudged on as far as her shackles would allow her, looking at the dark corners of the room. But she couldn't find him.
There was an unnatural feeling that blossomed from her chest when she turned around to head back to her cot, only to see Malfoy leaning against the wall, near the cot and the place where she usually placed her head, unconscious, a trickle of blood from his left forearm.
She gasped inaudibly, her feet bringing her to his side, her mediwitch training kicking in. She lifted the hem of robes, ignoring the huge, sickly blemish on his forearm, focusing on the deep gash that ran the length of his left arm. It was not bleeding profusely anymore, but bleeding nonetheless, and having no supplies available, she pressed the gash and made it bleed some more.
"What are you doing?" Came his faint voice.
"Shut up, Malfoy." She grumbled as she pulled at the hemline of her robes, struggling. She breathed a sigh when she heard the cloth of her robes tear.
Draco watched as she ripped the edge of her dress up front, around the back, then slightly higher, rendering the once-long dress a mid-calf.
"Now don't move too much or you'll – Shit, Malfoy, stop squirming – I'll wrap you arm up, git." She ended rather nastily, yanking his injured arm and earning a string of curses from her patient.
Minutes later she sat back, her shoulders relaxing against the wall, though her face looked nothing like that as she stared at Draco. "Let me guess, they tortured you?"
And there was that glare again.
"The Dark Lord can do as he wishes to the undeserving."
She wanted to roll her eyes at him, really, but she fought the urge. After all, she had always kept in mind that his beliefs should not be questioned – in order for her to also escape questioning. "What did they do?''
"Nothing."
"Oh. Let's pretend then that I'm imagining that huge gash on your arm and that trickle of blood on the floor. And also that bruise on your right jaw, just below your ear." Hermione snapped back, her temper flaring instantly.
He merely stayed silent as he looked away from her, finding the walls and the darkness on the other side of the room rather fetching. "You have a great imagery, then. Radical…"
The silence that followed was i just /i maddening.
"I've always been interested in knitting." Hermione suddenly spoke, breaking the dead air around them. "It was just fascinating to look at, you know, the way a string of yarns could even form a piece of garment; when I was young I'd always look at my mum's hands while she knitted my clothes and gloves. I was never really good at it, though." She laughed. "I remember Harry laughing at my present for him during our anniversary, he said it was horrendous, that dork, not even thinking if he'd hurt me; but he did wear it all day." She smiled at Draco.
It was obvious he was wondering where that sudden outburst came from, but she was pleased anyway when he said: "My mother used to knit when I was young." At least he was attempting to talk, however terse his answer was.
"Maybe it's a Mother thing, you know, knitting…"
"S'pose so…"
"… How is your Mother, by the way? I haven't seen her since… well, since I last saw her in Madame Malkin's way back sixth year."
"… S-She's fine, I guess…" Draco answered – was that a hint of something in his voice?
"Is… Is something wrong with your Mother, Malfoy?"
She was not prepared to see him shaking so openly in front of her.
"I didn't want to do it!" Draco cried out frantically, his hands shaking uncontrollably while he tugged at the cloth Hermione wrapped around his left arm.
Hermione stilled his hands from removing the bandages she diligently placed on his arm. "Malfoy, don—"
"But he asked me to do it, wanted me to do it — and I can't do it! I can't! I-I can't, I just can't! First… First Dumbledore, now… Mother… I can't, I'm not—"
You're disappointing, Draco. Just like your father and your mentor. And I even taught you Occlumency!
She felt him stiffen abruptly under her touch before totally turning his back on her. "… You killed her?" She found her own hands trembling while she withdrew it from him.
"Of course I didn't!" His voice was defiant, again. "I couldn't, but he… He wanted me to… I said I'll do what I can, but it's ridiculous, I can't, I really can't …" Draco's voice hung in the air.
… It's enough that you know that much, Granger…
Realization dawned upon her like a sudden gust of wind in the arid desert.
… Don't get your hands full with other people's business…
… I do not answer to anybody...
Silently, feeling emotions overflowing through her systems and practically brimming with, with something unknown, she clasped his hand into hers and squeezed it. "You did the right thing, Malfoy."
"No I didn't! I disobeyed the Dark Lord!" He was pulling his hand out of her grip but she didn't let go.
"You could never bring yourself to kill your Mother, you only saved her!"
"But I didn't carry out orders from my master while doing so in the process!"
"You protected someone important to you! You were brave, Malfoy; you stood up for what you believed in."
"… What is there to believe in, anyway?" He said, his embittered retort bouncing off the walls, taunting them in their panoramic tableau.
"… A lot, Malfoy, you have a lot of things to believe in." She gave his hand another mild squeeze. "Like believing that everything will go back to normal after this wretched war… And our looming freedom from this prison… And that England will win the next World Cup… And, and— well, love."
Draco was laughing, at her expense and outright in her face, and she was suddenly reminded of the old Draco Malfoy of her Hogwarts days. "Love, Granger?"
Hermione looked away and blew wind out of her mouth. "Y-Yes, Malfoy, love. I believe in love… And Harry and Ginny and Ron and Neville and Luna, especially Harry and me—" She stopped, finding herself sounding utterly stupid. Stupid, all right, but if it would make him at least believe in anything worth believing and fighting for, then she'll be okay. "—a-and you. I believe in you. Yes it's hard, Malfoy, but you must be brave, we all must be. It'd be all over sooner than we think. Pour cela que je devrais aimer, pour cela qui me donne l'amour, je ferai ce que je peux."
He was staring at her, again, but this time, she decided she could stare at him without blinking until he become conscious of what he did.
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"I wonder, Granger," Draco drawled out lazily as he leaned against the wall beside her, "what will happen after this War comes to an end…"
Hermione fiddled with the loose thread dangling below her dirty, navy dress while she sat down cross-legged on her cot. "Honestly, I don't know." She could feel his stare on her, but she didn't do anything to stop him. "… Do you hate me?"
He must have been surprised with that question, Hermione thought, but knowing him, the bigoted, high-and-mighty prat that he is, he would not show it.
"Yes."
She was actually expecting that. "Do you thinking hating me is better than being apathetic toward me?"
He seemed to consider her words before answering. "Yes. Hating is better than being apathetic."
"How so?"
"Well for one you could express hate toward a person. Apathy is just… Let's just say I'm uncomfortable with having to feel anything I don't recognize, and most especially not feeling anything at all because I know I'm still alive. And besides," He turned his body to face her totally. "Hate gives me an excuse to do something that I know would definitely hurt you."
"Really? Well I think hate is too strong a word for that."
"I think it's just fine, actually."
"Do you think you could still hurt me though, what with all your passé techniques of expressing that strong feeling of disgust toward me." Hermione smiled malevolently. "They were running old, in case you weren't informed."
"Oh? Then in case you haven't known yet, I'll tell you now: I hate you, Hermione Granger."
And it took Hermione a complete five seconds before she recognized Draco's lips moving against hers. When she did, though, she had already been pinned against the wall, arms held together by his left hand and her feet practically useless since he was straddling her.
It was the worst method of showing hate, she thought, because she felt her body immediately responding to his blatant advances. Her hands had long given up resisting his firm grip, and her lips devoured his hungrily. Oh how her body had been craving for something this intimate and stimulating since, since she had been captured, and knowing that it was him doing this to her, touching her like she'd never been touched before, made it all the more better.
She moaned against his mouth when his tongue swept into hers, angling her head a bit so that she could give him further access. Another moan escaped her when he plundered her mouth deeper, his tongue grazing the roof of her mouth. Hermione's body arched toward his hand's ministrations.
Draco, on the other hand, was rather pleased when she stopped struggling against him. It had felt like forever since he had touched anybody, and he was immediately growing more aroused with every stifle of her moan and sharp intake of breath. He moved his body closer, savoring the heat and the soft curves of the body he was in contact with, and he let go of her arms to make use of his other hand. His right was currently unbuttoning her dress, and seconds after it dove inside the fabric and slid inside the brassiere and further traveled to caress the underside of her breast – his cock stirred into life when her breath hitched and her bosom pushed flush against him.
"Malfoy…!" She exclaimed breathlessly when he pulled away from her lips at the same time his hands went inside her knickers – she felt so vulnerable, so open, since she had her legs crossed in lotus position, and she squirmed when his index finger ran through the length of her opening.
Hermione began to push against his fingers, albeit it was just grazing her opening, seeking to rub her clit against it. She had found use of her hand as she hastily undid the fly of his pants and pushed the pants down, and freed his manhood from his constricting boxers and grabbed his enthusiastic member, running her hands up and down his length in desperation.
He grunted the moment he felt her hand on his dick, and latched his teeth into her exposed tits and bit none-too-gently, and then began to suck in fervor. He licked her bruising breast when he found his finger inside her slick twat, moving in and out, pumping another finger with the second movement, the base of his finger brushing against her swollen clit with each hasty thrust.
So into the sensations he was giving her, Hermione found her hands on his prick moving in the same frantic rhythm as his fingers delved into her opening. She could feel the cold room become unusually hot, sweat breaking out of her neck, while her heightened senses soared higher, her legs undoing from the lotus position to open to him fully on its own volition.
Draco pushed her hand away from his already weeping member, pulling his fingers out of her twat with the sound of a sucker popping off against a flat surface, and grabbed her behind, lifted her off the floor before pushing his pulsating cock into her. "Fuck…!" He moaned loudly when he felt the walls of her vagina welcomed him, and began to move with reckless abandon.
She met her with each thrust, her head hitting against the solid wall behind her, supporting her weight with her arms as she pushed her weight against the floor, the weight of the chain on her ankles forgotten in their heated frenzy.
Nonsensical murmurs and pleasurable moans echoed and bounced off the walls with their coupling, and almost as easy as their arousal escalated did Hermione reach her peak, arching her back, her head colliding harshly against the wall, her thighs tightening around his hips, face up and vulnerable in the throes of sexual pleasure, her orgasm making her shake violently.
She heaved, in and out, trying to inhale the much-needed oxygen she lost while she just held her breath for a long time, relaxing her back toward the wall and she opened her eyes to look at Draco.
He was still pushing into her, still holding to her body, his face as taut as his back is – she could feel the muscles in his back tense and strung together in tight manner – thrusting his member, still moving violently into her, seeking his own release.
"I, hate, you." Draco grunted in between shallow breaths.
And then he froze in his actions, spurting his seed into her red, swollen pussy, before falling forward into her due to exhaustion.
88888888
She had been busy recalling all the spells in her head, all the spells that Harry had taught her despite her overwhelming intelligence, when the door burst open.
"Drache!" Came the Death Eater's voice, a bit muffled by the mask he was wearing.
She looked up, even if she wasn't even addressed by the person, but she saw Draco look up from his corner of the room, too. And why was this Death Eater breathing rapidly?
"Feuerstein." Draco stood up from his place.
"Liegen ihre loyalitäten mit dem Dunklen Lord?"
"Ich habe nie geschwankt, sie sollten das wissen!" Draco snarled.
The Death Eater looked at the door for a while, before speaking again. "Es ist zeit. Wir benötigen die ganze Energie, die wir erhalten können."
"In ordnung." Draco looked at her strangely. Were they planning to get rid of her?
Feuerstein, as she heard Draco call the masked Death Eater, began to fumble through his robes while speaking something she could not understand – was that German they were speaking?
"Für die Ursache?" The Death Eater was holding something in his hand, something long and thin, she could see from her side.
"Für die Ursache." And he was looking at her again.
Hermione's eyes widened when she saw the Death Eater throw a wand toward Draco, while Draco easily caught it in his hand. She could see a crackle of power at the tip of his wand when he caught it and flicked it a little. She shrunk back into the wall when he faced her and pointed the wand toward her.
"Draco, don't bother with that wench." Her gaze flickered from Draco, to the Death Eater at the door, to the tip of his wand.
But Draco had already cast the curse.
"Imperio."
88888888
She couldn't run that fast. Not after she had her ankles restricted for a long time, now he was expecting her to hurry up? "I'm trying, Malfoy!" She shouted back angrily.
"Sssh!" Draco glanced back at her scathingly. "I didn't leave Flint chained there only to have your arse discovered, Granger… Come on!"
They were running up the winding staircase, that uberly high staircase, she almost tripping on the robes he forced her to wear after Marcus Flint willingly handed it to him, with Draco unceremoniously dragging her around (without touching her, though), unmindful of the impending blasts she could hear somewhere.
"What's happening?!" She shouted when another explosion resounded upstairs. She never knew the dungeons were that far from the entrance of the building.
He didn't bother stopping. "It's time."
Hermione found her feet planted to the ground as the words sunk in. This is it – what their cause, and his cause have been waiting for; what they have all worked tooth and nail for. "What do you mean?"
"Tsk, stop asking questions already!"
"Are we escaping?" She needed to ask – it had been long before she had even thought of doing that, since she had been totally stripped of any semblance of magical power when they captured her. She had always thought Harry would be the one to save her, but she never expected a Death Eater, him, to even try and go out of his way to help her!
He turned to look at her again, his silver eyes gleaming with the torch's cast light. "This is what you believed in, Hermione. Your liberation." He said, before reaching out to pull her wrist and running toward the end of the staircase.
They have managed to get through the battle ground a bit fine, save for the green jet of light that narrowly missed Draco's right shoulder (Bloody fucking hell, he shouted despite his earlier plans of stealth) and her bangs, her (awful) lovely bangs, singed haphazardly.
"Where are we going?" Hermione asked breathlessly, still running, though a bit slower. They have been running for hours, dodging curses and hexes and spells while trying to worm their way out of the crossfire, and it was a Herculean task. It was almost sunrise, she could tell, from the hazy fog that still lingered near the ground and covered the whole area, to the beginnings of light at the horizon up ahead.
He didn't answer, though, and just kept on running ahead.
She followed, of course, for it seemed like he knew where they were going, and of course, she didn't know where the hell she was held captive anyway.
But Hermione couldn't help the squeal of delight she let out from her mouth when she saw what was ahead of them, stopping briefly to remove the Death Eater mask she was wearing, savoring the sudden cold air that hit her face. There was the old battered tree she had always thought was a landmark of some sort. "We're going to Hogwarts, aren't we?" She asked again when she saw the still waters of the lake.
"No, I'm taking you to the lake to drown you."
She knew not to take him seriously.
She pushed down the hood of her robes and ran to catch up with him. They both stopped at the edge of the lake.
Hermione chanced a look at Draco, who came to a halt earlier than she did, looking around, eyebrows scrunched up in consternation. "What?"
"There…" He murmured triumphantly, before he extended his wand-wielding hand and flicked his wand silently. And then he, too, pulled his mask away.
His face was flushed, whether from running or from the excitement of the situation Hermione did not know, his now-dirty blond fringes sticking to the sides of his (handsome) tired face, but the sound of something moving and scratching against the lake shore brought her gaze back to the lake.
There was a small, wooden boat that looked like it had seen better days, docked at the edge of the lake and in front of her.
"Go on, hop in before dawn breaks so they won't see you." Draco said quickly, pushing her in the direction of the boat. She complied, of course, for Hogwarts was just at the other side of the lake, and it had been too long when she had set sight on the Castle she considered her second home. She moved further to the other side, making room for him.
"Come— bloody hell!" She screeched when she fell down on the boat. "At least wait for me to sit down!" She exclaimed when Draco pushed the boat ahead. She turned and sat down, facing the castle, eagerly watching it, already anticipating the welcomes she'd receive as the castle began look bigger than ever.
Make that they'd receive, because after all, Malfoy had already decided to come to their side and fight their fight.
She turned, smiling at her companion, only to find the seat behind her empty.
Hermione's heart began thrumming fast as she stood up shakily, the boat increasing its speed albeit the fact that there was no one paddling. She looked around, the water rippling, and she set her eyes further back. "Malfoy! Malfoy, you bastard, where the hell are you!?!"
It was a good thing the fog cleared up a bit, so that when she looked at where she had been she saw Malfoy standing there. "Malfoy, damn you!" She shouted, and she swore she saw that smug look on his face. She pulled the paddle at the side and sat down, bringing the paddle into the water and rowing back in his direction.
"That's no use, Granger!" She heard him shout, and it only agitated her more when she realized that the boat was still moving against her wishes. The prick charmed the boat! She looked around again, seeing more and more black-blue water around her, his image a bit smaller than a while ago. She screamed in frustration, throwing the paddle into the water, hearing it clunk.
"I thought you were coming with me!" She shouted.
"I never said that, didn't I?" Draco replied, and it pissed her all the more.
"Oh fuck you, fuck you to hell, Draco Malfoy!"
Hermione swore she saw a ghost of a smile grace his features before he turned to walk away, waving an arm nonchalantly as if to say goodbye – did he just inch his head a bit to emphasize that?
She looked behind her, the Hogwarts Castle looming nearer and nearer, her patience running thinner and thinner. "Malfoy, Malfoy come back here and I'll—Ooh, you utter, utter prat! Wait 'till I get my hands on you…!"
"Threats aren't necessary, Granger!" He shouted when he looked back at her, smirking.
She stomped her foot, the boat shaking while she wobbled, arms flailing, and she got all the more annoyed when his laughter drifted toward her. "I'll… I'll jump in, Malfoy! Keep still and wait for me!"
"Jump in? Hah! No you won't!" He was laughing still. "You can't swim, remember?"
Hermione smiled fondly for a moment – he still remembered that?—, before it turned into a wicked grin. She then arched her back, held her legs straight together and stretched her arms out.
She saw Draco's grin falter. "Gran—W-What are you thinking— Bloody Hell! "
The lake splashed as Hermione's body did a swallow dive.
Pour cela que je devrais aimer, pour cela qui me donne l'amour, je ferai ce que je peux.
- - - fin - - -
Three things you want your fic to include:
1.
Draco staying loyal to Death Eaters, even though his heart isn't in
it.
2.
The lake.
3.
H/D/Hr triangle with Harry unaware.
Three things you do not want your fic to include:
1.
Shmoopy Draco
2. Character death (Dumbledore's death in canon
doesn't fall under this, right? If it does I'm sorry!)
3.
Unqualified happy ending
--- The German dialogue (though I doubt I was right in all of that
Liegen ihre loyalitäten mit dem Dunklen LordDo your loyalties still lie with the Dark Lord?
Ich habe nie geschwankt, sie sollten das wissen!I have never faltered, you should know that!
Es ist zeit. Wir benötigen die ganze stärke die wir erhalten können.It's time. We need all the strength we can get.
In ordnung.All right.
Für die ursacheFor the cause?
The H/D/Hr triangle, more like: with Harry nowhere to be found. (I honestly didn't know what to do because I have long entertained the thought of slash!)
Also, summary is a snippet from a song by L'Arc-en-Ciel. I thought it was just proper to give credit where it is due. It's worth it if you try to check them out, too. ;D (shameless plug, I know.)
Aaaand... the last line is French, translating to Hamasaki Ayumi's second phrase in "Dearest."
Clickie-clickie that itty-bitty button there! (It's just waiting to be abused!)
The Orange Girl