Trust
Me by silveris PG
Valentine For:
iceheart 161
Title: Trust
Me
Author/Artist: silveris
Type of
Valentine: Fic
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J K
Rowling. No profit is being made.
Rating: PG
Warnings:
none
Notes: The request was for a "Fun but realistic,
no "OMG! I suddenly realize I love you!!" fic. Hope I
deliver well. I think I kinda tanked in the fun part, though. Thanks
to my beta DeathSoulxxx at a Bleach forum, even though she didn't
really understand Dramione. All other mistakes are mine.
Summary:
Just trust. And you'll be free.
Trust Me
Draco Malfoy was no ordinary prisoner, that much was established even before he was even captured. Aside from the mere fact that he was a Malfoy--Slytherin Prince and Hater of All Things Good--the way he looked as he strode through the gilded bars of the prison in Grimmauld Place was intimidating enough. His head was held high, nose in the air, cold grey eyes unflinchingly staring back at the angry glares of the members of the Order. He looked unaffected, as though he didn't give a damn that he was now in the mercy of the side that he had been fighting against since his years in Hogwarts.
Death Eaters taken into headquarters were usually badly wounded if not severely winded up by hexes and curses. They were thrown into a cell and questioned, but more often than not, they would fail to give what were asked. They were either too confused, too dumb, or Voldemort had cast a spell to prevent leakage of information. Nonetheless, the Order knew they had to aim higher. Low-ranked Death Eaters were bound to know little or nothing at all. The Order needed someone in position--Voldemort's right hand man, if possible.
And who better to target than the Malfoys? The magnificent bastard Lucius or his great prat of a son Draco. One or the other, or both, was fine.
Fortunately, the Malfoy junior was just stupid enough to wander the Forbidden Forest on his own. That's when they attacked. He didn't put up much of a fight. He knew it was useless, and he would probably rather not get himself jinxed by half a dozen wizards.
He muttered a "Fuck" and threw his wand down, allowing the members of the Order to bind him.
o O o
"Don't you ever get bored here?" A slow drawl crawled its way from behind the call bars and into the adjacent study room.
Hermione pushed her chair back, stood up, and dragged it towards the cell. She sat down and crossed her arms over her chest. Malfoy looked back at her curiously, although boredom etched on a corner of his face, as he sat on his cot.
"I should be asking you that question instead," she replied. She had calculated that reply when she had slowly ambled over. She thought she was smart like that.
"Ha ha," was the retort, followed by an eye roll. He composed himself and continued with a more serious tone, "How's that potion coming along?"
"Why are you interested? Shouldn't you be hoping it'd...I dunno...blow up?"
He rolled his eyes again. "Did I say I was interested in its results? I just wanted to know its progress."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
Hermione hated the cheekiness he still had even though he knew he was behind bars.
"So, you didn't answer my question."
"What?"
"Aren't you bored? Your scarred boyfriend isn't always here--hell, almost no one's here, unless they're injured and need a place to rest. Why don't you let me out for an hour or two and I'll entertain you--"
"Shut up, Malfoy."
o O o
"It's almost done."
It was Christmas. Two more months and the potion would be complete. Hermione was the most excited, and it was understandable, since she was the potion maker. Adding that hype to the usual Christmas fever, she was almost jolly. She didn't skip like Ginny, nor hum holiday tunes like Tonks, but she was easier to talk to now. She didn't lock herself in the lab too long anymore. Harry was also able to spend his Christmas week with her, which was an added bonus.
"Happy Christmas, too, Granger."
The Order weren't cruel, Hermione noticed. Even though Malfoy was a prisoner, he was given new robes every two weeks, and for Christmas, he had red and green ones. He also had a stocking full of sweets. He just wasn't allowed to exit his cell and join the merriment in the living room.
"Happy Christmas, Malfoy."
She thought he saw him smile before he turned back to this stocking without another word.
o O o
It was a cold January that greeted London, but it failed to dampen Hermione's mood.
"Just a month more to go and the potion's complete," she announced. The Order was gathered outside Malfoy's cell, and Malfoy was in on the meeting, too.
"Are you sure it's all right, Hermione?" Ron asked.
Before Hermione could answer, Malfoy chuckled. "Scared for me, Weasley?"
"Shut up, git." Ron turned a deep shade of red. "I could care less what happens to you."
Hermione stopped Malfoy's retort by clearing her throat. That brought everyone's attention back to her. She explained that she followed the rules in the book, and checked and double-checked the steps and ingredients. She was 99 sure of her own work.
"What about the one percent?" Ginny asked.
"Yeah," Malfoy mimicked. "I could die with just a small mistake, Granger." Everyone's eyes turned to Hermione.
She was calm. Then she looked at Malfoy and with her most solid voice, said, "You'll just have to trust me."
o O o
It was a February dawn when the whole of Grimmauld Place heard Hermione's gleeful shouts of triumph. She had finally finished the potion. All they needed to do was to have Malfoy take it.
A sleepy Ron was sent to wake Malfoy up. He banged on the bars with a broken chair leg until Malfoy grumbled about poor people without breeding. Ron, miraculously, chose to ignore that comment.
"Get up, wanker. Today's judgment day," Ron called.
Draco groggily sat up on his cot. There was a slight tug on his stomach that he couldn't explain. It made him reach for his left arm where the Dark Mark visibly glared at him by the candlelight. He smirked at it. "Bugger off," he muttered sleepily.
"It will once you take this," a soft voice broke into his thoughts.
Hermione was standing by his open cell door, a beaker in one hand. Flanking her were Ron and Harry who had stayed up all night with her as she finished.
She looked emotionless, tired, but Malfoy could feel her nervousness as she slowly padded towards him, the beaker outstretched. He took it, careful not to touch her hand.
"You know this isn't a sure thing, Granger," Malfoy whispered as he examined the cloudy silver concoction. It looked like liquefied smoke.
Like the pensieve contents. It was almost disgusting.
"Won't hurt to try," she said.
Malfoy raised his head. Ron and Harry were impatiently waiting for him to just do it, judging by the looks on their faces. The sooner he'd drink it, live or die, the sooner they can get to bed.
He nodded at the two men once, winked at Hermione, and raised the beaker with his left arm--the one with the sneering Dark Mark.
"Well, cheers."
Hermione nearly gasped when he downed the whole thing in one big gulp. Then he dropped the beaker, which smashed into a dozen pieces on the floor.
o O o
The potion worked. They found that out two days after Malfoy took it. Two days after he passed out. Two days before the fourteenth.
"Happy Valentines, Malfoy," Hermione greeted as his eyes fluttered open.
Damn, what a headache!
"It's gone, you know," she continued when he didn't say anything.
"Huh?" was all he could muster.
"The Dark Mark. You're free." She sounded happy. And honestly, a little bit of him felt happy, too.
Malfoy found himself in a new room. It wasn't as dreary or as dark as his cell. It looked like a real room, with wallpapered walls and a soft bed. He closed his eyes. Finally.
"So I guess I should start spilling, huh?" he asked.
"That would be nice," she said, smiling.
He grinned. "Happy Valentines, Granger."
o O o
"What
exactly does the potion do, Hermione?" Harry asked over
dinner. "Well, you know how Voldemort cast a spell on all
his Death Eaters to guard information? I found out how he did it,"
she said, beaming as if she got another 112 on a Charms
quiz. "Really? How?" Ron looked interested now that
he stopped impaling peas through every prong on his fork. "The
Dark Mark," she said as-a-matter-of-factly. "It took a bit
of research and study, but I traced it all down to the Dark Mark.
It's a sort of lock, or a trigger. A planted bomb, if you may. Those
with the Dark Mark cannot divulge information about the Death Eaters
without going crazy or confunded." "So how is the
potion going to help again?" Harry persisted. He took a sip of
pumpkin juice. "It's going to completely erase the Dark
Mark. It would be as if it was never there at all," she replied.
"Then we can proceed with questioning without having to worry
about our source conking out on us." "I sense a
but," Harry said. "Such a potion has never been
tested on a living human being before. It's my very own formula,
Harry. I know I did well on Potions, but it's just my theory and I
can't gamble a life for that." Hermione guiltily looked down at
her plate. "But we're running out of time. The potion will be
finished in three months and it expires a few days after." "I'll
do it," a muffled voice came from the adjacent room. It was
Malfoy.
o O o
END.
Final Notes: Sorry for being so super late. I had to move residence due to a family spat, and I just got my PC delivered here today, after weeks of living off my cellphone's GPRS capabilities. Ain't enough, I tell you. I kept this short to maintain its realistic appeal, whatever that is. Its ending is hanging, so feel free to interpret what happens next...