A/N: I have now fully immersed myself in the Draco and Hermione pairing. It happened by accident, never having occurred to me previously, but it was a fantastic discovery. I went through a seriously indulgent preoccupation with this couple where I read through hundreds of fics whenever I had the opportunity. I really have enjoyed writing this story, especially since angst (even in the small dose contained here) is not something I have attempted before.
-"Forgiving Fate"-
With yet another sigh of resignation, Draco continued to walk through his once stately childhood home imagining he was anywhere else. The frightening truth of the situation he found himself in was undeniably dreadful. He thought of countless alternatives that were doomed to fail as he followed the most disturbing trail of metaphoric breadcrumbs anyone could have ever conceived – freshly-fallen crimson droplets on high-glossed mahogany floors. The scene was enough to set off a wave of nausea which Draco wasn't even able to show properly, his movements being carefully monitored by the many Death Eaters he passed along his way.
The path he travelled needed no gruesome demarcation, however. After all, he knew well enough the way to his own bedroom. That was the intended destination for the bleeding girl who was the source of the mess now splattered along Malfoy Manor's halls. No, Draco knew where he was going all too well. He was simply taking his time getting there in the hopes that Hermione Granger would be rendered unconscious by the time of his arrival.
As the trail of gory red evidence suggested, it was certainly possible she had succumbed to the pain of her injuries already. Either that or any number of curses his deranged aunt had laid upon her should have caused her to pass out completely by Draco's estimation. The young Death Eater prayed to any higher power that would listen to the pleas of his wicked heart that Hermione's relentless Gryffindor perseverance would falter just this once. Anything which would leave Draco free from obligation to follow through with his aunt's wishes for their prisoner for a little while longer would be a welcome respite, a mercy he may not have deserved but desperately wanted.
As he reluctantly reached his destination in the long third floor corridor which housed his personal quarters, he noticed the elder Crabbe and Goyle conspiring quietly in front of his room. They hushed as he drew near, making Draco suspicious as to the condition of the captive who he was to now confront whether he wanted to or not.
The Senior Death Eaters didn't speak to him at all even as he approached the door, which was eerie given the looks of excitement on their faces. Feigning as much confidence as Draco could summon to avoid providing them with the satisfaction of an intimidated reaction, he stoically moved past them to reach for the knob of the door, all the while reeling from the daggers they were staring into his back.
Instead of announcing their issue with him directly, the derisive pair continued murmuring quietly to each other as they hurriedly fled back downstairs to entertain Draco's sadistic aunt until the Dark Lord's arrival. Their hasty exit was not the issue Draco was concerned with as it was common knowledge that leaving Bellatrix Lestrange alone to her own devices for an extended period of time was unwise, especially since her time in Azkaban had compounded her lunacy. No, Draco's worry over the situation came when the two minions had walked past him without a single word spoken in his direction, an inherent danger conveyed in their unprecedented aloofness.
Twin looks of accusation played on their faces, their hands looking as if they were eager to draw their wands upon him. That in itself was noteworthy considering Draco was his father's son – the Malfoy heir. His family simply outranked the Crabbes and the Goyles due to their higher social status. Fair deference to his family would typically be shown when the Dark Lord was not present to circumvent the usual pecking order. Despite the fact they had always treated the Malfoys with respect in the past, Draco was sure he heard Crabbe remark something about "wasting a perfectly good mudblood whore on a spoiled little coward" just loud enough for it to have been purposeful.
With the two bottom-feeders now out of sight, despite wanting more than anything to put a familiar barrier between him and all of the evil happening downstairs, Draco paused turning the handle of his bedroom door. The knowledge of what awaited him inside was enough to give him pause. He was in no hurry to rush to the side of his bloodied enemy, especially when she was sure to be seething with anger from being captured and tortured in the first place.
While the sympathy he felt for her was understandable despite the fact she was the same girl who irritated him to no end at Hogwarts, there was something else causing his hesitation that Draco could not seem to reconcile. Whatever it was, he was disconcerted about his feeling of righteous anger with the Gryffindor Princess as it lacked any reasonable explanation. However mysterious the cause, he was simply aware that it far surpassed his usual level of annoyance with the swotty know-it-all.
Perhaps it was the terribly ironic and slightly bothersome fact that of all people to be found by Scabior's band of mindless Snatchers, Draco believed Hermione Granger to be better than that. The fact became more beguiling that her former tormentor felt disappointed in his rival for her failure to avoid capture, an action which inevitably put him in the situation to make these startling and unwanted revelations. While it was nothing short of remarkable, Draco would have to ponder those disturbing thoughts later because right now he had expectations to uphold even if he had no idea how he would accomplish his assignment.
Walking into his bedroom with a sudden flourish, Draco shut the door behind him forcefully in a laughable attempt to feel more secure; temporarily hidden away from the perversions happening outside of his room always gave him a chance to calm down. Momentarily relieved to be in his relatively safe personal space, any accumulated bravado left his body the moment he saw Hermione Granger lifelessly laying on his thick, goose down duvet. She was so completely still, lying helpless and blood-splattered in a way he had never thought possible from the annoyingly vivacious girl. If he hadn't known better he would have thought her to be dead because of her current bloodied, battered condition.
Nothing about this situation seemed right to Draco anymore. Everything was out of balance. Even the modicum of peace he had previously experienced while locked away in his bedroom was being ruined by Hermione Granger's presence. It seemed like the world had gone completely askew and there would be no safe haven left for Draco Malfoy anywhere in the world.
Fighting the urge to run and hide, he reproachfully looked at the infuriating girl who had always surpassed him yet was now left to the whims of Death Eater cruelty. It was in this scenario that his mind was being overwhelmed, contradictions and insufficient evidence creating a maelstrom of strife as he stood frozen in his indecision.
From a child he had been told how great he was, how special and unique. Pure. Elite. It was incessantly drilled into him from the time he could talk that those of elevated blood status were better than the muggle-borns in every possible way. He lived his adolescent life by that claim despite the nagging contradictions Crabbe and Goyle posed to challenge that notion every single time they played together as children during their fathers' secret meetings. How stupid could he have been to think those two dim-witted thugs were better than other wizards simply because of their surname?
Despite the truth that was staring him in the face, it didn't become glaringly obvious that his pureblood mantra had flaws until he started attending Hogwarts with the very "inferiors" his father had warned him about. Draco had naturally assumed all the muggle-born students, and the half-bloods to some degree, would do worse in their subjects due to their magical handicap. Yet Hermione Granger, a muggle-born witch, had surpassed them all – even Draco Malfoy, the regal pureblood who could trace his lineage back to the time of the Founders. It was that resentment which stirred his hatred over the years.
Using Hermione Granger as a scapegoat for his confusing, indignant sentiments of pureblood pride, Draco had ignored his doubts and blindly followed his father's example. Now that he had a good look at the world outside his father's delusions of grandeur in the Dark Lord's "utopia", Draco knew that simplistic, bigoted view of the world wasn't the case. Granger was the special one in this situation, annoyingly so. She was "pure" of both body and mind, and now he was supposed to corrupt her fully.
Bellatrix had insisted he "dirty her up" as much as her lowly blood status suggested she should be. An untouched virgin mudblood was loathed to the deranged Madam Lestrange who would have preferred the entire world were as warped and perverted as she was.
As much as it pained Draco to admit it, there was a sick part of him he only just realized he was harboring which was looking forward to sullying the Gryffindor Princess just to make them more equal. The very idea of it was disturbing and somehow alluring at the same time. It made him sick that now he was left with no choice despite having fought an almost constant internal battle with his learned Death Eater inclinations ever since the debacle in the Astronomy Tower with Dumbledore. That horrible incident and everything leading up to it had cast the final shadow of doubt on his convictions to the pureblood cause, irrevocably curing him of his blind devotions.
"Damn it, Granger," Draco angrily grumbled as he slammed his fists against the door, hating the fact she was once again making things so difficult for him to make sense of. With his face falling against the hard wooden obstruction, he shivered, hearing Bellatrix's sudden cackling resonating from downstairs.
Sickened by his aunt's maniacal laughter, he hopelessly groaned, "I can't do this! How the hell am I supposed to do this?" With his head resting on the door as if he was a heartbeat away from collapsing against it in defeat, he continued muttering to himself. He needed to find a plausible solution to this appalling dilemma, something which would allow whatever was left of his soul to remain intact. He just had no idea how he was going to do it.
Laying on what Hermione could only assume was Draco Malfoy's plush bed based on the conversation she overheard between the two goons who dragged her limp body up to the third floor, the clever Gryffindor was careful to take a moment to assess her situation. Before she attempted to fight back in any way she wanted to think things over thoroughly, as planning and logic had always proven her greatest advantage when faced with insurmountable circumstances before. Especially since she'd probably only get one chance to escape, she wanted to make the most of her effort. Not wanting to compromise the only strength she had left in her diminutive, wandless position – playing dead – she was forced to assess the odds of confronting Draco directly the moment he arrived.
After the trio had been forcibly detained and harshly delivered to Malfoy Manor, Hermione had briefly thought their situation to be absolutely tragic. It was glaringly obvious that they were well behind enemy lines, stuck in the worst possible scenario inside one of Voldemort's hideouts without the possibility of a rescue since no one from the Order knew they'd been caught. All of those thoughts had occurred to Hermione even before Bellatrix started ripping through the flesh of her arm, making the possible outcome for the Trio look bleak at best.
Admittedly, Hermione's courage was wavering until the moment Draco refused to confirm Harry's identity for the other Death Eaters. Her schoolyard enemy's refusal ushered in a glimmer of hope for their possible survival. However small, if there was still at least a miniscule possibility they could avoid this situation ending in the worst conceivable way, Hermione would remain resilient, strategize and hopefully prevail. And though she could have easily resigned herself to a horrible fate after the first letter was carved into her arm, she had managed to stay strong for herself and her friends.
After being viciously manhandled by Bellatrix, her psychotic torturer gave instructions for Hermione to be delivered to the privacy of Draco's room as "a present". With a cackle, the insane female Death Eater giddily proclaimed that she intended to make up for lost time with her favorite nephew, saying he deserved a proper toy since she had been unable to send anything fun as a gift from Azkaban for his birthdays over the years. Even with the implications of being a "toy" ringing in her ears, trying to ignore what might become of her once they reached their destination, Hermione continued to "play dead" until an opportunity presented itself.
While being crudely fondled by the Death Eater lackeys who carried her through the house, she had to fight her face betraying her sense of disgust that even though they could have levitated her body they chose to physically transport her to allow time for their hands to roam. During their tour of Malfoy Manor, Hermione found herself thinking of various spells she could attempt if she could somehow get her hand on a wand. While she was busy revising her thoughts with the pockets of information she had passively acquired while feigning unconsciousness, Hermione learned that Voldemort would be returning to the Manor later that evening. That news made the circumstances all the more severe if she didn't rise to the occasion and act fast to get Harry out of harm's way.
As scary as the prospect was, Hermione knew it would serve her better to deal with the smaller obstacles which stood in the Trio's way to freedom before dwelling on the fact Harry's mortal enemy was due to make an appearance in the scaly flesh very soon. It was bitingly clear that the first hurdle for Hermione to overcome was going to be Draco Malfoy.
After the disgusting duo dropped her on the bed, she waited for Malfoy while almost laughing at the absurdity of her plan of trying to reason with the pig-headed prat. Finally hearing his abrupt entrance, she remained steadfast and silent to gauge his behavior for just a moment. Although listening to his ramblings while he banged his fists on the door, it wasn't as if Hermione really could have spoken anyway. She had been rendered dumbstruck.
He sounded so uncharacteristically confused and desperate that she knew she had to take his frantic disposition into consideration. With this new information and the observations she had made since the Trio's capture, Hermione began to think maybe luck was on their side after all. Truly only a little Felix Felices could have accounted for Draco being on her side, even reluctantly.
Though no amount of mental preparation could have helped ready Hermione to hear the self-deprecating tone which Malfoy had been quietly chastising himself with from the moment the door shut. Probably thinking he was in a relatively private space, his commentary was scathing and significantly more honest than she ever believed him capable. Knowing she only witnessed it because Draco believed her to be as unconscious as she appeared after suffering his aunt's brutal treatment downstairs, Hermione planned to use this knowledge to her advantage.
In the perceived solitude of his own room, it was revealed to the abused girl that his loyalties were compromised in a way no one on either side would have ever expected. As surprising as it seemed to hear at first, the more Hermione listened to him audibly wade through his deep moral confliction the more she was able to make sense of his strange predicament. Though his muttering was barely discernible at times, there was an incessant loop of things he was saying about not being "completely evil" and wanting to Avada himself just to "get out of this situation".
Aside from his almost nonsensical rambling, Hermionereluctantly recognized the precarious situation her loathsome schoolyard nemesis found himself in. She was surprised to see some unlikely similarities in their "trapped" circumstances. With his family so engrained in Voldemort's dark magic assault on the wizarding world, Draco felt he was in too deep to find a way back out again. And as difficult as it was for her to admit, she identified with that idea after having effectively erased her own existence from her parent's lives because of her involvement in the same war, albeit on the other side.
Hermione wanted to give her family every chance to survive no matter her fate. She was far too embroiled in the conflict between Harry and Voldemort to pull out despite the pain it caused her to eradicate her parents' memories of her. She simply had to do what she needed to in order to keep her parents safe; to protect them just as Draco had apparently done to fulfill his father's "debts" to the Dark Lord following the elder Malfoy's incarceration. It was in that analogy that Hermione understood things from Draco's perspective, but his father, at the very least, was undeserving of his son's loyalty.
From the moment the captured Trio was forced through the regal estate's front doors, Hermione had seen the way Lucius Malfoy was mistreating Draco. Somehow Lucius had disconnected himself from the fact that he alone was to blame for the hardship his family was forced to endure under Voldemort's rule, placing the responsibility of restoring their prominent position squarely in the hands of his teenaged son. After only a few minutes with them it became abundantly clear to Hermione that Lucius Malfoy would have sacrificed anything without a second thought to achieve his former glory - even his own child. So desperate to be back in his Dark Lord's good graces, it now seemed obvious that Draco knew that very biting fact as well.
His overwhelming guilt or whatever new-found conscience he was displaying could be used to manipulate him if the opportunity arose. How very Slytherin of me, she thought, but decided that when in the snake-pit it was best to slither and sneak in the same way as her enemies until it was time to strike. Knowing time was not her ally at the moment, deciding that she had pretended to be asleep long enough, Hermione suddenly sprang up to a sitting position on the bed.
This abrupt action utterly surprised Malfoy, who instantly jumped back and drew his wand to defend himself from the potential retribution of his prisoner for her earlier mistreatment. Since she had no wand to protect herself if he struck before she explained she meant no harm, she ducked her head down with her hands raised in the air as submissively as possible. "Please, please wait, Malfoy!" she wailed.
He lowered his wand apprehensively, but kept his defensive stance just in case this was part of a carefully constructed ruse on Hermione's part. Draco knew from experience that she was crafty and could throw a mean punch. His wariness was therefore justifiable even if she was without her wand.
"Look, I can see you are dealing with a lot already," she offered solemnly, "but there's no time for this right now. I overheard what those handsy assholes who carried me in here were saying and we don't have a lot of time before they come back to check on your… um, progress withme," she said, trailing off a bit at the end.
"Why would you think I'd care if they decided to come back, Granger?" he asked, looking almost relieved at the prospect. "Perhaps they'll take you far away from here so I don't have to deal with your… filthiness dirtying up my silk sheets," he said as scornfully as possible. Before wasting another moment of awkwardness, Draco cast a few cleansing spells to rid the bed and Hermione's clothing of the blood which had seeped from her many wounds.
After he was finished, Draco became instantly uneasy as he watched her reaction, or rather her lack thereof. Between the comment from Crabbe Sr. in the hall and whatever halted Hermione from making a typically snide retort to his rudely spoken words, Draco suddenly understood the true gravity of whatever she overheard in the hallway. If it was enough to prevent her from flinging an equally insulting barb back at the over-privileged prat he was behaving like, something that spoke volumes from the sheer novelty, he knew it was significant.
Instead of responding to his comment, she watched him intently as he conveyed his false indifference by unnecessarily smoothing out his pristinely pressed Death Eater robes. His nonchalance didn't fool her, however; she saw the flicker of understanding in his eyes. And after what Hermione had observed from him while she was playing opossum on the bed, she was starting to think better of the off-handed insults he had always been so quick to wield. It almost made her head hurt to wonder if they had always been as transparent and she simply never noticed, used as a cover to mask his fear like they clearly were now.
"Whatever you say, Malfoy," she said, completely disregarding his nasty words much to his surprise. "And just so you know, they will actually be coming back to check on both of us. They saw the way you reacted to Bellatrix carving into my arm and they weren't happy with you."
"What are you going on about?" he asked tersely. He was defensive in an attempt to deny the truth even though he already realized the blunder he had publicly committed downstairs. It happened the moment he flinched after Hermione's first scream echoed through the house, chilling him to the bone in a way even the Dark Lord's touch never had.
Unnecessarily, she explained it to him since he was being difficult and she was in a hurry. "All the others were completely unaffected by my torture, enjoyed it even, but not you. You gasped slightly before gripping your wand like you had it in your head, for even the briefest of moments, to stop her. Hell, even I noticed and I was busy screaming my head off."
"Yes, well, unlike the others I take no joy in hearing screams of torture. It's nothing personal, and certainly had nothing in particular to do with you, Mudblood," he said with a sneer, the sincerity lacking by the absence of force and conviction in the word he slung as an obvious defense mechanism.
"Well that may be your true opinion of me, but thank you for at least toying with the notion of helping me, however fleeting that thought might have been. You can't deny you did have the idea though because it was obvious to me, which unfortunately for you means it was to the rest of them as well. And now that they think you sympathize with me - with Harry - they suspect you're a potential traitor in their midst. Especially after you didn't identify Harry even though everyone was fairly certain it was him… Incidentally, since I know you knew it was him, I need to say thank you for doing that. That was dangerous… and very brave of you, Malfoy."
"For someone in a hurry to speak uninterrupted all you seem to be doing is flattering me, Granger. Get to the bloody point while we're both still breathing."
"Bellatrix's goons were whispering their suspicions of you to each other the whole way up here. They said if you don't 'take' me roughly like a true Death Eater would when given a shiny new toy to break, they believe they'll have all the proof they need to execute you on the spot. They intend to make a point against commiserating with the enemy to gain Voldemort's favor. They were also pissed that after you're dead I'll probably be given as a reward to Greyback for taking out an Order hideout or something last week. That is, of course, unless you perform the way they expect you to as a way of proving your allegiance. In that case, I am to be kept here as an example of how a pureblood should keep a "mudblood pet". While I have no idea what most of that meant, I know it had something to do with Voldemort's plan for his followers after he kills Harry and fully takes power."
"I don't understand what it is you're getting at. It almost sounds like you're… Are you saying you want to stay here? You want me to do that to you, Granger? Why on Earth would you want that… from me?"
"It's not like I have a lot of options, you know. And don't you even say something conceited about me using this as an opportunity to finally make good on some fanciful crush I've been harboring for you or something, you pompous ferret. For your information, I don't want to do this either, but all I know is that if you don't take your 'dear Aunt Bella' up on her 'virgin sacrifice', as she kindly referred to me when she handed me over to those two idiots, then we're both screwed in more than just the literal sense of the word."
Hermione's cheeks flushed as she continued making her proposition, or rant depending on your perspective, her gusto faltering a little due to embarrassment. "The only thing that makes sense in this situation, the only thing that will keep us both breathing is to give in to what they want. I don't know what the Death Eater position is on things that seem insurmountable, but I plan to live to fight another day. If that means I have to have sex with you to do it then so be it."
A/N: I don't make money from these characters or concepts, but will happily accept reviews on this story as compensation. :) Thanks!