Breaking

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and the like.

A/N: I'm in a writing mood today, even if it all turns out horrible.

"Well if it isn't muddy little Granger," a familiar voice drawled from the doorway of Hermione Granger's office. Hermione took a deep breath before calmly looking up and coming face to face with Draco Malfoy.

"Hm. Seems as if you've mistaken me with another Granger," Hermione said, scanning her shirt as if looking for something. "I'm rather clean."

"Ha, ha, Granger, very funny. At least you've improved a bit since school." Draco crossed the threshold into Hermione's office and plopped himself down into one of the brown leather chairs in front of her desk.

"If only I could say as much for you, Malfoy. Now, may I help you with something, or did you just miss me?" Hermione straightened up in her seat, setting her pen down and fixing Draco with a fiery glare.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Granger. It took every ounce of strength I have to drag myself down here to see you," Draco said icily, glaring at Hermione with equal intensity.

"Well, you must've missed me in that case. You've never been the strongest of men. I seem to remember you running to our side when you realised the Dark Lord had no problem with disposing of you," Hermione said smartly, one eyebrow raising, challenging Draco to deny her accusations.

"Do not speak of things you do not know, Granger." Draco spat out Hermione's last name before continuing. "I came to see you because I heard you're the best curse breaker this century has seen. I'm willing to pay whatever you request if you'll accept the job. Keep speaking to me as you were, though, and I'll make sure this is the last job you'll ever get."

Hermione knew better than to egg Draco on. Whether or not she liked it, after his betrayal to the Dark Side, he'd been practically redeemed within the wizarding community. He'd formed some sort of truce with Harry and Ron, and the three now had some sort of weird friendship. He'd taken over running his father's company when Lucius was quietly sent to Azkaban. Not to mention the fact that he'd been named Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor two years in a row. No matter how he may have 'changed', Hermione still was not one to call Draco a friend, and vice versa. It was unlikely that the two would ever get along.

"Okay, Malfoy, okay. What would you like me to help you with," Hermione said tiredly, picking up her pen again and twirling it idly.

"Well, as you know, the Manor's nearly four hundred years old. Seems that ever since father's been... sent away, certain rooms have become absolutely unreachable. I can't even get into half of the rooms in my wing of the manor anymore!" At this, Draco looked particularly distressed. "Besides that, the magic shuts on and off."

Hermione let out a bark of laughter. "The magic shuts off? Now really Malfoy, I've never even heard of that happening. Surely you're exaggerating."

"No, dear Granger, 'fraid not. There'll be times when nothing works. My wand won't cast any spells, the paintings stop moving, everything just stops. And it's been getting increasingly worse. Used to only last a few minutes, but I've had to go two days without magic!" Draco again looked distressed, and he ran a hand nervously through his platinum hair, mussing it to perfection.

"Alright, Malfoy, alright, just calm down. I'll come around tomorrow and take a look and see if I can figure out anything that's going on," Hermione said, standing up from her desk as Draco stood from his seat.

"Yes, well, I'll see you then. Around noon, if you would? Have a lovely day, muddy." And with those kind words of departure, Draco left Hermione's office without even a thank-you.

"Jesus," Hermione muttered, "what have I gotten myself into?"


"H-Harry?" A shocked Hermione stood in the doorway of the Malfoy Manor, staring at her best friend who had just opened the door to said Manor. "What the bloody hell are you doing at Malfoy's house, answering his door?"

"Playing quidditch," a slightly breathless Harry replied, his cheeks flushed from his exertions. "Ron's out back as well. Speaking of which, I should probably get back out there before they kill each other." With a worried glance over his shoulder, Harry scurried away, leaving Hermione to follow his lead. She stepped into the Manor, jumping as the heavy mahogany door swung shut behind her. Hermione was barely a foot into the old manor and she could already feel the strong, ancient magic pulsing through the home.

Her sensible heels clacked against the black marble floor of the manor's foyer, the sound reverberating off of the dark walls. A huge staircase lay directly in front of Hermione, going straight for about twenty steps before branching off into two smaller sets of stairs. Hermione spun around lightly, taking in the grand room, complete with marble columns and priceless pieces of art.

"Never seen anything like it before, have you, muddy," the voice, that always seemed to be grating on her last nerve, spoke. Hermione turned to look at Draco, rolling her eyes.

"No, never. Actually, I've never seen something quite so horridly ostentatious," Hermione lied through her teeth. To be honest, the manor was turning out to be quite her dream house. Too bad it had to be wasted upon a spoiled ferret.

"Ostentatious? Yes. Horrid? Definitely not. I'm sure once I show you the rest of the rooms, you'll change your opinion." A door near the back of the house slammed closed loudly, and Hermione craned her neck to see Harry and Ron walking in, broomsticks in hand.

"Oh, hey Hermione. What are you doing here," Ron asked cheerfully. Hermione was immediately reminded of a floppy-eared puppy. Shaking her head to rid herself of the analogy, Hermione smiled back at Ron. "I'm actually here on business." Hermione shook her head again. "I still can't really believe you and Harry are here playing quidditch with Malfoy."

"Oh yes, because I'm so bloody awful, Granger," Malfoy piped up, rolling his eyes in a way scarily familiar to Hermione. "C'mon then, I haven't got all day." Malfoy strode over to Hermione, grabbing her by the arm and practically dragging her up the stairs. "I'll floo you later Harry, and Ron, well, I'm still better at quidditch than you."

Ron and Harry retreated from the house, with a few words better unsaid from Ron and a laugh or two from Harry. Hermione, who was still being manhandled, finally managed to wrench herself from Malfoy's death grip on her elbow.

Rubbing her elbow tenderly, Hermione said, "I know the Malfoys torture muggleborns, but I at least thought they saved it for the dungeon."

"Again with that sense of humour, Granger. My, I really have lucked out having to spend the afternoon with you," Draco said sarcastically, before continuing. "I closed the dungeon as soon as I got the place to myself, you'll be happy to know. Don't have to worry about the Rack now." Draco smirked at Hermione's disgusted face.

"Sounds grotesque,"Hermione said, following Draco down a dimly lit hall. The sound of Hermione's heels was muffled by the thick, navy oriental carpet, and the hallway became almost silent. Draco turned to a door on his left, opening up and ushering Hermione inside. She was greeted with shelf upon shelf of books, reaching from the floor all the way up, about fifteen feet, to the ceiling. A stone fireplace stood in one corner of the room, ashy and empty, surrounded by two ornate wingback chairs and a settee.

Hermione felt a calloused hand gently push her chin up to close her mouth. She hadn't even known it'd been open; she must've been gaping like a fish.

"I know, Granger, I know. It's the next best thing to heaven for you. That is, if this isn't how you picture heaven itself," Draco drawled, his timbre aristocratic as always. "Go on then, have a look around."

After the few initial seconds it took Hermione to process Draco's request, she moved to the first set of shelves as if in a trance, her steps slow and steady. Her slender fingers trailed over the smooth leather spines of ancient books, journeyed over the rare, thick tomes. Many of the books had mystifying titles, promising tales of the Dark Arts and instructions on the darkest of spells. Hermione was surprised, though, to find that many more were books she was very familiar with, muggle books. She found herself grasping a copy of Mansfield Park, pulling the book carefully from it's lodging.

"Full of surprises, aren't I, Granger," Malfoy asked knowingly, his eyes falling on the title of the book. "Father always said 'Know thy enemy.' Though I doubt that's the true reason we have so many muggle books in our collection. I don't really see how Jane Austen could have ever led to the rise of the Dark Lord." Hermione laughed softly at that one, and carefully placed the book back where it belonged.

"Are you ready to work now, Granger?" Draco smirked. "Or shall I leave you alone with the books?" Hermione rolled her eyes, and pulled her wand from her pocket.

"Right then, I guess I'll begin. I'll just perform a few simple spells, see how the room reacts to the magic." Hermione looked around the room observantly, Draco watching her closely, an amused look in his eyes. She muttered a few simple incantations, looking expectantly around the room. Nothing. One more time, and then another. The reaction was still the same.

"It doesn't work," Hermione spoke lightly, her brow furrowed in confusion. She huffed determinedly and pushed a stray brown curl from her face. Her amber eyes darkened and she began spouting off complex spells that Draco could hardly keep up with. Nothing worked.

"Did you honestly think I was having you on, Granger," Malfoy asked tiredly. "I told you that the magic simply cut off in certain places, certain rooms. You're lucky it's not the entire manor this time." He paused. "I had to make my own dinner last night," Draco continued quietly, his grey eyes cast down towards the floor.

"Oh my, you poor thing. For heavens' sake! What a torture you withstood, having to cook." Draco decided at this point that he was growing rather tired of Hermione's eye rolling habit. "Either way, I'm thoroughly stumped. I mean, as soon as I walked in, I felt it; the magic in this place is powerful enough to knock someone off their feet. But this room, well, this room just feels so blatantly normal."

"Well-put, Granger. Definitely couldn't have figured any of that out myself. I see now why I'm paying you good money," Draco said, his sarcastic tone biting and harsh.

"You don't have to, you know," Hermione retorted. "I'd be more than happy to be dismissed right now, if that's how you see it."

"If only you weren't the best. Believe me Granger, I want nothing more than for this nightmare to end. So let's stop the idle chit-chat, shall we? There are about five more rooms in this wing alone, and I don't exactly have a free-schedule for the evening."


Hermione was sitting silently, cross-legged on the floor of the library for the third time this week alone. Nothing worked, absolutely nothing. Draco had informed her that the magic had completely disappeared from the library approximately two days after her inspection, not even returning for a few minutes at a time. A large book was spread open in front of her, page after page of never-ending, Latin-inspired spell work. Her perfectly pink lips pursed and curled over every word, her tone monotonous and steady. The door to the library was opened cautiously, and Hermione barely blinked as Draco entered the room.

She watched him studiously as he plucked a dark green book from a shelf's corner, thick framed reading glasses perched on the tip of his aristocratic nose. Her lips never stopped forming those familiar words. Hermione's eyes skimmed over him, noting his expensive charcoal grey slacks and white dress shirt, rolled at the sleeves. Lovely forearms, Hermione thought, her brown orbs following the path from his wrist to his elbow. Draco shifted his weight, and his other forearm, his left, came into view.

The words caught in her throat, leaving her choking before they died out.

Imprinted against the stark paleness of his forearm was an all too common black tattoo- a snake intricately weaving its way through a horrific skull. Hermione couldn't hide the gasp that escaped from her lips; she had known of his past, but she had never physically seen his mark.

"It's not polite to stare Granger," Draco said, the words failing to be as scathing as he would've hoped.

"S-sorry," Hermione mumbled from her place on the floor. Her cheeks heated in a pretty blush, and she turned her head back to her work. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco's approach. As much as she had been in his home in the past week, the two had avoided each other, and she barely spent any time in the same room as him. Hermione was very aware, however, when Draco crouched down next to her, carefully tucking his glasses away in his shirt pocket.

Her eyes flickered nervously over to Draco and she did a double take when she saw his arm, proffered to her. The blonde sat there, arm held out, waiting, watching. Gold eyes nervously caught silver ones, blinking quickly as if to secure the image behind her lids.

"Touch it," Draco whispered roughly, his own large hand grasping her tiny one. He tenderly brought her fingers to the soft skin of his forearm, holding them steady as she flinched at the contact. A whimper caught in her throat and her eyes shuddered closed. She could feel his blood, feel as it rushed hotly through his veins, could practically feel his pulse beating rapidly.

Blindly, she studied the mark with her fingers, feeling the smoothness of Draco's alabaster skin. Her eyes opened curiously, cautiously as a newborn's, staring at the mark before looking up into his eyes once more. They hadn't left her face the entire time, she realised. His own hand had released hers, and Hermione realised that her hand was now smoothing over his arm of her own accord. With that thought, Hermione pulled her hand harshly away from Draco, realising that they both were breathing heavily.

She stood and she ran from the room. She ran from the room and she ran from him. But mostly, she ran from herself.