Author's Note: Just an AU, one-shot (not anymore) I thought up and wrote on my cell phone one day, finally got it transferred and edited and thought I would share. I have a soft spot for Draco/Hermione because even though he's not as ruthless as Lucius or redeeming as Snape he's still got his own issues and we all love him for that. Honestly, I really don't consider this as incestuous, some people might and I apologize if anyone is offended, but Hermione and Draco grew up as strangers and they see themselves exactly as they were before. Maybe all three of us are living in denial, who knows, but I hope you enjoy either way.
July 24, 2014: THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED! I have changed a lot, so please re-read this chapter if you read this fanfic before today's date.
Summary: In a world where the Dark Lord won the Battle at Hogwarts and Hermione is a Black and resides in the Malfoy Manor, the heroine finds a way to keep her sanity and to relive the past in an unusual way…
House of Secrets, Part One.
'A sad tale's best for winter: I have one / Of sprites and goblins.'
–Act II, Scene I of the Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare.
'In the House of Secrets, I will tell you of loneliness. What happens here stays here...'
–House of Secrets, Otep.
September the Third, year 2001.
The manor is unforgivably chilly even on the warmest of summer nights. Before I became accustomed to the many mysteries of the old property, I always tried to figure out the meaning behind everything but I gave up searching for answers here- I simply don't care. It's just a bloody mansion after all; what does it even matter if it's cold or not?
In fact, I would probably be disconcerted if it was warm in here. It would be a bold-faced lie; the place was full of darkness, of evil, of death... there's no sense in trying to bring in any light or goodness.
Unnaturally quiet, it is, too. I would know. Too often at night I find myself roaming the never-ending corridors and lavishly large rooms when sleep evades me or nightmares drag me kicking and screaming from my usually magically induced soporific repose. There were secrets hiding everywhere, I realized; taunting me even when I closed my eyes and tried to shut out everything.
Really, I supposed I should be grateful I was no longer confined to the cellar to be summoned when information was needed from me. What was more, I even dined with my gracious hosts in the evenings and most mornings when they had no business to attend to. Not long ago, the Dark Lord had finally decided that I was no harm to anyone (including myself,) and I would not try to flee even if there had been the slimmest chance I would accomplish anything.
Besides, it wasn't terribly awful residing in Malfoy Manor, apart from the daunting enigmas its walls held I had access to the entire house but for the south wing where the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord convened and I even had my own room next to Draco's filled to the brim with brilliant books, Arithmacy charts, and lots of useful things I had not even touched.
And in all sincerity, why would I even attempt escaping now? There was no one and nowhere out there for me to run to.
The night Harry, Ron, and I were captured by the Snatchers and brought to the Wiltshire mansion was the most excruciating experience I could ever remember and would never forget- Bellatrix Lestrange made sure of that by carving the word 'Mudblood' into my arm and afflicting me with curse after dark curse for hours on end.
Ironically, the scar of the eight lettered word which had haunted me through the entirety of my education at Hogwarts that I would bear on my left forearm, would be the biggest lie of all.
After being tortured by Bellatrix (my elder sister, I constantly had to remind myself after the fact,) all over the whereabouts of the Sword of Gryffindor, the location of the Horcrux- and the boys tried to save me but were ultimately unsuccessful, resulting in me being questioned endlessly by Yaxley after Harry and Ron disappeared with Dobby. By the end of my inquiry I lay motionlessly on the ground, arm drying with blood and so disoriented and exhausted from everything I was put through that they didn't even bother tying me up or locking me in the cellar; just let me lie there on the rug in the drawing room while they discussed what to do with me.
I waited for Harry and Ron to return for me but it was in vain. I would never know exactly what happened that prevented them from coming back for me, which was probably for the best, as it only would have dug into my heart more. After I personally met Voldemort for the first time when he came to punish his Death Eaters, the Dark Lord interrogated me first without restraint.
The intimidating dark wizard prodded me for information on Harry, on Dumbledore, the Horcruxes but I stayed resilient until I was nearly unconscious.
At long last, Draco broke out of his transfixed stare at the wooden floor and desperately begged him to stop using the Cruciatus Curse on me. Later I would silently marvel at his unanticipated outburst and drive myself mad over trying to reason with it. But his plea only diverted Voldemort's rage from me to him and while all the members of the Malfoy home had stood by mostly passive while I was hexed, it was quite the opposite in Draco's case. His mother cried, his aunt holding her back with difficulty, and his father attempted to dissuade the Dark Lord's wrath before cutting himself off and remained silent, doubtless knowing they would all be next.
And soon they were all punished in turn, Bellatrix after Draco because it was her vault, followed by Narcissa and then Lucius at last because it only hurt the half-broken man more, for letting Harry escape by means of a House Elf, ('of all creatures!' He had raged at them,) another Horcrux and the goblin-made sword.
Strangely, it was not as satisfying as I thought it would be to watch all of them writhing on the floor, like they had done me. One by one he used 'Crucio' so relentlessly on each of them I had to avert my gaze, huddling in a corner until it was over.
When the horror was finally concluded, the Dark Lord instructed them to keep me here, for if or when he needed more information from me.
From that moment on I resided a long time I remained in the extraordinarily large yet impenetrable cellar; alone, clueless, and forgotten. I very much wished to know what was happening above ground, but I saw no one for what I assumed was months; only Wormtail throwing food in between the gated door. Why had they not even brought any other prisoners down like before? The seclusion made me a paranoid mess, skittish and scared of my own shadow. I roamed the outskirts of the damp walls endlessly or cowered in the corners when I heard distant screaming or imagined something was in the cellar with me, after me.
I lived in a constant state of fear and apprehension, blurring the lines of nightmares and reality. It became so I was not sure whether I was awake or dreaming sometimes, envisioning Ron and Harry coming to my rescue, defeating Voldemort- or worse, that we were back at Hogwarts and walking to classes, laughing while convening in the Great Hall for meals, or generally causing trouble and getting away with it-but the lucid fantasies always subsided and I woke in bitter disillusionment.
And then Draco came for me one night.
Like a damned, fallen angel he illuminated the dank surroundings of the dim basement prison, as he descended with a balanced grace I had never noticed in him before. When had Draco become handsome; and when did I start thinking of him as such?
From the emotions written on his poorly masked face I saw guilt, empathy, a creased, fretful brow- but most interestingly, pure, unguarded longing. Perhaps he was as lonely and frightened as I was, and that contemplation alone permitted me to be wrapped up his arms, and let him carry me all the way to his bedroom for the first time.
This is the night I believe that Harry ultimately gave his life, discovering that he was the final Horcrux, but Voldemort had still emerged victor in the end. It was the night Draco's mother was killed after she was proven to have lied to the Dark Lord; the night our lives had truly changed forever.
I did not ask him to confirm my fears that night but I didn't have to- I instinctively knew, so I didn't feel the need to actually put it into words. Why else would he come to his hated, childhood school rival, on that night?
And so the real reason I could stand to live like this was that since that night I was not treated like the 'Mudblood' I once was. Shortly after my lengthy imprisonment Draco sprung me from the cellar, locking me away in his room as some warped form of repentance in his mind, I assumed- but I could not deny I felt tremendously better. Over the next several days I could do nothing but wait patiently in his living quarters for him to return, praying no one noticed my absence in the cellar while he was away.
While I did not necessarily condone my newfound companionship, I was comforted by Draco nonetheless and much preferred being in the safety of his room than in the suffocating cellar. When he did return we did not talk much, only occasionally. He would bring me real food and watch me consume it ravenously and we would sleep soundlessly together.
Out of the blue, one afternoon Lucius entered the privacy of Draco's room to inform me that the New Ministry was conducting a full background check on me and my family. He wasn't even upset or surprised I was there.
At first I assumed it was some twisted kind of protocol they had, but after cautious consideration I suspected there had to be an ulterior motive.
I could merely call it a hunch but the Dark Lord seemed to remember there was something more to my story after he learned my first name whilst he tortured me and saw to it that the matter of my family was looked into personally. Draco had also been forced to reveal my school marks as well as my subtle gift for Arithmacy and I worriedly believed he wanted me to translate ancient runes to predict his future or something ridiculous. When it was learned I was possibly related to the Blacks my world began spiraling upside down.
To my utter shock, it was discovered I had no authentic birth certificate with my now adopted Muggle parents, the Grangers. The Death Eaters did some digging on my upbringing, and suddenly it was revealed that my name and blood status had been tampered with shortly after I was born.
When Draco told me the news, he seemed in high spirits and claimed he had always known I couldn't be the Mudblood I grew up as. There was evidence I could be related to one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, and under normal circumstances I would have been heavily devastated to learn that. I had no choice but to appear excited by this news as well, however, I wasn't sure what I felt.
But this was the aftermath of a war, and I was stuck living with the dark wizards I was encircled by. Having some kind of connection to a Pureblood was actually a blessing in disguise, and in all probability saved my life.
For the first time in over a year I was allowed to leave the Malfoy Manor as a result and Lucius and Draco escorted me to Number 12 Grimmauld place to see if we couldn't find some clues. A portrait of Alphard Black was discovered who haughtily told me, the Malfoys, and a handful of other Death Eaters the story of my real mother.
So just like that I was no longer Hermione Granger, the insufferable Mudblood extraordinaire. I was the late Cygnus Black's illegitimate child, the result of brutal rape and torture, the daughter of a mad Muggle woman who died in childbirth and Sirius Black's uncle. It was bizarre to think I was related to Sirius now, the one person who might have been able to understand all of this. But alas, my cousin was dead before I even knew him as such. The new knowledge took several weeks to sink in; I deeply felt that it wasn't just my trifling name and irrelevant blood status that had changed. My whole identity, my entire existence was flipped around in one day- my pitiful life had been a lie from the start.
I supposed Voldemort had a, for lack of a better word, weakness for those of followers or captives brought up as or around Muggles. I certainly qualified as the latter, and it was the only reason I could think of why he would not want me killed until he discovered my relation to the Blacks and peculiar talent for Arithmacy.
When it came down to the wire, I was useful to the Dark Lord because of my memorization skills, excelling marks in ancient runes, and my triple-threat background as a Muggle, a witch, and a trusted Order of the Phoenix member. That's why I was not dead.
Maybe I should even have wished I was, but that was never who I was, no matter what my last name happened to be. My Muggle parents and friends may all be gone, I might be stuck in this place until my usefulness runs out- but I refused to fall to pieces on myself.
I am Hermione Black now, and I want to survive; not become forgotten.
But regardless of my strange new identity, I was still not liberated by any means. Being a Black, even a half of one, I was expected to be educated in Pureblood etiquette, family histories, customs and rituals, and essentially, their way of life. Since the Malfoys were now my closest living relatives, aside from Bellatrix who still wanted nothing to do with me and Andromeda who was assumed to be currently in hiding with the Order, my learning depended upon them and they were solely responsible for me.
Even though Malfoy family name had slowly deteriorated over time as they fell out of favor with the Dark Lord; for not only had Lucius failed to deliver the prophecy and as punishment Draco failed to kill Professor Dumbledore, leaving the task to Severus Snape instead; but once Narcissa defected from Voldemort she paid for her sins with her life and the last of the Malfoy line had to compensate by doing things under usual circumstances they would think were beneath them.
Unfortunately, I fell into that category as well and now under the begrudging protection of the Malfoys and the surname of Black no one called me anything off-color or derogatory, no Death Eaters tried to cause anguish in me and I didn't even have to stay in the cellar or Draco's room. It was almost laughable how blood purity was so sacred here, but I knew better than to test my luck; it was a matter of utmost seriousness in this world.
Lucius, technically being my brother-in-law, developed more into a surrogate paternal figure to me after my years of living in his estate. He provided for me, in every sense of the word, and I did spend the most time with him after I learned the truth about my lineage. I presumed even though he did not accept me at first, begrudging his task until I finally had collapsed his undulating hatred and he fully realized I was not a Mudblood anymore and more of a member of his family. I was his late wife's young sister, after all.
In fact, I think after awhile he relished telling the history of his family, his late wife's family, and the Sacred Twenty-Eight, as much as I loved hearing them- if only because it was ambiguously fascinating; which had surprised me at first but after much reflection it dawned on me that it only made sense that he was proud of his lineage and imparting his knowledge. He most likely had done the very same with his son Draco.
To admit it even to myself was bizarre, but while I spent day after day with the Lord of the Malfoy estate and listened to him talk at length about the history of the Pureblood families in Wizarding England, I felt I was in safe hands. I took extensive notes at his instruction and filled scrolls of parchment with information, much like I did in my days at Hogwarts. It was soothing in the strangest of ways, but it offered some semblance of normality that I thrived on.
I never asked questions I just simply let him talk and absorbed everything like a sponge, curled in an armchair with parchment flooding around me while he spoke.
We would stroll through the manor and he would introduce me to the portraits hanging on the wall so I could gather what rich history I could from them as well. The older members of the Malfoy knew much more about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black than what was currently known since the last survivors were blood traitors, and I was devastated to learn all the men of the Malfoy family had a perilous streak of hushed charm about them. They would invite prey in under the guise of handsome looks and wealth until one was too close to see the danger they were in…
Despite all of my new training after months of compiling data, I would never be considered a Pureblood. I'm a Half-blood at best because of what my father, Cygnus, did to his brother's Muggle lover. When he realized he had actually impregnated a Mudblood and she had survived the ordeal, he flew into a maddened frenzy and tried to locate my mother and me to end us. He did not know then she was dead and his brother had cautiously concealed me away, but when he discovered the selfless actions of his sibling he killed Alphard in cold blood, assuming I had died in childbirth as well. Eventually, he turned his wand on himself, unable to tolerate the hard truth of fathering a half-blood.
So although I could not be blamed for coming into this world the way I did, I was made to behave like I should be responsible and act accordingly.
Once I showed full comprehension and understanding of this new way of life, I was able to roam the Manor freely, so long as I kept out of the way and did as I was told. This wasn't difficult at all once the Dark Lord stationed his headquarters within Hogwarts. Now the Manor was only used for banquets or Inner Circle meetings.
If I was able to toe-the-line and keep quiet, not disturb anything or anyone, I allowed myself to believe I stood half a chance of making it out alive. I didn't know how or when, but that didn't seem as important as the prospect of actually being free one day. I only struggled to realize what that would mean if the time came.
Perhaps I've just come to accept my life. I remembered how I used to fight in the early days of my imprisonment, when I was still Hermione Granger; I resisted and required them torture me for information, force feed me almost every day so I did not starve to death, and beat me so close to death that whenever I felt oblivion approaching I welcomed it and all its petrifying glory- but they pulled it back time and again until I didn't want to die anymore, so scarred by the things I had seen and felt in those terrifying, intimate moments.
One day I just… gave up.
"Honestly, Hermione, what are you still doing awake?"
I quickly spun around with a soft gasp as I frantically sought the owner of the polished, quiet drawl. Of course, it was Draco- leaning casually against the ornate door frame of the room I stood in with a blasé expression on his pointed face. Sometimes he and his father were nearly indistinguishable, and they became more so every day.
His hair was growing longer every time I saw him and he never attempted to get it cut or even just clean himself up with his wand, letting his robes and image become slowly tattered over the years. I wondered if he wasn't trying to turn out to be exactly like Lucius sometimes. His pale tresses fell over his face obscuring his piercing eyes, a perfect combination of grey and blue from his mother and father and although he was built lean his body was filled out now and stood at a full head taller than me, but still several centimeters shorter than his father. Still, Draco was undoubtedly a grown man now; however, he was just as affected by the war as everyone else.
But I had first-hand experience with this already. His stoic façade was exactly that, a false pretense he wore to mask his fears of inadequacy, of grief over losing his mother, and his struggle to live the life of a Death Eater he never even wanted to be, deep down I knew it to be true.
"Couldn't sleep," I replied meekly, shrugging my hunched shoulders. Truthfully, I hardly ever slumbered these days and my wandering of Malfoy Manor after hours was a nightly occurrence. I couldn't stand to be in my room; isolated in the dark with only my crippling demons to keep me company…
He breathed a small sigh of sympathy and outstretched his arm toward me, his hand beckoning me with a flippant wave even as an expectant, unspoken mandate was written over his pallid features. Without hesitation I placed my fingers in his and they laced together effortlessly as he led me out of the hall and back up the spiraling staircases that led to the third floor where our rooms were. His fingers were warm and I marveled at the unexpected heat between our intertwined fingers.
I've been here long enough that I no longer surreptitiously admire the sumptuous decor, the priceless, stunning art work, and the haunting Dark artifacts adorning the dark walls in the manor. This is my home too now and even though I know it has mysteries, its extensive and endless secrets… I know where he's taking me.
Draco's room is like any other young man's, I suppose; it is not clean but isn't particularly messy either. He has a four poster with curtains just like at Hogwarts but I was surprised to find his bedroom decorated in blues, greys, and blacks, with occasional off-white accents. The space itself was overly large, not unlike the other rooms in the spacious manor. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with tomes and trinkets, sweeping wardrobes surrounded by tasteful furnishings, Quidditch paraphernalia and tools, random bits of paperwork and odds and ends; Draco's things.
The first time he ever brought me here I thought fondly of Harry and Ron and how their rooms were so similar in the strangest of ways; not in the obvious ways or by the actual contents of the room, just by how… boyish they were. Some of my most painfully fond memories were those spent at the Burrow and the times we were all together, outside of school… I shut my brain off before it could not run away with that aching thought any further, clawing at Draco's arm with the hand not holding his.
He caught my fingers, not fazed by actions, and led me down the winding corridor.
Draco must have just come back from some kind of meeting and had been on his way to retire for the evening when he found me because he was still in a dark suit as he led me directly through the door of his room and straight to his mattress, drew back the curtains and helped me onto the deep, expansive bed. I sunk into the soft material and made no other move but to watch the boy I had been endlessly tormented by at school by undress in front of me.
Though, I supposed he did still distress me in some ways…
Loosening his wrinkled tie and deftly undoing the buttons running along the front of his shirt, he stared down at me in poised contemplation. Faint purple circles were visible around his lids which betrayed how tired he was mixed with the slight gauntness of his hollowed face. The Malfoys were doing everything they could to get back in the Dark Lord's good graces these days, repenting for their past mistakes and living in the aftermath of Narcissa's desertion. In a world where Voldemort had prevailed was effectively controlling the entire Wizarding population they had no further option, much as I.
"How long has it been?" I asked him for the third time since I've been here. The first time had been ten months and the last time I had questioned him on the matter his answer was seventeen, and I had felt my stomach twist in horror at that knowledge but I had to know. I must.
"Twenty-five months," he answered approximately, shrugging out of his clothing, leaving him bare from the waist up.
I closed my eyes, struck by the new knowledge; at the realization I had turned twenty-one years old some time ago, yet appropriately felt like I was already past my thirties. Time had become one of the many things that I was unable to stand; the passing of the days felt so surreally absolute to me, like I was slowly dying a bit more at every agonizing tickof the clock, so I stopped bothering to keep track of them at all.
The weight on the bed shifted and I instinctively curled toward him as his arms came protectively around my back and pulled me into his chest. I exhaled softly at the unexpected safety I felt when he held me and expelled any thoughts of the war or my family new and old out of mind. It was nice to be embraced. It made little difference to me who this man factually was; he was the only fleetingly familiar thing accessible to me.
Never could I ever know why Draco chose to be close to me. The boy I had known would not have run the tips of his fingers along my jaw bone tenderly, looking deep into my eyes. He never would have circled the outline of my lips reverently, licking his own thoughtfully.
And that's why I let him caress me through the thin, lavender nightgown I wore, let his lips brush against my neck, let his legs entwine with mine as he pulled me closer.
It just never occurred to me to stop him because I didn't ever want him to. We didn't love each other in that wonderful, romantic way but we understood one another; he knows I'm still the bossy, eleven year old know-it-all and he's still the arrogant, twelve year old ferret.
But that's exactly what we love about each other. He's the only memory I have of my life before this one. I look into his eyes, like chips of ice, and if I look deep enough I can still see the defiant, green glare of Harry's, or the brooding, blue eyes of Ron staring back at me.
I see the halls of Hogwarts as they were before; Charms lessons and Potions experiments, Quidditch rivalries in rain or shine, large feasts in the Great Hall- a distant time where innocence and hope still lived within us.
It makes me wonder what he observes when he's staring so intently into me... did he see the same, was he reminded of the ignorant bliss of his school days, or did he think quite the opposite; or maybe he saw nothing at all. That's what I saw when I peered at the dark-haired person who stared vacantly back at me in a mirror.
We were both panting lightly, him looking down into my face pensively as I finally bit my lip and looked away, blushing.
"I keep thinking how different things could be," he says quietly. I turned back towards him to study his expressionless face, and I see the tunnels of regret in his eyes.
Of course things would be different. Three years where Voldemort should have died and Harry lived was almost unthinkable. I tried wrapping my brain around it, but I just couldn't.
I would still be Hermione Granger. I never would have known my parents weren't mine, and that's something I wish I could take back. At least Hermione Granger was happy, confident, and optimistic. Hermione Black was scared, unsure, and barely skirting the edge of sanity- on a good day.
"Tell me, Draco. I can't even imagine what it would be like," I whispered.
Then he smiled a proper smile of reminiscent memories and I knew for a moment that he thought about the same things that I did. "Well, for starters, we would still be enemies, not related. I still can't wrap my head around that, can you? Hermione Melania Black..."
No, I couldn't fathom it most times either. I sighed as he began undressing me, slipping my arms out of the sleeves and then pulling down my nightshirt until it clung around my hips. His hands massaged my breasts as he began to nuzzle my neck.
"It all still feels like a dream... as if I'm going to wake up tomorrow as Hermione Jane Granger, and all of this will be..." But I trailed off, unable to find the right words and uncaring as his mouth closed around my nipple.
"Be what?" He breathed onto the now wet flesh, causing shivers to roll up and down my spine. He took my nightgown off the rest of way, leaving me naked beneath him.
My breath hitched as his fingers found my wet folds and started exploring.
"Don't know... don't stop," I begged him, letting myself soak up all the feelings, sensations, and emotions that Draco caused in me. I craved his attentions, and I could not fault myself with this for I had spent so long alone, terrified, wishing for death…
He chuckled lightly above me, and continued, "Then you would still be the Mudblood, running around and trying to save the world. Can't you see it sometimes, even now- after everything? Too late, Hermione… we were all too late, in the end…"
I moaned, struggling to make sense of his words while his fingers explored my core expertly. He was right though, I realized…
"Why, we would all have jobs at the Ministry by now, out of school in the real world, and we probably would still find some way to be squawking over petty arguments," he mused, but his voice was hushed now, focused on his task of drawing out my pleasure. I didn't have to ask who all was implied when he said 'we.'
My back arched and I clutched his cool, silk sheets between my fingers. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Stop teasing…" I whimpered under him, reaching out between us to grip his tantalizing hand. He paused in his ministrations as our eyes locked and he suddenly lowered his lips to mine in an overwhelmingly sweet, chaste kiss.
Never had he kissed me like this before, and I found myself returning his unspoken demand eagerly, my arms coming around his neck and back as he settled his body between my hips. My legs followed my arms, wrapping around his waist so in the next second he was fully nestled in my body.
We gasped and moaned into each other's mouths as he drove into me persistently, trying to soak up all the drowning memories we expelled from each other, greedily drinking delightful sorrow. When it was over, he held me to his chest and I clutched onto him just as tightly, never wanting to let go.
Granger never would have done this.
But I was Black now.
Please do let me know what you think or if you have any questions. I might POSSIBLY continue this, if I have the time and inspiration, so I am leaving it In-Progress for now. I do have some ideas about Bellatrix... but alas, a story for another time!