Notes: Wow! Thanks so much to those who reviewed and added this story to favorites and alerts! It means a lot. And thanks to Honoria Granger who pointed out some little mistakes that I made in the first chapter.
Hopefully this chapter doesn't disappoint. Let me know what you think!
Chapter Two
"Fuck!" Draco swore as he left the room. He couldn't deal with this. He had to get out of there. He needed to get as far away from this woman as he possibly could.
Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to go against his better judgment and help someone? And not just anyone, but her? He did not need this. It had been hard enough keeping himself alive for the past ten years. Sometimes he felt as though he'd gotten by on nerve alone. How was he supposed to help her, this mudblood, when he could barely help himself?
He didn't have to. The logical side of his brain screamed at him to get rid of her. This wasn't just any girl in need of help. This was Hermione Granger. Gryffindor Princess. Best friend to Potter and Weasley. The brains of their little operation. Royal pain in the ass during his years at Hogwarts. Why did it have to be her? He half expected someone to jump out at him and declare the events of the past hour as nothing but a sick joke.
He stumbled into the kitchen and slammed his fist into a wall. He immediately regretted it when a searing pain shot through his hand, and he realized too late that it was the hand Hermione had bitten earlier when he'd covered her mouth. "Fuck!" He yelled again, and slammed his already injured hand into the wall. What was the point of stopping? He was already screwed. He hit his hand with an open palm against the wall. Then again, and again, and again.
He didn't know how long he stood there, channeling his frustration into the wall, but finally he stopped and ran his uninjured hand through his blond hair. The rational part of him wanted to throw the girl out of the house. He didn't need the burden of keeping her. It would be easy to throw her out. She'd already proven that she couldn't put up much of a fight. He doubted that she'd last long out there. She'd no longer be a burden to him or anyone else.
But those wide brown eyes made him hesitate. Never, in all the years that he'd known her, had she looked at him like that. Like he could break her with a single flick of his wrist. It unnerved him more than he was willing to admit.
He didn't know how long he stayed in the kitchen. It could've been minutes, or days. It hardly mattered. He was already fucked. He might as well go all the way. He moved away from the abused wall and began rummaging through his cupboards for something to eat. The act reminded him that he needed to go shopping. He made a mental note to do so as soon as possible as he came up with some stale crackers, a few pieces of white bread, and a small box of raisins he didn't remember he had.
When he made his way back to the living room, he was both relieved and disappointed when he found her right where he'd left her. She hadn't moved out of the curled position on the sofa. If anything her arms were clasped even more tightly around her legs.
When she didn't move he cleared his throat, which seemed to remind her of just where she was. Her head shot up and once again Draco found himself staring into her wide brown eyes. He remembered the time when she would look at him with nothing but contempt. All trace of that was gone now, and all he saw now as he gazed into those eyes was fear; a deep, unending fear that unnerved him more than he cared to admit. Whoever this woman was, she wasn't the Hermione Granger he'd known at school. The Hermione Granger he knew would have already called him a name and possibly threatened him. She'd be fighting for her freedom, not cowering in terror at the very sight of him. What the hell had happened to her to make her like this?
"I, uh, brought you some food. Hopefully it's better than that disgusting apple," he said awkwardly, holding out the crackers, bread, and raisins he'd managed to find.
When she didn't make a move to take them, he took a step forward to place them on the coffee table in front of her, but was stopped from doing so as Hermione whimpered and moved as far away from him as she could get from her limited space.
Draco immediately froze. The last thing he needed was to make her flee. As much as he wanted to convince himself that he wouldn't care if she left, he knew the truth was that he would chase her down and he really didn't want to go to the trouble. Just attempting to reassure her was taxing enough already.
"Hermione?" Her name was little more than a whisper on his lips, but he knew she heard him. She finally uncurled herself, but didn't leave her spot on the couch. The messy nest that was currently her hair fell away from her face, and her brow pinched together as she stared at him. For the first time since reuniting with her, this woman resembled the Hermione Granger he knew as her face twisted with anger.
The glimmer of hope he felt at seeing the real Hermione faded along with whatever emotion he'd managed to evoke out of her. The anger was gone just as quickly as it had come, replaced by the fear he was getting to know only too well.
"Hermione," he tried again, earning him no response. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I know it may seem hard to believe, but I only want to help."
He placed his offerings on the table and took two careful steps back, his hands held out in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "I know it isn't much, but this was all I have. I'll go out later for something a little more appetizing."
Hermione looked from the food and back to him, her brow furrowed in obvious suspicion. He suspected she was trying to figure out his motives. As a Mudblood slave, he knew she was shown little to no kindness, and whatever kindness had been offered to her had most likely been a trap to lure her into a dangerous situation. He'd heard his fellow Death Eaters boast about these tricks as though they'd been something to be proud of, and it had been all he could do not to punch them in the face.
But he knew he could not explain this to the emaciated woman cowering on his sofa. Any words of comfort he offered her at this point would only be met with wariness and distrust.
When she still made no move to take the food, he tried to reassure her once more, knowing his words would be in vain. "I know it's not much, but you're obviously hungry. I'm not going to take it away, if that's what you're worried about."
His words were met with silence, as he'd known they would. Still, he decided there was no harm in continuing to try.
"If you don't want the food, how about a shower? No offense, but you look like you could use one."
This much was true. He took in the state of her clothing for the first time. They weren't in much better shape than she was. Even from where he stood several feet away he could see the holes in her flimsy blue shirt and the rips in what were left of her filthy blue jeans. It was only when he registered the state of the lower half of her body that he realized she was barefoot. He didn't know why he was surprised. One of the first things Death Eaters did after branding slaves was taking away their footwear. It made it harder for them to escape.
Still she gave no indication that she'd heard his words. Apart from the few words she'd spoken when he'd first brought her to his home, she'd thus far remained silent.
He sighed. What was he supposed to do now? How could he help a woman who gave absolutely no sign that she wanted it? Letting his frustration get the better of him, he snapped at her, "If you don't want food or a shower, can you at least tell me what it is you do want? How am I supposed to help you if you don't at least give me a fucking clue?"
She shrank back at his tone, which he immediately regretted. Not that he was about to tell her that. Why should he apologize when she'd been nothing but uncooperative since the moment he'd found her? It was like talking to a wall. A very scared, broken wall.
When Hermione still said nothing, Draco let out a heavy, disgruntled sigh and stormed out of the room. Fuck this. He wasn't going to continue talking to her if she wasn't going to talk back. He'd settle for her usual aggravating know-it-all attitude at this point. He'd take anything to let him know that someone was inside that defeated shell currently dirtying the space on his sofa.
He went down the hall into his bedroom, deciding he wasn't going to bother with dinner. Not that it mattered. He'd lost his appetite.
Draco changed out of his Death Eater robes and put on his usual pair of blue pajama bottoms. He was about to put on the white wife-beater he usually wore to bed when he remembered Hermione's current state. She obviously did not have a change of clothes, and if she elected to get out of her filthy rags she would need something to sleep in.
He took out his wand and muttered a quick spell to wash away his body odor from the wife-beater then found his spare pair of pajama bottoms. After taking several moments to collect himself he went back downstairs to the living room, hoping that this time she would take him up on his offer to help.
To his slight astonishment, when he reappeared in the living room he found the crackers, bread, and raisins he'd left on the coffee table gone, and Hermione in a new position on the sofa. She looked up at him with guilty eyes and immediately shrank back.
"S-Sorry," she muttered, turning her gaze from him.
"What are you sorry for?" He approached the sofa cautiously, all too aware of how she shrank back with every step he took. He kept a safe distance from her, not wanting to scare her any more than she already was.
"For…for m-making you angry."
The words were so alien to him, so utterly un-Hermione, that he took a moment to appraise her fully. Was it possible that this defeated woman was not the know-it-all bookworm he'd known at Hogwarts? Could he have mistaken her identity and brought a stranger home instead?
But he knew he hadn't. She still had the same eyes, the same hair, albeit tangled and matted so that it appeared even bushier than it usually was. Her demeanor, though currently terrified and beaten-down, was the same. Underneath the ten years of obvious abuse and neglect she'd suffered at the hands of the closest people Draco had to friends, he could sense the same spirited girl he'd hated so much during his school years.
"Jesus," he muttered as he once again wrung his uninjured hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit he'd developed shortly after receiving the Dark Mark during his sixth year at Hogwarts. "I'm not angry at you. Only the situation."
Hermione muttered something, but it was too soft for him to hear. When he asked her to repeat herself she once again muttered, louder this time, "Same thing."
Draco sighed. This was going to be a long night. "No. It's not. If I were angry at you, you'd know. Don't you remember how we were at school? We hated each other and never missed an opportunity to let each other know."
Hermione shook her head, and it was though Draco hadn't spoken. "I promise I'll do better! I'll do whatever you ask of me! Just please don't hurt me."
"Haven't I already said I wouldn't? Fuck…" he trailed off, wanting to say more, but the wide brown eyes full of fear that was directed at him made him pause. Any further assurances would have to wait until later. Instead he held out the pajamas in her direction. She merely stared at them.
"Take them. I'll show you to your room then you can change."
When she still didn't take the pajamas he left them carefully on the floor in front of him.
"They'll be there when you're ready. I'm not going to wait around all night for you. Take them or don't, I really don't care. If you need me I'll be in the last room on the right."
He turned without bothering to wait for a reply and retreated back to his bedroom. He debated for a moment whether or not to close his door, but ultimately decided she might feel safer if he was shut in his room. Maybe if he kept out of sight she'd feel comfortable enough to change and go into the other bedroom. The house only had two rooms so it wouldn't take much guesswork on her part to figure out where she was to sleep.
He went into his bathroom to brush his teeth then laid down on his bed, feeling as though he'd been awake for days. His energy was shot and he felt as though he could sleep for weeks.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he looked at the clock on his nightstand. 3:52. When had he fallen asleep? He didn't even remember doing so.
Longing to return to unconsciousness, he reluctantly got out of bed, grabbed his wand from the nightstand, and opened his door as silently as possible.
The house was silent. Not so much as a curtain fluttered in the air conditioning that he left on at night. He always slept better when the house was chilly. He crept out of his room, feeling somewhat ridiculous for sneaking around in his own home. He checked the spare bedroom and saw that the door was closed, as it always was. He wasn't sure if that meant she'd gone in or not.
Hoping against hope that if she was in the room that she wouldn't get the wrong idea if he came in, he carefully opened the door and peered inside. He raised his wand and muttered, "Lumos."
The bed was empty. It was clear enough that Hermione hadn't heeded his earlier invitation. He wondered vaguely if she'd decided to leave. He wouldn't be surprised if she had. He still couldn't decide whether he'd be relieved or disappointed if he found her gone, but ultimately decided not to think about it as he ventured back down the hall and returned to the living room.
Hermione was right where he'd left her. She was curled up on the sofa still in the dirty clothes he'd found her in, her body curled as tightly around herself as it was possible to be. Her steady breathing told him she was asleep. At least he could be relieved about that much. He didn't know what he would have done if he'd found her awake and cowering in a corner somewhere.
Leaving the unused pajamas where he'd left them, he went to a cupboard in the hall and pulled out a spare blanket. It was one that had come with the house and smelled like stale air, but he figured it would do for the rest of the night.
Draco returned to the living room and draped the blanket around her small body. She wouldn't be able to hold in much heat since she had absolutely no muscle-mass or fat to speak of. He made sure the blanket covered as much of her body as possible then stepped back to get a good look at her. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
As he continued to look upon her sleeping body he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her during the past ten years. How had she managed to survive so long? What had happened to get her here? Where was her master? He hated that term but he didn't know what else to call the person who'd held her in captivity. Captor. That was the word. Hermione had no master. Not anymore, at least.
With one last look at the girl he'd brought back into his life, he retreated back to his room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him. He knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep with the events of the past eight or so hours weighing heavily on his mind. Instead he grabbed the comforter from his bed and sat in the stiff-backed chair he kept by the window and sat down, gazing out at the dark, desolate world he found himself in.
Would it ever change? Draco didn't know. All he knew was that he had a duty to protect himself, and the girl now in his care, as much as he was able. He would think about the consequences later. At that moment he just let himself have a small, temporary moment of peace.
