When we got to his room, Malfoy locked the door behind me. I took several steps in, looking around and was appalled by the conditions he lived in.

The first thing that struck me was the smell. The pungent odour of sex, leather, and sweat perfumed the walls. Overlaying it all was an attempt to freshen the air with some fake, chemical spray that was designed to remind a person of newly picked, blooming flowers but instead came off as too sweet, almost cloying.

The lone window in the room was opened a crack at the bottom, thank Merlin, but there was no active breeze to push the air around, so that stale, musky odour and the affected garden-fresh fragrance really had nowhere to go. They hovered around us, bearing an uncomfortable weight all their own in the enclosed space, making me as aware of them as I would another person in the room.

I wasn't prompted to gag, as I'd learned the trick of breathing through your open mouth when entering a new scene as a result of my job, but the smell in the room was strong enough for me to wish I had one of those Muggle facial masks that they use at crime scenes and in hospitals to cover my nose.

Second, there was the condition of the room itself. My heart plummeted into my shoes at the sight of a rusty metal bed frame supporting a dirty, sagging mattress. The thin, cotton sheet draped over the top of it appeared freshly laundered from its lack of wrinkles, but stains from bodily fluids I didn't want to guess at had long-ago set in, turning it a dingy, grey-brown. There were no pillows, no blankets, and no mirrors. A small bedside table was situated next to the bed; its single drawer was missing. A rickety, old armoire with no doors showed off a display of poorly maintained BDSM paraphernalia. The closet on the opposite side of the room had no door, either, and inside, I could see a small grouping of clothes on wire hangers - all skimpy outfits, some masculine, but a few that were clearly designed for a female body. None of them looked new; a few were even a thread or two away from coming apart.

I turned to look at my old rival, but he had his face turned to the door, his hand on the knob.

"What do you really want, Potter?" he asked, sounding resigned, tired.

"Malfoy... Draco," I began, speaking softly, as I would to one of my children, "what are you doing here?"

He huffed a laugh and turned to look me in the eye. In a mean, snappy voice he said, "Sucking cock. Want your turn now?"

I could feel his fury radiating across the distance through my pores. Daring to step closer, getting up into his personal space, I was distinctly aware of his hot, panting breath as it blasted against my cheek.

A beat later, he shocked me when he dropped his gaze to my chest in automatic submission, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he held the pose, waiting for my next move.

A part of me was instantly aroused by his reaction, even against my will.

It was something of a secret, but I'd discovered enjoyment behaving as the Dominant in my bedroom activities as I'd gotten older. It was one of the reasons Ginny and I had split-up years ago, as we'd discovered that change in me an incompatibility we couldn't surmount. In the years since our divorce, I'd frequented Muggle clubs that catered to such a lifestyle, but so far, I hadn't found a submissive that did it for me. Malfoy falling into the role so easily, without any prompting from me, was a shocking turn-on. From the time we were eleven years old onward, I hadn't envisioned him as anything more than a prat with a nasty mouth, a foul temper, and a delinquent's agenda. Now, I was seeing one of his hidden facets...

...and I was instantly, unexpectedly beguiled by it.

Keeping my focus on the challenge of talking Draco into leaving with me, I tamped down on my inappropriate desire, giving my hard-on a mental command to forget about it. "Why are you doing this? Why did you just disappear? There have been people looking for you, you know?"

A bitter smirk twisted his handsome face. "Yes, I know. All ready to give me that nice, padded cell in Azkaban next to Lucius."

Firmly, I shook my head. "No. Where the hell did you get that ridiculous idea?"

He glanced off to the side, frowning. "But... I mean, he'd... The night Granger was attacked he said that he was going to have me tossed in prison with my father if I didn't leave England right away, and permanently stay gone. He said he was going to make sure everyone believed I'd been the one to hurt her, just to make sure I couldn't come back. I knew he could do it, too, because he's an Auror and a war hero, and everyone fucking loves him and his spotted family. I always assumed he'd gone through with it out of spite – told them I raped her, I mean."

My head jerked back and I felt as if I'd been slapped hard across the face. "You're talking about that year Hermione returned to Hogwarts to take her N.E.W.T.s after the war, when she was assaulted by some unknown assailant the month before her graduation. That was you?"

Draco's jaw clenched. "I didn't rape her. I'd never do that."

I narrowed my eyes, assessing him for clues as to the truth of that statement. My instincts told me he was telling the truth, but that he was also holding something back as well. "If you didn't, then who did?" I asked, pushing, wanting to get to the heart of the matter and solve this decade-old mystery. "And who threatened you?"

Malfoy huffed in bitter amusement. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

I folded my arms over my chest. "Try me."

There was so much anger in his silvery stare as he looked into the very heart of me. "Really? Even if I told you it was your beloved best bum-buddy, the Weasel King, himself?"

It took me a solid minute to process that accusation.

"You're saying Ron raped Hermione?" I asked for clarification.

My former rival glared at me. "Yes."

"And he threatened that he was going to tell everyone you did it so you'd flee England forever?"

A curt nod answered my question.

"Why?"

Draco dropped his gaze to the floor and mumbled something too low for me to hear. I asked him to repeat his words, and when he did my jaw came unhinged in disbelief.

"Because he wanted me out of Hermione's life," he vehemently hissed. "Because he knew how she and I felt about each other!"

Reeling, I stepped back several paces. "You're... That's..."

I couldn't find the words to counter such a ludicrous implication.

"Unbelievable?" Malfoy supplied, giving me a bitter smirk and meeting my gaze again. "Told you. It's the truth, nonetheless."

I gaped like a gasping fish out of water, my mouth opening, closing, opening, closing. It might have been comical if we hadn't been discussing such serious things as rape, blackmail, abuse of power, and a cover-up of epic proportions.

"When? How?"

None of it made sense to me. I mean, yes, Hermione had definitely changed after her assault. She'd withdrawn, become quieter, less assertive, and more deferent to Ron in their relationship...

I paused, a terrible possibility entering my mind.

She hadn't just become reserved since that event. No, her behaviour was more like... well, like she'd become submissive.

Suddenly, little things she'd done throughout the years since that event began to take on new meaning. There were the tiny flinches of pain that tightened the corners of her eyes and mouth as hugs were given, the glances towards her husband before speaking in public, the fact that she tended to wear long-sleeved outfits and trousers, not skirts or short-sleeved tops even during summer or to fancy parties. She never wore bathing suits or went to the beach with them. She never wore make-up or tried to make herself prettier, despite Ginny's constant attempts over the years. There were the continual declines to go anywhere without Ron, and the very sudden loss of ambition in the career she'd always told everyone she'd wanted once she'd gotten her N.E.W.T.s and in the political causes she'd always championed, even as a younger girl back in school. Her house was always neat and tidy, and her meals were always served at the same time every day. Fuck, even her pantries were alphabetized and straight as a pin.

I'd always thought those things were a consequence of her sexual assault; that she'd been so traumatized by the brutality she'd experienced that she'd been unable to rally and take back her lost power. I'd assumed that she'd anchored her sanity and strength in perfecting routine, and that Ron had provided her support. I'd believe that was the reason for her clinging and even deferring to him.

How could I not have known?

"You seeing it now?" Draco asked. "Seeing what I saw back then?"

My heart was slamming under my ribs, and conflicting emotions roiled around in my head and through my guts.

"She befriended me that year, when no one else would. Said everyone deserved a second chance," my rented companion explained. "Her and her bloody goody-good morality got to me. She made me start to believe that maybe forgiveness was in the cards someday. By Christmas..."

He paused and I looked over at him. He was starting at the floor and his cheeks were on fire.

"I loved her, Potter. I'd have done anything for her - anything. Kind of ironic, seeing as how just the year before, I was involved with a mad man out to kill her."

He shut his eyes and leaned his head back into the door, tilting his chin to the ceiling. "I fucking loved her and that son-of-a-bitch Weasel... he ruined her when he found out she was going to dump his ugly arse. Seduced her with guilt. Told her that breaking it off would cause their friends to have to choose between them, splitting everyone's loyalties during a time when they were still healing from the war. He told her they couldn't stay friends if she left him, and that meant he'd have to stop being friends with you, too, because it would be too painful to be around the two of you, or some such nonsense shite." He glanced at me, fury in his eyes. "You know her. You know she'd sacrifice her own happiness for others."

Yes, that was definitely something Hermione would do.

Malfoy banged a closed fist against the door, causing it to rattle in its frame. "She was a virgin, Potter, and he took that from her not out of love, but out of a need to possess her before anyone else could!"

"Valentine's Day," I said, remembering that particular incident. Ron had gone to see Hermione that night because she'd written him the day before, telling him she thought they'd be better off as friends. She'd wanted to break-off their relationship. He'd gone to talk to her about it, and then come back to our shared flat in London early the next morning, still wearing the same clothes. He'd been rumpled, with that 'I've been well-fucked' hair, and as pleased as the cat that got the cream. He'd told me he'd asked 'Mione to marry him, that she'd accepted, and that they'd finally done 'the deed'. I'd been happy for him that things had worked out and congratulated him. "It was then, wasn't it?"

"She'd regretted it the next day," Draco said, his voice choked up. "Came to me in tears, apologizing. Shite, I hadn't even kissed her then, Potter. I hadn't even touched her like that. She was faithful to that slimy bastard and I respected her too much to push, but she kept saying she was sorry to me, as if she'd known it was the wrong thing to do with him when it was clear we had feelings for each other."

"Were you... together after that?" I asked, finding the words difficult to push through my teeth. Hermione and Malfoy. I was having trouble wrapping my head around it.

He ran a hand through those long, silken bangs of his. "Not right away, no. I didn't want to confuse her anymore than she was already. I wanted her to come to the determination on her own that it was best to end things with carrot-top. She finally made up her mind the day everyone was leaving for the Easter hols. Had her bag packed, ready to go, and left it right there on the platform at Hogsmeade when she changed her mind. She ran all the way back to the castle, and right into my arms."

"That's why she didn't come home then." I was floored, seeing the puzzle pieces come together one at a time. "She'd told us all it was to study for her upcoming N.E.W.T.s."

Draco's hand gripped the area over his heart, as if it were painful to remember. "Yeah, well, we did a little of that during that week, too. Not much, though."

"Shite," I swore, not wanting to envision my best girl friend having it off with Malfoy.

He slammed his hand against the door again. "She'd picked me, Potter. She'd wanted me, not him. I would have given her anything she'd asked, and to hell with what anyone thought."

Another memory intruded. "We'd been on assignment in the field that month, so he couldn't see her anyway. It wasn't until May that-" I stopped short.

May had been when she'd been raped.

"That he'd come to see her again," Draco confirmed for me my worst suspicions. "She'd agreed to meet him in Hogsmeade that afternoon to tell him it was over and to give back the pathetic little ring he'd given her on Valentine's night. I'd promised her I'd let her handle it, but... the hours dragged on and by mid-afternoon, she hadn't come back. I broke curfew then and took off for the village, worried that he'd talked her out of being with me. The Weasel has always had an unnatural hold over her, although for the life of me, I've never understood why that is. He's so far beneath her."

Ironically, during that year we'd been on the run hunting horcruxes, I'd secretly thought the same thing. There had been a short time after Ron had left us that I'd fancied Hermione and I might be meant for each other, but when she'd rejected me, I'd felt bitter. Of course, I'd believed that feeling to have been influenced by the horcrux locket around my neck, but however it had originated, the thought had lain there, festering like an open wound in the darker parts of my head for at least a week.

I'd felt terribly guilty for thinking such things about my friend afterwards, of course and done my best ever since to encourage him, but perhaps the horcrux had only amplified the truth that I'd suppressed in my heart for many years.

"Ron said-" I began, then had to stop and clear the lump that had lodged in my throat. "He'd said they'd met and talked, and she'd been under a lot of stress from all of the studying, and that had caused her to have doubts about them again, but they'd decided to work through it. After they'd agreed to stay together, he'd claimed that he'd separated from her for a few minutes to go buy her something nice at Scrivenshaft's, but when he'd gone back to their meeting place, she wasn't there. He said he'd searched for her for an hour, until he'd finally found her in front of the Shrieking Shack, lying on the ground. She'd been... you know."

Malfoy barked a cynical laugh. "Bet his report said the same thing, word-for-fucking-word. Bastard."

"Did you see it happen?" I asked, needing proof.

My blond companion shook his head. "I found her just as he was standing up, but Potter-" He looked me dead in the eye. "-he was tightening his belt back into place, like it had been loosened. And he'd been crouched over her bared thighs, not coming up alongside, like someone would if they'd happened across an unconscious person. He was also red in the face, sweating, like he'd been doing something strenuous, and Granger was unconscious under him, clearly Stupefy'd."

"That proves nothing," I tried to argue, still not wanting to believe. "He could have been leaning over her to check her vital signs."

Firmly, Malfoy shook his head, his long fringe brushing his cheek. "When I ran onto the scene, he stood up real slow, stared me in the eye with hatred. He knew. She'd tried to leave him for me, and he'd punished her for it. He'd let me know in that one look what had happened." His fists clenched at his sides. "I was shocked. I couldn't believe the Weasel would hurt her like that. That distraction cost me. He had me Silence'd and trussed up by an Incarcerous spell before I could blink." He snarled, and I could practically hear his back teeth cracking from the pressure. "He took my wand from where I'd dropped it and snapped it in half right in front of me. Then took me by Side-Along to the Port of London. Fucker dumped me in some cargo ship's hold, and threatened that if I ever came back to England, he'd make sure he was there personally to arrest me for her rape. He also threatened my mother. Said he'd make sure she ended up rotting in a cell next to Lucius. He left me in there right when the ship was leaving port. I ended up in Hamburg, Germany before the spells wore off and I could move again."

"You didn't go to the authorities then?"

Why hadn't he reported what had happened? Surely someone would have-

"I tried," he countered. "It took me a bit to find them without magic, but I reported what had happened. You know what they did when I told them an Auror - one of their own - had perpetrated rape on an innocent? They pulled my sleeves up to check for the Dark Mark, just in case. Guess what they did when they found it on me?" He sneered. "If it wasn't for the fact they were a bunch of bumbling fools, I'd probably still be locked up in a German prison right now. I was lucky to make an escape. I've been on the run ever since."

"You never tried to get back to England?" I pressed, looking for any flaw in his story that might reveal it to be false.

He licked his lips, looked away as if ashamed. "Of course I tried, but... Christ, Potter, it's not like I knew anything about living on the run. It's hard to get around when you don't know shite about Muggle life, have no magic, and are a wanted man. I did the best I could. On the streets, I hid out, moving from place to place on foot." His jaw clenched and remembered pain etched into his features. "I ate whatever I could find or steal. I slept wherever I could find shelter. Any money I managed to find, beg for, or steal I could never hold onto, though. The rape and press gangs that are in just about every city take it from you... among other things. I ended up here because of them. This" -he waved his hand at the dingy room- "is better than the alternative though. At least I'm not sick anymore. Almost fucking died five years ago from pneumonia."

"Jesus," I whispered, appalled by the tragedy of Draco's life. "Why don't you try to escape?"

With a bitter smirk, he reached up and tugged at the collar around his neck. "This assures I can't. Not unless I want my head disconnected from my body. Like I said, five years ago, I got really sick. I was delirious with fever and coughing up blood. That witch you met in the lobby, she found me passed out in an alley not far from here and brought me to this house. She's the owner's wife. He's the local Head Bruiser. Controls the gangs in these parts, and runs this brothel."

"You're... you're a slave?" I asked, even more astonished. "But that's illegal! Fucking hell! I thought you were here by choice."

I shook my head. "Technically, they call it 'indentured servitude'. The collar comes off when I pay back all the money they spent trying to save my life from the pneumonia. Took me six months before I could get on my feet after that, and they say I owe them for all of the medicines and the use of this room during that time. That sort of bullshite. Current running total is three-hundred and ten thousand Galleons."

My head started to hurt as I grit my jaw. "You said that happened five years ago. Surely, you've paid it back by now?"

Draco huffed an amused laugh. "Oh, but there's the cost of continuing to live here while I'm working off my debt. And food, clothing, use of the bathroom, salves and medicines to cure the damage the punters do to me - that sort of thing. It all adds up, doesn't it?"

"Bloody hell, at that rate... fuck, you'll never pay off the debt," I snapped.

"That's sort of the point, Potter."

I made up my mind about something then and there: even if he was making this whole story about Hermione and Ron up, I couldn't leave him to this life. No one deserved this. "We're getting you out of here," I stated with finality. "There must be a way."

Malfoy snorted, crossing his arms again and leaning back against the door. "There isn't. I've tried for five years. As long as the collar's on, I'm stuck. It constricts if I try to cross the wards of this house."

I stepped closer to him again, peering at the device around his neck. There were ancient runes etched into the black leather encircling his throat. "I bet 'Mione would know what these runes said. She could probably get it off you. I could bring her here."

Draco's eyes suddenly flared with panic and he dropped all pretence, real fear settling about his shoulders and in his expression. "You can't! She can't see me like this! For God's sake, Potter, you can't tell her about this!" His hands shook as he clasped them before us in a begging manner. "Please. I'll do anything you want. I'll suck your cock, let you whip me - anything. Just... don't tell her the truth!"

He dropped to his knees before me then and began loosening my belt.

I batted his hands away. "What the hell? Get off, Malfoy!"

Persistently, he reached to undo my trousers, his face a mask of desperation. I hopped back. He crawled after me, tears blurring his deep-set, world-weary eyes. "Please, I'll do anything you want!" he begged, and I could hear the pain in his voice. "You can't bring her here!"

Fuck, this was so wrong! It hurt to see Malfoy this broken.

I put my hands over his as they clung to the waist of my slacks. "Draco," I murmured, talking to him gently again. "Stop."

He hung his head, openly weeping. "Please, don't let her see me like this. Don't let her know what I've become! I'd rather she think I was dead than this!"

I crouched in front of him and did the only thing I could think to do: I hugged him to me, offering him kindness and comfort. It seemed he could do with a little of both just then. He didn't hug me back, but he did sob into my shoulder, dampening my shirt with years worth of sorrow and pain.

In that moment, I believed him. I'd been around long enough to know when a suspect was yanking my chain. I knew the difference between paranoid fantasy and the truth. This was the latter.

Which meant Ron had done the unthinkable. Maybe was even doing it still.

And I had to stop him.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Author's Notes:

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