A Loose Connection
Chapter 2
By: J. Green

"Come, Arianna."

"No! Play more." Malfoy continued to bounce the little girl on his knee while Hermione glared at him.

"You shouldn't indulge her. You're still recovering." She was desperate to get Arianna away and out of the room. She was desperate to be anywhere but here, watching him act in a way she never imagined him. He was Malfoy: cold and unfeeling, often cruel for no reason than to show superiority over others. How long would it be before he became bored with the girl and cast her aside like so much trash? She could not afford having Arianna grow attached to him; she didn't handle change well.

"I believe I shall play with my daughter if I so choose." Her breath caught in her throat. She knew as well as he did that Arianna was not his. Despite the fact that she had thrown herself into his lap the moment she saw him.

"Arianna," she tried again, fusing her displeasure with Malfoy into her tone. Her daughter recognized the tone of voice and immediately hopped down from his lap, ashamed. Hermione felt guilty, but pleased that her daughter was at last minding her. "Ginny, if you will take her to her room, please. It's time for her nap."

Her daughter hung her head low and she slowly made her way to the door. Unable to bear the guilt of speaking harshly to her, Hermione reached out her hand as the girl passed, and brushed her silken blonde hair back. Arianna looked up with hopeful grey eyes into the smiling face of her mother and knew that everything was alright.

He didn't wait long after the doors closed behind the woman and child before speaking. "Arianna is a beautiful name."

"I thought so as well."

"How old is she?"

"Three."

"...am I to continue to expect these dead end answers and no explanation?"

She slid her eyes from the door to his bed, but still didn't bring them to his. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, Granger! Anything! I come to you for help, only to be greeted by Weasley's fists and nearly killed. I wake up to you nursing me back to health and a three year old girl who looks just like me calling you mother. I don't know if I'm just delusional right now, or if all this is really bloody happening."

She sighed, knowing full well that she owed him something. Since she didn't know the details about his capture and Ron's subsequent torture, she went with what she knew – and what was hardest for her to relive.

"I was out on a routine mission. Nothing big, just a quick pass through Knockturn to see if there were any meetings we weren't aware of. I didn't even see it coming. I was so stupid; I should've been paying more attention!" She paused, the memory causing her self-loathing to trigger again. Everything that had happened was her fault. It was she who insisted she could handle the scouting mission alone, she who had been silly enough to leave Harry's invisibility cloak behind, thinking her disillusionment charms would be enough, she who had been distracted by what was in front of her. When the stunning spell hit her square in the back, she hadn't even been aware that there was someone behind her.

"When I came to, I was in some sort of dungeon," his sharp intake of breath indicated that he knew exactly where she was talking about, so she didn't go into details. "There were... I... I don't know how many of them there were, they were all in black. There could have been five or five hundred, I just don't know."

She could feel his eyes on her and she felt unclean. For all she knew, he had been there, looming over her in his Death Eater cloak and mask. He could already know what happened next, and she didn't know what to say to him. "Well, get on with it then. What happened?" She looked up from his sheets to his face at this harsh entreaty. He wasn't mocking her, but his face was guarded, and his whole body was tense, as if braced for what she was going to say next.

"Voldemort was there. H-he ordered your father to..." She couldn't go on and she hid her face in her hands, peeking at him through the cracks in her fingers.

"My father is a lot of things, Granger, but he is not a rapist." His body was vibrating with anger at her words.

She lifted her head. "If it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure it was a punishment."

His harsh bark of cold laughter filled the room before his next words, "If it makes me feel better? You're telling me that my father, who has never touched a woman other than my mother since their marriage, raped you. And it's supposed to make me feel better because hey, it's not like he wanted to."

"He...he was gentle. I mean, he wasn't gentle by any means, but he cast some sort of numbing spell wandlessly right before –"

"ENOUGH. Merlin, that's enough. I get the picture." He leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes. "Leave."

"No."

His eyes snapped open, sparking with his anger. "Leave. Now." His words came out biting, and if they had been a whip, they would have flayed her skin.

"I cannot, in good conscience, leave you," she hesitated a moment, "especially since my story isn't done."

"Oh, this just gets better and better, doesn't it?"

"You must have already guessed some of it, you greasy pillock! Calling her your daughter in front of Ginny when you know full well nothing has ever happened between us!"

With her words, a smirk bloomed full force onto his face. "Yes, I guessed. Plus it helped with the story I told the Weasel of our romps in London."

"You did what! No wonder Ron was so mad all the time! Damn you, Malfoy, you've made the past two weeks unbearable for me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, the Weasel has been acting exactly as he always has while I've been rotting away in some hidden Order dungeon without food or water, but yes, your time has been unbearable."

"You're just going to milk this for all it's worth, aren't you? Not a thought to the fact that I haven't left your side to even see my daughter."

"I didn't ask you to do that, Granger. In fact, I do believe I've asked you to leave."

"I can't!" she cried, petulantly, exhausted from her days of little sleep and the stress of watching over someone she felt responsible for. "Not until you agree," she whimpered as she collapsed in the chair by the wall.

"I don't even know what I'm agreeing to; you've explained nothing."

She watched the door with widened eyes, as if afraid of someone else coming through the door and mucking all her plans up. Hesitantly, she began again, "I don't even know how I escaped. Or if I escaped. I just...woke up, here in the Headquarters, with Harry and Ron and Ginny all standing watch over me. They claim there was no rescue mission, that they just found me unconscious in the streets of Diagon Alley. My vocal chords were so damaged from the torture, I couldn't speak for about a week. By the time I could, I knew I was pregnant.

"I didn't...I didn't want them to go after your father. He had been kinder than I've ever known him to be. I wouldn't be surprised if it was his doing that I was put on the streets to be found. I hoped and hoped that maybe the baby would look like me more than anything, so it wouldn't be an issue. So I told them I didn't remember anything."

She looked over at Malfoy before continuing, "As you've seen, Arianna looks almost nothing like me. It was obvious the moment she left my body that someone in your family had done this to me. I didn't claim it was you, but when they came to that conclusion on their own, with the belief that your father would never sully himself with a mudblood, I didn't argue."

"Yes, I can see why your husband," the word came off his tongue like poison, "would insist on beating me to a pulp while I'm defenseless. I wouldn't much like to see my wife's rapist and torturer looking for sanctuary." Hermione cringed at this statement.

"You're married?"

"Well, we're not exactly on the correct terms to discuss something like that, now are we Mrs. Weasley?"

Her gaze narrowed before she stated, "No, I guess we're not. I'd just like to know if Arianna has any fake brothers and sisters I should know about."

"I haven't agreed to play the part of your rapist."

The slow smirk that grew on her lips made him shiver. "Oh? But haven't you? I do believe you just called her your daughter in front of a very prominent and important member of the Order. Not to mention the biggest gossip."

She almost laughed when she saw the realization hit his eyes, although his face remained impassive. She once again asked the question currently plaguing her mind, "Are you married?"

"Why is that so important?" he spat at her, angry to be caught in her web of lies, with him painted up to look like the villainous spider.

"I need to know if we should locate her and get her to a safe place as well, Malfoy. I promised you protection, and it wasn't just for you, it was for anyone important in your life." She could tell immediately, with the almost imperceptible slumping of his shoulders, that he was not, or if he had been, it had ended badly.

"No, I'm not married. And there are no other children."

"Me neither, on both counts, since we're sharing," she whispered as she stood up and approached the exit. When he said nothing further to her, she left the room.

So she's not married to the Weasel, Draco thought to himself, I should've known. He may be pureblooded, but he's still beneath her. His infamous smirk lit his face as he thought of the new and fabulous tortures he could put the lying redhead through. Oh, this was indeed Christmas come early.

His body was still stiff from his time in the dungeon and lying prone in this bed, and his rebellious stomach was aching. It didn't help that his thoughts were swimming with images of his father, his father, raping the mudblood. He had always managed to get out of those things before, why had he suddenly been unable to now? His father loved his mother completely.

Granger had mentioned something. He wracked his brain, trying to remember exactly what she had said. Something about an order? A punishment? Yes, if his father had been in a dungeon full of Death Eaters, he could not have disobeyed a direct order from that filthy halfblooded sham of a leader. He was positive Voldemort had somehow ensured that this information got back to his mother. And this was one of the reasons he wanted out. Who purposely destroys a relationship between one of his most loyal followers and his wife? To find out this was the reason his home had been so cold these last few years...

It was all too much to think about, and his pain only made it worse. He couldn't very well call Granger back in after he'd just ordered her out. He looked over the various potion bottles on the table by her chair, trying to see if he could determine which one would take away his pain. Sighing loudly, although no one could hear him, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but seeing and playing with Arianna, however shortly, had drained him of what little energy he had.

He had been through worse, he knew, but that didn't change the difficulty of his current challenge of crossing the room. He stood, firmly and without indecision, only to be hit with a wave of nausea. He waited a moment for the room to stop spinning before working his way over to the table slowly, in a shuffling manner.

Draco steadied himself with one hand on the wall, and brought his other one up to rifle through the various stoppered bottles sitting before him. Nothing was labeled and nothing was familiar. He uncorked a few, hoping to identify one or another by smell. Nothing. Damn her, he thought, damn her and her bloody brainy ways. It was obvious Granger had been concocting potions of her own, since it wasn't like anyone else in the Order was intelligent enough to do so. At least, not any of the members he knew anyway.

In a fit of rage, he made to brush the lot onto the floor in a pile of glass and goo. However, once his arm was raised to make the angry sweep, a shouted "No!" sounded from the direction of the library entrance. He was tempted to do it anyway before deciding that he wasn't really sure what the aftereffects of mixing these various unfamiliar potions together would be. And he preferred to live. And stay clean.

Still supporting himself with one hand, he turned his head slowly, eyeing the Weasley chit from earlier. "And why not?" he asked petulantly, knowing full well he had no intention of committing the action at this point.

"Hermione worked hard on those after she got you stable, just to save your sorry arse. I can only imagine why she would do such a thing, you ungrateful berk, but she must have had her reasons. Now, if you will return to your bed and tell me exactly what you were doing out of it in the first place, I might choose to help you," she paused before stating, "But only because Hermione asked me to."

He grumbled, but pushed himself off the wall and moved towards his cot, eager to get some sort of painkiller as quickly as possible. He could feel the blue eyes of the littlest Weasley boring into his back, and did his best to walk as gracefully as he possibly could. He couldn't appear weak in front of these people. He had to retain power. All his effort was for naught when he tripped over his own foot and sprawled himself on the floor a mere two steps from his current prison. The munter didn't even make a move to help him, despite his obvious struggle in lifting himself from the floor. The passing thought crossed his mind that Granger certainly would've helped him up, probably would've dropped everything to run over to him, in fact. It made him hate her even more. And the Weaselette.

When he had finally managed to hoist himself onto his cot, with its scratchy sheets and stiff pillows, he looked at the girl with narrowed eyes and demanded she bring him something for his pain at once.

"Oh, I have something for your pain alright," she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. She paused to look over the various potions he had just been about to destroy. The fact that her hand was hesitant as she reached for one of the bottles worried him. Surely she wouldn't poison him...would she? No, he was confident that Granger had given her proper and thorough instructions on what potions did what. It was just her way.

She approached him with a bottle of orange liquid, thin enough that it sloshed with every step she took and he could see through it clearly. It vaguely triggered something in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite grasp the thread of thought before it slipped away. She made to hand it to him, but he was feeling irritable and wanted her to do as much work as possible, so he simply folded his arms across his chest. Her eyes flashed with anger before she moved the flask to his lips and poured a healthy amount down his throat.

The reaction was immediate. He felt the potion burn down his throat and spread like fire to his limbs. If he hadn't been staring down at his body in horror, he would've thought he was on fire, with his skin melting into puddles and his bones charred and exposed. He looked up at the redhead by his bedside, into her shocked blue eyes, and noticed her lips were moving rapidly as if she was speaking to him. He couldn't hear her over the ringing in his ears and the feeling of intense pain coursing through his veins. He could feel his body violently thrashing and tried to shake his head to clear the ringing.

His vision was just beginning to cloud over when he saw the library doors slam open and a fast moving object barreling straight for him. The blur launched itself onto his bed and into his lap. It wasn't until he felt cool hands against his face, holding him in place, forcing him to stare at her, that he even realized it was Granger. He noticed that her hands were always cool, and for once he was grateful for it. Her hands were now smoothing over his face and his vision was clearing as he focused on her muddy brown eyes. She looked slightly cross as she reached into the wand holster on her leg and waved a spell at her throat.

"Malfoy! Stop that incessant screaming at once!" her booming voice echoed in his head. He was screaming? He closed the mouth he hadn't even realized was open, and the ringing in his ears stopped. He could not, however, control the thrashing of his body, threatening to unseat the woman straddling his lap more than once. Removing the spell from her throat, she returned her wand to the holster and her hand to his face. In response, his hands untangled themselves from the tight grasp of the sheet beside him and latched onto her wrists in a bruising hold. "I am going to help you. I know the pain is nearly unbearable, but I will make it stop," she stated softly, unaffected by his death grip on her.

Well don't just sit there! he wanted to scream at her. As if she could sense what he wanted to say, the corner of her lips quirked up in amusement before she turned to the redhead and silenced her relentless, watery apologies with a look. She muttered some instructions quickly, and the younger woman immediately bustled to the other side of the room, her nerves causing her to almost knock over a few of the vials.

When she had the requested bottle in her hands, she swiftly returned to Granger's side. With a nod in his direction, she indicated that Weasley should be the one to administer the potion. Jerking out of her grasp, he moved his head away, keeping his jaw tightly clenched to so as not to yell out anymore. There was no way he was going to let the girl who had done this to him give him something else.

Granger rolled her eyes before recapturing his face with a gentle hold, somehow knowing he wouldn't struggle again. "It's a sleeping draught, trust me. I won't let anything else harm you." Without waiting for his response, she forced her thumbs against his jaw in a way that made him open his mouth and the other woman hurriedly poured the brew in. As the world faded into black, the last thing he saw was Granger's worried eyes.