Chapter 2
Play with Fire
"I see the dark crawling in
I see your walls, it's the end
But in a chain reaction
It's a dangerous game"
-Dangerous Game, Klergy
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"Is she dead?" Hermione heard a small voice whispered in her ear, shocking her out of her slumber.
"Miss Hermininny, Miss Hermininny," small fingers poked at her sides and a sticky set of hands touched her face. "Are you dead?"
Hermione groaned, slowly opening her eyes to find a set of brown orbs inches from her own. She gasped, taking in her surroundings. A small group of children were circled around where she lay on the dungeon floors. The records for all of the food shipments were sprawled out in a messy array. Hermione blinked her copper eyes and sat up slowly.
During her research of the food stores and ledgers in the Hogwarts dungeons, Hermione must have fallen asleep. Some residual dirt was caught in her hair, and she worked quickly to shake the mess out. The three children around her had small, gaunt faces covered in soot and mud, and their clothing was nearly as thin with wear as their malnourished bodies.
"I'm not dead… yet," Hermione grumbled stretching her back a bit. The children all looked at Hermione, wide eyes brimming with expectation.
Hermione bit her lip in thought. If Shacklebolt could steal food, why couldn't she? At least hers would do some good, she considered. Making up her mind, she gave her wand a light tap through the air. Three large apples floated out of a nearby bag, and were quickly plucked out of the air by each of the children. While they did not have enough food to sustain their rapidly growing population, the food they did have was at the very least of good quality, thanks to a little magic. Hermione put a finger to her lips, indicating it was to be kept a secret. The children nodded enthusiastically before running off.
She had one final visit to make to Hogsmead before she could come up with a solid conclusion. However, Hermione's knotted stomach was telling her it was all too clear that Kingsley was taking food unreported. But how? Hermione wondered. All of the food was shipped together, arriving directly into the stores, most of it coming from where it was produced in the Realm of the Death Eaters. Someone must have been sending him food directly for ages now, Hermione surmised, as it seemed impossible that he could hoard such a large amount of food in a short time. It also seemed highly unlikely that someone from inside the Realm of the Order was helping Kingsley, Hermione pondered, thinking back to the thin faces of the children. No one here had anything left to give.
As she walked towards the tunnel to Hogsmeade, Hermione found herself avoiding the gazes of the people. She was ashamed of her uncharacteristic lack of perception. How had she not noticed something amiss sooner?
Hermione let out a groan of anger, and turned up to look at the blue-tinted dome shining above her. The magical dome placed around Hogwarts used the same magic that had been displayed during the Battle of Hogwarts, and its glow often reminded her that these struggles they faced had been going on well before the earth's destruction. Evil had won, despite the fall of Voldemort. A chill in the air caused Hermione to pull her old robes tighter. While safe, the dome was not temperature controlled, and the atmosphere was heavily affected by that of the outside world - well, for the most part. Rain, now poisoned by radiation, was unable to penetrate the advanced wards, nor the ground underneath it. On days like today, Hermione often lost herself in old memories of standing outside Hogwarts, face turned upwards to feel the cool drops of water cleansing her thoughts so she could process them. It had once been one of her favorite feelings, one she knew was a long gone dream.
Hermione, far too concerned with her own misery as she walked onward, connected with a hard shoulder, and she nearly lost her balance.
"Miss Granger, you should really keep your eyes on the road!" A voice chuckled beside her.
"Sorry," she murmured under her breath, rubbing her arm, which was now doubtless to bruise. But, it did not stop her fast pace forward.
Over the course of the next few minutes, she collided with no less than three more people, each giving her a small smile that she had trouble returning. The area around Hogwarts was becoming entirely too cramped; the streets were always bustling with people, and the houses were being erected nearly on top of one another. Hogsmeade, protected by a second, smaller dome and attached by a tunnel forged with radiation proof, goblin produced steel, now felt more like Wizarding London, a decrepit, decaying London, but still a city nonetheless. Without the resources, or more specifically, the money to buy the resources produced in the Goblin mines, the new housing felt more old-worldly than modern.
A fourth person ran into her, but this time, the person latched onto her arm, turning her lithe body towards them.
"Ah, Miss Granger, just the witch I was looking for."
Hermione's eyes snapped upwards toward the man's voice. She recognized him as one of Kingsley's guardsmen, a retired Auror by the name of Dawlish.
"Can I help you?" Hermione said impatiently, trying her hardest not to sound annoyed with the man blocking her from her research.
"Minister Kingsley has requested your presence in his office immediately," Dawlish stated.
Hermione narrowed her eyes. The king can wait! She wanted to scream.
Calm yourself, Hermione. Don't make Kingsley suspicious.
She straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin just slightly to meet the guard's eyes. "Very well, I will be there shortly."
"He requested I escort you. I'm afraid the matter is urgent," Dawlish said as he turned her body to face Hogwarts. His grip on her arm had become stronger, and Hermione's heart picked up its pace. Something felt wrong. Kingsley never sent his guards for her.
With little other option, Hermione sighed and motioned with her hands for the man to lead the way. The feeling of dread that had built over the course of the night latched parasitically in her stomach, causing her frown to deepen as she contemplated the meaning of this new development.
Kingsley was almost certainly being bribed. The land surrounding Hogwarts was becoming dangerously unsustainable, and now, a personal guard was escorting her like some sort of delinquent.
This was not what she had planned, but then, when did things ever go according to her wishes?
The walk to Kingsley's tower was silent, giving Hermione's mind time to lock itself in a never-ending battle against her own thoughts. By the time she was greeted by Kingsley's solemn face, her nerves had caused her muscles to tighten painfully.
"Hermione! Please take a seat. I regret I have some important information to discuss with you."
Not trusting her own voice to hide her nerves, Hermione stayed silent as she sat down, gripping her wand in her hand as if it were her last ally left in this forsaken world.
Kingsley sighed, his friendly, though untrustworthy eyes closed in distress. "There really is no easy way to say this. You are my most loyal, trusted adviser and I believe every person here has you to thank for their lives."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. Flattery, in her experience, always came at a price.
"An inside source informed me that the Realm of the Highlands, led by Fenrir, are planning to attack Hogwarts in a few months time. They have been preparing for war, and have formed a secret alliance with the muggles."
Hermione's face dropped. She had long anticipated the day when the Realms of Europe would finally feel the need to war amongst themselves. Still, something unsettled her about the delivery of this news. Why now? Why the urgency?
"This is unfortunate, though not entirely unexpected, given our circumstances. We've long talked about this happening," Hermione agreed gravely. "But, Minister, how did you come by this information?" She shrewdly questioned. She tried her best to keep her accusatory stare to a minimum.
Kingsley's cringed. "For some months.. ah.. you see... Lucius Malfoy has been trying to contact me. I thought that now… I mean we truly are in such dire need of food, that this would be as good a time as any to hear what the man has to say," he sputtered.
Hermione nearly forgot herself, and her mouth twitched with the need to scream at the Minister. Of all the secrets he could have kept, this was more concerning than any theory her mind had conjured.
"When did you speak with Lucius Malfoy?"
"Last night. We thought it best to meet in secret before anyone could jump to any conclusions." Kingsley refused to meet her accusatory glare.
Her copper eyes widened suddenly with realization. "It's him… Lucius has been sending you food," Hermione whispered in shock as she furiously tried to make sense of the situation. Kingsley confirmed her theory by wincing.
"We… well we came to an arrangement of sorts… that involves you. I know this might seem an... unusual request for a muggleborn, but it was common at one point, and... it's the only way…"
Hermione felt the itching of bile at the base of her esophagus. With a cold dread, she finally identified the look on Kingsley's face. It was shame. Whatever the wizard had done during this meeting caused him regret, though, not enough to rescind whatever agreement they had come to.
"Spit it out, Kingsley," Hermione interrupted, finally losing her temper with the wizard. "What exactly are you asking of me?"
"Lucius proposed an alliance."
Hermione stilled. "What sort of alliance?" She murmured, her voice soft, but lethal. She had all she could do to keep the contents of her stomach in place.
"We will be joining our Realms through a bonded marriage so that we can defeat our mutual enemies, and control the food and water together, while restoring peace. I chose you, as my closest advisor, the closest thing I have to a daughter to… well..." He let out a heavy sigh, and finally met her eyes. What he saw must have frightened him, because he stood, and clutched his wand through his royal purple robes.
Hermione closed her eyes and her voice raised powerfully throughout the small tower office. "You want me to whore myself out for food? Is that what you are asking of me?" Hermione bit out angrily through gritted teeth. In her heart, she knew she should be cautious, knew that this man held the power to hurt her - the guards on the other side of the door were not just for show. But despite this, she wanted to play with fire, wanted to burn the minister with her eyes, and laugh over his ashes.
"This is greater than both of us. This is all we have fought for!" Kingsley argued back. Hermione laughed bitterly at his look of confusion.
"When has that ever been our goal? We didn't fight to suddenly become allies with the fucking Death Eaters. I REFUSE to believe this is the only way," She yelled. Her heavy legs, and shock, kept her glued in her chair.
Bonded marriage… bound. Forever.
"Think of the future of our realm! The power this would give us! We could finally feed our people properly, move forward again," Kingsley pleaded. He knew this was going to be a difficult conversation, but Hermione's eyes were wild with an unrecognizable anger. His own face hardened to meet her gaze.
"Well, find another way, because I am not going to be used as a pawn in some pointless war," Hermione's shrill voice carried throughout the office, causing Kingsley to wince again.
Kingsley took a step towards Hermione, his severe face doing nothing to calm her anger. "You are not a pawn, you are the catalyst for our peace. Just think, no more time wasted fighting. No more struggling. We can finally be free to rule the realms as we please. With our numbers, and the control of both food and water supply, we'd be unstoppable. And, we will be able to defeat Fenrir!"
"There is another way!" Hermione cried out. "I will not be bound-"
Kingsley raised an eyebrow, his own anger finally rising to match hers. "You act as though you have a choice. As Minister, I am demanding you to protect your people. Your realm needs you to rise to this challenge. We cannot defeat Fenrir and the muggles without them. We need what Lucius is offering us. Can you not see that?" Kingsley demanded.
Hermione's heart seized. For once, her mind failed her; She failed to have an answer ready. She failed to know the right thing to do. She thought back to the malnourished children, the overpopulated roads. The tenuous, horribly weak peace that barely kept the realms from all out chaos. But marriage? Tears cooled the fire in her eyes.
"I need to see Harry and Ron. I need… I need to speak with them. They won't let you do this to me," Hermione shook her head in spite. "They won't."
"We don't have time." Kingsley dismissed. "The boys will be told when the time is right. What is important is that you be ready in… oh Merlin... in 15 minutes time to attend a meeting with the Malfoy's. Dawlish will accompany you to your quarters. And do try to make yourself look more… presentable," he distastefully eyed the dirt still lingering in her hair. "Might I suggest some traditional dress robes?" Kingsley finished as politely as he could and he abruptly made his way towards the door.
"Wait!" Hermione sputtered as she finally pushed her body off the velvet covered chair.
Kingsley did not give her the respect of his stare, but he paused in the doorway.
"Who?" Her voice quivered under the weight of her tears.
"Draco Malfoy."
When Hermione looked back on this day, she knew she would not remember much after that conversation. She was led to her room in a rush, the walls of Hogwarts blurring around her as she fought to keep from heaving all over the ancient stone floors.
Once locked in her room - a small, richly furnished sanctuary overfilled with books that had a window with a view of the grounds - she threw herself onto the bed and let out a blood-curdling scream into her pillow.
Overwhelmed under the stifling demand of a marriage, she felt too frozen to move. Her body was wracked in shivers from the shock. Her mind was blank. Draco Malfoy. Draco fucking Malfoy. Of all the wizards in all the world, it was the one who was a coward, an absolute spoiled, manipulative pratt. And worse yet, she was being forced into a marriage by a man who considered her a daughter, a man she had devoted years of her life to helping succeed.
Time passed with Hermione laying numbly on her bed. There was no escape. Not right now, at least, and if she tried to sabotage the arrangement today she would be in a worse place than she currently was. Kingsley would not protect her in his quest for power, she had no doubt. And the Malfoys? She would be lucky to make it out of there alive should she embarrass their pure blood sensibilities.
No, she thought. She had to play the game until she had a better plan in place to escape this arrangement.
Dawlish knocked angrily on the door. "It is time." His muffled voice carried to where she lay on her bed. Hermione's heart stopped.
"Please - I, I...need a moment to collect myself," Hermione choked on a sob bubbling in her throat. The anger that had set fire to her bones was now extinguished, and she felt cold- defeated. Her body shook slightly as she tried to breathe.
In, and out...In and out…Hermione encouraged her heart to keep beating. Forcing air in and out of her lungs felt painful. The silence of the room made her thoughts seem like piercing screams. She wished she had listened more carefully to her friends, who cautioned her against trying to change things. Look where it had left her.
Another knock at the door caused her to whimper.
In these dangerous times, in the cramped room she called home for the last few years, it finally dawned on Hermione her place in this world, attached to strings controlled by the men in power.
She heard the door creak open and quickly sat up. "I said I needed-".
Dawlish was nowhere to be seen, but a small house elf was nervously assessing her tears from the doorway.
"Miss Granger," the elf squeaked cautiously, "I am Popsy, Master Draco's elf. He told me to assist you today." The elf took two more steps towards Hermione's bed, and suddenly smiled.
"Miss is as pretty as I was told!" Popsy nervously laughed.
"Malfoy sent you?" Hermione questioned, wiping her nose ungracefully on her robes, and clearing her face of tears.
"Yes, Miss," Popsy answered quietly. "He wants to make sure you are safe. I was ordered to make sure you have everything you need today. Are you hurt Miss Granger?"
"Ordered?" Hermione answered with malice tinging her voice. "I will be fine Popsy. Are you hurt?"
"Miss of course not! It is an honor to serve one as powerful, and kind as Master Draco," Popsy insisted with a small bow.
Hermione's frown deepened. Kind? The poor dear must have brain damage from the abuse, she thought angrily. Hermione stood up from the bed, and smoothed out her robes as best she could. "If I have no other choice at the moment, I just want this over with," she whispered sadly.
"Miss," Popsy cringed when she saw Hermione's knotted hair, dirty robes, and red eyes. "Please, let me help. Master Malfoy needs you safe. Malfoy Castle has-"
"Malfoy Castle?" Hermione suspiciously questioned. "We're not going to the Manor?" She shuddered as memories of blood and crashing chandeliers flashed through her skull.
"Malfoy Manor is not their home any longer. Too small, too dangerous... too close to London. It is rarely used, though they do visit from time to time."
Too small? Hermione winced. The castle must be massive.
"Miss, Malfoy Castle has many tricks, and many people who may want to see you hurt." Popsy twitched. "Master Malfoy has told Popsy to prepare you to meet Master Lucius, please. We need to be quick. Popsy cannot be late."
Now, it was Hermione's turn to twitch. She would be quite literally eaten alive if she stepped foot in front of the Death Eaters looking like this.
"Let me help, Miss," Popsy said kindly. She snapped her fingers before Hermione had a chance to protest. The air around Hermione moved under her robes and hair, and swirled around her with force. She shut her eyes to keep her hair from painfully poking them. A moment later, it stopped, and Hermione carefully opened one eye to find Popsy smiling gleefully in front of her.
"A real princess!" She giggled delightedly.
Hermione walked over to the mirror. Her torn, black robes had been transformed and were now a shade of crimson so dark, they looked nearly black unless you looked closely. The top was jeweled with garnets, and the thick material hugged her frame perfectly, showing off her collarbones and curves. Leather bands rounded off her shoulders, and another leather band accentuated her small waist. Her hair was free of dirt and lay in smooth curls that framed her petite face. The only telltale sign left of the morning she had faced was her red-rimmed eyes.
"It's beautiful. Thank you," she whispered, still in shock at the woman staring back at her in the mirror. She hadn't looked like this in ages. Her life had gotten away from her these last years, and with that, went her will and ability to spend time on herself. Though her skin was still dull with stress, and her frame was bordering on too skinny, she felt her old self peeking out from the shadows.
Squaring her shoulders as best she could, she tried to wipe away the tears trickling down her freckled cheeks. She was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, and she would be damned if she didn't fight for the survival of her loved ones. But at what cost? Her small moment of confidence vanished when she walked out of the room behind Popsy to meet Kingsley for their appointment with the Malfoy's. She only hoped that she could hold herself together long enough to find a plan that did not involve her spending the rest of her life bound to Draco Malfoy.
It was ten minutes to noon when Draco heard the sharp rap of expensive leather shoes against the marble floors. The steps rang out with an authority only his father could produce, and Draco stood from his chair to greet the man.
"Father," Draco nodded as he looked over at his likeness. Over the years, his father's face had aged only slightly, with small wrinkles creasing around his eyes and scowl. His hair had become more white than silver, and the blue of his irises looked even sharper against the thinning of his nearly translucent skin.
"I am hoping this plan of yours falls into proper order, " Lucius goaded, not bothering to say hello to the young man. "Because if not, you will not have only made yourself look like a fool, but your entire bloodline. I need to have assurance that you know what you are getting yourself into."
"Do you not trust your favorite son, Father?" Draco feigned shock and smirked. "We need to survive, and having a powerful ally is the only way to ensure that happens."
Lucius ignored his son's customary sarcasm lightly. "Kingsley seemed far too eager to offer up the Mudblood. Perhaps she is not nearly as valuable to them as you think."
"I suggest if you want to remain on her good side, that you refrain from using that word," Draco chided. "You raised me to be as cunning as you, and as charming as mum," Draco said as he flashed his most winning smile at his father. "You yourself were saying only yesterday how this will gain us the political leverage we have been lacking. She is by far the most powerful of all the witches of our age. Your generation may have a problem accepting that, but underestimating our enemies was a mistake your generation made during the last war. She is brash and uncouth, but she is still a war hero, and if I had to guess, she is the one keeping all of their Realm afloat. Not only will she bring me power, it is unlikely that anyone from the Realm of the Order would be willing to sacrifice her life to get to me. All I need from you is to trust in me, protect me from the Death Eater's who want our power, and I promise this will all work in my favor."
"Your favor?" Lucius questioned coolly. His thin eyebrows raised slightly on his forehead and the contempt on his face was bordering malice.
"Our favor, Father," Draco quickly corrected. "However, for our plans to reach fruition, it must first work in my favor. I have to make sure she is prepared to accept the bond willingly, or none of our plans will matter," Draco contemplated. Like his father, his face was stony, with no discernible emotions to decipher. It was a trait that had kept him alive, and he had his cold upbringing to thank for his mastery of the art.
His father rolled his eyes. "Very well. But, I refuse to accept an heir of such poor breeding, Draco. Our line has survived untainted for centuries. You have yet to tell me how you are going to iron out that little detail of this whole arrangement," Lucius took a step towards his son and glared, surveying his eyes. They were nearly the same height now, and the young man, though lean, had filled out, with a strong jawline and piercing eyes that could intimidate nearly anyone.
Draco smirked, laughing at a secret only he knew, and placed a hand on his father's shoulder, gripping tightly. "Simple, I make sure there is no pregnancy from our union. Trust me. I will still have my heir. I'm not the first pureblood to find other means of securing a son."
A small pop echoed through the hall, and one of his father's house elf's suddenly appeared. "Master Lucius, Master Draco, Popsy and the guests have arrived just outside the gates," the small, high pitched voice quivered.
Lucius picked his son's hand off his shoulder with distaste, and Draco let it fall by his side. "You had better be right about this, Draco. We need the Realm of the Order to be controlled by us. If the mudblood is our only means of achieving power, then so be it. But I am warning you, I've worked far too long for this to be ruined by you." With a sharp turn of his heel, Lucius took off down the hall towards the main entry, leaving Draco to follow behind his billowing robes.
A/N: So I know I said monthly updates... BUT I was getting a lot of questions that I thought this chapter could help clear up. The next update will be in a month, for real this time. Check out my Tumblr ( AMJohnson0518 ) for upcoming excerpts, mood boards, and so much more.
SENDING UNLIMITED ALPHA AND BETA LOVE TO IN DREAMS AND LADYX33! They are absolutely wonderful. Any spelling mistakes are my own.
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