DISCLAIMER: I don't think the world would want me to own Harry Potter.

Chapter 3: Unexpected

And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! – William Shakespeare

Draco watched with mild fascination as the bruised and bloody body of Granger was drug across the white marble of the foyer, leaving a small line of blood in her wake. The only thing he could think of was what in the hell was she doing in his house, and where was the Boy who just wouldn't die and the Weasel? Maybe they deserted the Mudblood.

He smirked and walked slowly after the Death Eaters, following them through a long hallway and down into the cellar where they literally tossed her into a small room. Her limbs were at very odd angles, and he noticed that her right arm was bleeding profusely.

Not that he cared, though. He was worried about her dirty blood staining the floors of his ancient and noble home. He put a disgusted look on his face and looked towards the closest Death Eater, which happened to be his father. "What is that filth doing here?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"The Mudblood knows the whereabouts of Potter," Lucius spat, shutting the door and locking her in.

"So?" Draco asked, glancing at the heavy door where she was, "why doesn't the Dark Lord get in her head and take the information? It'd be a lot easier than bringing her all the way here."

Lucius sighed, seeming to get annoyed with Draco's question, and settled on ignoring him, which was not an uncommon occurrence. Turning, Lucius began to walk back towards the main level.

Draco sighed inwardly and followed his father back up the stairs, finding himself wondering why she hadn't paid any attention to his warning. Stupid Mudblood. He had clearly told them to leave, and there was no reason why they shouldn't have listened to him. He had never been wrong before.

And something didn't quite fit in this situation. Why would Granger have been by herself? Those friends of hers were all high and mighty when it came to sticking together, and he couldn't recall one time, in the entire time he had had the displeasure of knowing them, when they had been apart. They did everything together – it was pitiful.

Besides, Harry Potter always had to stick his nose in where it didn't belong, so how could he pass up an opportunity to see Voldemort face to face? Draco smirked. Potter was probably too scared to see Voldemort, so he had to send the one that followed him like a dog, and was just as loyal, in his stead. And that witch would do anything if she thought it was for the good of everything. It made Draco want to vomit. No one, he decided as he reached the top of the stairs, not even Hermione Granger, should be that good.

Lucius motioned for Draco to follow him into his office. He obeyed and followed the man into the once magnificent room and sat in a beaten up chair. Everything in the room looked like it had come from the Weasely household, right down to the painting of an ancient member of the Malfoy family that hung over the fireplace that had a rip in it. It disgusted Draco to see his home in that condition.

Lucius sat down at his desk and put his elbows on it, a pensive look crossing his face. He watched Draco for some time, not saying anything. "What is it you wanted to speak to me about?" Draco finally asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"A most surprising and rare opportunity has surfaced today, Draco…."

XXXXX

The first thing Hermione felt was a searing pain that traveled from her right temple all the way down to her jaw, and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. The coldness of the damp air around her made her shiver, sending pain throughout her whole body. Hermione groaned as she opened her eyes and saw that the room was completely black.

Sitting up was a bad idea. As soon as she was upright, her head started pounding and she broke out in a cold sweat. If she could have seen anything, she was sure that it would have been spinning.

She winced as she felt her cheek. It felt hot and puffy under her fingers, and as she felt the rest of her face, she decided her nose must have been broken. What had gone on while she had been unconscious? It felt as though she had been run over by a bus.

But more importantly, what was she still doing alive? She had thought she was going to be killed at Order headquarters, and it had certainly looked like Voldemort wanted to. She shuddered as she thought of the livid look on Voldemort's face as he attempted to search her mind.

She felt around, trying to figure out what was around her. All she could feel was the cool roughness of the floor underneath her, and the room was not very big. When she found the wall, she crawled closer and leaned against it, leaning her head back gingerly as to not hit her wound.

She needed to contact Harry and the rest of the Order to let them know what was going on, that for the time being she was alive and being held prisoner. She reached up to her neck to get the chain that held the enchanted coin they were to use for communication and froze.

It was gone.

She began to panic. What was she going to do now? Her only means of communication with the Order of the Phoenix was gone! Harry and Ron had no idea if she was dead, and she would not be able to get them any information! Everything she had just endured was useless. She would probably die in this place now, and Harry and Ron would never know!

Tears began falling from her eyes, stinging as they made their way down her bruised and battered face. She didn't want to think of what Harry would do when he never heard from her again. She had told him that she could do it, she could pull it off, and now Harry and Ron would think she was dead, and Harry would only blame himself for what she had done.

She had been stupid to think that she could pull it off in the first place. She pulled her knees to her chest, laid her head on her knees and cried, wishing that she was at home.

A loud noise forced her to open her eyes. Had she been sleeping? She must have, as she was lying on the cold floor again. A blinding shaft of light suddenly filtered into the room, making her head pound. She gasped and tried to move away from the opening door but her limbs had become stiff and she was unable to move quick enough, ending up getting hit roughly with it.

"Come along, Mudblood," a coarse voice taunted, "the Dark Lord wishes to see you."

Hermione squinted up at the man dressed in gray clothes that were very dirty. He smelled like dirt mixed with sweat, making Hermione feel nauseous, and his black hair was very greasy and unruly. She struggled as he reached down and grabbed her right arm roughly, gripping it hard. She suppressed a scream as he pulled her to her feet and began dragging her out of the room and towards a set of stairs.

"No!" she cried, pulling against the man.

"There is no need to be difficult, precious," he purred, tightening his grip on her arm painfully as he pulled her up the stairs. Hermione pulled against him as hard as she could as she stumbled up the stairs.

When they reached a long corridor, Hermione deliberately fell to the ground, making her captor stumble. "Stop it!" the greasy man said sharply, pulling her up and hitting her ribs hard enough that she thought she heard them crack.

Gasping, Hermione felt unwanted tears sting down her face as pain tore through her chest. She allowed herself to be pulled down the hallway and into a nearly bare room. There was a large chair near a fireplace, but that was it. The black drapes that hung from the window to her right had large holes in them, making patches of light throughout the room that was otherwise dark.

The man who had dragged her from her dark prison let go of her arm and pushed her away from him like she had a contagious disease, causing her to stumble to the ground. She could see him out of the corner of her eye hovering, waiting for something.

"Thank you, Santiago," the voice of Voldemort said, "you can see to her when I'm done."

Hermione heard the click of the door shutting, leaving only herself and Voldemort in the room. He rose from the chair and looked toward Hermione. "I see you are being well taken care of, we wouldn't want our special guest to have anything but luxury." He smirked and sauntered to her, crouching in front of her.

Hermione focused on a patch of sunshine a few feet away, the feeling of fear momentarily overriding her pain. "I can fix your wounds," he said softly, almost lovingly, "I only require one thing." Hermione focused on the patch of light, trying to ignore the man who was now assessing the cut on her right arm. "Tell me where your friends are, Hermione Granger, and I can make all your pain go away."

A picture of Harry dead at Voldemort's feet flashed through her head, making her shudder. She wouldn't allow that to happen "No," she said, "I don't know where they are."

Voldemort chuckled. "That can be arranged. Do you want to die, Hermione? Do you want to leave your friends to fend for themselves without you, to deal with this conflict without your help?"

"Ron and Harry are smart, they would figure something out," Hermione spat, "they don't need me to survive."

"Ah, but how can you be so sure? Has there ever been a time when you haven't been there helping them along? Isn't it always you they run to when they have a problem they can't figure out?" It was true, she decided, that they did rely on her a lot, expecting her to help them with homework and fix their problems. But she couldn't remember once in the past three months where they had asked her to do anything except to get the food when it was her turn to venture out of their hiding place.

Hermione looked at Voldemort. Apparently that had been what he was hoping for, because she instantly felt him probing her mind. Panicking, Hermione forced herself to clear her head and think of absolutely nothing. She could feel Voldemort trying very hard to search her thoughts and memories, and he was succeeding in forcing his way in little by little.

She looked away and concentrated on the patch of light again, trying to keep her mind clear as Voldemort tried without success to invade her mind. For what seemed like hours she sat there, intensely focused on the sunshine that came through the ripped curtains, hoping that Voldemort couldn't get anything from her.

Finally, Voldemort sighed and said, "Don't make this difficult, Mudblood, I will get what I want." He stood abruptly and opened the door with a flick of his wand and motioned for the man he called Santiago to enter the room. "Don't let her leave," he said walking through the door.

Hermione looked at Santiago and crossed her arms, wondering what exactly was going on.

XXXXX

Draco sat in his chair and tried not to think about anything. Just moments earlier, Voldemort had gathered them in the dining room, the only room that was still totally intact. He knew that the meeting would be about their new prisoner; it had been the only thing he had heard about since her arrival a few hours earlier.

He glanced towards his father, their brief conversation running through his head. "We can use this situation to our advantage, Draco," he had said, "use this opportunity to prove yourself." Draco had no idea how to go about proving himself when the witch was probably going to be dead before the day's end anyway.

And who did his father think he was supposed to prove himself to? Voldemort? He was certainly not going to willingly help Voldemort. Not after what he did to his mother. And besides, Voldemort would get what he wanted from her and kill her, simple as that. It was a pity that she hadn't listened to his note.

Voldemort entered the room then, and Draco could feel the anger radiating from him even though he was on the other side of the room. He sat in his chair at the head of the table and looked at all the Death Eaters. His huge snake slithered up and around the chair, resting its mammoth head on the armrest, and Voldemort began stroking it absentmindedly.

After a few moments, he spoke. "It has come to my attention," he mused, "that the mudblood Hermione Granger possesses both great intellectual and magical power. She would be a most admirable addition to my followers."

Shock and horror were the only words Draco could find to describe the change in the atmosphere of the room. Only it was much worse. Granger, a mudblood, turned Death Eater?! His enemy turned comrade? It was almost funny. Almost.

Draco looked to the others in the room. They were thinking the same thing.

"And not only will we gain a very powerful witch," he continued, "but the blow to Harry Potter and his precious Order of the Phoenix will be enough of a shock that after what follows, he will be begging me to kill him."

Now that was funny. The thought of Hermione Granger being bad made Draco want to laugh hysterically. It was just too hard to imagine Little Miss Goody Two-shoes knowingly hurting anyone, let alone her friends. It was like a fly killing an elephant; impossible.

"You don't believe it is possible, young Malfoy?" Voldemort asked.

Draco froze and looked toward Voldemort. "No, my lord," he replied, "I spent six years going to school with her and her friends, and there isn't a chance that she would willingly join us. She is the most scrupulous witch I have ever seen in my life."

Voldemort looked at Draco and smirked. "Well then, since you and the Mudblood are such good friends, you will assist me."

Snickers erupted around him. The way he said it made it seem as though Draco and Hermione had been best friends all through school. He wanted to yell that he could care less if the stupid witch was killed, that he would gladly do the honor himself, but instead he replied, "As you wish."

"Good," Voldemort said. He sat silent for a moment as the snickering died down.

"But my lord, do you think that it is wise to allow one from the other side to be one of us? What if the mudblood tries to give information to her precious friends?" questioned Bellatrix Lestrange.

Voldemort turned to face Draco's aunt and smiled. "That is what Draco is for. It is his job to monitor everything she does, and he knows the consequences should he fail."

Draco glanced at his father, the image of his lifeless mother running though his head. He would not let that happen again, no matter what he had to do to avoid it.

Moments later, Voldemort dismissed everyone but Draco. "You will show the mudblood to a better room," he stated, "it will be easier to manipulate her if she feels secure and comfortable."

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied.

"You are to watch the mudblood; monitor her actions. Convince her that what the dark side offers is not bad."

"Yes, my lord." That will go over well, he thought to himself, having to spend his days babysitting his enemy; he would be lucky if he didn't end up strangling her before everything was said and done.

"That is all," Voldemort said.

Draco nodded and started for the door. "Oh, and Draco," he called, "do not fail. I will not be so forgiving this time." Draco nodded again and walked out the door.

Lucius was waiting for him, and lead Draco once again into his office. "Well?" he demanded as soon as the door shut.

Draco looked to his father. His eyes were hopeful. He was happy about the situation, Draco realized, and the realization disgusted him. After everything that Voldemort had done to their family, after everything he destroyed, he still wanted to be in the favor of him? He sighed and replied, "I am to watch her and convince her that Voldemort isn't as bad as he seems."

"Wonderful! Draco do you know what this means? We can once again become the Dark Lord's right hand, no one will be able to stop us!" Lucius was almost bursting with excitement.

"But how am I supposed to go about this?" Draco asked.

"Everyone can be persuaded to do things they don't want to do, Draco. It is just a matter of figuring out their weaknesses and using it to your advantage," Lucius explained.

Draco nodded, thinking that things just got a lot more complicated. How was he going to convince Hermione Granger that being evil was fun when he despised it so much?

XXXXX

A/N: Ooh! What's going to happen next?

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