Last Chapter:

Her mother's voice rang in her head, repeating an old saying from her childhood. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Warm bath and comfortable bed aside, she was a prisoner, and she couldn't let herself forget that. She would find her way out of here, or she would die trying.


Prisoners and Captives

Part One: Malfoy Manor

Chapter Nine: Draconian Dreams

"Took you long enough," Draco said as Hermione closed the bathroom door behind her. Hermione only shrugged and made her way unsteadily back to the bed. Draco sighed and came to help her when she stumbled and had to grab on to the bathroom doorframe to keep standing.

"Do you have a comb?" Hermione asked. Draco did (of course); Hermione did her best to ignore the smug expression on his face as she attempted to work out the tangles. It didn't help that her arms were still weak enough that she had to stop to rest every few minutes.

While she was still brushing her hair, Draco handed her a phial of the murky green potion; apparently Derry had arrived with a supply while she was in the bath. "Test it first," Hermione demanded, and though Draco rolled his eyes at her, he took a tiny sip.

"It's fine, nothing added," he announced, and when Hermione continued to scrutinize him, added, "Granger, how can you think I'm lying about being under Veritaserum?"

He had a point there; with a small smile (she loved those sort of paradoxes), Hermione downed the potion. And immediately felt her eyelids start to droop.

"I lied," Draco said, smirking, though almost good-naturedly. "I slipped in a Sleeping Draught."

Hermione wanted to yell at him, to protest, but her mind was fogging quickly and soon she was asleep.

"They've added Gemino and Flagrante Curses! Everything you touch will burn and multiply."

"Okay, don't touch anything! Just look around! Remember, the cup's small and gold, it's got a badger engraved on it, two handles – or look for something of Ravenclaw's, her symbol's the eagle - "

"Yes, Harry, we know!" shrieked Hermione as she pulled Ron out of the way of the still-multiplying goblet Bill had touched. "We're looking!"

"There – there it is!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand at the top of a tier of gold, casting a spotlight on a small golden cup.

"Accio Cup!" Hermione said, but her wand wasn't working, it wasn't working, it had never failed her before –

"The sword! Hermione, the sword!" Harry shouted, and she fumbled inside her robes and into her beaded clutch, found the sword, and handed it to Harry across a fast-growing barrier of multiplying Galleons. She cut her hand in the process and before she could wrap it in her robes, a few drops of red fell onto the multiplying gold Galleons and an acrid smell filled the room.

A horrible, horrible noise that she hadn't heard since fourth year but would never forget: a dragon's roar. "Harry!" she screamed, and he had it, he had the cup, but the door was open and the goblins were coming in and the treasure was multiplying and she was burning and then the dragon was there, close enough that she could feel the heat from its nostrils, worse even than the white-hot burning of the treasure, and the dragon was looking at Ron, it was opening its mouth, Ron was going to die and she was going to die and they were all going to die, why hadn't she ever told him, it was too late now, it was all over, Voldemort had won...

A horrible roar and a jet of fire and screaming, hers or Ron's or Bill's or Harry's she didn't know, they were dead, they were all dead…

She sat up with a jolt, adrenaline still rushing through her veins. The white-hot pain of the multiplied Galleons had become a less urgent ache, though it still engulfed her whole body. For a moment she didn't know where she was, then her eyes adjusted to the darkened room and she caught sight of the figure slumped over her bed. He was sitting in the chair next to her, and his head was resting on his crossed arms, which were resting on her bed. She took a bottle of her potion out of the nightstand drawer and downed it in one. Instead of lying back down, however, she sat watching him, trying to quiet her breathing and calm the racing of her heart. Under her gaze, Draco sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.

"Nightmare, Granger?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Yes," Hermione said. "There was a dragon," she added stupidly.

Draco blinked once, twice. "Gringotts?" he asked sleepily. "Because someone broke into the Lestrange vault nearly two months ago, and we never caught who did it…something went missing, something valuable, but I don't know what it is."

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to answer in the affirmative, then stopped herself. If her dream had been of the Lestrange vault – and it was, she was somehow sure of it – then her memories weren't completely gone. And if her memories weren't completely gone, Voldemort could still get to them. And if Draco knew her memories weren't completely gone, he could tell Voldemort.

"No," Hermione said finally. "No, it was the first task. The Hungarian Horntail."

Draco looked at her blearily, but he was tired enough that Hermione couldn't read his emotions – if he believed her, if he didn't, if he realized his mistake in telling her about the Lestrange vault - she couldn't tell. She had never seen a sleepy Draco Malfoy before, and if she'd been anywhere else she would have laughed. His normally sleek white-blond hair was so tousled that it resembled Harry's, his eyes seemed to be permanently half-closed, and a spot of drool was shining on the side of his mouth.

Hermione lay back down. "I want a Dreamless Sleep Potion," she demanded, and Draco, too tired to argue, acquiesced and called Derry. She made him test the potion, and he was already snoring softly when she lay back down and sank into a blissful darkness devoid of any dreams or memories.


When Hermione awoke the next morning, Draco was his usual composed self: hair perfectly combed, clothes new and seemingly freshly ironed, face completely devoid of drool. Hermione had the mental picture to cherish, however – placed in a mental frame between fourth-year Ferret Draco and third-year Punched Draco – so she smiled smugly at her private joke when, after uncorking and testing her potion, Draco began asking pointed questions such as, "Fall asleep quickly, Granger?" and "You were out like a Noxed wand last night, are you sure you're quite well?"

"Do you usually wake up at the crack of dawn to do your hair, Malfoy, or were you practicing your Harry Potter impression last night?" Hermione replied. Draco rose to the challenge.

"Some of us know how to control our hair, Granger – something you obviously still haven't learned."

Hermione winced at that and brought her hands to her head in an attempt to make her hair presentable, but she still managed a comeback. "Obviously you haven't seen too many girls in the morning, Malfoy – this is what happens when you sleep on long hair."

He smirked at that. "Not all of us feel the need to keep Rita Skeeter up-to-date on our love lives – speaking of which, since Krum, she's been oddly silent about yours; too busy holding a torch for Weasley to kiss any other boys?"

Never mind that Draco's assumption was true (with the single exception of Cormac McLaggen, which she'd rather forget); Hermione smiled wickedly. "She's been silent about me for a rather different reason. I'd tell you, but I'd be breaking a professional agreement."

Draco chortled. "Professional agreement – Granger, you can't seriously expect me to believe that you're blackmailing Skeeter!"

"Believe what you want," Hermione said nonchalantly, still finger-combing her hair. "But I'm sure you've realized by now that even Gryffindors have their Slytherin moments."

Draco studied her; he seemed to be considering something. "What's this story worth?" he asked finally. "I'll trade for it. How about your favorite breakfast?"

Hermione tilted her head to one side. "I did make an agreement….but tell me, has Skeeter been defaming Harry recently? That was one of our terms, and I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up."

"Designed the latest Wanted poster herself," Draco said breezily. "Black-and-white except for Potter's eyes. I hear the Weaselette's had it framed."

"Well," Hermione said slowly. "I'll tell you – but you have to promise to answer five questions."

The room fell silent as Hermione and Draco stared at each other. Hermione was asking for something much more important than blueberry pancakes. They always seemed to come back to this: happily falling back into their petty schoolyard insults until one of them remembered that this war was so much more than Gryffindor vs. Slytherin.

"I'll can't answer if I've been forbidden to tell," Draco said after a moment. "And I'll only answer one."

"Four."

"Two."

They glared at each other, neither wanting to concede to three.

"Fine," Hermione sighed finally. It wasn't as if the Death Eaters could use the information about Rita Skeeter to further their takeover of the Ministry; she supposed they could Imperius her to spy on anyone they didn't already have answering to them, but Pettigrew could already do that job, and he didn't need to be Imperiused. "Three."

They shook on it.

"You go first," Draco demanded.

"Okay," Hermione said. "Why couldn't I get over your hedge?"

"You have to be Marked to get in or out," Draco said immediately. "Next."

"What charms and curses are on the door to this room?"

"I don't know," Draco said.

"Who else is a prisoner here?"

Draco stayed silent for a moment, contemplative.

"If you haven't been ordered not to tell, you have to answer," Hermione reminded him. "You agreed."

"Mundungus Fletcher, Susan Bones, and two stupid Mudblood Ministry workers who wouldn't go into hiding: Croaker and MacDougal," Draco said reluctantly.

"Susan?" Hermione repeated, horrified. "What do they want with her?"

"That's three questions, Granger, time's up," Draco said coldly. "My turn. Tell."

"I found out that Rita Skeeter's is an unregistered Animagus – but you know that, don't you. Well, I caught her after the Third Task in the Hospital Wing and wouldn't let her go until she'd agreed to my terms," Hermione said, sounding as if she were reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or describing the wand movements for a Cheering Charm instead of regaling an exciting story of her own heroism.

Draco nodded once. His eyes glinted dangerously, but he stayed silent.

"Have they hurt her?" Hermione asked worriedly.

Draco paused, looked away. "That was three questions," he said finally. His voice sounded almost hollow.

Hermione blinked twice, trying to keep back tears. She wasn't close to Susan, but they were in the same year and had always had classes together. They had become friendly in the DA and in Ancient Runes, and during one intense study session last year they had giggled and reminisced about Professor Lockhart, who had been their mutual first crush.

She had heard on Potterwatch that Susan's father had been caught helping Muggle-borns go into hiding, but had Stunned the Aurors sent to arrest him and gone into hiding. Hermione had supposed that Susan had gone on the run with the rest of her family; if she had, and Susan was a prisoner here, it was likely that the rest of them had been killed. Hermione tried not to think about her own parents, blissfully unaware of the war raging around them as they continued to put in fillings and remove wisdom teeth.

"I'll order breakfast," Draco said. "Do you still need help getting to the toilet?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said, but stumbled not three steps away from the bed. Draco took her elbow and walked her to the bathroom. He slammed the door behind her.

Apparently his orders to watch Hermione at all times didn't apply when Draco was angry with her. That was good to know, Hermione mused as she brushed her teeth (Derry had brought a toothbrush and toothpaste up with the shampoo yesterday). Maybe she could provoke him enough to get him to storm out of the room, and then she could –

Make a mad dash for the front door? Hermione's inner voice was sarcastic. Try to fly out the window and over the fence?

She was stuck here, for the moment at least. She had exhausted all her resources; the only thing she could do was wait for an opportunity and be ready to take it. There was no library, no school full of professors, no Order members or even other students she could mine for information. There were only herself and Draco – and although had managed to get him to let a few things slip, she knew that after this he would be more wary.

Hermione glared at her pale-faced, frizzy-haired reflection in the mirror. She looked worse than she had even in the days after the fight Department of Mysteries, when she was recovering from Dolohov's curse. She felt a sudden impulse to break the mirror. Instead, she untied one of the ribbons on the bottom of her dress, tied her hair back, and looked at her reflection grimly. She was Hermione Granger, top of her class at Hogwarts, cofounder of Dumbledore's Army and best friend to Harry Potter. She would get out of here.