Unbreakable

By patronsaintof

Disclaimer: I wish.

Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to Cibbler and Max Ride Fan 13. I love reviews, and the both of you have submitted the most, more than half of my total reviews. Thank you!

Chapter Ten
Clandestine

Hermione Granger woke groggily from a dream she couldn't remember. There was the faint metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Alarmed, she sat up quickly, one hand rising to her face. Gingerly she touched her lips; they were wet. Pulling her hand away, she saw that her fingertips were crimson. Her hand returned to her face, wiping under her nose, as she scrambled to her feet. Blood dripped from her face, spotting the blankets on her bed and the floor as she made her way to the bathroom. One hand pushed open the door, as the other remained cradled beneath her nose. Hermione stopped short when she saw her reflection in the mirror. A gasp escaped her. Dark bruises were under her eyes radiating from the bridge of her nose as if she had been hit swiftly in the face, directly in the center.

Bright blood dripped from her nose, over her lips and fell from her chin. There were smudges on her left cheek of what appeared to be dried blood, giving Hermione the impression her nose had previously bled, stopped and then restarted. It was then that she registered the dull ache that emanated from her nose. She felt as if she had been hit in the face with a baseball bat. Tears welling in her eyes, Hermione fumbled for the towel she used to dry herself after her showers. The white cloth soon became saturated with brilliant red. She was shaking, holding the towel to her face with one hand, while the other was tightly gripping the edge of the counter to help her keep her balance. Her head felt unusually light; her stomach was churning and nauseous.

Looking around the bathroom, Hermione noticed that everything seemed slightly blurred. With a stunning ferocity, pain seared through her body causing her to cry out in pain. She heard voices and searched for their origin in confusion. She was alone, but she could hear a woman speaking to her. Shouting filled the room. Hermione's face contorted in pain, her mouth open as she tried to breathe normally. An unexplainable fear seized her, and tears began to fall down her cheeks, mingling with her blood. Bile rose in her throat and her body pitched forward violently. She fell to her knees, retching on the floor in front of her. Trembling, Hermione cried out when she felt hands on her, but found no one touching her.

Her chest heaving with her labored breathing, Hermione shakily rose to her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the wall. She blinked as the room seemed to dim, then brighten. Unsteadily she made her way out of the bathroom and into her room, but the voices only became louder. Her nose still dripping blood, Hermione crawled into her bed, burrowing beneath the blankets completely ignoring the fact that her sheets and mattress were darkening with her blood. From under the blanket she heard the whispers, catching her name several times in the conversation. It seemed that there were several men speaking to a woman. The woman's voice was so familiar but Hermione's head swam with dizziness and she couldn't remember. Her eyes felt heavy then, and Hermione allowed her lids to close. The darkness that greeted her was comforting.

When she woke, hours later, Hermione blinked at the light illuminating her room. She started to rise to a seated position, slowly, but stopped halfway when she saw Draco Malfoy sitting at her desk again. She narrowed her eyes at him, suspiciously. He eyed her back with a strange expression. "You wouldn't by any chance remember the past two nights, would you?" He asked.

"The past two nights? Of course I do. Last night was when Isabelle told you…" Hermione trailed off, noting Draco's raised eyebrow. "What?" She asked, thoroughly confused.

"I didn't think you'd remember, to be honest, but it was worth a try asking." Draco responded. He motioned to the bathroom. "You may want to take a look at yourself. Perhaps it'll trigger something in the way of remembrance." He said. Hermione's frown deepened. She got out bed, noting how shaky her legs were. She felt weak and sore, which confused her more. At the door to the bathroom, she glanced back at Draco. He had stood and was walking towards her. She pushed open the door, looking for her reflection in the mirror. The moment she saw the dark bruises beneath her eyes, and discoloring her nose, she flinched.

Her hands raised to gingerly touch her skin. She cringed at the pain that occurred when she lightly touched the bruises. In the mirror she saw Draco stand behind her, watching her. She opened her mouth to speak but clenched her jaw tightly as the room began to blur around her. There was a disconcerting feeling in her chest and stomach as she blinked, wrinkling her nose, which now no longer hurt, and looked around. She was alone, standing in the center of her room, beside her bed. One hand reached out and touched the blankets, but she jerked it back when her door opened. Turning, she saw Isabelle standing in the doorframe, a smirk on her face. Though confused at first, it became clear to Hermione that this was a memory from one of the previous nights.

"You need to learn to watch that mouth of yours." Isabelle sneered. With a sickening feeling, the room around Hermione began to blur again and she fell to her knees as something hit her strong and hard in her chest. She gasped for air, staring at a growing pool of blood on the floor in front of her. Looking up, Hermione saw that there were several men in the room, but Isabelle was nowhere to be found. One of the men came to her, grabbing her hair in his fist, wrenching her head up until she had to struggle to her feet to alleviate the pain. Again, the room swam around her as her vision blurred and she found herself sitting up in her bed, her fingers slick with blood. Hermione blinked, breathing hard, once again staring at her reflection in the mirror. Draco Malfoy stood behind her.

"Why?" Hermione asked, still breathing hard. She turned to Draco who stepped away from her, perhaps as a sign he didn't want to encumber her level of comfort with him.

"She fears you, though she'll never admit it." Draco said, resuming his spot at Hermione's desk. Hermione pondered this for a moment, baffled at the thought.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you be…" Hermione began, but Draco didn't let her finish.

"Killing innocent people? Ruining lives?" He offered, bitterly. Hermione frowned. "Everything's been cleaned, as you can see." Draco said, changing the subject. Hermione stood awkwardly not knowing what to say. He shrugged, rising to his feet, putting a hand in his pants pocket. He felt around for a second, and then pulled a galleon out of his pocket. He looked at it for a second, before he tossed it toward Hermione. She made no move to catch it, merely watched as it bounced off her leg and hit the floor.

"What are you doing?" She asked. Draco raised an eyebrow at her, a small smile touching his lips.

"And they say you're the brightest witch of our age. You had a clever idea during fifth year, don't you think, Hermione?" Draco asked, enunciating her name with a slight tease. Hermione continued to frown at him, not understanding what he meant, before her eyes widened.

"Oh." Was all she could say, and Draco shook his head.

"If you need anything." He said, making his way to the door. Hermione waited until the door was closed before she practically pounced on the galleon. As she stared at it, examining it closely, the serial numbers on it changed, the galleon growing warm against her skin, but she couldn't decipher the meaning. She doubted they even had a meaning, that Draco was merely changing them so she could see it worked. She was perplexed for a moment, trying to understand how she was supposed to change something on it, when to her amazement the numbers changed to the exact order she had been diligently thinking of. The charm on it must be quite complex and specified to react to her touch and thoughts, or else the galleon and its purpose would become quite obsolete if it fell into the wrong hands.

She was so intently studying the galleon that she hardly noticed when the door reopened and Draco reappeared. He stood there watching her. He cleared his throat to gain her attention and she jumped, dropping the galleon. "Just checking to see if it worked?" He asked. Hermione said nothing. She could say nothing, it seemed as if there were no words to express her surprise, not to mention her distrust. Was this some clever ruse to gain her trust so that he could hurt her more in the end? Did Isabelle know about this? What could Draco Malfoy possibly gain from helping her? Draco nodded at her, that smile quirking onto his lips once more before he exited the room again, leaving Hermione staring at the door.

Draco walked from the room, his heart beating fast. It was a risky thing to do, giving Hermione the other galleon. He had heard about that particular trick during their fifth year, and had managed to duplicate the effects while specializing it to react to only two minds. He doubted that Isabelle would figure it out, but there was a chance that she could. Having reached a point where he cared little, Draco was more than willing to take that risk. If she did discover the secret, he could play it off as some attempt to trick the girl into false trust. Either way, he felt he needed a way to know when Hermione would need help. Isabelle seemed disinclined to include him whenever she felt the need to do something drastic, like killing someone, or torturing the lover of the murdered man. Ever since he and Isabelle had talked about his mother's death, his wariness of Isabelle had grown. She was lying to him and she didn't even realize that he knew it.

Continually Isabelle spoke of how tragic it was that Draco's mother had been involved in the attempt to rescue Hermione, and how awful it was that Harry Potter and his friends had taken it into their own hands to find justice over Ron Weasley's death. Draco was sick with frustration, knowing that only Isabelle could have accused Narcissa of the betrayal. No one else would have dared even thought it, for fear of Draco's reaction. It was a clever plan: make it seem as though the Order had killed Narcissa in hopes Draco would take action. The night Isabelle had told Draco of his mother's death something had snapped in him. He no longer looked at Isabelle and saw the woman he loved; it was quite clear that during Voldemort's ascent to power Isabelle had fallen deeper into darkness, all the while keeping Draco ignorant of that. Draco was immensely glad he had never felt inclined to share with Isabelle his desire to forsake Voldemort's cause. It most likely would have been the end of his life.

As he entered the room where Isabelle sat, writing a letter on a desk near the fire, he felt a twinge in his heart. She was beautiful and there was no denying that he loved her. When he watched her how she was now, he could almost believe that she was still the caring, peaceful woman he had thought she was. But he knew now that she had just been putting up a front to hide her true self. It was something he saw done often among Death Eaters and their families. Many would show one face to the world and their loved ones, while hiding a dark, sadist side that hungered for violence and corruption. Draco himself did the same thing, only for him the gentler nature was the side he kept hidden. Draco felt blindsided that for years he had never seen it in Isabelle. There must have been signs.

Isabelle looked up from her writing, giving Draco a small smile and the twinge hit his heart again. He did not return the smile, he couldn't, though he did let his feet lead him to her. Kneeling, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, breathing in her scent. She smiled at him again, reaching a hand up to touch his face. "Everything alright, dear?" She asked. Draco swallowed, trying to keep his face void of emotion. He couldn't speak, either, he found. Nodding, Draco rose to his feet and left Isabelle alone in the room. He wandered until he found himself standing outside in the garden, the moonlight shining on his troubled face.