[A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I'm so sorry for leaving you guys hanging for so long, I didn't expect to get as swept up in schoolwork as I did. Now that the semester is over, though, I'm free as a bird! I hope to get more chapters to you, faster, and to wrap up this story by the New Year! As always, leave a review to let me know what you think thus far. :) Enjoy]
She smiled, a luminous crescent moon beneath the guise of night. She smiled and he forgot himself. He forgot that ninety-nine percent of this world was crap, and remembered only that she was the coveted one percent. He forgot that he was part of the impoverished majority, with no right to and no hope of ever really reaching her. He forgot that he kept secrets from her, in hopes of disguising his true form, and the darkness that shrouded them helped him hide. Night was a friend of his that let him sneak out and fool around, to chase after the moon. But morning was just peeping over the horizon, and the sun had a way of revealing every hidden, crooked thing about him. It had a talent for taking the moon away and burning him in its wake. And he forgot that because she was everything to him, she was made up of his universe. She was the light and dark matter that surrounded him and she was both moon and sun, the very things that lured him in and ruined him with the flip of a switch. At night, she felt more tangible, easier to coax into his arms. If he wanted, he could hold onto the moon. But there was no way to keep the sun. He was stuck in orbit around her in day, and at night she pulled at him just the same, drowning him under the tides as if she was trying to cool the burns of early day. But at least he had some equal say at night, and he reigned her in for the few hours he could imagine having her.
"You know, your name sounds very odd next to mine," Hermione murmured beneath the covers, adjusting herself. His hand unconsciously tightened around the leg she had curled around his waist, afraid she was pulling out of his orbit. She was nestling in closer, though. Her body lay snug against his. Her curls tickled beneath his nose and he breathed her in completely, his lungs swelling beneath her fingers' touch as they trailed about his chest. She seemed to be spelling something.
He couldn't suppress the fit of laughter that came bursting forth when he figured out what she was carving against his skin. "Can I ask why you're putting them together?"
Draco felt her shrug against him, her fingers suddenly taking to tracing loops on his collarbone. "No reason," she mumbled sheepishly. His stomach felt like the heat of her touch was setting off popcorn kernels in there, and with each pop he got another curious, silly idea in his head. In the awkward quiet following her reply, he feared she'd hear the clattering inside his gut.
The silence gripped at his throat and he had no choice but to swallow it down, hoping to swallow down his nerves as well. "I take that as an insult. The Malfoy name would be an improvement for anyone lucky enough to have it."
"You would think so," he could practically hear her eyes roll, the heat rush to her face. Draco grinned and nudged her, gripping her shoulders, wrapping her up.
"Of course I would. It's a known fact. Go on, say it, and then tell me it doesn't sound like angels singing."
She stared at him, her nose crinkled. "Hermione Malfoy," she blurted out, as if ripping off a Band-Aid. Her face followed her nose, screwing up in distaste. "Oh, god, it's absolutely horrible."
He stifled a laugh, his lips pursed hard. "No, no. You have to say it like you mean it. Again."
"It's awful, no," she groaned in protest but he wanted so badly to hear it again. Of course, for no reason. It wasn't because it sounded like a future he couldn't fathom, or that he wanted to force it to sound right. Because then, it had to be right. If the names became harmonious, so would they.
"No, you're not going to slaughter my family name. You're going to say it over and over until it sounds as glorious as it actually is, or else I'm going to have to do something rash." He towered over her, the sheets rustling in resistance around them.
"It's stupid, no," she muttered, her voice hitching as Draco nipped at her shoulder, his hands sliding along the dip of her curves.
"Oh, come on. It isn't that bad," he breathed against her chin, her rushed breath coursing through his hair and seeping into his scalp, into his mind. "Come on, say it, Hermione."
His devious hands dipped between her thighs and suddenly she was crying out.
"Malfoy!"
He grimaced, the voice was too deep, too calloused with testosterone to be Hermione's. It didn't help that it sounded familiar, and hissy.
"Oi, Snow White, wake the hell up!"
He began to register the crying crick in his spine, the screaming pain in his head that wasn't getting any help from the grating voice to his left. And he remembered all he'd forgotten, and how far away from his dream he was.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to the blaring florescent bulbs of a finished basement. He groaned against the harshness, almost hearing the rays of light zapping at his retinas that now accompanied that stupid voice.
"Finally," it heaved dramatically. Draco tried to raise his arms to swing in its general direction but realized his hands were tied behind his back or, rather, tied behind the column that his back was up against. He tried opening his eyes completely, letting everything sink in and focus. The basement was starched clean, its white walls making the florescent lighting that much more unbearable. He felt like he'd been here before, but the throbbing in his skull kept the memories at bay- except for the one that put the throbbing there. He could feel the concussion of the crushing blow Blaise had sent his way, a blow Blaise had probably been prepping for since childhood.
Fighting the weight of blood and guilt and who knew what else that was lodged in the left-side of his skull, Draco turned to the sound of his annoying alarm clock. What he saw just made him that much more confused and made the pounding in his head increase tenfold. Around the rippling pulses of his concaved brain, Draco could make out the blurred face of a brown-haired boy who, apparently, was just as tied up as he was. When his vision began to clear, he wished it hadn't.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Always a pleasure, Malfoy," Hermione's brother huffed, his eyes rolling behind his teetering glasses. He was looking worse for wear; the red, busted bottom lip was just the cherry on top of a creaming. His cheekbones were enflamed and turning from a muddy maroon to a just as repulsive blue and his shirt was torn. Honestly, he looked like he'd taken a roll in a ditch, if the ditch consisted of angry fists and sharp shards of glass. However way he got where he was now, it wasn't without a fight.
"Wish I could say the same. You look like shit."
The Granger boy, who'd been looking to the side, at the door that presumably lead upstairs, turned to glare at Draco. "No thanks to you, ass hole. I know what you did to Officer Lupin, so cut the crap already and tell me where we are," he spat, the snarl he was trying to make only splitting his lip further. His glare turned murderous and, if it wasn't directed towards Draco himself, he would have applauded the boy's efforts at looking dangerous. Seeing as the both of them were similarly tied up, he couldn't believe Harry actually thought Draco was anything but a victim of his own shitty circumstances. He was about to say something, equal in sarcasm and wit, when the cogs in his brain finally started working again despite the momentary jam. He drank in his surroundings: the familiar basement, the annoying body next to him in all its beat-up glory, four-eye's accusations, the smack of a pipe against his precious head, Tom.
All the blood rushed from that pulsing target on his head, leaving him suspended and disoriented. "You can't be serious, you?" Harry raised an eyebrow, waiting as Draco put two and two together reluctantly. "You? You're the other cop Tom was after?" Draco concluded, the words coming out through layers of disbelief, partial disgust. The boy rolled his eyes, his head falling back against the pillar with a slap. For a moment, it looked like he was trying to knock himself unconscious. For a moment, Draco wished he had.
He shook his head, also wishing he hadn't as soon as the headache came back in full force. "You're not even a real cop," Draco groaned.
Giving up on trying to completely ignore Draco, Harry's eyes focused in on him, a mixture of bewilderment and rage pouring out of his eye sockets. "You're seriously going to pretend you didn't play a part in all this? Like you didn't lead them straight to my home, to my family, to my sister!" He fumed, his body writhing against his constraints. When Draco caught a glimpse of Harry's blaring red wrists, he figured it wasn't the first time Harry had tried to get free. Luckily, for the sake of Draco's neck, Harry wasn't getting any further along with freeing himself than before. Unluckily, that probably meant Draco's attempts were doomed to fail just as well.
"Use some common sense, brute. If I had, do you think I'd be next to you right now, tied to a bloody chunk of cement?" Draco barked, though his heart was proving far less steady than his voice. He watched as Harry simmered down under the guidance of Draco's obvious logic, though the boy's green eyes were still darkened with bloodlust. Draco could only hope it wasn't for his own blood.
He let out a shaky breath. "Now, what do you mean by me leading them to your sister? Where's Hermione?" Draco searched Harry's expression, which was frozen against him. He had no reason to trust Draco, all the reason to hate him, but Draco couldn't help the annoyance that crawled up his throat the longer Harry hesitated. But, maybe the prat wasn't saying anything because he knew just as little as Draco did. That thought only worsened the ache in Draco's head.
"Where is she?" He bit out, fear's growing presence overshadowing his frustration. Harry's expression thawed, but the look that took over- the consuming distress there – didn't help. It crept over to Draco and seeped into him.
"I was hoping you would know."
She had been hoping that maybe the call was just taking an abnormally long time, so she stayed curled up under her sheets. She used the blankets as a shield against the new day, refusing to acknowledge the morning sun that was trying to stir her from her dream. If she stayed under the sheets, it would be as if no time had gone by, as if the moment were frozen. If she stayed under the sheets, hidden away from responsibility, she wouldn't feel obliged to get dressed, to look outside and see if Draco had deserted her, to fully realize the consequences of what had happened last night. If she stayed under the sheets, Hermione could imagine Draco just on the other side, grinning that crooked, teasing smile as he watched her covered form move about with her nerves. He was just being a jerk, making her anxious but, the moment she made for the edge of the sheets to pull them away from her eyes, he would be at her side again.
Slowly, she tugged at the sheets and waited for an outcry from the other side. Instead, she heard the reality of a screeching bird outside. Hermione yanked the sheets from her face and was greeted by the morning. Her night was over, Draco was nowhere in sight, and the light pouring in from the window felt brutal in judgment against her bare skin. She should've stayed hidden in the fortress of her sheets. Instead, she got up with a heavy heart.
Hermione wrapped the sheets around her and walked to the window, peeping outside to the driveway below her. There was her parents' car, her car, and no blonde-haired misfit. Her eyes wandered over to the Malfoy residence, hoping to see him there. Instead, she caught the stare of Narcissa Malfoy as she walked out the front door of her home. Blushing, Hermione closed her curtains and rushed to put clothes on. The sheets felt suddenly scratchy against her, the softness of her cotton shirt and pajama shorts much less offensive on her skin. With her pajamas on, it was hard not to remember how it felt to fall asleep naked, with only the sheets and another body as cover. It was hard not to want that feeling back.
She prepped herself for the day, filling her head with class assignments in an attempt to avoid the nagging whine in her gut and the fury building in her heart. These emotions were at odds with one another, a quiet bickering inside that wondered if he'd actually ditched her or if something else were at play. Even when pushed to the sidelines of her mind, she was still battling over whether or not to defend or distrust Draco Malfoy. She was on the edge of the wall she'd built in defense against him, wondering whether to jump off or hide behind it once more.
As she finished brushing her teeth, spitting out the remains of his taste into the sink that, if it had eyes, would glare at her. No amount of brushing, washing, searing her skin under the rush of burning water, would erase last night. Her body, the entire room around her was a crime scene she could never really wipe clean. And the more she looked around her, remembering, she began to doubt if she even wanted to get rid of the evidence.
There was the shrill ring of her doorbell and she found herself abandoning her toothbrush, a single thought rushing her down the stairs as quietly as she could until she was at the door. The frosted glass gave the distinct shape of a man, one she adopted in her mind as Draco. The door automatically locked from the outside, a fact she'd forgotten to tell Draco before he'd snuck out of the house, and she let out a rush of laughter that brimmed over with her relief as she opened the door.
"You could've called, now you might've woken up my parents," the words flooded out of her, only for the dam to shut back up when her eyes fell on a dark-haired man that looked, if anything, like the antithesis to her Draco. He smiled at her surprised expression, no doubt noting the wary wrinkles of disappointment around her eyes.
"I'm sorry, were you expecting someone else?" He mused, the curt twist of his smile irking her and that quiet whine in her gut growing more distinct. Her mouth eased shut, her face growing distant as if to put much more space between her and this man than was actually there. The door acted as a barrier between them, held in her hands like a shield.
"A friend."
"Ah," was all he said as he watched her. She shifted her weight from one weary foot to the other, both of her legs wanting nothing more than to move, leave, shut the door behind her.
"I'm sorry, may I help you with something?" She ushered along the conversation. His eyes seemed to move away from a lingering thought.
"Ah, yes, yes you may," he chimed with a charming smile as his hand moved towards the inside of his suit. She stiffened until, from within, he pulled out a badge. Strangely enough, it didn't help soothe her. He showed it to her briefly before tucking it back into his hidden pocket. "Officer Gaunt. I'm looking for someone you may know, a next-door neighbor about my height, blonde hair, and in need of an attitude adjustment. His name is Draco Malfoy," the man's description slowed as he watched for Hermione's reaction. She tried her best to stay neutral, her lips pressed against any acknowledgement of the name. In fact, she had to fight the urge to smile at the description, the way Draco was a stretched-out boy that, if not for his immaturity, would be mistaken for a man.
"I know him," she sighed, calculating the roll of her eyes. "Well, as much as someone would like to know a prick like him." That managed to catch his attention.
He cocked an eyebrow in curiosity, that frigid smile of his lingering. Smoothly, he took in her lies and built up his own in retaliation. He found it almost entertaining that she would try to aim a bluff at him, when he could see so easily through her. He saw nothing but brittle bones, so easy to break.
"A 'prick' indeed," he replied severely, his face turning sober and hers returning the expression. "You see, I'm a friend of the Malfoy family who's been trying to help both Draco and his mother with the legal issues involving his father. However, I fear things have gotten out of hand and I'm not sure if I can protect him from arrest any longer if he continues down the path he's on. I was hoping to find him, so that I could talk some sense into the boy," the man heaved, the burden of his search making her own uncertainty grow heavier with each word. Her façade faltered, her mouth opening as if to ask a question that would sound far too concerned for just a next-door neighbor. She repressed it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't help you," she held her stance sternly, her hands itching to shut the door before he could say something that would make her crumble. But they stayed put, as did she under his steady scrutiny.
His features grew weary. "Miss Granger, I understand why you would want to protect him but you're failing to protect yourself."
"How do you know my name?" She blurted out, the door swinging to shut but his hands came up in defense, keeping it open so that he could berate her ears with more words that would make her decision waver. She was still on that wall of hers, wondering if this man would be the final push and, if so, in what direction would he push her?
"Narcissa told me about you and Draco, Miss Granger, when I went over there just now. Please, hear me out!" His pleads sounded sincere. She let go of the door, though her expressions were barred from revealing any emotion. She hadn't realized Narcissa knew that much about them. It only made her suspicions rise.
"Go on," she muttered.
He sighed. "Miss Granger, I'm afraid Draco has fallen into a mess he won't be able to clean by himself. He's gone for blood, and he's gone against all morals by using you." He watched her snap, and she let him. She remembered the blood on Draco's hands, the blood she'd helped him wash clean of. She hadn't wanted to know then, but she feared she needed to.
"What do you mean? What blood?" She forced out, her hands no longer using the door as a shield but as an anchor. "How has he used me?"
He swallowed, running a hand over his suit, tugging at the edges of his tie. "Unfortunately, upon arriving at the station this morning, I discovered that one of my fellow officers, Officer Lupin, was beaten unconscious and left to bleed out in an alleyway."
Her lungs shriveled inside the cage of her ribs. She fumbled for breath, for words. There was a dangerous warm liquid surging forward, onto her eyes where they threatened to leak out. "Is he alive?"
He gave a solemn nod. "Barely, but yes. He's in the hospital as we speak. You see, we believe that Draco had a stroke of consciousness and called for help soon after the attack, but he wasn't there to give himself up. Instead, I think he came here… to cover his tracks."
She blinked, trying to clear her vision along with her head. "I'm sorry, what?"
The officer stared at her then, and she swore she detected a spark of pity in the dark pools of his eyes. "Miss Granger, don't you find it a bit strange that Draco, a known criminal, is comfortable sneaking into a house where a training officer now resides?"
"I don't understand what you're implying." For once, she really didn't understand or maybe she just didn't want to.
Now, certainly, there was pity in his eyes. "Your brother and my now hospitalized colleague were investigating the gang violence Draco is involved in. It's safe to assume that he was looking for and trying to steal incriminating files your brother had in his possession last night, in order to erase any connection between himself and the gang they were building a case against. If he got to those files, I can't help him anymore."
She couldn't look at him, her eyes plastered to a tree just to the side of the man's right ear. It was a large oak, sturdy enough to hold two invigorated children such as Hermione and Harry. She remembered climbing it with him, hesitantly at first and only after a long while of complaining about the possibility of falling and breaking a bone. They would climb it and stare through the small windows that represented bits and pieces of people's lives, every so often peeking into the Malfoy household to see a brooding little blonde trample through his toys like someone who just didn't care about how things, people, were meant to be treated. She'd always felt so angry when he broke a toy, only to get another from parents who spoiled him rotten. She felt that anger now, but it was so dismal compared to the other roaring, confusing ache that swelled inside her.
"Miss Granger," the officer called her back and she realized she was clutching too hard at the door, to the raw skin of her neck, still warm from Draco's touch. "If there's any chance you know where he or those files are, I need to know."
She sucked in a long-awaited breath, shoving it down into her lungs just as he shoved these things into her mind, making her teeter on that wall of hers. She fell over, back behind the comfort of her secure, unwavering barricade. Hermione shook her head, feeling the frustration of truth on her lips. "I'm sorry, I honestly don't know where he is. He left a while ago, and I didn't even know those files existed," she confessed.
"Well, that is just a shame," he sighed, and the chilled tone of his voice made her eyes snap back to him, wide and alert. His demeanor flipped like a switch from light to dark, and just as quickly as he'd changed, he masked her mouth with his hand and shoved her back inside her house with the door swinging shut behind him. Her back screamed out in pain as he pressed her against a wall, his eyes warning hers not to make a sound. Even if she wanted to, the grip he had on her was tight enough to keep any noise from getting out.
"You see, I was really hoping I wouldn't have to do this myself but you know how the saying goes about all that: if you want it done right, you have to do it yourself. God, I hate how true it is," the man groaned in frustration. The hand that had been holding her against the wall moved to his suit, moving the fabric of his jacket so that the handle of a gun could peep through. Another warning, like she needed added incentive to keep quiet. Unfortunately, her parents upstairs hadn't gotten the same memo. There was the indisputable creak of floorboards as they got up, whether a delayed reaction to the doorbell or just as part of the normal work routine, it didn't matter. The man heard it, all the same. When his eyes flashed up towards the stairs and then back to Hermione, it was with barely contained madness. It was a calculated madness, the kind that she feared the most.
"Now, you're going to let me sift through this house, and you're going to let me do it without a single word or I'm going to blow a hole through your mummy and daddy, understand?"
The clarity of her understanding vibrated through every bone in her body. The moment his hand released her mouth, she felt a chill dissipate from her skin. There was the desire to scream, to run, to cry out some kind of hatred, but she refused him the satisfaction. Instead, she remained against the wall as he, with a smirk of pleasure, moved about the files in the entryway that Hermione had mistaken for Harry's schoolwork. But she couldn't stay there for long, her body pulled towards the nearest phone the more and more her parents moved upstairs. She inched towards the couch, feigning a collapse of anxiety to reason her sitting there in such close proximity to a phone. He was moving, his agitation building with each shift to a new box, folder, his search moving towards other places around the room. She almost found it funny how little attention he paid her.
Her fingers curled around the receiver, easing it off the hook, afraid the sound of the dial-tone would alert him so she muffled the speaker with her other hand. When she put it to her ears, however, she realized she had nothing to fear. The line was dead.
In the kitchen, she heard the man give a sigh of exasperation. At first, she thought it was due to his failed endeavors but, as he started to look up, though she had quickly put the phone back in its original place, she realized the reaction was aimed at her attempt at reaching help.
"I almost find you an amusing distraction from all of this, but please remember that you can quite easily become tiresome. I don't like tiresome things," he articulated, his voice darkening with the underlying threat he carried. In silence, she seethed.
She wasn't sure, however, how quiet she could stay once her parents came downstairs. It was an inevitability that was fast approaching as their voices grew louder with their awakening. She heard their feet near their door, the door open, heard her mother call her name. She looked to her gunman and he smiled, as if this was all fun entertainment for him.
"Please, do introduce me. I love meeting new people," he encouraged her.
"Hermione? Sweetie, are you down there?" Her mother called, her voice closer as two pairs of feet moved down the hallway. Hermione's throat clenched against her reply.
"Yes, mom," she called back, her eyes never leaving the man's hollow face. His eyes were the only things with depth there, but she was afraid of how dark those depths were. She didn't want her parents to be anywhere near it. "I'm with a friend."
Good girl, he mouthed. The closer her parents approached, descending down the stairs so at leisure in their own home, the more she felt illness seize her. She wanted to puke, reject whatever poison this man's presence had injected inside her, the same poison she feared he'd inject into her mother and father. She didn't want to think about her brother, nor Lupin, and she couldn't think of Draco. They were all dangerous thoughts to venture into, and she was already in as much danger as she could bear.
The smile her mother gave their intruder was enough to make Hermione scream but she forced it back down her throat, forced out a "good morning" instead.
"Oh, honey, who is this lovely man… who is sorting through my recipe books?" Her mother eyed him curiously and Hermione couldn't help but inch forward in her seat, her heart propelling her to come between her mother and him if he were to snap, as he was well capable of doing. Instead, he laughed charmingly, closing the book he'd been searching through for what she could only assume were the hidden papers he'd spoken of. It had become obvious that it was he who would be incriminated by those files, he who the police were building a case against. But did that mean everything he'd said was a lie?
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, but I couldn't help myself. Hermione was only just telling me about some of the wonderful things you cook under this roof and I had to see your recipes for myself," he replied casually.
"Oh, please. If it tastes good, it's someone else's recipe- not mine."
"I can attest to that," her father piped in with a chuckle as he combed through the magazines on the table, shoving some into his briefcase to, no doubt, read while at work.
"If you keep talking up my friend, you'll be late for work," Hermione blurted out, trying her hand at calmness. It was working on her parents, but not on him. He eyed her, a sharp stab of ice piercing her. She looked away from him and smiled at her parents. They were already ushering their way out the door but they just wouldn't leave fast enough. Her mother's head was the last thing out.
"I never got your friend's name, Hermione. You usually are so much better about introductions!" She exclaimed, wanting, as always, to be the friendly host even when she needed, so much more desperately than she knew, to leave. The man's smile never left his face as he walked out of the kitchen to shake her mother's hand. How could her mother not see how the smile didn't reach his glassy, frigid eyes?
"Tom, it's a pleasure," he replied in Hermione's stead, placing a gentle kiss on her mother's hand. For a moment, Hermione saw a flash of doubt in her mother's eyes. Their eyes met, her mother's concern vanished with a reassuring smile from Hermione, and then she was gone with the door shutting safely behind her.
"Now," Tom breathed, the charisma he'd held steady for her parents' dissipating with their departure. When he turned from the door, his face lost any semblance of warm he'd built up for the rouse. "You remember what I said about tiresome things, don't you?"
"You remember if they said anything about her?" Draco continued to berate Harry with a string of questions that got them no closer to getting the hell out of that basement. He'd been wiggling his wrists, yanking them, playing his hand at knot-knowledge and failing miserably. Had it been a pair of handcuffs, he probably would've been faster about it. He was used to snapping his wrist into the right shape so that they'd slip out. It's probably why they'd gone for a more primitive form of containment. He could break all the bones in his hands to get out of it, sure, but what the hell would he do with the mangled things afterwards?
Still, despite his own need for self-preservation, with all pieces of himself intact, he was more than willing to break every part of his body in order to get out and find Hermione. In a way, if he were being honest, she was the most important piece of him. He had sickening visions of her being just beyond that basement door, surrounded by the 99% of the shitty world he didn't want her near. He thought of the dark promises held in each of those boys' eyes the night Goyle had confronted him about his connection to Hermione. He remembered how he himself had promised to return to her and, instead, he was miles away.
"No one's said anything around me," Harry grumbled, his attention boring into Draco's movements, criticizing them. "That's not going to get you anywhere," he announced, as if that was supposed to improve the situation.
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll make sure to prove you wrong. We need to get out of here, and I'm going to fucking get out of these knots if I have to saw off my own hands against this stupid," Draco growled as he furiously rubbed his arms against the cement column, "piece," he hoped it would force the rope further down his wrist, "of", but it was only lighting a fire on his skin, "thick shit!"
He slammed his head against the one thing in the room he could finitely blame for keeping him restrained, keeping him there when he wanted to punch the brains out of something, someone. Maybe if he smashed his stubborn head against it enough times, it would crumble. But then he'd have a whole house falling atop him. He wondered if that pain would outweigh the one lodged in his spine, spreading like wildfire with his fear and anger as its fuel.
"Where is 'here'? You never did answer me."
God, Draco wished that he could beat the shit out of this annoying twat, that he wasn't Hermione's brother so Draco wouldn't feel guilty for doing so. But the fact that he did annoy the crap out of Draco only proved that, yes, this was Hermione Granger's beloved older brother- blood or no blood. They both had a knack for grating on his nerves but, unfortunately for Harry, this Granger didn't have the pretty face to make up for it.
"Ignoring the fact that I was knocked out of my wits when they brought me here, as you obviously saw, and ignoring the thought that you still might think I'm somehow a part of all this," Draco muttered, his eyes shut and yet still seeing the look of incredulity Harry was shooting at him, "we happen to be at an old acquaintance's house. It's the basement, to be exact, and it isn't far out from town but it's not without its issues. There's, most likely, a cluster of my old acquaintances up there," he nudged towards the door.
"You mean your gang's members," Harry corrected slowly, prodding at him.
Draco huffed in exasperation. "We're not a gang… we're just…" He fumbled, at a loss for words- a rare feat.
"What? Misunderstood?" Harry muttered, the smirk on his face begging for a fist.
"I liked you better when I was unconscious."
The four-eyed beast was calculating a response behind the frozen guise of his smile, the two of them glaring in mutual dislike, until something came along that would briefly unite the two in something other than hate for one another: the door above swung open. Draco's arms stilled behind him, his hands clenched against palms pulsing with adrenaline. His fingers dug deeper into his own flesh when the figures in the door revealed themselves to the bleached light of the basement. Moving down the stairs was a sneering Goyle, his already rounded chest puffing with joy from looking down at Draco's contained form, and an eerily neutrally composed Theodore following suit. He noted one strange absence: Blaise. He would've thought the bastard would like to gloat just as much as Goyle was about to, if not more so since he delivered the hit that shot Draco into this hellhole.
"Look at you! The second one Granger bitch's out of the picture, you move onto the next. You really do have a soft spot for them righteous ones, don't you?" Goyle scoffed as he entered the basement. Draco fumed, but looking pissed from below wasn't the most intimidating approach so he reeled himself in. Instead of gnashing his teeth like a wild dog, as Harry probably had earlier in the day on his arrival and was presently building himself back up to, Draco leaned back against the column. He made himself comfortable, shrugged, and all the while slowly writhed his hands within those irritating ropes.
"Well, see, now I'm not sure if you're jealous because I'm shagging more people than you or because I'm shagging everyone but you," Draco sighed. "Honestly, if you want me that badly, just say so. I wouldn't return the feeling, obviously, but it would make all of this just a little less sexually frustrated, you know?"
Goyle revved up, his face churning with anger as he moved closer to his childhood friend, bearing down at him and relishing the leverage of height he hadn't had before. "You think you're untouchable, don't you? But you're not. Princes like you are easy to knock off their thrones and you're human, just like the rest of us. You're just as easy to beat into a bloody pulp as anyone else, and you got things that make you tick, tick, tick, and I'm gonna see to it that you break into a million pieces."
The dragon in Draco was flaring, hot fire in his throat that he forced back down with a hard swallow. He refused to look away from the catatonic hatred in Goyle's glare, refused to acknowledge his own role in putting that there. He had too many regrets already, and he wasn't ready to add onto that mountain. He grit his teeth into a smile. "I'd like to see you try."
Goyle responded with his own fang-filled grin, sharp and dangerous the closer it got to Draco's face as Goyle kneeled down in front of him. "Oh, you will. I wanna see your face when you watch Tom come 'ere with a loaded gun and a mind full of vengeance and pleasure. You're gonna watch as we bring that pretty little face you like so much down here to join her brother and I'm gonna make sure, hands gripped to your skull, that you watch as Tom unloads a bullet in her, then him, and then… Well, then you're gonna feel the warmth of that gun in your hand, your fingers, and you're gonna spend your life in a cell made for the prince that you are." Draco could see it all there in Goyle's eyes like a projection of the near future, one that had his hands petrified into stillness. He saw exactly when Goyle recognized the horror in Draco's face, the small spark of joy this man got at inflicting pain. Goyle's smile grew wide with maddened elation. "Tick, tick. Boom."
The fire erupted from Draco, his forehead smashing into Goyle's with a ferocity that had his brain knocking against the back of his skull. Flames shot from his mouth in the form of spit, which landed hot against Goyle's receding head as he staggered backwards, Draco's feet slamming into the bastard's groin for good measure. He wanted to get his hands on him, to strangle the life out of him so that those eyes couldn't show him anything other than the fading of Goyle's consciousness. He was pulling so hard against the ropes he could hear them cracking from the effort, waiting for the pop of his arms from their sockets. In the grey distance of his mind, he could hear someone telling him to stop, thought it was Harry trying his hand at reasonability, but he couldn't bother to pay attention until hands were gripping his shoulders. And that just didn't make sense, since he could clearly, in high definition, see Goyle's form struggling to get back up from the floor and failing with a definitive thud. He wanted to make sure Goyle never got up again.
"Draco, stop," a calm voice was repeating against his wishes. The hold on his shoulders tightened and the little burst of pain shook him out of the one-track rage long enough to realize it was Theodore trying to ease him. He backtracked, his head jutting back, away from Theodore as the boy tried to get Draco's attention away from Goyle. The usual, cool demeanor Theodore maintained cracked at the edges, showing the urgency with which he needed Draco to calm down, shut up, because apparently he'd been yelling.
"If you don't stop, others will come down here and you're going to ruin everything."
"What?" Draco's head was screaming and he wasn't exactly sure it was all from sacrificing it to Goyle's thick skull. The hands on his shoulders, reassured that the worst was over, receded. But then they were at the ropes on his own hands, loosening them.
"Well, you did make my job a little easier by knocking out the biggest obstacle in the room but if you don't shut up, you'll have more of Tom's henchmen to deal with. Now, when I finish untying you, you have to promise not to knock me out until I tell you to and only after I tell you what to do. I know you don't like getting orders, but promise."
"Um," Draco muttered, and the movement that had been wiggling his arms free stopped. "Okay, I promise." The ropes were gone and Theodore was helping him up from the floor.
Standing up, Draco felt ready to fall over with the littlest puff of air. He watched, utterly confused, as Theodore went about untying a much calmer, though equally boggled, Harry. As he worked on freeing him, Theodore spoke.
"I sense your confusion, and it isn't completely unwarranted. However, I don't have much time before the police arrive and you two need to be gone by then or else I'm going to have more problems to worry about."
"You just said there's a bunch of guys up there so how are we getting out? And why are you even letting us go? And… police?" Draco stammered. From afar, it looked like Theodore was smiling. He tossed the ropes aside and turned to Draco as Harry managed to, with a grimace, heave himself up off the ground.
"And here I thought you remembered the times we escaped from here as kids," Theo remarked, waving a hand towards a badly patched area of wall when Draco showed no sign of remembrance. It clicked into place then, the times an intrusive parent would come down to fetch them for something other than devious adventure and the two of them would stack boxes and climb out the little window that peeked out onto Theo's lawn. But it was covered now, almost blending into the white wall it was surrounded by.
"There's no window there anymore," Draco stated the obvious but Theo shook his head.
"It's only covered from the inside," he replied. "A few hits from that skull of yours and I'm sure you'll break through it." Draco scoffed, but was otherwise convinced.
"Why are you doing this?" Another, less convinced, voice spoke up and the two of them looked to Harry, who was wary for good reason. Even Draco was having a hard time wrapping his mind around it all, and he was much cleverer than this college dropout; never mind that he never got through high school. That was irrelevant in Draco's mind.
"Easy, I'm bored with all this and one way or another, this group is fated to collapse whether because Tom decides we're a nuisance or I give it up to the police. Besides, I'm not going to watch people die around me, not again."
Draco caught Theo's eye and held it, both of them wishing they hadn't abandoned friendship for money and Tom Riddle, of all people.
"Is it true, then? That Tom is going after Hermione?"
Theo looked down, a glimpse of remorse on his face. "That was my mistake. When I and Goyle went to retrieve the files last night, I instinctively took them and stashed them away in Tom's house for the police to find. I didn't think of how Tom would react, that he would trace it back to you, Harry, and then to Hermione. But I didn't know that killing her was the plan until Goyle just admitted to knowing that."
"You broke into Lupin's home, bashed me upside the head and brought me here," Harry shot accusingly. Theodore shrugged, remorse gone. He got the feeling Theo, like himself, didn't like Harry much anyways. It almost brought a smile to his face, but he was too busy eying the blocked window, the person he needed to get to beyond it.
"I needed the right set up. If I didn't do what Tom and Goyle asked yesterday, I would've become suspect and I would've never been able to put the files in Tom's possession or gather everyone in my house to ward you two and wait for Tom to come back. Now I know where he is, and so do the cops, but I don't know who they'll come for first so you two need to go. Tom will be at the house, looking for those files. Take my car," Theo tossed his keys to Draco. "And try not to make too much noise. I need everyone here, thinking you're still downstairs with me and Goyle."
Harry was already piling up boxes up to the window, and Draco knew he should've been doing the same but something held him back. "What about you? You're a snitch."
Theo grinned. "But you knocked me out. You got free and hit both Goyle and myself until we were unconscious and escaped because you remembered the window. By the time any of them think otherwise, I'll be freed by the police and they'll be rotting. As long as this all goes to plan, so hurry up and get it over with."
"I'm never going to see you again, am I?" His old friend chanced a laugh, and it reminded Draco of past days when Theo was shy, not cold, and trustworthy with any secret.
"No, and I'm counting on that."
He tried to smile, but thoughts weighed too heavy on his face. He clenched his fist, Theodore eying it with a tinge of anticipation and fear but then that overarching calm swept over him and then he was on the ground next to Goyle, Draco's fist angry with the pain of hurting his friend.
"Let's go," he breathed, and that same fist punched a hole in that thin barrier between him and hope. There, for both him and Harry to climb through, was a tiny window of opportunity and they raced through it.
"They were going to go anyways and, besides, they have nothing to do with this," Hermione cautiously reasoned as Tom approached her. She stood up from the couch, inching towards the back door, which opened up to the patio. She wondered if she could run fast enough to get to the fence and jump over it while also screaming her head off for help. There was a gate but it was locked from the outside. Maybe Harry had forgotten to lock it up last time he pulled his bike into the backyard. Maybe she could beat this man at his own game, maybe she could get out.
"Exactly more the reason to educate them, as I'm going to educate you. First lesson, don't undermine me." She moved a little closer to the door. "Second lesson you might need to learn for yourself."
His eyes flashed from her to the glass door behind her, he shook his head, and he swiftly moved about the chess board. He had his hand on his gun, pulled at it the more and more she shifted her feet so she froze. He let it go, positioning himself between her and the patio door. If she ran now, he would grab her easily. Or shoot. She didn't think she ran fast enough to dodge a bullet. But, as her eyes slipped over to the phone, useless for emergency calls but still useful in her hands as her fingers wrapped around it, she knew she could outrun an unconscious man.
Firmly, she gripped the phone in her hand and yanked it off the cord. With strength focused on getting herself the hell out of there, she projected the back of the phone into his temple with a crack and sent his body backwards, a few paces behind his sailing, and hopefully unconscious, head. She didn't stick around to notice, flying towards the front door with lungs prepped to scream bloody murder the moment the door opened, her eyes barely taking in the scenery in front of her. Her hands grasped at the knob, almost pulling it off the door as she whisked it open, only to find someone's back blocking her way, a silhouette she should've noticed from inside. For a moment, she saw blonde hair, but it was the flare of sunlight behind the figure playing with her hopes. She blinked and the figure was turning and she could see that it was not Draco, but the boy who'd she'd seen him meeting up with across from her school. Immediately, she backpedaled and tossed the door shut, locking it in place, stumbling backwards. She could hear a groaning behind her, a laughter in front of her, and she knew she had nowhere to go but up.
She bolted, taking the stairs two at a time while her pounding heart propelled her forward. Hermione could hear the steadying footsteps of someone behind her, a fumbling for a gun she didn't want to hear, and she fled into her room. She tried all the while to be as quiet as a frantic escapee could be, shutting the door behind her and locking it, muffling her mouth as the man walked up the stairs. It creaked under the wake of him, and she could hear the click of a bullet lodging into place. Her hands clenched tight against the heavy breathing coming from her mouth, her nose. She looked around her for anything that could help her, thought of her cell phone and leapt for it where it lay on her bed. She dialed, the ringing too loud for her own ears, praying it wouldn't be heard outside her bedroom as the footsteps approached.
"You're caged, my little lion," Tom stated around an unstable, deep and unsettling chuckle. "Learn to play nice, and I won't have to hunt you down."
Finally, someone picked up. Before she could even bother to let the person speak, she rushed to tell them everything in as low and as steady of a voice as she could muster. She fed her location into the receiver, holding her breath when the feet neared her door. "There's a man in my house and another outside, the one inside has a gun."
"Stay put, we'll be there right away," came the urgent voice on the other side, but Hermione thought that was stupid advice. Especially when the feet traced their way back to her door. The shadow of his shoes leaked into her room, clouding out the sunlight that poured in from her window. Suddenly, but then still so slow, she realized she was not as caged as he wished her to be.
She crept backwards, eyes on those feet and ears on the breathing on the other side of her door. "Knock, knock," it chided, followed by the insistent jiggling of her doorknob. She shoved her phone into her pocket, frustrated with her shaking hands as they went from that task to that of unlocking her window. She heaved it open just as the slamming began, a body forcing the door to comply with it. She looked down to see that the other man was still somewhere near the house's front entrance, his view of her blocked by the roof's overhang. Hermione took her chance and swung her legs over the edge.
There was the blast of a gun and then her door was caving in, opening to the intruder's touch. She refused to look behind her, knowing well what she would see.
"Get down from there," Tom ordered. Briefly, she considered jumping. Maybe the land wouldn't hurt her. She'd fallen for worse things and survived. At least, she had so far.
"If you ever want to see your brother alive, you'll do as I say."
The police would be there, soon. She considered staying. Hermione turned, retreated from her escape.
"Shut it." She closed the window, her eyes averted from his. She refused to let him see her anxiety, refused to see his coldness or the gun he was presently aiming at her. Instead, she looked to the traced shadow of her windowpane on the carpet.
"What did you do with him? With Draco?" She forced through her clenched throat and teeth.
Hermione felt the cool breeze of Tom's laugh. "Nothing yet, but I have my plans."
Hermione felt her heart freeze. "You're going to kill us, either way." No questions, just facts. He sighed, and he heard the shift of suit fabric. She chanced a look up, hoping to see the gun lowered, but he'd only been shrugging. His eyes were calculating his next move, as if he didn't already know what it was.
"Not all of you, no but I do have a mess to clean up and I know exactly how to go about it."
She kept her mouth shut, against the accusations she wanted to yell at him. There was still Remus, lying in a hospital bed somewhere. She was convinced Draco wasn't the one who'd assaulted him, at least not completely. This man here had something to do with it, most involvement in it and Remus would incriminate him. Either he didn't realize that or he was going to 'clean up' that as well. She was a part of this mess and she tried so hard not to blame Draco, the name that floated around in a mixture of anger and fear.
"By finding those files?" She prodded.
"That's part of it, but it seems they truly aren't here, which is a shame." She swallowed, looking away from him and catching a glimpse of a textbook- the one she'd thrown at a previous, more dangerous intruder. Her eyes flickered back to the gun, to Tom with firm determination.
"What if they are? Right here." His eyebrows rose in intrigue.
"Go on."
"I lied, earlier. Draco told me about the files last night, had them and asked me to hide them, said he was going to use them to change his life around for me." There was the muffled sound of a swerving car, and her heart was in her throat, hoping so hard that the police would get to her before a bullet did. Tom nodded said gun at her, prodding her forward. She took it as encouragement to fetch the files. She moved for her desk, shuffling around with faked purpose even as the front door swung open.
"It's my parents," she mumbled dismissively when she felt Tom tense behind her. She gripped the book, hoping to master what she'd failed at the first time. But as she swung around, so did the door Tom had shut behind him. There was a rush of confusion as Hermione batted the book at Tom, who moved, made her miss. She saw the flash of blonde hair, heard someone call her name, and her arms rushed to seize Tom's as the gun swerved like the needle of a compass, deciding in which direction to point. They struggled and that flash of blonde reared again, a face taking shape under the white, one that filled her with more fear than she'd ever felt under the barrel of a gun.
"GUN," she screamed as her hands yanked at Tom's locked arms, Draco slamming into him with a bang. And then there was the replying shot of a gun ringing clear in the air.