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A/N: GUYS! You are the best readers EVER! I love you all so much! This story has over 300 followers, and 150 favorites!? WHAT?! How did that happen!? You are all amazing, wonderful, fantastic, great, lovely human beings, and I'm giving virtual hugs to each of you! Shoutout to those who take time to comment! It really brightens my day and tickles my muse! Enjoy the chapter!

Xoxo, Luce

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A Wizard's Promise

Draco was sitting at the little table in his room scowling, his glass of firewhisky in front of him. He knew that Rowle was with Hermione—or at least in the cells—and he fucking hated that. Hermione had told him that no one else, aside from Rodolphus, had come to her yet, which Draco thought was rather lucky.

He was still pissed off that he couldn't think of anything better, more solid, to get her out of there, and she was content to just wait for fucking Saint Potty to come save her. Fat fucking chance of that. She had no clue the kind of wards that were surrounding the manor, and the sheer amount of Death Eaters here—they'd need to send the whole fucking Order if they were going to even stand a chance. Not to mention the Dark Lord was here. So no, some poorly thought out rescue plan by Potter was not going to fix this.

She was so fucking stubborn! Draco took a sip of his firewhisky, trying to pace himself. If he was going to figure Rowle out tonight, he needed to stay mostly sober. He figured if he could get a few drinks in the man, he'd become tipsy enough that he wouldn't notice a low dose of Veritaserum, and Draco could slyly determine exactly where his loyalties lie. But first, he had to wait for him to fucking show up.

It wasn't until ten past nine that a knock sounded on his door. Draco lifted his wand, opening the door with magic. Rowle strutted in, casually shutting the door behind him.

"Evening," he said, a smirk playing under his raised eyebrows. "Started without me?"

"I didn't know how long you'd be, I wasn't going to sit here just staring at the bloody bottle," Draco said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "I'll pour you a glass."

Rowle sat, accepting the firewhisky Draco offered. He nodded once, bringing it to his mouth and took a sip. His lips pursed as he lowered the glass to the table and met Draco's eyes. "Fuck, you were right. This shit is amazing."

Draco chuckled, sipping his own portion. "Told you," he said smugly, watching as Rowle took another large drink.

"So you've got what, five days until you're back to Hogwarts?"

"Six," Draco replied.

"Lucky you," Rowle said under his breath.

Draco raised his glass, silently toasting the sentiment before lifting it to his lips. He was glad his tolerance for alcohol had grown over the last year. It meant he didn't have to be overly cautious about not getting drunk.

Silence fell between them, as each sipped at their drinks, enjoying the aged alcohol. After a bit, Draco reached out to the bottle, refilling their glasses.

"How is she?" he asked, hoping he sounded indifferent.

Rowle eyed him for a moment, as if considering his motives before he spoke. "Seems fine. I haven't spoken to her, but I do check on her when I'm down there." He shrugged, taking another sip and holding eye contact with Draco for a moment, letting the silence grow heavy between them. "I hate that I'm the one he always calls to do the torture."

"Shouldn't have let him figure out how good you are at Legilimency," Draco said.

"Yeah, good luck hiding that kind of thing from him." Rowle rolled his eyes.

Draco tried not to look smug as he took another sip. Good luck indeed, he thought. So far he had been hiding it quite well. Granted, the Dark Lord did know that he had some skill in the area, but he had no clue that Draco was as advanced in the subject as he was. Hopefully it would stay that way.

"So you don't enjoy it then?" he asked, hoping to gauge how much the alcohol was affecting his friend by his reaction to a question Draco knew grated him.

"The fuck, Malfoy? You know I don't enjoy that shit! I fucking hate it. What's wrong with you?" Rowle spat.

Draco raised his hands in surrender. "Just asking," he said.

"No, I fucking don't enjoy it," he sneered, "especially when it's just some… some girl."

"I know her, you know."

"I figured you did. Better than just school acquaintances, if you ask me," Rowle smirked.

"We've been classmates for six years, so yeah, I sort of know her." Draco shrugged, trying for nonchalance as he picked up his glass. He took another swig, finishing off the amber liquid. Reaching for the bottle again, he purposefully brought it back a little roughly, making sure to knock Rowles glass onto the floor.

"Shit! Sorry!" he said quickly. "Fuck, I wasn't paying attention."

Rowle chuckled, looking down at the broken glass on the floor. "Good thing I already drank it, otherwise that would have been alcohol abuse."

Draco let out a slight laugh and vanished the glass on the floor with a flick of his wand. He stood and walked to the liquor cabinet along the wall, smirking to himself while his back was turned. He picked up the glass that he had already set out earlier that night—containing just a few drops of Veritaserum in the bottom—and walked back to the table. Picking up the bottle of firewhisky, he filled the new glass, setting it down in front of Rowle with an apologetic grin.

"Sorry about that," he said, taking his seat again. "Where were we?"

"You were just about to tell me of your undying love for the girl locked up in your basement," Rowle snickered, taking a sip of his drink.

Draco watched him for a moment, heart pounding as he waited to see if his plan would work. When Rowle simply placed his glass back on the table, waiting for a response, Draco felt relief flood him. Shaking his head, he raised his eyebrows. "You seem to be quite interested in her, Rowle."

"She happens to be quite the interesting girl," he shrugged.

"Oh yeah, because loads of people torture someone, and decide they want to become friends after."

"I thought she was interesting before the torture, thank you very much," Rowle said, rolling his eyes.

Draco raised his eyebrows incredulously.

"I went to school with her, too, you twat. She was a bit of a know-it-all, but you can't deny her brilliance, and after seeing her—well, I find I'd like to know more," he said, drinking deeply.

"That's kind of sick, you know."

"What? I can't fancy learning a bit more about a witch who is clearly not what she seems?" Rowle asked.

"How do you plan on learning more about her? She's stuck in a fucking cell." Draco watched the man take another sip before answering.

"She won't be in there forever," he said confidently.

"Do you know something?" Draco asked a little too eagerly.

"No." Rowle shrugged. "But she's too brilliant for the Dark Lord to just let her rot away. Plus, Rodolphus will be doing whatever he can to get her out, too. My guess is she'll be out before you're back for Easter hols."

"You think he's just going to let her go? She's Potter's… whatever it is she is to him. The Dark Lord is not going to ignore that."

"I have a feeling—" he paused, seeming to roll the words around his mouth before speaking again. "I have a feeling that he has high hopes for her usefulness, and won't care in what form that comes. Compliance by persuasion is still compliance to him," he finished, taking another drink.

"You don't think he'd Imperius her?" Draco asked, disgusted.

"No, he wouldn't. He doesn't care about her that much. But I think Rodolphus would. If it was that, or let her die." Rowle drew down the corners of his mouth and shrugged.

"That's despicable," Draco whispered, nauseated. To see someone as strong and independent as Hermione reduced to the nothingness of an Imperius was not a welcome thought.

"I don't think it will happen, though." Rowle shook his head.

"Oh?"

"Nah, that girl is far too good an Occlumens to be controlled by an Imperius. At least mentally. There is no way she'd let all her secrets out. Plus, like I said, I think she will be out of that cell by Easter anyway."

"And how is that going to work then?" Draco asked, confused by Rowle's assurance.

"Well," he said, cockily taking a sip from his tumbler. "You obviously have a plan, otherwise you wouldn't have drugged my glass with Veritaserum and tried to trick whatever information it is you're trying to obtain out of me."

"Wha—"

"You can drop the act, Malfoy. I know what Veritaserum feels like, even after a fair amount of firewhisky— which is delicious, by the way. Whatever you're playing at, you've got more information than you're letting on. So," he paused, eying Draco and smirking wickedly, "are you shagging her then?"

Draco sputtered, nearly spitting out the firewhisky he had just sipped. "What?!"

"Ahh, alright. So you just want to be shagging her," he grinned.

"What are you talking about Rowle? Why would you say that?" Draco said, his voice a little louder than he intended.

"I saw your face when you saw her that first night—when I brought her in. That wasn't the face of someone seeing an old schoolmate. You were genuinely afraid for her. It was painfully obvious. You're just lucky that I was the one to bring her down. Plus, I know you spend your whole shift in that cell with her." Rowle shrugged, as if the information was almost boring.

"How in the world would you know that," Draco asked dryly.

"Oh come off it, Malfoy. I know you cast that stupid alarm spell on the stairs. So I just stood at the top and cast a little Homenum Revelio, and voila," he said smugly, raising his hands in front of himself and shrugging slightly.

"What the fuck, Rowle? You're spying on me now, you fucker?" Draco spat, angry and nervous. What was his angle? Why had he done that?

Rowle just shrugged, sipping his glass again. Draco stared at him incredulously, as shock and worry ate at his chest.

"I don't care, you know," he finally said, setting his now empty glass on the table in front of him.

Draco raised his eyebrows, eyes wide.

"Honestly. Before you tried to drug me, I had been planning on getting you drunk enough to ask if you'd tell her that I'm a friend, and she could trust me."

"A frien— you do realise that you tortured her, right? Friends don't torture each other," Draco spat.

"How many times have we had to endure a crucio at each others' wand then, Draco? Are we not still friends?"

"That's different! We didn't have a choice, and we both knew it."

"And you think I had a choice? When the Dark Lord tells you to do something, you do it or you die. You know that. You also know that if it had been anyone else, it would have been much worse for her. So shut the fuck up and tell me what the hell is going on," Rowle demanded, fixing Draco with a hard stare.

Draco sat for a moment, running his hands down his face in frustration. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. He realised now that this had likely not been the best way to go about it, but at the time it had seemed easier than just outright asking the man. Plus, if he'd been wrong, well, he'd have been dead by morning. But fuck, now what did he do? Tell him the plan? Would he help? Maybe. Maybe this could be good. He could use someone else, someone besides his mother. As much pull as she may have, she isn't a Death Eater. She could only do so much from her position. Having Rowle help, having someone on the inside while he was gone at school, that could be—it would be good. He would be able to keep an eye on her.

"I need a Wizard's Promise first," Draco reluctantly said.

"Let's get it over with, then." Rowle agreed, holding out his arm.

Draco grasped his wrist, and Rowle did the same, interlocking the two. Raising his wand, Draco waved it over their joined hands, watching subtle sparks surround them.

"Thorfinn Rowle, I need you to promise to keep what I'm about to tell you, and all of its implications, to yourself—keeping it secret. I need your promise to put Hermione Granger-Lestrange's safety above all else. Do you promise?"

"On my magic, I promise this," Rowle agreed.

A thin, rope-like light emitted from Draco's wand, wrapping itself around their wrists once, before disappearing with a light pop.

Satisfied, Draco dropped his grip, sitting back in his chair. A Wizard's Promise wasn't deadly like an Unbreakable Vow, but it would fuck with his magic if he broke it, and that was definitely something Rowle couldn't afford. He really hoped he was making the right decision, telling him, but at this point, there was no turning back. Draco took a brief moment to think through what he would tell Rowle, twisting the facts just enough that the man would understand the situation, without being privy to all the details.

"I was being honest when I said we've been in classes together for a long time. But last year, we started meeting up, outside of class. Just studying our lessons at first. But eventually, she asked me to teach her Occlumency…"

xXxXxXx

It was just past one in the morning when Rowle left his room. Draco was bone tired, but feeling a little relieved. Rowle had listened patiently as he explained his relationship with Hermione, obviously skipping anything to do with the Order. In the end, Draco had told him that they studied together, and eventually formed a friendship. Then she disappeared during the summer, and this was the first he'd seen her since. Draco had also left out the fact that he liked her more than just as friends. It wasn't that he didn't trust Rowle with that information, because he obviously trusted the man at this point—he just didn't want him to say anything to Hermione before Draco himself had a chance to figure it out. So he had been adamant that they were friends, plain and simple.

Rowle had suggested that once Narcissa played her cards and Hermione was out of the cells, he could work with her on her dark magic. Get her used to it being used on her, as well as using it herself. He made a point that Draco hadn't considered, though he ended up agreeing with wholeheartedly: Hermione wasn't the type of girl to be satisfied with becoming a 'Pureblood lady'. If she were to fully accept the part she would need to play, Draco had no doubt she would be unappeased sitting on the sidelines. No, she would want to be right in on the action. And while that thought had Draco's stomach in knots, he figured that it would be better for her to learn from Rowle everything she could, rather than just going at it with her bloody Expelliarmus and Stupefy. No, she would need to learn darker curses if she wanted to have a fighting chance among the Death Eaters.

Draco poured himself another tumbler of firewhisky, and downed it in one long gulp. He hated that this was really her only option now. Even if she agreed—which would be a bloody miracle—he knew it would eat her up inside. She was too good for this; her heart was too kind, too pure. But fuck if he'd let her just rot away in a cell. He would convince her, and his mother would train her to be a proper Pureblood witch, and Rowle would help her learn the darker magics she would need, and hopefully- hopefully, it would be enough to trick everyone.

He walked to his bed, pitching himself face first into the mass of blankets, and kicked off his shoes. Draco didn't even take his clothes off before he fell asleep, worry and fear staining his dreams again that night.

xXxXxXx

"We've got nearly all our pawns placed inside the Ministry, my Lord," Rabastan said, as he cut into his steak and took a bite.

"Excellent. I believe we are well on our way then, to bringing the wizarding world to its knees," Voldemort responded, smiling.

Narcissa sat with her hands in her lap, as Lucius served her. She smiled, nodding almost imperceptibly at her husband. He gently squeezed her knee and turned his attentions back to the conversation at the table.

"Now, what about Potter?" Voldemort asked, eating his own steak.

"We believe he will have gone back to the Order, but are unsure at the moment where that might be. Severus has Hogwarts locked down; if he goes there for help he will be found out right away." Rabastan said.

"This wouldn't be a problem, Bella dear, if you hadn't failed to bring him in," Voldemort said, his tone only lightly scolding, though everyone at the table knew he was quite displeased.

"I am sorry my lord. The mudblood—"

"When are you going to stop this, Bella?" Rodolphus turned to his wife, cheeks reddening with anger. "She is my daughter, and you know that!"

"Now, now Bella," Voldemort said as if he were talking to a child. "We have been blessed with another Pureblood witch. Is that not a good thing?"

"Well, yes my Lord, but—"

"Is that not what we want in this world? More Purebloods?"

"It is, my Lord, yes. However, I just think this particular—"

"Do you not think her lineage is suitable?"

"Of course it's suitable, but she's—" Bella said, exasperated.

"I don't see the problem then," Voldemort responded, taking a sip of his water.

"She's not on our side!" Bella screeched, slamming her palms onto the table as she stood up, her chair falling backwards with the movement.

There was a stunned silence around the table as everyone waited for the Dark Lord's reaction. He brought his napkin to his face, dabbing it slightly before placing it back into his lap.

"You may excuse yourself, Bella," he said, without looking at her. "Rodolphus, we do need to talk about what we are going to do with her."

Bellatrix slowly backed away from the table, sending a seething glare at each member still seated, before turning and stalking off.

Narcissa cleared her throat delicately, making a submissive eye contact with the Dark Lord.

"Yes, Narcissa dear?" He turned to her, smiling.

"My Lord, I have been thinking—"

"Oh, I love it when you do that Narcissa. You are quite a treasure," he purred.

Smiling back, she continued. "It is so very unfortunate that so few children were born during the first war; there are hardly any witches that are our son's ages," she motioned around the table as Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Lucius were nodding their agreement.

The Dark Lord remained silent, though there was a slight gleam in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows, indicating she should continue.

"Wouldn't it be lovely to add even one more Pureblood witch to their pool of choices?" she said dreamily, smiling brightly at the Dark Lord.

"Already matchmaking for Draco, I see." He laughed, folding his hands in front of himself. "That sounds delightful, dear. I see only one problem."

"If you're speaking to her loyalties, My Lord, I believe we can persuade her."

"I'm not sure I agree with you, Narcissa."

"My Lord, I can try and persuade her," Rodolphus said apprehensively. "She must want to know more about her true lineage, her family… but if that doesn't work, I can Imperius her."

"No, no, that won't do Rodolphus," Voldemort chided gently. "To Imperius the body is one thing, but the mind? No, the mind is far too complex to use an Imperius. We would lose access to any information she may have.

"If what Draco has told me of the girl is true, My Lord, she could be coaxed. She is ruled by logic. Once she is informed of our beliefs—our goals—well, it's only logical she agree and join us." Narcissa smiled warmly, her hands held palm up indicating the group as a whole. "Plus, you know I have always yearned for a daughter to teach our customs to."

Voldemort laughed, clapping his hands together. "Oh my, was this just a ploy so that you could dress and spoil a daughter, Narcissa?" He laughed again, smiling at her. "If you can persuade her, then I do believe she would be a lovely addition. I'm still not sure she will be won over, but you may certainly try; maybe Draco will be able to help convince her, since they are schoolmates. Now, Lucius," he said, turning to the blond man and effectively ending that portion of the conversation, "What can you tell me about the project you've been working on?"

Narcissa smiled to herself, squaring her shoulders slightly, and quietly sighing in relief.

xXxXxXx

Hermione had her hand up, practising her wandless magic. It wasn't going well so far, but she had been able to cast a simple summoning spell on the blanket in the cell. Granted, the blanket seemed to move toward her slower than molasses, and it left her panting and sweating, but it was something. She was wiping her brow and desperately wishing for a shower when she heard the footsteps. Her heart rate picked up as her mind raced.

It wasn't Draco, of that she was sure. As they got closer, she heard a distinct clacking, and her stomach dropped. High heels? It was a woman. Shite, Bellatrix. Hermione steeled herself for what was next, hoping that the insane woman would just kill her quickly, and skip the torture. She didn't know if she could handle more torture.

When the footsteps stopped, Hermione could see a faint figure, definitely a woman, standing at the door. Her breathing hitched.

"Hello, Hermione."

xXxXxXx