Chapter 28—Learning to Cope
Sometime in March
Hermione, my love,
We are so close. I don't know how I know, but I can feel it. As cliche as it sounds, I can feel it in my soul; I can feel your presence. You're never far from me, of course, since I keep you with me always. But physically, you're close. I know our time is coming. I've started to save my energy; I have a feeling I'll be needing it soon. This magic is draining, the transfiguration strenuous, so this may be the last letter I write to you. But if it is, I know I will have the chance to say everything to you in person.
I love you, my angel. I can't wait to see you.
Yours,
Draco
As he paced back and forth in front of the clean wall in the back of his cell, legs burning with exhaustion, Draco could not shake the lingering traces of the Dark magic-induced nightmare from earlier. He couldn't figure out whether it was the same day, or yesterday, or a week ago, but the effects of the nightmare would not leave his psyche. Someone was trying incredibly hard to convince him to marry Astoria, and he could not understand why someone would be so invested in his future.
Unless…
The possibility that Lucius Malfoy was the brains behind this operation was increasingly likely. Who else would have such a vested interest in the continuation of the Malfoy line? Who else would be so well-versed in Dark magic to induce a nightmare like the one he had, or the intelligence to formulate and execute a plan of this magnitude?
As much as Draco wanted to be wrong, he knew there was no other possibility. His father was the bastard holding him and his mate hostage. There could be no question, no doubt left in his mind. And if he were to face this truth, he would also have to face the fact that his father was intent on destroying his relationship with Hermione, no matter the cost to Draco himself.
Another terrifying thought gripped Draco as he came to this realization: if it were true, and Lucius was holding him and Hermione captive, then the familiarity of his cell made sense. They were in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, locked beneath the home, indubitably in adjoining cells. So, as he sunk to the ground again in horror, he was left to wonder: what had Lucius done to Narcissa?
There was no way Draco's mother would be on board with this manic plot. She had met Hermione only briefly, but they had gotten along and she had been thrilled to see Draco happy with a powerful, intelligent witch. Nothing in her reactions had suggested she would go along with whatever Lucius was trying to accomplish; she would not betray her son's happiness, or his life, to protect some wild notions of blood purity.
He scoffed. Blood purity. The idea was even more ridiculous now that Draco knew Hermione for who she was. If there was an argument to be made for pureblood superiority, Hermione would not be as skilled, smart, or heroic as she was. Hell, Potter was a half-blood, but Draco knew he was a million times the man Lucius would ever be. A war was fought and lost on this ridiculous idea, and yet common sense revealed it to be a non-issue. Oh, the futility of hatred.
Was his father really so daft to uphold this meaningless standard to his family, despite the chance that his only son would die without his Muggle-born mate? Never mind the fact that the Malfoy line was tainted with Veela blood to begin with, was Lucius really willing to watch his son die to preserve some ancient, nonsensical idea?
But no… He wouldn't watch Draco die. He had mentioned to what had to be Draco's grandfather Abraxas's portrait that he wanted to "knock some sense" into Draco, and spouted lines about preserving the pure Malfoy lineage. That didn't suggest that he would be satisfied with killing him. And since Hermione was the link keeping Draco alive, there was really only two ways Lucius could play this, and neither brought him any comfort. His father could either sever the bond between Draco and Hermione, or he could kill his son's mate. And if Draco knew his father, he knew that the man would try to do both. That meant that Draco's window for freeing himself and his fiancée just got a hell of a lot shorter.
Just as Draco began to work up the strength to pull his aching body off the floor once again, the doors of the dungeon flew open and the torches on the wall promptly extinguished themselves. He was unsure why his captors still took this precaution, but he supposed he could use it to his advantage. He could hear the clicks of the guard's shoe slap against the cold stone, and Draco quietly situated himself against the wall, pressing a palm to the brick to seek out the tension he'd felt there before. Subtle vibrations hummed against his skin, and he shifted slightly to the left just as a tiny wandlight came to life at the door of his cell, enough to tell where she was but not quite enough to see her face.
"Draco," Astoria's smug voice rung out. "Why are you hiding? Scared of a little wandwork?" He could hear the smirk that was undoubtedly spread across her ghastly face.
"Please, Astoria. Let's not pretend you have any skill that would scare me. You need me wandless and weak before you bring your wand up against me," Draco scoffed. It was wrong of him to taunt her, he knew, but the hate that bubbled in the pit of his stomach fueled his angry words. This mediocre, pathetic witch was the reason he was apart from Hermione. He no longer had the patience to hold back.
"Oh, Draco. Poor, pathetic Draco. No matter how you got here, you're still here, aren't you? And I still have a wand in my hand." She rolled the long, plain wand between her fingers as if to demonstrate how little effort she would need to use it.
"Do it then, if you want to curse me so badly." Salazar's soul, he was an idiot. He knew that if Astoria hexed him, it would hurt Hermione, but he was tired of it all. The games, the mockery, the mystery. The exhaustion, it seemed, had numbed his common sense and allowed his temper to flare up in its stead.
The pale girl brought her wand up closer to her face, revealing the garish smile stretched across her lips. It did not reach her eyes. "Ah, darling, you have no idea how much I would love to do that. But the boss might be upset if I do. He's got a little something in store for you today, you lucky thing."
Draco could feel his heart drop at her words, and he suddenly had the urge to vomit. He debated on whether he should reveal his knowledge or not. "Is that right?" he questioned hesitantly, testing the waters. "You're just under someone else's thumb. Color me surprised."
Her beady eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though her condescending smile never wavered. "Trust me, Draco, I am not in this without substantial motive. When all is said and done, I will have what I came for."
"And what might that be? Who would be so foolish as to give you anything for being a lackey?" he shot back, anxious to see whether she'd reveal anything.
"Wouldn't you like to know? Oh, but rest assured, you'll have a place in this endgame." Astoria turned her focus to her wand, fiddling with it once again.
"Do you mean to say that I am what you expect to gain out of this plot?" Draco laughed hoarsely, his voice laced with disgust. "Even if I weren't in love with Hermione, I'd be damned if I ever laid so much as a finger on the likes of you."
Her eyes shot back up to meet his as the light from her wand brightened even further. Stupid girl, he thought. He could now see the entire corridor, and his brain was quick to register his location in the dungeon. There were six cells total, two along each wall and three across the length of the dungeon, and from Draco's place near the middle of the cold cellar he knew he was in one of the middle cells. That meant that Hermione had to be directly adjacent to him. And if logic could serve him, she was likely in the one opposite the wall he was currently pressed against.
Astoria's grating voice called his attention once more. "Sweetheart. You know nothing, do you? Shame, really, that the wisdom of the Malfoy line seems to have skipped a generation. Never you mind, though; I'm sure you and I will work through your foolishness when the time comes. I've learned quite a bit over these last few weeks, love."
Draco's mind was racing. She had mentioned the Malfoy line, but she hadn't directly referenced his father, and he wasn't sure he wanted to reveal his hand so soon. "You can't have learned all that much if you still believe you'll succeed. You can tell your bloody bosses that it'll take more than your idle curses to wear either of us down." He knew he shouldn't bait the younger witch, but her smugness was more than frustrating.
Even so, she just smiled, her muddy eyes cold. "I wouldn't speak so soon, Draco dearest." The false smile dropped from her face suddenly, and he only barely registered the twitch of her wand hand before he heard her whisper the curse and felt the white-hot pain course through his veins.
"Crucio."
Almost worse than the skull-splitting pain that Astoria's curse inflicted was the heart-stopping agony of Hermione's pain and sadness that cracked Draco's chest. Once again, he found himself wishing that she'd be spared the extra suffering. He felt a sick sense of déjà vu as the thought floated through his head for what felt like the millionth time, but it was no less true. His Hermione, his brave, powerful, fearless witch, should not have to endure the pain he felt at the hands of some scorned old crush.
Of course, he didn't mind bearing the brunt of her pain, since in the back of his mind he felt guilty for this situation they were in. After all, it was his father who'd kidnapped them both, his Housemate who was generous with the Cruciatus, his blood that'd bound Hermione to him in the first place. He couldn't help but hate himself for dragging the beautiful, strong Gryffindor lioness into this fiasco. As often as she'd told him that it wasn't his fault, he knew that wasn't true. His damned Veela blood had stuck her in a situation that had been impossible to turn away from, especially for someone with as pure a heart as Hermione. And for all the stress Lucius had put on being purebloods….
But that was it, wasn't it? Why was his father so obsessed with sabotaging his relationship for the sake of blood purity, when they were already part-Veela? Lucius had to be aware of the Veela magic that dominated the Malfoy line, since it was passed through his family and not Draco's mother's. Could he really be so close-minded that he could ignore the Veela influence so long as it matched with a pureblooded witch?
Draco audibly scoffed. Of course he could. This was a man who had lent his life, his home, his wand, and his only child to a madman's plot to uphold a standard that Voldemort himself couldn't meet. There was no logic to his father's reasoning, and there would be no sensible plea that could pull Lucius away from this fruitless quest. No, it would have to come to a duel, and though Draco knew that he could at least compete with his father in a one-on-one battle, and that his father was more than deserving of a few painful curses, he knew he would hesitate to use Unforgivables where Lucius would not. Salazar's soul, he needed Hermione yet again.
The thought anguished Draco; he always needed Hermione more than she needed him. Whether it be as his mate, his co-chair, his research partner, or his backup in a duel—honestly, he was probably her backup, but those were semantics—he felt that he was always the one asking for her help. That only served to heighten his need to save them. She was strong, yes, and capable of fending for herself, but neither of them stood a legitimate chance without the other. Finally, he would be able to give Hermione something more than just his doting affection. But before any of that, he needed to figure out a way to reunite with her.
Almost as if on cue, the brick at Draco's back began to vibrate a bit harder. He pressed his palm against the wall in a desperate attempt to strengthen it and destroy the barrier, but the quakes slowed nearly instantly. The blond slammed his palm against the wall frustratedly, brow furrowing with worry. What was he missing? There was undeniably something else necessary to break down the wall… Something else he needed…
Of course! How could he be so stupid? The one thing he was missing was the thing—rather, the person—he's always needed: Hermione. They had to work together to bring the wall down, and then they could bust out of this place, working together as only the two of them could do. Somehow they would have to coordinate their movements, sync up with one another; that was the only way that wall was coming down. And it had to come down.
Draco resigned himself to staying against one single section of the wall, closer to the frumpy grey mattress thrown across the middle of the cell, his head and hip pressed into the cold brick. That was apparently all he could do, just wait in one spot and hope Hermione wandered over close enough to him to make it work. Knowing her, his brilliant witch, she likely already knew what needed to happen. This way, if he managed to stay in one place, she could find him more easily. Once again, he was at Hermione's mercy, but he didn't mind it—he had absolute faith in her ability to get them out of this. For now, all he could do was wait.
When Draco awoke, noting the absence of any vibration in the brick, a dim pinprick of light was pulsing from the hallway. Blinking slowly, Draco brought up a dirt-covered hand to brush away his matted blond hair from his eyes. Although the wandlight was nearly nonexistent, there was no mistaking the broad figure that stood before him now that Draco knew who he was looking at. The wide set of the shoulders, the haughty tilt of the chin, the pale locks of hair that reflected even the most minute beam of light: Lucius Malfoy was watching his son from beyond the rusted iron bars, studying him with a cold interest.
Draco tried to avert his eyes to buy himself some time, figure out the best approach to dealing with his father, but the older Malfoy had caught sight of his open eyes too quickly.
"Get up, boy." He was still using a Voice Masking charm, so he didn't know Draco had identified him. Still, there was no familiarity in his voice, nor any room to protest.
"For what?" Draco said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. How long had he been asleep?
"You're not in any position to question me, I'm afraid. But if you insist, I'm sure I could provide you with some incentive," Lucius mocked, still in that same condescending tone.
Draco's eyes narrowed to slits. "If you mean a curse, you should know by now that you won't wear me down that way." His voice dripped with an unspoken challenge, as much as he knew how awful that idea was.
Instead, a mocking laugh rang through the cold, damp air. "Oh, you foolish thing. No, I think something else might compel you a little better. Bring it in, Goyle."
Goyle? Despite his initial surprise, Draco didn't have to try very hard to figure out how Lucius had recruited his old Housemate. The idiot was daft enough to persuade with the tiniest promise, and he was never so loyal that a well-placed bribe and some smooth words couldn't flip him. That would be the brawny guard with a penchant for exquisite torture, then. Terrific.
As the blond stowed this information away, Goyle stumbled into the hallway in front of the cell, dragging a familiar form in his stocky hands.
"Hermione!" Draco yelled immediately, relieved to see her in the flesh. No wonder there was no movement in the bricks anymore.
He regretted his impulsive cry almost immediately. His father, still disguising his voice, scoffed.
"A Malfoy reduced to a sap, all at the behest of a Mudblood. What a disgrace to your noble ancestry. Perhaps the line deserves to die with you," he pondered with scorn penetrating every syllable.
Draco ignored him, instead looking for any sign of life in his witch. "Hermione? Hermione!"
"Never you mind, she's still alive. For now," Lucius taunted. "Rennervate."
Hermione awoke with a start, instinctively struggling in Goyle's harsh grasp. "Let go of me, you great oaf! I swear to Godric—"
But before she could finish the thought, her whiskey-brown eyes flew up and locked on Draco's mercurial silver. She paled, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. "Draco?"
His heart split in half at the sound of her broken voice. She looked thinner, her hair knotted and infused with dust. There were scratches up her arms, clothing torn in various spots, and it seemed her cheek had been cut on some jagged edge. Still, her eyes burned with passion and anger, her fiery spirit clearly unbothered by their current situation.
"Hermione, love, I—" As much as Draco wanted this to be a heartfelt reunion, the present circumstances were too dire. Who knew how much patience Lucius had, or Goyle? No, he had to keep his emotions in check. "I know what we have to do. The wa—"
"I know, Draco, stop! I know!" Her gaze darted frantically from Goyle to Lucius, warning him not to say too much, lest they catch on and prevent them from doing what had to be done. He nodded in understanding, hoping his gaze reflected everything he wanted to say in that moment.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
I will get us out.
"How sweet. You can read each other's minds now, can you?" Lucius laughed again. The sound grated at Draco's ears. "This is nauseating to watch. Now, on your feet, boy. It would be a tragedy if anything were to happen to young Miss Granger here, wouldn't it?" As he spoke, the light at the tip of Lucius's wand brightened, and a single long finger reached out to stroke the side of Hermione's face. She jerked her head back, hateful disgust burning in her eyes.
Not wanting to risk anything, Draco drew himself shakily to his feet. How long had it been since he'd eaten? Despite his weakness, he lifted his chin defiantly. "Leave her alone. This is between you and me, Father."
A low whistle escaped Lucius's lips. "You're not as daft as I thought, son." Silently, the older wizard lifted the Voice Masking charm before speaking again. "And here I thought you were a lost cause."
"If you underestimated me, that's your own mistake. Now, leave Hermione alone. She has no place in this," he said, hoping his desperation hadn't leaked into his voice. It was almost too easy for him to slip back into a cold exterior when he was standing in front of his father.
"On the contrary, Draco. She is quite literally in the middle of this. How could you, son?" Disgust had begun to seep into Lucius's tone. "After all I taught you, everything I instilled in you, you disappoint me like this? How could you, my only son, let yourself be caught in the traps of a Mudblood." He spit the last word as if it was barely worth his breath. And he probably thought it wasn't.
Hot anger began to brew in the pit of Draco's stomach. "You'll kindly refrain from using that word to describe my fiancée. You know it's a load of bollocks, anyway. You taught me that purebloods were superior, but you knew we weren't purebloods anyway. If I'm not mistaken, it's your lineage that carries Veela blood, isn't it?"
His father's jaw tightened, as if the man were restraining himself from physically flying into a rage. "Veela are magical beings, much like wizards are. The noble house of Malfoy has been one of strength and magical power for generations. She's nothing but a Muggle who managed to steal magic on a fluke. Purebloods—"
"Are humans, just the way that Muggles are." Draco's eyes were undoubtedly betraying the loathing he felt so deeply. "Your crony there, Goyle? He's a pureblood, and he doesn't have two brain cells to rub together. The same could be said for any of your pathetic Death Eater friends. Hermione may be a Muggle-born, but she is the smartest witch this world has ever seen. She was instrumental in taking down one of the most evil wizards to ever live, who was a half-blood, I might add. Your pathetic blood purity bullshit has no place in this world."
Lucius's eyes had narrowed to slits. "You think you're smart, do you, boy? Very well. I thought bringing your Mudblood in would keep you in check, but it seems she's useless for even that. Take her back to her cell, Goyle, and make sure she stays quiet until I'm done here."
With a grunt, Goyle gave Hermione a gruff shove and began pulling her out the door once again. Draco was disturbed to see a vicious gleam in his normally dull eyes.
"It'll be alright, Hermione! Don't w—"
Before Draco could finish his thought, the heavy stone door crashed shut, and his witch was gone from his view once again.
He turned his attention back to his father, mind racing to come up with a plan. This was likely their last chance. "Now what, Father? You've made it quite clear you don't approve. So what is it you plan to do? I'm sure you know I'll die without her. And if you kill her, I'll undoubtedly follow. It seems that you're out of options." Draco took a few subtle steps backwards as he spoke, trying not to draw attention to the movement.
"Foolish child. You really think death is the only option here? I shouldn't be surprised, what with your history of disappointing me. No, son, I'm sure you know there is one. Other. Option." Lucius punctuated those last three words with three echoing steps forward.
Draco mirrored his motions, taking three slow steps backwards. Just a few more, and he could lay his palm across the brick. Hopefully Hermione had made her way back there and managed to hold Goyle off.
"And what might that option be? Kill us both yourself?"
Lucius laughed. It was a cold, harsh sound that never got easier to hear. "You foolish child. What would I get out of killing you? No, I will keep my family line clean. Miss Greengrass has proved herself more than worthy—"
"She is an absolute idiot. All she cares about is her own self-image, and her lineage. You really expect me to spend my life with someone so bland?"
"Bland or not, she will make a suitable Malfoy wife. She is a far better option than that Mudblood tramp. Besides, why would you resist when that would only hurt her? If you do… care… for that witch, then you'll see there is nothing else to do but to break your bond with her." The disgust was dripping from every word. It clearly pained him to admit there was something real between Draco and Hermione. It made the younger Malfoy's blood boil.
"And if I refuse?" Draco was buying time now, and he took one final step back. His fingertips grazed the cold brick. A strong vibration passed through his body, but nothing happened to the brick itself. Come on, Hermione...
A vicious, menacing smile split across Lucius's lips; it was nauseating. "If you refuse, I assure you that your friend Goyle and I will find some more creative way to make it happen. But rest assured, I will succeed in this. You will not marry that Mudbl—"
Before he could finish his thought, a jolt ran through Draco's body. He only had a split second to turn his head before he saw it happen:
The brick wall between the cells exploded.
Author's Note: Here it is! So sorry for the prolonged delay. Hopefully this makes it up to you all. And I know I'm in no place to request anything, but reviews would really make me happy, and probably prompt me to finish out the next chapter faster. In any case, that will be up sooner than this one for sure. Like, within the next week. It's already half done, thank goodness. Anyway, let me know how you find this chapter, and I'll see you soon for the next one!
xx entirelymyown
