The Punishing
Chapter 14

No one's POV:

With Draco cuddled against Hermione's chest and her arm around him, he was stirred by her scent. She hadn't fallen asleep yet, unlike him. She'd been absent-mindedly twirling locks of his hair and scratching his scalp while she thought of things.

Hermione's anxieties progressed through her life drastically. In a world where you had to predict the unpredictable, it stole much-needed sleep and sanity. She would stay up questioning what her Master had do to that day; think of anything happened the day before – or week before – that could influence their mood; had they drank, etc. It helped, sometimes. She found that she could wake up and go about her days with minimum damage if she'd already taken the time to avoid putting herself in a difficult situation. But, on the other hand, sometimes it wouldn't matter.

The scars on her back seemed like a nightmare to Hermione. She barely remembered how she got them and tried not to look at them so that they stayed that way. It had been a day where she awoke to begin regular chores for her Master; water the vegetable garden, feed and brush the Pegasus that they bred and sold, collect daily supplies from the markets, make the family breakfast, clean the dishes and kitchen, all by 7am.

She enjoyed spending time with the Pegasus. It was the only time she felt like she wasn't a slave by being alone with them at the early break of morning. They were fond of her too, and she'd gotten rather attached.

On that fateful morning, she was outside tending to the garden when she heard smashing glass and a terrifying roar that only could belong to her Master. He was the man of the house; a tradesman who dealt as far as Europe if someone peaked an interest in buying his winged-horses. He'd just come back from a trip with three less Pegasus. He came staggering out to the front porch and his demon-eyes scanned his property for his slave-girl. When he laid eyes on her, a feeling she couldn't describe came over her with trembling knees. She nearly had tried to run. He had looked so terrifying, she felt if he got to her, she may not live.

He dragged her inside, not letting her gain her footing and she scraped along the rocks and sticks among the barren grass. She cried, thinking this would be the end of her.

He'd thrown her into the basement and shackled her to the wall, tearing her wenches dress down her back so it was bare.

That's when he started whipping her. She screamed, Merlin did she scream, but she had a feeling she couldn't have been doing it loud enough since it didn't seem to be doing anything. She lost count of lashes, perhaps 15, perhaps 27… she wasn't sure. Then he dropped the whip and went back upstairs like it was nothing, leaving her chained to the wall.

She hoped she'd just die. That, they'd forget about her and the pain, hunger and shock would take her away from this evil place.

Hermione never found out what brought on such a violent attack.

The struggle returning to her chores the next day, and even over the next several months, was unbearable. Her long gashes never got a chance to heal as they'd split back open during work.

That may have been the darkest chapter of Hermione's life, if there weren't so many others. When Nott had taken her, she felt like she was back on that farm; where people didn't need reasons to do bad things to her. She felt that way because after spending time under Draco's ownership, she developed a sense of trust and her routine mental-preparation before bed had disappeared. She didn't need to worry; or so she had thought.

Never the less, while she trusted Draco was a good Master… no, he was better than that, she thought.

She felt a faint blush come on, recalling his confession just hours ago. That felt faintly like a dream too.

Regardless, she kept her guard up. After all, she was in the snake pit, surrounded by the most influential people in the New Wizarding World. His father was Minister, and he supposedly had plans to dispose of her.

Hermione was broken free from reliving those memories as Draco stirred and awoke. Still exhausted, he chose not to move from his position across her chest. She hardly minded.

He sensed that she was distressed or otherwise occupied elsewhere and tried taking her mind off it. So, they spent the rest of the night right, up until dusk, talking and asking each other questions.

Hermione had learnt that his favourite food was tomato soup, because the House Elves would give it to him when he was sick. But he always told people it was Roast Duck.

He was still afraid of storms and the dark…

He'd never learned to swim.

His favourite colour was actually red.

He hated the colour yellow.

His secret talent was sketching, and he'd gotten his creative side from his Mother.

He hated having his photo taken and didn't actually like looking at himself in them.

That in their second year of Hogwarts, against contrary belief, Draco had won his position as seeker on his own and the brooms were a gift to the team from his father afterwards.

He didn't particularly enjoy alcohol unless it was elderflower wine.

And that then he was six, he accidentally dyed his hair, eyelashes and eyebrows green.

Hermione was in a fit of laughter most of the night from the wild, personal stories of his childhood. She enjoyed seeing him open and honest with her. It fed the warmth that glowed inside of her when she was with him.

If she had known half these things about him back in school, she figured that perhaps she would have looked at him differently as they made him more humane.

That thought dimmed quickly when she thought about Ron and Harry… she missed them so much and hoped they were safe. Last she knew, the Weasley's picked up the Burrow and took off to another country to escape the blood-traitor harassment and Harry was hidden away in a secret location with the Order. Bellatrix had said that they'd suspect to have found their hide-out. Hermione hoped that they were smart enough to be a step or two ahead of her… but Bellatrix was an insane murderer and very dedicated to serving the dark lord.

Somehow - she couldn't remember- she actually fell asleep in Draco's embrace. She didn't need to worry anymore…

Draco's POV:

"Again," I instructed, peeking up from the pages of my textbook.

Hermione was in training with Cordelia to practice wandless magic. When the Punishing began, all the muggle-born's that were sorted from their schools had their wands confiscated and burned. Access to a new wand for them both would be difficult. It seemed, anyway, that Cordelia had gotten around that obstacle already.

I watched her, levitating darts off the desk and flying them straight into the dart-board. They'd hit the centre with extreme accuracy and depth.

"It's all about focus. Focus on the energy around you; you don't have a wand, you must be the wand. What would the wand do?" She asked, walking to the target and ripping the darts out to reset. "What does every class in school require? A wand. Our only ticket into manipulating the magical universe is with that wand. Does that mean we're useless without them? NO, there is magic inside of us, we just have to dig deep and USE IT!"

Cordelia was getting intense, firing Hermione up to try again and again. She'd managed to levitate and throw the darts, but her accuracy was so-so. I was on stand-by for damage control as I read through my law studies.

Her words were captivating, and I found myself gradually lowering my textbook further from my nose to listen.

We're only useful if we have our wands… ticked inside my head and I kept peering down at my own wand. It was made of Hawthorne Wood and Unicorn hair.

I began thinking about everything my father had taught me, and it hit me all at once; how incredibly useless blood status was when our magic sourced from the properties of other magical creatures.

I thought of Snape, how he had once said something similar in Potions class…

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."

This revelation shook me harder than anything that had tried to knock me down before. Everything the Wizarding World centred their practice and beliefs on was a lie.

I'm sucked out of my trance by the sound of wisping darts, soaring through the ear, followed by a loud crack.

Hermione was huddled over, breathing deeply. The darts had not only hit the target, but had it split in two, with the darts penetrating through the dry wall behind.

Cordelia was wide-eyed, and a smile stained her lips proudly.

She'd done it.

"Now, we move onto spells…" she said.

The study was at Hermione and Cordelia's disposal, under my supervision, of course. We had to be cautious of Jake still roaming the halls, and for now casted a silencing charm on the doors.

I was coming to the end of my law studies and would be able to register in the Ministry within a week or so if I put the work in. I needed that power for what I had planned…

If Jake was being truthful, then he and my father were indeed conspiring to mould me into an ideal, public-figure Malfoy, who indulged in the finer things in life and owned a harem of slaves. Hermione had meant to be my undoing; a tool to make me see that her kind did not deserve to be welcomed into our world. That's why she was so perfect, as I had despised the girl in school. She was once the very reason I used to believe magic should be kept by purebloods only.

Deep down, I feared what would have happened if he was right. The moment I saw Hermione Granger, grown out of her pre-pubescent body, I felt my chest tighten with the memories of her and her trio of friends patrolling Hogwarts like it was their kingdom. I couldn't see past it… hypothetically, Father's plan should have worked.

Hermione should have reminded me of where we stand as blood She should have reminded me that Maria was one of them too, as was their bastard son and that we had no business raising him as one of our own.

At least, that's what they'd hoped I'd conclude to…

I'd never been further from their brainwashing games.

Hermione studied daily, devouring one book after another. I'd seen her mimicking and repeating the incantations under her breath and twiddling her fingers in waving motions. She practiced until she was physically drained an exhausted, writing on any bits of scrap paper she found lying around; Stunning Spell, Patronus Charm, Reductor Curse, Tickling Charm, Impediment Jinx, Full Body-Bind Curse, Disarming Charm, Shield Charm and General Counter-Spell was listed on the back of an old envelope.

Just like in Hogwarts, she proved that she was as clever as any of us; re-learning and teaching herself new content. It put her right into her element as she so quickly caught up before my eyes.

It became a disturbing thought to me how us Purebloods seethed at the idea of muggle-born's harnessing the power of magic, as though it were stolen. It made even little sense for our dismissal of half-breeds too. Hermione Granger proved we were all the same… that there was magic within all of us, and we'd just known about it longer.

My heart inflamed, filling in every break and crack I'd endured over the past few years.

I couldn't lose her…

I hadn't meant to think of it, but I couldn't deny it was in the back of my head. Regardless of our feelings, it didn't cancel out the fact of who I was and who she was. We were still on opposite ends of this war with my father as Minister and her as the poster-child for why the Punishing began in the first place…

Fuck it, I thought and inhaled through my nostrils sharply. I slammed my law textbook down hard and zipped across the study to where she lay curled on the carpet, surrounded by books and parchment.

She looked up from her note-taking and I offered my hands for her to stand with me.

On her feet and standing so close in front of me, I took another breath. "Show me what you've learned," I asked.

She smiled at my request, naturally, being able to put her knowledge to the test.

She stood across the room and pinned her sight to one of the couch cushions. Her palm stretched out and with the quick whish of her fingers, blue light immersed from their tips at the sound of her voice.

"Reducto!" She said stiffly.

The pillow exploded into dust with an efficient pop.

Hermione looked to me with excitement behind her eyes, almost begging for her to test out more. I was more than obliged to watch.

She seemed to come to life, using magic. I could see the real her when she practiced. It had scarily crossed my mind that the girl I'd been falling for wasn't exactly herself… I had to be right. I could only hold onto the hope that when things were different, she'd still feel the same way about me, and I'd feel the same about her.

I knew I would.

She flashed one spell after the other on meaningless bits of stationery and trinkets, and all with success, they'd suffer the effects of her spells.

I sighed with relief, consumed by the wonder in my eyes.

She was ready.