A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! Thanks to SaintDionysus and raven_maiden .
Sorry to say, I need one extra week at the holidays for myself and for my Betas. So Chapter 20 will post on January 5.
Very excited for this chapter. One of the scenes in here was an inspiration for writing The Auction in the first place. Very glad to share it with you all now after almost two years.
Waking on Saturday morning was like pulling herself from a thick bramble that had settled over her in the night. Fighting her way back to consciousness, she struggled against aching muscles and a pounding behind her left eye.
She turned on her side and willed her body out of bed. But she couldn't move.
And then she remembered.
The Occlumency.
The One O'Clock Gun.
The strawberry-blonde's scream.
Dolohov's eyes.
And Draco's voice in her ear, steadying her, guiding her through the night's horrors.
He'd let her sob, let her lean on him, holding her close. And then he'd nodded. Agreeing with her? Agreeing to help her?
He'd called for an elf to take her back to her room with a Dreamless Sleep Potion, and her mind had shut down the moment her body slid in between the sheets.
Her eyes fluttered open as her mind sputtered to life, remembering all the things she needed to be doing. But such strong Occlumency had taken a toll on her body and mind. In spite of her intentions, she found herself drifting back out to sea.
When she could finally sit up in bed, the clock next to bed read four in the afternoon.
Hermione groaned. She couldn't afford to lose any more time. She needed to build up her Occlumency endurance. She needed to set an alarm from now on. She needed the elves to splash her with pails of cold water if she didn't move before nine.
Dragging her legs from the covers, she sat on the edge of her bed until she could pull herself into the bathroom. When she returned from a cold shower, there was a pain relief potion on her nightstand. She sent a prayer of thanks to the elves and downed the contents.
Once her head was clear again, Hermione focused her thoughts, closing the books in her mind that held the horrors of the One O'Clock Gun and the grief for the nameless Scottish girl and her brother.
A fresh memory fluttered to the surface. Arms holding her close, long fingers tracing the shell of her ear. Grey eyes locked on hers as he'd nodded.
Draco. He'd helped her last night. And maybe he'd help her again. Her heart thumped with the possibilities.
She threw on a jumper and denims and headed down the hall to Draco's door. A few knocks and several long minutes of waiting — and nothing. She wasn't surprised to find him absent, as he was rarely where she needed him to be.
His study was empty. The drawing room was empty.
But when she hurried down the stairs and pushed open the doors to the library, the sight stopped her in her tracks. Texts were strewn across the chairs, the floor, the small end tables. A dozen books hovered in front of their shelves, waiting to be plucked by whoever had called upon them from the book finder.
Hermione's lips parted at the sound of pages turning quickly from deep in the stacks. And then— "Still not hungry."
She blinked. She peered behind her shoulder to see if Mippy or Narcissa were standing there with a tray. As she turned back to the stacks, Draco poked his head from around a shelf, glaring. When he saw it was her, his frown vanished, and he snapped his book shut. He pulled a quill from behind his ear — a habit from school — and twisted it between his fingers.
"Granger," he said. "I thought you were Mother."
His eyes whipped around the room, as if just taking in the disarray she'd walked into. She held her breath as she studied him, watching the flush creep up his neck. He dropped the arm holding the book and tilted it so slightly behind him, and her eyes followed the movement.
"What are you researching?"
"Just looking for a solution to a problem," he clipped. He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair.
She nodded slowly, undeterred. She moved a few steps closer. "I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night."
He stared at her stiffly as she gazed up at him. His eyes different from the warm ones that had locked on hers last night, in his bedroom.
"You're welcome."
She waited for more, but nothing came. "And I wanted to—"
"Granger, I'm in the middle of something. Can this wait?"
She startled at the bite in his tone. There was a tension in his posture, a squaring of his shoulders that she recognized from Quidditch matches. Determination.
Suddenly she felt very silly. Thanking him for taking care of her while she cried. Thinking something had shifted. Her eyes prickled, and she snapped her mouth shut.
His eyes instantly softened. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she replied, watching his shoulders release. The burning behind her eyes faded into a slow throb. "Exhausted." She stood surrounded by all of his books and notes and messy piles. "Is this 'problem' anything I could help with?"
She inched toward the table filled with notes, eyeing an open book on the edge. Draco was there in the blink of an eye, slamming it closed. She managed to catch a glimpse of runes and Germanic translations scribbled on parchment before he swiftly stepped in front of her.
Her eyes flickered up to him, so close she had to tilt her head back. They'd been this close the night before, when he'd folded his arms around her as she sobbed. He'd pushed a curl over her ear and stared into her watering eyes like he'd been entranced.
She pushed the memories away. "I am pretty good at research, if you'll recall." She smiled, hoping he couldn't resist the chance to tease her. To let her in.
Instead he jerked his head. "No. I'm almost there." He swallowed tightly. "Thank you, though."
She blinked quickly, nodding her disappointment at her shoes. Maybe when he was done with his "problem," they could finally talk. She lifted her chin, took a deep breath, and said, "I find that in most cases, the answer is right in front of you."
His lips parted on a silent inhale, as if her flippant remark had disturbed him. Pink spots high on his cheeks as his eyes roved over her before returning to her gaze.
"Thank you, Granger. I'll keep an eye out for that," he murmured.
Nodding one last time, she excused herself, heading to the doorway. As she turned to close the library doors, she caught a glimpse of him sitting at the table, beginning to organize whatever he was researching. She was reminded of sixth year when he would sulk in corners and hunch over books in the library, looking pale and thin.
She ate dinner alone in her bedroom, poring over a heavy book on the history of South America that contained a reference to magical slavery somewhere. She made it three chapters before an overwhelming exhaustion pushed at her eyelids, beckoning her to sleep.
"Granger, wake up."
Her eyes snapped open, her body jolting with the presence of someone else in her room. It was pitch black.
A candle flamed next to her, revealing Narcissa leaning over her bedside table, shaking out a match.
"It's alright, dear," she whispered, but there was a quiver to her voice. She pulled back the coverlet, refusing to make eye contact. "It's alright," she said — more to herself.
"What—" Hermione fell silent, lips parting at the sight of Draco coming around the other side of her bed with another candle. His fingers fumbled a match out of a box, dropping it next to the candle without lighting it.
"What's happened?" she asked.
"Come." Narcissa peeled back the sheets over her legs, reaching for her. "Come with me."
Hermione scrambled out of bed, heart pounding in her ears. Narcissa led her into the bathroom suite as Draco moved to the fireplace, wand tracing a spell over the flames.
Opening the Floo.
Narcissa shut the door behind them, and Hermione blinked, taking in the elegant Narcissa Malfoy in her dressing gown, sans makeup, sans tailored robes. A white silk nightgown hanging limply from her elbow, and a pale expression to match.
"Remove your nightclothes," Narcissa whispered.
Hermione swallowed, mind begging for answers. But something told her to obey. "Are we going somewhere?" she squeaked. Her fingers moved quickly over her buttons, cold and quivering.
"No, dear. There's… someone is—"
She watched Narcissa struggle for words. Hermione's eyes went wide with rising terror, her breath coming quick. Voldemort?
"We're having visitors first thing in the morning," Narcissa finally managed. "I don't know why. We were told they need to do a medical examination."
Hermione pulled the opened shirt off her shoulders with shaking fingers, fear overriding her modesty as Narcissa bunched up the white silk and tossed it over her neck.
"Alright," she rasped. Chills bursting along her skin as the silk slipped over her. Too long. Probably Narcissa's. "And what are we doing?"
"There's an old spell. Something that they used to use on their daughters… A ritual."
Hermione stood frozen in terror as she let Narcissa's hands pull the gown down her legs. Fingers push her hair to the side. A cool chain draped over her shoulders as Narcissa placed a crystal necklace over her.
"What kind of ritual?" She didn't recognize the sound of her own voice. The crystal hummed against her skin. Magical.
Narcissa's cool blue eyes met hers. They pierced her, studying her.
"They will be able to see that your virginity is intact," she said quietly. "So, we're going to take it."
Hermione's skin tingled, feeling the weight of the silk gown on her shoulders. Waiting for the words to make sense to her.
A rattling knock at the bathroom door. "1:59," Draco's clipped tone rang out. Her body jerked, and Narcissa gripped her arms to guide her out.
Draco stood aside to let them pass, his eyes firmly planted on the mantle clock above the fireplace. Narcissa guided her to the bed, pushing her to sit.
Her mind caught up to her circumstances as Narcissa knelt before her, produced a bowl of water, dipped her fingers, and brushed her fingertips over Hermione's eyes and lips.
There was a ritual.
A ritual to trick the virginity spell. The one they'd cast on her to decide her starting price at the Auction.
Narcissa whispered something into the water bowl — something in German — before bringing it to her lips and swallowing half. She looked to Draco. He stood rooted to the carpets, muscles moving in his jaw.
This is what he'd been researching. Finding this ritual. He hadn't let her help him.
The small chime from the mantle clock, and he turned to them. "It's time."
He faced her, his grey eyes dead in the moonlight. Narcissa pushed the bowl to her, bringing it to Hermione's lips. Hermione drank the rest of the water, watching Draco over the rim. He stared her down as she swallowed.
He knew last night that they were coming. He knew they'd find her untouched, and he'd ransacked the library for a solution to his problem.
Hermione's breath hitched at the realization that he'd skipped over the easiest one.
Narcissa placed the bowl on the nightstand and crawled onto the bed, her long limbs gracefully folding under herself. She guided Hermione to sit in front of her, both facing the fireplace. Draco paced to the end of the bed, hand against the bedpost, watching the clock.
She opened her mouth to break the silence, to ask about the spell, and question the research, but the words died in her throat as the fireplace burned green, and Lucius Malfoy stepped through.
And her heart thumped in her chest.
Lucius glanced at her, dressed in white silk, waiting for him on a bed.
Draco stepped forward, pulling a book from his robes and flipping it open.
"From the Germanic. I've checked the translation. It's accurate." He met his father at the fireplace. "I've outlined the steps. The candle, the blood, the incantation—"
Lucius Malfoy raised a hand, halting his son. He took the book from him and peered down, turning the pages. The air around Draco seemed to buzz with a dark, twisting energy as he waited for permission to speak again.
A page turned, and Lucius paused, his brow arched. Hermione watched his eyes move quickly over the same passage until they lifted to her.
The book snapped shut. Lucius assessed her and said, "And if it doesn't work?"
"It will." Draco's mouth was in a hard line.
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then I'll think of something else."
But Lucius was staring at her. She blinked at him, feeling the question under her skin.
If this doesn't work, will you do this the easy way?
She swallowed, and tilted her head into the tiniest of nods.
Lucius's eyes returned to the text, browsing the words lazily, casually, like one might window shop at Diagon Alley. He was supposed to be in Romania. He was only permitted emergency Floo calls. They'd brought him in for an illicit dark ritual, and he had the nerve to act as if they had all the time in the world.
As if all of their lives weren't at stake.
Draco's fingers twitched. Narcissa's breath stirred her hair.
Lucius closed the book and handed it back to Draco. He looked at the mantle clock and turned to her. "Ready."
"Let me see the book," Hermione said, voice too loud for the quiet room. "Let me read it first—"
"There's no time, Miss Granger," Lucius said, and she could hear the sneer in his voice as he crossed to the unlit candle by her bed.
"What does it do?" She turned her neck to look up at Narcissa, who was pressing her lips together and fixing a disappointed glare across the room. Hermione swiveled in the direction of her gaze to find Draco near the windows, watching silently.
"There's no need to worry, dear," Narcissa whispered into her ear.
Lucius struck the match. And the flames hissed out in the fireplace.
The only light in the room was from the two candles, casting shadows against their cheekbones and chins.
Narcissa crossed her legs and guided Hermione to lay with her head in her lap. She stared at the canopy as her mind raced.
Who was coming? What were they looking for? Why now?
And then all thoughts of possibilities swept from her mind as Lucius Malfoy climbed into her bed.
She jerked her legs, almost kicking him as his long limbs crawled like a panther to sit beside her. Narcissa grabbed at her arms to calm her, to hold her still.
"What does this spell entail?" she repeated, her voice cracking in her dry throat.
Lucius's calm features sharpened into a smirk. "Now, now. Don't fret, Miss Granger. Just lie back and think of England."
"Lucius," Narcissa warned.
Hermione felt her heartbeat strain beneath Narcissa's fingers, pounding to get out of her. And before she could ask another question, Lucius was pulling a knife from his robes, his impassive mask on once more. She gaped at the glint of the blade as he pressed one long hand firmly against her collarbone. The knife drew a quick, shallow slice against her heart, too quick for her to wince. She watched with wide eyes as Lucius's lips formed a silent prayer, wisps of German brushing across her forehead.
She looked at Draco, bathed in moonlight near the windows, watching with his hand clapped over his mouth. Their eyes met.
And the candles went out.
She felt the darkness like a cold plunge into water. If she didn't have the pressure of Narcissa's fingers on her wrists, she'd have shrieked.
Lucius's cool tones dripped ancient words across her face. She felt him shift back, hovering over her stomach and chanting.
Her limited German caught words like "devil" and "protection."
She jerked her head over to where Draco stood in the corner, and her dizzy mind imagined she could see the whites of his eyes reflecting the darkness back at her.
A sharp pull from her belly, like the worst kind of menstrual cramps. She gasped, jerking. Narcissa held her down, and Lucius raised his voice as he continued chanting.
It felt like her intestines were fighting to twist in opposing directions. She squirmed, trying to stretch her body into positions that would alleviate the cramping, but it was like a wrenching low in her stomach.
She groaned, and she heard the floor creak near the windows.
A tight pop, as if something inside of her dislocated. She scrunched her eyes shut in pain, blocking out the darkness.
And a wash of peace. Like a Calming Draught. Like sunlight. Her stomach relaxed.
She opened her eyes, praying that it worked, and found Lucius Malfoy's face boring over her in the candlelight.
No. Not candlelight. A ball the size of her fist hovered over her stomach. Just like the spell the Mediwitches cast months ago, burning so white it looked blue.
It cast shadows across the pitch-black room, sparking warmth in Lucius's grey eyes.
Narcissa's fingers threaded through her hair gently as every pair of eyes stared at the ball of energy, symbolizing what hadn't yet been taken from her. She watched the light fluctuate like fairy wings held it afloat.
A glass jar pushed into view, scooping under slowly, capturing the orb, and closing a lid over top. She looked up to see Draco screwing the lid on, watching the light breathe. His eyes danced with its glow, and she watched his lips part in wonder.
Victorious.
She tried to remember if she'd ever seen him catch the Snitch.
He held the jar in one hand, pulled his wand in the other, and cast the Virginity Detection spell. The scan hummed over her head and toes, scanning towards center. When the magic reached her abdomen, the four of them watched with bated breath.
And nothing. The scan stopped.
She didn't know what was supposed to happen if she wasn't a virgin. She hadn't seen it.
No one moved. She heard Draco swallow.
"Did it work?" she whispered.
A pause. And then: "It seems so," Narcissa breathed into her hair.
Lucius pulled his wand, cast the charm again, and watched as the same results happened.
A buzz from Draco's wand. "4:10," he said.
Lucius stood abruptly from the bed, looking down at her, and then up to Draco. "You won't be able to contact me if there's an issue."
The light from the glass jar in Draco's palm cast eerie shadows across Lucius's face, and she watched his throat move and his lips part in unspoken words. "You'll hear from me soon." He turned and exited through the fireplace without a backward glance.
With a wave, Narcissa lit the sconces low. She slid off the bed and gathered the ritual candles. "I apologize for all this fuss, Hermione, dear," she said, still not looking at her. "Get some rest. We'll talk in the morning." She sent Draco a stern look before leaving, the door clicking softly.
Hermione took a few breaths before she jolted upright. She sat in a bed in a white gown, blood from her chest dripping on the sheets, and stared at Draco Malfoy, who held her virginity in his hands.
The relief on his face dissipated, and he paled as looked at her. He placed the jar delicately on her bedside table.
"This should stay here." He swallowed. "It would… it can catch quite a price on the Black Market, so it's best to keep it hidden in your room."
She blinked at the light, still the brightest source in the room, even with the sconces lit and the fireplace back to roaring. She wondered if she should feel different.
"I apologize for the suddenness," he said, shifting his weight. "I was only notified yesterday afternoon. And the spell required my father, and I wasn't even sure if I could—"
"I want to see your research." She tore her eyes from the ball of light and looked up to him. "I want to read up on the spell."
He nodded, eyes distant but directed at the jar. "Of course. Tomorrow, after they—"
She scowled. "Now. I'm awake. You're awake." She stumbled out of bed, the long silk nightdress twisting around her legs in an awkward constriction. Unraveling it brought her close to him.
He glanced quickly down to the cut on her chest and then at her face. "You should get your rest."
"Give me the book," she demanded.
He was always keeping information from her, especially if it pertained to her directly. Irritation sharpened and bubbled in her chest.
Extending the book to her, he watched as she grabbed it and flipped to the marked pages.
It was still in German.
"Translation Spell, please," she snapped.
His wand tapped the pages, shifting the letters into English.
She took deep breaths, focusing on the words as they arranged themselves. It was done. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened or how it had happened. She just needed the specifics.
It was a journal. A wizard's entry from the 1200s, detailing a ritual to save his daughter's "purity" from evil spirits.
Two candles. Two parents. The mother cleanses, the father bleeds her.
She slammed the book closed, cheeks burning in anger and embarrassment. She pivoted to Draco, ready to release her pent up rage.
A warm hand dropped on her shoulder. She looked up and found him staring down at the blood dripping from the slice over her heart. His wand raised, and he muttered a spell to sew the skin back together. His eyes didn't leave her chest as she felt the cut heal.
His frown drew her eyes down. Just below his hand, a thin white scar crossed her heart.
"Magical wound," she whispered, temporarily distracted. "The scar will remain."
When she glanced back at him, his lips were pressed together, displeased. He looked away from her skin, and she remembered her anger.
"What if it didn't work," she asked, voice thin.
He stepped back from her and ran his hand through his hair. "Then I'd think of something else. A different spell."
She wondered at what point he would have come to her room, held her down on the bed, and penetrated her.
Minutes before the "visitors" arrived? Or perhaps he'd rather let them all die instead.
"And if you couldn't find another spell? When would you have consulted me and my opinion on the matter?"
He blinked at her before looking away to her bookshelves. "I was hoping I could find something like a glamor. Something cast to deceive the Detection Spell." He swallowed thickly. "I was hoping—"
"You were hoping I'd never have to know," she finished for him. Her skin buzzed with anger. "To cast a spell and brush it under the rug."
His lips pressed together tightly. "Do you not understand that we could be under investigation? By order of the Dark Lord, you are being examined tomorrow morning, and we have no idea why—"
"I understand perfectly, thank you," she spat. "I also understand that you had twelve hours in which you could have told me what was going on"—he took a breath to interrupt—"to inform me of the problem so that we might be able to come up with a solution together, but instead you chose to surprise me—"
"My family is in jeopardy, Granger—"
"And you're blaming me for that—?"
"Sometimes I have to act without your approval to do what's best for my family! All four of us!"
Her lips opened in a silent gasp.
His eyes widened as he seemed to realize what he'd just said. His jaw snapped shut, horror dawning over his features. Before she could press him further, he turned on his heel, dashing for the door.
Hermione gaped at the empty doorway for several long moments before sitting down on the corner of her bed. She stared at the fluttering light in a jar on her nightstand, listening to the echo in her ears of him calling her family.
At seven, Draco knocked on her bedroom door.
"They've arrived." His voice was flat. And his eyes were cold.
She had been dressed for hours, unable to sleep. It seemed the same for him. Both of them resigned to whatever fate awaited them.
Pulling her bedroom door closed behind her, she followed him down the stairs and to the drawing room.
Always the drawing room.
As he pushed open the door, he took her elbow in a firm grip, tugging her through the threshold behind him.
She cataloged the room quickly. Narcissa. Two women in Mediwitch robes she didn't recognize. And turning to greet them, a smug leer on his face, was Dolohov.
Her feet stumbled, and her stomach tightened before she cast her gaze down to the floor.
Draco's steps slowed, but he gave away no other reaction.
"Dolohov," he greeted.
"Apologies for being so early, Malfoy," Dolohov said without a hint of remorse. "But your mother tells me you're early risers here at the Manor." He smiled at her and Draco. "Thank you for your hospitality, Narcissa," he said with a wink.
Narcissa stepped forward. "Of course, Antonin." A thin smile pasted on her face. "And I'd prefer if you called me Mrs. Malfoy."
Hermione's eyes turned down to the stone floor. Her skin was cold, and her breath was shallow.
"What's this about?" Draco asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting in front of her.
"Yaxley and I have been tasked to check in on the Lots. There've been a few issues, and the Dark Lord has asked us to follow up." His voice scratched down her spine.
One of the Mediwitches conjured an examination table. The other approached her with a hospital gown and silently gestured toward a conjured privacy stall. They'd been silenced.
Draco gripped her upper arm before she could step away from him. "Is this really necessary?"
"The Dark Lord wishes us to be thorough, Malfoy."
Hermione stared at her shoes as she followed the witch to the privacy curtains. Before she could disappear behind them, Dolohov said, "No need for all that, is there? Nothing I haven't seen before."
Her skin shivered and her mouth tried to swallow. Her eyes unfocused, remembering the showers at the Ministry. She thought she'd closed that book weeks ago, but it fluttered open at her feet. She summoned her magic and focus to slam it closed.
It was silent in the drawing room. She disappeared behind the curtain and listened to Narcissa start polite but stilted conversation. Her hands tugged her jumper up. Her fingers unbuttoned her trousers. And in a distant memory, she heard the echo of water against tile. She felt his black eyes on her naked body.
A pair of hands reached for her back, and she jumped, gasping. The hands pulled away as Hermione jerked. It was just the Mediwitch behind her, trying to help her tie the laces of the gown.
"Sorry," Hermione whispered.
She padded out to the table, thinking of cold black marble in the Ministry.
Dolohov's eyes were on her as she slid up to the table.
"Looks like you learned how to play nice after all, Mudblood."
"I'll ask you not to speak to my Lot," said Draco coldly. "You may address me if you have a direct order for her."
Hermione lay back, her mind numb. Instead of a high arched ceiling with chandeliers, she could only see a low lamp, black ceilings.
She breathed deep, pulling air into her empty lungs. A lake with still waters.
"What kind of issues?" Narcissa asked. "What's wrong with the other Lots?"
The Mediwitches hovered over her, silently casting several scans. She watched the familiar Virginity Detection scan wash over her, finding nothing.
"They weren't properly sterilized," Dolohov said.
And Hermione felt the room shake, quivering before her eyes.
A thick silence as the Mediwitches tested her.
The girls were becoming pregnant. She wasn't the only one whose fertility had been spared.
"This is unnecessary then," Narcissa said, voice slightly rising. "I can tell you that she hasn't bled since she's been here."
Hermione's eyes shut, and she felt her throat close.
She'd stopped menstruating when she was on the run with Harry and Ron. Her body had been too stressed, too underfed. Even now, with the comforts of Malfoy Manor and one working fallopian tube, she hadn't begun to bleed again.
Her chest shook.
She was going to have it ripped from her again. This possibility. This small chance of a future.
"Let's see then."
Hermione felt the Mediwitch's wand tap against her left hipbone. A dim red light appeared from her wand. She switched to Hermione's other side, and with a tap, a bright green illuminated the witch's face.
A pause, like skipping a step on the stairs. She felt every eye in the room on her waist. She didn't dare look to the Malfoys.
And then a sharp, "Ha!" cracked from Dolohov's throat. He chuckled, and the room shook with it. "Three months with a fertile slut and she's not knocked up? You check to see if your boys swim, Malfoy? With me, Mudblood, you'd have triplets by now—"
"That's enough, Antonin," Narcissa hissed. "Please remember your manners while you're in my house."
"Your house. The 'lord of the manor is gone, ain't he?" A stunned silence before Dolohov turned back to the Mediwitch. "Go on then."
Hermione braced herself for the wrenching pain she'd felt the last time her tubes had been severed. She looked past the arm of the Mediwitch toward the ceiling and took a shuddering breath, focusing on anything but the image of children with her curls and grey eyes—
"Don't—" A cleared throat. "She's my property. Don't I get a say here?"
Hermione swallowed, blinking rapidly. A thick silence fell like snow.
"All Mudbloods are sterilized." A pause. "Why, Malfoy? You want pups?"
"Of course not." Draco's voice was clipped. "I would just like all procedures cleared with me—"
"By order of the Dark Lord, I am sterilizing the Mudblood in your possession, Malfoy."
Hermione could see the faint green light over her hip fading, winking out of existence.
Her limbs were heavy. She felt cold and useless. Pain pricked behind her eyelids.
It would all be over soon.
From the corner of her eye, the Mediwitch lifted her wand, grim resignation in her face as she prepared to cast—
BANG!
Hermione jolted, springing to her side and curling away from the danger. She felt a hand on her waist, and she jerked. Turning to see Draco standing up against the table, neck craned behind him — staring at Narcissa's smoking wand.
With a flourish, the Mediwitches were disarmed, terror in their eyes.
Hermione sat up, looking around Draco's shoulders. Dolohov lay crumpled against the opposite wall, head lolling to the side.
"Draco, dear," Narcissa hummed, voice low and dark. "Collect all three wands." Narcissa's eyes were on fire, magic crackling from her skin.
In a flash, Draco was gone, following the sounds of clattering sticks against stone.
"Hermione, please return to your room," she said with an air of cool authority Hermione had never heard from her. "Your examination has concluded."
Narcissa held her wand on Dolohov's unconscious form, watching for movement. Draco returned to her side, looking pale.
Hermione slid off the table onto shaking legs. "What are you going to do?" she croaked.
"A simple Memory Charm on all three should do the trick," Narcissa said. "Mippy!"
The elf snapped into existence. Hermione jumped at the sound.
"Take Hermione to her room and then return."
And before she could ask another question, the elf took her wrist, and she was in her room. Mippy was gone again before Hermione could form words.
She brought her hands to her stomach, the hospital gown scratchy against her skin.
The terror that had frozen her upon seeing Dolohov's leer and the Mediwitch's wand drained from her veins until a slow dripping serenity surrounded her.
Once more, she'd been saved. Narcissa Malfoy had attacked one of the Dark Lord's most trusted followers to protect her from being sterilized.
Hermione braced herself on the back of her armchair.
Mippy popped into her room again with wide eyes, carrying her discarded clothing. "Miss! I needs your gown!"
She stripped, mind too numb to feel shame, and traded the gown for her garments. Mippy disappeared.
She stood alone in her room, breathing in the silence before beginning to dress. As she pulled up her trousers and clasped her bra, her mind started to tumble.
Her door slammed open, and she gripped her jumper to her chest. Draco stepped in, eyes skating quickly across her skin, before turning abruptly to give her privacy. "Are you alright?"
She couldn't think of a suitable answer, so her mind jumped elsewhere. "It will have to be a very strong Memory Charm," she said, voice trembling as she pulled her jumper over her head. "Replacing the memory with something different entirely."
"Mother has it under control."
She nodded quickly, trying to focus. He checked to make sure she was entirely decent before stepping into the room.
"You're alright?" he asked again.
"Why did she do that? That was… beyond stupid, really."
He swallowed and met her eyes. "She cares about you."
A warmth spread over her, from her chest outwards. She felt the full events of the day return to her. It seemed he was doing the same — his eyes over her shoulder, caught on the glowing white light in a jar.
"I won't apologize for finding the ritual," he said, looking back at her. "But I will apologize for not telling you sooner."
"I could have helped you."
"I know."
"But you didn't want me to," she surmised.
"I didn't want you worrying about Plan B."
Hermione swallowed. She wondered what she would have done. If she had hours and hours sitting next to him in the library researching ancient spells, squirming at the thought of needing to do it the "easy" way… Would she have just turned to him at midnight and kissed him?
Would he have let her?
She cleared her throat. "You treat me like a child who needs protection," she said softly. "And I don't like it. It makes me feel even more useless than I already do."
His jaw clenched. She continued, finding a fire inside of her that had been born at Edinburgh as the cannons fired.
"We can help each other. Already, I am assisting you with any suspicions of your behavior. I can help with other things if you just tell me what they are." She held his eyes, and she watched them flash quickly before returning to grey. "And I need your help as well. But first, I need to know there will be no more secrets between us."
He was still. "No more secrets," he repeated, like testing the words in his mouth.
"No more waking me at two in the morning with a ritual from the Middle Ages. No more stealing my hair for Polyjuice potions. No more tugging me away from Edinburgh because there's a catastrophe in the courtyard you forgot to inform me of."
There was pink on his cheeks, and tension in his arms.
"No more secrets," he said, almost daring her in his tone. He stepped into her, eyes dark and dangerous. "Tell me what he did to you."
She blinked, her mind crisscrossing in different directions. "Who?"
"Dolohov," he whispered, his eye twitching.
Hermione felt like a bucket of water had crashed down on her. "Oh." She frowned, distracted from her purposes by his strange question. "Just threats. He made it clear that he had a special interest in me."
Draco's face was impassive. There was no need to tell him about the showers, or his hand between her legs. Certain things couldn't be erased.
She stepped closer to him. He eyed her in acceptance, and she pushed on, trying again to get an answer to the only question that mattered. "Why am I here?"
He blinked, looking away from her quickly. His lips pressed together. "No more secrets," he mumbled. "But anything but that."
Rooted to the floor in front of him, she felt the disappointment twist her stomach. She thought again to the picture of her in his closet drawers. The possibility that she was being kept safe as a bargaining chip should the Order revive.
Narcissa's actions today could have multiple intentions…
We kept Hermione Granger alive and unharmed.
She nodded, filing this away. Burying her irrational sadness. "I need to speak to Cho."
He frowned. "Chang?"
She lifted a brow like he did. "Do you know another Cho?"
He narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance.
"At Edinburgh. Can you arrange it?" she asked.
He stared at her, taking in her face, her curls, her eyes. "Perhaps. Why?"
She pressed her lips together. No more secrets. "I have something to tell you about the Carrow Girls and their collars."
.
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A/N: Updates every other Sunday. (Next update 1/5/2020)
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