Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Chapter 1
Hermione had been glaring down at her lap for the past hour. She couldn't look up; if she did, she'd start screaming. She hadn't managed much more than one word replies the entire morning, and her hands were currently balled into fists from the tension of keeping silent.
"Regardless, due to reduced attendance this year," Snape continued in his bored, superior tone. "We don't expect the Head duties to be especially overwhelming." He shuffled some parchments on his desk. No. On Dumbledore's desk. "Any questions?"
She had lots of questions. None that could be asked or that would be answered truthfully in the present company.
Sitting next to her, Malfoy was silent and sullen. From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring absently in the general direction of the co-Headmasters, who occupied their separate desks. It was surreal: she felt like she was in a movie or some horrible alternate reality.
Snape and Malfoy.
Here.
In the office of the man they had conspired to kill.
Not only were they not paying for their crimes, they'd actually been lauded by the newly fallen Ministry for preventing Dumbledore from succeeding in an insurrection to overthrow the Minister of Magic. For the last six years, she had believed in Dumbledore's trust in Snape and had thought that Harry was wrong about their professor. In the end, it was she who had been wrong. Malfoy may have orchestrated the events of the Astronomy Tower under duress, but Snape had shown his true colours, and she hated him now. He was just as evil as the other Death Eaters.
Malfoy. He had almost killed Katie Bell and had poisoned Ron. And the consequences of his actions? Being named Head Boy. She was furious.
"Well then." McGonagall stood up. Hermione saw her eye twitch, the only crack in her professor's cold exterior. Clearly, she was not pleased with the arrangement either, but what choice did she have? "If there is nothing else to discuss, I will accompany you both to your quarters."
The walk to the shared Head Boy and Head Girl dorm was tense and silent. McGonagall's sharp heels clicked on the floor and echoed down the corridor. Hermione dug her fingers into her palms. For what felt like the hundredth time, she hoped that returning to Hogwarts had been the right decision. She had hated the idea of splitting off from Harry and Ron, but there was a warrant out for Undesirable Number One's arrest. And since Harry was on the run, the trio deemed it best that Ron stay with him instead of returning to Hogwarts with Hermione. He wouldn't be much help here anyway with what she had to do.
As they approached the shared living space, she felt stirrings of both disgust and fear at having to live with Malfoy. Logically, she knew that she had no right to complain. When she considered the situation that her former Head of House was in with Snape, she realized that things could have been much worse.
"Pax," Hermione muttered.
The door opened, and Malfoy followed her in. To her surprise, McGonagall came in as well and shut the door behind her. Hermione turned to face her, unsure as to why she had followed them in.
"Mister Malfoy," McGonagall commanded him crisply. Malfoy didn't answer, but kept a bored expression on his face. "If you harm one hair on Miss Granger's head, I'll make you wish you were still being Crucio'd by your Aunt."
Hermione's jaw dropped. Malfoy blanched. Her teacher had just threatened to torture him.
Had that really happened to Malfoy? Bellatrix had tortured him? And how had McGonagall known?
The professor continued. "I will know if she's been Obliviated. I will know if she has been Imperiused. You're not as clever as you think you are." Hermione watched the interaction, gobsmacked. McGonagall was using the familiar tone that she usually reserved for wayward students to threaten him. Somehow, she was more terrifying this way. "Threats are useless; I don't care one fig what they do to me so long Miss Granger is not hurt in any way. Do I make myself clear?"
Hermione felt a surge of affection for her teacher and relief at her words. McGonagall had just ensured that she would be safe at Hogwarts. At least, until the Ministry took over, which would happen any day now. At that thought, Hermione clutched the beaded bag that never left her side, comforting herself with the assurance that she could be off grounds and in the Forest of Dean with everything she needed this very minute if she wanted.
Malfoy's throat constricted as he struggled to form a reply. "Crystal."
"Good." McGonagall shifted to an obviously false cordial tone. "Now why don't you get your things unpacked and settled in your room?"
He was being dismissed. McGonagall wanted to speak with her alone. Malfoy shifted his gaze between the two of them, shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, and belligerently sat down on the sofa.
Her professor stared down at him, visibly annoyed. By directly defying her, he was demonstrating that McGonagall didn't have complete authority over him. And perhaps she didn't; it was a fragile situation. They all knew her tenure as co-Headmistress was limited. The new teachers would be arriving soon, as would the implementation of the new curriculum. Snape would be the one in charge of rolling out educational reforms based on blood politics.
McGonagall sighed.
"Miss Granger," she held out her hand to Hermione's door. "Surely you would like to unpack?"
With a sideways glance at Malfoy, who was still glaring defiantly at McGonagall, Hermione went into her room. Her professor stepped through behind her, and her heart raced as the door shut. She opened her mouth to speak, but immediately closed it when McGonagall silently shushed her with a finger to her lips.
"Just so you know, I will still be functioning as Head of House for Gryffindor…" McGonagall began to ramble about a few things which had not been mentioned in the meeting with Snape but were fairly inconsequential. As she continued to speak, she cast a nonverbal silencing spell at Hermione's door and waved her wand around the room in a series of motions before looking pointedly at an orange glow that had revealed itself in the corner by the dresser.
Hermione's eyes widened. What was that?
As if in answer, her teacher cast another nonverbal spell at the orange glow and rounded on her immediately.
"Now you can tell me what you need."
Her heart rate sped up.
"Books. And not just from here. Possibly banned books."
"Madam Pince is aware. You can trust her. What else?"
"One hour alone in Dumbledore's office."
She watched her professor think, tapping her index finger to her chin. "That can be arranged." McGonagall motioned to the orange glow. "As you may have guessed, we are both being monitored. I checked earlier. Your common area is clear of eavesdropping charms – most likely because Mister Malfoy will be there. Start unpacking. Tell me about the wedding. Finite Incantatum."
Hermione stuttered at first, digesting the information, but soon began to prattle on about Bill and Fleur's wedding while she unpacked her clothing. The topic reached its end, and McGonagall performed the same nonverbal spell as before.
"What else? The castle is at your disposal."
Hermione thought about things she would like but hadn't been able to acquire. "Essence of Dittany, blood replenishing potions, Skele-grow, other Healing supplies for…" For what? What is it they'd be doing? "Camping. Polyjuice, or the ingredients necessary for it. Perhaps both. Veritaserum if you have it. All in unbreakable glass vials. Whatever you can spare. More Portkeys too, if you have them." She had no idea where she, Harry, and Ron would be going, or what the boys would be doing when she joined them.
McGonagall nodded, her eyes sad. "I'll have Poppy prepare something for you. You should be trained by her in rudimentary Healing. Filius can teach you shielding and warding spells as well while you're here. I'll see about the potions and some other things you may need. Finite Incantatum."
McGonagall resumed talking about the new first years and reduced class sizes, transitioning to the state of O.W.L and N.E.W.T examinations before targeting the orange glow again.
"This will be the last time for now, Miss Granger. If Mister Malfoy is spying on you, he will no doubt be reporting that we conversed for this long. It will be quite difficult to arrange another private meeting between the two of us."
Glad that she'd had the foresight to make a few more, Hermione extracted a D.A. Galleon from her bag and placed one in her professor's hand. McGonagall looked down with a small smile, recognizing what she had been given. She curled her fingers over the Galleon and pocketed it. Glancing up to meet Hermione's eyes, the two shared a moment to appreciate their clever defiance.
"When are they coming?" Hermione had a lot of other questions, but this was the most important one.
"Our intelligence tells us it will be within a month, but we don't have the exact date yet. The other professors and I have prepared an evacuation plan for the few Muggle-born students that are here and the safe-houses are nearly ready. You need to be prepared to leave at any time. I don't know how much warning we will have."
She was prepared. Hermione clutched her beaded bag again. It was becoming a security blanket of sorts.
McGonagall must have noticed how protective she was over the bag. "Glamour that. I don't need to tell you to be discreet but, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, Headmistress?"
Her old, bony hand reached out to Hermione's. The fingers were frail, but her grip was strong. "Do be careful."
Hermione warmed at her teacher's concern. "You too, and thank you for..." She motioned her head in the direction of the common area, where they had left Malfoy.
McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "One. Hair."
Hermione laughed despite herself, and her teacher pressed her hand warmly before dispelling the charm and leaving.
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It had been a tense first week of school, to say the least, but it had been the right decision to come back. After her conversations over the summer with Harry and Ron regarding Dumbledore's memories and theories, Hermione had known precisely where to start her research when she'd arrived at the castle. Over the last few days, she had already figured out how to destroy the Horcruxes and where to retrieve the means to do so. She now had a collection of several basilisk fangs – summoned from the Chamber of Secrets with Moaning Myrtle's help – all sitting in a pouch in her beaded bag, ready for use.
The door to the Heads' common area slammed shut. Hermione forced herself not to jump or look up as Malfoy stalked across to the armchair from which he usually worked. Just like the couch she had been working from every day had become 'her' couch via an unspoken agreement, the armchair he had commandeered for his own work had become 'his'. She peeked surreptitiously at him as he threw himself into the aforementioned armchair and dropped his satchel to the side. He looked agitated as he bent to pull out his books and parchment, setting them on the side table, but that wasn't unusual. He was always agitated.
Malfoy extended his long legs out, resting them on 'his' footstool and opened a Potions textbook, jaw clenching and unclenching in irritation. His eyes flicked up to hers. She looked down immediately, hoping he hadn't noticed her studying him.
She had been agitated as well. Anyone would be, had they been forced to reside in the same living quarters with this sorry excuse for a human being. In the first few days, every time she saw him, Hermione's fingers just itched to grab her wand and hex him, consequences be damned. How she would love to hit him with an Oppungo. She chuckled to herself as she pictured him swatting birds away from his face. Or maybe she could make his footstool randomly explode one day. Or curse his armchair to attack him.
But no. Satisfying as hexing him would be, it would unfortunately break the tense, silent truce they seemed to have settled into as the days passed uneventfully.
He didn't mess with her, she didn't mess with him.
She continued to survey him, and noted once again how he'd changed over the summer: he'd gotten taller – much taller than she was – and he'd filled out somewhat, as Quidditch players often did. She had never noticed much about Malfoy before, but now that she saw him all the time in their quarters, absent of Crabbe, Goyle, or any of his other Slytherin cronies, she found herself... Noticing.
Giving herself a mental shake, Hermione returned her focus to her work. She had started a notebook where she'd listed notes from Dumbledore's theories about Voldemort: his motivations, his psychology, and his Horcruxes. It also contained ideas that she had, flashes of inspiration, and scattered notes from the books she'd pulled from the library. She had even drawn a crude sketch of the locket that Harry and Dumbledore had found in the cave, and she'd copied the note that R.A.B. had left word for word. She didn't need the notebook to remember these things, but it helped her to brainstorm in the absence of Harry and Ron to bounce ideas off of.
She saw Malfoy stretch his long limbs in her peripheral vision, groaning as he did so and interrupting her thoughts. The stretching and contracting of his limbs showed off the contours and muscular shape of his body. She glanced over at him suspiciously, and then looked down before he noticed that she was watching him stretch. Why was he even here in the common room, anyway? Why not go off with his Slytherin friends in the library?
Was it possible that he was spying on her, like McGonagall had intimated? And if so, to what end? He hadn't done anything to her yet. If he did bear her ill will, it appeared that McGonagall's threat had worked.
For now.
Malfoy was a Death Eater. He might not be a killer, but he was still dangerous and unpredictable. He had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and had done it right under Dumbledore's nose. She'd have to stay vigilant in his presence.
If he was under orders like last year, how far would he go to follow them?
She didn't know. She didn't want to find out.
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Days passed under the stifling blanket of the dormitory's quiet tension. Malfoy hadn't spoken to her at all since McGonagall had threatened him that first day, and their common area was always strained and silent. Hermione supposed she should be thankful for that. She hadn't known what to expect, but this was infinitely better than the worst of what she had imagined.
But it surprised her. Where was the Draco Malfoy who hadn't hesitated when insulting her looks, friends, or blood status in years past? The spoiled, childish git who'd threatened and bragged in equal measure about his father and family name? Though she remained angry with him – furious, even – the rage she had felt that first day in the Headmaster's office had lessened in the face of his reserve, abating to a distant thrum edged with confusion and suspicion.
Across the common area from one another, they worked in silence, the only sounds being the occasional flip of a page or scratching of quill across parchment. She heard an impatient exhale of breath and glanced up from her work to see Malfoy's eyes flick back down to his coursework. She could have sworn that he had been staring at her. And not for the first time.
She wondered what he thought of their Head Boy/Head Girl arrangement. In order to concentrate on Horcrux research and her Healing and Warding training, Hermione hadn't gone to any classes or engaged in any Head duties. She couldn't rightly say what the Head duties even were. It was uncharacteristic behavior from her and, therefore, extremely suspicious. Her cover story was that she was working on independent studies this year, but she didn't think that anyone bought it. So far, Malfoy didn't seem to be bothered by her lack of participation in Head Duties, and if he'd noticed that she wasn't attending class, he didn't mention it. She assumed that if he really needed her for administrative business, he'd tell her. But he hadn't, and she certainly wasn't going to ask.
As she looked at him, Hermione noticed that his lips had pursed when he'd paused his writing, looking back between his textbook and the parchment, perhaps thinking about how best to phrase his thoughts. She watched as he brought his thumb up to his mouth and licked it with his pink tongue before reaching to another textbook and flipping the page.
She pondered what she really knew about him and what these few weeks with him meant, if anything. She still didn't know what his intentions towards her were. Was he spying, or was he simply back for an irregular seventh year?
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A few days later, Hermione stood in the small dorm kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. She mentally reviewed Madam Pomfrey's latest lesson, a suturing incantation for shallow wounds. As her fingers mimicked the proper wand movement, her eyes slid across the common area, pausing on where Malfoy sat, parchment in front of him. He paused in his writing, dipping his quill in his inkwell and tapping the excess off. His hair fell loosely in front of his eyes, and she followed the lines of his jaw to his cheekbones. He had rolled his sleeves up, and she watched the muscles of his forearms flex as he committed thought to parchment.
As her gaze fell to his hands, she shook herself and resumed practicing the suturing charm. As she mumbled the incantation, Malfoy stretched his limbs. Her eyes were once again drawn to the movement.
And there it was: the Dark Mark.
She had known that he had one, but knowing in abstract and seeing in reality were two very different things. Hermione felt a wave of visceral disgust: her limbs felt chilled, and the taste of bile was strong on her tongue.
She had never seen the Mark before, let alone his, and she stared at the inside of his forearm with morbid curiosity. It rippled with the movements of Malfoy's muscles as he stretched. In a detached way, she was fascinated at the stark contrast of the brand against the paleness of his skin.
The snake coming out of the skull was almost… Phallic.
At that thought, she registered that Malfoy's arm was no longer moving. She belatedly realized that she had been staring for quite a long time, quietly ensconced in her thoughts, and quickly looked up. Malfoy had noticed her gaze and was staring right back at her with piercing grey eyes.
A jolt of fear ran down her spine. She'd never looked at him directly in the eyes like that. Not recently, anyway. He continued to stare at her. Something seemed to surface in his eyes – perhaps defiance – before they hardened. He drew his brows together slowly.
Blushing, she glanced down and busied herself with making her tea. Hermione chastised herself for feeling embarrassed; why should she be the one who felt skittish and awkward about noticing his Mark? And anyways, it wasn't like it was the first time he had caught her staring. He knew she had been. There was nothing else to bloody look at in their common room. She had stared at his shoulders beneath his school uniform. At his long, muscular legs when he stretched. At his face. At his tongue. And now, at his Dark Mark.
She supposed it was a mixture of curiosity and the fact that there wasn't much else to do here. They were still existing in stilted silence, but had nonetheless fallen into a routine that allowed each the maximum amount of space with the minimum amount of contact with one another. As the days passed, her angry confusion had turned to outright curiosity: aside from the never ending silence, Malfoy had treated her almost politely from the first. Puzzled, she found herself glancing his way more often. That and, well… A small part of her supposed that he was rather good looking. Much as she was loath to admit.
She took comfort in the thought that she had caught him staring at her as well. Multiple times. Especially any time she bent over or stretched to reach something in the kitchenette. Like her, he had tried to hide his gaze.
But this was different. It was the first time that there was mutual acknowledgment, albeit unspoken, of the fact that she had been staring at him.
Feeling heavily disconcerted, she retreated to her couch with her tea. She set it down on the coffee table, opened her book, and stared at the page. She could still taste the acidic remains of her disgust, but it was tempered by a strong swell of frustrated interest. He hadn't done anything, hadn't even sneered at her or called her a Mudblood. Was he biding his time, or was he harmless?
Like a moth drawn to a flame, she flicked her eyes back to Malfoy. He had rolled down his sleeves. Perhaps he was embarrassed that she had seen his Dark Mark.
He must have sensed her eyes on him again, but she managed to lower hers just in time. Hermione thought she saw him smirk, but she certainly wasn't going to check.
McGonagall had told her that if she felt threatened by him in any way, she could move to Gryffindor Tower. But so far, nothing had happened. Malfoy left her alone, didn't talk to her, and had the decency to hide the fact that he stared at her every so often.
She did exactly the same.
The silence, while grating, was preferable to other scenarios she had envisioned.
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The silence between them didn't last much longer.
She was poring over a book of known and rumored historical artifacts of the Four Founders when Malfoy emerged from his room, sweaty from flying, in just a towel wrapped around his hips. Her eyes widened as his naked chest and torso came into her line of sight. He padded across the common area to their shared bathroom as if nothing was amiss.
Feeling flustered she burst out, "You can't just walk around half-naked in our common area!"
Malfoy's hand paused on the bathroom doorknob, and he turned to face her, his grey eyes focused on her hazel ones. She felt a thrill pass through her as they made direct eye contact for the second time in as many days. The prat really did have beautiful eyes. She couldn't deny it, though she wanted to.
Death Eater. Prat. It didn't matter what the hell his eyes looked like. Hermione instantly regretted saying anything. It was clear that he had done this on purpose to get a reaction. Without thinking, she had given him one.
Slowly, his body turned toward her and he walked closer, clad only in his towel. She felt extremely uncomfortable as he neared, taking up more of her vision, crowding her personal space. There was no safe place to look, but she couldn't look away; that would be cowardly, and he would win whatever game he was playing. And she couldn't look down because then she'd be ogling his body and, again, he would win. All she could do was look into those intense grey eyes of his. Somehow, it still felt like he was winning.
She was sitting, he was standing, and her face was at the level of his… Well. Hermione didn't like their positions, but if she stood up she'd be even closer to him and his naked chest. She could already smell him in all his sweaty, masculine glory, and the scent was causing her stomach to perform unwanted little flips. Her heart was thudding in her chest from his proximity.
What the hell was he doing?
She swallowed the lump in her throat as he towered over her: pale, sweaty, half-naked, and completely at ease with the display of his lean, muscled body to her. Malfoy was fit, and he knew it. Even in her peripheral vision, she could see the V of his abdomen half hidden by the towel. Merlin. There was an angry red scar across his chest – probably from when Harry had cursed him last year.
His eyebrows raised in mock query. "Why not?"
She struggled not to let her eyes flick to his Dark Mark, a reminder that even if he'd refused to kill, he was still dangerous. He tilted his forearm, as if daring her to look at it. Daring her to say something.
Was he threatening her? She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Because this is a working area and it requires a certain level of professionalism," she answered, proud that she kept her voice steady. That her eyes hadn't drifted elsewhere. "You have your room and the loo to use as your own personal nudist colony."
"Mmmm," was his non-committal reply.
He looked down into her eyes for a few seconds, clearly amused, and shifted his gaze to her books and what she had been writing in her notebook. Her chest tightened with a rush of terror.
Bollocks!
She had several books on the Founding Four open on the table and had been writing in her notebook about potential artifacts that Voldemort could have made into Horcruxes. Winning whatever game Malfoy was playing was far less important than concealing her mission with Ron and Harry. She allowed herself to show how uncomfortable his presence made her – it was a good excuse to get herself and her research the hell out of his line of sight – and gathered up her materials.
"Professionalism, Malfoy," she repeated, cradling her books in her arms.
There, her voice sounded stern that time. Even disdainful. She stood up to go back to her bedroom, far closer to his half-naked body than she wanted to be. He raised an eyebrow at her and didn't move out of her way, forcing her to brush against his chest as she walked past him. She could feel him watching her backside as she closed her bedroom door.
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Hermione didn't want to admit it, but she had to consider that Malfoy had approached her on purpose yesterday. Not just to make her uncomfortable, but also to see what she'd been researching. She hadn't been doing any research in the library because she'd be too exposed there, and Malfoy had always left her alone in the common room, not seeming to care what she was reading or working on. However, things had changed since he had quite possibly seen what she had been writing. Even though he couldn't possibly understand why her work was so important, if he was reporting on her activities, Voldemort would understand what she was after. Malfoy knowing about her research into the Founders' artifacts was a disaster to the future of the war.
She considered Obliviating him but didn't know if he had actually seen anything. And maybe he had only wanted to make her uncomfortable, with no ulterior motive. Aside from that, she'd have to figure out how to catch him unawares long enough to not botch the spell. If she failed, she didn't know how he would react, but he would certainly be angry. Maybe even angry enough to attack her. She needed time to remove his memory properly.
In the meantime, Hermione needed a solution that would allow her to keep working. She couldn't adequately do research in her bedroom, so instead she Glamoured the books she had taken out of the library and, of course, her notebook. Despite her added precautions, Malfoy hadn't approached her again. But she knew she couldn't become complacent. She didn't know what his role was in this war, or what he was capable of. She had no idea what was going on in his head or what he was thinking.
One thing that was obvious, regardless of his motivation, was that he was messing with her. Instead of changing in his room or their shared bathroom like a normal, decent human being, he had taken to walking back and forth in his towel every time he had to shower. She didn't know what she hated more: Malfoy, all masculine and sweaty from Quidditch, or Malfoy, fresh and clean from the shower, dripping water and smelling pleasantly of pine.
At first, she had closed her eyes when he emerged from his room, nude but for the scrap of cloth that was much too small for her comfort. Quickly, she realized that this was irresponsible; he could easily summon her work or steal something if she wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. She resigned herself to having to endure his blatant attempts to goad her, regardless of how flustered and embarrassed they made her feel. So long as he stayed away from her Horcrux research, she didn't say anything and hoped the situation wouldn't escalate further.
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The situation did escalate.
Malfoy exited the loo for the umpteenth time, towel wrapped around his torso and smelling like whatever hormone producing concoction he showered with. Hermione fought the blush stealing across her cheeks. Why did she have this same reaction every single time? How had she not become used to him yet? Despite her efforts at nonchalance, she was sure that he knew that she struggled not to look at him. This time, instead of continuing on to his bedroom, he stopped in their kitchenette. She abandoned her attempts at stealth and watched him fill a glass of water.
"Thirsty?" he asked in a low voice.
He leaned against the counter, supporting himself with his forearm. He locked eyes with her and sipped from his glass. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he placed the cup down on the counter with a clink. She watched his mouth as his tongue flicked across his lower lip, catching an errant droplet of water.
Why, oh why, was he so damned good looking?
Hermione put her quill down. She'd had enough of his games. It was time for some Gryffindor directness to put an end to all this.
"Thirsty for what?" she countered. "Water? Or you?"
He raised his eyebrows, likely in surprise that she'd dare call him out like that. "Would you prefer something… Harder?"
She huffed. "No, thanks, I'm not interested in hard things. Drinks or otherwise." That earned her a soft laugh. "Just my evening tea."
"You're funny, Granger."
He sounded surprised, like he was re-evaluating her. As if he would know a sense of humor if it tap danced in front of him. Well, maybe he'd notice if it were tap dancing half-naked, wrapped in a towel in front of him.
"Mmmm," she replied, hoping he would get the hint that she had no interest in talking to him.
She turned back to her notebook. She could see from the corner of her eye that he was still fiddling about in the kitchen with that horrible towel looking like it was ready to fall off at any moment. She was almost tempted to perform a nonverbal spell and make it fall; that would teach him to prance around half-naked. But then, he'd be fully naked. He probably wouldn't be embarrassed by that in the least. He'd just walk around her with his… Thing on display. Hermione rubbed her cheek in frustration and flipped the page of one of her books.
After a few moments, Malfoy started walking over in her direction. She made sure the glamours on her research were in place before he reached her. To her surprise, he sat down beside her on the couch and placed two cups of tea on the coffee table before them. As he summoned spoons and napkins, she stared in disbelief. Hermione didn't know what horrified her more: the fact that Draco Malfoy, of all people, had made her tea, or that he now sat sprawled on the couch next to her, legs spread and the towel partially open.
She chanced a glance down and caught a glimpse of a muscled thigh through the V of the opening in the towel. If she changed her vantage point, she'd be able to look straight up and see his bits! His behavior was so irritatingly perverse, and she knew that he was doing it on purpose. Hopefully he thought that she was staring at the teacups instead of at his muscular legs, imagining what she couldn't see.
"You made me tea."
It wasn't a question, but a fact stated in disbelief. She couldn't understand why he would do such a thing.
"Sugar? Milk?" Conjuring both, he ignored her incredulity as she turned to look up at him. He had an amused smirk on his lips.
She wasn't going to avoid how odd this all was. Derision and bigotry for the first four years that she had known him. Hounding the D.A. via his participation on the Inquisitorial Squad in fifth year. Collusion with Death Eaters last year. Now she was supposed to believe that he was past all that and wanted to, what? Be nice to her? Seduce her? What the hell was this?
"Draco Pureblood Elitist Malfoy made – no, wait – served Hermione Muggle-born Granger tea."
"Apparently so," he answered in a tone that was too familiar for her liking.
She narrowed her eyes. He wasn't giving away anything through his vocal tone or facial expression. His bright grey eyes remained slightly flirtatious and... Curious.
She could hear Mad-Eye Moody's warnings about drinks resonating loudly in her head. Was he trying to slip her a potion? If he were spying on her, the situation would make more sense. She hadn't attended a single class or performed any of the mandatory Head duties; she would be suspicious of her presence as well if she were him. Was he trying to get her to let her guard down in order to find out what she was doing back at Hogwarts?
She looked at the tea cups. If he was trying to slip her something, she guessed that it would knock her out so that he could look at her work without her knowing. Or maybe Veritaserum to get her to talk before she fled to her room. In any case, if he was trying to drug her, it would be because he thought there was good reason to after what he had seen in her notebook a few days ago.
But slipping her something would be too obvious. Wouldn't it?
Hermione made a decision. She had to Obliviate him, and this was the perfect opportunity. She would switch the cups so that he drank the presumably spiked tea. Assuming there was some kind of incapacitating potion in the brew, she could cast on him while he was knocked out.
"Can you at least get dressed?" That would send him back to his room so she could make the switch, and make her less uncomfortable.
He smirked. "Only because you begged."
Hermione scoffed. "I did not beg."
Malfoy sauntered back to his room. Hermione saw the towel drop right before he closed his door, revealing his pale arse for a half-second.
Merlin. She brushed aside her warring feelings of frustration and whatever had sparked low in her gut.
Quickly, she picked up her tea and sniffed it. She couldn't smell anything aside from the chamomile. She ran her wand over the tea a few times – no Calming Draught, no Dreamless Sleep, no Veritaserum – but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Those were simply the potions that she supposed she would employ if she were in his position. Taking a wild guess, she waved her wand and checked for Amortentia. Nothing. She gnawed on her lip in thought and then switched their cups. Whatever he spiked her tea with, he'd be the one drinking it.
She pursed her mouth in thought, still uneasy with the situation. She packed her notebook and other library books away into her beaded bag and placed it inside her room where it was protected by the password entry and her wards. Whatever was going to happen with this tea, at least her research was safe from his prying eyes.
She was back on the couch, stirring sugar into her tea with what she hoped was convincing disinterest when Malfoy came out of his room, clothed in dark green pajama trousers and no shirt. She rolled her eyes. The man had no shame.
"Shirt?" she asked impatiently.
"No, thanks," he replied lightly. He sat next to her on the couch, facing his torso towards her and draping one arm over the back cushion. His Dark Mark was on full display, taunting her. Threatening her. What a prick he was. If she weren't so anxious to see him drink the tea, she would have left for her room. He was up to something and she didn't know what or why.
She brought the tea close to her mouth and blew the steam away, trying to cool it a bit. She tried not to watch him as he reached for his own cup on the table. If he noticed that she had swapped the cups, he didn't let on. She kept her eyes forward, trying not to show how anxious she was for him to drink the sodding tea. She took a slow sip of her own and swallowed, showing him that she was drinking, and then turned to face him.
He held the cup to his mouth but did not lift it to drink. His eyes were fixed on hers. They weren't flirtatious anymore, but were instead cold and calculating. Did he notice that she had swapped the cups? She stared back, unwavering, and took a long, slow sip in challenge. She swallowed. After a few seconds, the corner of his mouth lifted, and he, too, took a sip. She watched him swallow, and they stared at one another for a few seconds more. Some of his hair had dried. A few strands had come forward to fan over his brow, while the rest was still damp and slicked back from his shower.
She took another slow sip. "So, what's this about, Malfoy?"
His tone was slightly scolding. "You're not going to thank me for the tea?"
"Thank you for the tea." She blinked at him. "So, what's this about, Malfoy?"
He chuckled in reply. "You're not one to beat around the bush."
"You're not one to answer questions." The man was as slippery as an eel.
He extended the index finger curled around his cup and pointed it at her. "Touche."
He stared at her over the rim of his cup and took another long sip, eyes never straying from her face. His gaze was unsettling, and Hermione felt her stomach flutter. She didn't think she could ever look at these teacups in the same way again.
"Are you going to stare at me all night?"
"I'd prefer to do other things with you all night," he replied enticingly.
Her throat constricted as her eyes flickered down to his bare chest, to his abdomen, to his… She wasn't used to being flirted with so blatantly.
"That's all this is? Sex?"
He licked his lips, and her eyes followed the movement of his tongue. "What else did you think it was?"
Espionage? Harm to her person or to her friends? There was a war going on. The balance of power at Hogwarts could change any day, and they were on opposing sides.
"I have no idea," she answered. "But I don't believe for one minute that you'd dare sully yourself with a Muggle-born."
He leaned in closer and she struggled to keep her breathing even. "Maybe I want to be sullied."
Too close!
She blushed from his proximity and his heated gaze. Sod it all! She wasn't supposed to have to worry about Draco fucking Malfoy flirting with her. She was supposed to be beneath him. She was supposed to repulse him. It appeared that he took the view that Muggle-borns could be used for sex, if nothing else.
She curled her lip in disgust. He was repulsive.
Why couldn't some other Death Eater spawn have been Head Boy? Someone less attractive? Someone less interested in her? She never thought she'd see the day where she would prefer to room with someone who thought her blood status made her too filthy to touch.
Hermione's discomfort was rising, and she desperately wanted to escape this conversation. The only reason she was still here talking with him was to see if he exhibited any potion-induced effects from the switched tea cups. She didn't know how long she would have to wait though. That would depend entirely on the dosage and the content of the potion, and she didn't know either one of those details.
He studied her face while she took another sip and asked with a smile, "Did you think I slipped something in your tea?"
Immediately she sputtered, coughing, and had to put her teacup on the coffee table so that she wouldn't spill it on herself. After regaining her composure and wiping her mouth with the napkin that he calmly held out to her, she looked up to see him observing her with amused interest. He must have noticed that she'd swapped the cups. She saw the gears turning in his head as he took another slow, measured sip. He wasn't worried about her swapping the teacups. Which could mean that he had anticipated that she would have been paranoid enough to do so and spiked his own instead. But that would have been presumptuous, quite a gamble.
He spoke, as if continuing her thoughts. "Perhaps I spiked both cups and took an antidote in my room."
Inconceivable !*
She sucked in a breath. Which potion would that even work with? Dreamless Sleep? Sometimes people overdosed and had to be treated.
"Did you?"
He tsked at her. "Are you always this paranoid, Granger? Sometimes tea is just tea."
She hated the way he danced around their situation. Pretending there was no war and that they weren't on opposing sides of it. "You'd given me no indication until a few days ago that you had even the slightest interest in me. Are you spying on me? Do you think sex will get you information?"
His eyebrows rose to the top of his forehead. Clearly, he wasn't used to this much directness. It unsettled him.
Good.
"Will it?" he asked curiously.
She cursed inwardly. Had she just inadvertently let him know that there was something to spy on? But that was obvious already, with her here at school yet not doing anything having to do with school. Wasn't it? Her cover story wasn't believable. She certainly wouldn't have believed it, and he was an intelligent Slytherin. As slick and slimy as they came.
"Enough, Malfoy," she said, angry with herself. "What do you want?"
He stretched his long limbs with a groan, pushing his bare foot against her calf as he did so. She scowled at his intrusive appendage. Reaching upwards, he looked at the ceiling and then back to her, contemplating his reply as he contracted his limbs.
"I'm bored, waiting for the axe to fall." He eyed her chest and her legs. "You're sexy. It's that simple."
Hermione stared at him. They were all waiting for the axe to fall here at Hogwarts. But she didn't believe for a second that it was his only motivation.
Regardless, if there was no potion effect to observe, she didn't have to be in his company anymore. He wasn't forthcoming about anything. She didn't have the patience to pry more out of him and was afraid of what she'd do if she spent more time next to his half-naked body. If she had ingested something, she didn't want to be around him when the potion started manifesting itself. She couldn't deny that she was attracted to him anymore, and she sure as hell couldn't deny that he was dangerous.
She set her teacup on the coffee table with a clink and walked back to her room.
"Good night, Malfoy," she said. She almost wished there was something in the tea to make that whole ordeal worthwhile.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
There was nothing in the tea.
But that didn't mean anything. Not knowing what Malfoy was up to when he was so obviously up to something was making Hermione nervous. Over the next few days, she left their common room to work in the library, despite there being more of a danger that her research would be noticed by someone. When they did cross paths in the common room, he kept staring at her, overtly leering sometimes, and forcing her to avert her eyes from his intensity. He wasn't even trying to hide his appreciation for her legs, her arse, or her breasts. His blatant interest made her feel exposed, naked, and vulnerable. The library provided a welcome respite.
She didn't know what the 'tea incident' was supposed to achieve. Malfoy had admitted that he was trying to seduce her, but she didn't understand why. She wasn't the only attractive woman at Hogwarts. There must be an ulterior motive aside from being bored. He was a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake. She was Muggle-born and working with the Order of the Phoenix, although he might not know that. Perhaps the purpose of the tea incident was to show her that there was no ulterior motive. Perhaps he knew that she would have suspected he'd spike the tea. When it became obvious that he didn't, maybe he thought she'd let her guard down.
Or maybe the tea incident was designed to put her more on edge.
Hermione rubbed her forehead in frustration. She could go in these circles of logic for hours. What she needed was sleep. Until last year, she wouldn't have thought Malfoy capable of much beyond taunting or hexing behind the safety of Crabbe and Goyle. However, sixth year had shown him to be quite devious, patient, and calculating, even if his actions were coerced by the threat to his life and those of his parents.
She couldn't underestimate him.
Looking up, she found the biography of Rowena Ravenclaw that she had been looking for and summoned it from the top shelf. Hermione was fairly certain that she had identified a few of the different objects Voldemort had used as Horcruxes, but she didn't know where the objects were. She was also fairly certain that he would have wanted to use Godric's sword, but per McGonagall's promise, Hermione had inspected it when Snape was away and found that it had not been tampered with. In the wake of this disappointment, Hermione had thrown herself into her research with a renewed resolve. Exhausted, she walked back to her table and what she found nearly made her faint.
It was empty.
Her beaded bag, and everything in it, was gone.
The Portkey for when she had to evacuate Hogwarts, her notebook about the Horcruxes, the basilisk fangs, her camping supplies, the Healing supplies, the potions ingredients, the ready-made Polyjuice potion that Professor McGonagall had secured for her, the copy of The Tales of Beetle the Bard that Dumbledore had left her, her Muggle money and her Wizarding money.
All gone.
How could she be so careless?!
It must have been from force of habit. In the Heads' common room, she packed everything up, safely tucked away in her room or on her person at all times, even when she used the loo, so as to prevent Malfoy from knowing what she was doing. In the library, she was used to leaving her work out on the table if she had to leave for a few minutes. She looked around, feeling panicked. There were some third years a few tables away, but no one else was in her section. She walked over to them and asked who had been at her table. They hadn't seen anyone.
She tried summoning her bag, pointing at various directions in the library.
Nothing.
She felt the blood rushing to her head as panic overtook her.
Trying to contain her alarm internally so no one would realize something was wrong, she walked methodically around the library to see who else was studying. Specifically, she looked for late year Slytherins. There were a few, but they didn't seem excited or conspiratorial. They were quiet, each ensconced in their own homework. Hoping against hope, she tried summoning her bag again from the direction of their table.
Nothing.
Biting her lip, she discreetly shot several Finite's in their direction to see if anything disillusioned or shrunken would appear or enlarge.
Her heart sank. Nothing.
She walked quickly, row by row, combing the entire library while her heart thudded in her chest, chastising herself for being so stupid. She summoned. She moved stacks of books so that she could look behind them. She checked under tables, on chairs, and in corners. She cast Finite's. Every time she passed a table with someone studying, she checked for her bag. Even the first years.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Before she knew it, the library was closing. Nodding to Hermione on the way to the exit, Madam Pince locked the doors, allowing her to stay as long as she wanted. Hermione left no corner untouched in her tireless search of the cavernous room.
At two in the morning, she was forced to concede that it wasn't here.
Someone had stolen her beaded bag.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The next morning, Hermione woke up late. She hadn't slept well, tossing and turning fitfully. Panicked, angry tears streaked down her face when she awoke. She was furious with herself and didn't know what to do. She didn't even know where to start.
No one who had been in the library with her last night had taken her bag. She had no idea who, then, had swiped it. Aside from the fact that she was now royally fucked, if it fell into the wrong hands and the charms disguising the information in her notebook were dispelled, everything she, Harry, and Ron knew or suspected about their Horcrux mission would be compromised.
Everything.
Voldemort would know they were after his Horcruxes, and the war would be lost.
Steeling herself with a shake, she wiped her eyes and quickly dressed, thinking back to the older Slytherins who had been in the library last night, albeit in a different section than she was. Nott, Parkinson, and Zabini. Nott and Parkinson each had fathers that were active Death Eaters. They would be the most likely suspects. As Head girl, Hermione could go into the Slytherin dorms and corner them. Maybe she could go while they were in class and search their dorms. She groaned inwardly. What a mess this was.
She emerged from her bedroom and stood in the Heads' common room, barely noticing Malfoy perched in the corner. She tried summoning her bag just in case Malfoy had it for some reason, but nothing was produced by her spell. She exhaled in frustration.
She was just so angry with herself.
Hermione finally looked over at Malfoy where he was studying in his armchair, long legs extended over his footstool. His sleeves were rolled up so that she could see his Dark Mark. His tie was loose, and the top button of his white shirt was undone. He hadn't been in the library last night. However, despite witnessing her furiously casting summoning charms in their common room a few moments ago, he had remained silent. Not even making eye contact. It was a stark change from the heated gazes he had been directing her way recently.
Instantly, she became suspicious.
She watched as he distractedly moved the feather of his quill back and forth across his lips in gentle motions as he read from his potions textbook. By now, he must have known that she was staring at him, but he still didn't look up. Not even to leer at her. Yes, even if she hadn't seen him in the library, she was certain that he'd had something to do with her bag's disappearance. The change in his behavior was too coincidental.
"Okay Malfoy, where is it?" she snarled at him.
He didn't pause the movement of the quill across his lips, but his grey eyes flicked up to her. A small smile appeared behind the feather.
"Care to be more specific?"
Malfoy had been expecting this. He knew exactly what she was talking about. She could see it in his smug expression.
"You swiped my bag!" she yelled and stomped her foot. "I want it back!"
He raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Why would I take your bag?"
She'd had enough of his evasions and non-answers.
Hermione pulled her wand, but he was quicker and had already drawn. By the time she cast a nonverbal disarming spell, he had countered with a nonverbal shield. The yellow light reflected back towards her. She dispelled it with a flick of her wrist, and it careened off into the ground. Her heart thudded in her chest from the rush of adrenaline. Malfoy looked at her, the cold, calculating gaze returning to his face.
"Even if you beat me in a duel, you won't force me to give it to you."
Finally, an admission that he had it. That was progress.
"Won't I?" she threatened, wand still raised. "How the hell do you know what I'll do, Malfoy?"
"Are you in the habit of using Unforgivables?" he asked flippantly. Apparently unruffled by her menacing tone, he twirled his wand in his fingers. His posture was downright casual.
Hermione flinched, heart racing faster. She considered him, sitting there so calmly at the end of her wand point. She didn't hate him, so the Cruciatus wouldn't work. She didn't have it in her to cast it, anyway. She could Imperius him; that didn't require hatred. But would she? He watched her mull his question over and his smirk widened, as if he knew the answer before she did. Use of the Imperius would land her in Azkaban. She didn't know if she'd be forgiven for a war crime, even if it would ensure the secrecy and success of their mission, and ultimately, the end of the war.
Merlin. She wanted to throttle him. She wanted to smack him. She wanted to hex him. She wanted to hurt him. But none of that would be enough to make him give her back her bag. As McGonagall had already pointed out, he had suffered much worse.
"Give it back, Malfoy!" she growled at him, breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest.
He didn't immediately respond, but continued to idly twirl his wand with his fingers.
"No," he finally replied, watching her with amusement.
God fucking dammit!
She had no leverage. If she wasn't willing to hex him with anything painful enough to force him into submission, then he simply wouldn't return it. She had nothing to force him with. She stomped her foot in frustration again and let out a shriek.
He chuckled.
The slimy little shit, sitting in his armchair, had the audacity to chuckle at her.
She didn't know what he knew, but the longer he had her bag, the more likely it was that he'd get past the charms on her notebook - if he hadn't already done so. She had to prevent that from happening, and if she couldn't… She'd have to Obliviate him after she got it back.
But what else could she do to get it back, if force was out of the question? Maybe there was another way. He must want something from her. He wouldn't have revealed that he had her bag otherwise. He would have simply passed on the knowledge elsewhere. But what could he possibly want from her?
"Give. It. Back." She still had her wand out, pointed at him. "Please."
He snapped his book closed, tossed it to the side, and stood. He made a show of placing his wand on the nearby end table and walked closer to her, taunting her in that he knew she wouldn't hex him. There was no point. She lowered her wand in defeat and exhaled harshly. She wanted to punch him. It was third year all over again.
He closed in on her, and in that moment, she hated their height differential. He used it to intimidate her while he spoke. "You won't torture me, and you won't compel me. So why would I? What could you possibly have that I would want in exchange?"
Yes, it was as she thought. He was offering her a trade. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels while she thought through his question. What did she have that he would want? Information? Like hell she would give him information.
Nothing! She had nothing to leverage. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to scream.
Well.
Nothing except that.
According to the tea incident, he wanted to have sex with her. Would she sleep with him to get her bag back?
Yes. Yes, she would. It was a war. They had to defeat Voldemort. She didn't even need to think about it. Of course she would. She considered briefly what Harry and Ron would think. More specifically, about how Ron would react. Mentally shaking herself, she pushed those thoughts aside. It didn't matter what they thought, or what anyone thought. This was necessary. It had to be done.
He watched the emotions playing across her face with a lascivious smile.
"I'll have sex with you," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. His face betrayed nothing; if he was surprised at her offer, she couldn't tell. "And then you have to return my bag to me and allow yourself and anyone else who has seen the contents of it to be Obliviated."
"Obliviation?" He gave a low whistle. "Messing around in my head? The price just got higher, Granger."
Hermione looked at him questioningly. "What else would you want besides sex?"
She'd thought she had him figured out. She'd thought she'd get everything back. Now what?
This clusterfuck of a situation was rapidly spiraling even further out of control, and she felt her panic rising. If he had her bag for much longer, he would dispel the charms on her notebook. He would find out about the Horcruxes. He would tell Voldemort. They would all die.
What the fuck did he want?
He approached and, instead of stopping in front of her, circled her in appraisal. She flushed under the heat of his gaze as his footfalls padded the floor around her. His leisurely perusal of her body made something low in her stomach twist. Hermione ignored the feeling, trying not to think about what it meant. She had to focus on the situation at hand.
"Be creative. Make it worth my while."
She was going to scream. She didn't have time for this!
What an arrogant, smug bastard. Creative? All she knew was that she had offered to have sex with him, and it wasn't good enough. What else did he want? She had to do something to please him.
To please him.
Maybe he already knew what he wanted. She threw the offer back at him.
"One evening. For one evening I'll do…" She took a deep breath to steel herself. "I'll do whatever you want."
Dammit! She needed her bag. Now.
Come on Malfoy, you sodding prick.
He stopped in front of her, looming over her body, close. So close that she felt his hot breath on the top of her head. Slowly, she looked up from the shirt on his chest and into his eyes. They were hooded, and darker than she remembered.
"Whatever I want?" His voice was hushed and deep, and she felt it in her bones.
"Yes," she whispered, and did her best to still the fear and sick thrill of anticipation that had sparked inside her.
"Alright, Granger," he said with a smirk, and then spoke in a low voice. "You've got yourself a deal."
Fuck.
She had no idea what she had just agreed to.
Chapter end notes:
*Inconceivable! But yes, this is a throwback to the Iocane powder scene in the Princess Bride.
A big thank you to my betas: GeriatricPeepshow and Misdemeanor1331. They have so much patience and great ideas!
This story is finished, I am posting updates as I make corrections. Hopefully weekly.
Also - this story is obviously gearing up for dubious consent. The title is "Blackmailed." If that's not your jam, you don't have to read it. However, I will say it is not feminist to shame other women for their sexuality. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Shaming women for what they like has been going on for millennia, we should know better by now. Plenty of people enjoy ravishment fantasies, and there's no shame in it. So instead of trying to shame others for what they like in the comment section, why don't you go read a different story?
For everyone else, hope you enjoy the fic!