I
—
Rain pounded against her window. It always did, though some days it was lighter than others. Supposedly that was when the Dark Lord was in a better mood; on the days when it thundered and poured, you were a fool to even step outside.
Hermione looked out into the darkness, clouds combining with the night to shroud the world in black. Somewhere out there was Ron; the last surviving Weasley, and who now took only the most dangerous of missions. She couldn't blame him for wanting to die; but she also couldn't empathize.
Staring back down at the paper in her hands, she read the note for what must have been the hundredth time. But it was no less perplexing than when she'd first received it. She ran her fingers over the seal at the bottom as the words played through her head.
My dear miss Granger,
I am pleased to be able to write you this letter. I have heard so much about you from one of my most trusted comrades, and though your parentage is truly unfortunate, I am not a wasteful wizard. You appear to be a witch of great skill, and I would be remiss to deny you the opportunity to join my ranks. As it stands, you haven't anything to lose, and so much to gain.
I trust that you will make a well-considered decision, and I eagerly await your response.
It was signed with a flowing signature, and just under it was stamped the unmistakable seal of the Dark Lord himself.
The girl bit her lip. The fact that she had received the letter in the first place meant they knew where she was, and that if she didn't reply, she would be dead before the week was out. But could she really betray the Order, the people she'd stood beside for so long, to join the side they'd been fighting so hard to resist?
She thought over the past weeks, and how the new heads of the Order conducted themselves and their warfare. It didn't take her long to make a decision.
Grabbing a quill and some parchment, she began to compose her response, quietly praying for forgiveness from the souls of her departed friends.
It wasn't two days after she'd sent her reply that there was a knock on her door. Given that her hideaway was in the middle of nowhere, and was expertly concealed from both muggles and magical folk alike, she didn't have much hope that whomever was knocking was there for a cup of sugar.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Hermione opened the door to reveal Draco Malfoy, looking as polished as he always had.
Her face lit in surprise. She knew the Dark Lord wouldn't fetch her himself, but somehow the idea that he would send one of her former classmates hadn't occurred to her.
Draco looked her up and down for a moment. She was wearing a black dress and had pinned her hair up, as well as darkened her lips and lashes. Good. That would make a good impression. Offering her his arm, he was mildly surprised at the way she dipped her head slightly as she took it, perfectly mimicking Pureblood customs.
They walked a few steps from the tiny house, then Draco Apparated them away, holding tightly to the girl at his elbow.
When they came out of Apparition, they were at the gates of Malfoy Manor, and Hermione was quite sure the twisting in her stomach wasn't from the travel.
Draco felt her tense at the sight of his home, and it wasn't hard to guess why.
"He's much more reasonable than your former colleagues made him out, I promise."
The girl was startled, not by his statement, but by the gentle tone he'd used to make it. She looked up at him.
"Perhaps. That does nothing to quell my nerves, however. I am still muggle-born."
He was silent as they passed through the wards of the Manor, the veil of magic thicker than anything Hermione had ever experienced. Then the gates clanged shut behind them, and the girl breathed a sigh of acceptance, knowing that there was no more chance for retreat. Not that there had really been much of one, anyways.
The doors to the estate opened as they approached, and Draco led her into his home, guiding her through the vast dwelling towards the sound of a piano.
They paused outside an ornate entryway, the music coming from inside the room. Hermione swallowed, then the door swung open, and she was fairly certain everyone in the manor could hear the pounding of her heart.
"Draco, Hermione, do come in," called a voice from inside the room. It was chillingly familiar, yet something was different about it. It didn't have quite the same… hiss.
The two of them stepped carefully beyond the entryway, approaching a man sitting behind a large desk. He was scribbling across some parchment, appearing not to notice them until he'd finished whatever it was he'd been writing. Then he looked up.
It was him. The Dark Lord. There could be no mistaking it, the way his eyes were swimming with power. But other than the obvious aura of dark magic that surrounded him like a cloak, Hermione found that she really would not have recognized him otherwise. He had transformed himself, restoring his features into that of a handsome, middle-aged man. Perhaps that was what he'd done with his voice, also.
The two of them gave a proper bow, then waited to be addressed.
Voldemort studied them for a moment, the piano fading away until the silence was as piercing as his gaze.
"And so I behold the fabled Hermione Granger. I admit, I was surprised to receive your letter. I had fully intended to burn you and your little hut to the ground."
The girl dipped her head in acknowledgement, doing her best to keep her gaze steady. He narrowed his eyes.
"You must realize that there is no returning to your little Order, nor will there be any subterfuge. You will become a Death Eater or you will die."
Hermione stiffened at his mention of her previous alliance. "They are not my Order any longer, my lord," she ground out, bitterness evident in her tone. The Dark Lord stared at her curiously, then a splitting pain tore through her skull.
Memories were pulled to the surface so rapidly she missed most of them, only catching the most fleeting glimpses before they were ripped away in the most excruciating legilimency she'd ever experienced. He rifled through her brain all the way back to her first year at Hogwarts before deciding he'd seen enough.
When she regained her focus, she noticed his expression was even more curious than before.
"You truly are as skilled as I've been told. It's quite remarkable, given your lineage." His eyes flicked to the stoic boy beside her, whose arm she still held.
"Congratulations, Draco. You've managed to impress me. I believe she's a suitable candidate; she's yours."
"You are very gracious, my lord," Draco replied. Hermione resisted the urge to ask what was happening, though it took every effort on her part. Voldemort chuckled.
"Ask your questions, miss Granger. I know you must have many."
The girl swallowed. "There's only one I would trouble you with, my lord. Why show me leniency?"
Darkness glinted in the man's eyes, and his expression fell from mild interest to something bitter as thunder rolled outside.
"I've seen you are well aware of Pureblood history and customs, which also means you're aware of how closely linked the old families have become. Unfortunately, magic doesn't prevent the infirmities that can occur due to inbreeding. For this reason, though it frustrates me immensely, we must introduce lesser-born genetics into our bloodlines just to ensure that they continue. The Half-Blood's are my first choice, of course, but young master Draco specifically asked for you, and when he showed me his memories, I was intrigued."
Hermione nodded and thanked him respectfully, then the Dark Lord sighed and went back to the papers at his desk.
"You are both dismissed. We will begin preparations for the binding ritual when I've finished with this bloody Glasgow situation."
Bowing once again, the two of them made their way out of the study, the music resuming once the door had closed behind them.
Hermione no longer felt afraid. Instead, resignation had settled in her bones, deep and heavy. Draco lightly tugged her forward.
"I'll take you to your room, where I can answer the rest of your questions."
Nodding, the girl let him lead her through the expansive estate, trying to remember the rooms he pointed out along the way.
They at last came to a more secluded wing of the manor, walking up a grand staircase and into a hall with towering ceilings.
"These are the guest quarters. They're supplied with necessities, and my mother put several dresses in the closet. I hope you find them suitable for the next few months," Draco said, waving his wand in front of one of the massive doors. Hermione gave a mirthless chuckle.
"You did see the hut I was living in, did you not? I'm sure they're more than suitable, Draco," She stated. The boy was momentarily stunned by her use of his given name, but recovered quickly. He turned the knob, releasing her arm and gesturing her into the room.
Hermione gave the space a glance over, noting that it was indeed much more luxurious than where she'd been staying. She turned.
"You may come in," she invited, following the proper Pureblood custom. He nodded and shut the door.
Now in the privacy of a closed room, the girl let out a shuddering breath, walking over to the large window and staring down at the courtyard. Draco waited for her to speak.
"I'm going to marry you?" She questioned, her voice surprisingly steady. The boy swallowed.
"Yes. It will be a complex ceremony, though I haven't been given all the details yet. Our lives will be bound together, in a strength similar to the Unbreakable Vow, but with a few more… strings, I suppose. Once bound, we will not be able to harm either each other or each other's family. And we can never be with anyone else. That's all I've been told."
Snorting, the girl turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why did you request me? Through all of our school years, you did nothing but insult me, and now suddenly a mudblood is preferable over the myriad of Half-Blood girls you could have chosen?"
Draco held her gaze. "Hermione, I have always admired you. For a time I loathed you in addition to that admiration, because you were better than me, even with the generations of magical blood in my veins. I hated it. But I have always recognized your skill, your dedication, and your intelligence. Then… we got a little older, and there really is no denying how beautiful you are, lineage be damned."
Hermione self-consciously looked down at her shoes, hearing him come closer but not raising her eyes. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, unable to resist lightly caressing her cheek.
"What I'm telling you, is that I've cared about you for some time now, and I was miraculously presented an opportunity to save your life. So I took it."
Silence again reigned for several moments, then Draco pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
"Frivolous as it may be, will you allow me to ask you properly?"
She looked up at him with furrowed brows, trying to determine if he was serious. When she saw the genuine desire in his eyes, she nodded. "You may."
Hermione watched as he knelt before her.
"Hermione Jean Granger, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
As he opened the little green box, the girl's eyes widened. A large rectangular diamond sat surrounded by a frame of emeralds, which were in turn engulfed by several more diamonds. She swallowed.
"Yes, Draco. I will marry you."
Uncrossing her arms as he stood, she offered him her hand, and he slid the ring onto her finger. She felt it tighten to fit her, and she couldn't help but admire it for a moment.
"It's beautiful. A bit extravagant, but beautiful."
Draco smirked. "I'm a Malfoy, you can't have expected anything less."
He released her hand, and she crossed her arms again, her gaze returning to her shoes. The boy sighed.
"Is there anything else I can answer for you? You've only asked two questions, which is quite unlike the Hermione I know," he mentioned. Hermione shook her head, a weariness beginning to sap what energy she had left.
"Perhaps tomorrow. I'd like to be alone for a while. You may take your leave of me."
Recognizing the dismissal, Draco bowed slightly, making his way to the door. Before he left, however, he paused.
"Hermione… I'll keep you safe. I promise."
She said nothing, only nodded, then returned to staring out the window.
When she heard the door click shut, Hermione began muttering the spells for several defense wards. After she was satisfied with her work, she wandered into the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water and a selection of perfumes.
The heat was near scalding, but she didn't care. She let it burn her as she scrubbed her skin raw, trying to remove any trace of an old life she could never return to. As she sank beneath the surface, she prayed one last prayer of forgiveness to the people she had once loved, her tears mingling with the hot water to become undetectable.
When she came up for air, Hermione took a deep breath, and cried no more.
AN: By all the stars, has it really been 3 years since I've posted on this site? Lord knows I've been reading. I do hope you enjoy this story, I'm not entirely sure how long it will be, but likely only 3-5 parts. I'd love to know what you think of it!