Please excuse my delay, but the holiday and potty training my two year old got in the way.
Anyways, thanks for being patient. I appreciate you all.
Hermione sat at her desk, trying to concentrate.
Even though she loved books and was thrilled with the new novel she picked out from the library, she couldn't focus on the printed words in front of her. Amongst her crumpled letters to Draco, which she tried to find the right words for, since summer break began, she was distracted by She was distracted by the Daily Prophet that lay discarded on her bedroom floor,, which ffallingell out of her grasp just moments after reading the headline.
Draco Malfoy is dead.
The newspaper used his most recent school picture, his sneer ever-present. A façade he presented that hid his true self. But H
Hermione knew him best.
The bully was not the boy she fell in love with.
Sixth year wasn't the same without him. None of it was. Hermione utterly wished she didn't see him everywhere she went. But she still does. Everywhere. Surely she can't be the only one that feels that way. The new school year brought a new challenge. As the As the students file into the Great Hall, she watches them. No one is mourning. No one feels the way she feels. Desperately Hermione longs for someone to struggle with the loss as much as she has since receiving the news. Only a sea of happy faces walk past her. Talk of summer vacation and cheery adventures reach her ears. Not even the Slytherins whispered his name.
Her mournful state carries into the classrooms. She no longer turns in overachieving scrolls of parchment or raises her hand as often during lectures. It didn't take long until Professor McGonnagall took her aside after class. Hermione reassured her that the return of the Dark Lord and Harry's struggle with it was the only reason for her withdrawal. Despite Hermione's effort to dispel her Head of Houses' fear, her participation remained the same.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was next.
Snape's suffocating aura wasn't present yet hadn't arrived yet; without a doubt, he would have docked house points for her not being adequately prepared for class. Forgetting her book for classtextbook, she quickly retrieved one a text from the cupboard. Once on the assigned page, she hurriedly took notes on the day's lecture. Flipping the pages and scratching her quill across the parchment, she found a familiar script in the margin.
Draco's handwriting. Her finger traced the ink, charting the curves of of his penmanship. Her eyes stung, and her her chest ached at the mere thought thought of him. The small reminiscence resulted in her She boltedbolting out of the classroom so fast that she almost didn't make out the promise of house point deduction for daydreaming. Neither did the guarantee of detention if she didn't return immediately. She ran across the grounds, blinking away her tears and the recollection of Ron and Harry's worried expressions. Her feet had taken her to the boathouselake. She stayed there listening to the lapping of the water on the dockrocks, missing lunch and dinner entirely. HCurrently, theer desire to be left alone was greater more significant than satiating her hunger.
After class dismissal at the end of the day, she gathered her courage and returned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Expecting her outburst to already spread through half of the school, she didn't bother with her appearancespread through half of the school, she didn't bother to charm her bloodshot eyes, losing interest sometime between the front and classroom door.
. Professor Snape sat wasat his desk, irate, scribbling furiously with his quill.
His movements ceased when she made her presence known. "Your compensation for your infantile outburst will be a month's detention. We can make it two if you want to make further remarks other than acknowledging the comprehension of your reprimand .reprimand." Snape declared as she was just about to open her mouth in retort.
She bit the inside of her cheek to hide her nonconcur.
"Yes, sir." She spoke sharplygruffly. Surely if she clenched her jaw any tighter, it would crack a tooth.
"Tomorrow. 7 o'clock sharp. Now get out of my office class and take your foolish temper with you."
Later while lying in her bed, she couldn't recall what made her say what she did. To decidedly cross that line with a teacher, Professor Snape at that, and lay down the emotions she'd been carrying with her all summer. "I am not angry. I am in pain. But not like you will do anything about it now that you know about it."
He didn't. Methodically returning to his work laid out before him as if she never spoke.
Her unforgiving headache was back. She squeezed her eyes shut to relieve some of the pressure, but it didn't work. Her head felt like it could split mountains. Transiently, a soft, almost odd expression overtook him. Before reaching the door, she contemptuously heard him say, "Since when has the impossible ever stopped you."
With a fortifying breath, she headed to the dormitories. Not sure what to make of his words.
Hermione woke up in a room that didn't belong to her. A strong smell invaded her senses, smelling the way it tasted. Metallic. Like a jar of change her mother kept on the kitchen counter. Occluding and counting her breathsCounting down, she dared to open her eyes. Natural and artificial light illuminated the room, but it wasn't enough to determine the time of day. It felt cold. The sensation emanating from the dark magic that dwelled in the air, although weak, it still stirred her senses. Along with a pungent smell reeking the way it tasted. Metallic. Like a jar of change her mother used to keep on the kitchen counter. She was alone. Aside from her, tThe only energy in the room camein the room came from several cauldrons boiling over a small fire. The room Hermione woke up in resembled nothing of the rest of Malfoy Manor. She shifted, feeling before seeing a large set of shackles around her wrists that rested in her lap. Despite her current situation, she sighed, relieved, and rested her head on the wall behind her, withholding an almost manic laugh that died in her throat.
Her part of the plan workedIt worked.
She was where the three of them hoped he would take her. Now she just had to wait.
The previous night Lucius, Draco, and her sat in Dover well into the night. Draco spoke of the last years. She knew of most of it as he had confessed to her during their last year together. But it was one thing to hear it. Bewildered, Hermione listened to him speak, lowering her shields, allowing the emotions to show clearly. He began with his estranged relationship with his father and involvement with Lord Voldemort's work. With the rise of the Dark Lord's power and Lucius and Tom's relationship, it was easy for him to fall into his classmate's depravity. An easy standing in society came with a cost. Lucius was quickly blinded, withdrawing into hate and belligerent behavior. His behavior towards his son was the fuel Draco needed to find a way out of the Dark Lord's circle. It festered during the Triwizard Tournament – upon Lord Voldemort's return.
Draco spoke of Cedric Diggory's death. The reappearance of the victors at the mouth of the maze overwhelmed him with a short-lived celebration. The Hufflepuff's lifeless body was a moment that burned itself into his and undoubtedly many of his classmate's minds. An immediate announcement for the cancellation of the end-of-term feast reached the students and thus replaced with a memorial service held in the Great Hall to respect his memory. Hogwarts drapes were replaced with black ones, hanging around the large hall like a dark omen of what's to come. He observed the somber moment before him; several students wept, and even Pansy tried her best to stifle a soft sob next to him. At the Gryffindor table, he caught sight of Hermione Granger, quietly shedding her tears, bent low over her empty dinner plate.
Her usual proud presence was dwarfed by her two friends, whose attention was on Professor Dumbledore at the podium. Draco's attention was farthest from the room, for he knew what the headmaster would reveal. Voldemort's return. It was what his father whispered at Malfoy Manor, an inevitable return making the Dark Lord more powerful and sinister than before. Draco didn't expect it to be so soon. No one did. Watching Granger's composure crumble under her grief made it difficult to tear his gaze from her. A curious question formed in his mind, would she survive the new uprising? He inhaled deeply, his eyes darting in panic around the room. Why did he care? Draco remained still, his body never deceiving him, while his mind refused to settle, tripping from grim scenario to the next. He knew his time was imminent. The Dark Mark awaited him as soon as he returned home.
Just like Draco, Hermione remembered that day vividly. It avalanched a series of accusations in the Daily Prophet against Harry and Dumbledore, refusing to believe the possible. She read most of the stories at the Order of the Phoenix headquarters after being initiated into it over the summer. An event only possible with a documented age increase at the Ministry because of her time turner use in her third year. Dumbledore had warned her of the possibility, but they had ended their discussion when he handed her the magical locket. Neither expected the owl stating she had aged a year.
A week after Dumbledore came to her home with an invitation to stay at Grimmauld Place, she said farewell to her parents and moved into headquarters. Her parents would remain at their home, keeping their dental clinic running. It was the only passion they had left. Hermione obliged with the promise they would receive protection.
Headquarters was empty when she arrived except for Lupin, Tonks, and her. Seldom would someone visit unless news of Voldemort's movements emerged. The Weasley family was due to arrive a week after her, giving her a chance to roam through the dimly lit halls several times over. One afternoon she headed into the kitchen for dinner, where Professor Lupin, Mad Eye Moody, and Tonks sat talking over an article from the Daily Prophet. Hermione wasn't concerned; it probably stated another lie that denied the Dark Lord's reawakening. Upon entering, all three looked up and greeted her with a smile. Hermione set the table as Professor Lupin told her there would be two more guests joining for dinner.
Hearing the front door slam made her heart flutter with the hope of it being her two best friends. For that first outstretched second, Hermione just stood there with its impossibility for Professor Snape, and a sour-looking Draco Malfoy stood at the bottom of the stairwell shrugging off their robes.
Like the click of a switch, pulled back to her confinement, Hermione stared at a pair of large eyes belonging to a house elf. Its ears twitched in uncertainty. "Sumpty has brought food for missus."
A plate of freshly baked dinner rolls and stew hovered behind the elf. She smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Sumpty, and give thanks to Master Malfoy." The stew filled her senses as she took the warm plate in her hands.
"Was there anything else?" Hermione asked, as Sumpty had not left, swaying on his stocky legs in front of her. His long fingers were wringing nervously around its dress.
"Sumpty does not serve Master Malfoy. Sumpty serves M-Master Dolohov." The elf looked around the room in panic as if Dolohov would appear any second. He threw his head in his scarred hands and cried loudly. "Missus must leave. He means harm to the missus." He forced out in between sobs.
Hermione shifted, setting her plate aside. Telling the elf that it was the reason she was here would prove pointless. So instead, she asked, "Where is he now?"
"Master Malfoy's library. He will return soon for missus. He will not be kind."
Hermione's mind rattled. Sumpty's surprising presence could prove beneficial. An accomplice, especially in her position, to help defeat the dark wizard. She knew the planet alignment was two days away, but would he keep her alive until then? Could she endure another torture like on the drawing room floor? Another assault like in Lucius' bedroom? She raised her bound hand to her swollen lip. Her body felt hot and cold simultaneously, overcome with fear as he threw her on the bed. Kissing Viktor and Draco was nothing compared to the fire ignited in her as his lips touched hers. Goosebumps covered her skin at the memory of tasting their shared breath and feeling the combined heartbeats as he fumbled with her clothes.
As strong as a tidal wave, her passion overtook her judgment. Dying as soon as Dolohov touched her. Images of tortured victims filled her eyes. Dolohov's victims. Like a moving picture of bloodied and tortured bodies laid out – no hindrance between young and old. It brought her back to the battle of Hogwarts, where so many of her friends had perished, and before she knew it, her Occlumency caved, paralyzing her—numbing her movements and line of thought. As Lucius appeared at the doorway, she felt drunk with the thought of covering herself, her brain not processing the fact that it was Draco under Polyjuice. It didn't seem to faze him. Without a doubt, he found the book she dropped on the floor and is working on the potion. Everything will be fine, she reassured herself. Lucius is on his way to Professor Snape to retrieve the diamond, and then they will break the bond.
"Will your magic work here? Can you open my chains?" Not taking the risk and making Dolohov aware of her intentions by using her wandless magic. She was glad for Sumpty's offer. The elf whimpered eagerly. "Yes, missus." With a snap of his fingers, the chains opened, falling into her lap. Sumpty held out his hand for her, but Hermione shook her head. "Thank you for releasing my chains, but I will not be joining you."
His eyes widened. "But missus must leave."
"What has your master revealed to you?" Hermione asked, unrestrained. Maybe she could channel his master's plan through the elf's eagerness to get her out of Malfoy Manor. But the elf's eyes widened, grabbing his long ears in frustration.
"Buy me time, Sumpty, as much as you can. That will help me more than anything. But I must stay."
After his reluctant departure, she laid the chains aside to stand, her head pounding from the slight movement. She scanned the papers next to the bubbling cauldrons, but nothing piqued her interest. They were notes on simple potions. Burn salve, calming draught, black fire potion – material that any third-year could brew. It felt eerie being in Dolohov's private domain. Snake eyes watched her from vials crammed into the bookcase next to jars of powdered niffler bones and black werewolf hairs. Time was against her, unsure whether Sumpty's allegiance would lead him back to her. Hermione continued to search through Dolohov's belongings. Scanning the books on the walls for rare texts proved difficult, with half of the titles being Russian. Hermione doesn't pause, however.
It's a place neither Lucius nor Draco has entered since the wizard took up residence. The wards around the room wouldn't allow anyone entry, but she had to find anything he would harbor regarding the bond and how to break it. Anything even close to Photia Oleander. She just had to think like him. But after searching for what felt like an eternity, she found nothing. She returned to where her chains were and eyed a pair of house flies that made her dinner their own. She wasn't hungry. If she was anything, it was fucking frustrated.
She closed her eyes, focused on her Occlumency, and tried categorizing what the day had brought for her. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Before she knew it, her bookshelves were organized, and she felt more mellow. Distinctly hours had gone by before Hermione opened her eyes again with a clearer and steady mind. Next to her feet, her eyes landed on an envelope. She considered not opening it, but curiosity got the better of her. It could be from Draco or even Sumpty.
She grabbed the paper, and the familiar tug behind her naval from a portkey sent her into a dining room lightly illuminated by sconces on the wall. She was no longer in her casual attire but wore a black wizard robe with flaring sleeves that hit well past her knees. The corset around her waist provided ample cleavage and an empire waist. Despite the elegant attire, her previously discarded chains hung around her wrists to remind her she was still his prisoner. Across the room sat Dolohov at an extensive table set for three.
Sensing her hesitation, he cleared his throat and silently pointed to the empty chair. Agonizing over whether she should walk past him or bypass him altogether and try to escape, she explicitly decided not to. It was the last time she would run from this house. Despite the slight tingle in her chest and continuous headache, she sat down stiffly in the chair he offered her—the empty plate across the table twisting knots in her stomach.
"You can dress me up all you want, but this proves nothing." She managed to say without choking on the words.
Dolohov leaned forward to pick up a wine bottle and filled their glasses without saying a word. After taking a long drink, he fixed Hermione with a steady gaze. "Is that really what you think?"
"Yes, you're just a sad wizard, reduced to hiding. Once in high standing, but now there's no glory. Nothing. You've reduced to nothing." Hermione goaded him. Folding her arms before her on the table just short of her plate. Her manacles clunked loudly against the wood.
For a dozen heartbeats, Dolohov didn't reply. Hermione wondered if she pushed him too hard and what he would do if she did. If he decided she needed to be silenced, his solution lay with the wand tucked in his sleeve or the steak knife on the table. And then, he sighed, as if some of the starch had left his body. Almost bored, he aligned his silverware on the table with his fingertips. "There's no need to get angry. Enjoy your dinner, Hermione. You don't mind if I call you that, do you, Hermione?
Her face twitched in mock approval. "Actually, I do. You expect me to sit down and eat dinner with you?"
"That is why you were invited, Hermione." He said, ignoring her request.
"Enslavement is hardly an invitation."
"I'm not going to try to persuade you to listen to me. For one thing, I don't think it would work. Not on you." But–" The lines on his face deepened "–I will have you. Don't look so somber. Enjoy your dinner before… Well, you'll see."
Hermione didn't eat. How could she, with the nervousness eating a hole in her stomach? She doesn't know what she should say, what to feel. She sat, rooted, wanting to demand answers but couldn't form the words. The nerves she felt in Dolohov's presence had not yet gone away, and her chest clenched uncomfortably since entering the room. She watched the wizard next to her. The staccato of his fork as he indulged cut into her with every click on his dinner plate. He chose the head seat with Hermione to his right. She was the guest of honor. Who was the second?
Countless scenarios went through her head, but she gave herself more than ample reminders that everything would be fine. Knowing that the only way she would get answers, she was as frank as she could be with him. "What do you want with me?" Her question shattered the silence like glass.
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin and snapped his finger. It didn't take long for her to find out what that meant.
The dining room doors opened, revealing Sumpty levitating Draco Malfoy into the room. Evidence of disobedience wrapped in linen across the elf's fingers. Her heart sank.
Under his long hair and beard, the blood on his pale face indicated the younger wizard did not go peacefully. Hermione shot out of her seat to stand, the abruptness knocking her chair to the floor.
Please don't be dead.
His eyes fluttered as if hearing her silent plea. Thank Merlin.
The dark wizard walked towards Draco like a lion sizing up a gazelle. Much like he did to her while imprisoned, Dolohov grabbed a chunk of Draco's hair while still hovering and spoke in disgust. "You were never worthy of being a Deatheater." He shoved him, breaking Sumpty's hold and forcing him to stagger before falling to his knees. He landed with a low moan. Hermione dared not move, steadying her breath, refusing to give the wizard the satisfaction of her rising anxiety.
Dolohov took the few steps it took to get to Draco's side and sneered. "Better hold on if you want to enjoy the show. It's only the beginning, and it will only get better from here."
Her breathing became erratic. Her anxiety rose further.
"We've got to get her out! They're crashing!" A faint voice whispered in her ear.
Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it.
Suddenly, the pain in her head became unbearable, and she pressed her palms into her eyes to relieve the pressure.
"Get them out!" Again, she heard the voice, though a bit clearer accompanied by a sharp rapid beeping. It felt overpowering, muffling every other sound in the room. Her eyes opened at Draco's weak voice reaching for her like an oar to a drowning victim.
"Hermione." Fearful she searched for his eyes, reciprocating what she felt when her gaze met with his, his body trembling undeniably from Dolohov's wand. "Imaginer c'est choisir."
She felt her spark of life grow weaker as the room started to spin. For a long moment, she steadied herself against the table, struggling to keep her balance against vertigo, spinning the room around her like a carnival ride. Her vision blurred, and she collapsed into a shivering heap on the floor—Dolohov's manic laugh was the last thing to echo through her mind.
The rhythmic beeps from the medical equipment nearby were strangely soothing. Hermione flexed her fingers and toes, stopping her movements when she felt the tightness from the tape holding her cannula in place on her left hand. She couldn't properly move. The weight of the blanket draped across her body made her legs feel heavy, and her throat contracted around a breathing tube as she tried to swallow. The beeping became more inconsistent with her movements, sounding out a muffled alarm. She felt oddly content and calm, as if she was in the place she was meant to be. Her eyelids feel sticky, as if she slept too long. They are hard to open, and once she does, the clinical white ceiling feels familiar, as does the antiseptic herbal scent in the air. Using Polyjuice potion was Lucius' idea. After their discussion in Dover, he traveled to Spinners End to visit Professor Snape while Hermione retrieved the book from Lucius' study, Draco impersonated his father while everyone hoped that the wards would hold.
A hurried shuffle came behind her left shoulder, followed by heavy footsteps. She felt the warmth of their hand through her hospital gown as a pair of gentle eyes looked down at her.
He looked older. The lines across his face were more prominent, and his eyes sunken, evidently with age. He studied her as his eyes flickered across her face. Hermione furrowed her brow. She couldn't remember his name, although he looked familiar.
"Mrs. Malfoy – Hermione. Try not to move. I am going to check your vitals. I assure you it will not hurt, and if everything is well, we can remove your breathing tube." He waved his wand several times across her body and studied a series of numbers that flashed over her stomach. A quill scribbled notes on a clipboard that levitated behind him. Satisfied, he gave a comforting smile.
"You truly are the brightest witch of your age, Hermione." He said, placing a hand on her shoulder to reiterate his compliment. She heard a door opening out of view.
Two male voices spoke. One belonged to the man who greeted her upon waking, while the other voice itched at her mind with the same intensity. Their names felt essential to know. She should know her's as well. But it sounded foreign to her. The unknown caused terror to well up inside her as she struggled with remembering. Allowing the intubation to expand her lungs, she used wandless magic to deflate the cuff in her trachea and pulled on her tube.
Her throat felt like it was on fire.
Immediately the men were at her side. She tried to think, an unbearable pain laced through her brain so abruptly that her vision disappeared. She buried her face in her hands as an onrush of coughs coursed through her. The man with the kind eyes stood next to the bed and waved his wand over her body again. "I take back what I just said, Hermione. You always seemed to possess a higher intellect. But how can you be so unbelievably stupid?"
The other man looked at her, almost concerned and willing to speak but giving her time to recover. He tutted in disapproval at his colleague and hovered his hand across her chest. A cooling charm took effect, instantly relieving her discomfort to a tolerable pain comparable to a sore throat.
He made a calming gesture before addressing her. "Hermione, love, do you remember what happened?"
She glanced at his lab coat and saw his name embroidered below his coat pocket.
L. Malfoy
She didn't.
Malfoy.
The other man had called her that upon waking. Are they related? Married? Unlikely, he looked handsome but old. Turning to read the other man's name, she felt even more confused.
Professor S. Snape, Neuropsychologist
She started to shake. Her heart was beating faster and faster as she tried to think. Her skin felt itchy as she tried to rip off the many wires and tubes undoubtedly keeping her alive. Suddenly her body was jerking of its own volition, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth.
"Hold her down," Professor Snape demanded as she felt Malfoy restrain her at the shoulders. Her numb tongue couldn't taste the liquid one of them poured into her mouth. It smelled fruity. Familiar. Like apricots.
She refused to swallow, so one of them held her mouth and nose closed to ensure she did. And that's when it hit her.
Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy.
The bully from Hogwarts. Spy to the Order. Her husband.
Draco.
He was dying, and Hermione couldn't save him.