Chapter 39.
. . .* cowers* Gwendolyn scared me into writing more. . .* whimper*
^^ Thanks for all reviews, and congrats go to Max Tanrego for a) wading through 38 chapters and b) managing to give me possibly the weirdest review yet. * g *. Sorry for being so inconsistent on updating! Alysun
Handy dandy beta reader note: This chapter r0xx0rz. ^_^
Voldemort and Snape.
The next morning, Hermione walked down to breakfast with Harry and Ron, as usual.
The school had been decidedly subdued after the scandal but was slowly returning to normal. Dumbledore had appointed a very able Potions teacher to replace Snape - a tall, brown haired blue eyed man in his late thirties, or so Hermione guessed. He was an able Professor, and a Ravenclaw to boot. Not to mention rather attractive. . .All in all, Professor Kinson was a very satisfactory replacement in the eyes of all but the Slytherins'. Since Snape had left, the house points had been dropping notably, to the point where they were rivalling the Hufflepuffs for bottom place. They were all constantly on edge, always close to losing their tempers. As yet, they had no new head of house, as any replacements that had tried their luck had resigned from the post within a day or two. The responsibility currently fell to Dumbledore, giving him yet another thing to worry about.
The rest of the school seemed to have recovered well enough, almost forgetting that Snape had ever been there at all. Potions lessons were no longer in the dungeons, but on the mostly empty fourth floor, thus making the classrooms brighter and more cheerful. There seemed, however, a universal feeling of superiority over the Slytherins. For once, roles had been reversed, and a first year Hufflepuff had been seen openly insulting a fifth year Slytherin. The first year was naturally beaten to a pulp, but the fact that it had happened in the first place. . .
Hermione shrugged. It would all work out in the end, it always did.
"What's up, Hermione?" asked Ron, breaking into her thoughts.
She smiled at him and replied, "Oh, nothing. Just wondering if I did all of Professor Vector's homework last night. I think I might have missed out question 15. . ." she made a worried frown appear on her brow, and noted the exchange of looks between Harry and Ron. Well, at least they wouldn't ask anything else. She hated lying to them, but she could hardly tell them what she did last night.
She could hardly believe it herself.
Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's main man, had accepted the proffered hand of help from Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's biggest book fan. It didn't seem right somehow, even though she had been the one to start it all off.
What should she do next? Write to Malfoy and ask what was wrong? It seemed a bit pointless to do that, really. Like asking a dying man if he was going to be okay. Maybe she should wait for him to write to her again? But then it might look like she had written it as a joke, which wasn't good.
The post came.
Instinctively, everyone looked up as the hall filled up with the feathered messengers. Hermione looked up also, watching the crowds lazily, her mind elsewhere. By chance she looked down the table to see a handsome tawny owl staring straight at her. On its leg, there was a note, firmly tied.
For her? Maybe.
She got up with out a word to either Harry or Ron, and hurried down to the owl to investigate further.
Ron and Harry looked at each other.
"What's bitten her?"
"Damned if I know. You gonna eat the piece of toast? 'Coz I'll have it if you ain't."
"Hey! This toast is mine, alll mine. . ." Harry grinned, pulling his plate closer towards him protectively, making Ron laugh.
Hermione hurried down the table, pushing past people where needed until she reached the owl, who blinked calmly at her, and after a moment, stuck out its leg for her to untie the note. Hermione smiled to herself, relieved. She looked up at the owl, only to find it gone. Curious, she scanned the rafters of the Great Hall, trying to spot the bird, unsuccessfully. Typical Malfoy, she sighed to herself, and tucked the note into her robe pocket. She would read it somewhere more private.
The day passed uneventfully for the best part of the morning - Herbology (Greenhouse 7 again. They were having to try and come up with ways to keep the plants at a constant temperature for a project. Having completed it in the first two weeks, Hermione was now exceedingly bored), Transfiguration (which was, of course, immensely interesting. McGonagall remained Hermione's favourite teacher) and Care of Magical Creatures (Hagrid had finally struck a happy medium between monsters and boredom. His lessons were getting better every time they went, which was just as well really).
The lunch hour came around, and everyone filed down into the Great Hall once again to partake in food. Making excuses of homework, Hermione ate as fast as she could, and departed to the library, where she hid herself in a forgotten corner with the "Muggle Poetry from the 17th century" books.
Eagerly, she retrieved the letter from her pocket, and ripped open the envelope as quietly as possible, so as not to alert the dreaded librarian, Madam Pince. Laying the envelope on the shelf beside her, she unfolded the parchment and read the letter.
Hermione Granger,
I am going to have to trust you not to tell Potter or Weasley of our correspondence. You are right, I need help; quickly.
From the trial, you know that Snape and I. . .well. We love each other. I am acutely aware of how pretentious and stupid it sounds, but it's true. I fought hard alongside my mother to get him put in Azkaban - and now realise I must fight much, much harder to get him out again. I know what Dumbledore and the rest of the school must think of me, which is why I have been reduced to this desperate last resort. I will now try and explain to you the biggest and foremost problem that I face.
When my mother and I got home after the trial, mother was very . . .angry about my outburst. She went to the extreme of calling in one of her friends, Seneca.
I found out last night that Seneca is a vampire. My mother paid her to 'fix' the jurors' minds into thinking that Snape should be charged guilty with both murder and rape. Apparently, she does this by drinking someone's blood until they're almost out, and then telling them what she wants them to think.
Last night, my mother asked Seneca to do the same thing to me, wanting her to 'fix' my mind into not loving Snape. Seneca agreed to and is currently staying at the Manor waiting for an opportunity to get at me. I don't dare go up to the library and research any methods of protection, it would be a little obvious. The most I can do is to surround myself by wooden things - garlic would be very obvious and there isn't a bible or cross in the house. I can't get her into the sunlight either, seeing as she has "a rare skin disease that makes her react with sunlight". And funnily enough, St. Mungo's can't do anything about it. . .
I have to get out of the house - by Thursday, which is tomorrow. Do you have any ideas? I have exhausted any plans of mine, failing riding off on one of our winged horses.
Do not tell anyone of this, not even the teachers or Dumbledore. Especially not Dumbledore.
Please write back quickly,
Draco Malfoy.
Hermione read the urgent letter with wide eyes. It's so bizarre it has to be true, she thought to herself. She slipped the letter back into her pocket and unobtrusively made her way to the section on vampires. Taking down a few relevant looking volumes, she sat and flicked through them, searching for alternative means of destroying them.
As she did, her mind ran through all the things that she could do to help, the first and foremost on her mind to tell a teacher. But he had specifically said not to. She sighed. What could she do? Even if he could get out, where was he to go afterwards? It wasn't like she had any wizarding family who could look after him, and even if she did, she doubted that they'd want to. He could hardly go back to Hogwarts without anyone noticing. Maybe if she could stow him away somewhere in the castle? She stopped in her search in the current book, and looked up, eyes alight with excitement. She could! There were plenty of unused rooms here now. . .the dungeons! She doubted that Malfoy would thank her for putting him down in the dungeons, but that was tough as far as he was concerned. Nobody ever went down there any more, not even Filch or Mrs. Norris. She would have to transfigure a few essential things, but it was alright as it was. . .
How could Malfoy get out of the Manor without anyone noticing? He was right, a winged horse was more than slightly noticeable. Maybe. . .maybe if he got out of the Manor at night say, and then caught the Night Bus? In disguise, of course . . .and she could meet him at the school gates, and then. . .yes, they could use Harry's cloak! And the map. . .of course, that meant he would know about them, but she wouldn't have to explain where she got them from. She would make a sleeping draught for Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville to make sure that they wouldn't wake up in the middle of it all.
The idea of so breaking so many rules all at once made her feel slightly ill, but then, she assured herself, it was for a good cause.
Taking this to heart, Hermione returned the books, deciding that Draco would have to go tonight, so there wasn't really any need for them. She left the library and half ran, half walked up to the Gryffindor Tower, and hid herself in her dorm with a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment.
She jotted down a letter that outlined her plan, but carefully left out where she was going to stow him away. She made her way down to the Owlery, and sent her letter to Malfoy by means of a rather haughty looking barn owl.
She retired back into the tower, and realised that she had left herself fifteen minutes in which to do three pages of Charms homework.
~~
Draco had woken up early that morning - six o'clock. Meaning that he had had only three hours' sleep. He looked into the mirror. It showed.
He yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. HHHe padded into his bathroom, and took a cold shower, which woke him up sufficiently to start thinking about his current predicament. The next day was Thursday, when Seneca would be planning to 'fix' him. He shivered from something other than cold as he slowly towelled himself dry. He was to be underfed, to make it easier for Seneca. . .so. . .a thought struck him, and he grinned savagely.
Throwing his black, silk dressing gown round himself, he quietly padded across his bedroom floor, and out onto the landing, looking around all the time for anyone else who might be up at this ridiculously early hour. Eventually, he reached the already busy kitchens on the ground floor. He entered the huge, noisy room silently, clicking the door shut behind him. In the noise of the plates being washed, the boiling pans and uncouth shouts of the house-elves, Draco felt strangely empty, apart and deserted from both his family and his kind. Each and everyone of these ugly slaves had friends. . .they had a hidden community in their overbearing master's house. . . and he? He, Draco, the overbearing master? He had nothing.
He let his eyes follow a particularly hideous specimen hum happily as he trotted across the cavernous room, his arms full of plates. A female of the species dashed past him, sparing him a broad smile as she passed. The plate laden elf blushed violently and tripped over his own feet. A precarious few seconds past as he frantically tried to rebalance the plates, before they fell smashing onto the tiled floor. The female laughed, and left her post to help him clear the mess.
Draco watched the scene. The simple, meaningless scene that burned through his eyes and set fire to his very soul. What he would have paid to be that elf, so uncomplicated, so innocent of everything. . .Draco's face contorted in insane jealousy and he turned and swept from the room, a swirl of black silk. He strode down the passageways, anger and jealousy surging through him.
By the time he had made it back to his bedroom, the fury had burnt out into the hollow feeling of despair. He collapsed on the floor at the end of his bed, choking back tears. Gods, why is it so damn hard? Everything, so hard. . .why should some stupid elf make me feel this way? Why am I crying? Fuck it all, why the hell am I crying?! I never cry! I have to stop this. . .I have to stop it. . . stop, must stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. . . The word repeated itself over and over in his head, losing all its meaning but started to become steadily more soothing, calming his wretched thoughts for one moment at least.
His mind cleared slowly, and his fists unclenched themselves. He uncurled himself from the floor, and unsteadily made his way over to his roll top writing desk.
Pulling the lid down, he methodically pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill, carefully not thinking of anything. He dipped the quill in the ink well, and began to write. Each letter formed slowly, and gradually, the letter unfolded. Without even re-reading it, he folded it into an envelope and departed for the Manor's Owlery. He sent the letter on its way with one of the lesser-used messenger owls, and returned once again to his room.
He laid back on his bed and slept.
~~
When he woke again it was midday, judging by the sunlight that stream through his parted curtains. It was late spring now, almost summer, but the jubilant mood of the weather was not as infectious as it had been in previous years. Draco turned his eyes away from the window and rolled himself out of his bed for the second time that day. He stretched, and pulled on his clothes distractedly.
Had Granger got the letter he had sent her earlier? Did she have any, any ideas? He was getting desperate. . .he checked his watch - 12:30. He had about 24 hours to get out of the Manor and get himself hidden away in some unknown place. . .
He frowned and massaged his temples. He had a thumping headache, which did nothing to improve his mood. Glancing around his room one last time, he left it and wandered out into the hall. As far as he could see, no-one was up yet. . .Seneca was obviously asleep somewhere, and his mother was most likely to be shopping, (still) getting dressed or criticising the house-elves. Shrugging the thoughts from his mind, he made his way up to the library. It seemed like a good place to be, quiet and deserted, a peaceful atmosphere in which he could think more clearly. He was too late to catch breakfast and too early for lunch, he would just have to wait for half an hour. . .his stomach rumbled and he caught himself wishing that he had eaten earlier, as he had planned.
He glowered and pushed open the library door. He waved his wand briefly and the torches that lined the wall lit with a fire that wouldn't burn paper. Another of his father's many ingenious ideas. The door shut with a satisfying click. He walked down the familiar aisles, letting the magic that belonged to all libraries wash over him, losing himself in the numberless hundreds of books that surrounded him, selling his soul to the billions of words that were filed away, windows to universes that belonged to the reader, to him. He sighed happily, letting the peaceful silence wash over him.
"My, my Draco, we are happy today. . ." a dark, amused voice mocked him, snapping him out of his peaceful frame of mind, back into his prior deep, brooding state. He could have hit himself - the library had no windows, which was why it had to be lit with wall torches - the perfect place for a hiding vampire. It took him all he had to stop himself from glowering as he turned to see the tall elegant figure of Seneca that stood behind him.
"Not really, I'm afraid. How are you?" His tone was sharp and rather clipped, but he didn't care.
"Wonderful, thank you. What are you looking for?" she asked, innocently enough, but maybe it was Draco's mind that heard the suggestive undertones. . .mentally, he shook himself clear of his worries and answered.
"Nothing really. You?" he asked, wanting to catch her out.
She smiled serenely and said "Sadomachoism. Such an interesting subject, don't you think?"
Draco raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I'm too young to know about such things, surely?"
She laughed quietly, and murmured softly, yet bitingly, "Of, oh course. . .just wondering whether you took after your father, that's all."
Draco's face darkened at the mocking mention of his father, and he strained every muscle in his body not to pummel the calm, vaguely jeering face of the woman that stood in front of him. Instead, he nodded curtly and said, "Of course. I had better go now, things to do. Goodbye, Seneca."
"Bye bye, Draco, dear. . ."she uttered and moved away through the tall bookshelves, losing herself in the books. Draco scowled after her and turned sharply to leave, his private salvation lost to a petty bitch of a vampire.
He stood out side the door wondering what to do next. He decided that he would go and hide from the world at large in his study, and disappeared down the staircase.
Seneca watched him through the peephole in the wall, and smiled. Not long until she would be ready to correct his mind for Narcissa. At least, for Narcissa's money. . .her smile broadened, and she went back to her temporary resting place within the library.
Malfoy reached the study and pushed open the door. He fell onto the chair behind the desk and slumped there, bored already. He looked at the slightly disordered mess on the desk and straightened it out until it met his high standards of neatness. A letter had fallen face down onto the desk from the letter rack when he had moved it. Uninterested, Draco picked it up and turned it over to try and recognise the handwriting. Small and neat. His heart missed a pace in his sudden rush of excitement and he ripped open the letter, discarded the envelope and pulled out the sheet of parchment.
He scanned through it and Hermione's plan became clear to him. To escape the Manor at night, catch the night bus to Hogsmede, get to the gates of Hogwarts. . .where she would collect him and take him to a "safe place" she knew of. He could stay there for a while at least. . .
Deep in thought, Draco folded the letter and put it in his pocket. How was he going to get out of the Manor without his mother or Seneca knowing? . . .he could use Flo Powder. . . in mounting excitement, he planned to use one of the fireplaces in the Manor to travel to Hogsmeade. . .or even directly into the castle! Frowning he considered the last possibility. . .was it actually possible to use the fireplaces in the castle to travel by? Probably not. He would have to make do with the fireplace in the Three Broomsticks, he knew for certain that that was linked up to the Flo network. But then, that would mean having to go in disguise as someone was bound to recognise him. Maybe he would just take on of his fathers cloaks and hid his face with the hood. Yes, that was the best plan. . .
He scrawled yet another note to Granger, explaining what he intended to do, and saying that he would meet up with her outside that school gates at one in the morning. No-one would be around then, surely. He hoped so, anyway. He signed the note and heard the gong ring for lunch. He ate, sent the note and set his plans. . .
~~
Many miles away, hidden in a deserted mine, Wormtail whimpered pathetically at the feet of his master.
"Snape is where, Wormtail?" Voldemort hissed out, seething with barely compressed rage.
"Az-az-Azkaban, my lord. . ." stuttered Wormtail, and cowered on the filthy floor. Voldemort himself sat behind a desk on a comfortable chair that had been transfigured out of the stones that scattered the ground. The hollowed out cave was lined with wall torches and supported by magic to ensure that it would not collapse.
"Tell me why he is in Azkaban, Wormtail," Voldemort said coldly, his voice as merciless as ever, possibly even more so now.
"For. . .formurderingLuciusMalfoyandrapinghisson," gasped Wormtail in a single breath and cowered again, waiting for a curse of some description.
"For murdering Lucius Malfoy. . .now that, I find hard to believe. I also find it difficult to conceive Severus doing something as undignified as raping Malfoy's son, especially after my time with him. . ."Voldemort allowed him self a restricted, thin lipped smile. Wormtail whimpered again. He had heard the screams from Voldemort's time with Severus. They had been short-lived, cut off by Snape's pride, but full of pain.
"Anyway. Where is Draco Malfoy now, Wormtail?"
"At the Ma-Malfoy Man-nor, my lord," Wormtail murmured, hugging himself, still anticipating the shrill sharp pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Hardly a day went by without him suffering it.
"At Ma-Malfoy Man-nor," Voldemort mimicked cruelly. "You are pathetic, you know that, Wormtail?"
"Yes, my lord," moaned Wormtail, and rocked himself quietly on the floor.
"Truly pathetic," sneered Voldemort, his red eyes glittered harshly in the flickering torchlight. "I want a new servant, Wormtail, someone with more spirit in them than you. Where's the fun in torture if there is no spirit to break? You bore me, Wormtail. You bore me to tears. I want a new servant. Draco Malfoy fits the bill nicely, don't you think?"
"Yes, my lord," squeaked Wormtail, terrified of what his master was proposing. If he wanted a new servant, then he, Wormtail would have to move on. He would have to die. Tears threatened him as his master dismissed him to go to the Manor and tell Narcissa of his intentions for his son.
Voldemort watched him go and a cold smile played on his face.
So terrified of death. . .Draco would be a pleasant change. Lucius Malfoy had trained his son well, or so he had been told. He would serve him faithfully. Faithfully and efficiently. It was a pity about Snape, but he had been a traitor anyway. . .and if Draco needed any persuading in joining him in his dark plans, they could always use Snape as . . .a-ha. . .a means of persuasion. Join us and get your revenge on your rapist and the murderer of your father. Or die. Yes, that was a nice proposition. . . Voldemort sat back in his chair and plotted darkly in his hidden recluse.
~~
Hermione got Draco's letter and approved. Much safer than her idea. She wrote back and the plan was solidified, for now. When her classes had ended, she had made sure that Harry's dormitory was empty and sneaked in. After picking the lock on his suitcase, she took out the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders Map. Her heart beating uncomfortably fast, she re-locked the case, hurried back into her dorm and shoved the cloak and map out of sight, in her own suitcase. There. All set. Her brow creased worriedly and she bit her lip. It felt so wrong doing all this without Harry and Ron, but she had to. They wouldn't agree, even though Malfoy needed all the help he could get. . .besides, Malfoy would never accept help from The Boy Who Lived.
~~
Draco sat nervously in his study at nine o'clock that night, hoping and wishing that Seneca would not take it upon herself to do any midnight wandering. He kept running through the plan in his head . . .nothing could go wrong. Hermione Granger was the personification of efficiency, that was one of the most annoying things about her. Stupid girl.
He forced himself to think of something else.
His mother had been acting very strangely that afternoon, fussing around Draco like a worried mother hen. Most out of character for her. But then, she was probably suffering an attack of worry about her precious only son being subjected to brainwashing the next day. He shivered. Who had the cloaked figure that had visited earlier been? He'd seemed vaguely familiar, and his mother had recognised him and let him in on sight.
The was a knock on the door, and Draco automatically picked up a quill and looked at the columns of numbers as though he had been working. "Come in," he said, hoping that it wasn't Seneca. It wasn't. It was his mother.
"Draco, darling, how are you?" she started after letting herself into the room and seating herself opposite her son.
"Fine, thank you mother," he said coolly. He was fine for the moment at least.
Conversation stopped. Mother and son had never had much to say to each other, and now they had even less. Narcissa sighed.
"You know your father was a Death Eater, don't you, dear?" she asked.
Draco nodded. He had always known, and she knew he knew. It was something that none of them talked about.
"Well. . .The Dark Lord contacted me earlier. . .and well, he wants you to join him. To be his personal assistant," she said, with difficulty.
Draco stared at his mother uncomprehendingly, his blood cold in his veins. His personal assistant? "Why? What happened to Wormtail?" he asked, keeping all emotion out of his voice.
Narcissa shrugged elegantly. "Wormtail is still around - he visited us earlier with the news. Maybe the Dark Lord thinks that you would be. . .better at the job."
His head spun suddenly. Wormtail. . .Voldemort wanted him to be the next Wormtail. He had never met the man himself, but everyone knew Wormtail's story and state. A treacherous little man, a wreck and a coward. A rat. Scum of the earth. And Voldemort wanted him to be next.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" he asked his mother, a little sadly. this was the end. The little hope he had was lost in a pit of oblivion that took the place of his life.
"Not really. It wouldn't be so bad. . .you are to meet the Dark Lord tomorrow night. Just. . .just be yourself, and do what he says."
Draco looked at his mother who looked back with a strange expression on her face. It was something he had never seen on her before. . .worry? Pity? Concern?! Surely not! Draco hid his surprise and smiled thinly.
"Of course. I will make you proud, I assure you mother."
She smiled in relief at his pretty lie and left the room.
When she had gone, Draco slumped again. Hell. His life was hell. Voldemort had turned his crimson gaze to him and wanted him. Draco remembered with pain the expression on Snape's face when he had found the scars on Snape's back. Was that what he was destined for too? He hoped not. For a moment, he forgot his plans for escape while he tortured himself with painful mental images of Voldemort tying him down, whipping him, beating him, laughing all the while. He snapped out of it and glared at nothing. Well tough, if that was what Voldemort wanted. He would rather die first.
He checked his watch. Ten o'clock. He had better leave at 12, to give him enough time to make it up to the castle gates. Granger had better be ready for him.
Two hours later, the house was asleep, and Malfoy lit the fire in his office again and tossed the sparkling power into the flames. The turned an alarming shade of green and he stepped in unconcerned. "The Three Broomsticks," he said clearly into the dark of the chimney place and felt the familiar jerk around his navel as the world span.
It stopped spinning in the Three Broomsticks. From beneath his cowl, Draco looked around at the happy scene and felt strange separate. He made for the door, being jostled and pushed slightly from the crowds of merry drinkers. He finally made his escape and stood on the deserted main street of Hogsmeade. It was eerily empty and the flickering shadows that appeared on the ground from the light of the pub were unnerving. He quickly moved away from the noise and walked into the silence of the velvet night, savouring his independence for the first time in months. Here he was free; under the oversized cloak nobody knew him as Draco Malfoy - in fact, no-one knew him at all. He smiled to himself and set pace for the school in which all his troubles had started, and in which he wished that to end.
He climbed the hill up to the school and reached the gates ten minutes early. He sat on the rough grass and leaned against the gate post outside the grounds and watched the stars and silent constellations in the sky. The moon was out, though not quite full. It cast its silvery light over the half-world and changed it into a magical faery world where anything was possible, for muggles and wizards alike. He loved the night and its beautiful magic that no human could ever hope to match.
Above him familiar stars told their fortunes and twinkled, the nightlights of the gods.
"Malfoy?" hissed a voice out of the darkness.
Draco sat up and looked around him, hating himself for being caught off guard.
"Over here," hissed the voice again. he recognised it to be Granger's and looked over to the gates. Her head hovered, suspended mid air.
He stared. She made an impatient face and shrugged off the cloak.
"Invisibility cloak, now come on," she snapped, and Draco rose to join her under the sheet of material.
"I've seen this before, haven't I? In our third year Potter used it to go into Hogsmede," Draco said quietly as they made their way up to the castle. It was dark and imposing to him, but he suspected he was just being morbid.
"You did? Oh, yes, I remember. . ." Hermione said distractedly, looking at an ancient scrap of paper.
"What is that?" he asked, curious.
"Nothing. We had better be quiet now, though nobody is up and about. Not even Mrs. Norris," she said evasively. Draco gave up, telling himself that he didn't really care.
They moved slowly, their progress impeded by the cloak. Both of them were equally anxious not to touch the other unnecessarily, but it was difficult whilst staying under the safety of the cape.
He occupied himself by trying to guess where Granger was taking him, looking out for all the usual land marks that he knew so well. They were making their way down. . .down towards the. . .
Draco stopped up sharp. "I am not going to the dungeons," he snapped.
"Yes you are, and we can argue when we get there," Hermione whispered back, equally determined.
He snarled at her. "Do you have no feelings, mudblood? Or is this just a game to you?"
She glared back. "Malfoy, I am risking so mush to help you here, you can at least so a little gratitude. Now shut up and move. NOW."
She grasped the edges of the cloak and moved forwards, leaving Malfoy no option but to follow. He did so, complaining in his mind, until the got to the dark safety of the dungeons. Hermione led them in, unlocking the door with her wand. Draco pushed the door shut after her, and they slipped back into visibility.
"Why here, Granger?" Draco snapped
"Because it's the last place people will look and no-one ever comes down into the dungeons any more, not even Mrs. Norris. You're entirely safe. I can bring you food and anything else you need and it's close to the toilets. It's the best place to hide you, in other words," she retorted, not even looking at Draco. Instead, she lit a torch with her wand and walked over to the back of the classroom. Behind the back bench, she had transfigured two stools into a bed and a small table. On the table were three books, presumably to help him pass the time.
"I take it that Potions is no longer held down here then?" he asked, slightly morose.
She glanced at him. "No."
"Oh."
Conversation exhausted, Draco looked at the worried face of his rescuer and said, "You had better leave. I'll be fine here, for a while."
She nodded silently and gave him a half smile. Wordlessly, she disappeared from view as she slipped the cloak back around her and left the room.
Draco stood alone, looking at the cold chamber, remembering his first lesson with Snape, way back in the first year. Then in the second year, taunting Potter about the Chamber of Secrets, and then again in the third year about his godfather. Then in the fourth about the Triwizard Tournament, and in the fifth for failing to defeat Voldemort again. And then this year, talking with Snape, trying to convince him that they could have a relationship. . .he turned away and crawled into the bed that awaited him. He fought to forget all the things that he would have to deal with, including Voldemort and Snape. Especially Voldemort and Snape.