That Which Draws Us Most
Hermione lay wrapped only in a patched and torn rough blanket but even that coarseness of that material felt soft against her worn skin. Her body was bruised, battered and aching. She had no idea how long she had been like this, a prisoner of the dark. She supposed it had been going on for six months now; since the war had ended. Since Voldemort had been victorious.
For what must have been the ten millionth time, Hermione thought back to the day when the boy-who-lived had fallen, along with the hopes of the wizarding world.
It had been a hot, summer evening. The day that anyone would have loved to enjoy; lounging by the lake, watching the squid dance lazily across the surface, discussing the exams, classes, Quidditch; any of the usual teenage things. But not this evening. No, this was to be the evening when all hope would fail.
It had happened quite suddenly and they had not been prepared. Voldemort and the Death Eaters had stormed the castle in an attack. Apparating to Hogsmeade, killing everyone there and making their way to the castle, no blood was spared at the hands of the Dark Lord's followers and those in the castle were soon surrounded with little hope of escape.
The attack had come from inside as well, led by Draco Malfoy. As then evening meal began, Draco leapt up and shouted orders; the doors were locked and warded and all the wands of everyone on the room, except the Slytherins, were claimed. They were powerless. Draco's whore of a girlfriend, Blaise Zabini, had been the first to begin the torture. Hermione shivered as she thought of the evil, manipulative monster; talk about looks being deceiving. She was an elegant creature; tall and willowy with long midnight hair and flashing blue eyes but her heart was of ice. She cared for no-one, least of all mudbloods.
Blaise had sauntered to the Gryffindor table, selecting Hermione for her victim and, powerless, Hemrione had had to go along with it. There had been hours of humiliation and torture. Crucio; twisting her body into positions it shouldn't know, Imperious; making her commit things she hated herself for. Hermione had killed many people that night due to her lack of free will. Dumbledore had been the first to fall at her hands, and as the wizened old man had fallen, her eyes had glistened with tears of love and admiration as he whispered "I forgive you. Make it count." Before falling to the floor into dust.
But it was not over. Voldemort and his Death Eaters arrived next and the war officially began. With a lack of wand magic, the members of The Order and those strong enough to fight for what they believed in sprang forward, kicking, punching and biting their way through the Death Eaters. Struggling free from Blaise's grip, Hermione had grabbed one of the heavy candlesticks off a nearby table and had immediately begun smashing Death Eaters over the head with it. Following her example many of the students killed a fair amount of Death Eaters, using any implement they could lay their hands on. But they knew there was no hope.
Voldemort and his cronies outnumbered them ten to one at least and despite all their efforts, too many people were lost for them to have any chance at victory. All her friends had gone and many of the teachers; Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Hooch, Colin and Dennis, Padma and Parvati, Cho, Neville, Dean, Justin, Hannah, Seamus, Ron; they were all gone. Forever.
Surprised she had survived so long Hermione's heart had leapt for joy when further members of The Order had put in an appearance, but within seconds the curses flew thickly at the cavalry and they too had all fallen. The entire Weasley family was now lost, along with Mad-eye, Lupin, Kingsley and Tonks. There was no-one left. She was alone. There was only one spark left; Harry. He was the wizarding world's last hope, but even as she had thought this and ducked beneath on of the table out of the battle she knew he was no longer their hope but their demise.
It had been a horrendous sight to behold. The body of the once Great Hall was covered in the dead and the wounded; a writhing sea of bodies, all helpless at the hands of evil. And amongst them was Harry. He had not been mortally wounded; a knock to the head had rendered him unfocused and hazy but had he had a wand he would have been able to fight and possibly win. But without his wand he was hopeless.
Voldemort strode towards Harry, closely followed by Lucius, Draco and Bellatrix and as Hermione watched her stomach had turned inside her. It took all of her strength not to vomit on the spot as she saw the events unravel further from her position beneath the table, peering through the cloth and bodies. Voldemort had reached a thin, white arm into the mass of bodies, extracting from it a rather weak looking Harry. He held Harry aloft as though he were nothing but a child's plaything. Harry's head was limp, his eyes closed, his legs fought slightly as they kicked the thin air.
"See your saviour." Voldemort had yelled to those who were still alive, "See the boy-who-lived. Will he save you now? I doubt it, for he is about to crumble at the hands of the greatest wizard ever to live; I, Lord Voldemort."
The scene became sicker and more twisted as Hermione watched; Voldemort threw Harry to the floor and he skidded through the bodies of his dead friends, coming to rest only inches away from Hermione's face. She whimpered as Harry opened his eyes and met hers.
"I love you." He had whispered, hacking coughs wracking through his body and causing him to cough up thick, scarlet blood. "Hide Hermione and keep yourself safe. You'll survive this. Just promise me you'll remember us when you're old."
"I will." She had promised, silent tears streaming down her face.
She had wiped her tears as best as she could, reached out and clasped his hand quickly and tightly. Tears and blood mixed as they had looked at each other for the last time; absorbing each other's faces and remembering all they had been through. A crash behind Harry as Voldemort upturned tables to regain his prize and Harry let go of Hermione's hand;
"Hide," he repeated, "I love you."
"I love you too." Hermione whispered back, retreating further into the shadows of the table and burying her head in her arms as the darkness closed onto her best friend.
He hadn't screamed but Hermione had heard more than one whimper escape his weak throat and there were many slicing noises and suspicious squelches that made her glad she had hidden her face. She had no idea how long she had laid there, her face hidden, the tears streaming down her face, but she soon heard evil laughing which indicated the boy-who-lived was no longer. A gut wrenching sob escaped her throat and an ominous silence fell across the room; they knew she was here. Her life was over.
She felt the table being overturned and a pair of hands grab her, pulling her up roughly, and viciously turning her to face the Dark Lord. Then came Blaise's voice, dripping in sweetness and malevolence;
"Well, what have we here? Poor bedraggled mudblood. See what has become of your false hero."
Another twirl at someone else's hand and Hermione vomited: Harry lay on the nearest table, his guts spilled around his dead body, his eyes wide and bulging. The Dark Mark was etched onto his bared chest in his own blood and a crown of broken glass adorned his beaten face.
"I think he would like a queen." Blaise had taunted, circling Hermione, her fingernails scratching at her face and drawing blood. "If you agree My Lord?"
Hermione then laid eyes upon the Dark Lord for the first time since she had turned away. He was no longer white, with mere red slits for eyes. His body was tall and lean, his hair dark and thick, his eyes deep brown; he was Tom Riddle once more. However before he could answer a cold drawl floated from the back of the assembled Death Eaters;
"May I suggest that we do not dispose of the mudblood yet My Lord?" It said and Hermione nearly died of shock as she saw Draco Malfoy push his way forward to face her and Voldemort.
"And why would I approve of letting this piece of filth live young Malfoy?" Voldemort asked, his voice edged with amusement. "Personally I never wish to lay eyes on another soiled 'witch' for as long as I live."
"Then you do not have to My Lord, but why deprive the rest of us of a bit of fun? I know I could have a whale of a time with this nice piece of ass."
Hermione had watched as Voldemort had considered his words and as Blaise had shot Draco a look of confusion, hurt and anger. Draco had sauntered over to her, placing a hand around her stupidly this waist, whispering;
"Don't worry love; you're still the one for me. How could a filthy little mudblood pull me away from your wonderfully black heart?" And he had pulled her into a crushing kiss, biting her lip and drawing a little blood as he pulled away. He had licked the blood away and they had smirked at each other; Hermione had felt her stomach turn and the bizarre display of affection.
"You may keep her young Malfoy." Voldemort had said, "But she is yours alone and I wish never to see her again. If I do not see her then she dies not exist, therefore there is no mudblood. Understood?"
"I understand My Lord." Draco sneered, kissing Blaise once more and turning to Hermione; "Come on ho. You're mine."
"Bastard." She had muttered as he led her away.
"Oh you're too kind. Please keep it up."
"Why don't you just kill me now. I'd prefer it to a life as your sordid sex slave."
"I know you would, and who said you'd be my sex slave? I have Blaise' she's all the sex slave I need."
A thud against the back of her head and Hermione knew no more until she had awoken in this room months ago. The situation itself could have been much worse than it was. Granted she was in only a small attic room at Draco's private estate that he had acquired after turning 18 and where he now lived permanently, but the room was liveable and she was fed three times a day; not banquets but enough.. The room itself was around 20 feet square and was bare with only basic furnishings; a mattress on the floor with a few blankets and one pillow, a small bathroom area, a hard backed chair, an old squashy, beaten armchair and a window. There was no carpet and only a few candles for light.
Hermione loved the window; she would sit at it for hours, watching the grounds of Draco's manor; which were extensive. The green grounds rolled on forever into purple hills and mountains in the distance and Hermione would watch, full of jealousy as Draco and Blaise strolled through the grounds. She longed for fresh sir and the wind on her face but she was resolved to the fact that it would never happen.
As for being Draco's sex slave she had been far from the truth. Her relationship with Draco was one she would never be able to figure out. He would come to visit her almost every day without fail and there he would talk to her. Nothing emotion fuelled and not always particularly civilised, just conversation. Mostly he would rant about his Father's latest attempt to wed him and Blaise.
From what she had gathered Draco did not want to wed so young but he enjoyed being with Blaise; her pure, unadulterated wickedness attracted Draco like nothing else. His heart loved the blackness of hers and her willingness to partake in violent affairs was heaven for Draco. He was drawn to her darkness but did not want her for life; not yet whilst he was still attracted to others. Of course he hadn't exactly said these words but it didn't take a genius to figure it out.
The problem was that it was not only Draco who visited her in her secluded room; Blaise had also taken it upon herself to call on Hermione, and her visits were not at all to be looked forward to. Blaise had aggression at everything; her parents, her school, her friends, the world and, when they rowed, at Draco, and she would release this anger by visiting Hermione. Her visits were much shorter than Draco's, sometimes lasting only half an hour, yet at the end of it Hermione would feel a lifetime older. She would be beaten and bruised and would cry to herself for hours. Blaise's visits were less frequent than Draco's which Hermione appreciated. Most of the time they were only once a week yet that was enough for her.
Hermione sighed; she sensed that Draco would be visiting tonight. Normally he was welcome as he relieved the monotony of being locked in the small room but lately he had been aggressive, rude a distant, often sitting in silence for three or four hours, yelling whenever she interrupted his brooding. She sighed again and returned to watching the small figures arrange items on the lawns; it appeared there was to be a party tonight. She liked to watch the parties; they were bright and colourful and she could hear the music. She missed music and would often dance as the chords floated up from the earth. She was able to forget the horrid things in her life as the tunes washed over her and instead she fell into her old memories; of a time when life was simple. Her, Harry and Ron; when they first met, when they encountered Sirius, the Quidditch cup, the Yule Ball; all happy, all worth more than she could ever tell.
Time passed and there was no sign of Draco. The afternoon became evening and Hermione supposed he was busy playing host at the extravagant party that had begun. The most important people in the new wizarding world milled around below her and Hermione couldn't help but admire the fine dresses and robes worn by many of the beautiful women.
The evening became night and Hermione soon became bored with the party; it made her feel worthless, unattractive and insignificant to think she would never know such things. Sighing miserably she lay down on her mattress and soon felt a familiar prickling behind her eyes as tears welled up and threatened to break free. She closed her eyes in an effort to control her emotions but awoke again almost immediately as she heard the door creak softly open.
"Draco?" She whispered.
"No Hermione, it's me." A voice drifted through the darkness.
"Who are you?" She asked, her voice betraying her attempted brave stance. "Come closer."
The figure moved closer and the soft moonlight fell upon a face she only saw in her dreams.
"You're dead." She whispered, refusing to believe her eyes.
"No," Said Harry, "I'm not; as you can see."
"You must be; I saw your body and you were definitely dead." Hermione hissed, "Whoever you are reveal yourself. I am not fool enough to fall for this."
"It's not trick Hermione. I'm really here."
"But...how?"
"I'm not really sure to be honest. I did die, that is definite but I was able to come back. I woke up about two months ago in St. Mungo's and they tried to explain it to me. Apparently Voldemort didn't use a wand or curse to kill me, he used muggle tactics of torture and those did not work efficiently enough to kill me for good. True they killed me, but I was able to be brought back because the curse that is to finish all of this is to be the killing curse. Voldemort did not use that therefore he only partially killed me. Does that make sense?"
"No." Hermione half-laughed, "but few things do in this world. Oh Harry, I'm so glad to see you."
"Me too Hermione." Harry grinned, pulling her close to him.
Hermione grinned as she felt the material of his clothes against her bruised cheek. He felt so good and he smelt just as remembered; pure, a mixture of pine a fresh air that she would never forget. Suddenly the sobs broke from her throat and the tears fell from her eyes. Harry placed cool fingers beneath her chi to look her in the eye;
"It's OK you know. I will get you out of here."
"Now?" She pleaded, "I can't stand another beating from that bitch."
"Blaise?"
Hermione nodded.
"I can't get you out now." Harry said, his voiced strained and full of pain, "I'm sorry."
"Why the hell not?" Hermione yelled, pulling away from him, "Do you not think I've suffered enough?"
"Of course you have Hermione. Believe me; none of us doubt your strength."
"None of who."
"The refugees. There's about 100 of us altogether locally and more over the country. We're the ones who survived. St. Mungo's is the base but it's been charmed to move around so we can never be found. But as I was saying, I can't do this by myself, it will take a bit longer to organise everything so we can get you out without drawing attention to the fact you're gone. That way the first anyone will know of it will be when they discover you're not here the next day; or with any luck a few days later."
Hermione nodded silently, she understood but it still hurt like hell to know that Harry would be leaving her again. What if he didn't come back?
"I will come back you know." Harry reassured her, as though reading her mind. "I promise."
Hermione nodded again; there was hope now. A light at the end of the tunnel.
"Will you hold me?" She asked.
Harry smiled and pulled her close, looking deeply into her eyes, his hands stroking her russet curls. Hermione smiled and sighed to herself, closing her eyes and relaxing.
She had no idea how long the sat like that but all too soon for her she felt Harry move;
"I have to go." He said. "The party will be over soon and then they might come to you. The last thing we need is for the other side to find out I'm still alive."
"Please don't leave me again." Hermione sobbed, "I can't lose you again."
"I'm sorry." Was all Harry said, making his way towards the door, but before he got to it he turned and strode back to Hermione, kissing her gently on the lips before exiting the room and disappearing.
Hermione laid herself back onto the mattress, a soft smile on her lips; soon she would be safe.
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Outside the door black became blonde, green became grey and smile became sneer as Draco licked Hermione's taste from his lips. She tasted of cinnamon. He would have fun with this game. He turned from his innocent affection and made his way to the darkness that always drew him closer.
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Author's Note: I really hope you like this but just as a warning...it is staying as a one-shot until my main fanfic "Light and Dark of the Raven" is complete because I do not have enough time to juggle two ongoing fanfics, college, work and life in general, so please do not ask me to update this anytime soon. Please R+R, constructive criticism is welcome.
Hermione lay wrapped only in a patched and torn rough blanket but even that coarseness of that material felt soft against her worn skin. Her body was bruised, battered and aching. She had no idea how long she had been like this, a prisoner of the dark. She supposed it had been going on for six months now; since the war had ended. Since Voldemort had been victorious.
For what must have been the ten millionth time, Hermione thought back to the day when the boy-who-lived had fallen, along with the hopes of the wizarding world.
It had been a hot, summer evening. The day that anyone would have loved to enjoy; lounging by the lake, watching the squid dance lazily across the surface, discussing the exams, classes, Quidditch; any of the usual teenage things. But not this evening. No, this was to be the evening when all hope would fail.
It had happened quite suddenly and they had not been prepared. Voldemort and the Death Eaters had stormed the castle in an attack. Apparating to Hogsmeade, killing everyone there and making their way to the castle, no blood was spared at the hands of the Dark Lord's followers and those in the castle were soon surrounded with little hope of escape.
The attack had come from inside as well, led by Draco Malfoy. As then evening meal began, Draco leapt up and shouted orders; the doors were locked and warded and all the wands of everyone on the room, except the Slytherins, were claimed. They were powerless. Draco's whore of a girlfriend, Blaise Zabini, had been the first to begin the torture. Hermione shivered as she thought of the evil, manipulative monster; talk about looks being deceiving. She was an elegant creature; tall and willowy with long midnight hair and flashing blue eyes but her heart was of ice. She cared for no-one, least of all mudbloods.
Blaise had sauntered to the Gryffindor table, selecting Hermione for her victim and, powerless, Hemrione had had to go along with it. There had been hours of humiliation and torture. Crucio; twisting her body into positions it shouldn't know, Imperious; making her commit things she hated herself for. Hermione had killed many people that night due to her lack of free will. Dumbledore had been the first to fall at her hands, and as the wizened old man had fallen, her eyes had glistened with tears of love and admiration as he whispered "I forgive you. Make it count." Before falling to the floor into dust.
But it was not over. Voldemort and his Death Eaters arrived next and the war officially began. With a lack of wand magic, the members of The Order and those strong enough to fight for what they believed in sprang forward, kicking, punching and biting their way through the Death Eaters. Struggling free from Blaise's grip, Hermione had grabbed one of the heavy candlesticks off a nearby table and had immediately begun smashing Death Eaters over the head with it. Following her example many of the students killed a fair amount of Death Eaters, using any implement they could lay their hands on. But they knew there was no hope.
Voldemort and his cronies outnumbered them ten to one at least and despite all their efforts, too many people were lost for them to have any chance at victory. All her friends had gone and many of the teachers; Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Hooch, Colin and Dennis, Padma and Parvati, Cho, Neville, Dean, Justin, Hannah, Seamus, Ron; they were all gone. Forever.
Surprised she had survived so long Hermione's heart had leapt for joy when further members of The Order had put in an appearance, but within seconds the curses flew thickly at the cavalry and they too had all fallen. The entire Weasley family was now lost, along with Mad-eye, Lupin, Kingsley and Tonks. There was no-one left. She was alone. There was only one spark left; Harry. He was the wizarding world's last hope, but even as she had thought this and ducked beneath on of the table out of the battle she knew he was no longer their hope but their demise.
It had been a horrendous sight to behold. The body of the once Great Hall was covered in the dead and the wounded; a writhing sea of bodies, all helpless at the hands of evil. And amongst them was Harry. He had not been mortally wounded; a knock to the head had rendered him unfocused and hazy but had he had a wand he would have been able to fight and possibly win. But without his wand he was hopeless.
Voldemort strode towards Harry, closely followed by Lucius, Draco and Bellatrix and as Hermione watched her stomach had turned inside her. It took all of her strength not to vomit on the spot as she saw the events unravel further from her position beneath the table, peering through the cloth and bodies. Voldemort had reached a thin, white arm into the mass of bodies, extracting from it a rather weak looking Harry. He held Harry aloft as though he were nothing but a child's plaything. Harry's head was limp, his eyes closed, his legs fought slightly as they kicked the thin air.
"See your saviour." Voldemort had yelled to those who were still alive, "See the boy-who-lived. Will he save you now? I doubt it, for he is about to crumble at the hands of the greatest wizard ever to live; I, Lord Voldemort."
The scene became sicker and more twisted as Hermione watched; Voldemort threw Harry to the floor and he skidded through the bodies of his dead friends, coming to rest only inches away from Hermione's face. She whimpered as Harry opened his eyes and met hers.
"I love you." He had whispered, hacking coughs wracking through his body and causing him to cough up thick, scarlet blood. "Hide Hermione and keep yourself safe. You'll survive this. Just promise me you'll remember us when you're old."
"I will." She had promised, silent tears streaming down her face.
She had wiped her tears as best as she could, reached out and clasped his hand quickly and tightly. Tears and blood mixed as they had looked at each other for the last time; absorbing each other's faces and remembering all they had been through. A crash behind Harry as Voldemort upturned tables to regain his prize and Harry let go of Hermione's hand;
"Hide," he repeated, "I love you."
"I love you too." Hermione whispered back, retreating further into the shadows of the table and burying her head in her arms as the darkness closed onto her best friend.
He hadn't screamed but Hermione had heard more than one whimper escape his weak throat and there were many slicing noises and suspicious squelches that made her glad she had hidden her face. She had no idea how long she had laid there, her face hidden, the tears streaming down her face, but she soon heard evil laughing which indicated the boy-who-lived was no longer. A gut wrenching sob escaped her throat and an ominous silence fell across the room; they knew she was here. Her life was over.
She felt the table being overturned and a pair of hands grab her, pulling her up roughly, and viciously turning her to face the Dark Lord. Then came Blaise's voice, dripping in sweetness and malevolence;
"Well, what have we here? Poor bedraggled mudblood. See what has become of your false hero."
Another twirl at someone else's hand and Hermione vomited: Harry lay on the nearest table, his guts spilled around his dead body, his eyes wide and bulging. The Dark Mark was etched onto his bared chest in his own blood and a crown of broken glass adorned his beaten face.
"I think he would like a queen." Blaise had taunted, circling Hermione, her fingernails scratching at her face and drawing blood. "If you agree My Lord?"
Hermione then laid eyes upon the Dark Lord for the first time since she had turned away. He was no longer white, with mere red slits for eyes. His body was tall and lean, his hair dark and thick, his eyes deep brown; he was Tom Riddle once more. However before he could answer a cold drawl floated from the back of the assembled Death Eaters;
"May I suggest that we do not dispose of the mudblood yet My Lord?" It said and Hermione nearly died of shock as she saw Draco Malfoy push his way forward to face her and Voldemort.
"And why would I approve of letting this piece of filth live young Malfoy?" Voldemort asked, his voice edged with amusement. "Personally I never wish to lay eyes on another soiled 'witch' for as long as I live."
"Then you do not have to My Lord, but why deprive the rest of us of a bit of fun? I know I could have a whale of a time with this nice piece of ass."
Hermione had watched as Voldemort had considered his words and as Blaise had shot Draco a look of confusion, hurt and anger. Draco had sauntered over to her, placing a hand around her stupidly this waist, whispering;
"Don't worry love; you're still the one for me. How could a filthy little mudblood pull me away from your wonderfully black heart?" And he had pulled her into a crushing kiss, biting her lip and drawing a little blood as he pulled away. He had licked the blood away and they had smirked at each other; Hermione had felt her stomach turn and the bizarre display of affection.
"You may keep her young Malfoy." Voldemort had said, "But she is yours alone and I wish never to see her again. If I do not see her then she dies not exist, therefore there is no mudblood. Understood?"
"I understand My Lord." Draco sneered, kissing Blaise once more and turning to Hermione; "Come on ho. You're mine."
"Bastard." She had muttered as he led her away.
"Oh you're too kind. Please keep it up."
"Why don't you just kill me now. I'd prefer it to a life as your sordid sex slave."
"I know you would, and who said you'd be my sex slave? I have Blaise' she's all the sex slave I need."
A thud against the back of her head and Hermione knew no more until she had awoken in this room months ago. The situation itself could have been much worse than it was. Granted she was in only a small attic room at Draco's private estate that he had acquired after turning 18 and where he now lived permanently, but the room was liveable and she was fed three times a day; not banquets but enough.. The room itself was around 20 feet square and was bare with only basic furnishings; a mattress on the floor with a few blankets and one pillow, a small bathroom area, a hard backed chair, an old squashy, beaten armchair and a window. There was no carpet and only a few candles for light.
Hermione loved the window; she would sit at it for hours, watching the grounds of Draco's manor; which were extensive. The green grounds rolled on forever into purple hills and mountains in the distance and Hermione would watch, full of jealousy as Draco and Blaise strolled through the grounds. She longed for fresh sir and the wind on her face but she was resolved to the fact that it would never happen.
As for being Draco's sex slave she had been far from the truth. Her relationship with Draco was one she would never be able to figure out. He would come to visit her almost every day without fail and there he would talk to her. Nothing emotion fuelled and not always particularly civilised, just conversation. Mostly he would rant about his Father's latest attempt to wed him and Blaise.
From what she had gathered Draco did not want to wed so young but he enjoyed being with Blaise; her pure, unadulterated wickedness attracted Draco like nothing else. His heart loved the blackness of hers and her willingness to partake in violent affairs was heaven for Draco. He was drawn to her darkness but did not want her for life; not yet whilst he was still attracted to others. Of course he hadn't exactly said these words but it didn't take a genius to figure it out.
The problem was that it was not only Draco who visited her in her secluded room; Blaise had also taken it upon herself to call on Hermione, and her visits were not at all to be looked forward to. Blaise had aggression at everything; her parents, her school, her friends, the world and, when they rowed, at Draco, and she would release this anger by visiting Hermione. Her visits were much shorter than Draco's, sometimes lasting only half an hour, yet at the end of it Hermione would feel a lifetime older. She would be beaten and bruised and would cry to herself for hours. Blaise's visits were less frequent than Draco's which Hermione appreciated. Most of the time they were only once a week yet that was enough for her.
Hermione sighed; she sensed that Draco would be visiting tonight. Normally he was welcome as he relieved the monotony of being locked in the small room but lately he had been aggressive, rude a distant, often sitting in silence for three or four hours, yelling whenever she interrupted his brooding. She sighed again and returned to watching the small figures arrange items on the lawns; it appeared there was to be a party tonight. She liked to watch the parties; they were bright and colourful and she could hear the music. She missed music and would often dance as the chords floated up from the earth. She was able to forget the horrid things in her life as the tunes washed over her and instead she fell into her old memories; of a time when life was simple. Her, Harry and Ron; when they first met, when they encountered Sirius, the Quidditch cup, the Yule Ball; all happy, all worth more than she could ever tell.
Time passed and there was no sign of Draco. The afternoon became evening and Hermione supposed he was busy playing host at the extravagant party that had begun. The most important people in the new wizarding world milled around below her and Hermione couldn't help but admire the fine dresses and robes worn by many of the beautiful women.
The evening became night and Hermione soon became bored with the party; it made her feel worthless, unattractive and insignificant to think she would never know such things. Sighing miserably she lay down on her mattress and soon felt a familiar prickling behind her eyes as tears welled up and threatened to break free. She closed her eyes in an effort to control her emotions but awoke again almost immediately as she heard the door creak softly open.
"Draco?" She whispered.
"No Hermione, it's me." A voice drifted through the darkness.
"Who are you?" She asked, her voice betraying her attempted brave stance. "Come closer."
The figure moved closer and the soft moonlight fell upon a face she only saw in her dreams.
"You're dead." She whispered, refusing to believe her eyes.
"No," Said Harry, "I'm not; as you can see."
"You must be; I saw your body and you were definitely dead." Hermione hissed, "Whoever you are reveal yourself. I am not fool enough to fall for this."
"It's not trick Hermione. I'm really here."
"But...how?"
"I'm not really sure to be honest. I did die, that is definite but I was able to come back. I woke up about two months ago in St. Mungo's and they tried to explain it to me. Apparently Voldemort didn't use a wand or curse to kill me, he used muggle tactics of torture and those did not work efficiently enough to kill me for good. True they killed me, but I was able to be brought back because the curse that is to finish all of this is to be the killing curse. Voldemort did not use that therefore he only partially killed me. Does that make sense?"
"No." Hermione half-laughed, "but few things do in this world. Oh Harry, I'm so glad to see you."
"Me too Hermione." Harry grinned, pulling her close to him.
Hermione grinned as she felt the material of his clothes against her bruised cheek. He felt so good and he smelt just as remembered; pure, a mixture of pine a fresh air that she would never forget. Suddenly the sobs broke from her throat and the tears fell from her eyes. Harry placed cool fingers beneath her chi to look her in the eye;
"It's OK you know. I will get you out of here."
"Now?" She pleaded, "I can't stand another beating from that bitch."
"Blaise?"
Hermione nodded.
"I can't get you out now." Harry said, his voiced strained and full of pain, "I'm sorry."
"Why the hell not?" Hermione yelled, pulling away from him, "Do you not think I've suffered enough?"
"Of course you have Hermione. Believe me; none of us doubt your strength."
"None of who."
"The refugees. There's about 100 of us altogether locally and more over the country. We're the ones who survived. St. Mungo's is the base but it's been charmed to move around so we can never be found. But as I was saying, I can't do this by myself, it will take a bit longer to organise everything so we can get you out without drawing attention to the fact you're gone. That way the first anyone will know of it will be when they discover you're not here the next day; or with any luck a few days later."
Hermione nodded silently, she understood but it still hurt like hell to know that Harry would be leaving her again. What if he didn't come back?
"I will come back you know." Harry reassured her, as though reading her mind. "I promise."
Hermione nodded again; there was hope now. A light at the end of the tunnel.
"Will you hold me?" She asked.
Harry smiled and pulled her close, looking deeply into her eyes, his hands stroking her russet curls. Hermione smiled and sighed to herself, closing her eyes and relaxing.
She had no idea how long the sat like that but all too soon for her she felt Harry move;
"I have to go." He said. "The party will be over soon and then they might come to you. The last thing we need is for the other side to find out I'm still alive."
"Please don't leave me again." Hermione sobbed, "I can't lose you again."
"I'm sorry." Was all Harry said, making his way towards the door, but before he got to it he turned and strode back to Hermione, kissing her gently on the lips before exiting the room and disappearing.
Hermione laid herself back onto the mattress, a soft smile on her lips; soon she would be safe.
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Outside the door black became blonde, green became grey and smile became sneer as Draco licked Hermione's taste from his lips. She tasted of cinnamon. He would have fun with this game. He turned from his innocent affection and made his way to the darkness that always drew him closer.
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Author's Note: I really hope you like this but just as a warning...it is staying as a one-shot until my main fanfic "Light and Dark of the Raven" is complete because I do not have enough time to juggle two ongoing fanfics, college, work and life in general, so please do not ask me to update this anytime soon. Please R+R, constructive criticism is welcome.