The Price to Pay for Loving a Dragon

By Lemust

Chapter 3- Longing

Draco awoke several hours later, his face pressed up against the cold stone floor, his body still bruised and bloody from his confrontation with Lucius earlier that day. There was a ringing in his ears, a high-pitched whine of some sort that coincided beautifully with the invisible streaks of pain that flashed before his eyes as he tried to lift his heavy eyelids and ascertain his whereabouts. At first, everything was blurry, one big mix of blacks and grays all swirling together into a monochromatic image that seemed to spin across his line of vision, sending waves of nausea flowing and ebbing through his mind.

There was something familiar about the settings, though he could not seem to place it. Perhaps the smell, he thought, inhaling deeply, though the air was so cold it masked any particular odors. He winced in pain as he struggled to sit up, his body completely numb from the cold that had inundated his senses. His fingers groped blindly, grasping onto anything possible; they curled around a bar of some sort and with his legs bowing beneath him, Draco pulled himself to a standing position. The spinning objects before him paused momentarily, allowing him a glimpse at whatever his hand was gripping. A bedframe, he realized as the swirling recommenced.

He was in his own bedroom.

Night had fallen upon the Malfoy manor, leaving Draco immersed in inky blackness broken only by the thin slivers of moonlight prying their way through the drawn curtains on the opposite side of the chamber. The fire in his room had been extinguished, Draco guessed, shortly after he had been locked up because his fingers were like ice, and it stung to even curl them the slightest bit. His head was throbbing, sending pulses of anguish throughout his trembling frame as the memories of what had happened came rushing back to him in a torrent of bitterness.

Lucius, holding up the picture of the Yule Ball, insulting Hermione's honor, calling her a mudblood. Calling her worse.

Draco, refusing to leave her, refusing to denounce her name, refusing to deny his love for her.

"You will stop seeing that whore of a mudblood. You will receive the Dark Mark in two days time when Lord Voldemort arrives, and serve him faithfully as I have done." Draco's head felt as though it would explode any moment."

Two days, two bloody days. He remembered fighting back, swinging blindly at Lucius through the crimson streaming into his eyes, fighting for his freedom, for his life, for Hermione.

He could feel the fist connect with his jaw, the desk jabbing into his back, the floor rushing up to meet his face, Lucius' foot smashing in his ribs.

He remembered lying on the ground, feeling helpless and worthless, not possessing the strength to stand up to his own father.

"Are you going to defy me further?" Lucius voice still rang cold and merciless in his ears. He had not yielded.

"Crucio."

A blinding hot flash of pain had surged thorough his fragile veins, shredding him apart from inside out, turning over his world and inundating his thoughts, drowning his hopes and warping his reality into this single moment of excruciating pain--

"Crucio."

Agony. Utter agony.

Death had been such a beautiful option, holding open his arms and welcoming Draco into the depths of eternal darkness, a world with no pain, no suffering, no prejudice…

But then his thoughts had turned to Hermione, his beautiful Mione. He knew he could not die without seeing her, without warning her, without protecting her from this maniacal Dark Wizard standing over him, cursing his own son.

"I will love you even if they burn that mark into your flesh, Draco, because that is all it would be: a mark. It can't change who you are inside..."

She was right, the mark itself couldn't make him evil, but it would always be there, a reminder to him of his past, of that moment, of the pain coursing through his body—

NO! His mind had screamed at him, DON'T SAY IT DRACO! But the pain had been too much, the image of Hermione in Lucius' arms had been too sickening…what would Lucius do to her?

For the longest moment, he had not been able to bring himself to say the words but with his last drop of strength they had escaped his lips—

"Tell our master I anxiously await his arrival." And he hated himself for his own weakness.

A fresh stream of tears bathed Draco's face in a glistening sheen of salty anger and hurt, his chest heaving as the sobs overtook his battered body. He collapsed upon the bed, burying his face deep into the covers, tearing at them with his teeth in anguish, emotions so real and raw and vivid that they were tearing him apart.

"What have I done?" he sobbed, his fingers clenched around the blankets, the delicate threads breaking under his grasp.

Two days. And he would belong to Voldemort forever.

...

"Hermione? Honey, dinner's ready!" Hermione groaned and rolled over on her bed, setting the picture of Draco on her nightstand as she rose to her feet and slowly plodded to the kitchen. She hadn't even been away from Draco for a full twelve hours yet and still she felt miserable and sick inside. She decided that this was rational behavior, seeing how she was in love with him and all and wanted to spend the rest of her life showing him in every way possible how wonderful he really was.

He should be here, with me, she thought to herself in vain, not home with his father. Hermione had never been formally introduced to Lucius Malfoy, but knew enough of him from reputation that she was scared to death for Draco's safety while he was residing in the Malfoy mansion. There had been something she had noticed earlier, something about the way Lucius had regarded Draco as he walked from the Hogwarts express toward the waiting carriage. He looked at him with utter revulsion in his eyes, certainly not at all how a father should view his own son. She began to wonder if perhaps he knew, if he had somehow heard about the Yule Ball, about her.

A chill shot up her spine as she realized what would happen to Draco if Lucius found out about the two of them. He had told her before, though he had skipped most of the details, of his encounters with Lucius' fists when the heartless monster was angry with Draco. She remembered looking at him in horror, not believing that someone could be so cruel to another human being, but the look in Draco's eyes had told her differently. They held a haunted expression, vacant at times, and it terrified her to think that she might lose him to the phantoms that lived within his tortured mind. She had hated watching him relive those horrible memories, his eyes swimming in briny tears as his lips had made futile attempts to form words…there had been moments when he could not speak at all, his throat constricted by emotions too powerful to express.

"You'll always love me, right?" he had asked her afterwards, no longer looking like the Draco she loved but a lost and scared boy trembling in her arms.

"Always," she had said very gently yet firmly, trying to reassure him through touch and soft kisses that she meant it. "I will always, always love you, Draco." And she knew deep in her heart that was the truth.

Hermione slid the chair out from the table enough so that she could slide into her seat, propping her elbows up on the table as she rested her head in her hands. Only two more weeks, she kept telling herself, though it wasn't much help at all. Her parents sat on the opposite sides of the table, one to her left and right. They said nothing to her at first, simply glanced at her and then to one another, shrugging it off as a lack of sleep on Hermione's part.

Not really thinking about anything but Draco, Hermione piled her plate full of whatever it was sitting in front of her, though the flavor wasn't evident through all of her musings. She lifted the fork in her hand, staring numbly at the tongs as the light reflected off of the metallic surface, casting little rays of light onto the wall behind her. The silvery color reminded her of his eyes. Everything reminded her of him.

She recalled the first time they met with one another. It had been so romantic, although they hadn't tried anything yet. He had asked her earlier that day to meet him one room. It was extremely out of his character to do that, but up he went and prepared himself to face the girl he taunted for so many years.

"I owe you an apology," he had started. "Ever since I met you, I have treated you like an inferior. I thought that being a pure blood meant that I was automatically better than you, above you. But I'm not." He looked down at his hands. "I hate myself for making you cry." She looked at him, astonished.

"When have you seen me cry?" she asked gently.

"You cried earlier today, I saw that."

"But you didn't make me cry, then. That was Crabbe-"

"I've made you cry before. I know I have because I used to revel in it. I used to love to watch you cry. But now…I don't even know why I ever called you a mudbl-" He couldn't finish the word. He closed his eyes. "I grew up thinking that my father was always right, that everything he said was the truth. He was the one that told me that purebloods were the only true wizards and stupidly I believed him."

"What made you change your mind?" Her voice was calm. He looked into her eyes.

"You." He said it almost in a whisper. "I have watched you the past six years. You're so talented, Hermione. You can transfigure things better than the entire class and even Snape would have to admit that you're awfully good at potions." He smiled at her. "I watched you and then I looked at other purebloods like me, and I realized that what my father said was crazy." His voice grew serious. "I got into the habit of making fun of you to cover up for the fact that I was so jealous. And to make my father proud. I pick on Harry because he's so famous. And I pick on Ron because he is your friend. I still want to smack myself for what I said this morning to him." He hung his head. He had never said any of these things to anyone, ever. "Hermione, I know that this is a lot to ask, but, could you ever learn to forgive me for being so stupid?" he pleaded.

"Hermione, dear, would you pass the potatoes?" her mother asked sweetly, obviously missing how very upset her daughter was (or so it seemed).

"Hmm?" Hermione answered, not having heard one work her mother just said.

"The potatoes, please," she said again, still acting a bit confused by Hermione's behavior.

"Oh," she said, a bit dazed. Her father spoke up.

"Are you all right, then, Hermione?" Worry was evident in his deep tenor voice. She smiled sweetly at him and nodded. He looked appeased and glanced at his wife. "Glass of wine, Allegra?" She thought for a moment and then shook her head. "Well, I'm going to have one. Excuse me." Anthony Granger rose from the table and walked into the kitchen, and Hermione could hear clinking noises while he bustled around in the cabinets.

"So," Allergra said with a knowing look now that her husband was out of earshot. "Who is he?" This caught Hermione completely off guard, and she regarded her mother with a dumbfounded expression. Hermione hadn't inherited her brains from just anyone, and she knew it, so it was with a sigh that she sat back in her chair and began to fill her mother in on the details.

"His name is Draco. Draco Malfoy," she began, watching her mother's expression change a bit.

Her brows twisted into a bit of a thoughtful scowl. "Malfoy, haven't I heard that name somewhere?"

"I think I've mentioned him once or twice." That was quite the understatement, considering that in the past, Hermione used to make fun of Draco incessantly.

"And you two are…" she waited for Hermione to finish the sentence.

"Dating." She blushed a bit.

"Since when?"

"September."

"Is he smart?"

"Very."

"Handsome?"

"Yes!" Hermione reddened further.

"He treats you well?"

"Oh, yes."

Allegra smiled, obviously pleased.

"Is that from him?" she asked, pointing to the ring on Hermione's hand. Hermione nodded. "It's beautiful," she commented. "Will I get to meet him?"

"I hope so," Hermione's voice trailed off as her thoughts turned to what Draco was doing at that very moment. Little did she know that he was being beaten to a pulp by his father a few hundred miles away.

"And do you have a picture of this boy?"

"I'll go get it." Hermione rose from the table and practically ran to her room, returning a few moments later with the picture clutched to her chest. She proudly showed it to her mother, who smiled and put an arm around her daughter.

"You look lovely together," she commented as she watched Draco kiss Hermione on the cheek in the picture.

"Thank you," Hermione's voice became a bit choked. She gazed down at the photo of Draco, and then at the ring on her left hand, her smile bittersweet.

Hermione then remembered their first kiss.

"Draco, I forgive you." She kissed his hand. She had finally made up her mind after a few days of thinking about forgiving her enemy. But she had meant everything she said. At that time, she had the biggest crush on him, and that had turned into love over these past few months.

"I forgive you," she whispered.

"How can you forgive me so quickly?" His eyes glistened a little bit. "I've been awful to you. I treated you like you weren't human…" his voice wavered.

"Draco, listen to me." Hermione ran her fingers down the side of his face. "I forgive you." He shook his head. "I forgive you," she said, louder this time. He looked up at her, tears welling up in his eyes. She leaned forward, taking in his scent, the softness of his hair. Their lips were nearly touching. "I forgive you," she whispered.

She kissed him very gently. His lips quavered against hers. She slid one hand behind his head and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Her fingers became entangled in his hair. Draco slowly wrapped his arms around her, melting into the feel of her mouth on his. Hermione could taste his tears as they dripped down his face. When she finally pulled away, they sat, gazing into each other's eyes. He traced the outline of her jaw with his finger.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. He kissed her gently. She rested her head upon his shoulder, taking in the feel of his arms around her, protecting her. "I could stay like this forever…" he murmured. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Can we stay like this forever? I don't want to lose you, not now."

"I don't want to lose you either, but Draco," she spoke softly, "If anyone finds out about us, it's likely to cause a stir."

"I know," he whispered, marveling in the softness of her skin. "I know."

…

"Allegra?" Her father's voice rang in from the kitchen. "There's another one of those owls at the window. What should I do? Let it in?" Hermione's heart started to beat rapidly. Draco wrote already? He had said that he would write her night and day, though she hadn't really expected anything until the following morning. Hermione giggled at her father's reaction while her mother stood up and walked into the kitchen, taking the letter from the owl and giving it a bite to eat before sending it off again.

"That was a rather impressive owl," she commented while handing the envelope over to Hermione, who was grinning rather ridiculously. That faded when she saw what was written. "I've never seen one quite so well groomed." She reclaimed her place at the table, watching intently as Hermione studied the handwriting.

It wasn't Draco's style at all, much more flowery and twisted, much more…feminine. Who else would be writing me? Hermione wondered, still rather disappointed. She turned the letter over in her hands, squinting her eyes to make out the seal embossed into the paper. It was, without a doubt, a rather ornate "M" with serpentine figures coiled around the character. Malfoy. Her heart skipped a beat, a funny feeling rising from the pit of her stomach. She felt uneasy all of a sudden.

"May I be excused?" she asked, not waiting for a reply but instead quickly making her way to her desk where she carefully opened the letter and read its contents. The writing was shaky, as if it had been scribbled in a great hurry.

Miss Granger,

I have reason to believe that my husband wishes harm toward you and your family. Unless I am mistaken, Death Eaters are already on their way there. I know my son loves you and would want you to know this. Take whatever precautions are necessary to keep yourself safe. Send no reply to this owl.

N. Malfoy

The figures approached noiselessly, their feet not making one sound as they glided over the soft carpet, wands in hand, concealed by the shadows, seeming to emerge from them. Their faces were covered in hoods, not one of them recognizable underneath the yards and yards of black fabric. Cowards, that's what they all were, having to hide underneath the name of Voldemort, covered from head to toe to avoid persecution. Somehow, the hoods and the fabric and the name combined made them feel powerful, something they had never had in the wizarding world.

Hermione never had time to scream as the hand clapped over her mouth, muffling her protests as her wrists were bound in some sort of crude rope. The letter floated to the floor, resting just underneath the desk and out of sight. She thrashed around with her legs, trying desperately to bite the fingers pressed up against her lips.

"Stupefy!" A nearby voice whispered, and she could not move. Her eyes stayed open, darting about the room, the corners beginning to sting as she thought of her parents across the house in the kitchen.

"What about the others?" A husky voice cut through the silence.

"He said, 'only the girl'." A third, more whispery tone broke in and with a popping sound, the entire group plus Hermione apparated from the room, leaving only the letter behind as any sort of evidence to where they might have gone.

Allegra and Anthony were sitting at the table, waiting for Hermione to return after having read the letter. She was stirring her coffee quietly while he sipped on his wine, both of them worried about their only daughter. Hermione had left the table in quite a hurry with a panicked expression on her face.

"Do you think she's okay?" Anthony asked.

"I don't know. Perhaps we should check on her?"

"I suppose…maybe it would be better if you went?" Allegra nodded in reply and stood in one graceful motion. She approached Hermione's door, knocking softly as she entered, expecting to find Hermione sobbing on her bed or tearfully looking at the letter (which she had assumed came from Draco). But the room was empty.

"Hermione?" she called out, but there was no reply. Her voice echoed through the empty bedroom, sending icy chills down her spine. Something seemed…she couldn't place the feeling. Panicked, she looked in the closet, in the bathroom, in the hallway, in the guest bedroom. "Hermione?" she called again, but again she was met with silence. Something is wrong, she thought. She rushed back to Hermione's bedroom. Something is horribly wrong. "Anthony?" she called out, placing her hand over her heart as she lowered herself onto the bed. He rushed into the room, took one look at his wife's face and slowly turned a sickening pale color.

"Where is she?" he managed, his voice strained and very thin.

"I don't know," Allegra whispered amidst her ragged breaths. "She's gone, Tony, oh God, she's gone!" She was in hysterics, hugging her arms around herself and slowly rocking back and forth. "I knew this would happen! I knew it! The minute we let her go off to that school—"

"We don't know that this had anything to do with Hogwarts, honey, just calm down." He said it more for himself than his wife, his own face betraying the fear that was seeping into his veins.

"Who else would have done this? It's probably that—that Sirius Black she talked about so much a few years ago. Remember him? That murderer has our baby!" Clearly, she was beyond all reason. Anthony was shaking violently, nausea churning up the food he had just eaten. Where could she be? Who would have done this? And why? Why—the owl. The letter.

"Where's the letter? The one the owl brought at dinner?" he asked frantically, suddenly tearing the room apart, throwing pillows this way and that, opening drawers, pushing aside stacks of books. Frustrated, he pushed his hair out of his eyes, Allegra was still sobbing on the bed, and then he saw it: the corner of the parchment was just barely sticking out from under the desk, evidently dropped there when Hermione was taken. She never let anything fall to the floor, she was a stickler for organization. With trembling fingers, he lifted the letter and skimmed over hastily written words.

"Allegra?" He knelt beside her; she refused to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. Look at me, Allegra." He took her face in his hands and brushed her tears away. "Have you ever heard the name 'Malfoy' before?" She shook her head at first, then blinked twice, and nodded fervently.

"Y-yes, her…her boyfriend, Draco, that's his last name. Malfoy." She gasped. "Oh my lord, you don't think that he—"

"No, no, this isn't his doing. Look." He held the letter up for her to see. She read it while holding her breath, her face draining of its color.

"W-We have to do something, we have to tell someone. Call the police!"

"And tell them what? That our daughter was kidnapped by," he glanced to the letter in his hand, "Death Eaters?" he read, spitting out the words.

"Yes!" she wailed. "No, I don't know!" She covered her face in her hands. Anthony looked at her helplessly for a few moments with a pained expression.

"Wait, wait…the, uh, the school! They must have someone there that can help, someone who we can contact, or, or…"

"How? How do we contact them?" she rose to her feet, pacing the room anxiously, wringing her hands as though they were wet towels. A loud popping noise sounded in the next room and Allegra shrieked as a rather odd looking man with a long crooked nose and half moon spectacles dressed in splendid purple robes strode into the room, extending his hand to them.

"Please excuse my entrance, Drs. Granger," he said, shaking both of their hands. "I'm Albus Dumbledore. The ministry has been alerted of Dark Arts activity in this area. There really isn't time to explain, I need both you and Hermione to come with me immediately. We have reason to believe—"

"But Hermione isn't here!" Allegra choked out. "They took her!"

"What?" Dumbledore said, fear blatant in his eyes. "Who, and when?" His tone was very serious. Anthony handed him the letter, using his other arm to pull his sobbing wife to his chest. Dumbledore's face grew stern as he perused the note, a strange sound emanating from his throat as he neared the end and tucked it into his robes. He cleared his throat and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I was afraid something like this might happen." He looked them both in the eye before continuing. "Your daughter is now in the hands of a man who many consider to be Lord Voldemort's most ruthless supporter. I take it Hermione has mentioned Voldemort to you before?" They nodded. "Lucius Malfoy is not someone to be toyed with. His son has been seeing your daughter since the beginning of the semester. Draco isn't like Lucius; you needn't worry about that. He wants nothing to do with the Dark Arts or with Voldemort, but unfortunately, his father has other plans for him."

"Other plans?" Anthony whispered.

"Draco is to be the next in a long line of dark wizards, Lucius will see to that. Draco came to me earlier in the year and we spoke about how to avoid this fate of his, but he was rather reluctant to denounce his family and give up everything he had ever known just like that. As much as it hurt me to do, I supported him. I still do." He shifted his weight a big, pushing his spectacled back up his nose. "He loves your daughter. If you could see how they look at each other…he would never let any harm come to her. If Draco has to choose between Hermione and his fate, I know that he would gladly suffer for her any day, I am sure of it." He rose to his feet in one deft movement, surprisingly agile for someone his age. "Though I hope it will not come to that." He glanced toward the windows, seeing how dark it was outside. "The ministry has rooms set up for you both for as long as it takes for this matter to be resolved. With Death Eaters in the area, it isn't safe for you to remain here and although we could charm the house, I do feel this is the best answer for the moment." The Grangers nodded numbly. "Tell me," Dumbledore began, "Have you ever traveled by Floo powder?"

...

Draco lifted his head from the mattress, pillow lines pressed into his pale skin. He groaned and rolled over onto his back. The pain had dulled, yes, but the memories were still there, plain as day. What time is it? he wondered, glancing about the darkened room. He reached for his wand only to discover it missing. Groping in the darkness, he made his way to the dormant fireplace, kneeling before it as though it were radiating some sort of heat. Could he light it without a wand? Desperate times call for desperate measures, he recalled Hermione having said once while explaining the rare occurrences of wizards in unusual circumstances being able to perform magic without a wand. Harry did it a few times, she had announced to him. He felt rather foolish, but if Potter could pull it off...he held his hands out in front of him and breathed out the spell that lit the fire.

"Ignitio!"

Nothing. He tried it again, this time louder, and he could have sworn that he saw a small spark throw its light rays around the room for a moment. In desperation, he yelled the word, watching in surprise as a flame leapt up from the logs, slowly consuming the wood until a roaring fire had commenced. Draco looked at his hands in pride, feeling the blood beginning to flow back into his fingertips.

Thank you, Hermione.

The name penetrated his thoughts, making him smile and become agitated in the same moment.

Oh my God. I have to warn her.

By the light of the fire, he searched through his desk, pulling out a spare quill, some ink and a small scroll. Returning to his place by the fire, he contemplated exactly what he would write. He knew there would be no way for the letter to be mailed, but he took up a quill anyway and began to scratch away at a piece of parchment in front of him, pouring out everything in his heart.

Dear Mia,

I hardly know where to begin but to tell you how sorry I am for all of this. If it hadn't been for me, you would never be in this terrible mess. You have no idea what I'm referring to, and I'm glad of that, because if you did, I would feel even worse. There is no easy way for me to say this except for straightforward, and knowing you (which I do), I know that is how you would want to hear it.

He's coming for you, Mia, Lucius, I mean. He's coming after you. That is why you need to leave, to get away now, right now! I could not live another day knowing that he might hurt you. Go anywhere, anywhere please, but go now. Don't wait another second.

I can't mail you this letter. I am a prisoner in my own home. I have no way to send it except in my heart, but I had to warn you, had to let you know how much I care about you. You are my life, Mia, the only thing that I have to live for. If it weren't for your love and support, you know that I would be dead now or worse: a Death Eater like my father. You said that you would love me even if they burned the mark into my flesh, but I can't ask you to do that. I love you too much, Mia, I won't do that to you. I won't jeopardize your future because of my own selfishness.

What happened, you ask? Do you even need to? It is nothing that hasn't happened before. He hit me, kicked me, beat me until I could hardly stand it. And all the while I stood up to him, I spat in his face, cursed his name. I fought back, I told him I wasn't like him. Do you know what he did? He said I was a disgrace to the family name. He held up his wand and said, "Crutio." My own father wanted me dead; the man who created me wanted me dead. He still does. He doesn't care, not about me or anyone, just himself and his "master." Two days, Mia, I have two days left before I become what I hate the most. I couldn't' take the pain. I can't even begin to describe it to you. I didn't want to say it, I didn't want to give in but I did. I feel so ashamed of my actions, of my own weaknesses…I gave in. And now I have to pay the price.

I won't let you pay for my mistakes. I won't watch you be shunned by the wizarding community when they all find out that the man you love is a Death Eater. I can't believe I'm doing this, Hermione, this is the last thing I've ever wanted to do, but I won't ruin your life. Once that mark is on my arm, you can't come near me, promise me that. This hurts me to write, if you could see me now, I'm in agony as I write these words. I am doing this for you, Mia! Promise me that you'll never come near me again.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't be braver. I'm sorry I can't hold you and tell you that I love you. I'm sorry that I'll never make love to you and hold you all night long in my arms. I'm sorry that I'll never get to introduce you as my wife. I'm sorry that we won't be able to raise our children. They would have been beautiful, Mia, just like you. I'm sorry that we can't grow old together.

I wish I could see you, hold you, kiss you just one last time…I wish I could hold you forever. I love you more than life itself. That is why I'm begging you, stay away from me. I can live out my life content in knowing that you are alive even if I can't be with you every moment.

I love you, Mia, now and forever. Never forget that; never forget me.

Yours always,

Draco

The quill hit the floor as Draco buried his face in his hands and wept bitter tears.

... to be continued…