by Lady Cailin
Summary: Draco Malfoy finds an unexpected turn in the road of life.
Rated R for suggestions of sexual violence.
DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all related materials are owned by J.K. Rawling and subsequent companies. This fan fiction was not produced, and is not intended to be reproduced, for profit. Any resemblance of this fan fiction to future works of Ms. Rawling is accidental in nature and the author of this fan fiction acknowledges that she is without copyright or conceptual rights in regards to these resemblances. The author further acknowledges that she is a very big fan, and it valiantly attempting to remain patient in the face of the wait for future books
Draco
Since he could remember, Draco Malfoy's life had set out before him like a straight road disappearing into the golden distance. He'd known, not simply wondered at, what was ahead of him. Each step he had taken had simply been another step on that already laid out road. Until, one day around his sixteenth birthday, the road had suddenly become a very dark and unpleasant place to be. His confidence in the road had held up after a little encouragement and he had continued on. On and on, until the path had become unintelligible from the rocks, refuse and darkness surrounding it. He had continued on then simply because he had no other option. Now, even more suddenly then his golden road had become dark, he had come to a crossroads. In the middle of which, Hogwarts' muggle born Head Girl lay unconscious and looking worse for wear.
Hermione Granger lay at his feet, his for the taking. She was a gift from his father on the weekend before his induction into the Death Eaters. Back in second year, after she'd given him the first slap of his life, Draco had dreamed about something like this. He'd thought with pleasure of the power he'd have over her, and how he'd use it. Now that he was here, he felt strangely numb.
He'd known his father might plan something like this as a celebration. He'd steeled himself for it, prepared himself to have to do this. He'd recounted all the many reasons it didn't matter. Muggles and mudbloods were less then human. Filth beneath the feat of purebloods like himself. He was superior, and so it was merely a matter of taking what was his due from subordinates. He wouldn't be shaken by it because they weren't human, he had told himself.
That rational piece of himself untainted by his hatred for Harry Potter, for muggleborns and mudbloods, even that piece had been silenced. Somewhere in the back of his mind where he also hid the frightening knowledge that they were human, that it was wrong even if he was their superior, that piece of himself had been silenced by fear. He'd known there was no turning back now to try and take some other path he'd previously ignored. He'd gone too far down the road. If he turned on his father now, so close to the fruition of his every carefully laid play for Draco, then Lucius might very well kill him for it.
There was nothing his father hated more then a blood-traitor, or in this case, a coward with no stomach for violence.
But all the time he'd been preparing himself, Draco had expected some faceless muggle that would be obliviated by the ministry afterwards. He hadn't expected Hermione Granger. It went without being said that she wouldn't be surviving the night's festivities. It was one of his fathers well plotted tests. A test on so many levels.
The final test.
In fourth year Draco had realized he was attracted to Granger. It had happened across a ballroom in the most cliche way possible. He'd felt sick with himself for days, and angry at her for having caused it all. In fifth year he'd put it firmly behind him by avoiding contact with her whenever possible, and making sure he was in a position of superiority when contact did occur. By sixth year he had more important things to worry about. But his father had known. The proof was in her presence here tonight, in the offer to take her, the challenge to kill her. His father didn't just want him to rape and kill a fellow classmate, a daunting thought for any new Death Eater to face. No, his father wanted him to destroy the part of himself that had seen this muggle born witch as something desirable, something human.
The mask and hooded cloak concealing his initial shock, Draco forced a pleased look into his eyes and turned to Lucius. It was expected, and he had always tried to do what his father expected of him.
There had been a time, not so long ago, when what he had wanted most in the world was to make his father proud. Now, Granger had been thrown before him, the means to all the ends he had most wanted for the last seven years. Potter and Weasley would be devastated. Granger and the strange fascination he had harbored for her would be irrevocably destroyed.
His father would be proud.
"Thank you father," he drawled carefully. Lucius inclined his head to acknowledge his gratitude and give permission for Draco to start. Behind the long lounge the sounds of Crabbe and Goyle grunting rhythmically made him realize they had already started their celebration. At least he couldn't see it. He crouched down, making the barrier of furniture seem more complete as he bent over Granger in his mask and robes.
"Well," he said lightly, "its no fun if she's not awake. Invenerate!"
For half a moment as he reached for her, Draco considered actually doing it. He considered the idea of raping Granger here on the dusty floor of one of his father's many hideouts. He considered the idea of letting her be killed afterward, of killing her himself.
Then her eyes opened, blurry and confused, and focused in on his. Brown eyes met grey, and the carefully constructed distance he had built in preparation for this night shattered, pulling him into the moment and making it more real then it ever could have been without her eyes there to ground him.
He couldn't do it.
He couldn't become what his father wanted, what everyone had always expected of him. He couldn't take this revenge, because it was too much. It was so much more then the petty and vindictive boy he had been had ever dreamed about. He was scared of what lay beyond it, and how dark the road might become if he did this. He was scared and angry and he had lived with both emotions so long that he didn't miss a beat. He clamped his left hand around her slender throat and preformed the silencing charm with the wand in his right. He leaned over her, pinning her down with his body as her hands flew to her throat to claw at his grip there. He brought his face close to hers, his wand caressing her cheek menacingly.
"Do as I say and we'll both get out of this alive Granger."
The words were soft, too soft for Lucius to hear, and almost too soft for Granger to hear above her own frantic breathing. He waited for a moment and the panic in her eyes subsided to a manageable level of fear. Her hands stayed to grip his at her neck, but she'd stopped clawing.
That wouldn't do. Father was watching.
"Come on Mudblood, your not going to make this easy for me, are you?" he said louder, giving her neck a punishing squeeze for her docility.
He could hear his father chuckle, and her hands turned to claws, going for his face. He captured them quickly and pressed them into the floor as her body bucked under him, trying fiercely to throw him off. She started screaming, raging without discernable words as she fought him. It felt strange to see someone screaming their heart out, and not be able to hear the anguish. He used a binding charm on her wrists to tie them together and then tucked his wand away. He leaned close over her still struggling form, running his hands down from her wrists and into the well formed plains of her body. She stilled for a moment, and then began to fight even harder.
"I'm not going to rape you Granger, but we have to make this look real. We have an audience." Without waiting for her to show him that in some way she understood, he leaned back on his heals and ripped open her shirt, sending buttons scattering across the carpet and onto the hardwood floors. Her sensible bra's only claim to seductiveness was the white lace the edged it, but the curves hidden beneath it were generous. She took a swing at his head with her bound fists and he pushed her back down roughly. He kept a hand at her neck to hold her down as he pulled his leg up and reached back for the knife hidden in his boot.
A wizard, his father had often said, should not be made useless merely by the loss of his wand.
She stilled completely when she saw the knife, her eyes flying back to his. He held her gaze as the blade split the bra and uncovered her to the eyes of the room.
In his mind, when he had toyed with the idea of having so much power over her, they had been alone. There had been an intimacy even in his angry fantasies about this girl. There was none now, and the part of him that might have urged him to make the act real had it found pleasure in it, was left unsatisfied. His father watched, and the expectant air was a familiar weight on his shoulders. That weight had never been there in his fourth year fantasies of dominance and submission, and he found he wanted to cover her from the watching eyes, and damn himself in the process.
When she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes tightly he pulled himself together and continued to go through the motions.
"So your going to take that route, eh mudblood? Lay there and bare it?" He knew he should touch her more, grope her for his father's benefit. He should be seen to enjoy his gift. He couldn't bring himself to do it, because it would be a black mockery of what he had once desired himself. Instead he pulled off her panties, strangely intent on not looking at what lay beneath her school skirt. She didn't even kick at him, just kept her eyes shut and her face away from him, as if she didn't want to see this happening.
The knife was still in his hand. He made as if to put it back in his boot, but the motion was obscured from his father, who stood against the wall with the couch on his left. Behind it Crabbe, Goyle and their fathers were making noises and using spells Draco chose not to contemplate. He slid the small blade up the sleeve of his robe instead of returning it to his boot. Then he opened his trousers and leaned over her. He grabbed her face and forced her to look at him as he whispered to her. His grip was rough and he knew he was hurting her, but he was more concerned with making this look real then a few moments pain for the girl he had always longed to crush.
"This is going to hurt, but not as much as the real thing, and not as much as dying," he whispered, and there was a resistence against the hand that held her head, as if she were trying to nod her understanding. He reach between their bodies with his right hand, as if to position himself to enter her. His cloak obscured their bodies from view, and he was careful as he moved to keep it that way. Lucius wouldn't have expected him to undress. The basic movement of necessary clothing was all that was required, and was an insult in itself. It was another sign of her true worth. Her body was bared and used for his pleasure, only a vessel for his needs to be used and forgotten. She was a mudblood, he was pureblood. This was her place, beneath him in fear.
The knife slid into his palm easily, and he could tell by the sudden drain of color from her face that she could feel it there between her legs. He raised his voice, putting as much venom into it as he could.
"I think I'll enjoy making you squirm my filthy little mudblood."
He made a motion that looked like a brutal thrust, and slid the knife tip into her thigh. It was a shallow wound, barely a nick, but she did squirm, and then began to cry. He could feel the blood spread between them and coat the inside of her thighs. Not too much, but it would be enough to make it look as if he had been properly brutal with her. He couldn't look at her as he began to move, as so looked to the side, keeping his father in the corner of his eye. The silencing charm held up as he pushed the knife back into his sleeve and continued to mimic thrusting into her, or he might not have been able to do even that. She was screaming, thrashing under him. He continued thrusting for almost twenty minutes while Hermione squirmed and fought beneath him. He felt sick the whole while, the crude sounds Crabbe and Goyle reminded him of what he'd been prepared to do tonight.
It was all wrong, the whole world, his whole life. It was all horribly wrong.
Finally, Lucius lost interest in their performance and turned to watch the show behind the couch. He chuckled to himself every so often at whatever they had begun to do to the two muggles that had been brought for them by their father's tonight. It was possible he was disappointed in Draco's uninspired approach to things. Or perhaps he was more satisfied with the dignity Draco managed to keep in comparison to Crabbe and Goyle's crude fun.
You never could tell with his father.
Draco leaned in close one last time, his breathing hard and his heart beginning to pound.
"When I finish I want you to crawl over to your robes. They're above your head and to the right, search in them like your looking for something your life depends on. Do you understand?"
She nodded marginally, her eyes still shedding silent tears, her hands fisted in the ropes that bound her. He swallowed a breath and then began to thrust harder, breath faster. He made his movements frantic, well aware of how he felt and looked when he was about to give himself over to orgasm. It brought his father's attention back to him for a brief moment, but then turned it more fully on the scene behind the couch.
Trust his father to give him privacy for this. Finally, he let out a deep moan and collapsed on her. With a strength he hadn't known Hermione would possess, she pushed him off her almost immediately and turned to crawl towards her robes. It was perfect. As his father turned he saw the blood on her thighs, her actions with the robes. The only thing he didn't see was Draco's hand slipping into his pocket as he reached for Hermione with the other one. His hand clamped around her ankle and began to drag her back to him, her robes still clutched in her bound and fumbling hands.
"Where do you think your going little mudbloo-"
His fingers curled around the portkey before he finished the sentence. If he was extremely lucky, his father would never suspect he'd had anything to do with her escape. If his father took everything at sight value he'd have seen exactly what Draco wanted him to tonight. It was all a matter of if. If had always scared the hell out of him, he liked to know things would turn out as he wanted.
But then, had they ever?
He and Hermione fell harshly into one of the back allies of Hogsmede, propelled into the stones by the jerk of the portkey. He recovered first, throwing off the mask and tearing off the Death Eater's cloak as he hurried towards her. Draco wrapped it around her as she began to stir and jerked her to the feet that didn't seem to want to hold her yet. Without hesitation, without breaking his pace, he began to drag her from the alley.
It was much better then his first reaction, which had been to run for his life back to Hogwarts and leave her battered in the alley to fend for herself.
"We have to go, now. This is the first place they'll come," he said it as way of explanation, hoping she wouldn't pick now to start asking her never ending questions and generally being herself. He knew she wasn't up to fighting anymore when she simply allowed him to drag her off into the darkness surrounding the village of Hogsmede. He headed towards Hogwarts, skirting the Forbidden Forest instead of taking the direct route. It added a good deal of time to their travel, but insured they weren't intercepted on the way. Everything had gone as planned, but Draco had never put his faith in dumb luck. He left that to Potter.
"The portkey. . .," the voice was whispery soft, hoarse from screaming. The silencing charm had finally worn off. That didn't mean she hadn't been screaming that entire time, it just meant he wouldn't have to remember what it sounded like. There were any number of questions that could follow that beginning, but from the way she swallowed repeatedly, he knew she wasn't able to continue. She was panting from their pace, clutching at the cloak around her, and very clearly exhausted. Yet she still had questions she wanted answered. If he weren't currently in a panic, he might just have thought it funny.
"Its how I got there. Portkeys are the only way in or out. I didn't use it sooner because he would have known exactly where to find us since he's the one who gave it to me. He would have followed and killed us both. It had to be made to look as if you were responsible. That way he wouldn't know where to look, and couldn't follow us."
He said all of this while switching between watching the forest at their one side and the field between Hogsmede and Hogwarts on their other. He then continued to drag her across the rocky skirts of the forest, his hand never leaving her's. It was when she stumbled for the second time that he looked down and noticed her feet were bare and bleeding from the rocks. Without hesitation he turned, swept her up, and again began striding towards Hogwarts. She struggled for a moment, tugging at his sleeve.
"Down," she croaked. He ignored her. It wasn't until she did it again that he ground his jaw and deigned to answer her. She was heavy and he was tired, and did she really think he wanted to be carrying her?
"We're only a few feet from Hogwarts, your slowing us down, and the longer you bleed the more likely we are to attract some unwelcome attention from the Forbidden Forest."
She seemed to accept this, but clearly didn't like the idea of anyone seeing her being carried into Hogwarts by Draco Malfoy. Draco didn't have any intention of anyone seeing them, so he was in complete accord with the sentiment.
Although he hadn't quite figured out how he planned to get pass the whole of Hogwarts undetected and into the Headmaster's password guarded sanctum, Draco was less then relieved to find Dumbledore and Severus Snape waiting for him at the steps. The ancient headmaster took one look at Draco and the girl in his arms and smiled.
"I think we'll go around the back, shall we?" Snape was less amiable, watching Draco carefully. He hadn't stopped doing that since sixth year really. Hermione tugged at his shirt again, by now a recognizable signal that she wanted to be on her own two feet. He ignored her and followed Dumbledore through a secret entrance behind the third year greenhouse and through the many secret hallways that finally ended in the Infirmary.
Madam Pomfry immediately took charge of the situation and directed Draco to place Hermione in one of the crisply made beds. She began to examine Hermione immediately. Draco turned from the bed, not wanting to watch his handiwork be revealed. He felt more himself now that he was back at Hogwarts and less the scared, unsure boy he had felt cowering inside him as he moved over Granger.
Dumbledore and Snape were watching him.
If he were honest with himself, and he tried to be as much as possible these days, Draco hadn't really considered what would happen next. There had only been this moment, this knowledge that he couldn't do what he had to in order to stay on the road that had been laid out before him. Had he expected to drop off a clearly ravaged Hermione Granger and then go back to business as usual? Perhaps throw in a snarky warning that he'd known Snape was a spy since his fifth year and the Dark Lord had known long before that? Then what? Did he go back to his father's hide out, make up some story about obliviating Granger and carry on with the celebrating? Could he go on to become a Death Eater after this, after finding this weakness in himself?
He didn't know.
A tremor went through him at the sudden unfamiliarity of the situation, the terrifying and deep seeded knowledge that he had no idea what happened next. He was suddenly sixteen again and the world had been turned upside down. Instead of having to become a man in a moment's notice he felt as if that strength had been ripped from him, leaving behind the boy he had been. There was unfamiliar ground beneath him, and he just didn't know.
Snape gave the girl in the bed only a glance, and then turned on Draco, his cloak billowing out with a fierce snap as he opened his mouth to demand an explanation. He didn't get the chance.
"Saved me," the voice was barely there, and caused Madam Pomfry to go into a fit of tutting and demands for Hermione to rest her voice. Hermione ignored her, her eyes on Dumbledore and Snape. She didn't look at Draco, and paid not attention to Madam Pomfry's fussing. It seemed extraordinary that she could look so fiercely intent after all that had been done to her tonight. After all that he had done to her tonight.
"He saved me."
Hermione
Shortly after her croaked statement, Dumbledore declared that this could all be sorted out in the morning and they should get some rest. Madam Pomfry insisted that Draco stay in the infirmary as well, even though he continually insisted he was fine. Hermione couldn't help but think they were keeping an eye on Draco, and not just his health.
The wounds on her inner thighs and feet had been healed, and the bruises on her throat banished. It relieved some of the irritation to her throat, but her voice was still sore from scream the entire time Draco was on top of -
No.
She wasn't going to think about that right now.
There was only one thing she wanted to think about right now; The one thing that had been on her mind since he'd picked her up from those rocks and carried her through Hogwarts like some child with a cut foot:
Why?
Why would Draco Malfoy save her? Why would he risk his own life to. . . She just couldn't understand it. Ever since sixth year she, Harry and Ron had been sure Malfoy was all set to follow in his father's footsteps and become the next generation of Death Eaters. They'd always suspected it, but sixth year had seemed to confirm their suspicions. Malfoy had come back from the summer holidays very changed. He had still been bitter, and spiteful, but something had changed. It was as if he had unexpectedly made some leap into adulthood that none of them had expected. He'd started to avoid confrontation with them, and it was as if he'd learned restraint and subterfuge overnight. He became calculating, his little schemes had become harder to pin back on him. He'd even stopped running his mouth off to his fellow Slytherins.
Hermione had studied this change and finally come to the conclusion that something drastic, perhaps his father's imprisonment and the resulting public backlash, had changed Draco Malfoy. After another year even the spiteful schemes against the trio had stopped. This year they had barely heard from the Slytherin, and everyone had come to the conclusion he was only a step off from serving Voldemort. Ginny had once commented that passing him in the halls was like watching a younger version of Lucius Malfoy walk by. His pail hair had grown down to his shoulders, and he had the same sharp, pail elegance of features, but Hermione felt those were the few resemblances. The difference was there in their eyes, the way they carried themselves. Lucius Malfoy had a stone like quality that had not quite solidified in his son. It was as if Draco had begun to become Lucius from the outside in, and hadn't managed to make the change completely.
Yet.
There had been no doubt in Hermione's mind this year that Draco Malfoy would make the change, that he would follow in his father's footsteps and set out to rid the world of muggle borns and half bloods. And now he had saved her life. She still couldn't quite seem to grasp her mind around it.
She watched him go behind the curtain as Madam Pomfry returned to her office to fetch the dreamless sleep potion. She had realized quickly that Hermione didn't intend to go to sleep right away, and had scurried of with the mention that Hermione could probably do without any dreams tonight. Hermione only frowned as the steps faded away and left silence in the room. Draco continued to change behind the curtain, his outline showing the slow movements, the unguarded droop to his shoulders.
"Why?"
His shadow stopped, the shoulders squaring as if preparing for another battle. Not that there had been an actual battle tonight, but it had felt amazing like one. She did have bruises, and was fairly sure he did as well. But as suddenly as he had prepared for it, he seemed to disarm just as quickly. His shoulders drooped again and he snuffed out the candle, his outline disappearing. She heard him get into bed and sigh tiredly.
"Go to bed Hermione."
Madam Pomfry returned with the potion. As soon as Hermione opened her mouth to tell the nurse she didn't need it the spoon was in her mouth and the liquid down her throat. It tasted offal and worked quickly. Before she had time to fight its effects she was asleep. She had wanted to fight the potion, if only to ask him to repeat himself.
He'd called her Hermione.
Then again, hadn't she been thinking of him as Draco?
Author's Note:
For information on fic is intended to be a stand alone piece. At the moment I have no intention of continuing it. I've got too much on my plate already. I was just in the mood to write something that didn't require fifteen chapters of plotting to be done before I could write it. Its not intended to be a romantic piece. I am a Draco/Hermione shipper, so anyone who enjoys Draco/Hermione might like to check out my upcoming fics.
As for this story. . .Those of us in the community are great believers in the idea that with all the historical parallels running rampant through the series, Draco will one day end up a spy like Snape. This is just my version of how that might come to happen.
Unlike fanon Draco, I don't think canon Draco would do it out of the kindness of his heart, or some previously hidden conscience and disagreement with his father's views. (Although I do hint that Draco has a deeply berried conscience, don't I.) No, Draco would only do such a thing to save his own skin. Because, well, that's Draco. He's selfish, he's spoiled, he's malicious and petty. I just don't think that necessarily adds up to evil.
This fic was made less graphic then originally intended out of respect for FanFiction.net. Violence is generally not as pretty as depicted above. This site's been good to me, so I've been a bit vague with the violence in the hopes of saving them from the violence of parents who paid attention to their children a bit to late. Woe to the tide of parental hypocrasy. ::sigh::