A/N: This is the plot bunny that ambushed me in a dream after I read one of the reviews on the original "Letter to No One." Amazing what inspiration the muses can come up with!
A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006): This alternate universe story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.Metamorphosis: Chapter Five
by RowanRhys
Sunday, 22 December 2004
Draco, rummaging through the shelves of the Manor library, looking for a Potions reference for his holiday homework, was grateful to have at least a few days free of the company of his trio of gaoler-guardians before they came for the beginning of Narcissa's Christmas houseparty on the 23rd. At least a few days, as long as he avoided raising his parents' ire, that he didn't have to worry about physical coercion to obedience. He'd just found the book he needed when he was startled by the distinctive Pop! of someone either Apparating or Portkeying into the room. His automatic flinch made the volume slip from his fingers and he immediately slid further back between the shelves into the shadows to keep out of sight of the visitors, but not so far that he couldn't observe what was going on.
There were four dark-robed figures, two of them each supporting a limp figure clothed in Muggle attire. Draco held his breath as he realized that his father and three of his cronies had collected what they called playthings, most probably for the after-hours festivities on Christmas Night. He forced back nausea at the thought of what was in store for the two women, then, nearly retched again as he realized who they were.
Granger! And that must be her mother or her aunt. The teenager looked like a younger, softer copy of the graying woman, both sharing the same bone structure, the same complexion and the same bushy, out-of-control hair. Oh, shit. This is what Father was setting up when he told me to distract her on the train. I bet Zabini put a locator on her.
His heart sank as the men removed their masks. If they didn't care if the women saw who they were, it meant that it didn't matter because they wouldn't be leaving the Manor alive. Within minutes Hermione Gtanger and her mother were bound tightly with silvery cords, propped up in two of the high-backed chairs that faced the fire.
Lucius moved to stand between them and aimed his wand at the Gryffindor. "Ennervate!"
Draco saw Granger open her eyes to stared dazedly out into the room, and then watched her focus on the senior Malfoy, an expression of quickly masked horror flashing across it as she realized who stood before her.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Malfoy? I'll be missed and--" she spat, struggling against the bonds that held her.
"I suggest you keep your temper, my dear, or you'll find that your holiday stay will become quite unpleasant. If not for you, then for her." Lucius moved to the side, allowing Hermione to see the unconscious older woman.
"Mum--No! She's a Muggle; she's no threat to you!"
"She's here to ensure your compliance," Lucius told her. "As long as you behave, she stays safely asleep and blissfully unaware of the worst a wizard can do to a Muggle." Draco held his breath as he saw Goyle place his broad hand across Mrs. Granger's throat. He saw and heard Hermione gasp as the man's fingers tightened, and watched, horrified, as the girl subsided into the chair, her hands clenched into fists. "Stop! She's a diabetic. She needs insulin, and regular food. Please, let her go home. Do an Obliviate if you have to. But don't--"The younger Malfoy could see the tears in her eyes even before they spilled over to drench her face. He'd never thought to see Hermione Granger beg--die, perhaps, because of her stubborn resistance, but to plead and beg--never.
"--She'll die without her medicine. Please, let her go!"
"Silence!" Lucius seized a handful of Hermione's curls and jerked roughly. "McNair, Goyle, Avery. Take them downstairs and lock them up. Separately. I'll set the rest of the plan in motion tomorrow." He gave a final tug before releasing the girl. "And put the Mudblood in the farthest cell. She likes to learn, I understand, so lets give her some new lessons to watch while we wait for Potter to--come to her rescue."
A few minutes later, the room was empty, save for Lucius, who stood facing the fire, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, playing idly with his wand as he watched the flames. Draco silently watched him for an interminable time before the older man turned to face the shelves behind which he lurked.
"I know you're over there, Draco. You dropped your book in plain sight. Inept spying has penalties, as I'm sure you've learned by now."
The last word was followed by a growled spell that literally grabbed the sixteen-year old and dragged him across the room to slam face down across the library desk. Draco yelped as the impact aggravated the bruises and hurts from the beating Zabini had given him at the Three Broomsticks, and missed Lucius' next words. Silvery cords whipped up from its legs and corners and entwined about his wrists and ankles, holding him down on the shining mahogany surface.
Another incantation and Draco arched his body against the bindings, biting down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. It wasn't Crucio. So far, Lucius had spared his heir that experience. But Draco couldn't imagine a worse feeling than the points of fire that danced about, just beneath the surface of his skin, multiplying like yeast in a batch of bread dough until he was thrashing about just to try to get his hands free to rip the skin from his flesh, to make it stop. It had been years since his father had deigned to use his own hands to punish his son, usually having his lackeys take care of it, like Blaise, Gregory and Vincent did at school, and only occasionally using his magic to do accomplish the task. But his body remembered this particular punishment and recoiled against the sensations, forcing his forehead hard against the polished surface of the desktop as he convulsed.
Draco was dancing on the edge of unconsciousness, reeking with the smell of his own urine and soil, when he finally felt the fire die away. His throat was raw from the screams that had finally forced their way past his teeth. The cords released and vanished away, leaving blood red marks on his wrists and ankles as if they'd been cut by wire. He rolled off the desktop and stood on shaking legs as his father finally spoke dispassionately.
"Clean yourself up. Your mother is expecting you to be at dinner tonight, but after that I don't want to see your face until Christmas Eve. Out!" Lucius flicked his wand once more, and the reference book that Draco had dropped flew through the air to slam into his chest, causing him to fall back a step, against the edge of the desk. "And don't forget your book," he added silkily.
"Yes, sir." Draco managed to get through the door with the perfect posture that his parents demanded of him before his knees gave way. He scrubbed at the wetness on his face as he tried to get back on his feet, knowing that if Lucius were to come out of the library and see him, he'd find himself down in the basement dungeon, being the subject of one of the lessons that Lucius had alluded to Granger earlier. The hall clock chimed and he realized that he had less than an hour to get back to his rooms on the second floor and get presentable for his mother's little dinner party. Only two guests this time, but important ones.
Draco dragged himself up the first flight of stairs and was halfway up the second one when hear heard the light tapping footsteps that belonged to his mother above him. He looked up at her as she approached him, an angry expression on her perfect face.
"Tell the house elves to serve you in your room, Draco. I just got an Owl from Tansy McMillan that Argus was called into the Ministry for an emergency meeting, so they won't be coming for dinner. Lucius and I will be going out instead." Her voice was cool and unemotional, imparting only information, not any hint of what she might be feeling other than the edge of her anger at the changed plans. She continued down the stairs, not having looked directly at him, and knocked on the library door. Draco continued his painful climb as he heard her Veela-like voice informing his father of the changed situation.
Only six more weeks. Just six more. And then--And then, what? As he reached the dubious sanctuary of his suite, he shook his head. In six more weeks, on the second day of February, the old feast of Candlemas, he would be taken to some secret place and have the mark of Lord Voldemort burned into his pale left arm, forced to follow his father's choice when it was the very last choice he wanted to make. They won't let me say no. I'd do better cutting my wrists and bleeding to death in the tub before I'm of age. At least they say that type of death is relatively painless--because if I say 'no' to Voldemort, I know that I won't be released by a simple Aveda Kedavra.
He slid into his bath, wishing that the hot water could cleanse away more than just bodily soil. He felt used and useless. I'm a coward. Too afraid of my father to make a stand. Why did I let them do what they did? If I hadn't distracted her on the train, Zabini wouldn't have set the locator spell and they wouldn't have been able to grab them.
The image of his father and the other three Deatheaters popping into the library rose up behind his eyes once more. Granger looked so different in her Muggle clothes. While they revealed her 17-year-old figure in ways that the loose school robes could not; it was the maturity on her face that had struck him. Even in tears, she looked like a woman now, not a bossy schoolgirl. And going by her mother's appearance, she would become even lovelier as she aged.
"What did she mean about her mother needing medicine?" He frowned and summoned his Muggle Studies text from the desk in his bedroom, unconcerned about the restrictions on underage magic use. Before he'd returned home for the hols, his father had made sure that Malfalda Hopkirk would send no letters of censure to the Manor; whether by bribery or some other nastier coercion, he didn't know. Muggle Studies was now a required course for all students at Hogwarts and although he had complained bitterly about it at the beginning of the autumn term, he was now secretly grateful for it. He leafed through the pages, looking for any sort of reference to the words that Hermione had used. "Insulin. Diabetes." Then, towards the back of the book in the more advanced sections, he found a couple of chapters focusing on Muggle medicine that contained a few stark paragraphs about the condition. When he finished reading them, he sat in the rapidly cooling bathwater, feeling stunned. If Mrs. Granger didn't get her insulin, very shortly she would die a death so horrific that it would satisfy even Lord Voldemort. Muggle or not, no one deserved such an awful, lingering end. And even if she didn't die, too much time without it could damage her beyond repair.
He returned the book to the desk and climbed stiffly out of the tub. At school some of the Slytherin girls complimented him on his carriage, but none of them knew that the straight, upright posture was more in the interest of minimizing residual pain than it was an effort to look good or project his status. There were always rumors running around the school about his numerous love affairs and it was all he could do not to laugh bitterly when one of them reached his ears. Without privacy, dating was really out of the question. And he knew that his father required him to associate only with girls from Slytherin House, which narrowed the field quite a bit. But going all the way, as Goyle had crudely put it, required exposing at least some of the body. Letting one of the Slytherins witches discover the marks left by his keepers would ensure that he would never survive the remaining years at Hogwarts. They scorned weakness, and those marks were nothing but a visual signal of the weakness and cowardice that filled him.
Wrapped in a huge dark green towel, he went back into his bedroom. One of the house elves had been in the room while he bathed because the filthy clothes were gone from where he'd dropped them, and a tray with covered dishes rested on the desk, apart from the neatly stacked pages of his holiday homework. Aldona, the tawny owl his mother had presented to him on his last birthday--a guilt present, he thought cynically--was dozing on her perch in the corner of the room, and when he sat on the bed to pull his pajama bottoms from beneath his pillow, he discovered that it had been warmed. Suddenly exhausted, he stared at the meal on the desktop, but ultimately decided that it wasn't worth the effort to stand up and cross the room again.
Draco buried himself beneath the covers and commanded the window to open a crack, just enough for Aldona to squeeze through to hunt during the night if she were so inclined. Another wave of his wand extinguished the lights and he tried, unsuccessfully, to lose himself in sleep.
TBC