The Chess Pieces Are Set
Draco vaguely admired his own ability to look unflappable, even when, really, he was very pissed off. Potter had surprised him, that boy was clearly unhinged – using an Unforgivable on him? It just shows you how far the Wizarding World had sunk now that The Git Who Lived was able to curse him randomly. And here he was waiting for Granger to whisper two words that would finally separate him from life. He half expected Weasley to jump out of a birthday cake, naked.
Bad, bad images Draco, he mused.
But oddly, he didn't doubt for a moment that Hermione Granger would do it. She was, after all, the determined sort. And strangely – almost horrifyingly - compassionate. She didn't want to see him on the boundary of death, soulless, everything that made him Draco gone. No, she'd much rather him dead. With a shake he pulled himself out of his thoughts and looked straight into them.
Watching him intently, with her devastating hazel eyes, a wands length away she was closer to him than ever before. Swallowing, Draco realised she probably needed a bit more encouragement, well, he could insult her hair –
"You've killed a lot of people, haven't you, Draco Malfoy?" She interrupted bitingly.
"I've killed enough, Hermione Granger. So if you would be so kind as to put me out of a fate far worse than death…"
But she had put down her wand. It was no longer that comforting touch of death on his jaw line.
"What are you doing, Granger? Isn't this what you heroic-types do? Kill the bad-guy?" His blithe mood was obviously not contagious. Hermione's lip was trembling. "But, before you do – remember what I said, leave Potter and his shadow to the battle themselves. You have no idea what the Dark Lord would do if he got his hands on you."
"It's been that way since I became friends with Harry, Malfoy, and why would you care anyway? I'm absolutely nothing to you."
He sat in a stunned silence for a moment, looking at Hermione, aghast. Why had he come? She didn't mean anything to him.
The moment he had heard about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's request for her alive came back to him. And he had only thought of one thing- to warn her.
"Hermione?" Ron's tragically irritating voice from the kitchen echoed again.
But Hermione was not listening. A deer-in-headlights look lit her face and she shook so hard she fell on her knees to the floor.
She reached for his hands.
Draco's heart sped up a bit more.
Clasping the metal shackles around his hands, Hermione glanced up at him.
Draco lost all comprehensive thought.
For the second time since his untimely arrival at, wherever he was, one of the Trio shocked the hell out of him.
"Alohamora," Hermione whispered and, entwining her hand with his, she pulled them from the dusty floor, with strength he didn't know she had. "Get out of here Malfoy, god knows why but I can't let you get killed."
An escape. Suddenly the appeal of death and its long uneventful sleep was lost from him like an exhaled breath. She was offering him an escape.
Pushing her away and pulling her wand hand towards him in a swift movement Draco snatched the thin weapon from her fingers. He spun her around, pressing her roughly to him and making her walk towards the stairs.
"Why do you hate us so much, Malfoy?" She asked him when they had reached the top of the staircase.
"You really want to know? Potter despite being a complete wanker beats me at everything he can lay his heroic hands on. And Weasel – well, you just have to look at him to make you want to say 'Avada Kedevra…'" She could almost feel him grinning like the Niffler who had got the coin.
"So you're jealous?"
"Well, you could say that – after all have they one thing that they could never have."
"What is that?" She spat.
"You. You want to know what pisses me off about you so much? It was the fact that out of everyone in Hogwarts you were the only one indifferent to me. There was something about you, Granger... it was how you looked at me like I wasn't really there."
Hermione stood there for a second, her heart bumping so loud she was sure he could here it.
"Granger," he whispered into her hair that was just under his chin. "Sorry it had to turn out like this – now open the damn door."
Hermione obliged, as mixed emotions ran across her mind. She hated him beyond belief. She didn't want to see him dead. Or Kissed. Or crucio-ed by Harry. But she didn't want him out there, killing and maiming innocent Muggles. And now, somehow abiding-by-the-protocol-Hermione-Granger had just handed Malfoy, of all people, her wand.
He was holding her too softly, it was more of a embrace than being used as a hostage, and one of his arms was around her waist, the other holding her wand.
That ferret faced bastard, she thought furiously as he let them into the kitchen – he'd obviously spent a lot of time gentling scared girls.
Harry was the first person she could see – sitting in her former chair head in his hands. Ron was leaning on the counter and finally, Albus Dumbledore; founder of the Order of Phoenix. Standing next to the fireplace holding Draco's black wand in his hand, in dusty violet robes, crescent moon glasses and an uncharacteristic grimace.
He hadn't aged much since the last time Hermione had seen him – last week – but somehow he looked ill.
"Hermione!" Ron had noticed the unlikely couple's presence and a stream of loud expletives shortly followed his announcement.
Dumbledore took a step closer and Draco pressed her own wand to her temple.
"Mr. Malfoy, now, please release Miss Granger and put – down – her – wand –" he said as though he was mediating between a simple matter of a corridor argument at they're former school.
"Look a bit familiar, Potter?" Draco snapped, ignoring the ancient wizard. "Going to use an Unforgivable this time-?"
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU WANT FROM US?" Harry roared, knocking over his chair in blind anger and looking at Hermione helplessly, his green eyes spilling running down his cheeks. His glasses sitting on the table. Ron grabbed his arm hard and restrained him from doing anything in Draco's eyes Gryffindor-like and therefore, completely stupid.
Hermione felt a surge of pity for Harry, who had lost so much in this war.
"Granger knows what I came here to tell her," Draco replied elusively his wild smirk back in place. Then mockingly, he continued, "now, Dumbledore, my wand please."
Dumbledore handed Draco his wand, saying, to Hermione in one of his gentler tones, "Are you all right Miss Granger?"
She nodded as Draco's possessive arm around her waist tightened.
"I didn't hurt you did I?" His voice was so low that Hermione was sure that only she could hear.
"Next time I see you, Malfoy," she promised loudly, writhing against him in a futile effort to get free. "I will kill you."
Then all of a sudden, she was flying towards Dumbledore and with a crack of vibrating air, the familiar sound of someone apparating. Draco had gone.
Hermione, who had been caught by Dumbledore in an impossible display of strength from the old man, was surrounded by her friends in desperate hugs. Harry had broken down completely, sobbing into her shoulder.
Ron was on her other shoulder repeating desperately "I thought he was going to kill you – I thought he was going to kill you – did he hurt you 'Mione? Because if he did I would rip out his intestines -"
And Dumbledore calm as ever was watching the seen with a calculating look.
When her best friends, oddly emotional, and obviously feeling very guilty from leaving her in the basement with a Death Eater had calmed down. Well, enough to let her sink into a chair, comforted by the frosty sunlight that was now streaming through the windows, they bombarded her with questions that for once in her life, she didn't know how to answer.
"How did he get loose?" Harry asked staring at a broken mug shattered across the floor.
"Well – uh, I don't know, it was all happening so fast – I think I must have lent down too far and my wand dropped on the floor –"
"Did he try anything, 'Mione? Because if he did me'n Harry would-"
"And you're all sure Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater?" Dumbledore was spoke briefly, engaged in his own thoughts and plots.
"Yeh, we saw it on his filthy arm-" Ron growled.
"This makes one thing absolutely clear," Dumbledore's glassy blue eyes addressed all of them seriously and not for the first time, Hermione felt Dumbledore saw straight through her, "that we are not to provoke or reveal any information about the Malfoys. We have no idea how many wealthy Pureblood families they have with they're alliances. We ignore what happened today, we do not know Draco Malfoy's motives for attacking Hermione yet. Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have to talk to Severus Snape about this evenings meeting."
They're former Head Master didn't wait for a reply as he stepped up to the large fire place taking a handful of Flu-Powder from an ash-tray sized pot and saying clearly, "Head Masters Office" as he stepped into the grate.
"What was all that about?" Ron asked looked confusedly to Harry and Hermione.
"It means," Hermione said, "that Dumbledore is scared of Malfoy's involvement with Voldemort."
Harry looked up sharply.
"Oh and Harry," the girl fished one hand into the pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out a small present, in hurried red wrapping paper and golden string, "happy birthday."
- - - -
The creature that resembled far more of a snake than a man sat facing the fire in a high backed green velvet armchair in the third floor drawing room of the Malfoy Manor – what had become the unofficial strong hold for the high ranking members of the dark side.
It was hard to believe that the pale, almost featureless appearance of a man was the most human form that the past Tom Riddle had had in the last eighteen years. The once handsome Head Boy now had carved red slit eyes, long bony fingers, and every human thought from the once intelligent mind had gone, leaving only a power hungry vestige of the boy he once had been. It was a high price to pay for immortality.
But it was a price he did pay, and kept on paying.
Voldemort would live forever, that he alone would watch the last sunrise and the final sunset of the planet that had so little to entertain him. He, unlike any other natural thing that crawled this earth –would fashion the world to suit him. Cleanse it of the filthy Muggles and even more disgustingly tainted Mudbloods, who didn't deserve magicks. This time, unlike his last, far less researched attempt at gaining absolute power he realised that he must obliterate those in the Wizarding World who opposed him – starting with the Muggle-loving Ministry of Magic.
The Ministry, besides Hogwarts and Gringotts was the most heavily magically guarded place in Europe, and its protection had increased paramount since he himself had foolishly apparated there in an act of killing that wretched Potter – so how to destroy it? The plan had taken time and effort on his and his Death Eater's parts. Gradually it had come to light that the Ministry was founded in medieval times when Muggles were at they're most bloody thirsty. A wizard named Leontes had begun building it, weaving it almost entirely out of magic. Eventually though, Leontes was arrested by the Muggles he so loved, and once stripped of his wand had been burnt alive at the stake. The Ministry, though, was left to be finished by the Wizengamot but like many things in the Wizarding World, where things don't end were they are meant to, Leontes is still in some way tied to the Ministry.
The tall monster suddenly rose himself from the chair and called out in an unimaginable voice – "Wormtail!"
A shrivelled man approached the room, his metal arm swaying dangerously as he threw himself to the bottom of Voldemort's olive green robes.
"Yes master?" Squeaked the shell of Peter Pettigrew, another story and another soul lost.
"Fetch me Lucius." He kicked him away and watched for his return with his most ruthless Death Eater.
The slender man appeared at the door almost instantly, grey eyes of obsidian, impeccable black robes of tailor cut, long blond hair, so light it was almost silver, swept somewhat respectfully backwards. At first glance he would appear like any other attractive elder man, but on a closer inspection you could see the droplets of blood, not his own, on his cheek, and the cane always adorning his right hand was sharp and menacing.
He, like every other follower Voldemort owned pressed his forehead to the floor in respect or fear.
"You called for me, master?"
"Was there any luck finding the girl?"
"No master, we searched every street and every building bearing number twelve in London –"
"Stand up Lucius, it pains me looking down on you. Our sources say the girl is hiding out at number twelve, and yet she was not there?"
A shiver of fear ran through the owner of the Manor. "No, master she was not."
A silence followed that statement.
"A pity Lucius… a pity," Voldemort replied finally, "though I'm sure Dumbledore is hiding her just as efficiently as he does…" the Dark Lord trailed off as though just thinking that particular word offended him greatly.
"Potter, my lord?" Piped up Wormtail from a forgotten corner.
"Of course Potter!" he snapped softly as if imagining something beautiful to his crimson eyes- Harry Potter dead, "that permanent thorn in my side."
Lucius was not sure how to respond, but added hesitantly, "all Muggles were destroyed once the Death Eaters discovered she was not there. But the wizards at those residences were brought in – there was only one, though master, Michael Lester – works in the Department of Security at the ministry."
"I trust he is in the dungeons, I will have use of him tomorrow," it was not a question, "tell me, where is your son? Has he returned from the raids?"
"Draco has-"
"Good. Send for him."
Dressed in black, like his father, Draco strode through the door, looking like a blond, black and cream thundercloud. Angry as sin.
Just the way Voldemort liked him.
He knelt before the Dark Lord; an irritated look was quickly smoothed into an emotionless stare.
"My lord has send for me?" He asked, and behind him Lucius winced at his sarcastic lilt on the word my.
"His insolence is by no means condoned on my part, master. He has suffered many beatings when he displays dislike for our cause-"
"Enough, Lucius." Voldemort was watching Draco intently; he would have been amused if he was human enough for that emotion, and he would have raised and eyebrow if he had any. "Draco, stand." He did so. "It is my knowledge that you attended classes with the Granger girl."
"I did."
"And what is your knowledge of her?"
Draco swallowed, but assumed a neutral tone. "She was a bookworm, a know-it-all, a perfectionist, wild hair and eyes like –"
"Lucius has informed me that you seemed quite obsessed with her. She was talented?"
"Granger was at the top of every class. Except Potions."
His father was taking another stab at interrupting. "If my lord doesn't mind me asking - what do you want with the Mudblood? – surely there are others you can use."
Voldemort turned back to the elder Malfoy. "Because what I say, shall be." He hissed in a cold and dismissive tone.
Both Malfoy's bowed and while Lucius backed off respectively Draco fled.
Once in the corridor Lucius's cane struck the wall next to Draco's neck.
"What was that about, boy?" He snapped, circling his son.
"Nothing – father – I-"
"Do not lie to me, Draco, you have been eighteen for six months now, by this time I thought I would have had a son to be proud of. It is clear, that you have disappointed me again."
His father's vice-like grip on his throat prevented Draco from answering.
"And you will not do anything again to jeopardise the Malfoy name – will you?"
He let go of his neck and Draco gasped for breath, but immediately regretted it when Lucius backhanded him across his cheek.
"Malfoy's never show weakness."
Draco, whose cheek was now marred with angry red, didn't flinch or look away when his fathers hand connected with his face, nodded.
"You will meet your mother and I in the dinning room at dinner, now stay out of my sight." Lucius continued, removing his cane from blocking Draco's way he swept off down the corridor, no doubt to take his anger out on his house elves or worse, his wife.
Draco leaned against the wall bitterly reliving the early hours this morning. The Cruciatus Curse has always been one of his father's favourites – inflicting enough pain to make you scream like the sound was not made by human tongues, but not enough to kill, thus adding to the fun of being able to kill his victims slowly. Draco himself had suffered it many times – but he had never ever, much to his father's sick delight, cried out – and Lucius's curses were far more potent and refined than Harry Bloody Potter's.
He thought about what his father would say if he saw the maps and locator devices he'd use to gain access to the safe house where the Trio had been hiding. The place was obviously guarded to the hills by the fact that they had all been sitting around unarmed. That, and it had taken him a hundred galleons to acquire to the specific spell that would take him directly to Granger's feet. If that hadn't been task enough he had needed something she'd touched (in this case a school library book "Hogwarts: A History" that she'd loaned just before him in they're second year) and to be able to visualise her. And within an hour of practising dark spells an imagining his school unfriendly competition Draco was able to Apparate to a specific person instead of specific place.
Hermione Granger, another mystery. Nothing ever made sense when it concerned her in his mind. Take her for school, for instance. She was smart, abided by the rules, but some how managed to get herself caught up with Potter and Weasley and they're latest attempt at saving the world. One fluffy animal at a time. She was a Mudblood – yet easily the most gifted witch of they're year. She was beautiful, yet she didn't notice. She was so many things to him, yet she thought in his eyes she was nothing. Hermione Granger, in short was the most unattainable thing in the world.
Hours and several iced showers later Draco was steeling himself to enter the lavish dinning room. He ran a hand through careless hair as he entered the room that was big enough to be a church. It was decorated in the Malfoy colours – silver and black, three candle chandeliers hung high above him in the huge domes, the long black table only taking up a third of the room. The rest was the ballroom, a stage at the far wall where the band would play all on a black marble floor.
His mother gave a sharp look to Lucius as he entered, seeing the blackened bruise that ran across his cheekbone, but said nothing. She had not suffered beatings for her son for a long time.
Narcissa Malfoy was many things, but a caring mother she was not. She had traded in love and equality, for the lasted in Gladrags Wizardwear, cosmetic spells and a high profile marriage. So little of what was portrayed as a happy-family to the outside world was true.
And here Draco found himself, in the middle of what was far from a conventional family, his insane and vapid mother and his puppet of a father sitting either side of him.
Lucius ignored his son and wife, and instead sat reading the Daily Prophet with a grimace. The headlines read MUGGLES MURDERED AT NUMBER 12's, and the subtext read boldly, "Can Aurors, Dumbledore or Potter Stop It Before It's Too Late?"
"Well," he said at last, "this might effect your party next week Narcissa – I doubt many high profile witches and wizards will want to be seen parting happily after the Dark Lord's attack." He picked up a glass of red wine and swilled it about causally.
"Nonsense," the cold woman said firmly with a reluctant look at her husband.
"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, anger glinting in his harsh eyes, "how so?"
"Well, I invited those dratted friends of Dumbledore-"
"You did WHAT?" Both Lucius and son exclaimed, wine glasses and forks flying.
"- To keep up appearances, I'm sure that at least one of them will show up, after all," she allowed herself a small laugh before it was replaced by the familiar bored look, "who refuses a Malfoy party?"
"Have you completely lost your mind?" Lucius was on his feet now; he threw the glass of wine over Draco's mother's head that ended with a smash on the opposite wall. "The Dark Lord is currently sitting upstairs and you invite Aurors for tea?"
"May I be excused, father?" Draco muttered sarcastically, "I need to go and pack my trunk for Azcaban."
"Not Aurors, Lucius, and sit down Draco – its improper for a wizard to rise before the lady of the table does – just those that are always in Witch Weekly."
His father seemed stumped for speech, a shrewd look now in place.
"You mean Harry Potter, one of those Weasley's and that Granger Mudblood?" He asked.
"I mean, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown and those Patil twins – they're always in the Witches that Dress with a Flick and Swish section."
"Brown? Where have I heard that name before?"
"Her father works at Gringotts and her mother moves in the same circles as the Brocklehursts' – such a same they are fond of Dumbledore really."
"And Patil?"
"They're mother is the personal secretary of Alexis Zabini."
"… Granger?"
"Well, Mudblood –" Lucius dangerously picked up another glass of wine. "- As much as we don't actually want her there, she could be useful. Wouldn't the Ministry's lot just jump at a chance to make everything seem alright?"
"And if she's seen with Draco it could possibly put to rest those terrible rumours that had slandered the Malfoy name." Voldemort's terrible voice said from the doorway. "My dear Narcissa," he bent and pressed scaly lips to her hands, "what a clever plan. You have a greatly cunning wife, Lucius."
Draco's father put down the glass hastily.
- - - -
Snape was looking uncharacteristically sick. Not that his chalk complexion and limp greasy hair made him look so healthy, but for someone to look worse than that was an achievement.
Disregarded tears fell across sunken cheeks as Hermione, who was now suitably dressed passed him a teacup.
She piled his drink full of cubes of sugar.
"That's quite enough, Granger." He snapped, not quite looking up.
Ron was uneasy with the wreck of a potions teacher that he openly disliked, and Harry blindly sat lacing Hermione's fingers with his. Desperately clutching as though looking for comfort rather than giving it.
Saying the dinning room was a little messy was like saying the Dursley's had been a little overprotective. Owls and they're feathers decorated the room, documents and maps buried the several Order members and a tower, challenging even Charlie Weasley for height, of today's newspapers stood in the corner. Even the Muggle papers confirming the one tragedy. Everyone who resided in a house or apartment that was numbered 12 in London was killed. The Wizarding newspapers said Death Eaters. The Muggle's said cult. Either way it was murder, the brutal unforgivable kind. The Dark Mark flying high as the morning's sunrise.
"Men, women and children," Snape croaked – his voice far from the normal shade of sleaze.
No one knew what to say.
"What we going to do?" Remus Lupin's hollow voice finally rang out. "They've been looking for us – "
"I agree with Hermione!" Mundungus yelled suddenly, the mess of dreadlocks and battered clothing appearing from behind dusty volumes; a piece of parchment stuck to his forehead.
"The meeting hasn't started yet, Dung," Tonks mumbled, pink hair contrasting brightly in the dim room, quill between her teeth.
Uneasy silences followed, well silence apart from the frantic scramble for parchment and flick of pages.
Ron suddenly slammed down a book, sending papers flying. Effectively snapping everyone out of they're morbid thoughts. "What time was Dumbledore getting here?" He asked.
Hermione sent him a grateful look, as she finally ceased adding sugar to Snape's tea.
As though reading waiting for someone to ask that particular question, Dumbledore strode through the door accompanied by Ron's dad, a very shabby looking Arthur Weasley. He didn't bother with pleasantries. "One wrong move could cost us this battle." Dumbledore said, voice grave.
Dedicated to my Wonderful Reviewers, all and Beta!Nana
Fainting Authors Note: Well, this chapter is very choppy. Much like the PS/SS movie. *mutters* And I wonder if I've revealed a bit too much... hm. You'll get some definite answers in chapter 3, I promise. Or maybe 4. I blame Draco. His POV is just a bag o' ferrety fun to write. But I wonder if its a bit too... light-hearted? Tongue-in-cheek? I wanted you all to be afraid!! of Lucius but he just makes me twitch. It was proof read by my very fantastic Nana, who didn't have the faintest clue what was going on, which makes me even more worried - since I made her watch CoS with me several times. But, on the plus, she was very scared about Voldemort. Yay! Especially since she lives in Surrey. Made listening to Powderfinger. Sponsored by caffeine. Ever fuelled by reviews. *cough*
Fainting Authors Disclaimer: Not mine. Not yours. Unless your J K Rowling or her agents, in which case, get off the net you evil woman and put pen to paper! I want to see book 7 before I'm an insane HP collecting old lady thanks!
Fainting Reviewers:
Lexie - Ah yes, Draco, the international man-of-mystery.
Slytherlinzi - Ack! Don't go congratulating Hermione yet - after all Draco's pretty face can worm its way out of anything! Love your new fic, by-the-way.
bessorla - *ears turn red* Thank you :)