Love like Oxygen
Chapter 11
Zabini was right. Draco had begun a chain of events that affected more than himself and Hermione. She had been missing for two months now. Perhaps presumed dead by some. Of course, no one had the courage to suggest that alternative yet. It would give life to a potentially terrifying reality - that a certain dark wizard was on the rise once more.
Draco could fix this tonight if he wanted to. He would beg Hermione to save him, not report him for his mother's sake. She would agree. She cared about him. Right? He wasn't so sure. Honestly he had no idea. Hermione hadn't fought off his advances for some time. He had entertained the idea that perhaps it was because she was scared of him but she responded to his touch with fervour, the kind someone with desire held. Was it an act to convince him to let her go and then turn her back on him once she was safe in Potter's shadow?
Are you really that shocked?
Even if he asked, threatened her to tell him, there's no way for him to know if she was being truthful. Hermione could promise him freedom and until she was free. She had never feared him, not at Hogwarts, or during the war, and not even now.
Perhaps that could work to his advantage. If Hermione wasn't scared it meant he had treated her fairly well and maybe she would fight for him again during the wizengamot trials. But how do you convince a person you've captured that you aren't all that bad?
The Ministry elevator pinged, alerting him of its arrival, but instead of the cool announcer, he heard two very terse and loud voices from inside.
"-You always suspected him at Hogwarts! What changed?" challenged a voice.
The other replied calmly: "We were children Ron. He's already paid for mistakes that weren't his to begin with! -"
The grated elevator doors slid open and a fleet of memos zoomed at Draco's head. He ducked just in time, and met the stunned eyes of Harry Potter. Beside him was a very angry - Weasley.
He recognized Draco instantly and his face twisted in disgust. Weasley was uglier than Draco remembered. Filthy blood-traitor. For a second he debated not getting on the elevator but that would show weakness, and he couldn't have that. Malfoy's were not weak.
Tensely, Draco tipped his head in acknowledgement to Potter and stepped on board. The elevator doors clicked shut and he pressed "The Atrium". It was a short ride, he could get through this.
"Oi, Malfoy." Clearly, Weasley could not.
"Ron, enough," warned Potter.
"I know you have her," Weasley jabbed a finger at Draco's chest, their face inches apart. His lips curled into a snarl. "Tell me where she is."
Imbecile.
"Who?" Draco replied calmly.
"Don't act smug with me, Death Eater. I can have you and your mother in Azkaban in minutes."
Draco's eyes flashed an icy blue. He rounded fully on the tall red head, meeting his eyes with vehemence.
"Do not use my mother to threaten me. I will kill you, and gladly go to Azkaban for it."
"Then tell me where she is!" Weasley shoved Draco into the elevator wall. Potter immediately grabbed Weasley from behind, wrapping his arms around the redhead to restrict him.
"The Atrium," the disembodied voice chimed.
The elevator stopped with a jerk and the doors opened.
Draco dusted off his blazer, fuming silently. The nerve of him. He could never control his temperament. One of the many foul attributes he had been handed down as a Weasley, along with his tomato red hair and poverty. Draco had had enough. It's a mystery why Hermione was with him at all.
With all the hatred he could muster from the depths of their shared past, Draco glared at Ron, ready to give him his final blow.
"Wherever Hermione is, I can promise you Weasley-she isn't thinking of you at all," he sneered and stalked out of the elevator, missing Harry's look of surprise and suspicion.
Weasley's curses were cut off by the crowd of witches and wizards scurrying into the elevator.
O-o-o
Hermione pensively paced the bedroom, clutching the open heavy leather bound peacock journal to her chest. It was almost evening. She knew because Narcissa had just exited the Manor into her treasured garden below. Hermione paused to watch Narcissa hobbling on the grass, leaning heavily on her walking stick with one hand and flicking her wand with the other.
How was it possible for a woman so frail to look worse than the first day Hermione saw her?
She sighed heavily, her guilt bubbling up from the pits once again. Her mind hadn't stopped since Draco had left this morning. There were plans drawn like diagrams in her brain, threads intertwinning with pins on a board, crisscrossing between scenarios and variables, looping around possible outcomes and marking her successes and failures. She didn't have everything figured out yet but one thing she was sure of was her constant variable.
Detaching the journal from herself, Hermione smoothed out the tattered page that was open and read the passage for the hundredth time. It was one of the first passages ever written; the script was a beautiful cursive French. The pages had yellowed with age and mold, and the ink was blotchy. The day she had found it, she had translated it, memorized it and then burned the copied parchment in the blue flame jars in the bathroom. The words forever imprinted in her mind.
January 21, 1793
The Muggle King was executed today. The Statue of Secrecy is threatened in France.
We've escaped to the Manor in Wales and My Lord has taken extra precautions to guard it. There will be no visitors. Only those with Malfoy blood and their partners can enter the grounds freely. Visitors must be escorted by Malfoy kin.
Tonight, we are safe. Tomorrow, My Lord's magic will be tested. We will see how well these spells hold.
-Lady Malfoy
The spells had held for centuries and molded into the very magic of every Malfoy by birth and bond. Only a Malfoy can apparate and dis-apparate off the Manor grounds. All other visitors must be escorted to the gates where the boundary ends. Hermione knew this and had experienced it first hand during the war.
Fortunately, the Malfoys and Voldemort had underestimated the power of elf magic and Dobby rescued the trio that fateful day. But Dobby was gone, and she didn't have an elf bound to her, like Kreacher was to Harry-nor would she ever want that. Besides, if Kreacher were still alive, she knew Harry wouldn't hesitate to ask his help. She would have been found within hours of her disappearance.
Without another magical creature to help her, Hermione was confined to the original rules of the protection placed on this Manor. This was Hermione's biggest challenge, yet her only real chance at escape. With renewed determination she looked beyond the window glass at the Malfoy Matriarch below.
Hermione needed a Malfoy to take her beyond the gates and it didn't have to be Draco.
O-O-O
Draco apparated next to his mother, his tall silhouette casting a shadow on the hunched figure of Narcissa. His encounter with Potter and Weasley was fresh on his mind. How dare that blood-traitor threaten him and his mother when it was their fault she looked like a living corpse.
Potter had won the war not his insufferable sidekick. Yet, the redhead seemed to think he was the big hero, strutting about the ministry like a celebrated soldier flaunting his arrogance and power. Weasley was an eye-sore from the day he met him, and now he had the winning side's support to glorify his insecurities.
Draco curled his hands into fists. He was struggling to calm his emotions. As much as he hated the man, he couldn't take Weasley's threats lightly. Yes, Draco had taken Hermione but on what evidence was Weasley suspecting him? Did he have a witness or was this suspicion based on old prejudices?
It didn't seem to matter, because Draco was sure now that even if he asked Hermione to spare him, Weasley would never let that happen. He would use his influence to have Draco sent to Azkaban for life or given the Kiss like his father. His mother would have no one to take care of her and she would die of negligence.
He couldn't let that happen. None of this was Narcissa's fault. Her husband followed an evil man and her son fell prey to him as well, but why does she need to suffer for it?
Narcissa took Draco's fisted hand in her's.
"Don't worry about me Draco. I'm fine," she whispered, a light smile on her lips, "You should take better care of our guest."
Her eyes tilted slightly to the manor behind them and Draco felt his heart stop. His legs were jelly and his stomach tight.
"How-?"
"I'm your mother," she cocked an eyebrow and for a second Draco was ten years old again, caught by his clever mum for his mischief, "and a Malfoy. I can feel her watching me from your window."
Draco gulped. He was hot and uncomfortable.
"I don't know why she's here," continued Narcissa, "but you've been looking better since she arrived, and that's all I care truly about."
She patted Draco's hand affectionately and walked back into the manor.
Like a balloon let loose, he collapsed on the grass, yanking at the collar of his jacket. What else did his mother know? Does she know that it's Hermione Granger or that he had kidnapped her? He was too afraid to ask. Did she think that her son had taken up the dark arts once more? Had he failed her like Father had?
No, if he can't protect her then he would have failed his mother. He knew Narcissa's love for him was the only reason she lived and she would protect his secret even if she didn't fully know it. But Draco had a feeling Narcissa knew exactly what he had done and by revealing it, she had given him a warning.
If Narcissa had realized that Hermione could be seen through his window then visitors to the Manor, however few of them there were, would find her as well. He had to hide her.
Draco withdrew his wand from his sleeve and stood up tall. He wasn't going to beg Hermione for forgiveness or mercy, he wasn't going to run from Weasley or Potter, because Hermione wasn't going to leave this Manor and he wasn't going to get caught.
Draco looked up at his window and met Hermione's eyes. As expected, she was watching him. Without hesitation, he raised his wand as if pointing it at her and cast a glamour charm. He watched her expression turn stony. Then her face and the window shimmered and changed to look like aging stones that the rest of the Manor was built with.
He added a few more anti-detection charms and a spell to urge visitors to return the way they came from if they wandered into the garden. He wasn't done yet. Draco circled the manor to the front entrance, the visitors entrance. He pushed open the ornate wooden doors and walked along the hallways at the entrance of the manor, casting spells on the walls. It was fortunate that their portraits had been seized by the ministry as well. No portraits meant no connection to the rest of the wizarding community and no sneaks. Only Malfoy and Narcissa knew that Hermione was in the manor.
The final decoy was placed at the entrance of his wing of the Manor. This one was the most important of them all.
The Ministry had let the Malfoys keep one item: their family tapestry. Originally located in the formal dining room, it was a massive piece of fabric that traced the Malfoy lineage to French aristocracy. When Lord Malfoy had escaped the French Revolution and settled in Britain, he had his elves create this tapestry as a reminder of the Malfoy heritage. The tapestry was bound by dark magic to the ancient structure and the Malfoy bloodline. When a new alliance was made and another heir was to come, the tapestry weaved its own golden threads to inaugurate new family members.
Their pureblood lineage and their connection to royalty was a source of massive pride for Draco's great-grandfather, so he had ordered the tapestry to be displayed to all visitors lest they forget their manners in the presence of a Malfoy.
Now when Draco looked at it, he felt disgusted. It was a reminder that these pureblooded values had ruined their family. He hated it even more because despite witnessing the damage they had caused, he still slipped into old prejudices. Zabini had said it best: he wasn't his father who had blindly followed and committed heinous acts to champion pureblood supremacy, but Draco was raised to believe in blood purity and his views can't be changed overnight.
Draco onerously levitated the massive cloth from the formal living room to the hallway entrance of his wing. It was large enough to cover the entrance and he glamoured the arch at the top to look like the manor walls.
Running his hands through his hair he stepped back to look at his work. To a passerby it looked like a hallway with a giant tapestry hung on a solid wall. It was satisfactory, for now.
It had been a grueling day and the only thing he wanted to do was sleep, but it wasn't the time. He turned on his heels and made his way to the kitchen. Perhaps if there was food in front of her, Hermione might forgive him for today.
O-O-O
"That bloody ferret!" roared Ron, "He has her Harry. I know it. I just do."
He banged the exposed beam in frustration. The Burrow shook on impact. Ginny sighed and hugged the couch cushion to her chest. Ron had insisted on returning to the Burrow to update Ginny and the Weasleys of their encounter with Malfoy. George sat next to Ginny turning his glass of fire whiskey in hand, knowing better than trying to lighten the mood when Ron was in a rage.
"Ron, you don't have proof," Ginny said quietly.
"I don't care about proof," he shouted, "I know the git. Slithering snake he is and trust me he's not shedding his skin anytime soon."
"Your instincts don't matter anymore. This isn't a war. We aren't fighting for our lives and spending days in hiding. We're trying to build a society again with law and order, and if you go storming into Malfoy Manor without proof you will be arrested."
"He broke the rules first Ginny! And if I'm getting arrested, Merlin's balls, I will take him with me."
"Or Malfoy's balls," joked George and drained his glass in a big gulp. Ginny slapped him upside the head.
"Alright, I'm sorry," George rubbed the back of his head, "but Ronnie you really need to think about this rationally. I'm always ready to help you, and I would be the first person devising a plan for your Malfoy Manor break-in but this isn't a game or a battle of wands. I'm with Ginny on this one. I'm not going to lose another brother."
At the mention of Fred, Ron grew quiet. Still seething with anger, he turned to Harry who had been sitting pensively on a stool, his palms pressed together and eyebrows furrowed.
"What the hell is wrong with you? You haven't said a word since we left the Ministry. Don't tell me you've given up on Hermione," Ron hissed at Harry.
Harry's eyes shot up, a sudden light in them. He straightened his shoulders running a hand through his ever unruly hair.
"Hermione," he whispered. His eyes darted around the living room putting pieces of a puzzle together in his brain. The Weasleys stared at him in confusion. Had Harry Potter finally lost it after all these years?
"Parchment," he croaked, "I need ink and parchment."
Ginny shot out off the couch and headed to the spare cupboard in the kitchen. Molly always kept spare parchment and ink there to write letters on the dining table. The men followed her to the kitchen and Harry nearly snatched the ink and quill from her hands before she could place it on the table.
Harry hurriedly smoothed the parchment, licked the tip of his quill and dipped it in the ink bottle. He wrote "Minister Shacklebolt, I would like to call in that favour you promised from the war…"
"What are you up to mate?" Ron asked.
"He knows something," responded Ginny.
Harry wrote as fast as he could, blowing frequently on the parchment to dry the ink quicker. Finally satisfied, he rolled up the parchment and tied it with a string. Pigwidgeon was perched near the open window waiting for him. The intuition of owls in the wizarding world always amazed Harry.
"Take this to the Minister of Magic. He must agree to my request," he told the owl. Pig extended his wings and took off in the black night, his grey feathers blending into the sky like a shooting star.
O-O-O
Draco pushed his stew around with a spoon, eyes downcast. He had tried to take a bite earlier but his stomach threatened to overturn. So he settled instead on picking apart the dry bread and nibbling on the small bits. Hermione hadn't even picked up her spoon. She sat unmoving with her fiery eyes burning a hole in his face. She was angry, disappointed and hurt. Hermione didn't have to say it, even a blind man could have read her but Draco could not give her the answer she wanted.
The silence was becoming unbearable. It was so much like their first night together that Draco almost laughed in disdain.
"Is this funny to you?" Hermione finally spoke.
Draco smirked, "It isn't to you? We're sitting here like old rivals again as if the past few weeks never even happened."
Hermione flushed. With embarrassment or anger? Perhaps both, Draco mused.
"Don't you dare imply this was my fault," she hissed, "You glamoured the window. You don't want me to be found. You don't want to let me go. I thought-." She stopped mid sentence, her eyes clouding over with hurt and disappointment.
Draco hated the look she was giving him.
Like she had expected better, thought he was saved. That perhaps since his feelings for her had changed his willingness to hold her captive had also changed. Well, know-it-all Granger was wrong. He was beyond saving. Malfoy blood ran in his veins and Malfoys were possessive, fiercely protective of their people and didn't hesitate to use dark means to possess them. They were also cowards who succumbed to their desires and wants. Aristocratic only in lineage, not in behaviour. Hermione should have known better than to trust him and believe in his "goodness".
Draco scoffed and rose from the table to pour himself a glass of firewhiskey. Thankfully, being a Malfoy also meant having years of well stocked liquor in his cellars. Not much good that will do though without food to fill their stomachs.
"What did you think Granger?" he asked, leaning back on his cabinet, his voice feigning calm. Draco brought the glass to his lips and sneaked a glance at Hermione over the rim. She was frazzled, wearing the same robes from yesterday and digging her nails into her palms.
"Did you think a few snogs would change my mind?" he mocked, "Thought you would ensnare me with your soft words and sympathy? Was that your great escape plan? Make the sad, broken Malfoy boy fall for you. So when you asked to be released he would hand you your freedom on a silver platter and walk into the pit of Aurors with a smile. Is that it?"
Hermione stood up abruptly. Her face churned with emotions as she hurried to the entrance of the library passageway. Draco caught her wrist just as she walked past him. Hermione whirled around in a rage and smacked the glass of fire whiskey from his hand. The glass connected with the floor and shattered instantly. As if on cue, silent hot tears ran down Hermione's face.
"Let me go," she hissed, every word like poison from her lips. Draco knew he was hurting her with his words and actions. This wasn't part of the plan. He wasn't going to beg for forgiveness, but he had decided to explain his actions as rationally as he could. He was planning to hear it all, the curses, the accusations that would fall from her lips and accept them. His intention wasn't to hurt her but consult with her the best way to get her to safety and gain a pardon for himself. Explain to her why he could not be caught now. Instead he had ruined it all as he always does.
Draco pulled her to him and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Her tears made him angry because they proved what he couldn't accomplish. He couldn't change into a man she deserved or wanted. He hated himself for being incapable, for falling into the hateful narrative that was set up by his family.
Holding her chin firmly, he forced her to look at him, "What did you expect from a Malfoy?"
She closed her eyes and sobbed quietly, thick, heavy tears falling from the corners of her eyes. She had expected for her plan to work. She was supposed to find a way to make friends with Narcissa and recruit her help to convince her son to let her go. She had expected for Draco's feelings to be real so he would take pity on her so she could leave amicably as possible. But she hadn't planned to feel so betrayed when he had chosen to shut her in once again. She hadn't calculated for her feelings to foil her escape plan.
Her tears made Draco angrier. His lips turned up into a sneer, "Did you really think I was that stupid?
"You are stupid, Malfoy," she whispered.
Draco dropped his hand like he was slapped by her words, backing away slowly like an injured animal.
"You act on impulse and are driven by your emotions," she advanced on him, "You never had a plan when you approached me in that alley and you still don't have one. You've been cowering behind your mother's skirts since first year and have a fragile sense of ego -"
"Enough," he muttered
"-and I can't believe I actually felt for you!" She threw her hands up, spinning on her heel to walk back into the sanctuary. She pressed her palm to the wall willing it to slide open but the wall stood still. She tried again. Nothing. She slapped the wall in frustration but it wouldn't budge.
"You've confined me to this room and now you bar me from the library too?" Hermione fumed but Draco didn't respond.
He was looking at her with an odd expression. His cheeks were flushed and eyes wide. He stared at her confused face then abruptly rushed past her into the library.
Hermione was stunned. She tried to will the wall to open once more but it remained stubborn. What in Merlin's name was Malfoy playing at? Befriending her then pushing her away. She had one place where she could get away from herself, her emotions and he had taken that away too tonight.
Her stomach grumbled loudly. At least he had brought food. She stormed over to the table and took a bite out of her dinner roll, munching with vigor. She would need her energy for this battle. A hunger strike like last time was only detrimental to her.
As she ate her food in silence her anger cooled. Malfoy's flushed face was all she could think of now. Maybe she had said to much in her anger. Maybe she had ruined her chance to befriend him now. But something in the back of her mind nagged her. Malfoy didn't look angry or upset. She knew that expression too well now. This was new.
That night Hermione slept fitfully in Draco's bed, tossing and twisting in her sheets. His flushed face flashing in her dreams but this time he was in her arms, and they were lying in bed, limbs tangled, lips locked as his hands roamed her hips and thighs. He kissed her neck, making her blush. She felt her stomach knot in pleasure as his fingers slipped under the curve of her butt, so close to her centre - Hermione woke up with a jolt.
The sun was streaming through the window. Draco had never come out of the library last night and Hermione felt an ache in her heart mirroring the ache between her thighs.
A/N: It's been a long hiatus my friends. Sorry to keep you waiting! I'm determined to finish this story this time. See you next week!