Five.
With Draco gone for a few days on undisclosed business, the atmosphere in the library had relaxed considerably. Hermione played soothing music from the phonograph in the library, and was able to spend more time with Lucio in the morning, before it was time to get to work on the painting. Martin muttered to himself now and then from behind the canvas, and Hermione had allowed her thoughts to stream undisturbed as she lay still on the chaise, nearly bored to tears.
Pansy and Lucio were outside, playing. They'd had a pleasant breakfast, with Pansy sitting between them rather than waiting on them, as was required when Draco was home. Hermione had suggested they take a picnic, and Lucio had immediately jumped onto the idea, taking his broomstick along with him. Hermione would have loved to go along with them had Martin not arrived shortly after, and though she liked his company, wished she could take a break from the painting, but didn't dare, knowing what Draco's opinion on that would be.
Two days prior, Lucio's lesson had ended early and Pansy had brought him into the library to visit her and Martin. Hermione had been delighted to see them, and, after having made sure she wasn't hindering Martin's painting progress, brought him up into her lap.
They'd chatted amiably and after a while Lucio slid from her lap to watch Martin paint. He had sat down behind the artist and with his legs crossed and his little fists propping his head up, he asked question after question, and Martin, with incredible patience, answered them all to Lucio's satisfaction.
The portrait painting was at the start of its second week of progress. Martin was unmarried, but tended to his father on weekends, so Draco had agreed to give him weekends off to travel to see his father. In the meantime, however, Hermione had grown comfortable with him, and although modeling for the portrait was still something she wasn't sure she liked, she found his quiet demeanor helped relax her, and they had talked about their scholastic careers and childhoods, books they'd read, both in and out of the muggle world.
It had only been about a week since Draco's birthday and the start of the painting, but already they had settled into a routine that Hermione found herself looking forward to.
This particular afternoon, she had enjoyed her breakfast, morning shower, and empty bed and come down to meet Martin, whom Pansy had already let in and was setting up his things. They had chatted for a bit, and then begun. The day was warmer than usual, and though the Manor was always cool on the inside, the wide windows had been uncovered and the sunny, cloudless sky made her feel hot just to look at it. She had slept well the night before but found herself dozing off as she sat utterly still, her head nodding as she kept waking up to find her posture drooping.
At some point she must have completely fallen asleep, but she was hardly aware of it, only aware of the warmth of the library, the soft music playing on the phonograph, and the muted sound of Martin's brush meeting the canvas.
"My lady?"
A warm hand tapped her shoulder, and Hermione jolted in pain, snapping awake as her ring sent a bolt of pain down the length of her arm.
It had affected Martin too. He cursed aloud and staggered back, staring at her wide-eyed, a lock of hair falling across his face, a spot of paint speckling it. There was smudged charcoal along his jaw, and he still held his paintbrush in his non-dominant hand.
"F-forgive me, my Lady," he stammered, his face pale. His eyes darted toward the door. "I forgot—I didn't mean anything, I only meant to ask you to move your head, but you were asleep."
Hermione stood from the chaise, shaking her head to clear it. She felt dazed, her arm still tingling with the shock. She blinked, swallowed. The hairs on her arms stood on end.
"It's my fault," she said, her voice oddly calm. She gave him an unconvincing smile. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep. I'm sorry about—" she trailed off, and gestured to her arm.
Martin was staring at her ring, as if he could sense its malevolence. "Did he—" he looked around nervously, swallowing. "Did my Lord do that?"
She nodded and looked away.
At that, he didn't know what to say.
Piece by piece, he's starting to see how messed up this relationship is, she thought. And it happened every time, that when someone else saw it, it was like seeing through their eyes, being reminded again of what she had been through, but from an outside perspective.
"Let's take a break. May I see the progress?"
Martin gave a small bow. "I would be honored." His eyes lingered on her ring, his face blank.
Hermione hardly noticed as she neared the large canvas. Over the past several days, she had looked and looked at the canvas and seen all the early stages of the painting, from the underlying sketch to the blocking of colors, the beginning and completion of the library behind her.
By now the background was mostly complete. She sucked in a breath as she took it in.
"You have great skill."
Martin flushed. "Thank you, my Lady."
The colors were rich, he'd gotten the lighting just right—they started at noon every day, and he'd explained to her once that he mostly worked on the bookcases and the carpeted floor until the sun began to set, when its golden light began to stream heavily through the windows and cast a warmth all over the library. Then he began to really work, to make sure he captured the colors just right. He had started on her form from the bottom; the wooden gleaming legs of the chaise and then the plush brocaded velvet of the cushion on either side of her, then the folds and silk of her gown appearing as though he'd cut up bits from the actual dress itself and attached them to the canvas. It looked so real she wanted to touch it, to reach out and feel the silk itself, but knowing that the canvas was still wet, she held her hands behind her back, lest impulse take over.
The bare foot of her half-painted self poked out from underneath her skirt. It was about the size of her open hand. She stepped closer to stare at it, at each of her toes painstakingly rendered in such detail—she turned to look at his palette and saw the mess of it; the mixed colors taking up every inch of the wide wooden surface, the brushes still scattered around it, some so fine they might only hold just one short hair.
"Don't your hands or eyes ever hurt, painting such small details?" She asked. "It's incredible." Her eyes were on some of the painted books. He had even included titles, rendered in gold paint.
"From time to time," Martin admitted. "We are taught in school certain stretches and methods of holding our utensils to limit strain and injury. It still happens, if we're not careful."
"And your eyes?"
"I haven't had need of spectacles yet," he said, the corner of his lip lifting. "I suppose one day, I'll have to." He paused. "Your husband invited me to stay for dinner again, when he comes back."
"Really?" She looked at him. "Will you?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "If I may say so, Lady Hermione, I don't much enjoy his presence."
At this she bit back a laugh. "Many would say they feel the same, I'm afraid."
I almost forgot what it feels like to banter with someone without malice. Someone who isn't Pansy, anyhow.
"He sent a Healer to my father's home," Martin said. "He is now fully recovered, thanks to him."
"That's good to hear," Hermione said sincerely, though inwardly she wondered why Draco had gone to so much trouble when he hardly even knew him aside from the commission.
He did say they've hunted together before. She frowned.
"If I may be brutally honest, I'm inclined to decline again," Martin said in a whisper. "But I'm sure he would insist."
"I'm sure he would," Hermione said, then added. "Well, a friendly face at dinner would be nice, for once. I would be happy if you joined us."
Martin bowed. "Then it would be my honor, my Lad—Hermione." He looked down at his paint-spattered clothes. "I suppose I'll have to go home and change, as well."
"I think that would be best," Hermione said.
Martin nodded, then glanced sidelong at her as he took off his smock and folded it over his arm. He glanced at his watch and then looked at her, his eyes full of warmth.
"I think that's it for today." He stretched, rubbed at his face with his hand.
Secretly relieved, Hermione smiled. "Until tomorrow, then."
If Draco were there, she would have extended her hand for him to bow over and kiss, but he wasn't, and they were allowed to drop the pretense of titles and decorum.
When he was gone, Hermione crossed her arms and paced around the library, worrying her lip between her teeth.
Pansy and Lucio were still outside. She thought of joining them but decided not to, not knowing the reason why. She wound her way through the rows and rows of bookshelves, her light footsteps the only sound in the room.
I should have asked Martin to stay. Just to have someone to talk to.
He was always eager to leave. She didn't blame him, especially after what had happened earlier. She smoothed her hand along her arm, wondering if Draco had known or even sensed that Martin had touched her.
If he knew, he was probably furious—how quickly would he take action? She had to do something. Martin might be in danger, knowing Draco's temperament.
Pansy could relay him a message—Hermione hurried outside, to the back of the manor, scanning the expanse of land for where she and Lucio might have gone, but found nothing but trees and plants swaying in the gentle wind.
It'll take me forever to find them, especially without magic.
"Toffee?"
The elf appeared at once, bowing low.
"What does Mistress require?"
"Find my son and Pansy. Please," she added as an afterthought.
"They is left to visit the village, Mistress," Toffee replied. "Master has sent word with permission for them to go."
Hermione frowned. "Why has no one told me?"
"Because I just arrived, sweetheart."
Arms wound around her from behind her and Hermione jumped, feeling Draco's lips nuzzle along her neck.
"Thank you, Toffee, that will be all."
She shivered.
"Very well, Master." Toffee said, and apparated away with a loud crack that reverberated around the library, and they were left alone.
"You're here early," Hermione said.
"Things wrapped up earlier than expected," he said, but he didn't sound pleased.
He stroked her arm, right where Martin had touched her.
Hermione swallowed.
So he knows.
"I fell asleep while he was painting," she said. "He was only trying to wake me up. He didn't mean anything, Draco."
"I know he didn't," Draco said. He let her go and came to stand in front of her. "I don't like, however, that he forgot himself and thought he could touch you after the explicit warning I gave him."
"I'm not your property, Draco. He's only a friend."
"That's not what he wants," Draco replied coolly. "I've seen his thoughts. He wants much, much more."
Hermione flushed. "And I'm the one who's leashed."
Draco arched a brow. "I could do it to him, too."
"You can't own and control everyone."
At that, he smiled wickedly. "I could, if I cared. But you're enough for me."
Hermione stared at him suspiciously. "You think I'm attracted to him."
"I'm only taking precautions, sweetheart."
"You're unbelievable," she said, shaking her head.
"And you made a deal, dearest," he said, his eyes going cold. "Remember yourself."
She went quiet, forcing her expression into one of blankness.
She had forgotten herself. It was so easy, when he was such a bastard. Her anger was like a whip, ready to be lashed out. It was hard to reign it in, sometimes.
But I'll have to learn to do it if I ever want my magic back.
Her fists unclenched.
Draco had watched her the whole time, his eyes nearly glowing with pride.
"My captive bird," he said softly, brushing her hair from her neck. Hermione closed her eyes and felt the weight of her hair, the heat of it vanish from her shoulder. His hand came up again and thumbed away the neckline of her gown, studded with garnets around the collar. She knew what he sought, and tilted her head so he could get a better look at the old scar his bite had left on her flesh. He stared at it for a long while, never saying a word, and she knew that he liked seeing her dressed in such a deep red, that it reminded him of the blood he took from her. She bore similar scars in other places now, but this was the one he treasured most though she couldn't say why.
"Enchanting, captive little bird," he repeated breathlessly, his voice like the rumbling of the earth before a storm, "whom I dragged from the sky."
His hand curled around her neck now, cupping it, holding her pulse in his palm. Hermione forced herself to stay still.
"And now who sings sweetly in my bed and yet still trembles when I come near."
You say this, but it pleases you, she thought. It always has.
And so it was.
He's got an ego the size of a Hungarian Horntail, she thought with distaste. Remember you put this leash on me since you couldn't control me otherwise. You were afraid I'm stronger than you. Once this ring comes off, husband, I'll wipe you off this earth.
Still, perhaps stoking that ego now and then might work to her advantage.
If he didn't play fair from the beginning, then neither will I.
"Any creature would shake when a hunter approaches," she said quietly. "It would be unnatural for me to welcome your proximity when I know you could very well eat me if you chose."
"That I have, and will, often," he said with a half smile. "Only remember that you agreed to behave, Hermione. I don't mind your temper so much when it's only you and I, but when it's in front of others, the consequences will be harsh. I expect you to keep to it for your own sake."
He knew the look of bitterness on her face, and try as she might she could not conceal it.
"I know," was her stiff answer.
"Then greet your Lord husband as you should," he said, his voice strong like the crack of a tree trunk splitting in half, cutting into her heart. Hermione had no choice but to obey.
He had dropped his arms from around her—Hermione reached upwards to bend his head closer to hers and before she could give it any more thought she pressed his mouth to hers, not gently, just as she knew he wanted it. His lips were cold and pliant but still—she teased his tongue with hers, wove her
fingers through his hair, pressed her breasts against him. She let her teeth scrape against his lips—his hot breath rushed over her.
He received it like a king, remaining cool and appearing unaffected, but she felt him shudder under her touch, his breath coming faster. His hands remained frozen at his side, his eyes half closed, watching her through a dazed film in his eyes. Hermione was running out of breath again, she made to break away but he wrenched her back quite suddenly, his nails forming red crescents on her skin—she gasped and he gave her that second to draw breath before his hands grabbed her by the cheeks and he crushed their mouths together in a rough kiss.
As always, regardless of their agreement, there was the instinct to pull away, which she struggled against now. Having sensed it, he decided he wouldn't fault her for it, and that he rather liked it, as it showed her obedience. Draco smiled into the kiss, gave enough pressure to her lips to let her know he wanted her to open them, and she did, to his delight. He ignored the impulse to bite down on her tongue, and savored her taste like the richest, bitterest wine as he swept his tongue against hers. Her cheeks were flushed and pressed between his hands, his kiss sucked little whimpers from her. He bit her lip and she jerked against him, a muffled moan of pain escaping her throat, and he broke the kiss.
Face prettily flushed, hair askew and breathing hard, his prize took a moment to recover. Her warm eyes were unfocused, struggling with accusation, and Draco felt proud to look at her and know she was his.
She sensed his smugness and a flash of anger stole through her, which she had to ignore. Once there would have been hatred in her eyes, disgust too, but now there was only complacency. A hint of desire, too, unless he'd imagined it. Any hatred she surely felt was locked deep inside, and all for the better, he thought.
"Very good, kitten," he said, a curve to his lips.
She straightened and met his gaze.
"I'm glad to have pleased you, my Lord," she said woodenly, her ripened lips catching his fancy so much that he wanted to kiss her again just to bite them and make them redder, make her bleed. She knew his thought, and her eyes looked to the floor, a hint of fear and resentment in the tight line of her jaw.
Draco reached for her again and this time she stepped forth. He stood there holding her for a moment without speaking, her head nestled against his chest. His hand found her neck and his finger stroked her pulse point softly, and Hermione realized he was telling her to relax. Slowly, she allowed her limbs to thaw from their tense state. His cock was rigid in his pants—she felt it pressing against her and wondered if he would alleviate his desire then and there. Dread crawled over her skin.
"What would I be without my darling bird?" he asked softly. "How would I live had I never met you or even took you for my own?"
"You would still be a monster," she said, and his hand tightened around her neck but she knew he was not really angered by her comment.
He smiled. "McLaggen only wanted your body. With Potter, you would have led a normal, boring, unfulfilling life. Marriage, children, retirement, death. What could he give you that I can't give you tenfold?"
Hermione went still. "Don't say his name."
"You deserve more than what he could ever give you," Draco hissed. "I married you. I gave you a child. Everything that is mine is yours. We could hold the world in our hands if we wanted to. No one else could have given you that. Not even Potter, the Chosen One." He spat out the last two words, as if they were vile. "He was ordained. He was advanced, wasn't he? He survived through so much for so long, but what did he do with his power? His connections? Nothing. He was happy to sit back and let things happen. He could have made himself stronger. He could have made himself into something great. But he was too stupid and lazy to realize that, and he was too weak to protect you—I made sure he knew that before I cut him down."
"I never asked for any of what you've given me, you know that." She closed her eyes so she wouldn't see his expression turn to anger as she spoke. "Did it ever occur to you that normalcy was what I wanted?"
He kissed her deeply, and reluctantly, she opened her eyes.
He's trying to provoke me. It's working. She could feel the threads of her temper fraying again.
"Liar." His hands gripped her arms tightly. "You're too ambitious to have settled for him."
Her eyes flared with rage. "I loved him."
Swiftly, he backed her into a wall and pressed her to it hard enough to make her gasp, her back smarting with pain. She struggled and he gave her throat a warning squeeze.
Her breathing was quick, her eyes staring into his insolently, as if daring him to hit her.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked, his voice low and sharp.
She took in a juddering breath. "You."
He reached down and cupped her vulva roughly with his hand through her thin gown.
"Who fucks you every night until you're sore or screaming?"
A furious blush overtook her face. "You."
"Who gave you everything you have now?"
Her lip curled. "You."
"Now tell me again who it is you love."
"I love you, my Lord," she said robotically, after allowing herself a tiny pause, that one second of precious rebellion. "Only you."
Draco's face was so close to hers they shared breaths. She could see every marking and ripple in his pale irises. Her heart pounded viciously.
"I don't care that it's a lie," he said, after a moment, "so long as you never forget it."
She nodded, shaking in anger.
"You would have grown bored with Potter," he said, watching hate flare in her eyes before it was gutted by that empty complacency again, so as not to stoke his ire further. "He had no aspirations. He would have settled into anonymity after killing Voldemort. It was him that wanted a normal life, not you. You and I were made for a greatness he'll never know."
He reached forward to wipe at her tears gently. "You deserve an equal. Monster I may be, but I got what I wanted, and he's dead."
Hermione met his icy stare. "Even if my life was to be decided in that way, you and I know well that you didn't play fair."
He chuckled—Hermione shivered. "I couldn't risk losing to someone unworthy of you."
"And you think you're worthy."
Draco tipped her chin up to meet her eyes.
"I've proved I am."
He took a step away, and finally free from being pressed against the wall, Hermione followed suit, knowing it could only incur a more thorough punishment if she left the room, even if it was all she wanted to do.
"Potter couldn't hope to control you as I do," he said. "If he was such as you require then you would be with him now and you'd never have landed in my bed and become my wife in the same night. McLaggen wasn't worth your spit, let alone mine, but I killed him because he was insistent, and dared try to claim what I had already claimed and marked, for that matter."
"Harry never would have wanted to control me," she said through grit teeth. "He never would have locked and chained me up like this, like I'm some sort of helpless animal."
Or feral, a voice whispered inside her.
Hermione shut her eyes tight as he pressed his thumb into the scars on the crook of her voice had gone rougher than gravel. Every word shook her heart. Her lungs felt weaker the tighter he held her.
"I've killed for you. You've already killed me. Despite my cages you've managed to break free more than once. I've not been the perfect husband nor you the perfect wife but we complement each other in our hates and our lusts. You ensnared me, little bird, and I thought it only fair to make sure you could never take it back. You are the only witch who could ever be worthy of me and so you are my bride."
Hermione had heard some of this before. The other parts made her skin crawl. Draco felt this and drew closer to her.
Before she was able to control herself, her arms made to tear out of his grip. Draco reprimanded her swiftly—he whirled her around. Her back collided against his front. He'd used such force, Hermione gasped and stumbled. His hand came up to cup her jaw and forced her to tilt her head back and lean against his chest with her neck exposed to the cold air.
"Fear me," he whispered into her ear, his lips brushing against the soft thicket of curls at the nape of her neck. She was already shaking; both in fear and anger. Sweat welled up at her temples. He licked her cold cheek where the flush from their earlier kiss had fled. She barely repressed her flinch. "Hate me, so be it. Love me. Give me your will. I am yours and you are mine."
"I-" she swallowed; he felt it in his palm, paired with her pounding heart. He gripped her tighter.
She began to squirm against him, her ass unintentionally pushing against his groin, and his mouth curved into a smile.
"Don't fly from me, little bird. The more you beat your wings against me the tighter I hold you, haven't you learned by now? Your heart acknowledges your fear—never ignore it. Think ill thoughts of me, curse me as I make love to you, look at me through cold eyes and wish me dead, but never hide that fear from me. It is mine, and you have no right to keep it from me."
Hermione struggled harder. This was a sick game, one she was being forced to play.
"Let me go."
He never asked if I wanted to.
"It will take you time, sweetheart, I know it. I treasure anything you give me, even if I have to steal it from you. Be cold, be warm, I want everything that is you. I will be your servant just as you are mine. For you only," his hand left her rapid pulse, reached her mouth and traced the hollow of her throat. "I'm weak only for you. Therein lies your power."
Hermione closed her eyes.
His hand stroked her neck. He seemed content to stand there as they were; her neck still exposed and caught in his hand, bodies pressed close, his face buried into the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. Hermione, not knowing what to do, took his hand away from her throat, and kissed it. That pleased him immensely, and he let her go at last.
He adjusted his robes, smoothing them where they had become wrinkled during their interaction. Hermione rubbed at the back of her neck, where she could feel the ghost of his breath still hovering there.
"I want you to become more involved in my court."
Now that was a first. Hermione frowned.
"Why?"
"You're my wife, that's why. I want you by my side."
Lording over that group of vile, insidious people with Draco…she fought the urge to shudder.
"You said you didn't want to be kept in the dark anymore," he reminded her. "Take my hand, and I'll show you."
He extended his arm toward her. Hermione stared at him shrewdly, but his face was blank.
After another moment, she sighed.
She took his hand.
"Show me."
He grasped her hand tightly, gave her a level look. His other hand came up and tapped her on the hollow of her collarbone. A heavy, black hooded cloak materialized onto Hermione, a thick clasp securing itself over the spot he had just touched.
"We're going to apparate."
Immediately her insides began to twist.
"Where are we going?"
His expression was unreadable. "You'll see. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
He gripped her tight with his other arm, and turned on the spot.
They landed hard, but Draco supported her as she staggered.
It was humid and drizzling, wherever they were, but none of the rain touched them. An invisible shield surrounded them and she watched, intrigued, as the droplets of rain hit and slid off the bubble he had cast around them.
"Where are we?"
Draco's hands slid down to her waist, holding her gently. "You know."
She frowned at that, and stared intently at the green, mountainous landscape. It was beautiful.
And too familiar…
Her hands had gone cold, even though it was warm and dry inside their bubble shield.
That tree-line, those distant hills…
Her eyes travelled south, to the lake just beyond, almost hidden by thick forestry.
Tears welled in her eyes, so thick she could hardly see. She blinked hard and swallowed.
Draco's hand stroked her.
She turned, seeking the castle which she'd considered a second home.
At the sight of it, she let loose a strangled sob, and slid out of Draco's hold, falling to her knees.
"No…"
She felt him crouch beside her, placing his hand on her back. He rubbed it soothingly, his other hand warm on her shoulder. She shook with emotion, hiding her face in her hands, leaning forward while Draco held onto her.
They were a good distance away, and the site of their focus appeared on a smaller scale, but even from that distance, Hermione could see everything.
Hogwarts lay in ruins. The roofs were completely gone, so many walls crumbled, others with huge, gaping walls blasted into them, the top floors all sunken and bashed in by some extreme force. Windows had been blown out; even the courtyard had not been spared. The Quidditch field was gone entirely—she wouldn't have been surprised if it had been burned to the ground. Since the last battle that had taken place there, it had never been rebuilt, and lay in neglect, in piles of rubble. The Gryffindor towers had fallen, their bases the only parts that remained, looking very much like melted candles that were down to their last days. There, she, Harry, and Ron had become close friends, there, they had celebrated the winning of House Cups, Quidditch wins…there, they had slept in the Common Rooms, too tired to trudge up the stairs to their dormitories, they had argued over assignments and snuck food, and talked to Dobby and discussed their problems.
It all felt like it had been decades ago, even centuries, though it had been less than ten years. Looking down at it now, remembering everything that had taken place there, made her feel older than she was.
And it was gone.
The Great Hall, the classrooms, the library…
Of everything that had changed since she had been taken, this was the one thing she'd expected—no, hoped to stay the same.
Now she realized how foolish that had been, and how naive she had been all this time.
The only thing that had not changed in all those years was Draco.
The sobs wrenched themselves from her without warning, leaving her gasping and her nose running.
It had been so long…it shouldn't have affected her so deeply. All this time she'd stuck to the naive thought that it had been fine, just fine. That castle had withstood so much…apparently the war had been the final straw.
She cried for a long time. The whole time, she expected Draco to lose patience with her and drag her back up and back home. The rain kept falling and Draco stayed there crouched on the ground with her, consoling her, murmuring in her ear, but she heard none of it.
When the tears subsided she sniffled loudly, wiped at her eyes with her hands, and took a deep breath. Her legs were falling asleep underneath her and she was cold despite the cloak. She shook her head.
"I've dreamed of coming back here," she said, her voice raspy and drained. "I wanted it so badly…but not like this."
Not as someone's property. As a free woman, to finish my education. To say hello to people I haven't seen in years. To live my life again.
Draco sighed. "I'm sorry."
"You did this." She turned to face him and pushed him roughly. "I knew it. Was killing Harry not enough? Get away from me."
She tried to push him further away when Draco came closer, grabbing her wrists.
"Let me go!"
"You're allowed to grieve, Hermione," he said calmly, "but I had nothing to do with this. This was all Voldemort's doing."
She paused, staring at him in confusion.
"How," she demanded, her voice flat.
"He didn't know Potter wasn't in the castle. It had been evacuated by the Order, but he didn't know. He was tired of Potter hiding. He had the giants tear it down, and when they found nothing, he did the rest."
She looked at the ruins, her heartbreak written clearly on her face. Draco felt his heart stir.
"I'm going to rebuild it," he said, and she stared at him, her eyes incredulous, suspicion hiding beneath.
"For what?" She asked bitterly, a moment after. "So you and your followers can take over it?"
"I don't know yet," he said, and she scoffed.
"I want to go to it," she demanded. "Take me down there."
They apparated directly into the ruins. Draco tucked Hermione's hand into his bent arm and began to walk her around the dust and rubble. Huge slabs of stone and columns, large pieces of wood scattered the floor. Splintered furniture littered the ground everywhere. Glass crunched under their feet.
Hermione pressed her lips together, looking around, trying to discern what had once been amongst the remains.
"I know how much it meant to you," he said, squeezing her hand. "I'm sorry."
Hermione didn't reply to that. It had been years, and the ruins had probably been picked clean since, but fear of finding a corpse crushed under the debris gripped her. She tried to push it away, and tried to imagine what it had been like in the castle's final moments before being torn down like it was made of sand.
"After Potter killed Voldemort, and his followers were put in Azkaban, I knew I was powerful enough to kill him, but I bided my time," Draco began. "By then I had decided I wanted a child from you, and wanted to make sure my plans were foolproof. I broke Azkaban open, and took my former master's followers, and recruited more. I wanted Potter and his Order to believe that you and I had faded away somewhere, that we were completely out of reach, to get them off our trail for a while. I let them into our old Manor, to distract them while we went farther away. Let that guilt tear them apart while I prepared for battle." He stroked her hair. "They tried so hard to find you, little bird, but they didn't come in time."
"I infiltrated the school," he continued, his pale eyes sweeping slowly across the landscape. "It was during a holiday break, so there weren't many people there. I knew the second I stepped into these grounds they would come with their wands drawn, and they did. I knew they wouldn't be prepared. They hadn't expected me to choose this place for another battle, only a year after the last one. Potter challenged me. He said he'd get you back at any cost." Draco let out a laugh. "He attacked and then evaded me, the coward. He's good at dueling, but in the end, you saw what happened. You got there just in time."
Hermione tilted her head up to the sky, silently willing her tears not to fall.
"The moment they saw him go down, a good number of the fighters on their side ran off. We captured a few of them for information and killed the rest. I spared Longbottom only because of your interference. The Weasley girl and most of her brothers died, including the one you were closest to. I saw the half-giant Hagrid die at the hands of five Death Eaters. His brute dog went next. Everything was a blur."
"What happened to Neville after?" She asked, afraid of the answer.
"My spies tracked him as he fled to America with Lovegood," he said dismissively. "Last I heard, they went to South America, but I have reason to believe he came back to England five months ago."
At this Hermione stiffened.
"He's still looking for you," Draco said, turning to give Hermione an empty, mocking smile. "What devotion."
Hermione shook her head, wanting his words to stop.
"He's the reason we've been moving so frequently," Draco said. "I know you'd wondered why. They found a way to track me for a brief period—clever, but I found a way around it. We won't be moving again for some time."
He sounded so sure. Hermione wanted to tear out his throat.
There was one of the House hourglasses. It's large oak frame was on the floor, huge jagged glass shards lying around them. Draco steered her around it. She couldn't tell which house it had belonged to. All the gems that had once been inside it were long gone, taken by scavengers, likely.
"He and Lovegood have been building up a new resistance. A small one, but they're gathering resources, too. I haven't been able to find their hideout, but my spies have been working on that for some time. They keep coming here to look for something. I don't know what they want, but I put new wards around here so I can get to it, first."
Hermione took in a deep breath.
"What do you think it is?"
Draco shook his head. "Probably some relic Potter left behind. They probably think it can help them defeat me."
Hermione frowned. "What sort of relic?"
"I'm not sure. His wand, perhaps, or something else of personal value to him." He stepped around a large slab of stone. "Curiously, his wand did go missing right after I killed him. I was too distracted with you breaking into the battlefield to notice until it was too late."
"What would they even do with a relic?" Hermione asked.
Draco shook his head again, a snort of contempt coming from him. "I think they want to resurrect him."
The sound of the rain, the sound of his voice faded away. A loud buzzing filled her ears, and she stopped in her tracks, her face going white.
Is it possible? How?
"Don't worry, little bird," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, fixing her with a hard stare. "It's extremely unlikely that they'll be able to manage it. Not without his blood, anyhow, and I know for certain they'll never get hold of it."
"How…"
"How do I know?" Draco grinned. "I kept his corpse. Burned it myself, but before that, I took his blood. Every last drop of it. I had his body strung up in our dungeon for days, to make sure I got it all. I debated letting you come down to say goodbye, but I didn't think you would want to. Not like that."
"You don't get to make decisions for me!" She hissed, so sharp her teeth clicked together painfully. "Not anymore!"
"Of course," he said, his eyes gleaming. "But I reserve judgement for when I know what will make for a better outcome."
"Oh, god—" Hermione beat her elbow against the bubble. "Let me out, I'm going to be sick."
He motioned with his hand and at once the bubble was gone and the rain pelted them in full, falling cold and fast. Neither cared.
Hermione leaned over a pile of debris and retched, clutching her stomach. Tears blurred her vision.
"I destroyed most of it, the blood," he continued obliviously from behind her. His hand was on her back again, stroking to comfort, but she felt anything but comforted, shivering violently under his hand, wishing she had a dagger or that she could pick up one of the many heavy stones that lay around to smash his head in with.
"I kept just enough, though. A sort of trophy, if you will."
When she had finished, she wiped her mouth and let herself sink slowly down to the floor, wiping at her mouth and eyes. Draco spelled away the sick, and muttered another spell to clean her face. She sat limp against a pile of large rocks, not caring that it was uncomfortable. Draco came forward and knelt in front of her.
"You wanted to know," he reminded her gently. Hermione refused to look at him, but she nodded.
He was right. She had spent too long a time in the dark over the fates of her friends, of the world at hand. She supposed she had wanted to shield herself from more sorrow, but she had known there would be casualties. She regretted ever having asked.
Forgive me, Harry.
Ron was gone. Ginny was gone. Who else? She couldn't bear to ask. She would find out in time. This was already too much grief for one day. She could feel it tearing her in two, right down the middle.
He had killed her friends and family. He might not have been directly responsible for the destruction of Hogwarts, but he could have done something to prevent it.
And this whole time, she had done nothing else but warm his bed. Unwilling it may have been, but what else had she done?
All this time, I should have been doing something more.
Self-hatred bloomed inside her, crawling up her spine, even as another voice spoke up within her.
You did what you could. Don't torture yourself. He's had you so restrained, what else could you have done? You found ways to escape. You saw Harry and the Weasleys one last time and gave them all the information you could. You saved Neville's life. If you hadn't, there wouldn't be a growing rebellion now. There's still hope, small though it might be. There was only so much you could do, considering what you were facing within these walls.
A minute passed, and then another, as she felt her strength return. Draco waited patiently. He reached out and brushed the wetness from her cheek with a finger. She was shivering, pale, wet. Drops of rain dripped from her nose and trickled down her lips. Inside, her heart ached fiercely. Hermione finally met his eyes.
Detached concern was etched across his face. His hair was wet through with the rain, and plastered to his head, but he looked beautiful as ever. He blinked the rain from his eyes. He wiped the tears from the other side of her face.
"Is that enough for today?" He asked quietly.
Hermione tilted her head back and took a deep breath.
"No," she said. It took effort to speak. "I want to know everything."
Draco had never shown himself to be a political man, like his father, but as he went on, he revealed he had ties to everywhere and everyone. They had been gained through either bribery, a genuine personal connection, or blackmail. Hermione found herself surprised to hear none of this.
"When I need a favor, they're always more than willing to oblige," he said matter of factly as they continued to walk, Hermione pale and withdrawn, he, looking and feeling as though he was taking a normal promenade with his wife. "I don't involve myself too heavily in their doings unless it's something that affects us."
"Like what?" Her voice was dead. All emotion had left her, for the time being. She felt empty. Hollow.
But my body feels as heavy as if it were filled with cement.
Like the rain and his words had flushed the energy from her body.
Draco thought for a moment. "There was an inquiry at the Ministry some years back, to look into falsified and incorrect documents, and have them investigated. There's nothing wrong with our marriage certificate, but seeing as it doesn't bear your signature, I had that fixed and tucked away from prying eyes. The Minister himself won't be able to touch it, if under threat of death or impeachment."
"You're very thorough."
"I have to be."
He raised the bubble back around them, and instantly they were dry and warm again. He took Hermione's arm carefully and helped her up.
"Let's go home," he said, stroking her cheek.
When they Apparated into their bedroom, the bubble burst with a quiet pop, and Draco undid the clasp on her cloak, sliding it off her shoulders. Hermione stood there, unresponsive and numb.
"Frankly speaking," he said softly, "I am more powerful that the Minister. He is independent, but if I strolled into his office tomorrow morning and told him to execute half the magical community, he'd do it without asking questions." He gave her a pointed sidelong glance. "Keep that in mind if you're ever seeking anyone to help you."
He rubbed his hands along her arms, as if sensing her numbness. Hermione stared through him. Draco turned her around and undid the zipper of her gown, helped her out of her shoes, and when she was nude, he pulled the covers back from the bed and eased her into it. She turned on her side, hugging herself, facing away from him.
"Voldemort was weak," he said. "He only needed one Horcrux to gain immortality. Because of his fear and greed, he made seven, and that took so much of his power. He was still powerful, but not as much as before he'd tried to kill Potter as an infant. I'm no fool. I won't make seven."
Goosebumps erupted over Hermione's skin.
She felt him climb into bed behind her, as nude as she was. His arms wrapped around her. She felt his erection pressing against her. She closed her eyes briefly.
Harry, forgive me.
After everything she had heard that day, the absolute last thing she wanted was to fuck the man that had caused her so much pain, but if she was going to end this all, she couldn't do it without her magic.
If I want to get free, I have to start acting as soon as possible. No matter how hard it might be.
She turned around with some difficulty, and took his length in her hand, and began to stroke.
Draco groaned softly, lying flat on his back.
Hermione brought herself closer to him, used her other hand to play with his sac.
Squeeze it until he begs for mercy. Until it bursts and bleeds.
He chuckled, pushing his hips into her hand.
"If you wanted your magic back this badly," he said his hand traveling down between her thighs, "you should have just done all this from the beginning. It's not so bad, is it."
He curled his fingers inside her for emphasis. Hermione wanted to claw his eyes out.
She let him go abruptly, pushing his hand from her thighs and turned away again to the far side of the bad, drawing the covers up to cover herself.
"If you wanted affection so badly, you should have fucked your mother rather than rape me," she retorted, the words coming from her mouth before she'd even had time to stop and censor herself.
She regretted them immediately.
This is going to set me back to square one, she thought, hear heart racing, waiting for his retaliation, for his hand to grip her throat, for his slap, anything. His hand had paused it's ministrations inside her, and he had gone still.
She waited, filled with dread.
To her shock, he laughed instead.
A/N: Please review!