Hello folks! Just a quick note to clear a few things up. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, I'm glad people like it. Firstly, this is a Draco/Hermione story…it just takes its own sweet time and has a couple of deviations. But never fear, I'm a die-hard DMHG so that's the only way its gonna be, no matter what it seems like (plus Lucius and Hermione is a little bit creepy, but that's how its meant to be in this story). Secondly, 'Miss Madison' is a name that Charlie called her. The name Madison is from an old black and white movie but I can't remember which, and its just his way of showing that he could see she grew up. The reason Voldemort knows it is because Madeleine and Petrus were there waiting for her, I realise I didn't explain that at all. But basically he's just mocking her with it. Ron and Harry haven't come looking for her yet because they're in school and they haven't been able to, seeing as the majority of this story is still set in the 6th book and they're underage and have a plethora of adults bossing them around still.

I think that's everything, so I hope that clears things up. Thanks again very much for the reviews. Istalindar

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Draco, although shocked by the girl who sat on the windowsill, so blank-eyed and still that she didn't even look at him, wasn't surprised. He'd never seen the girls his father had broken before, Lucius had made sure of that. But Blaise had seen one of the girls Zabini Snr had done. And he said it'd given him nightmares.

This was the stuff of nightmares.

She was pale, all the colour gone from her skin. She was so skinny as to be weightless, and a tray of food sat untouched at the table next to her. No one had touched her hair for days it was so matted, and her eyes were blank, as though she were empty. Like someone had taken her soul out of her and left the husk.

So this is what happened to the thralls when they were discarded. Draco felt sick.

He turned and quickly locked the door behind him, using warding spells learnt both at home, at school and in the restricted section of the library that he wasn't supposed to visit, and then quickly crossed to her side, perching on the edge of the seat and taking her face in his hands.

"Hermione. Hermione!" He called, trying to get her to focus on him. She was too far gone, her eyes on him but her gaze far, far away. Draco closed his eyes, and gently pushed into her mind.

He didn't like occlumency. As his father's son Draco had been trained in it as soon as his young mind could take it, or as soon as Lucius judged it could. But the training had hurt as Lucius forced his way into his young son's mind, moulding it and teaching it, pushing and pulling it into the optimum shape. Thanks to his mother's much more gentle and subtle teaching, his mind hadn't been destroyed. But forever after he saw occlumency as a violation as bad as rape, with equal consequences. Pushing into Hermione's mind like this went against everything he had ever though about occlumency.

But he was going to lose her if he didn't. And he was damned if he was going to let his father take the one girl in school who was smart enough and bold enough and brave enough to stand up to him and turn her into a zombie.

Her mind opened to him easily, so easily in fact that he knew his father had been here. And the evidence was everywhere. Had it been visible, Draco could have imagined Lucius' influence as a silver-grey sticky web draped over everything, tainting it. Within Hermione's mind, the web would have been everywhere.

All she was thinking of was Lucius. Replaying over and over little images, memories of them in her mind. A lot of them Draco didn't want to see. He didn't want to see those memories and watch his father play the same cat-and-mouse games he played with every woman except Narcissa, because Narcissa was more often than not the cat at the end of the day. One with claws.

Draco delved deeper, searching for Hermione behind the lovesick shell on the surface. The metaphorical gummy web of Lucius' influence held him back, obstructing his way in. Draco didn't want to push: too violent an entry could tear her mind, hurt her in ways Lucius had yet to touch on. But he slipped through the gaps in Lucius' web, descending into her dark mind.

And suddenly, he found her. A tiny glowing spark, a chip of amber, glowing in a velvety dark. She was so fragile, so tiny and weak that Draco was afraid to touch her. Was afraid to bring her up to the surface where it was cold and bright and filled with Lucius. He reached out to her and the glow dimmed, and he jerked back. She was afraid. She had retreated into this dark part of herself where she was slowly dying, and she feared the intrusion to her mind. Draco hesitated, unsure. If he'd been Potter or Weasley, it would have been easier. She trusted them, they were her friends. Those three had bonds beyond friendship, because of what they had faced together and knew they would face again, together.

But Draco wasn't them. All he and Hermione had behind them was years of fighting, bitterness, competition and cruelty. Except for that time he kissed her to free her from his father, however momentarily.

That might do it. It would have to, it was the only good memory the two of them shared.

He brought it to the forefront of his mind but didn't push it to her. Just did what Lucius had told him never to do and opened his mind completely, no guards, so she could see it and decide whether she wanted it or not. The spark brightened, and Draco hoped it meant she was looking, or at least interested. It brightened still further, and then, suddenly, she stepped into him.

It was chaos. Because of the openness of his mind she had full access and because he was so deep in hers he did too. The memories were flashing and blending together, her childhood and his, her life at Hogwarts, so different from his, blended together. Until, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.

Draco recognised the memory they were in. The only non-confrontational memory of them both he owned, as far as he knew, and he knew she had it too. In the library, nearing the end of fifth year, only a month or so before she disappeared. The library itself was empty apart from them both, and they ignored each other. He had better things to do than start something and she wasn't going to start something if he didn't. He remembered this memory.

This was like being in a pensieve, only slightly different, as he could see her, and he knew she could see him.

"Hermione?" He asked softly. Her head jerked up from her book and she met his gaze. She frowned, suddenly confused to be there.

"Malfoy?" He stood slowly.

"Hermione, you have to listen to me." He said slowly and calmly. She frowned further, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

"Why are you talking to me like that?" She asked.

"Do you know what's going on?" Draco asked. He prayed she'd say yes.

"Of course." He sighed in relief. "We've got a potions exam tomorrow morning. We're studying, because it seems we're the only ones who care." Draco stared in horror. The last thing he wanted was for her to get trapped in his mind, because it meant he was probably trapped in hers unless he wanted to risk pushing her out. Then she shook her head.

"Déjà vu." She said. She rolled her eyes. "Isn't it weird? I got the strongest déjà vu."

"We're in a memory, Hermione." Draco said. "Like a pensieve."

"Visitors can't talk to people in pensieves." Hermione said laughingly. "So either you're wrong, or we're both visitors. And that just doesn't happen. Because I remember this, so it must be my memory."

"You remember this?" Draco pounced on that. "But if it's a pensieve, and your memory, you can't see me. If it's my memory, seeing as I was here too, then I can't see you. But you already remember it, don't you? It's not déjà vu, you can remember." Hermione stared at him across the table, and he could practically hear her brain working. Unlike her male counterparts, you could always rely on Hermione to think through something, especially when presented with a problem like this one. Draco was pretty sure she enjoyed them.

"I remember." She said slowly. "But not a pensieve, because you're here and I'm speaking to you. Which is weird as it is." She added with a quick smile. "Do you remember?" He nodded, and she frowned, biting her bottom lip as she thought. Then she shook her head. "I can do some research." She rose and Draco grabbed her wrist.

"I know the answer." He said quickly. "But you'd have to trust me." She smiled, gently extricating her wrist from him.

"Malfoy, you've never given me any reason to trust you." She said, not unkindly. He nodded.

"I know. But please, it's kind of urgent."

"Malfoy-"

"Think about it. We're in a shared memory, together, as active partners. That poses problems."

"Because you're in my mind and I'm in yours." Hermione said slowly, understanding. She met his gaze. "That's horribly dangerous." She chided.

"Not so much as other stuff you've done." Draco muttered. He held out his hand. "I know how to get us out, but you have to trust me completely, and you can't change your mind or you could kill us both." She hesitated, looking at his hand as though it were some trick. And then she lifted her chin defiantly, and laid her hand in his, cool fingers closing tightly.

Now she was here, that tiny spark beside him and trusting him, he could raise her up. Very slowly, he extricated her from the darkness of her head. But when he came to Lucius' web, she faltered.

Hermione. He said into her mind. You have to trust me.

I can't get past. She replied, and he was relieved to hear her sounding so healthy. This is how he locked me out in the first place. You have to get rid of the influence, then I can get past. He hesitated. Leave me here, and get rid of it. He gently released her, watching to ensure she didn't fade and fail back into the darkness. She stayed, glowing steadily just under the grey net.

Don't touch it. I'm going to try and get rid of it. Trust me. He said.

I do. With her simple admission, Draco passed the web, and in the main part of her mind, where the repeating images of her and Lucius still played, Draco tried to tear at the web, but didn't succeed. Lucius was well-established and didn't look set to be moved. Draco wracked his brain, trying to think of something. All he could think of though was the spark under the web, waiting for him. Trusting him beyond the limits of anyone trusting him before. He tried to think. How would a Thrall be thrown off a person? He looked around the main part of her mind. There were the images everywhere, and an air of resignation. Just like she'd been last time he was here, when he challenged her relationship with his father, and she'd replied at least she was Voldemort's pet. She hadn't understood then, what this would be like. So he'd kissed her and-

Of course. He'd kissed her and the thrall had lifted. It made sense. Replace Lucius with someone else and Lucius' thrall would be broken.

Trust me. He said again. There was no answer, and he hoped that was because the web blocked her out. Then he gently extricated himself from her mind, sitting back from where he'd been leaning into her, their foreheads together.

He released her and walked around the room a bit, grounding himself. Anyone who did divination, even for a short time, knew that people who didn't ground ended up as batty as Trelawney. When he felt solid enough, he returned to her side, lifted her chin, and kissed her.

She didn't kiss back, she was as blank as before. But there was a spark, teeny tiny in her eyes, that faded as soon as he pulled back, barely giving him a glimpse. So she was in there, and it was working. Just. He kissed her again, and again and again, as deeply and as thoroughly as he could. This had to work.

He was close to giving up when her mouth moved under his and he pulled back to stare at her. There was a faint spark in her eyes.

"Draco?" Her voice was faint, from lack of use or from weakness of presence he didn't know. "More." Draco grinned, leaning in to kiss her again, his tongue at her lips pushing from entrance. They parted and he cupped her head with his hand, holding her to him. Her other hand jerkily grabbed his, and he stopped, shocked, when she pressed it to her breast. The spark in her eyes was fading already.

"Draco…please." She whispered. "More. Not Lucius." He nodded, leaning in to kiss her again. He'd been right, replace Lucius and his thrall would be gone. And while he'd admit to no one that he'd had fantasies about her in that uniform, he'd never envisaged something like this. "I'm sorry." She said against his mouth, still kissing him. "This isn't fair."

"No." He pulled back and framed her face with his hands, pressing kisses to her cheeks and nose and forehead and eyes. "Thrallage is not fair. This is my gift to you." He kissed her again, sliding off the windowseat and bringing her with him, supporting her against his body when it seemed her legs wouldn't hold her. He carried her over to the bed and laid her down, not breaking contract with her mouth. He slowly undressed her, helped by her slow shaking hands that pushed first at hers then at his clothing until they were naked. He brought the bed covers from under her and pulled them over the pair of them, lying against her, his mouth wandering from her mouth, down her neck towards her chest. One of her cold hands rested on the back on his head, encouraging him.

And it struck him that this might be the most meaningful sex he might ever have.

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He woke to find her watching him, still curled against his chest the way she had been when he fell asleep. The spark was back in her eyes now, and he realised with a pang of regret that it had been gone for a long time, even at Christmas. She smiled and leaned over to press a chaste kiss to his mouth.

"I want to thank you." She said quietly. "For finding me." He gave a half-smile. "And for bringing me out. And throwing off his thrall."

"Are you sure it's gone?" Draco asked. She raised one eyebrow. He hastily backpedalled as he realised his innuendo. "I don't mean it like that. I just…I don't want to see you like that again."

"Draco, I never knew you cared." She said with a badly concealed smile. He shook his head, all humour gone.

"I wouldn't want to see Potter like that." He said, the seriousness of his words silencing her. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

"Is Harry your worst enemy?" She asked quietly. Draco looked at her quizzically, and she explained. "In terms of Hogwarts, perhaps he is. But the big picture…Draco, you've worked against your father, against Voldemort by pulling me out. It's what Harry would have wanted, would have tried, if he'd been here. You worked with him."

"Are you saying I'm a white hat?" He asked wryly. She shrugged elegant, if bony, shoulders.

"I'm saying you made a decision." She said, and paused, then met his gaze. Her bronze eyes burned into his. "And while I will always, always be grateful to you for that decision, will you be able to live with it?" She hesitated, then continued. "If Voldemort ever finds out, he'll kill you. If Lucius doesn't get there first." Draco shook his head.

"You don't know it, but I've made failsafes." He said quietly, raising one hand to push a knotted curl off her cheek, his thumb crossing her skin. "Plans. To protect me and mine from when this comes crashing down. Dark Lords never reign forever, Hermione, and this one is past his best, I think. The time is come to stop dwelling on some glorious past that likely as not never happened, and start thinking of a future which will." Hermione bit her lip and smiled, before pushing up to kiss his cheek beside his nose.

"You were always more remarkable than Lucius." She said quietly. "Always more of a wild card. You never declared for one or the other." She smiled. "You might not care but I'm very proud of you. You turned out better than I could have hoped." Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You had hopes?" He asked with a grin, raising onto his elbow and leaning over her. She grinned.

"Yep."

"About me?" She giggled as he leaned forward, brushing his longish hair over her face.

"Yep."

"Really." He ducked his head and kissed her hesitantly, not sure if she was okay with this now that she wasn't in thrall anymore and could actually think of something other than Lucius. To his surprise and delight, she curled one hand around his neck to pull him down to her, opening her mouth to his. He pulled back gently.

"It means something." He said softly, unsure of what he was getting out or if this was even the right time. "That you cared, that you hoped I'd be better. That you're proud of me."

"I am." She whispered. "More than you can imagine." He grinned, leaning down to kiss her again.

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When she woke again he was gone, though there was a note barely sticking out from underneath her pillow. When she opened it, it was very brief.

Thank you. And you're welcome.

It was somehow very Draco, concise, to the point. And touching, despite its simplicity. Hermione smiled.

It was strange, being free of that bloody thrall. She could think for herself. She wasn't mooning over Lucius Malfoy of all people. How the bloody hell had that happened?

She supposed it had been very slow, from the beginning. Helped along by a touch of Stockholme Syndrome. Like Draco had said, she automatically felt Lucius was her saviour when he yelled at Madeleine and rescued her from the dungeons. Then it could have been the contact when he reset all her broken bones, his soft conversation about the fallability of the pureblood supremecy theory. That could have been, and probably was, the start. Then…the gifts, the bracelet, the clothes. The attention. She followed after him like a puppy to a generous master, and she supposed that was exactly what she had been. And the occlumency classes…that was the worst. She'd asked for those, and probably taken the thrallship from him with a smile by doing so. He was in her mind, whenever he wanted. He was so much stronger than her, he could have been in her mind every night all night, dropping tiny hints, laying the groundwork to have her devoted to him.

She'd been such an idiot. And it was only thanks to Draco's…whatever, that she'd been saved at all.

She didn't understand Draco. While part of her, the dippy, born-blonde romantic part, wanted to believe it was because he cared about her, the more skeptical, realistic, born-to-survive part said it was something more. He'd saved her…why? To spite his father? To spite Voldemort? To put her and her friends in his debt? There was something in it for him, she just wasn't sure what. After all, he'd risked a lot. Not only Voldemort's wrath and that of his father, but the act itself was extremely risky. Reaching that deep into her mind could have killed her and trapped Draco. The melding they underwent when she accepted his offering of the memory of that first kiss could have killed them both or trapped them in each others mind. Hell, even the splitting, when he left her below Lucius' influence might have hurt them.

It was very, very risky. And he'd done it. So what was in it for him?

Not that it really mattered. She doubted she'd see him again any time soon, which simply left herself to think of. Somehow she had to replicate the thralled wraith that she had become, and somehow make a believable comeback. She couldn't get out of here in the state she was in: she was weak and had suffered muscle degradation while she'd been pining. She'd been out for three months, give or take a few weeks. She needed to recover slowly, say two weeks, before she began walking around again. She'd say she was fighting to get him back. It did mean that she'd have to throw herself at him, but as long as she could do that without him discovering she was free, she'd be alright. She'd grit her teeth and bear it, because the only way she was getting out of here was if she was stronger, clear-minded and giving the impression that she wanted nothing more to fawn at Lucius' feet.

The thought made her sick, and she swallowed.

One of the biggest problems was the thrall itself, and occlumency. When in Draco's head, when she accepted the memory of the kiss, part of what he had noticed was when he kissed her, the thrall was pushed back and she was free, however briefly. That meant that the thrall was visible in her eyes, which meant that Lucius and/or Voldemort would be able to see it, or the lack of it as the case may be. Then, of course, was the problem of occlumency. She was still a fairly new occlumence, not an expert or even a practised novice by any means. Lucius and Voldemort were both accomplished, clever and determined occlumences. They'd see in her mind in an instant that she was free and that Draco had done it. That wasn't something she could allow: the last thing she was going to do was let Draco take the fall. And she didn't want to fall back into that black chasm of her own mind either. So.

Problems.

Hermione quietly dressed and settled herself on the windowseat, staring out at the now green countryside and thinking hard.

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She saw Draco one last time before he headed back to Hogwarts. It was only brief, but it was enough. He knocked and entered like he usually did, crossing to where she stood by the window and kissing her briefly.

"I'm going." He said. "Back to school. But I promise you, I will get you out of here." She nodded.

"Draco, can you-"

"I can't talk to your friends." He cut her off. "You know I can't. They'd only do something stupid and get you all in more trouble. Just trust me. I'll get you out. I promise." He dropped two books on her bed. "These are for you. They will help." He paused, looking at her pale face and perhaps he could see the longing in her eyes, to leave and be free.

"Soon." He promised.

"I trust you." She said quietly. He smiled.

"I'm glad." He kissed her again, this time more thoroughly, before pulling back and kissing her forehead, then turning away and striding out the door. That was it. He was gone, back to the school where she should have been except for this stupid trick of fate.

Still, he gave her a kind of strength. He hadn't forgotten her, and he hadn't abandoned her. And he was going to help her to get out as well. The books he had left on her bed were on occlumency, in his own handwriting. They were more like journals, notes from when he learnt, ways he learnt to protect himself and strike out. They would help her against Lucius.

The cynical part of her spoke up again, asking what he wanted in return for such a favour.

Hermione didn't know. That was the thing with Draco: you never knew at what price his favours came. But you never really knew anything about Draco. Not what side he fought on, not his reasons for what he did, and not to whom his loyalties lay. It made him an exceedingly dangerous person, easily more so than his father.

After all, Lucius you could trust to side with Voldemort and therefore be one of the 'bad guys'. Draco you just couldn't trust.

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Time was moving on, ever more swiftly now that Hermione could again think for herself. She spent her days reading and thinking and plotting, trying to figure a way out of this. Despite Draco's promise for help, she wanted to have backup plans. She didn't doubt him, she just…

It wasn't that she didn't trust him. Because she did. After what he had done to go into her head and bring her out again she would probably always trust him. She just didn't know if he could figure out how to beat Lucius. Not that she thought she'd be any better, it was just that if she messed up, then she wouldn't have anyone to blame but herself.

Another thing to distract her was that she was summoned again by Voldemort. She was dressed in her customary rich black, and again Lucius accompanied her to the meeting. She knelt, she bowed, she scraped and she muttered praise for the Dark Lord under her breath. And through it all she felt Voldemort keep a sharp eye on her. And at the end of it he merely commented to Lucius:

"She's stronger than you think."

But because she was still skinny, because her legs were still weak and she used a staff, because she didn't look Lucius in the eye anymore or she sniffed pathetically whenever he spoke to her, Lucius didn't believe the Dark Lord. Or at least he didn't take notice. Hermione was always especially careful these days to keep her occlumency walls well up, not to let him in even for a second. At night when she slept she would go to sleep repeating techniques in her head to keep him out in the vain hope that it would when she was asleep. She just didn't know, and without her wand she had no way to protect herself other that with her own mind.

She didn't sleep well, anymore. Her dream, the one where she chased the rubies, appeared every so often, and sometimes it was Gemma alighting from the carriage and sometimes it was Voldemort. Other times she dreamt of Draco, of the feeling of surfacing from a deep black sea as he kissed her. Very rarely did she dream of Lucius, and what they had. It had been reduced to nothing in her mind now, and anytime she remembered it, which she did as little as possible, it was with contempt and disgust.

Hard to keep from the blonde man, but possible.

And now that he seemed to go through mistress after mistress, without recognition of Hermione's mere presence in the house, Hermione was free to do as she liked as long as she didn't push the boundaries, as long as she didn't act too much like her old self.

It was hard, now that she was getting healthier again, to act weak and lovesick and forlorne when in fact all she wanted to do was hex the man into oblivion and then kick his spell-ridden corpse.

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