A/N: Back again! Now back to the important stuff – naked men and bath tubs. :)
My lovelies I stand in awe of all the love I've been shown. As such, here's a bonus chapter. More reviews = more love = more writing. And we all like more writing, especially with a naughty Draco coming up just for you, ladies. :)
-Elvee
Snatch
Chapter Seven
"Life is not always like chess. Just because you have the king surrounded, don't think he is not capable of hurting you."
-Ron Livingston
Hermione sat at the scrubbed wooden table for a long time that afternoon. She honestly hadn't counted on Malfoy being anything other than what he seemed to be: the son of a bigoted and violent man, every bit as committed to the same beliefs and methods as his father. When she was drawing up her plans it had been so simple. Draco Malfoy had been a known quantity.
Except now he wasn't.
For the past hour he'd been over on the bed sighing in an obvious attempt to get her attention without getting smacked with another silencing spell. Her eyes flicked to him. He was staring at her, his face passive. She ignored him. Again.
Her plan was perfectly reasonable, perfectly logical, and completely rational. And it was going to crumble. She just knew it. She also knew the weak point in this room wasn't shackled to the bed. Yes, the variables had changed, but that didn't make him any less of a loathsome little ferret. He'd just been downgraded from sadistic killer to bully. That was a hell of a miscalculation, and she was furious with herself for not seeing it sooner.
Just for something to do, she pulled the leather journal out of her bag and thumbed it open lazily. Lo and behold, Professor Snape had finally decided to grace her with a response:
How is the dog?
She was furious! He dared write her back now? Well that was a fine kettle of fish! She had to figure out a way to let him know what was going on with Lucius and Narcissa. There was no telling who would find the journal on his end. He wasn't nearly as isolated as she was. She'd have to try code and pray he'd understand.
He lived. How is his master?
Sadly, the golden hound you had your eye on has started to pick fights with a much larger, much more feral dog. The noise from their fights might reach a point where it bothers the neighbors this week. So there is that to look forward to. The pup I brought in last week is out of danger, but I'm still concerned for the bitch.
That was as much as he'd get from her now. She started to close the journal, but stopped short when she saw a reply scribbling back on the page.
His master is passing fair and sends his greetings. As to the golden hound, what will be, will be. He is uncommon clever, as you know, and it would be sad to lose him, but as you are so fond of reminding me, there are other dogs. I will ask around to my friends to see if we can come up with any ideas to improve the bitch's condition.
Good enough. They were going to try to get Narcissa out of Malfoy Manor. And, she blushed, the love potion had no effect on him. She'd done what she could for the moment. With a satisfied smirk she stuffed the journal back in her beaded bag.
"What's the smirk for, Granger?" She had almost forgotten about Malfoy over in the corner. With nothing else to do, Granger watching had become his new hobby.
"I just realized it's time to take a blood and hair sample from you," she said with an evil grin.
"No way, Granger! Are you cracked?" Blood and hair were powerful magical components. Hair, for example, was used in polyjuice potion whereas blood could be used for all manner of powerful healing, defensive warding and dark spells of terrible power. Some of her own blood was in the Magicaine balm she'd made to treat his Mark.
"I wouldn't ask for it if I didn't need it, Malfoy." She planted her hands on her hips looming over him, impatience making her eyes roll.
"You can't have my blood!" He yelled.
"Think about it logically, ferret. I could have done anything I wanted to with you by now."
He smirked, "True. Not even my gorgeous naked body could corrupt St. Granger." He began to wiggle on the bed, making the blanket ride lower and lower.
She swallowed unconsciously, then snapped. "Stop that!" She reached over and pulled a few hairs out of his head.
"Hey! No fair! You weren't supposed to take that without giving me an incentive." He whined.
She rolled her eyes, "Fine, what do you want in exchange for," she counted the hairs, "three hairs?"
He pretended to think for a minute, then roved his eyes slowly up and down her form. "A kiss."
"What?!" She shrieked.
"Each." He smirked.
"Malfoy!" She raised her wand, "Stup-"
"Wait!"Yelling, he flinched. Her eyes narrowed, but she held the spell. When it failed to hit, he opened one eye and tried again, "How about a bath?"
"Fine. After dinner." She uncorked a vial and held it to his shackled forearm, siphoning a small amount of blood from his vein. When she was done, she quickly cleaned and healed her incision.
"Now about the blood..." He began with a smirk.
Without warning, she bent over and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. It was awkward. After all, he was talking and she just swooped in and covered his mouth chastely with her lips. But she did give him firm contact long enough to startle him into silence. She pulled away quickly with a smug look on her face.
"St. Granger, my arse," she laughed. The shock on his face was enough to keep her warm while she went out to attune the wards.
Her general protection and anti-apparition wards were a tangled knot of complex magics, but just in case Malfoy got loose and stole her wand, she had to be sure he wouldn't be able to get off the tiny island. This was what she was using the blood and hair for.
As she went to each of the cardinal directions on the island to cast the incantations, her mind kept drifting back to his lips. They were softer than she ever thought possible. If he ever stopped talking long enough, he'd probably be a pretty good kisser. Not that she had much to compare it to, of course. Just Viktor. His lips had been chapped and rough. Come to think of it, so were his kisses.
St. Granger, she thought acidly. Yes, people probably did think that way about her. Little did they know, she wasn't a prude at all, she was just very choosy who she chose to put her lips on. She wanted to really care about someone before diving headfirst into embracing. Well, until now, that was.
Horror struck her. She'd jut kissed the ferret.
She consoled herself knowing it was to beat him at his own bloody game, to take back control. In the end though, it didn't really matter why she had just kissed him, because the fact remained she had done it. For the second time that week she tried to spit the taste of Malfoy out of her mouth. This time it just took her thirty minutes to remember to do it.
Wiping her mouth against her sleeve, she cast the last incantation, expecting to come back inside only to find Malfoy had ripped apart the mattress with his teeth or something equally juvenile. Surprisingly, everything was quiet, including Malfoy.
Malfoy was quiet, yes, but he wasn't tired of Granger watching. Something was different now, though. His eyes held something undefinable as he watched her, something darker. She ignored him until she was forced to feed him dinner.
As she spooned soup into his mouth, he studied her silently, as if he was trying to figure something out. Hermione, however was all business. Fill spoon, put in his mouth, pull out, repeat. She held her concentration in that tight little circle, careful not to think about the way his tongue greeted every bite she offered, careful not to watch his pink lips curve around the spoon and especially not to make eye contact with those questioning gray eyes. When he was done, she briskly wiped his mouth with a napkin and banished all the dishes to the sink.
"Dobby!" She called and with a crack, the elf appeared, doffing a tasseled lampshade instead of a hat.
"Yes, Mistress?" He bowed low, the fringe and tassels of his lampshade dragging the ground.
"You remember Mr. Malfoy?" At the elf's frightened nod, she continued kindly, "Mr. Malfoy is no longer your master, Dobby. You are to ignore anything he says and follow my orders. Please bathe Mr. Malfoy without unbinding him. Change his linens then secure him back to the bed. Please call me when you're done, and I'll give him his potion."
With each word, Dobby stood straighter, empowered by her instructions. With a snap of his fingers, the tub moved to the center of the room and filled with steaming water. With another snap, Draco was unceremoniously vanished from the top of the bed, only to reappear a few inches over the water. He dropped in with the splash of a killer whale. In a few moments, Dobby had one foot on his shoulder, the other on the edge of the tub, scrubbing him roughly with a long handled wooden brush singing pirate songs in a rowdy, cheerful squeak. Draco cursed loudly.
Once Malfoy's bed was changed, the small inland sea in front of the stove vanished and the tub scrubbed to gleaming, Dobby was dismissed. Hermione checked Malfoy's shackles and tucked the blanket around him.
"Granger?" He said softly as she was covering his feet. "That letter you had the other day, was that for Viktor Krum?"
"Maybe. Why?" Her hands slowed their fussing and she turned to look at him.
"He took the Dark Mark two months before I did." He looked away, down at a very interesting spot in front of the stove. "I just thought you ought to know." He mumbled.
She stiffened and sucked in a breath. The love letter was a fake, but she still thought of Viktor as her friend. They still sent letters back and forth, right up until she came to the cabin with Malfoy. Her eyes darted all over the room as she tried to make sense of Viktor being a Death Eater. After a long moment, she said softly, "Thank you."
He met her eyes then and gave her a slow nod.
Numbly, she changed for bed and brushed her teeth. She fell into bed, letting the tears track quietly over her cheeks onto the pillow. Viktor was a friend. He wasn't like them. There had to be a reason. An hour after she'd turned out the lantern she called softly into the dark, "Malfoy?"
His whisper came through the velvety blackness between them, "Yeah?" It was gentle and sleepy.
"Did he volunteer?" She whispered, holding out hope against hope.
Across the room Malfoy blew out a long breath, "Yeah. Yeah, he did."
Something cold twisted in her chest. The only boy she'd ever kissed was a Death Eater. Correction: the only two boys she'd ever kissed. She'd lost so much to this damn war already: her parents, her friends in the Order and now her childhood sweetheart. Merlin, the hole was just too big for tears to fill it, but they kept running down her face anyway.
"Why did you tell me?" she said into the darkness.
"You deserved to know."
After a long time when sleep refused to come, she slid out of bed and summoned two glasses from the kitchen. With a sniffle, she reached into her beaded bag and poured two stiff shots of fire whiskey. She padded over to Malfoy's bed and pressed a glass in his hand. They drank slowly in the faint glow from the stove. When her tears had dried, she took his glass and banished them both to the sink.
She kissed him on the forehead, smelling the whiskey on his breath, and whispered in his ear, "Thank you."
In the morning, Hermione went through the motions, feeding Malfoy breakfast and supervising him through his chores. She gave him a fresh pair of boxer shorts, partially for the work he'd done, but also for respecting her privacy and not asking any more questions.
The morning chores complete, Hermione would usually read or knit or write in her journal. This morning she sat over her cuppa staring unseeing out the window over Malfoy's bed. The tears hadn't filled the hole from last night. Neither had the fire whiskey.
Finally, Malfoy's first complaint of the day poked into the silent gloom, "Granger, I'm bored. Don't you have a pack of cards or a chess set or something?"
"Not now, Malfoy." She was so tired. It was like swimming against the current. It never ended. It had been years of fighting this maniac and all Hermione seemed to do was lose more and more of those she loved.
"Com'on Granger. My brain is rotting to mush over here," he whined. "One game."
"Fine, one game. Then will you leave me alone?" She huffed.
"Wizard's honor." He raised his right hand as if he were holding a wand.
She rolled her eyes and pulled a travel chess set out of her bag, setting it on the table. She went through the motions of getting Malfoy out of bed and shackled to the chair across from her. His left hand was given a longer shackle so he could reach the board. She levitated the blanket over his shoulders and they began to play.
"Jeez Granger! Who in Merlin's name taught you how to play wizard's chess? A book?" Malfoy asked in disbelief from behind a towering pile of white pieces.
Her temper was flaring and her face was flushed with the embarrassment of not being able to save that last piece. "No. For your information, Ron taught me," She snipped, fingering her mealsey two black conquests.
Malfoy laughed and rolled his eyes, "Figures." He easily slid a knight into a square threatening two of her white pieces. She picked up a piece to move when suddenly Malfoy coughed. She made to put the piece down. He coughed again. She picked it back up.
"Need water, Malfoy?" She said, flustered at the interruption.
He feigned innocence. "No."
She tried to put the piece down on another square. He coughed. She gave him a glare and put the piece back to it's original position. She picked up another and tried another move. He coughed. "Malfoy!"
"Granger, look at it logically. If you move your knight here, my queen will clobber him. If you move your bishop there, you put yourself in check. You can't even do that! It's an illegal move!" After watching her mounting frustration for a moment, he turned the board around so she was playing his black pieces and he was playing her white pieces. "Now, pay attention."