Chapter 1: The Vow
...9 months to D-Day...
Hermione Granger suffered the sort of inherent nosiness that almost always got one into trouble. She was exceptionally clever, she knew this to be so, but there was something by way of caution that had been lacking in her genetic makeup. Particularly when it related to curbing an urge to indulge the aforementioned nosiness.
If this weren't the case, she would have ignored the temptation to follow a remarkably shifty looking Draco Malfoy down Knockturn Alley on that fateful day. She would have continued past the entrance to the dingy and dark turn off. She would have left Diagon Alley, her newly purchased books in tow, and Apparated home for a rare night of reading and relaxation.
Naturally, however, she did none of these things. She was highly conscious of what had happened the last time Malfoy was spotted lurking suspiciously down that alley, when she had disregarded Harry's very, in retrospect, valid concerns about him. She decided then and there that she was not going to allow for a repeat of that mistake.
This was the justification she employed for what was simply a desire to catch the horrible git up to something untoward. After all, she was very much aware that he, being a reformed Death Eater on extended parole, was liable to be flung into the depths of Azkaban should he be caught in any further illegal activities. And whilst she was not a Law Enforcement Officer, she was a Ministry employee and as such felt honour bound to see what he was up to.
Hermione lingered at the mouth of the alley and watched as he moved, blindingly bright like a beacon for her eye, through the strands of shadow that fell upon the stonework. Despite her very good intentions, she found as she crept further into the darkness of Knockturn Alley that the all pervasive sense of unease made her want to forget the whole thing. She was brave though, and ever so altruistic when there was a cause to be furthered.
This, she decided, was most definitely a cause.
The alley was surprisingly empty for this time of night. The grey light of dusk was darkening to an inkier hue, and generally this meant happy hour for the veritable minefield of creepy individuals that frequented its stone walkways. Hermione was rather grateful for this fact, given her disinclination to encounter any of those sorts of people.
She sped up, her small feet making very little noise as she moved in the shadows following Malfoy's path. He was easy to distinguish, even from a distance, because of that milk white skin and the pale gleam of his hair. Her breath caught as he stopped ahead and turned to cast a cursory look around him. She pressed firm against a nearby wall, not daring to draw breath.
It was moments like those that reminded her just why she didn't wear fussy coloured robes on most days. Perhaps it was an innate tendency toward sneaking about under an invisibility cloak which had been cultivated in her youth. In any case, she rather liked to blend in with the crowd, or as was the case now, with the murky environs. It made eavesdropping on unsuspecting, though very much deserving, witches and wizards all the more achievable.
Malfoy clearly decided that no one was aware of his potentially devious behaviour, as he pulled out his wand and muttered a very obscure incantation. Though she could not hear the words on his lips, she could read them in the framing of his mouth. He immediately swept inside the revealed door way with a swish of his excessively billowy robes.
Hermione had assumed when she first spotted him loitering at the mouth of the alley that his intention was to visit that most sinister shop, Borgin and Burkes to procure dark objects as was the tradition of his forebears. She knew that he would be in hot water if he was found with any sort of dark artefacts in his possession.
She was all the more curious now, and perturbed, because wherever he had gone, it was not Borgin & Burkes. Nor was he meeting a friend for tea and crumpets. Surely he wasn't involved in some sort of Death Eater retrospective, she thought. Hermione had seen the trials, and felt confident that whatever sort of deviant the man was, he would never go back to that.
After taking a deep breath, she whipped her wand from the folds of her cloak and inched toward the door. Just a quick peak, she thought. No harm, no foul. Harry, of course, would have an absolute fit if he knew she was loitering around here. But that was rather hypocritical, given his own misadventures of the same sort.
She whispered the same strange words that Draco Malfoy had before her, and when the door opened of its own accord, she slipped into the darkness. It was within the unlit passage beyond that she began to think about how very stupid her plan truly was. She had no inclination of what lay ahead or what was lurking in the darkness with her.
Hermione swallowed in horror. She wouldn't dare cast a lumos spell for fear that she'd be spotted. With that borne in mind, she stretched her arms out and felt the crumbling brick work scrape against her fingertips. The passage was less than a metre in width. It led to a room not far beyond. She knew this because a narrow strand of light was afforded from beneath the door.
Well, she thought, she had come this far. It would hardly hurt to have a very quick glimpse at the sinister activities beyond. After that she would be able to summon the proper authorities. Her resolve firm, Hermione pushed her sleeves up and crept toward the light. She cast a rather nifty revealing charm on the heavy wooden door, so that it would show what lay beyond without giving away her location. One of the very many skills she had acquired after years of the aforementioned eavesdropping.
Her sharp eyes did a quick inventory of the room. It was a fairly small, occupied primarily by a large round table at which were seated all manner of devious looking people. In fact, upon closer inspection, she was fairly certain a goblin and two hags were amongst the motley crew. Most peculiar, she thought. The table was stacked with bottles of Ogden's finest, mounds of galleons and... cards. Self-shuffling playing cards, at that.
With a roar of triumph, a very drunk looking man of questionable hygiene reached into the middle of the table and scooped the golden coins toward him.
Illegal Wizarding poker, Hermione realised. She had read an article about underground tournaments in the Daily Prophet only a month prior. The activity, though harmless compared to her initial suspicions, was banned by the Ministry and punishable by exorbitant fines. Unless the person caught was someone with a criminal record, someone on extended parole. Someone like Draco Malfoy.
She cast her gaze around the room in search of his pale and obnoxious self. Hermione finally spotted him in the far corner of the room, partially obscured by a buxom looking woman who was moving sinuously about his lap. She yelped in shock. He was draped over the chair, being entertained, and barking out orders to the people at the table. It was bad enough when she thought he was participating in the underground activity, but that he was clearly the orchestrator meant he had a one way ticket to Azkaban.
As she watched, the girl with little clothing was thrust unceremoniously from his lap. His gaze was hard as it burnt into the door. Hermione had a suddenly very nasty feeling he'd heard her. Absurd thought, really, given quite how raucous his companions were.
Swallowing, she moved backwards with as much haste as possible. One hand slipped into her robes to extract a small vial, she always kept one to hand, and raised her wand to her temple. The fluid silver strand of memory barely had time to fall into the vial and be tucked away before the door was flung open.
She was tucked against the doorway to the entrance, not daring to open it because she felt quite certain she wouldn't get out in time. He closed the opposing door quickly and they were once again draped in darkness.
"Who is there?" The tone was malicious. She licked her dry lips once more and gripped her wand more firmly. She was just about to make a very brave statement, or stupefy him, when she felt breath against her hair and a wand at her throat.
Her heart dropped.
"Granger... you weren't spying again were you? I'd rather thought you Gryffindors had grown out of that nasty habit." His breath rushed against her and she gasped in shock.
"How did you-" He interrupted her swiftly.
"Stealth was never a strong point of yours. That and the smell of self-righteousness currently lingering about. Gave you away completely."
Prat, she thought.
"Well you looked suspicious... and I do work for the Ministry... I could hardly let you wander off." Her tone was very authoritative, for which she was grateful. It was hard to be appropriately snooty when a wand was pressing against one's pulse point.
He muttered something, and light burst from the tip of his wand, now held away from her. She was startled by the very immediate proximity of his face to hers.
"Helping the helpless, Granger... your ministerial job relates strictly to removing happy creatures from their homes. It does not extend to harassing civilians... but then that was always an extra service you provided, wasn't it?"
He sneered and she glared.
She tilted her head as best she could in the confined space. "What you're doing is illegal... I could have you reported, your freedom revoked. So really, I think-"
"Don't you dare attempt to threaten me." His gaze narrowed and the wand was back in the vicinity of her throat. "No one's being hurt. You want me sent to Azkaban for that? Or is it because of some latent desire of yours to punish me for picking on you?"
"For goodness sake, Malfoy-"
"Grudges aren't pretty, Granger."
He pressed closer and her breath left her. His gaze, ashy and piercing, burnt across her retina. His nose brushed hers and his jaw clenched.
"I'm just doing my-"
"Job, right? Fine. What will it cost you?" She blinked then and he leaned back to survey her. She swallowed, and pulled in the air afforded by his no longer alarming proximity to her.
And then his words rang clear and Hermione spat in response. "I can't be bought!"
"Everyone can be bought, Granger, when you dangle the right enticement. How's your job going, by the way? Not much success from what I hear... not enough funding, perhaps?" He shrugged eloquently.
Her eyes glowed in anger at the audacity of him, at his sheer corruptness. She shoved him, at which he looked quite affronted, and then she raised her own wand.
"I don't need your money, Malfoy. You're despicable..."
"Indeed." He tapped a pale finger to his chin. "Pity, though, about those poor defenceless house-elves. Terrible shame you can't get the support you need to help them... are too proud to put them ahead of your all pervasive sense of self-righteousness."
She hated him, truly she did. She hated the way he manipulated people, the way he was trying to manipulate her. Mostly she hated the fact that he phrased it quite like that, as though it was her fault that her ventures were thus far unsuccessful. And she really hated that she was even considering what he was saying.
"I need to think," she said. And she did, because she was sure that with some clarity she would come to the right conclusion. Hermione needed to assess a situation, wasn't one who came to swift and uninformed decisions under duress. This, most assuredly, counted as duress.
"Excellent idea. You can ponder this whole saga in all its glory at the Manor."
She spluttered. "Er, what? No!" She coughed again. "I meant that I need to go home... alone... to think."
He laughed. It was a low and deep sound which did strange things to her stomach. Repulsion, she'd later call it.
"Granger, you don't actually think I'm letting you out of my sight, do you? Not so clever, perhaps."
She was just about to pelt a suitably scathing response to that when she felt his firm grip on her wrist and the sudden pull behind her navel.
She landed in a heap of graceless limbs upon the white pebbled path before a vast black gate of elegantly intertwined wrought iron. Malfoy was standing, frustratingly un-dishevelled, only a foot away. A look of irritation and amusement, at her expense, lingered across his features as he surveyed her.
"I can see your knickers from this angle, Granger... do please adjust your robes." Red heat flamed her cheeks as she made to cover every exposed inch of flesh and scrambled to her feet.
"You could not!" She huffed, and glanced about. The denseness of black sky was littered with small pearls of starlight. They revealed the exceptionally large house atop the hill, barely to be seen over the intimidating gated entrance. "Your house, I presume? How dare you drag me here against my will?"
"Never trust someone who wears red with the frequency that you do. It's a solid piece of advice I've not forgotten. And in any case, we're here to wait, remember?"
She huffed and, as covertly as possible, tried to brush errant lint from her robes. "These gates suggest you're trying to compensate for something." He turned to cast a disparaging look at her.
"Malfoys compensate for nothing. Think on that a while, Granger." He swiftly grabbed her wrist, to which she let out a yelp, and yanked her toward the gate. "You won't get through otherwise, and I'm not leaving you alone."
He walked directly through the black gates, which dissolved like smoke to swirl around their bodies as they entered. Hermione was loath to admit it, but she found that particular brand of magic rather fascinating.
"Stop looking at my gate, Granger. In fact, try to avoid looking at, or touching, anything."
She yanked her hand away from him and rubbed the tender skin of her wrist. Although she held no fear of particular harm from him, she wanted nothing more than to escape the sinister sumptuousness of the Manor grounds. In fact, she wanted to escape Wiltshire and everything Malfoy related altogether. She harboured very bad memories about this place.
He cast her a side-long look which seemed to suggest he hadn't forgotten either.
"I'd have thought there'd be a thestral-drawn carriage to bring you the hundred metres to your door. Heaven forbid the Malfoy heir dirty the sole of his shoes by actually walking." She pressed her lips together to keep from grinning at the mutinous look on his face, and the thrill at getting a shot in at him. She was clearly coming back to herself.
"If you don't shut up, I'm going to feed you to the peacocks." His tone was sinister but she burst out laughing nonetheless. When she cast her gaze around she saw them, blindingly white and prancing across the lawn. A very Malfoy-like prance at that. Well-trained, she thought.
"You have peacocks!" She laughed again. It was a serious predicament she was in, but only the most severe sort of person could not find amusement in the sight of them.
"Yes," he said, his tone dry. "And they, like all Malfoy residents, eat Muggle-borns for breakfast. So if you please..."
She was quite puffed out by the time they reached the grand building. The walk was steep and she had slipped on the smooth white stones that paved the way on more than one occasion.
The door, like everything else about the house, was vast and grand. It seemed completely absurd to her that a household of three people would require quite so much living space. Malfoy stood still as the door slid open to reveal a small house-elf that she later found out was called Mufty. The little creature greeted Malfoy with the kind of quivering reverence that Hermione immediately narrowed her eyes at.
"Careful now, Mufty." His voice was stern and the small creature watched, riveted. "Miss Granger is liable to knit you a hat at any moment. If she does, you know what to do."
Mufty, eyes now wide with horror, nodded her head most gravely. Hermione ignored this and smiled kindly at the house-elf. She received a very alarmed look in response.
"This way, Granger. Do try not to indulge your rampant curiosities while you're here. I want this matter settled satisfactorily, and you gone, as soon as possible."
"I wouldn't be here now, if you hadn't manhandled me like a cave man." The look he shot her seemed amused, but he was absurdly difficult to read.
"Good grief… what the devil is a caveman?" He shuddered visibly, and she took in the vision of his horror with great delight
She followed him across the highly polished mahogany boards, eyeing the lush draperies and gilt-framed paintings as they passed through various corridors. Finally he opened a door, revealing a small – relative, based on the size of everything else – sitting room. It was ablaze with the glow of flames from the hearth which immediately thawed her chilled skin.
"Sit," he told her promptly, before he moved to the corner to issue two fingers of amber liquid from a decanter into a crystal glass. He offered her one, which she vehemently declined.
The whole thing was almost civilised.
He sat then, the glass held by the tips of his fingers, and he gazed at her. The warm glow of the fire suffused his cheeks, dancing across his pale skin. She licked her lips and fidgeted in her seat. The silence grew thick until he finally spoke.
"Well?"
She furrowed her brow. "Well, what?"
"Have you decided to take up my generous offer of assistance?"
Oh, she thought. This was the time to say no, and storm out of the house with gusto. Except that she kept thinking about the crystal glasses, ermine pillow dusters and the peacocks. In a very twisted sort of a way, it seemed appropriate that some of this wealth should go toward helping others. That it should be Malfoy money going towards house-elves in particular really tickled her fancy.
She was going to say no, had every intention. But she had one quick question.
"How, er – how generous... exactly?" The grin that unfurled across his features was positively indecent.
"Obscenely so." He poured another helping, celebratory this time, she supposed.
They hashed it out then, the finer points. It rather felt like doing a deal with the devil, and when he said he had to have complete assurance she'd never breathe a word, she laughed. Didn't he know she would never let it get out that she'd gone in cahoots with him? Her intentions may be good, but she knew it was off the beaten track, especially for someone of her perceived moral standing.
Yet another personal sacrifice for the betterment of others.
"Just one final wrinkle to smooth out, then." He clicked his fingers, which incensed her beyond belief, and Mufty appeared before him. The little creature cast a weary glance her way.
"Master?" she squeaked.
"Fetch my mother." Without haste, Mufty disappeared with a crack in order to do her master's bidding.
"What on earth?" she asked, jumping to her feet. The last thing she wanted was anyone else involved in this tawdry affair.
"You don't really think I'll just trust your word, do you?" He got up gracefully and wandered over to her. "I need some insurance."
He was standing very close to her, enough to make her eye him wearily. This turned out to be completely justified, when he gripped both sides of her robe and tugged her toward the solid heat of him. Her nostrils flared at the scent of his skin, and his very unwanted nearness. One hand gripped her waist and the other slipped beneath the fabric concealing her clothes underneath.
She gasped and tried to push him away, to no effect. She gasped again when an errant finger brushed the underside of her breast through the fabric of her jumper. He raised a brow at that, his mouth quirking in amusement. He stepped back then, removing his hands from her body, and she noticed immediately that one held the small vial of silvery liquid.
He grinned, clearly impressed with himself, and twirled the vial with his elegant fingers. "You won't be needing this," he said and he threw it into the hearth without a second thought.
She swallowed, a little uncomfortable in her skin, the strange touch of his fingers like a brand on her. It disconcerted her to know quite how good he was at all of this underhand business, and how well he'd read her.
"Don't touch me," she muttered. He seemed about to make some insulting remark before a noise behind them caught his attention.
"Draco," the word was uttered in a soft and relatively high voice, ringing clear with aristocratic self importance. Hermione turned to glimpse Narcissa Malfoy, who entered the room with the slightest of sounds.
She seemed to glide, like liquid rushing along the floor. Hermione noticed that the other woman didn't even spare her the briefest of glances, as though she was nothing but a speck of unseen dust on the floor.
Draco pressed a smooth kiss to the white skin of his mother's cheek and turned to Hermione. "Mother. We have a situation."
Narcissa Malfoy's arctic gaze, so very like her son's, rested upon Hermione with a look of such disdain that made the latter feel rather like a lump of wood, which was probably in line with the older woman's estimation of her.
Malfoy told his mother, quite succinctly, and without any remorse, of what had happened and their newly devised arrangement. Whatever her thoughts on the matter were, she didn't let on at all.
"I see," she said instead. Hermione couldn't really establish what it was she saw at all.
She reached into the swath of elegant fabric to extract her wand, and gestured to her son. He moved forward, before Hermione could object, and clasped her wrist, using his other hand to shape hers so that her fingers were wrapped around his own.
Her eyes widened as Narcissa Malfoy whispered cool words, and the chilled feeling of intangible cords began to creep around their joined wrists. She had never agreed to the Unbreakable Vow. Malfoy's stare was daring as it bored into her own wide gaze.
This, she supposed, was his insurance. The benefit for her, of course, was that it would guarantee no one else uncovered her part in the whole sordid affair. Although she was increasingly beginning to wish she had stayed away from Knockturn Alley to begin with.
"Do you swear to hold true to the bargain struck tonight?"
"I will," were the words that fell from her lips and his.
"Do you swear to keep every aspect of this arrangement a secret?"
"I will."
"Do you swear to take every measure possible to prevent the truth from being uncovered?"
"I will."
The tongues of magic wrapped more firmly around their hands, binding the oath to their very souls. It was a magic that scared her because of its finality. She could scarcely believe she had performed it with him of all people.
Narcissa pocketed her wand and turned to look at Hermione. "You have what you want now, I suggest you leave."
Her eyes flew wide at the insinuation behind the words, and she was about to retort when Malfoy gripped her upper arm and dragged her away. She cast her gaze over her shoulder and noticed his mother sweeping from the room.
"How dare she say-"
"Don't be rude to my mother, Granger." He glared at her and thrust her from his grip toward the fireplace.
She didn't need to be told twice. Hermione had never been more eager to leave a place or person in all her life. Her fingers gathered a scoopful of the magical dust and threw it into the fireplace and in a burst of green flame she was gone.