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CHAPTER 2: Drumming Song

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid…because I'm not myself you see."

-Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

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It would be an understatement to assert that Draco Malfoy was having a rough year. Over the last year, his life was hollow and generally filled with madness. Things were not looking good for him, or good for his family.

Frist of all, he came close to being murdered sixteen or seventeen times in the past year including, but not limited to, being incinerated in the Room of Requirement, hexed to death in the Battle of Hogwarts and, his personal favorite, as a result of his actions in the astronomy tower, being subjected to hours' worth of the Cruiciatus by the Dark Lord himself. But amidst all these close calls, Draco Malfoy had still managed to save his own skin.

But that didn't necessarily mean that life couldn't get worse.

Because it was. His life and his family continued to fall apart as, the inky black scull that graced his forearm grew darker and more ominous.

Everything in his life had been ruined since he became a 'real' Death Eater, but he couldn't tell anyone about it. He was supposed to be happy that he was given the huge responsibility of killing Dumbledore, but the fucking-big secret was that he wasn't happy with the task. He actually wasn't even happy with himself.

Honestly, since that fated night in the tower a year ago, he had been questioning what being happy even meant. But of course, he couldn't tell anyone about that either. It seemed like such a feminine and trite thing to be occupied with, not simply because it was a time of war, but because Malfoys didn't discuss those sort of matters aloud.

There was an unspoken agreement in the household that everything was always fine and everything was always going to be fine.

That's just how it was.

Regardless, the blond Slytherin's parents were a bit…tied up, during the weeks leading up to the Battle for Hogwarts. With the Dark Lord occupying their manor as his headquarters and likewise using every free opportunity to further emasculate and humiliate his father, there was no place for Draco among any of these complicated undertakings.

So he did what he knew best: stayed out of everyone's way unless necessary. He had been doing that sort of thing his entire life; with his parents as a child when they became occupied with something more interesting than him, with Pansy Parkinson when her sexual advances became predictable and irritable, and during his last year at Hogwarts, when the weight of what he had been chosen to do became so unbearable that the thought of human company made him feel physically sick.

He didn't want to piss off the Dark Lord any more than he already had, and he certainly didn't want to be called for any more missions. There is only so much failure that one man could take and still be able to look at himself in the mirror.

And at times when he felt at his absolute lowest, he would sit at the edge of his bed, and his mind would somehow find its way to the dying Dumbledore's last words to him the year before.

…I can help you.

Come over to the right side, Draco…you are not a killer…

What if he had accepted the old loon's proposal and joined the ranks of all the people he was taught to hate, and the cause which he was supposed to believe was futile?

It would mean having to deal with the Dark Lord's rage and working with the fucking dead-brain Gryffindor threesome along with the pauper Weasley clan.

But at least he wouldn't have to be here, in the manor, living under Voldemort's thumb and constantly having to battle that seemingly immutable hollow feeling.

When thoughts like this invaded Draco's mind, he always caught himself before they went too far, and then quickly chided himself for becoming such a pansy in the past year. No fucking way he was going to skip out on his family. No fucking way. Anyways, he made a silent decision that there would be no more lifestyle changes or undertaking of massive responsibilities on his part.

If his side came out of the war successful, he would take care of his mother, marry a nice pureblood girl and live somewhere peaceful and quiet. It seemed like a simple enough plan to Draco.

But unfortunately, things were never simple when they came to the Dark Lord.

So he really shouldn't have been all that surprised when he chose Draco for what he did.

But just like when he was assigned to murder the Hogwart's headmaster, Draco was completely shot off-guard by how quickly the Dark Lord could make a decision that would alter his life, and ultimately change his plans.

And Hermione "mudblood" Granger was certainly not in Draco Malfoy's plans.

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"Lucius! Bring the boy!"

Draco's mouth went dry.

His mother let out a loud gasp next to him and clamped a dainty hand over her chapped lips.

His father, who was shaking to Draco's right, gulped nervously and looked conflicted for a brief moment before allowing fear to get the better of him and began moving forward.

When he realized that his wife and son's feet were both planted firmly to the ground behind him and were not following his lead as he had presumed, he turned sharply and grabbed Draco by the sleeve of his robes.

"NOW," Lucius hissed at them, his eyes almost resembling the old version of his father, a man who was in control of family, in control of his life.

Despite the fact Narcissa looked stunned and nauseated, she blinked back tears and quickly used the back of her hand to wipe sweat off her forehead.

"Come Draco," she whispered, placing a warm hand over the back of his elbow and giving her son a reassuring squeeze.

Though he detested admitting it, there was something about his mother's soft tone in times of great trouble that helped Draco calm down when his emotions were skyrocketing. She was not the perfect mother, perhaps not even a competent one, but she understood him to some degree and in that moment, she was the only person who could have got him to start moving his feet.

The family began their uneasy stretch to the front of the mob of dark wizards whereGranger's levitated form and the Dark Lord were waiting.

Draco fought to keep his eyes down in order to avoid the looks of disapproval radiating from his fellow Death Eaters. He was afraid they would be able to see his fear played across his ashen features and that they would be able to gauge any sign of weakness.

When they finally reached the front of the crowd, Draco's head had begun to throb, and the fear of the Dark Lord's sick intentions suddenly hit him with unparalleled force.

Dammit.

This was not good.

Sure Potter was dead, and it was very likely that the Order was finished for good, but he couldn't understand why the Dark Lord wouldn't just kill the mudblood. Though he hated to admit it, she was one of the Order's most brilliant members, and she was probably the most likely out of any of the survivors to find a way to put the fallen organization back together. Keeping her alive would only create trouble for the Death Eaters.

But on the same note, Draco could not help but admire the Dark Lord's intuition when it came to deciding the punishment for her. If any female on the entire planet was designed to be a…well, concubine, to put it nicely, it was Granger. She seemed the sort of independent, bookish, asexual person who would abhor that kind of thing and wouldn't even know what to do with herself in such a position.

But of course, the reason that made Draco the most uneasy was the fact that Voldemort had given the girl to him of all people. First of all, the Malfoys had presumed that in the 'New Wizarding World Order' all people of tainted magical blood would be hunted. Keeping the mudblood around would not exactly be in line with all of those plans. Secondly, and most importantly, Draco could not do what his leader asked him to do, for the second time, because the thought of even breathing the same air as Granger made him feel queasy, and the possibility of touching her made him feel like vomiting.

This was not in his plans.

As he thought these things over, he felt a burning urge to look up at Granger. It was spontaneous and foolhardy, yet too powerful to refuse. As soon as he did it, he regretted the impulsive move.

All of the emotions he had been trying to shield from the world were written across his face, and in the instant that he met her blank brown eyes, he realized that she had seen them all: the anxiety, the pain, the sorrow, the confusion, and even the disgust. He reluctantly realized that this was the first time in the past year, if not ever, that another living soul had seen what he had been hiding behind his mask.

She had seen all of him.

And he didn't like it one bit.

Just as quickly as he looked up at her, he averted his grey eyes and met Voldemort's silts before he could even process what had just happened between him and the mudblood.

Lucius bowed before him nervously.

"Well," Voldemort started, smiling again. " I think that Mr. Malfoy should take the girl. This goes without saying that he owes me a private debt for hiscataclysmic failures," he paused while the crowd roared with laughter.

Draco felt rage bubble in his chest and a sudden urge to pull out his wand and hex Voldemort. He was then reminded that his wand was currently laying a few feet away on the ground next to Potter's dead body. There was no getting to it without passing through Voldemort.

Wonderful.

"From what I hear, Draco, she isn't exactly fond of you. Odd, though… you're such a … charming," at this he sneered, "young man. No matter – I've chosen you for the honor of exacting the perfect revenge against the mudblood: forcing her to serve her worst enemy as a slave for-"

"My Lord," Narcissa choked, her words rushed and whispered. "Draco isn't exactly fond of the muggle-born girl either, so maybe it would be wise to allow someone else to do the…err…honors?" She squeezed Draco's elbow tighter. "And obviously," she lowered her blue eyes in order to watch her words carefully.

"There is the question of blood. It wouldn't be proper for him, at such a young age, to keep a girl around for such a thing, especially one who had such close ties to Potter and comes from such an unclean background."

Voldemort stared at the nervous witch briefly before yet smiling again.

The Death Eaters behind the Malfoys broke out in laughter and Voldemort broke into a lopsided smirk. "Narcissa, he is not a little boy anymore! Don't be in denial about him. I have some very reliable sources that tell me he has a propensity for scouting out many pretty girls at Hogwarts, and I can assure you, Mrs. Malfoy, they don't go out knitting together."

Draco felt his face flush and the urge to harm his leader became stronger then ever. For some reason, he didn't like the thought of him announcing his sexual conquests in front of all the Death Eaters, in front of his parents…in front of Granger, even though he was pretty sure she was only half paying attention to the entire conversation.

That was none of their business.

"This is not a punishment! This is a reward! To your family for staying true to me even when Severus Snape found that simple task undoable," Voldemort continued. "What growing boy wouldn't want such a pretty girl locked up for pleasure? However, in light of your reservations about the girl's blood, I herby make a new decree!"

"From here on out, beasts and magical beings of less-desirable blood including mudbloods, centaurs, and half-breeds, can be kept as slaves for wizards of superior blood or members of my following and may be used for any means thepure wizard or witch deems necessary. The undesirables must first all be registered, then, after they prove themselves human enough to be accepted as slaves, they can be assigned positions by us as to their punishment."

The entire crowd applauded at their leader's first established law as ruler of the 'new' Wizarding World, yet Draco remained still.

He realized that his mother was not going to be able to talk him out of this one.

"Are you satisfied now Narcissa?" Voldemort asked, lowering his wand and moving closer to the unsettled blonde witch. "Does that answer the question of blood? I'm not asking him to marry her just have a little fun with her, and he will only have to keep her for a few months. And then when she is driven mad, we will be sure she is laying next to her friends on the ground there."

The crowd let out a surge of laughter so loud that Draco felt the urge to slam his hands against his ears.

If he thought he felt like vomiting before, he was certain that he would now.

Hurting another human being in the way the Dark Lord expected was completely foreign to the Slytherin, and doing that to Granger of all fucking people, seemed impossible and sickening.

"My Lord," Narcissa started again, understanding what was expected of her son, her voice shaking, "Are you sure, there is no other way to punish the girl? Draco would be happy to torture her-"

"NO!" the Dark Lord yelled angrily. Everyone in the crowd knew this emotion well. He had reached his breaking point. "Don't you understand? I am not asking you to take her. I not giving Draco a choice! I am telling you that she is his until I feel she is sufficiently punished for her deeds and ready to be disposed of! Do I make myself clear, or does one always have to threaten your family with death to make you lot competent?"

"My Lord," Lucius suddenly came alive. He had been quiet the entire time due to fear and bad standing with Voldemort. "I think what Narcissa means to say is that he will be very honored to take on the responsibility. Draco will be sure to make her remaining time most …uncomfortable." He then bowed embarrassingly low before Voldemort.

Draco almost scuffed. He was damn sure that this impending situation would be much more than 'most uncomfortable' for both him and Granger.

Voldemort looked considerably less agitated. In a swift move, he reached up towards Granger's floating body and clasped her pale face in his hand. She looked like a rag doll, limp and weak with no control of her limbs. Though the dark wizard pushed Granger's face uncomfortably close to Draco's, her eyes did not meet his for the second time. She stared emotionlessly at a point behind Draco. "She is such a pretty girl, wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

He fought not to laugh bitterly at the irony that this was the first time he was addressed in a conversation that completely surrounded his own life.

He knew he was supposed to agree, but he hesitated. He wasn't sure if his delay was due to his hatred for Granger or something else, something more sinister.

"Yes, my Lord," he said quietly without really believing his words. Merlin, he didn't even think of her as attractive, quite the opposite, with her bushy hair and know-it-all smirk, how was he supposed to...

"Well then it's settled-"

"My Lord," a huge blond Death Eater appeared from outside the castle and ran up to Voldemort, interrupting his speech of finality. "There appears to be some retreating members of the Order escaping the castle grounds."

Voldemort threw his head back in laughter.

"Well I suppose we must attend to them," he pointed to about half of the crowd. "You all come with me. The rest of you, start cleaning up all this mess. I can't have my school looking like this anymore. If you find any survivors round them up and bring them to the Great Hall. And none of you touch Potter's body unless you are prepared to die. I will do the honors of disposing of that myself. Ahh… and you." he turned to Granger's floating body and flicked his wand. She fell to the ground instantly as if she was filled with stones. Draco found himself craning his neck to catch the expression on her face, but her eyes were closed, and she looked asleep, peaceful, almost, in comparison to the wreckage that surrounded her.

Voldemort shot the Malfoys one last knowing smirk that indicated he would be watching and followed the blond wizard outside the courtyard.

Draco and Narcissa remained still as Voldemort's followers dispersed themselves in various directions to clean up the carnage. Even Lucius cast an anxious glance at his son, then at Granger's frail body and mumbled something about wanting to help and excused himself from his family's side.

Narcissa sighed.

"Draco," she whispered. "I am so sorry." Tears were welling up in her eyes. "I didn't mean for this to happen-"

"And you think I did?" Draco couldn't hide the frustration in his voice and he ignored his mother's flinch in response to his abrasive tone. "Is he fucking mental? Does he really think that I would ever, in a million fucking years lower myself to-"

"Shhh…keep your voice down. Someone could hear us…He could come back!"

"I don't give a fuck if he comes back!" Draco hissed, letting the moment of courage fill his deflated ego. "I would never, never, never-"

"Can't you see he will murder you if you don't-"

"I don't care!"

"Lets just take her home with us, and we can figure out something from there. Just not out here," Draco had to keep his feet planted in order to physically stop himself from interrupting his mother. "We can find a solution to all of this if we just take the time and think it through. We all aren't in our right minds right now after the battle-"

"Him especially!" He roared, glancing over at Granger's fallen body. His gut lurched with disgust.

"Now you listen Draco, and you listen carefully," his mother was using the firm and authoritative tone she only used when she was very frustrated with him or she sincerely wanted him to shut the fuck up and pay attention. "A few hours ago, I wasn't even sure you were alive. I almost left the Dark Lord in the Forbidden Forest to look for you. And now you are permitted to live, despite everything that our family has done to put ourselves out of favor with him, he has given us one last task to accomplish. Albeit an unfavorable task, but the least we can do is bring her back and decide what we are going to do with her. The Dark Lord has given us the greatest gift imaginable. Time. Time to figure all of this out and time to work our way up. If we watch ourselves carefully, we may be able to get her taken off our hands and you may not even need to lay a hand on her."

He sighed in defeat. If she could find a way to get rid of Granger without him having to touch her, he was in.

"Good boy," she said happily, reaching up and stroking his face. "Now, fetch your wand so we can apparate out of here with the girl."

"What about Lucius? " Draco asked. In the past year he had taken to calling his father only by his first name.

Narcissa's beautiful face hardened. "I'm sure he will find his way back," she spat sarcastically.

Draco nodded and swallowed his protest.

He moved away from Narcissa and slowly approached Potter.

With his eyes closed, Potter looked rather peaceful for someone who had just been killed by the greatest wizard of all time. His glasses were cracked and twisted with tiny shards of glass sprinkled a few feet away where he had met his end. His black, matted hair looked to Draco to be particularly unruly in death. Instead of feeling the expected surge of hatred boil in his chest, or even relief that his childhood enemy had died, he felt something else. Something that felt identical to sorrow shoved at Draco's throat, but he swallowed it down hard and pushed it aside. The feeling almost resurfaced once he glanced over at Weasley's body which the mudblood positioned adjacent to Potter's, but he tried his best not to let it win.

I went to school with them.

We played Quidditch together.

We were the same age.

For some reason, he felt like he owed Potter something, perhaps a goodbye, or a reassurance that he would take care of Granger-

Merlin, his mother was right. The weight of the battle was indeed playing tricks on his mind. He needed to clear his head.

So instead he whispered to Potter, "Better luck next time." and gently pulled his wand from the ground beside the Gryffindor.

Seemed like the kind of thing everyone would expect him to say.

"Alright Draco. Lets go," Narcissa called as he shot the bodies of fallen members of Gryffindor's Golden team one last glance and rejoined his mother's side.

"It appears the Dark Lord has placed a sleeping spell on her when he dropped her, but she will only be sedated for a while. We have to hurry to the manor before she gets up, I don't reckon she will be too pleased."

Draco nodded and reached for his mother's hand, as she put the other carefully on the mudblood's knee; only enough physical contact that was necessary to apparate her.

And then, with a loud crack their wary figures dissolved from the battleground.

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The Great Hall looked absolutely opulent.

Emerald and red tinsel hung from the doors and the windows of the ancient Hall in beautiful patterns that enhanced the enchanted ceiling, which displayed the summer's setting sun. The floors were enchanted a delightful light turquoise color that gave the large room a feeling of calm and peace. It was like being at the beach on Christmas. The comfortable Hogwarts students seemed to be involved in their own private worlds, couples swaying in happy, lazy circles to the soft rhythmic music playing from behind Dumbledore's old podium, excited fifth year girls clumped in groups of six or seven whispering about attractive boys and who had the prettiest dress, and cheerful house elves scurrying through the light crowd of students with silver trays offering sweets and small cakes.

Hermione grinned to herself.

It was the perfect night for a ball.

She smoothed down her satin periwinkle dress for the fifth time and reached up to adjust her magically-perfected curls. She knew she looked better than usual, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough to impress Ron. Would he ever stop seeing her as just a friend?

She looked around the crowd until she caught a glimpse of Ron's trademark fiery red hair and exhaled one last time before making her way over.

To her surprise, when he noticed her approaching, instead of continuing his conversation with Dean and Neville, he turned to her and he gave her a curious look that indicated she had every ounce of his attention.

She suddenly felt her face grow hot and subconsciously reached up to adjust the neckline of her dress. Maybe she looked strange to him with such a low cut outfit.

Hermione felt oddly exposed.

"Blimey…" his words were slow and careful. Hermione had never heard Ron speak to her like he was now. Or look at her the way he was looking at her now, with uninhibited eyes that had a raw, dangerous hunger lingering behind them. "You look… wow."

After pausing at the top slit of her dress, he carefully moved his ravenous gaze to her face. She felt something flicker inside her, a hunger of her own that thumped against her throat and slowly burned below her abdomen. She never felt like this before.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked quietly, although he was already placing a large, warm hand against the back of her dress just above her buttocks. She felt the light burn below in response.

"Err…yeah," she whispered, leaning into his touch and positioning her hands behind his neck.

Ron latched his other hand to her side and pulled her close, so that their bodies were touching. He smelled wonderful; he had a woodsy, beach spray aroma that made her feel right at home in his arms.

She didn't know if it was that damned smell, or the fact that he was holding her so tightly, but she sighed and buried her face into the soft nape of his neck, with her chin pressed against his firm chest. She had to adjust herself to her full height to accomplish this, but when she did, she didn't regret the decision for a minute.

Merlin.

She really had gone mad.

Ron exhaled a contented sigh and let his hands slip lower against her satin dress. She didn't even think to stop him this time.

Encouraged by her receptive attitude, he lowered his head and placed soft kisses on the top of her head.

Hermione was sure she never felt as happy as she did in that moment.

"You look stunning tonight," he whispered into her curls.

"Hmm…" she mumbled in return.

She felt so safe in his arms. She needed to show him how much he meant to her. She needed to do what she had wanted to do for years. She needed to kiss him.

She peeled her head off of his warm chest, with her body still tight up against his own.

"Ron…I…" she started awkwardly, taking one hand off his back and nervously brushing a lose curl behind her ear. "I just want to let you know-"

In a bold move she looked up to view his face but instead of feeling the embarrassing flush she did whenever she made eye contact with him, she felt absolute terror.

Because though she expected to look up at Ron's hungry gaze, she found herself instead, looking up at the pointy, smirking face of Draco Malfoy.

"Well, well, well… What do we have here?" he whispered sleekly.

Her eyes filled with terror as she tried to escape his arms, which felt more like a muggle straight jacket then a warm cocoon, as Ron's body had.

"Looks like our pretty mudblood friend has been walking around the castle at night. We can't have that, can we," he chided, lowering his face to hers.

She tried to scream, but not a sound escaped.

Voldemort had sealed her lips shut.

She balled her lose hand into a fist and banged it against his face to stop him from getting closer.

The entire setting began morphing with Draco's appearance. Her beautiful dress became a jumper, trainers, and jeans that were all slathered in sweat, blood, and dirt. Her cuts and wounds from the battle remerged and her 'mudblood' scar crept back onto her skin. The students vanished into the air like waning patronuses and the decorations from the Ball were swallowed up by blackness.

It was just she and Draco now.

No please, not me, anyone but me.

Let me die.

She couldn't even scream as her fist was magically restrained and Malfoy leaned in to kiss her…

And that's where the horrid dream led her, awake in a cold sweat, with her clothes pasted to her back. Her head was throbbing unforgivingly and all of her limbs felt sore and ridged.

For how long had she been asleep?

Hermione went to touch her face, but halted when she felt the fabric she was laying on. She knew something was wrong.

The sheets felt silky and unfamiliar.

She reluctantly peeled open her eyes and blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision. It took a fair amount of energy just to push the heavy layers of comforters and silk sheets off and sit up in bed. Her whole body felt like it weighed as much as a hippogriff's.

The bed was massive and had a gaudy canopy which made it look like it belonged in some witch's housekeeping magazine, and not intended for actual people to sleep in.

Her post-nightmare sweat was becoming unbearable, so she began pulling her jean jacket off.

Merlin, when did she first put this on?

Shit.

All the events of the past week came flooding into her sleepy mind like a powerful river through the cracks over a broken dam.

She groaned as she let lingering fatigue take her, and slid back into the silky mass of Slytherin-green pillows and sheets.

She'd rather be locked up in dream-Draco Malfoy's steel arms then have to face what her life had become.

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A/N: I hoped you enjoyed it! This chapter came out really quickly because I'm on break and have a lot of free time on my hands to write.

Thank you all who reviewed last chapter I really appreciate it! Again any questions, feel free to ask me.

Thanks to 'arosesinnocence' for beta-ing and being patient with me!

Please Review! Thank you guys :D