The severity of this situation has not yet hit me. When it does, I'm sure it might feel something akin to the Cruciatus Curse. I have been on the receiving end of that curse more times than I care to remember recently. I'm sure you can begin to imagine how… displeased the Dark Lord was after I was broken out of Azkaban. Oh yes, he was thrilled that I had managed to fuck up retrieving the prophecy so royally. I shall spare you the finer details of how he thanked me for it. Suffice to say, I lost control of conscious thought and feeling to such an extent that I also lost control of my bladder.

Oh, how my friends and colleagues laughed their arses off when the stench of my less- than hydrated urine permeated the dungeon cell in which I was being kept. If you've never done so yourself then you will be unaware of the slow warm burn and subsequent itching that occurs afterwards.

Yes, you did hear me correctly. I, Lucius Malfoy, pissed myself in front of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

After a couple more days chained up in that dank cell and an apology so forced I might have well kissed Voldemort's arse, I was allowed back into society (so to speak). Of course, by then the Dark Lord had made himself more than at home in my Manor.

I am grateful, however, that my punishment did not extend much beyond pain, hunger, and total and utter humiliation. My family were spared, after all. I'm also grateful for the fact that I was not graced with food, for if I had I would surely have shit myself in front of the Dark Lord also.

That would have been extremely unfortunate.

Anyhow, I digress yet again. The severity of this situation is perhaps not actually akin to the Cruciatus Curse, given that I am unlikely to lose control over my bladder this time round.

The situation is still unfavourable, however.

Fuck.

I've locked the girl in an unused bedroom in my own personal quarters. And I've locked myself in my study with half a bottle of whisky. If you were to ask me what number drink I'm currently nursing, I would not be able to tell you.

My God. What have I gotten myself into?

Rather, what has that snake-eyed bastard of a Dark Lord gotten me into? Is it not enough that he has taken over my home and my freedom?

It would seem not, apparently.

He's really going to milk his anger with me for all it's worth.

I feel hot, pure rage burning within me.

God knows I'm too old for this. For any of this…

For all I know the Dark Lord is currently planning Hermione Granger's death, and has most likely written my own demise into that scenario. Perhaps it would be better if he just got shot of me? I'm old and tired and wandless. Hardly prime attributes of a Death Eater.

Fortunately this alcohol seems to be making a pretty good job of killing me. If the Dark Lord doesn't kill me then perhaps alcohol poisoning is the way to go. I swallow down another mouthful; it burns my throat and warms my insides like nothing else.

And I simply do not care.

I would actually be content to sit here and drink myself to death right now.

But it appears that is not what I will be doing tonight, as three loud raps on the door force me up onto my feet, and I swing the door to my study open wide open.

Severus Snape strides into the room in a billow of black robes.

I cast a Silencing charm on the room. It is common sense to do so these days.

"Severus," I drawl, ever so slightly drunk, "To what do I owe you this pleasure?"

The mocking charm in my voice goes unnoticed by my old friend, as his dark eyes do not falter and his mouth is set in a permanent thin line. Severus always did approach everything with nothing but seriousness. "The Dark Lord will no doubt have plans for her, Lucius. Likely to be nothing short of the foul, grotesque affairs we've seen happen to her kind before. You understand, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" I snap. I know all too well of the things that could happen to dear Hermione Granger.

He scans the room quickly. "And it seems that you've lost her already."

I scowl. "I have not lost her. I've locked her in one of the spare bedrooms down the hall. She's of no use to me unconscious."

I hear my old friend sigh. "It would be wise to keep a close eye on her. She's a vital part in winning this war, Lucius, more so than you can imagine. I've seen her with Potter and Weasley. Without her they are a couple of dunderheaded fools, not capable of even a fraction of the magic that girl can perform."

"Oh yes, I'm sure she is important, but that seems a little wasted, shall we say, now that she's managed to get herself captured, doesn't it?" My incessant tone sweetly hides the fear of losing this war.

"She is still valuable, even whilst in your keeping."

"How?"

Severus straightens up. "I believe we could use her as a way of communicating with Potter and Weasley."

The man is out of his mind. "Impossible! There is absolutely no bloody way of doing so. The connection is between Potter and the Dark Lord, not Potter and his Mudblood!"

"I'm not speaking of a link between their minds Lucius, but rather, a means of correspondence between them. It might be possible to set up a connection between Miss Granger, and Potter and Weasley. It would be done in utter secrecy, of course." He looks to me darkly. "Can you handle that?"

"Of course I can bloody well handle it!" Can I though? "I just don't see how such an action is possible, with the Dark Lord and our colleagues only a hair's breadth away at nearly all times! And what will happen to her when the Dark Lord decides to do god knows what to her? How am I to stop that from happening!?"

Severus lets me settle, knowing full well he'll set me off in a drunken rage if he pushes me too far. After a few silent minutes, he speaks. "I believe it will be a while before the Dark Lord decides to dispose of her, she is far too valuable for the cause at the moment, especially with Potter and Weasley still out there."

He has a point, I suppose. "What happened to those two anyway?" I finally snap.

Severus runs a pale hand through his dark hair. "Oh, those two idiots somehow managed to get out of here. I believe Bellatrix killed an elf in the process. Your former elf, I believe."

My eyebrows rise in unintentional surprise. "Dobbie?" I suppose I should be raging over the fact that my former elf aided Harry Potter, and not for the first time either, I suspect. Instead, I can't help but feel really, really, really fucking glad that the ugly little bastard helped keep get Potter away from Voldemort's clutches.

Christ knows what mess this world would be in had Harry Potter not escaped when he did...

To the surprise of myself and Severus, I let out a loud burst of hysterical laughter. It's been a long time since I've found anything so funny, and I'm not sure if I'm laughing because of the alcohol or because we were this close to being utterly fucked.

Severus interrupts my fit of laughing. "You might wish to go easy on the drinking, my friend. You will be a vital part in this."

My laughter dies down instantly. "Me?" I hiss. "How the in Merlin's name is a wandless wizard" – I gesture towards myself – "supposed to help?"

"You have a wand, you fool," he tuts.

"Yes, but it's not the same as the other. It doesn't respond so well."

"Well it is better than nothing, Lucius. And you'd best get used to using it. You'll need it to keep Granger alive. A difficult feat, I grant you, giving that she is here in a place that is currently occupied by the Dark Lord and his followers."

There's a lot balancing on my shoulders right now. I really could do without the added weight of Hermione Granger pulling me down, but desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.

"So," I say, "what do you suggest that I do?"

Severus' face lights up into a dark smile. "I'd have thought that you're more than capable of working that one out by yourself." He's silent as he sweeps towards the door in a billow of black robes. I can see why the Dark Lord admires this man so.

When he gets halfway out of the room he turns back to me.

"You must make sure she's kept alive." The tone is callous. "If you mess this up it isn't just her life that comes to an end, it's the entire Wizarding World."

Great. All the pressure in the world is on me.

After Severus departs I see to making myself a bit more presentable.

Why do I care what I look like in front of a Mudblood, you ask?

I do not care, but it's about time I get my shit together and make myself look like something more than a useless alcoholic.

I run a brush through my hair quickly and fix it at the nape of my neck with a black velveteen bow; perform a quick shaving charm to my stubble; and put on a fresh shirt. I could really do with a bath but that will have to wait until later.

I make the quick journey to the bedroom that currently houses Hermione Granger.

Opening the door, I scan the room briefly but there appears to be no trace of her.

Severus was right; I've already bloody lost her!

But then I spy a tangled nest of hair peeking out from under the bed. Did she really think I wouldn't see her with that unruly mane of hers giving her away?

I let out an irritated sigh. "Come out from under the bed, Miss Granger. I'd rather not have to get down on the floor and drag you out." And I really would prefer not to, my body kills from being flung halfway across the room previously, that I'm sure I won't get back up from the floor if I get onto my knees.

Her voice wavers with the remnants of tears. "I-I won't come out!"

Unconsciously, my left eyebrow twitches upwards and my lips form a slight smirk – a Malfoy trademark. "Oh, really?"

"You can't make me!" She lets out a squeak and another sound that's something like a hiccup. It takes me a few moments to realise she is sobbing – if I had known before that she would be this emotionally unstable I would have begged the Dark Lord not to make me look after her. I can't be dealing with a hormonal teenager on top of everything else.

I roll my eyes then arc my head slightly to get a better view without straining my neck too much. "Are you going to be sensible and come out, or do you feel like testing my patience, girl?"

My words hang in the air for a few minutes.

But then eventually two bare feet poke out from beneath the bed, followed by thin, pale legs, a body, and, finally, a head of bushy hair. Her face is a blotchy mass of red; puffy eyes and lips, swollen nose. I can't tell whether it's from her torture beforehand or her pathetic crying, but I would place a bet on the former.

"Hello, Miss Granger." I say darkly.

Her bottom lip quivers. Ah, so I have not lost my touch then.

Suddenly, however, she lashes out at me and her right hand swipes out, connecting with my left cheek. A sharp 'slap' rings through the entire room.

I take an exasperated step backwards.

Did she just fucking slap me?

The sudden stinging warmth of my cheek is enough to tell otherwise.

The Mudblood bitch slapped me! Why, I ought to teach her a lesson on who's in charge here…

"You little bitch, if you think you're going to get away with that!" I spit out. Unfortunately, it appears I am still so shocked from the fact that I just got slapped by a girl young enough to be my daughter that all that actually comes out of my mouth is a less than impressive, "You little - "

Instead I direct a look of pure unadulterated anger towards her, and step back towards her small form.

And this time it's Hermione Granger who steps, no, jumps backwards.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to, please don't hurt me, I can't take on more, please, please, please…" A string of pathetic, words leave her mouth and her knees begin to buckle.

Incredibly, I find myself reaching forward and gripping her by her shoulders to prevent her from falling.

What am I doing?

The girl shakes in my arms. Tears run into the wounds on her face, snot dribbling onto her upper lip. She is pitiful in this moment, and I know that a quick slap around her face would snap her out of her deplorable crying. Except I can't bring myself to do that. In my head it's because causing her further harm isn't the obvious way to gain her trust, but I'd be lying if I told you that was the only reason I do not wish to cause her further harm.

I take in the sight of the young, bedraggled girl before me. And what a sight for sore eyes she is. There is a red slice down one of her cheeks that still oozes fresh blood. Another cut on her lower lip, giving them a plump appearance. Purplish welts and bruises pepper her arms and collarbone, visible only due to the tear in the neck of her jumper.

Her glassy, chocolatey eyes meet my own and it's then that I remember those eyes silently pleading with me to help her when she was sprawled on my drawing room floor.

Those eyes…

They are something else…

I pull my gaze away from her eyes.

My eyes travel lower, finally reaching her arm.

'MUDBLOOD' in ragged gashes mars the smooth skin of her forearm.

My throat constricts a fraction.

Bella, you evil bitch.

No wonder she screamed so…

The girls realises that I am staring at her arm and attempts to bring down her jumper sleeve over the damn thing. Except that only causes more pain to shoot through her so she abandons her attempt to shield it from me.

She is very much ashamed of it, I can tell that much.

I feel a lump form in my throat.

Good God, am I starting to feel sorry for her?

Certainly not.

The girl continues in her hysterics once more and now I find my voice rising, "For goodness sake, I am not going to hurt you!" I can't help but shake her for good measure.

I did not mean to raise my voice quite that loudly but it seems to have done the trick because she's silent now. Stiff in my arms, she raises her eyes to my face.

I finally let go of her, aware that I was holding onto her for longer than I originally intended to, and gesture to a couple of chairs over by the fire. She takes the cue and goes and sits down in one. I take the other and pull it up closer to her. Not too close, but enough to intimidate her, for sure.

With a wave of my hand I have conjured the bottle of whisky I'd previously been drinking – to drown my sorrows – and two glasses.

One for myself and one for Hermione Granger. Even the notion of pouring a drink for her is crazy enough, let alone the fact that she and I will be getting to know one another quite well over the next few… days, weeks? I'm not quite sure.

I fill her glass to the half mark and hand it to her, a little forcefully, and I fill my own to the brim before taking a large gulp.

A trickle of amber escapes my mouth and I swipe at it with my tongue.

The girl is staring firmly into her lap, and I knew before even giving her the drink that she wouldn't have any of it.

"It's considered impolite not to imbibe when it's been so kindly offered to you…" I drawl.

She takes a look at the glass before downing it in its entirety, grimacing at the taste. I must say, I'm actually rather impressed.

"I suppose we can cut out the introductions," I begin, "you know I, and I know you, so to speak."

Except in her eyes I am a cold, evil, ruthless, murderer, the Devil-reincarnated, Death Eater, blood supremacist, etcetera, etcetera… That wouldn't be a wrong description, but neither is it the truth of who I am. "Think what you want about me but I do not wish to submit you to endless pain and torture whilst you are here."

"Why should I believe you?"

I lean forward and refill her glass. "Do you think I'd be sharing my finest Firewhisky with you if I intended to torture you?" I scoff. "You'd vomit it straight back up the moment I utter even the beginning of a curse. It would be a complete waste of a fine drink!"

Hermione Granger actually smiles at me. A short-lived smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Jokes aside, if I had wanted to hurt you I would have laid more than a finger on you whilst you were indisposed as you were in my drawing room earlier. Given that I didn't so much as look at you for longer than a few seconds, it is safe for you to assume that I will not harm you. I mean it, I will not."

She swallows hard as she considers my point. I see her relax. Only a fraction, mind you.

It's a start, however.

I change the tone of the conversation; "Now, there are a few things we must discuss. Firstly, there is the matter of your survival. You do want to survive this, I presume?"

I sense a sudden waver of panic come over her, and then she nods her head vigorously.

"Yes, I thought as much." And I take another sip of my drink. "To survive you do exactly what I say."

"That's it?" she asks.

"It is as simple as that."

She looks to fire; the watery tracks of tears reflect the roaring flames, and illuminate the bruising that is beginning to blossom beneath her cheeks. But then suddenly her eyes are back on me, wide and frightened.

"I-I don't believe you."

"Believe what you will, Miss Granger, but I know you have more intelligence in you than that. After all, it was your sharp mind that came up with the idea of using a Stinging jinx against your friend to conceal his identity. A shame it didn't quite work…" I drawl. "But then again, I suppose it did work in a way. Harry Potter is still on the run. But here you are."

It appears I have hit a nerve with her.

Good.

I continue, "Anyhow, I should also like to strike a deal with you, Miss Granger."

I can see her muddy brown eyes taking in my form; she is rather animal like in her observation of me, up and down her eyes travel on my person. She's like an anxious doe, testing whether or not to step forward into my outstretched hands and take the offering.

"What kind of deal?"

"Like I said before, it is very simple. No magic involved. Just your word and my word."

Her eyes flash; the black of her pupils swell briefly and engulf the chocolate brown. "What makes you think I should take your word for it?" she hisses. "What makes you suddenly trustworthy enough that I should confide in you? If you haven't remembered, Mr Malfoy, you are a Death Eater, and Death Eaters do not make deals with their prisoners!"

I can see I'm going to have a difficult time in making her see that I am not the man she thinks I am. Then again, I suppose I knew she wouldn't be too easy to handle. Damn Gryffindor's and their infuriating courage. "Well, well, you've certainly come out of your shell quickly. But a minute ago you were snivelling in my arms like a frightened little girl."

I've made her angry now. Well I suppose that's better than the emotional wreck she was before. I breathe long and hard through my nose. "I had hoped you would be rather more pliant than this, Miss Granger."

"Don't call me that!"

"Would you prefer 'Mudblood'?"

"No, I just – I don't want you to call me anything, I don't want anything to do with you! If you're going to kill me then just get on with it and cut the niceties!"

Why does everyone always assume the worst of me?

"I have no intentions of disposing of you," I spit the words out rather forcefully, "Didn't you hear me before? I want to increase your chances of survival, not diminish them!"

"Why?" she spits. "Why would you help me? You hate me and everything I stand for!"

"Given current circumstances, my old habits have died hard."

"What does that mean?"

"I am not the same man you last saw in the Department of Mysteries."

"You're saying that you've changed?"

"Perhaps I am saying just that."

The Granger girl laughs, a little drunkenly sounding, but considering she's only had one shot of whisky, I can't really put it down to that.

"If there is one thing your son has taught me throughout our years at Hogwarts, it's that Malfoy's can't be trusted."

"What you presume to know about my family is only the tip of the iceberg, Miss Granger."

She sits up higher in her chair. "I know that you all hate people like me. Especially me."

"I do not hate you, Miss Granger. At least not right at this moment."

That seems to provoke quite a reaction from her and she is baffled enough to finally take another sip of the whisky. Raising her eyes from the glass, she is surprised to see that I am watching her intently.

"However," I start, "let us not confuse not hating you for liking you. We're not yet at that stage, Miss Granger."

"Of course," she says factually; seriously. "I wouldn't want to actually think you were capable of such a feeling."

I surprise myself by actually smiling at her answer. Not my customary smirk, but a genuine smile.

She seems to relax further now, going so far as to take another sip of her drink.

"I wouldn't want you to think that either. How about we settle on just tolerating one another for the time being?" I say.

"I suppose I can agree to that."

"Good."

"So what exactly is it that you want me to agree to?"

"Your life and dignity in exchange for my own. Quid pro quo. I help you get through this ordeal with your mind, body and soul intact. All I ask is that when this sorry war is over, assuming your side is victorious, you see to it that my family and I are not dragged down."

"I-I I don't understand… you want You-Know-Who to win, don't you?"

"Let's just say, I am not exactly in the Dark Lord's favour right now. Suffice to say I am not in favour of him either."

She ponders over my request, no doubt wondering what my ulterior motive is. I can honestly say that I don't have one.

Miss Granger opens her mouth to speak again, "Have you considered what will happen to our 'deal' if your side is victorious."

No, truth be told, I have not. Because that is not a world I even want to consider living in. But instead of muttering my thoughts I simply smirk and state, "You would doubt that your own side would not win this war?"

"I know that if they don't my life will be over in an instant." Her eyes go glassy at the thought. Again, I almost feel sorry for her.

I cast a serious expression over my face, "We shall see." And with that I drain my glass.

I'll leave her to ponder further for now.

I stand up and begin to walk out of the room.

"There is a bathroom just through that door, Miss Granger." I point in the direction of the en-suite. "Fresh clothes are in the drawers, and supper will be provided by the house elves later this evening. Goodbye for now."

And with that, I retreat from the room, leaving a dismayed Hermione Granger to her own devices.