Author's Note: Welcome, welcome! This is my first stab at writing Dramione, and I'm having way too much fun with it. This story diverges from canon in the middle of Deathly Hallows. There will be lots of banter and questionable decisions, sprinkled with salt, pepper, and other spices. ;)
If you prefer ao3, this work is also there under the same title.
Please review if you have the chance! This is all a big creative exercise for me and I'd love feedback. Happy reading!
The air in the dimly lit room was thick with tension, a stark contrast to the soft glow of Christmas lights twinkling faintly outside the window. Tonks sat on an old, faded sofa, her leg encased in a magical splint that glowed with a faint blue light.
"Going alone is pure insanity, Hermione. Just because it's possible doesn't mean it's a good idea," Tonks argued through clenched teeth, the pain evident in her brow.
Hermione paced before her, the weight of the plan feeling heavier with each step. But when she turned towards Tonks, her expression was resolute. "I have to do it. Bill approved it already. I've practiced solo with the Prolixus cage, and I've calculated. Once I'm inside, I've got three minutes—"
"Three minutes to murder Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco?" Tonks interjected. "Any way you spin it, your plan's shite. Bill's blinded by our recent luck, but you know exactly what you're attempting, Hermione. How aren't your alarm bells ringing?"
"This isn't like the other missions. I remember the house, Tonks. The entrance, the corridors, the rooms… And I've been training with you. Have some faith in me."
Tonks let out a humorless chuckle, the sound more like a cough. "That house changes like the bloody seasons, Hermione. The Malfoys are notorious for their redecorating. Just wait until I'm better. I'll—I'll be able to walk tomorrow."
The lie sputtered in the air as Hermione stared down at Tonks's leg. It had been mangled badly in their mission on Macnair, breaking in four different places. The mission itself had been a success: Voldemort's top executioner had died begging, his lips spewing gibberish until they turned blue. But his final blow—a ceiling beam, torn off its bolts—had trapped Tonks, nearly crippling her permanently. Her scream had played in Hermione's nightmares, echoing louder and louder, until Hermione thrashed herself awake. She knew it'd take days before she could catch a full night of sleep again.
Not to mention the timing of it all. The timing couldn't have been worse.
"Tonks, the eclipse is in five days. Five. Days," Hermione said, her voice hard. "I need access to the Manor's pureblood magic. It has to be tonight. Otherwise, I'll miss the eclipse, and I won't be able to experiment."
"Damn it, Hermione," Tonks gritted her teeth. "I know how important the Manor is. But it's like you're marching off to your own execution. This plan—"
"Is the only way," Hermione cut in, determination resonating in every syllable. She reached for Tonks's hand, her grip firm. "Look, as soon as I get Lucius, the wards will weaken, and Draco and Narcissa won't be able to hide behind them. It'll be easy."
"Easy? That's what we're calling triple homicide these days?"
"If we still want a shot at getting rid of the Dark Lord, then yes," Hermione said dryly. "That's the spirit."
"Still..." Tonks hesitated. "Promise me you'll be careful."
"Always am," Hermione replied, standing up and moving towards the door.
"Then promise me something else," Tonks finally said, her voice soft as if speaking louder might shatter her composure. "Promise me you'll come back."
Hermione turned around, surprised, meeting Tonks's hooded gaze. Tonks rarely spoke like this. Was she honest? Certainly. Irreverent? Often. Sincere and mushy? Almost never. Hermione felt her heart sting a little. The silence hung between them, loaded with unspoken fears and the weight of grief that had become their constant companion.
"I promise." Hermione offered a brave smile, though her heart hammered against her ribs.
With a nod that was more of an affirmation than goodbye, Hermione turned on her heel and vanished into the night, leaving Tonks alone with the echo of her resolve.
The world outside was wrapped in a hushed stillness, the kind that only came with snowfall and the cloak of midnight. The Prolixus cage bobbed gently as Hermione guided it through the air with a practiced hand. Usually Tonks was the one inside—it made for quite the novel experience, levitating herself in an invisible cage across the Malfoy property line.
She felt the external wards—an almost imperceptible tingle on her skin—as she passed through them, the magical barrier yielding to the cage's effect.
Hermione landed gracefully just outside the house, her breath forming clouds in the frigid air. Stepping out the cage, she glanced up at the towering silhouette of Malfoy Manor; it loomed over her as if challenging the audacity of her intrusion.
She steeled herself for the memories that lurked inside, the memories of Harry and Ron's final moments. The scar on her arm tingled, reminding her of the piercing, maniacal echo of Bellatrix's laugh. Voldemort's shouts as Dobby Disapparated her away. Her last glance of Ron, knowing Harry was dead and he was next.
Hermione shuddered. Just as she'd worried, the Manor was already crippling her from sight alone.
But there was no time to mull over her memories.
"Focus," she whispered, and she did. There was an urgency that pulsed through her veins, a silent metronome counting down the precious seconds as she unlocked the door with a forceful Alohomora .
She stepped over the threshold, closing the door softly behind her. That was one beautiful thing about pureblood properties: the families held such faith in their wards that they failed to reinforce their front doors.
Once inside the foyer though, she understood why: she could almost taste the oppressive power of the wards. It was bitter, numbing. Her head swam with it. She was an intruder and the Manor knew—it was only a matter of time before it registered her magic and woke up the whole family.
Lucius. She needed to get Lucius, and the wards would weaken.
She crept down the hall, disillusioned. She observed the walls with surprise. Gone were the lavish tapestries and gilded frames that once boasted of the Malfoy's wealth and influence. In their place, dull wallpaper and dusty, sleepy portraits lined the hallway. Even the chandeliers hung dim.
What's happened to them?
A soft snore broke the silence, and her heart skipped a beat. To her left, in what used to be a grand sitting room, Narcissa Malfoy lay asleep on a faded velvet chaise. Her chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of slumber, blissfully unaware of the intruder in her midst.
Hermione let out a sigh silently. Not a threat. But not who she was looking for, either.
With each cautious step toward the grand staircase, her heart thrummed louder in her ears. The wood creaked beneath her feet, protesting the unfamiliar weight. Hermione paused, her breath caught in her throat.
Settle down, she reprimanded herself silently. You've faced worse than squeaky floors.
Her thoughts raced as she ascended the staircase, shooting a muffling spell at her feet. The second floor loomed above, shrouded in darkness. Every shadow seemed to shift with potential danger, every second a possible alarm.
She reached the landing. The second-floor corridor stretched out before her, doors lining either side. She expected the master bedroom to be the first door to the right of the staircase. She quietly opened the door, holding her breath.
An empty room greeted her, dust tickling her nose. The sheets were rumpled, a gray blanket flipped over as if someone had been inside recently. Panic bubbled up in her chest as she whirled around to check her blind spots, finding no one.
Where was Lucius?
They moved things around. It's fine, she told herself. Keep looking. There was a finite number of doors in the house, after all. She checked the next three doors, peeking in each one. A closet, another empty room, and a bathroom. She checked her Tempus spell, the numbers glowing in the dark.
73 seconds left.
Her window of opportunity was closing. She had to find Lucius, and soon. Her wand was a live wire in her hand as she navigated through the corridor, quietly checking each room.
Empty. Empty. And empty.
But then it happened—a soft creak behind her, barely audible over the drumming of her own heart.
Her disillusion was torn off.
She pivoted on the spot, wand slashing through the gloom, a shield charm bursting forth just in time to meet the onslaught of a stunning spell. The force behind it was immense, knocking her back a step, but she held her ground, her eyes locking onto those of her assailant.
"Draco," she gasped, the name torn from her lips. His face was a mask of fury and focus, gray eyes glinting with malice as recognition dawned. He looked older, broader than she'd remembered.
"Didn't expect to see me, Granger?" he sneered, his voice cutting through the air as he sent another curse her way.
"Not yet, anyway," Hermione retorted, parrying with a nonverbal spell, the blue light of her magic clashing against his red. Her mind raced—without taking down Lucius first, her chances were dwindling with each passing second.
She ducked a nasty hex, feeling the heat of it singe the hairs on the back of her neck.
"You've improved," she said, searching for an opening, any weakness she could exploit.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Draco retorted, advancing with a confidence bolstered by the wards that fed his power. Hermione could see it now—their strength coursing through him, lending weight to his spells and vigor to his movements.
"Where is your father? I have something to give him." Hermione demanded, attempting to throw him off focus.
She was well aware of the absurdity of the situation—here she was, dueling with Draco Malfoy in the heart of his ancestral home, the stakes higher than they'd ever been. And what weapon did she have? Words.
Tonks had been right. This had been a suicide mission.
"My father? Wouldn't you like to know?" Draco growled, his next spell a whip-like lash that had Hermione rolling to the side, the wall prickling with cold against her face.
She lifted her arm again, but something felt wrong.
Her wand.
Her wand had been lashed in half.
It was like a part of her had died with it, the blood draining out of her face. A severe smile flashed across Draco's face as he locked eyes with the jagged stub of wood she clutched. He approached like a predator, his pale face illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the high windows.
Hermione spun around, gearing up to fight the Muggle way, but hands like vices clamped back her arms before she could react, slamming her back against the wall. She fought back, throwing her weight against him, trying to leverage her position against the wall.
"Let go of me, Malfoy!" Hermione spat, her chest heaving as she tried to force her way out of his ironclad grip.
"Always so brave, even when you're cornered," Draco appraised, his lips curling upwards as he looked down at her. "You think you can just waltz in here and play assassin?"
"Better than playing the coward," she retorted, defiance lacing her words.
"Bold words for someone who's trapped," Draco drawled, his voice echoing mockingly through the grand hall. "I must say, it seems Christmas has come early for me."
Hermione's grip tightened on her snapped wand as she searched for an escape, her mind racing.
He's enjoying this, provoking me, she thought. I'll have to entertain him.
"Planning your next move?" Draco taunted, reading her expression. "It's useless. You know about pureblood wards, don't you? In my home, the magic bows to me."
"Is that so?" she asked, her own lips curling upwards in imitation. "Then how did I get in?"
A flash of irritation crossed his features, but before he could reply, a sharp, piercing sound tore through the silence. The wards. Her precious three minutes were up.
"Draco?" Narcissa's voice was tinged with concern as it drifted up from the lower floor. It sounded farther than it really was—a Silencing spell, probably. Hermione heard the shuffle of footsteps, the murmur of voices growing closer.
"Dammit," Draco muttered under his breath. His eyes flicked to the staircase and then back to Hermione, calculating. In a split second, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadowed alcove, hidden behind a tapestry. He flicked his wrist, capturing her in a full body bind.
"Stay here," he hissed, pressing her into the darkness just as the light from downstairs began to spill into the hall. Hermione almost reminded him how pointless his instructions were, as her muscles were locked up, but she found that she couldn't move her mouth either.
"Draco!" Narcissa called again, her voice now laced with panic.
"It's nothing, Mother!" he called back, his tone perfectly feigned to mask the urgency of the situation. He released Hermione and strode out, leaving her to press her back against the cool wall, wand still clutched in hand, as the voices receded downstairs.
"Mother, I said it was nothing!" Draco's voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the silence as he descended the stairs. Hermione could hear Narcissa's persistent inquiries, unceasing even as Draco deflected them away.
"It was the owl. I just sent him out and saw him fly near the ward boundary. He's tripped the alarm twice already," Draco said, annoyance heavy in his tone.
"Lucius, should we have the wards looked at tomorrow?" There was a tremor of fear in Narcissa's plea that resonated through the stillness.
"It was nothing. Listen to your son," came Lucius's dispassionate drawl.
"I'll go reset them," Draco said. "Go back to sleep. Why aren't you with Father?"
More murmurs by Narcissa, something Hermione couldn't quite hear. Eventually, Narcissa's soft footsteps shuffled away and the front door clicked open; Hermione was left in silence again with only the faint whistle of the wind outside to keep her thoughts company.
Soon, she heard the front door close and footsteps approaching on the stairs. She readied herself, her mind racing with contingencies. Wordlessly, Draco approached, swinging aside the tapestry and levitating her rigid body into the master bedroom.
So he had been the one sleeping there. Why hadn't it been Lucius and Narcissa? And why had he been up in the middle of the night?
There was no time for answers as Draco deposited her onto a chair before retrieving something in the hallway. He reentered the dim room, shutting the door with his wand.
"Well, well. You've brought yet another surprise for me tonight," Draco declared as he held the Prolixus cage aloft like a giant trophy. "Look what I found lurking outside."
Hermione couldn't help the groan from escaping from her lips. The slim, bronze metal cage, barely tall enough to fit Hermione upright, was one the Order's greatest secrets. It had taken months and months of covert research, equipment ordered under the guise of other projects. Bill had taken the utmost precautions to ensure the details were kept away from the rest of the Order.
And now here it was, in the hands of none other than Draco Malfoy.
You're an idiot, Hermione. An absolute idiot.
Draco's eyes shone with malice in the low light, and Hermione felt the weight of his gaze upon her as if it were a physical force.
"Tell me, Granger," he said, setting the cage down with deliberate care. "What is this contraption? Some new toy for the Order?"
Hermione met his stare with defiance, her lips pressed into a firm line. Draco took one look at her and laughed coldly.
"How thoughtless of me. My guest is unable to speak," he said, flicking his wand, nullifying the body bind, conjuring thick ropes that wrapped around her torso and the chair. Hermione shuddered as she regained control of her limbs, awkwardly shaking out her arms and legs as pins and needles shot through them.
"So, Granger, what is this?" Draco asked, motioning impatiently. "A weapon? Something to help you murder us in our sleep?"
"Hm. Wouldn't you like to know?" Hermione finally retorted, the taunt evident in her voice.
"I would, yes," he said slowly, eyes narrowing. He slowly circled the chair, Hermione feeling the heat of his gaze on her. She sat up straighter, as straight as the ropes would allow her to, staring obstinately at his door. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
"Maybe I'll tell you if you loosen these ropes. I can barely breathe."
"Making deals when you're defenseless, wandless, in my house," Draco said, shaking his head. "I know you're a Gryffindor but I didn't realize you were that stupid."
"Then I guess I'll never tell you."
The words sounded silly, even to her, and Hermione instantly wished she could take them back. Draco chuckled, a low, delighted noise. He leaned in close, so close she could feel his breath on the side of her face.
"Oh, but that's exactly what I wanted," he murmured. "I've got all night to get you to crack."
His words dripped like syrup, and Hermione felt her throat tighten.