Hermione awoke with a gasp, her eyes flying open to darkness. The taste of dust and enchantment hovered on her tongue, and it took a moment for her vision to adjust before she realized she was lying on a thin mattress in the back of a large closet.
The details of the night before flew back to her in a dizzying whirl: Malfoy Manor. She was in Malfoy Manor. Draco had interrogated her. She'd been forced to expose the Prolixus cage, but everything else had stayed in her head, which was no less than a small miracle.
Hermione lay still for a moment, allowing her disorientation to settle as she absorbed her surroundings: stone walls encroaching, empty white shelves, a sliver of light betraying the door slightly ajar. With a cautious stretch of her limbs, she rose, the sting of her vulnerability palpable in every step.
"Hello?" she called.
No answer.
Padding out the door, she found herself in Draco's room. The bedroom looked different in the daylight—it seemed larger, more arrogant, more imposing. The cold austerity of the chamber enveloped her, the air dry and devoid of warmth, and she hated it even more than she had the night before.
Her heart fell as her gaze landed upon the fragmented remains of her wand, conspicuously placed upon his nightstand like a silent mockery. Hermione approached it, shaking her head. She reached out to grab it but the touch seared her, eliciting a startled yelp as she recoiled from the pain.
Hermione nursed her index finger, examining the unaffected skin. So he'd employed the Petsitting Charm. The quick and painful way to condition a pet not to touch a home's precious belongings.
She bristled at the insult.
A soft pop made her whirl around. A trembling house elf stood before her, levitating a tray of bread and water with shaking hands.
"P-pardon Remmy, miss," the elf squeaked, setting down the tray on Draco's desk. "Master Draco says you is to eat this when you awake."
"Thank you, Remmy," Hermione said, her voice hoarse. "Look, I… I'm afraid I'm trapped here. Would you be able to—"
But before she could finish her plea, Remmy shook her head. "I is not to talk with you," she said with big, doleful eyes, nearly tripping over herself as she hastened away.
Hermione sighed. Left alone once again, she explored the edges of the room, but doors remained locked to her touch, windows denied their function, and when her fingers grazed the objects that littered the shelves, they burned her again and again. Only the bathroom remained available to her, where she splashed water on her face, trying to wake herself from her groggy, half-lidded state.
She couldn't shake the feeling that her magic had been tampered with. Usually, she could manage some wandless levitation, but when she tried a Wingardium Leviosa on a paperweight on Draco's desk, she felt nothing in her fingertips. Her magic was suffocated, snuffed out by an unseen hand. Even her senses felt muffled, weak. She tried eating the bread that Remmy left, but she could barely taste a thing.
He's dosed me with something.
Panic clawed through Hermione's chest as the realization dawned upon her—Draught of Living Death. Muted sensory input and low magical output were the primary aftereffects.
Draco had used it on her, sparingly, perhaps, but enough to leave her magic hollowed. It was clever—the Order had harbored some unruly captives in the same way, keeping them in suspended animation until they were useful.
With dread curdling in her veins, she wondered what liberties he might have taken while she was under its spell. She'd heard the numerous reports of what twisted Death Eaters did with their prisoners. In fact, she'd rescued some of them, seeing the echoes of horror on their faces. And for the others, she'd come too late.
The room seemed to close in on Hermione, shadows playing tricks on her mind. She sank onto the floor, back against the cool wall. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her breaths coming in short gasps.
"Get a hold of yourself, Granger," she muttered, clenching her fists. Words Tonks might have said, if they were together in this absolute cock-up of a mission. Hermione could almost hear her snort, "It's Malfoy, not Macnair. He's too busy brooding over his own reflection to do anything to you."
"Did you enjoy your sleep?" The voice cut through the taut silence, and Hermione's eyes flew open once again, darting around before finding Draco standing at the door to the room, his voice laced with sardonic amusement.
"Enjoy? You could have killed me!" Hermione spat out, the adrenaline from being startled awake morphing into anger. She stood shakily from the floor where she'd unintentionally dozed off. Another damn side effect.
"What in the world are you talking about?" Draco asked.
"You know! You dosed me with Living Death. One drop too much and I would've been dead."
"And wouldn't that be tragic?" Draco drawled, his eyes lit with an emotion she couldn't place.
"Careless," Hermione hissed. "Do you even comprehend the idiocy of using that… that poison on me?"
Draco's features were etched with annoyance, a scowl distorting his aristocratic face. "Living Death is no poison," he retorted, his mood as dark as his robes. "Besides, if you died, it would hardly be my concern."
"Without me, you're nothing but a pawn!" she shot back, advancing toward him. "Dead, I'm worthless to you. Alive, I might just be able to win you back your place in Voldemort's ranks!"
His expression soured further. "You overestimate your value, Granger," he sneered. "I keep you because it amuses me, not because I need you."
"Then just keep using your Petsitting Charm and keep the damn door locked! You don't need Living Death to keep me prisoner."
"You'd think you'd trust my abilities after I identified Prolixus," Draco said. "Of course I know my way around potions. Why does it matter to you, anyway? Afraid I might have done something while you were asleep?"
Hermione didn't say anything, just glared at a spot just behind Draco's left ear.
"Ah ha," he said, a knowing look unfolding across his face. "You're afraid, aren't you?"
"It's irresponsible," Hermione spat out. "It's completely unnecessary. You think you're—"
"I think I'm what?"
"You think you're—that you can—"
"Hermione Granger, stuttering with fear. What a divine sight," Draco remarked coldly. He took two strides forward, meeting Hermione in the center of the room. She unwittingly stepped back, crossing her arms and refusing to meet the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. Draco barked out a laugh. "So skittish. So, tell me. What do you think I did with you last night? It's clearly bothering you."
"I—you wouldn't," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes, still not meeting his gaze.
"Wouldn't what, Granger?" Draco stepped closer to her, his chin hovering near the top of her head. "Wouldn't have a little fun with my prisoner?"
Hermione couldn't stop the shudder that coursed through her. Draco observed it with a keen eye, chuckling mirthlessly.
"Your imagination is running away with ideas, isn't it?" he said, his voice low. He tilted his head sideways, trying to catch her eye. When she turned away, he lifted his hand to her chin, fingertips forcing her head up. She almost flinched as she met his cold gaze. "I prefer my women awake and willing, Granger. Plus, who would touch an unkempt, war-ravaged Mudblood like you?"
Hermione grew weak with relief and for a second, she wanted to collapse. But her legs held, and she slapped away his hand instead.
Draco's eyes flashed in disbelief, seizing her wrist with an iron grip. She yanked away but he held firm, barely swayed from her efforts.
"A feral thing, aren't you?" Draco said, wrenching her arm upwards. When Hermione clawed at his fist, he seized her other wrist, tsking. "Someone needs to domesticate you."
"You've already compared me to an animal, Malfoy," Hermione muttered. "Tell me something new."
She tried kneeing him, but he dodged her attempt, twisting her arms in warning.
"Don't make me break these little bones."
"Physical intimidation is for the weak," she spat.
"Oh, is it?" Draco asked, a grin on his face. "I don't feel particularly weak right now."
Hermione harrumphed, wriggling ineffectively in his grasp. "Maybe you would if you picked on someone your own size."
"This is far more entertaining."
"Let me go, Malfoy." Her arm was throbbing, and she was starting to lose feeling in her fingers.
"Only if you ask nicely, Granger."
"Would you please let me go?" Hermione ground out between her teeth.
Smiling graciously, he squeezed her wrists, hard, before he dropped them, as if reminding her exactly where she stood.
Hermione sighed, massaging her forearms.
Draco looked pleased with himself. Hermione could only imagine his ego soaring, having overpowered someone about half his weight.
In the ensuing two days, the passage of time seemed to slow to a crawl, each moment stretching into an eternity. The world outside Draco's room existed only as a distant memory, fading like the embers of a dying fire.
Draco was gone for long hours during the day, leaving Hermione to pace the confined space alone, her thoughts consumed by the past. She thought about Harry and Ron, their laughter still echoing through the corridors of her mind, the sounds growing fainter with each passing day. Their loss clung to her, a shadow sewn to her heels, heavy with the burden of survival.
Hermione mulled over the decisions she'd made. She thought back to the nights spent huddled over parchments, the details of the Horcruxes spilling from her lips to Kingsley. Planning the First Wave. Prolixus research; forgoing sleep to monitor her cauldrons.
She'd already made so many mistakes—how could she continue to stand by her word when so many had already lost their lives?
In the evening, Draco spelled a meticulously measured amount of Living Death directly into her stomach. Hovering in the dream-state preceding unconsciousness, Hermione relived the chaos of the First Wave, the smell of blood, the heat of spells crackling through the air.
She'd never had the time to mourn as she fought to protect those who remained, each loss cutting deeper than the last. Dean. Fred. Parvati. McGonagall. Luna. And that had only been the First Wave.
Remus had been killed shortly after, followed by too many others.
Tonks had suffered so much, losing the love of her life, followed by her baby. And yet she found a way to live.
Hermione reminded herself of that often, convincing herself that it was possible to survive with the weight of pain in her every step. Tonks had done it. Was doing it.
She's probably driving Bill up a wall, trying to get to me, she thought with a wry smile. Bill would adhere to strategy. He would deduce that if Hermione had been caught in Malfoy Manor, some part of her plan had gone catastrophically wrong and it would be doubling the risk to extract her.
Tonks wouldn't care. Bill would probably have to restrain her from coming to the Manor herself, once her leg healed up.
It was in these moments, thinking of her Order colleagues, that she cried, tears dripping down her face in a silent cascade, each drop marking its passage down her trembling skin.
"Granger," Draco drawled one evening as he entered the room, his eyes flicking briefly to the plate of untouched food left by Remmy. "You'd better eat something before you waste away."
"Leave me alone, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, her patience wearing thin. She wanted nothing more than to be free of this place, to breathe in fresh air and listen to the bustle of Order House Three once again.
"Look, I'm feeling generous today. I'll offer you a deal."
Hermione didn't look up from her seat on his carpet, but he continued anyway.
"I'll give you a different place to mope around in, if you answer one question honestly. Another room."
"What's the question?" Hermione asked. Another room? It seemed Draco had finally caught on that she was veering toward insanity at a rapid clip, cooped up in his lifeless chamber.
"I can't tell you beforehand," Draco said, raising his eyebrows. "That would ruin the fun."
"Fine," Hermione said. "I'll take your deal. I don't have much choice, do I?"
"No, you don't," Draco agreed. "So, be honest, why did you come to the Manor in the first place? What exactly did our family have that you wanted?"
Hermione swallowed.
It wasn't an unexpected query, not by any means. She knew the question had been haunting him.
She had bought enough time to prepare a story; now she just had to sell it.
"I know where you go during the day," she said quietly.
"What?" Draco's voice rose in irritation. "What does that have to do with—"
"I know you're going on missions at your mother's behest, silly little raids and cleanups to curry favor with Voldemort," she continued, ignoring Draco's protests. "And I—we knew about this before."
The look of outrage on Draco's face was almost comical but Hermione didn't laugh, afraid he'd fly apart before she finished her explanation. So I'm right, Hermione thought victoriously.
"How in Merlin's name does that relate?" Draco seethed between his teeth. His gaze was dark, penetrating, and his wand hand twitched. He was a breath away from Legilimency and it showed.
"The Order needed—needs—a Death Eater. Someone on the inside, like an informant. But all the Death Eaters are already sworn to the cause. We thought we might be able to capture the Malfoys, spin them into spies for us," Hermione said. "If you think about it, you'll realize it was a good idea."
Draco eyed Hermione suspiciously, mulling over her words. "You wanted to turn us into spies… how exactly?"
"Well, by making you do exactly what you're doing right now. Gaining favor. Maybe we'd throw a few Order missions in your favor, show what you're capable of. And eventually, after a few months, you'd be a trusted Death Eater again," Hermione explained, pursing her lips as if reconsidering the quality of the plan. "We underestimated your defenses here at the Manor, though. We thought you'd have minimal ward protection."
"And what made the Order think that we'd willingly be their little slaves?"
"I was supposed to Stun your whole family and bring you all back to the Order. You'd be the spy, and your parents… well, their continued well-being would be our leverage," Hermione said. "If we couldn't get you to cooperate, we figured the Imperius was at our disposal, too."
Draco's eyes narrowed, peering at Hermione with doubt. She felt a brush of attempted Legilimency, but her shields were already up.
"You're saying that your precious little do-good Order would resort to… threats and Unforgivables?"
Hermione nodded matter-of-factly. "We're not the same as we were when you last heard of us. There's not many of us left. We have to do more with less, and if it means we have to take the dirtier path, then we do."
Draco's gaze swiveled around the room, as if checking her explanation for more weaknesses to prod.
Hermione kept her expression placid, neutral.
Finally, he grunted something that sounded like "ingenious" or "imbeciles" or both. He turned around abruptly, heading into the room.
Hermione exhaled a silent sigh of relief. She couldn't tell if he had fully accepted her explanation but he seemed satisfied for the moment, and that was more than she'd hoped for.
"Come," he commanded, motioning for her to follow him.
Draco led her through the cold geometry of his quarters, into the bathroom, where Hermione stopped awkwardly behind him. In front of the marble wall near the bathtub, he flicked his wand and arched doors appeared, carved out of frosted glass. They shimmered red, green, then white.
The doors swung open smoothly to reveal a huge sunroom—no, an entire greenhouse. Hermione gasped as hundreds of neatly planted greens greeted her, the rich scent of damp earth and verdant life filling her senses.
Draco was propped against the doorframe, watching her. He seemed pleased by her reaction.
"What is this?" she breathed, brushing past him to step into the high-ceilinged, glass-paneled room. There was nothing visible outside the room—the light coming through must have been artificial as the view outside the glass was nothing but a blur of white. The distinctive buzz of Lacewing flies filled her ears. For a second, she forgot she was at Malfoy Manor altogether and she was back in the greenhouses at Hogwarts, harvesting Mandrakes with her classmates.
"It's a greenhouse, Granger. Ever heard of one?" Draco drawled, but there was little venom in his voice.
"Is this where you disappear to when you take your hour-long baths?" she asked. "I was wondering why you took so long."
"Thinking about me naked, are you?" Draco taunted. Hermione rolled her eyes, her cheeks flaming red against her will.
"I just keep wondering why you haven't drowned yet," she retorted. She stepped around a row of Fluxweed, admiring their healthy, vibrant sheen. "You must come here every day."
"I won't have to, if you water them for me," Draco said, turning to face Hermione. "It's a major pain in the arse, maintaining all these plants. But I figured you have nothing better to do."
"Ah, so you're hiring me as your house-elf."
"Precisely. Maintain these plants, don't let them die, and you can spend your days here instead of that dreary room. But if you kill any of them…" he trailed off, the threat clear in his voice.
"You'll kill me. Understood," Hermione finished. "I'll do it, Malfoy. You don't have to convince me."
Draco nodded, his lips tugging upwards. "None of my family can enter this room except me. They don't even know it exists. I'll keep this unlocked so you can come and go whenever."
"Is this what you've been spending most of your time on, then? Since the war?"
"A good portion of it," Draco admitted. "I figured it'd be nice to be able to leave the Manor without stepping foot outside."
Was that… vulnerability in his voice? Honesty? Regret?
What had actually happened to him since the war?
Draco caught Hermione's scrutinizing gaze and sharply turned away.
"Take care not to poison them, Granger," he warned darkly. "I'll give you enough Living Death to kill you twenty times over."
"So that's how you're getting that potion," Hermione murmured, unfazed. "You're making it."
"Brilliant deduction," Draco returned dryly.
Hermione wandered around the rows of plants, basking in the warmth of the humid air on her skin. Her eyes widened in incredulity as she assessed the assortment.
Knotgrass. Bloodroot. Cowbane. Moly. Valerian.
The Order had its own greenhouse, but these were plants nearly impossible to procure. These were essential ingredients for gray-area potions that the new regime could easily outlaw, and a single, fragile seedling could easily go for hundreds of Galleons.
Draco's sanctuary was strategic, meticulously planned. He'd clearly chosen the plants with care. From a cursory glance, it seemed that he'd even placed symbiotic species together to maximize their magical properties.
He had done far more than she'd given him credit for. She felt a rush of gratitude that he was letting her in on this secret, taking a chance in trusting her.
Maybe it was time to show some of her own cards.
"Malfoy." Her voice carried across the room, and Draco lifted his head up from the Dittany he was inspecting. "I'd like to offer you a deal, too."