Fractured Alliances

the weeks had blended into one another in the darkness of her cell. Hermione had lost count of how many times she'd drifted into uneasy sleep, only to jolt awake at the faintest sound, every muscle coiled in readiness. Each time the door swung open, she braced herself for the worst. But instead of Voldemort or Rodolphus, a different figure stepped inside, throwing the silence into chaos.

He stood hesitantly at the threshold, his silhouette tense against the torchlight. Blonde hair, pale skin, and sharp features she knew all too well. Hermione's heart skipped, confusion and anger swirling within her.

"Malfoy?" she whispered hoarsely.

Draco Malfoy looked almost… out of place. The elegant robes that once marked his pureblood status and superiority were gone, replaced by plain black attire that blended into the darkness around them. He seemed thinner, his face drawn and weary, but his expression was guarded as ever.

"Granger," he murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath. He glanced over his shoulder, as if ensuring they were truly alone, then slipped fully into the room, closing the door behind him.

Hermione struggled to sit up straighter, her body protesting every movement. Her throat still ached from Rodolphus's grip, and her muscles trembled from exhaustion, but she refused to show weakness. Not in front of Malfoy.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, forcing as much strength into her voice as she could muster. "Come to gloat? To prove you're still loyal to that monster?"

He stiffened, his eyes narrowing. "Keep your voice down, Granger," he hissed, glancing sharply at the door. "Unless you want Rodolphus to come back."

She flinched involuntarily, the memory of his cruel smile flashing through her mind. "Why do you care?" she shot back, her voice low but laced with venom. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco hesitated, his gaze flicking over her, taking in her disheveled appearance, the bruises forming along her neck. Something dark and unreadable flickered in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he muttered, sounding almost reluctant.

Hermione let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Right. Because you've never enjoyed that, have you? Did Voldemort send you to finish what Rodolphus started?"

"Will you just—" He cut himself off, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice was tight with frustration. "I'm here because I—"

He broke off, looking away, and Hermione caught the faintest tremor in his hands. For a moment, a crack appeared in his façade, a glimpse of something raw and desperate beneath the surface.

"Because you what?" Hermione pressed, her heart pounding. Was he trying to play some twisted game, or was there something more?

"Because I don't have a choice," he said finally, his voice low and strained. He turned back to her, his expression a mask of barely controlled emotion. "Because if I keep them from killing you, they'll kill me too. Remember what I told you under the stands? I'm only doing what I can to save my family"

Hermione stared at him, stunned into silence. Of all the explanations she had expected, this wasn't one of them.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered. "You're a Malfoy. You're supposed to be one ofthem."

He flinched at her words, his jaw clenching. "Things aren't that simple anymore, Granger," he muttered bitterly. "My family—" He stopped, shaking his head as if he couldn't bear to continue. "My family is barely holding on. We're not trusted. We're not safe. The Dark Lord—" He swallowed, his gaze darting away again. "He's… losing patience with us."

Hermione's mind spun, struggling to process what he was saying. Could it be true? Had Voldemort turned on the Malfoys? And if so, why? What did that mean for Draco?

"What do you want from me?" she asked finally, her voice wary.

"Nothing," he snapped, but the sharpness in his tone rang hollow. He shifted uneasily, his eyes flicking around the cell as if searching for an escape. "I just—" He took another breath, his shoulders tense. "I just need to make sure you're still alive. That's all."

"And if I'm not?" she whispered, hating the vulnerability in her voice. "What then?"

Draco hesitated, and for a moment, something like regret flickered in his eyes.

"Then it'll be my head on the block," he said quietly. "And probably my mother's too."

Hermione's heart twisted painfully. She had never thought she'd feel pity for Draco Malfoy, but in that moment, the desperation in his voice was unmistakable. He wasn't just trying to protect himself—he was trying to protect his family. But that didn't mean she could trust him.

"You expect me to believe that you care what happens to me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "After everything you've done?"

"No," he said softly, surprising her with his honesty. "I don't expect you to believe anything. But I'm not your enemy right now, Granger. Whether you trust me or not, I'm the only one standing between you and Rodolphus."

His words hung in the air, heavy and charged with unspoken meaning. Hermione stared at him, searching his face for any hint of deception. But all she saw was a boy—no, a young man—caught in the middle of a war he could no longer control. A young man who was just as trapped as she was.

"So what now?" she asked quietly. "Are you going to stand there and pretend you're helping me, or are you actually going to do something?"

Draco's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You're not in a position to be making demands, Granger."

"Maybe not," she retorted. "But if you really want to keep me alive, you'll need more than just good intentions. I need information, Malfoy. I need to know where I am, what Voldemort wants with me—"

"Stop saying his name!" Draco snapped, his eyes flashing with fear. He glanced around wildly, as if expecting Voldemort to materialize out of the shadows. "Do you have a death wish?"

"I have nothing to lose," Hermione shot back, meeting his gaze steadily. "Not anymore."

The anger drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaken. For a long moment, he just looked at her, his expression caught between fury and something that might have been pity.

"Fine," he whispered finally. "I'll try to get you some information. But if I get caught—"

"You won't," Hermione interrupted. "You're a Slytherin, aren't you? Use that cunningness of yours."

His eyes narrowed, but there was a glimmer of something like humor in his gaze. He stepped back, his shoulders tense.

"I'll be back," he murmured. "Just… stay alive, Granger. And don't do anything stupid."

With that, he turned and slipped out of the cell, the door closing softly behind him.

Hermione stared after him, her heart still racing.

Stay alive.It was almost laughable, coming from him. But despite herself, she felt a tiny spark of hope flare in her chest.