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Chapter Text

What will come next?

Hermione was frozen, struggling to process the thing she was seeing as the body of her best friend was dumped onto the ground in front of her and the others.

The battle had been waging for hours until Voldemort called a brief reprieve to bury the dead and attract Harry to him in the Forbidden Forest.

Though it tore her heart into pieces, Hermione hadn't stopped Harry after Severus Snape passed him those secret memories.  She didn’t know what was in them, but she could guess, and she felt only mild surprise to discover he may not be a traitor after all if he had been entrusted with this final secret.  She and Ron had left Harry to visit the pensieve alone, while they made their way to the Great Hall.  She told herself it was so she could grieve Fred and Remus and Tonks – along with her other friends.  She rationalized it by assuring herself that Harry would alert her and Ron when it was time.  They would be there with him at the end, standing by his side, even if the outcome was inevitable.

But she had been lying to herself.

She knew he would leave without them.  He always tried to leave them behind, and this time she let him do it.  She knew he had to go to Voldemort that night.  He had to.  It was a secret she had buried into her heart as she researched horcruxes and learned the identifying markers.  She had never voiced her thoughts out loud, not a single time.  But it was the only explanation for the prophecy.  It was the only reason why Harry could do things that others couldn’t – he could talk to snakes and see into Voldemort’s mind.  He wasn’t possessed, but he was connected.  And Hermione’s suspicions became a certainty when that tiny fragment of soul that was lodged in the scar on his forehead pulsed malevolently the first time she watched him touch the locket.

Voldemort’s soul recognized itself.  

Hermione had struggled with the knowledge that her best friend would have to die for months.  At times she intentionally slowed down their horcrux hunt, even to their detriment.  She didn’t really believe Godric’s Hollow would contain answers for them, but as she came to accept the fact that Harry would have to die she didn’t have it in her to stop him from visiting his parents’ graves at least once.  So she made up some bullshit excuse about the sword and Godric Gryffindor to ease Harry’s obvious guilt about the true reasons he wanted to go.

Of course, that had led to a near-disaster.  Harry had come very close to dying anyway, far earlier than was required.

She had waffled for the past seven months, oscillating between wanting to keep her best friend tethered to this earth and knowing that the longer they delayed the inevitable the more others would be hurt and killed.  And so she helped Harry march slowly toward his own death, doing her best to keep him safe and whole, while picking off all the other horcruxes along the way.  She made enough progress to assuage her own guilt about the war dragging on.  But she insisted on creating plans and backup plans and contingency plans and plans, plans, plans… not just for their safety, but to buy Harry a few more days of life before each find.  And then their break-in at Gringotts went sideways and alerted Voldemort to what they were doing, and her hand was forced.

It was the first time she told Harry to look into Voldemort’s head.  She had always known that was the way to find the horcruxes quickly, but Harry had never thought of it, so she had never suggested it.  Her stomach clenched whenever she remembered those faceless bodies dying around them while they figured out the clues the old fashioned way, but Harry was too important to her to rush.  Besides, she and the boys were stuck in a tent for much of the year.  It was surprisingly easy to forget that others were dying and being tortured while the three of them were in their isolated bubble together.  Gringotts, however, had accelerated things because they had to race Voldemort to that last hiding place.  Harry had finally used his connection offensively, and it worked.  

Of course it worked.

Still, even knowing that they had to find the Ravenclaw artifact didn’t mean that Hermione particularly wanted to kill it or the cup that day.  But it wasn’t like she could tell Ron why she was so reluctant to go visit the Chamber of Secrets when the battle was waging around them.  Some part of her was clinging to the foolish hope that they would fight just long enough to take out some Death Eaters, gather the last horcrux, and then escape so her best friend could live a bit longer before it was his turn too.

But Ron – ever the strategist – pointed out that carrying around a live horcrux was a bad thing.  They had done it before, and it had tainted them.  And what if this was their only chance?  What if the war could be finished right then?

So of course Hermione agreed to do it.  She wielded the fang that killed that bit of soul in the cup, and within an hour fucking Vincent Crabbe had destroyed the diadem for them too, while nearly burning them all alive in the Room of Requirement.

All that was left was the snake, and Hermione always knew that she would have to be at the very end.  Nagini would go at the same time as Harry.  That meant Hermione’s ability to drag out the horcrux hunt had officially expired. 

So while Hermione knew this was coming, she still wasn’t prepared to see it.  And that fucking snake was still alive, circling Voldemort.  Hermione choked out a sob, because Harry should have been the last one.  They should have found a way to take out the snake first.  He could have lived another few minutes or hours or maybe even another day, if she hadn’t stood back and let him walk to his own death.

But she had let him do it because she had been scared.  She had let him go because she knew his ending was predestined, but hers was not.  She didn’t go with him this time because she believed he would take the snake down too, and Hermione would just distract him from what had to be done.

That’s what she told herself at any rate, but maybe she was lying about this too.  Maybe she was just selfish.

Hermione could scarcely breathe as Harry’s blank, green eyes stared back.  That’s how she knew he was gone.  His eyes weren’t closed.  They weren’t blinking.  He was dead.  Dead.  And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it anymore.

She thought she might be suffocating as it began to hit her, and only then did the volume seem to turn back on as screams rent the air to see their hero so broken.

Ron was next to her, or he had been, howling like a wounded animal.  The sound went right to her soul, and she desperately wished he would stop.  She barely noticed as his wailing started to grow fainter as Ron pushed through the crowd to get closer to Voldemort.

“You bastard!” he cried.  “You fucking bastard!”

Hermione felt herself beginning to grow numb as tears coursed down her cheeks.  She was still staring at those green eyes – the ones she would never see again.  She would memorize him like this.  At least it had been the killing curse instead of something more painful and violent.  He didn’t look surprised.  He looked determined.  Knowing.  At peace.  

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered.  She hoped he could hear her.  She really hoped he would forgive her for keeping this secret from him.  “I just didn’t want you to think about it like I did.”

Hermione gave a giant sniff and blinked as she realized the crowd around her was starting to move again.  

“Neville!” screeched a voice that sounded like Ginny’s.  Hermione whipped around to see Neville Longbottom barreling at Voldemort with his teeth bared, only to be struck down moments later by a jet of green light.

“NO!” cried Hermione, and now she was gasping for air all over again.  

Harry was supposed to die, but not Neville.  Never Neville.  He was her first friend in the wizarding world.  He had always been there, quiet and kind.  He had an innocent crush on Hermione for years.  She knew it, and he knew that she knew it, but they had never talked about it.  He had gathered the courage to ask her to the Yule Ball after Viktor Krum did, but other than that he had never once spoken of it because sweet Neville was painfully aware that his crush was one-sided.  He was a gentleman, and the last thing he would ever want to do would be to make a girl uncomfortable.   

Christ, why hadn’t she kissed him?  Why couldn’t she have given him that, at least one time, before he died?

Then she remembered the boy she did kiss, only hours ago, and she went pale.

“Ron,” she muttered.  Then she screeched, “RON!”

But the battle was starting up again, and she lost him in the crowd.  With Harry Potter and much of the Order dead, those that were left were starting to scatter, and the Death Eaters were closing rank.

“Stupefy!  Stupefy!  Stupefy!”

Hermione could barely think straight, as she whirled and ducked and dodged, firing spells seemingly at random.  She knew she was a brilliant witch, but athletic endeavors had never really been her thing.  She wasn’t as nimble and coordinated as some of the others, and without a plan she ran on instinct.

Her instincts, she knew, ranged from very good to terrible.  She could apparate them out of Xenophilius Lovegood’s house while falling through the air, but she also had a tendency to panic at the sight of blood.  And there was so much blood.

Breathe and cast.  Breathe and cast.

Hermione took down one Death Eater with a stunner and another with a leglock jinx.  

I should be casting to kill.

She knew she should.  She knew it.  But it gave Hermione a sick feeling in her gut to think about it.  She wasn’t evil, and she knew what murder did to the soul better than anyone.

A spell lit the air, and a flash of red hair caught her eye.  It wasn’t Ron, but Ginny.  She and Luna were dueling a couple of men that Hermione didn't immediately recognize in the dark because their backs were to her.  Ginny and Luna looked exhausted, worn, like they were ready to collapse.

“GINNY!” screamed Hermione as she tried to fight her way to them. She had no idea where Ron was, but she had just found the only two girls who had ever been her real friends.  Maybe she could get to them and save them.  Her boys might be lost to her, but her girls…

Hermione sobbed as a red spell struck Luna first, and then she collapsed while Ginny’s face lit with rage.  

“Avada Kedavra you fuckers!” she screeched, and to Hermione’s utter shock a green jet of light flew out of Ginny’s wand, but the wizard she was aiming for dodged it.  It missed him and flew within an inch of Hermione behind him.  She ducked too as Ginny’s eyes met hers for a split second and widened in horror at what had almost happened.

“KEEP FIGHTING!” screamed Hermione, but it was too late.  Ginny’s moment of distraction caught her unawares, and she also fell to a jet of red light, while Hermione’s screams gave away her position.  

The two men turned and started to send spells her way now.

“Crap,” she gasped as she started firing off spells in return.  The men were hooded and masked, and she had no idea who they were, but as she got closer she thought they were about the same size as Harry and Ron.  She was so distracted by trying to duel them two at once that she didn’t notice the person approaching her from behind.

“Stupefy,” drawled an aristocratic voice.

Hermione should have ducked, but she was so surprised to hear his voice after watching him cough up smoke from the Room of Requirement that she spun to face him instead.  In a split second she took in a Death Eater wearing a mask.  But even in the moonlight Hermione recognized the glint of silver eyes that told her this was Draco Malfoy.  She didn’t know where the mask had come from, because the last time she saw him he wasn’t wearing it, and he didn’t look that different from any of the other students who were drawn into the fight.  Perhaps he had pulled it off of another Death Eater who was dead or dying in the grass.  Perhaps it had been kept with his master or his parents, and he had finally been able to retrieve it.  Or maybe he had carried it all along, shrunk down in his pocket, so that he could play both sides depending on what best suited his purposes.  Regardless of how it happened, she knew she was looking at a Death Eater now and not a boy.  The mask had given him back his confidence, and she felt a thrill of terror as he stared her down. 

Precisely how Hermione knew that this was Draco and not Lucius, she couldn’t be certain. It could have been his stance or the familiar look of anger that flashed in those eyes when they took in her appearance.  Then again, it might have been the wand he was holding.  She immediately recognized it as Harry’s.  

No, it wasn’t Harry’s wand.  It was Draco's wand.

She remembered now: it was the wand Harry had taken from Draco Malfoy that day at the Manor.  Somehow he had collected it from the body of her dead best friend.

Those silver eyes were focused and turned wild as the red spell flew toward her.   

Fucking ferret, she thought as the jet of light hit her in the chest, and it all went dark.

******

“Hermione!  Hermione!  Hermione!”

Hermione groaned as a frightened female voice penetrated her haze.  It took her a moment to realize somebody was shaking her.

“Wha –?” she asked inelegantly as her eyes fluttered open to find stone walls around her.  Absolutely everything ached.  She moved her head and winced.  It felt like it was being split open.  Her stomach rolled as another slice of pain rocketed through her skull, but she forced it back as she turned her head to find the source of the voice.

Luna’s concerned blue eyes swam into focus, her dirty blonde hair in tangles around her face.  She had a split lip and a bruise forming on one cheek, and Hermione saw dirt and blood ground into her skin.  Hermione was sure she looked just as bad.

“Luna?” she asked weakly.

Luna’s eyes showed relief, and her grip was surprisingly strong as she helped Hermione sit up.  Hermione closed her eyes as her vision swam.  Her head was absolutely killing her.  She supposed she had earned a migraine after the most recent fight, but this was positively brutal.

Then her eyes flew open as she remembered the battle.

“Oh God, Harry…” she said in a soft voice as she began to cry.

She felt Luna pull her into a hug and put her head on Hermione’s shoulder as she wept.  Then Hermione was surprised to feel another person doing the same thing on the other side of her.  The flash of red hair and slightly floral scent of her shampoo told Hermione it was Ginny.

“Ginny…” she breathed through her tears.  “You’re alright.”

“Yes,” she sniffed.  “A bit worse for the wear, but we’re alive.”

The three huddled in silence for a long while as Hermione’s tears finally dried and her pounding head dulled to a steady ache.  

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“Hogwarts I think,” said Ginny.  “Down in the dungeons.”

Hermione slowly looked around and realized Ginny was correct.  The Hogwarts dungeons were extensive, a vast network of various-sized chambers, all connected by low-ceiling corridors and lit with torches.  Most students never ventured past the Potions classroom, but Hermione knew the dungeons well.  After all, she had patrolled them for two years as a Prefect.  This room was fairly small, with a solid wooden door on iron hinges blocking the entry.  There were three small slivers of light where the wall met the ceiling.  Hermione knew they were nothing more than vent holes at the very base of the Hogwarts foundation.  They were no larger than a couple of bricks.  She would never be able to escape through them, having never learned how to become an animagus like Peter Pettigrew or Rita Skeeter.  But daylight streamed through the small crevices, which did tell her it was no longer the middle of the night.

She raised her hand and pushed up her sleeve, squinting to see her watch in the dim light.  It was cheap, but serviceable, and Hermione was relieved to see it still worked.  

“It’s almost noon…” she muttered.  “God, how long were we out?”

“Ten or twelve hours, I’d say,” said Ginny.  “I went down right after Luna.”

“And I went down right after you,” said Hermione.  “One of them was Draco Malfoy.”

“Poncey git,” growled Ginny, and Hermione couldn’t help the small bubble of laughter that escaped her.  It was odd and felt brittle, but Hermione was beyond exhausted and so hungry she felt faint.  She was slightly delirious.   

“No wands, I assume?” she asked, as she shut her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

“No,” said Luna.  “Not for any of us.”

Hermione forced herself to do a slow pat down of her body to confirm what she had already suspected: her beaded bag was also gone.

“Great,” she muttered.  “So we are stuck here until somebody lets us out.”

Ginny grimaced at this before frowning.  “What about wandless magic?  I know you have some, Hermione.”

Hermione sighed.  She did have some, it was true, but hers was largely unrefined.  Still, she knew she had to try.  She closed her eyes and tried to coalesce her magic, but it felt too far away to grasp.

“No,” said Hermione with a groan.  “It takes a lot of energy, and I’m just…”  she trailed off and closed her eyes again.

Exhaustion.  Pure exhaustion.

Yes, she had been unconscious for hours, but she hadn’t really slept.  Nor had she eaten.  And she couldn’t even begin to process her emotional state.

Hermione knew there would be no wandless magic coming from her, at least not yet.

“So what then?” asked Ginny with frustration.  “We’re just stuck here until somebody remembers us?  Or comes looking for us?  What if the people who put us here died?  They took us in the middle of the battle!”

Hermione felt a prickle of real fear at this, but she tried not to let it show on her face.  She wasn’t as afraid of dying as she probably ought to be.  It was something she had been grappling with ever since it became clear she would be central to the war, and she had largely made her peace with it.  But then again, she had never thought she would die this way: slowly, through starvation and dehydration.  

She swallowed and forced her brain back on.

“We have to think,” she muttered.  “I haven’t heard anything but us since I woke up, have you?”

Both girls shook their heads, and Hermione nodded.  “And the battle must be over, because surely we would be able to hear it…” 

At this she gestured to the vent holes.  

“We’re probably on the east side of the castle,” added Ginny.  “It’s not that far from where we were all fighting last night.”

“I suppose we should try the door,” said Luna, and Hermione’s eyes bugged out.

“You haven’t tried the door?”

“Well of course not, I assumed we were prisoners.”

“Merlin.  Well let’s try that first!” declared Ginny.

Luna scrambled to her feet, and Hermione and Ginny watched anxiously as she approached the door and tugged on it.  Of course nothing happened, and Hermione felt her heart sink.  It was stupid, really, to get her hopes up like that but for a split second she had believed they would be able to walk out.  The disappointment felt crushing.

“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath.  “So we’re prisoners.”

“But we don’t know who won,” said Ginny quietly.

“I think there’s only one answer to that,” said Hermione softly, and a couple of tears welled and then tracked down her cheek.  

“I just… it can’t be, Hermione.  You know it can’t.  What will we do if…”

Ginny’s voice was rising and starting to get hysterical, and Hermione reached out for her to pull her into a hug.  

“We survive, Ginny.  We do whatever we have to do to survive.  And…”

“And?” asked Ginny.

“And if any of us sees Nagini, we have to kill her first.”

Both Ginny and Luna were now looking at Hermione intently.

“Is that what you three were doing for the past year, then?  Hunting Nagini?” asked Ginny.

Hermione pursed her lips.  She knew how Harry felt about keeping the horcruxes a secret, but Harry was gone.  Ron might also be gone.  Ginny and Luna didn’t need to know details.  But Hermione also couldn’t rely on the odds of her own survival to finish it.

“Among other things,” she said.  “Suffice to say, You-Know-Who can’t die until the snake does.  That’s all you need to know.  She has to go first and then him.”

Both girls looked at her solemnly and nodded.

“If we have a chance, we will take it,” said Luna serenely.  “There are worse things than death.  Thank you for trusting us with it, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded and swallowed.  “It won’t be easy.  You can’t just… stab her to death or anything like that.  Think of her as a magically powerful creature.  She has special protection.  You can kill her with basilisk venom, but that takes a fang or the true Sword of Gryffindor, neither of which we have anymore.  The easiest method is with a wand and Avada Kedavra, but of course…”

“We’re wandless,” said Ginny bitterly.

Hermione nodded again.  “We are, though wands are much easier to come by than basilisk venom.  We still aren’t likely to get a chance, but if we do…”

“Then we know what we have to do,” finished Luna simply.

The girls fell silent, and Hermione found herself just starting to doze off when a noise at the door made her jolt awake and scramble to her feet.  She placed her hand against the wall to steady herself as the door was flung open, and three Death Eaters in masks came striding in.  

They said nothing as each one of them approached one of the girls and raised their wands to silently bind their hands and gag them.  Hermione struggled, but she was so weak from hunger, and the ropes were tight.  She had a brief flashback to Malfoy Manor.  This precise thing had happened there too, only she hadn’t been this weak.  The Death Eater who was handling her grabbed her roughly and pushed her forward, keeping her head bowed and his wand well away from her.  Behind her she could hear Ginny and Luna struggling too, but it was no use.

They were led through the dungeons, and only now could Hermione hear some moans and cries from other prisoners in nearby cells.  Her heart began to race as she trod the familiar path past the spare dungeons and Potions classroom, then beyond the Slytherin dormitory, until they marched up the stairs and toward the Great Hall.

She knew where she was going.  She was certain of it.  And this was bad – very bad.  Hermione closed her eyes and braced herself, hoping that some miracle would intervene to get her out of this.

They slowed as they approached the doors, and Hermione was stunned to find several dozen young people milling around, many of whom were unmasked.  She recognized most of the Slytherins from her class, along with several who were in the year or two ahead of her.  There were even a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the group and… 

Was that Cormac McLaggen?

Bile rose in her throat as he turned and noticed her before giving her a mocking smile.

Her captor made her come to a halt as he called out, “Everyone line up, behind us!”

Draco Malfoy.  Sodding Draco Malfoy was the one holding her in place.  She would recognize his arrogance anywhere.  And while some part of her was filled with fear, mostly she was just angry.

She was so angry.

Hermione’s temper exploded, and she started to struggle like a wild animal, writhing, twisting, and kicking.  She was going for his crotch and pectorals with her knees, just as Tonks had once told her to do in a situation like this, and she heard him gasp as her knee connected with flesh.  She felt a moment of keen satisfaction that she had landed a hit, though he was moving now too, and he was quickly overpowering her.  Wherever she had hit him, it had not done the damage she was hoping for.

“Fuck…” she heard him mutter.

Then a couple of others rushed forward and pinned her down to the ground, holding her in place while the Death Eater she knew was Malfoy stood over her.  A moment later she heard a spell she didn't recognize, and a cold sensation moved through her body, as though she was being submerged in water.  It took the fight right out of her, and she slumped.

“Get up,” he snarled as he tugged on her.

Hermione said nothing, her head just lolled to one side.  How could she possibly stand up?  She had no reason, no purpose.  She felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut, feeling both magically relaxed and completely out of her own head.  She had just expended the last of her energy in a fruitless attempt to hurt Malfoy.  She hadn’t even tried to escape, she just wanted him to feel pain.

“I said, up,” he growled as he hauled her to her feet and bent down to throw her over his shoulder like a sack.  She opened one bleary eye and looked down to see Malfoy’s arse striding forward, while Ginny's red hair flashed somewhere in her peripheral vision.

Hermione heard the doors to the Great Hall flung open, and then Malfoy was striding toward the front.  Hermione was slowly coming back around, but she was still in a daze as he approached.  She saw black cloaks and masks that told her she was surrounded by Death Eaters, but she couldn’t see clearly to know precisely how many there were.  Then she was distracted as his voice rang out.

“My Lord, I have brought you followers and captives.  I have been recruiting young men and women who are loyal to you for the past year, and they are here to take your Mark and offer you their service.”

She was still draped over his shoulder, but he stepped aside, and she heard shuffling as all of the people who were milling about in the Entry Hall stepped forward and announced their names one by one.  Hermione counted twenty-four of them in all.

“You have done good work, Draco,” came Voldemort’s high voice.  “And now, show me your captives.”

She felt herself sliding off his shoulder, and as her face passed his, he breathed, “Scream when I say so.”

And then without further ado she was dropped in a heap at Voldemort’s feet, and she sensed Ginny and Luna being shoved down next to her.

“The Mudblood Granger, my Lord,” said Malfoy.  “I also have the sister of Ronald Weasley and that Lovegood bint who escaped with Potter from the Manor a couple months ago.  I have another half dozen prisoners in the dungeons to offer you as well, after these three.”

There was silence as Voldemort contemplated his prisoners.  Hermione’s head was finally starting to clear from that odd spell, which she now realized must have been some sort of strong calming charm.  She struggled to control her breathing as she waited, but there was something odd niggling in her mind.

The sister of Ronald Weasley?

Wasn’t Ginny better known for being Harry’s girlfriend?  True, they had only been together a few weeks at the end of sixth year, but surely Malfoy knew about it.  It had been all over the school.  Then again, maybe he assumed the relationship fizzled out since it had been nearly a year.

“You have done exceedingly well, Draco,” said Voldemort.  “And tell me, have you learned any secrets?”

“I have searched the Mudblood thoroughly, my Lord,” said Draco.  “It was as you thought, but she is no longer a threat.  She was the least of them.  As you know, Potter and Weasley are already dead.”

Hermione went cold, while her heart broke for Ron, and tears started to track down her cheeks as she muffled a sob.  Poor Ron was dead too, and now Hermione was all that was left of her little band of best friends.  And what did he mean he had searched her thoroughly?  When?  She hadn’t seen him since the battle.  She had been unconscious and…

Her head.  She woke up with the worst migraine of her life.  Had he been inside of her head while she was unconscious?  Was that even possible?

Hermione tried to choke back her tears, feeling both desperate and violated. Voldemort knew about the horcruxes, that was something she had accepted during the battle itself.  But was he aware of just how close they had come to finishing it?

He must be aware now.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried not to panic.

“Very well,” said Voldemort.  “I promised you a boon if you were able to gather followers and capture the Mudblood.  You have done this, and Lord Voldemort keeps his promises.  So tell me, Draco, what is it you desire?”

“I wish to execute the Mudblood for you, in front of the wizarding world.  Let us have a spectacle my Lord.  Allow me to send her through the veil to join Potter and Weasley so nobody questions your authority any longer.  Then I wish to take the Weasley girl for myself.  She is a blood traitor, but she is pure and of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.  I am certain I can break her, my Lord.  I can make her learn her place in our new world.  And finally, as you are most generous, I ask that you consider granting Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini a prisoner of their choice as well.  They are loyal and were critical when it came to securing the Mudblood and being my seconds in recruitment.”

He bowed low, and Hermione felt so ill she wanted to wretch.

A public execution.  She would be murdered in some horrible event that would be broadcast to wizarding Britain.  It wasn’t enough that she would die.  No, it would be in front of dozens, if not hundreds of people.

And Ginny… Hermione’s stomach turned as she thought about it.  Malfoy wanted to take her prisoner for what?  Sex?  Domination?  Surely not marriage, despite her status?   Regardless of his motives, it was truly horrifying.

At last Voldemort spoke.  

“Very well,” he said.  “I will not deny that you three captured our highest prize.  I will reward you as you wish, Draco.  My other loyal followers will be able to choose from our prisoners as well – it is only fitting – but you may have the Weasley girl, and Nott and Zabini may also have priority for their selections as is befitting their rank.  We will execute the Mudblood as soon as it can be arranged, and then we will allot the prisoners from there.”

“My Lord, may I suggest the fifth of June for the execution date?” he asked.

Hermione felt the panic truly beginning, and she made herself breath.   The fifth of June was just over a month away.

“I am not opposed to it, but you will tell me why,” said Voldemort.

“Of course, my Lord.  I am suggesting it because it gives us several weeks to prepare.  We can execute the Mudblood, allot the prisoners, and then host celebrations through that weekend.  And besides… it also happens to be my birthday.  I can think of no greater gift.”

Hermione could hear the smirk in Malfoy’s voice at this last tidbit, and there was a moment of shocked silence as the room seemed to collectively hold its breath at his assertiveness.  But then to Hermione’s great surprise Voldemort began to cackle with laughter.

“Excellent Draco, most excellent.  Yes, of course we must celebrate your birthday in a unique way this year.  Very well – the events will take place on the fifth of June.  It will be a national holiday to celebrate my victory.  Now then, before you are dismissed…  please welcome the Mudblood as our prisoner.”

“Of course my Lord…” he said as he straightened up and removed his mask from his face.

He turned to look down at Hermione, and she stared back at him with dull eyes.  His face was carved like stone, and she nearly shuddered at the coldness that was radiating from him.  He looked at her for one long moment before pointing his wand straight at her.

“Scream for me, Mudblood,” he said before his face contorted and he cried, “Crucio! ”

Malfoy’s spell connected, and Hermione began to scream.

Chapter Text

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

Hermione’s eyes were closed as she leaned against the wall of her cell, her mind drifting in and out of consciousness as she listened to the rain outside.  She wondered if it was washing away the blood from the battlefield or if it was simply pounding it into the earth to linger there forever.

Evening had fallen, and she had been separated from her friends as soon as Malfoy’s presentation to Voldemort had ended.  This time she was thrown unceremoniously into a smaller room in the dungeons that she didn’t immediately recognize.  An elf had appeared soon after with food and drink, which Hermione was staunchly ignoring, and she estimated that it had now been approximately twenty-four hours since she had had a sip of water and even longer than that since she had eaten.

***

It took most people about three days to die from dehydration.  This was something Hermione had actually researched before going on the run, though precisely why she had bothered she couldn’t really say.

As it turned out, dying through dehydration was truly awful, especially when one had ready access to food and water, and it was simply a matter of willpower not to consume it.  But Hermione was determined to die her own way, because she would not, under any circumstances, allow herself to be publicly executed by Draco Malfoy of all people.  It wouldn’t just be humiliating, it would also be incredibly painful.  His cruciatus curse had been surprisingly weak compared to Bellatrix.  It had hardly felt like anything, and Hermione only screamed so that somebody who was more competent than him wouldn't have a go.  But after experiencing his pitiful attempts at torturing her, Hermione was sure Malfoy did not have enough magic to pull off an Avada Kedavra, and that meant she wouldn’t have a clean death like Harry did.

There were any number of other hexes and curses that could be fatal of course, but none of them were instant like Avada Kedavra.  Despite the fact that the killing curse was unforgiveable, Hermione had come to believe that it was probably the kindest way to commit murder, if one was really intent upon it.  At least it wasn’t messy like a slicing or crushing hex.  Ghosts reported that it was painless as well.  It did, however, require a strong bit of magic to achieve – not to mention a slight fracturing of the caster’s soul – and Hermione doubted Malfoy could do it.  While the thought of dehydration had filled her with dread earlier that day, she concluded it wasn’t as bad as being sliced open.  Blood made her squeamish, and the pain would be unbearable.  It was one of the worst possible ways for her to die.

And so, after failing once more to open the door to her cell wandlessly, Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands.  Luna and Ginny had their orders about the snake, and Ginny at least would be alive and in the Manor and might have a real shot at killing it someday.  Hermione’s odds were practically nonexistent.  

Besides, some perverse part of Hermione was really hoping that if she wound up dead before her public execution that Malfoy would be blamed for it.  This, more than anything, steeled her resolve.

Hermione hadn’t found it easy, but she had managed to wandlessly vanish a little of the food and drink to maintain appearances in case her captors checked on her.  At this point she figured she had less than two days to go before her body gave out.  She hadn’t taken the time to eat or drink during the battle, and the passage she read about dehydration made it clear that the three day rule was a broad one.  It could be much faster than that when exposed to heat or overexertion.  Already her awareness was starting to grow hazy, and Hermione was retreating into some twilight place in her own mind as she closed her eyes and counted the drips.

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

Night soon fell, and Hermione drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep that was suspended between restful and delirious.  By the time the sun started to rise the next morning, she was barely conscious and no longer counting drips.  In fact, she was pretty certain she was hallucinating as she heard frantic and hushed voices around her, but she couldn’t open her eyes to know for sure.

***

“...get him, quickly…”

“...will not let you fucking do this…”

“...figure it out…”

It was only when she felt like her head was splitting open again that she jolted into any sort of awareness.  Hermione groaned and made a feeble gesture to bat it away, but it was relentless, rough, and she caught the flashes of scenes playing in her mind’s eye.

She saw a wave of her own hand to vanish some of the food and drink and then darkness.

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

The pain in her head eased abruptly, and Hermione was just beginning to drift again when a sharp stab into her forearm jolted her once more.

“Wha?” she whispered.  She felt some pain and then pressure and then cold.

“Stick it to the fucking wall,” she heard a harsh voice say.  

Hermione could barely move, but she managed to touch her arm with her free hand and struggled to remember what had happened when her groggy mind seemed to register something that was entirely out of place in the magical world: an IV tube.

Instinctively she started to scratch at it, but a rough hand pulled hers away and pinned it down.

“Don’t even think about it,” the voice growled.

Hermione tried to yank her hand away, but she was too weak and barely conscious to put up any real fight.  She slumped and was hardly aware as the minutes ticked by and slowly some of the fog began to clear her mind.

She finally opened her eyes to find Draco Malfoy’s furious face inches from hers.  She didn’t think she had ever seen him more angry in her life.  Some shuffling told her there were a couple of figures behind him as well, but he was too close to her to identify them.

“What in the actual fuck was that?” he demanded.

Hermione didn’t respond, and her eyes fluttered closed while her head flopped to the side again, no longer willing to fight her exhaustion.  If it was Malfoy, she would be overpowered anyway in this state.  What was the point of responding?

He gripped her face under her chin and yanked her head upright.  His touch was hard, bruising, and Hermione realized he must have been wearing gloves because it felt like leather on her skin.  Instinctively Hermione’s eyes opened again.

“Granger, answer me.  What are you playing at?”

Hermione tried to sneer but couldn’t quite manage it, and she just closed her eyes once more though didn’t try to turn her head this time.

He made a frustrated sound, and then her head was being split open yet again.  As the memories started to fly past, Hermione now realized what was happening.  

Legilimency.  He was doing legilimency on her, and she tried to close her mind to it, but it was too strong.  Not knowing what else to do, she reached up and grabbed his wrist to pull his hand off her face, but that wouldn’t budge either.

She was starting to panic.  He couldn’t be allowed in her head, she couldn’t let him find their secrets.  Even if Voldemort knew what the trio had been up to now, Malfoy couldn’t know about it… unless he had already found it while she was unconscious…

But no.  She had to believe that her secrets were still hers.  She had to.  

Hermione began to struggle, but in her weakened state she was no match for him as he quickly flitted through her memories.  He was looking for something, but what it was she couldn’t be sure.  He skipped the second half of the battle and paused at the short ceasefire to observe what she had done.  She hadn’t done anything, she knew, except cry over Fred, Remus, and Tonks while feeling sick at the thought that Harry was about to die.

She heard another frustrated sound as he started to move back further than that until he finally landed on the moments in the Hogshead, when Aberforth Dumbledore had fed her the last thing she had eaten before letting her and the boys into the castle.  The boys, she knew, had inhaled their food as they always did.  Hermione, however, had picked at it, feeling too nervous to eat very much.  She had always lost her appetite when she was worried about something.

From there he flipped back further only to discover the single apple she had forced down in some semblance of a breakfast before she and the boys had set out for Gringotts earlier that day.

He nearly growled as he left her mind again.

“She’s had an apple and a few bites of bread and stew in the last three days.  That’s it.  Go find Severus and get a nutrition potion.”

She heard some movement as footsteps crossed the small cell, and then her door opened and shut.  This statement made her eyes open in surprise.  Snape was dead.  She had watched him die, or so she thought.

Malfoy seemed to register her shock on her face.

“You friends,” and he sneered at this word, “always liked to call him a bat.  But he’s really more like a cockroach.  He’s everywhere and incredibly difficult to kill.  Even when you think he’s been stamped out, he always comes back.”

The slightest spark of hope stirred in Hermione’s chest.  She couldn’t be certain that Snape wasn’t a traitor – after all, she hadn’t seen the memories he gave to Harry – but perhaps…

“My godfather is committed to making sure you don’t fuck this up for me.  You will not be killing yourself any time soon.”

Godfather.  Snape was his godfather?  How on earth had she and her friends missed that detail?  And if it was true, then it probably didn’t matter what side he was on.  Snape would never intervene for her if it would put his godson at risk.  She said nothing as the hope flickered and died, and she looked away as a single tear tracked down her cheek.  For some reason this seemed to enrage Malfoy who finally released her and moved back, breathing hard.

“You dirty, sniveling little Mudblood.  Is that what you were after then?  You were trying to find a swift exit like your best pal Potter?”

The sound of Harry’s name on Malfoy’s lips made her forget her commitment to remain silent.  Her eyes snapped to Malfoy’s face, and he was staring at her intently, his eyes glittering as they bored into her.  If she didn’t know better she would think he was trying to read her mind.

But he already did, she reminded herself bitterly.  I know what that feels like.

“Don’t ever speak his name,” she whispered.

Malfoy’s expression turned mocking.  “Oh?  And why’s that?  The Boy-Who-Lived turned into the Boy-Who-Died, and now his little Mudblood sidekick is going to tell me what to do?  You’re my prisoner, Granger, in case you haven’t noticed.  And you will stay alive for the next month or I’ll –”

“What?” she cut him off.  “You’ll do what?  Your threats are meaningless when I’m already dead, Malfoy.”

His nostrils flared at this as he lunged forward and gripped her face again.

“You will not take this from me,” he said harshly.  “My family’s survival is dependent upon it.  And it… it will give me everything!”

“Oh like I give a single flying fuck about anybody in your sodding family or the things you do and don’t have!”

Malfoy blinked in surprise as he released her and moved back again.

“Language,” he chided her.

Hermione scoffed.  “Right.  You’re allowed to say ‘fuck,’ and I’m not?”

“Who taught you then?  Your dead Weasel?”

At the mention of Ron’s name, she froze, and something that felt like ice made her heart constrict.  She was breathing hard, determined not to cry in front of Malfoy, but the effort to do it was too much, and she started to feel faint again.

She heard a muttered curse as he closed in on her again.  “Slow breaths.  You have to take slow breaths, Granger,” he said quietly.

As the world began to right itself again, Hermione realized just how close he was to her.  He was cupping her face again, speaking into her ear to make her breathe in time with him.  She gasped and shoved him away hard.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she cried.

Malfoy fell back with shock on his face.  

“DON’T EVER TOUCH ME!” she shouted again, as the tears fell and she began to sob.

Harry.  Ron.  Neville.  Fred.  Remus.  Tonks.  Colin.

There were probably a dozen others she didn’t know about.  Ginny would still be alive, but what about Luna?  What about George and the rest of the Weasleys?  What about Lavender?  Had Grayback’s injuries killed her or just maimed her?

She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged herself, and only then did she feel that odd tug on her arm and remembered the IV.  This was sufficiently distracting that she blinked and looked up to find a bag of what looked like water stuck to the prison wall.  Well it was no wonder she could speak now.  They were rehydrating her.

She reached for the tube to yank it out, but Malfoy was faster and pinned her again.

“I said don’t touch me!” she hissed.

“And if you would stop trying to kill yourself I wouldn’t have to!” he gritted back.  

Hermione groaned in frustration, and Malfoy closed his eyes for a moment as though praying for patience.

“What is even the point?” asked Hermione.  “Why wouldn’t I try to end it?  What on earth makes you think I’m not going to take care of this myself as opposed to being publicly tortured and executed?  Do you think I want to die?  Of course not!  But I’d rather do it my way than yours!”

“Oh, right,” he said coldly.  “You would rather die of thirst and starvation than go with a quick Avada.  Try again, Granger, I know you’re smarter than that.”

“But it wouldn’t be,” she said automatically.  “You’ll never Avada me.”

At these words, Malfoy almost recoiled, and he stared at her warily.

“What do you mean I won’t Avada you?” he asked harshly.  But his face looked almost frightened.  It was an odd juxtaposition.

Hermione narrowed her eyes.  “You’d never manage it.  Your cruciatus sucked.  You won’t be able to do it, and that means I’m going to die in some incredibly violent, very painful way.  Do you really think I’m going to give you that?”

All the color left Malfoy’s face as he stared at her.  She got the impression he was thinking quickly.

“Granger.  We aren’t friends.”

Hermione snorted. 

He ignored her and continued.  “But I do know you.  I’m not going to be slicing through your neck with a diffindo.  Any death from my hands will be an Avada, and it will be fast.”

Hermione weighed this and studied his face.  “I don’t think you can do it.”

“I can,” he said simply.  “I have before.”

Hermione blinked.  She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but a casual confession of murder wasn’t it.  Then again, how could she know he was being truthful?

“Your word isn’t good enough,” she said.  “Why would I ever trust you?”

He studied her for a long moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching.  Finally, he seemed to come to a decision about something.

“I’ll make an Unbreakable Vow,” he said.

Hermione inhaled in surprise.

“Why?” she asked softly. 

He stared at her squarely.  “I need to do this for my family and for myself.  That means you have to stay alive until it’s time.  But I’m not interested in making your death messy, Granger.  You and I both know that an Avada is the most humane way to go.  If you stop trying to hurt yourself while we wait for the day to come, then I will make sure it’s as quick and painless as possible.  The Dark Lord has given me license to handle it however I wish.”

Something twisted in her gut at this, and Hermione barely noticed as her cell door opened and footsteps came back in.  Malfoy held up a hand to stop whoever it was, as they continued to stare at each other. 

Hermione was weighing her options.  She knew Avada was far better than dehydration or any other method she could contrive herself, but she would be sitting around waiting for it for a month.  Then again, it could give her some time to work out how to escape.  She knew she couldn’t expect to be successful – no doubt she was warded in, and without a wand there would be little hope of breaking the wards – but a month was a long time, and perhaps he would make a mistake.  If she was assured of a swift death at the end, then maybe she could be brave while she sat in this cell and waited for it.  

Besides, if he failed, then it meant Malfoy would die too.

“Fine,” she said.  “Make a Vow.”

Malfoy’s face didn’t change at all, but some of the tension in the air seemed to ease as he sat back and stripped off his gloves.

“Nott,” he said, "be our Binder.”

Hermione blinked as another figure moved into her sightline.  Malfoy was so much larger than her that she hadn’t been able to see around him, and his companions had been entirely silent while they stayed back and listened.  She looked up and barely recognized Theodore Nott.  His hair was shorter than she remembered, his face more strained.  But he still had that mop of curls that were surprisingly similar to her own and very blue eyes.  She had always thought they looked very much alike, though she couldn’t recall speaking to him a single time in their years at Hogwarts.

Sure enough, he said nothing as he crouched to the side and pulled out his wand.

“I have to touch you for this,” Malfoy said quietly.

Hermione swallowed her distaste, but nodded quickly.  Of course she knew that.

He reached up and clasped both of her hands in his.  His grip was firm, warm, and Hermione’s hands nearly disappeared in his.  He had grown quite a bit over the last couple of years.

He huffed an exhale as though composing himself and then nodded to Nott, who placed his wand on their hands.

Malfoy spoke quickly, before Hermione could begin.

“I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, do vow on my life that I shall never cause Hermione Jean Granger’s death by any means, except through the use of Avada Kedavra.  So may it be.”

Hermione was so surprised to hear her middle name spoken that she froze as the band of gold slithered out from Nott’s wand and wrapped around her hand before sinking into her skin.  Immediately Malfoy released her hand and sat back, as Nott removed his wand.

She furrowed her brow in confusion.

“What about my Vow back?”

“What Vow back?” he said, as he studied her.  She thought he would appear nervous about the Vow he had just made, but he seemed to think nothing of it.  

“The Vow that says I won’t hurt myself while I’m waiting for you to murder me.”

This seemed to amuse Malfoy, because he gave her a wry smile.

“Like I would ever be foolish enough to let you do that,” he said.

Hermione furrowed her brow.  “Pardon?”

Malfoy raised one eyebrow.  “You’re here for a month, Granger.  After the stunt you just pulled, do you really think I’m going to give you the means to kill yourself so easily?”

Hermione inhaled as she stared at him, now realizing what he was implying.  If she had made the Vow too, then any minor injury could have broken it and killed her instantly.  Death by breaking an Unbreakable Vow might not be as swift as Avada Kedavra – Hermione couldn’t be certain about that – but there would be no saving her from it and still very fast.  Truthfully, Hermione hadn’t even thought of this before he suggested it, but she knew it would have come to her at some point over the next month.  And if she wasn’t successful in her escape before the execution day, he was right that it would give her a simple way to end things on her own terms instead of his.  

Hermione glared at him for taking this away from her, and it seemed to amuse him.

“Gryffindors,” he tutted.  “So bold, but so very unstrategic.”

Hermione scowled at this, but he ignored her as his eyes flicked up to the bag secured to the wall.

“It’s almost gone,” he said.  “Zabini, give me the potion.”

The figure that had come through the door stepped forward and handed Malfoy a vial of something that looked suspiciously like a green smoothie.  Hermione wrinkled her nose at it, and Malfoy caught her expression and chuckled.

“It’s your own damn fault, you know.  You will drink this.  It tastes about as good as it looks, but it will rebalance all the nutrients you’ve lost.  And then you will eat.  If you refuse, then it will be a month of nutrition potions that I will personally force down your throat twice a day.  Neither of us wants that, I can assure you.”

Hermione sighed and took the small vial and stared at it.  She knew about these in theory, but they were complex and the ingredients expensive.  She had considered brewing some before she and the boys went on the run, but there had not been the time, and then she had lost the means as soon as the Ministry fell and she became a fugitive.  She couldn’t just walk into an apothecary any longer.

Damn survival instincts, she thought.

Now that Malfoy had vowed to kill her painlessly instead of slicing her open, her will to kill herself through dehydration had evaporated, as it were.  She quickly uncorked the vial and downed it.  She shuddered.  It tasted horrifying, like some blend of overstewed cabbage and rancid meat.  But within a few minutes she felt color returning to her cheeks and some of the lingering fatigue in her limbs seemed to be easing.  It didn’t make her feel full, but strength was returning to her.

Malfoy was watching her intently.

“Poppy,” he said, and a small elf appeared with a CRACK! that made Hermione jump with surprise.

“Poppy, this is Granger.  You will keep guard over her.  Once that bag is empty you can remove the IV from her arm, and then you will make sure she eats and drinks enough going forward.  If she causes any harm to herself, you will find me immediately and inform me.  You will not speak to her, and you will not enable her to escape.  You will be watching her in twelve-hour shifts with Flinky, and neither of you are to leave her alone unless it is an emergency, and you need to retrieve me.  I will let Flinky know.”

Poppy gave an odd sort of curtsy and then moved to the far corner of the room to stand silently.

Hermione glared at Malfoy.

“This is entirely unnecessary.”

Malfoy just snorted.  “What’s that muggle saying?  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me?  You’ll find that I’m no fool.”

Hermione scoffed.  “Right.  Because following a half-blood sadist who pretends to be a pureblood isn’t foolish at all.”

Hermione held some mild hope that this taunt would make Malfoy snap, but it didn’t.  In fact, he didn’t appear surprised or perturbed by the news at all.  Instead he just shrugged.

“It’s you and the others who are in prison at the moment, while I’m free.  Sadistic half-blood or not, he’s the one with the power.”

Hermione grimaced, but at the mention of the others, she suddenly remembered her two friends who had been in her cell with her when she first woke up.

Malfoy was starting to rise, but Hermione reached out and grabbed his hand.  He jolted in surprise as he stared down at it.

“The others.  Tell me about Ginny and Luna.  Please.”

Malfoy looked back at her face, and Hermione tried not to appear desperate, but she was.  She had to know they were alright.

Her expression must have given her away because Malfoy’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he spoke.

“They’re alive,” he said simply.  “And if you want them to stay that way, you’ll behave.”

Hermione blanched.  “You wouldn’t,” she whispered.  “You wanted Ginny for…” she trailed off.

Malfoy’s face twisted at this.  “Is that what I told the Dark Lord?  Do you think she’ll do a good job warming my bed, Granger?”

There was some uncomfortable shuffling behind Malfoy, but he ignored it as he studied her.

Hermione felt sick as she considered it.  “Ginny would never…”

Malfoy scoffed at this.  “You’d be shocked by the things people are willing to trade if they think it will give them an advantage in war.  Their captors just have to find the right leverage.  All you need to know is they’re alive, and my interest in keeping them that way is entirely dependent on your cooperation.  Don’t cause further trouble for me, Granger, or I’ll know precisely who should be punished for it.  My Vow did not cover them.”

Hermione paled and released his hand, as she sat back and stared at him.  Surely they were just empty threats.  They had to be.  But he also seemed so unconcerned by the thought of them being hurt that she couldn’t be certain.  And she realized he was right: people would trade nearly anything when the right leverage was applied.  In Hermione’s case, the leverage was her friends, even more so than her own life.  She just swallowed and nodded.

“Good,” he said.  “I think we understand each other.  I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Granger, to make sure you cooperate.  Nott, Zabini, let’s go.”

The three moved out, and Malfoy cast a swift look back at her as he left through the door and locked it behind him.  Hermione slumped and turned to look at the little elf who had been left behind, staring at her intently.

“There’s no need,” she muttered.

The elf said nothing, but its gaze remained fixed on her.  She shuddered a bit and glanced back up at the bag.  It was empty, and she looked down at the needle Malfoy had inserted into her arm.

It was odd, using muggle methods, but she knew it was effective, and no doubt it was far easier to obtain than potions that achieved the same thing.  A hydration potion would have been even more rare and complex than the nutrition potion she consumed earlier.  Maybe the Death Eaters had adopted some simple muggle methods that required no magic in order to keep their prisoners alive and their private potions stores intact.

She started to slide it out, and the elf immediately hurried over to her.

“I can do it,” muttered Hermione.  The elf paused and watched as she slipped it out of her vein.  It was perfectly done, just a single stick, as small as possible.  A bead of blood pebbled on her skin as she removed it, and to her surprise the elf waved its hand, and the small pinprick healed itself.

Hermione frowned and stared at the elf curiously.

“Why bother to heal me?”

The elf, of course, said nothing, but just stared at her with its large eyes.

It was only now that Hermione realized she still felt weak, but she wasn’t in pain like she expected.  She thought back to her injuries during the battle.  They had all been minor enough that she hadn’t asked Madam Pomfrey to heal her.  She hadn’t even bothered with dittany because it was too rare and valuable to use for minor cuts.  She had done what she could, but healing spells were tricky, and she had never been terribly comfortable practicing on herself.  She knew she should have plenty of small cuts and bruises, but as she examined her arms and felt her face and neck, she found nothing.  Even the place where Bellatrix had held the knife to her throat a few weeks ago seemed to be smoother than she remembered.

“Did Malfoy heal me?” she asked the elf incredulously.  “Or have one of the elves do it?”

The elf said nothing to this, but just moved away back to the corner of the room and sat down, never taking its eyes off of Hermione.

Hermione sighed before turning back to the tray of food that was still steaming near her.  No doubt it was under some sort of stasis charm.  It was a breakfast, composed of all her favorites, and her stomach ached as she stared at it.

She hesitated, knowing that anybody could have spiked her food with something.  Then again, Malfoy seemed inordinately interested in keeping her alive and in relatively good health before he killed her.  She wouldn’t put it past him to have examined her food before giving it to her.  Whatever he laced it with it was unlikely to harm her.  No, at most it might make her sleepy or stay calm to acclimate to the horrid conditions in which she found herself.

Malfoy was interested in her compliance, her cooperation.  He wasn't out to kill her, not yet.

She scooted closer to the food and reached out to take a hesitant bite of eggs as she waited for something to happen.

But there was nothing.  Her eggs were just eggs.  

The moment the food hit her stomach, the extent of her hunger enveloped her, and her stomach gave an almighty rumble.  She took a deep breath and stared down at her food before taking another forkful and chewing slowly.

She had nothing else to do that morning.  She would be here for a month or until she finally escaped.  She picked at it until every bite was consumed.  Then she leaned back against the wall again and allowed her eyes to drift shut, finally succumbing to the first true sleep she had had in days.

The last thing she thought about before her consciousness left her was her breakfast.

How did the elves know my favorites?

Chapter Text

Prison was boring.

Malfoy’s elves still showed up like clockwork, every twelve hours, and yet neither of them broke to say a single word to her.

Food continued to appear three times a day, and it was the best Hermione had eaten in nearly a year.  After a few days of hesitant picking, she finally determined that Malfoy must have her food under his control and nothing was being added to it.  The fact that it was always delivered by a third elf made her wonder where, precisely, the food was coming from.  The two elves who were her guards wore pillowcases with the Malfoy crest embroidered on them.  Hermione knew the Hogwarts house elves wore tea towels like a toga.  The elf that delivered her food, however, wore a loincloth, much like Kreacher did.  It did not match any of the uniforms Hermione was familiar with, but it made her suspect that her food was being prepared separately from the other prisoners.

Her toilet was nothing more than a discreet bucket, but with the elves there around the clock the mess vanished, and the air was refreshed after each use.  It took Hermione some time to get used to relieving herself with another creature in the same cell as her, but at least they gave her the courtesy of turning their backs while she did her business.  It was the only time either of them would tear their eyes from her.

She was not allowed to bathe of course, but the elves did perform cleansing charms for her each day, and Hermione had learned years ago how to magically clean her teeth without a wand.  It meant that her body and clothes were clean enough, even if she didn’t have the benefit of a bath.  Again, she sensed she was getting some special treatment.

In those hours between her meals and her toilet, Hermione was forced to turn inward to entertain herself and pass the time.  She dwelled on any number of things, but mostly she thought of death.  It should scare her more than it did, and she knew this.  She knew that the slight longing she felt every time she contemplated it wasn't healthy or normal.  She told herself over and over again that she didn't really want to die because Hermione Granger didn't give up.  But every so often her imagination ran away from her.  She envisioned herself closing her eyes at the execution, seeing a flash of green light behind her eyelids, and then opening them again to see Harry and Ron appearing before her with open arms.  It wasn't death she was seeking, it was her friends.  But since they were dead now, she would have to die too if she ever wanted to hug them again.

Missing her friends was a problem with only one solution.  But if she died then their mission would be incomplete.

It was puzzling, and Hermione was reflective as she turned it over in her mind on an endless loop.  Did she want to escape so she could finish it for Harry?  Or did she wish it were already the fifth of June so she could see him again?

Yes, she did. 

When she was being most honest with herself she knew that some part of her wanted both things, even though they were mutually exclusive.  She knew which one she should want more - freedom to continue her mission - and most of the time she told herself she did want it more.  But whenever the pain of their absence hit her, she reminded herself that she would see them again soon.  She hadn't escaped yet.  All of her attempts had been foiled before they barely started.  So she found herself missing her friends, but not grieving them.  She would be with them soon, and there was no need to grieve.  She only hoped Malfoy really would give her the clean and painless exit he had Vowed.

Then again, she might expire from sheer boredom first.

Death Eaters looked in on her each day.  It was usually Malfoy, but occasionally Zabini or Nott checked on her instead, or even others.  Some of them she knew, some of them she didn’t.  

Zabini and most of the others uniformly called her “Mudblood" and didn't speak very much.

Malfoy mixed “Mudblood” with her surname, and he was the chattiest of the bunch.  She found herself anticipating his visits simply because it gave her something to do to talk to another human being.  The cognitive dissonance of being excited to see Malfoy was too much for her to sort through properly.  She suspected she would die before she understood it.

Nott was an odd one because he only called her Granger.  And then one day he slipped and actually called her “Hermione.”

“Granger,” said Nott in a soft voice as he opened the door and looked in on her.  Hermione was in the middle of practicing some wandless magic and making a rock from her cell hover in the air.  Other than contemplating death, it was the only thing she could do to pass the time without going mad, and surprisingly, none of the guards ever stopped her.  In fact, Malfoy seemed almost amused by her efforts.

“Nott,” she responded.  

“More magic then?” he asked curiously as he observed her.

“What else am I supposed to do in this hellhole while I wait for Malfoy to murder me?”

To her consternation, Nott just rolled his eyes.

“Dramatic much, Hermione?”

At the sound of her first name, the rock fell, and she turned to look at him with huge eyes.  There was a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks, but he didn’t take it back.

“You called me Hermione,” she said.

“Your powers of observation astound me.”

“But why?  Every other person in here calls me Mudblood or Granger.  It’s usually just Mudblood, though.”

Nott shrugged and nimbly side-stepped her question.  “With so many prisoners it gets confusing when we call them all Mudblood or Blood Traitor.”

Hermione’s heart started to speed up.  Nott was rarely this chatty with her.  Even Malfoy didn't tell her things like this.  He was very good at keeping information close to his chest.  

“How many others?” she asked softly.

Something flashed in Nott’s eyes, and he looked surprisingly grim.  “Maybe fifty or so.  Enough to fulfill the boons the Dark Lord has promised his key followers.”

Hermione felt sick as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.  “Maybe it really is better that I’m going to die,” she said softly.  "I know I'm not supposed to want it, but it's certainly better than becoming somebody's boon."

Nott said nothing to this, and she opened her eyes again to find him looking at her pensively.  

“Not everyone can be saved, Hermione,” he said slowly.  “There are… limits… to what can be done in circumstances like this.”

Hermione scowled.  “I’m not asking you to save me.  I'm just saying I would rather have a clean death than be forced into that.  I still can’t believe… Ginny….”

A lump in her throat rose as she thought about Ginny being placed in Malfoy’s household.  Malfoy had been surprisingly indulgent with Hermione while she was in prison, it was true, but Hermione was certain it was because he felt some measure of guilt for what he was planning to do to her.  Ginny, she knew, had no such advantage, and her temper was even worse than Hermione’s.  She would surely rage at being caged by Malfoy, and he would snap and retaliate.

“Draco won’t harm her,” said Nott.  “I am certain about that.  They don’t get along, but Draco is a lot more bark than bite when it comes to physical discipline against women.  And he doesn't participate in the revels very often.  I’ve never seen him touch a witch who didn’t agree to it.”

“Revels?” asked Hermione with growing horror.

“I’m sure you can imagine,” said Nott grimly.  “Ginny will be safe from that.”

“And Luna?” she asked.

“Luna too,” said Nott.  “Her future master feels the same way as Draco does about them.”

“Who will claim her?” asked Hermione.

Nott hesitated.  “I can’t tell you that.  Suffice to say there are negotiations taking place about the order of selection for prisoners, but I feel confident that Luna will go to a generous master.  The interested parties are all rather territorial.”

Hermione slumped.  There was nothing she could do to stop their fates, she knew that.  But it broke her heart to think of it.

“Death would still be kinder,” she said softly, "especially with an easy Avada.  I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I think I'm lucky."

Nott looked perturbed.  “Don’t say that, Hermione.”

Hermione just dropped her eyes and didn’t respond for a time.

“Are they… being treated well now?” she finally asked.  “While they are waiting, I mean?”

Nott nodded.  “It’s similar to you, though they are sharing a cell.”

Hermione was grateful for it.  At least they had each other for company.  Hopefully they weren't thinking about their fates on an endless rerun like Hermione was being forced to do.

“And the other prisoners?”

He looked hesitant.

“Tell me,” she insisted.

Nott sighed.  “I haven’t looked in on them all, but you three are treated better than many of the others, though you aren’t the only ones who are getting special treatment.  Like I said, not everyone can be saved.”

“Why us though?” asked Hermione in confusion.

“You because of the sacrifice.  The Dark Lord intends to make it a… spectacle.  It won’t be as impressive if you don’t look the part.  You need to be well-fed and cared for.”

Hermione’s stomach turned at this.  “And Ginny and Luna?”

“Ginny gets special treatment because she’s already claimed by Draco, and that means the others defer to him.  Luna gets the benefit of it as her cellmate.”

“Don’t tell me Malfoy is trying to be their protector.”

Nott sighed.  “It’s more complex than that, but yes.  He is.”

Hermione gave a mirthless laugh at that.

Nott sighed and turned away.  “Look, I need to go.  I may not see you again before that… day.  And if I don’t…”

At the reminder of her execution, the fight left her once more.  “Thank you for telling me… all this.  I don’t know if I believe that Ginny and Luna will really be okay, but I’ll try.”

His eyes softened.  “Please do try.”

“I promise not to haunt you after Malfoy murders me," she added.  "I’ll haunt him instead.”

He cracked a grin at this as he started to open the door.  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Bye, Theo,” she said softly.  

Nott physically jolted at the sound of his first name, but he turned and looked at her one last time.  

“Bye, Hermione.”

******

As the day for her execution approached, Hermione still had not found a good opportunity to escape.  Malfoy warned the other guards that Hermione could be dangerous, and with rare exception they entered her cell with their wands trained on her.  Hermione had tried to wandlessly disarm her guards a handful of times, but spells like that took precision, and she was sloppy without a wand or any real opportunity to practice.  They always deflected it easily enough.  

She did, however, exact some mild revenge whenever they were particularly rude or cruel to her.  One wandless hex she had perfected during her imprisonment produced slow-growing hemorrhoids that would require a healer with a specialty to remove, and she had struck more than one Death Eater with it thanks to the fact that it passed through a shield.  

Once it became known that she was the source, most of the Death Eaters fell silent when they checked her cell.

One exception, of course, was Malfoy.

The other exception, to Hermione’s chagrin, was Cormac McLaggen.

Even more than Malfoy, Hermione despised Cormac.  It was odd, she knew, hating the man who was planning to murder her less than her former housemate, but she couldn’t help it.  It probably had something to do with the fact that Malfoy actually talked to her about innocuous things when he visited, and Cormac did nothing but boast.  Cormac had always been like that — brash and arrogant — and Hermione soon learned that he craved power.  Voldemort was perfectly willing to accept him into his ranks, along with his uncle Tiberius who held sway at the Ministry of Magic, and Hermione was disgusted by how easily he turned for Voldemort as soon as the battle was won.

Cormac's visits also put Hermione on her guard because she sensed he was more influential than he ought to be for a newly-minted Death Eater.  Malfoy was never pleased to hear that he had checked on Hermione, and but he didn't seem to be able to stop him.  Cormac clearly hovered just outside of Malfoy's control, and something about it put her very on edge whenever he came to visit.  He taunted her about the power Voldemort was willing to provide to him and said crude things to her in turn.  Hermione learned to just stay silent and suffer his abuse because when she fought back he lingered.  Hermione was getting the impression that there was a bit of a power struggle between Cormac and Malfoy in the Death Eater ranks, but she didn’t dare ask them about it.  Malfoy treated her better than Cormac did — if such a thing could ever be said about the man who was planning on murdering her — but she knew that both men had volatile tempers, especially when it came to the other.

In a moment of clarity, Hermione uncharacteristically decided that she didn't need to know why Cormac and Malfoy obviously despised each other so much.  Normally she would be curious about an odd dynamic like that, but it really didn't matter, and she didn't dare provoke either one of them by inquiring.  So she remained ignorant of the facts surrounding their mutual dislike until Cormac arrived at her cell a week before she was due to die, and Hermione learned firsthand about their conflict.

***

Her door slammed open, and Hermione flinched in surprise as Cormac and two others wearing the standard Death Eater masks strode through her door.  Cormac said nothing at first, but flicked his wand at Hermione, and she found herself stuck to the wall, arms and legs stretched out.

She was in shock at his abrupt behavior.  Her heart was racing, and she tried not to panic as she remained pinned there, under his angry gaze.  She tried to wandlessly release whatever spell he was using to hold her there, but it wasn’t working.  She hadn’t practiced this, and now she was berating herself for it.

He flicked his wand again and silenced her and then vanished her clothing so she was spread naked against the wall.  Now Hermione began to truly panic, as his eyes roved over her hungrily, and he moved toward her.

“Malfoy thinks he’s going to convince the Dark Lord to deny me a boon.  Me, after I’ve delivered my uncle and his entire fucking department at the Ministry of Magic!”

Cormac stuck her hard against the cheek.  Hermione’s head cracked against the wall, and she blacked out for a split second.  Her cheek was throbbing, and her head felt like it was split open in the back.  She blinked hard to clear her vision.  

She made eye contact with the terrified elf in the corner.

“Help,” she tried to say, but she was silenced and nothing came out.  The elf, however, seemed to know what Hermione was trying to communicate.  She swallowed and nodded quickly before disappearing with a soft POP! and Hermione only hoped she would be fast.  Cormac's entire attention was on Hermione, and he didn’t notice the elf leaving.  She had never wished for Malfoy’s presence as badly as she did now.

“Malfoy refuses to execute anybody else for the Dark Lord.  He says it has to be you, and that’s why I can’t have you.  And then he went behind my back and asked the Dark Lord to remove the boon I was promised, all because I told Malfoy I intended to ask for you.”

At this his hands gripped her breasts, and Hermione tried to thrash to get away, but she was pinned so tightly and her head hurt so much there was nothing she could do to stop him.  The Death Eaters behind him were simply watching, neither of them moving to intervene for her.  He dug his nails into her breasts and twisted, and God but it hurt.  It hurt so much.  Nobody had ever touched her there, and she didn’t know it could be as painful as this.

“Malfoy thinks he can fuck with me, but I can fuck back harder.  If he insists that you’re going to die, then I’m going to have you first.  He’s not going to take this from me too.”

Now his hands were between her legs, and Hermione felt bile rising in her throat.  She thought she was going to vomit all over him.  It was horrifying, degrading, and she had never felt more violated in her entire life.  Nobody had ever touched her there before.  Even Hermione had hardly touched herself down there except for hygiene purposes.  She had never been successful at extracting pleasure from herself before.  She had heard it was supposed to feel good, but she always found the idea too odd and embarrassing to give it more than a half-hearted attempt. This was her most intimate place that he was touching, and it didn't feel good.  It didn't feel good at all.  It was painful — even more painful than her breasts, which might actually be bleeding from nail marks.

“Dry as the fucking desert,” he growled, and then to her horror he cast another spell, and Hermione felt wetness start to trickle down her inner thigh.  She struggled to move, but she was pinned too tightly, and she felt sick as something damp and viscous trailed down her leg.

“There,” he muttered.  “I’ve always imagined you dripping for me.”

He scraped his fingernails against her core to check once more, and Hermione flinched.  He was so rough it felt like he was tearing something open.  Her stomach started to heave.

Gods she had never…

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to think about what was about to happen to her.  She knew this happened in war.  She knew it.  She told herself she had prepared for it.  She would be brave.  She would face any man who dared do this to her and get her own in the end.  But the horror of her own mind was overwhelming her, and all she could do was struggle against the cold stone wall that was biting in her back.

“Hold still,” he grunted as he pulled something long and slightly purple from his pants with one hand while closing around her throat with the other.  Hermione’s flight instinct took over, all of her attention now pulled to her throat where her airway was slowly being cut off.  She tried to thrash, until he squeezed so hard that she became lightheaded, and her eyelids started to flutter.

Only distantly did she feel something large and hard start to intrude between her legs.  She was doing everything she could to get away, but he was too big and there wasn’t enough air.  She felt tears run down her cheeks as he grunted with frustration.

“What the fuck…” he grunted.  “Why the fuck won’t it…”

He removed the hard thing and started clawing at her entrance again with his free hand, and Hermione tried to scream but she couldn’t.  She didn’t know what was happening, but he seemed enraged, and he reared back and smacked her again.  Her head cracked against the wall a second time, and she saw stars as she felt that large thing press again between her legs.  She felt, rather than saw, his frustration building.  He was shouting with aggravated rage as he squeezed her neck hard and tried to thrust into her.  She didn't know what was happening or why he was so angry, but he tried over and over again, and Hermione's head scraped against the stone with each attempt.

His fingers clenched around her, and her vision swam.  She felt herself losing consciousness, and some part of her was grateful for it.  She didn't want to remember this, ever.  But then there was a distant shout and some thuds, and then something dark and palpable shifted in the air around her.

***

A moment later, he was wrenched off of her, and Hermione took a great shuddering gasp of air and blinked hard to right her vision.  Her heart was racing as she slowly looked up to find Malfoy staring at her, his eyes taking in everything in an instant.  He was pale, and he looked slightly deranged as he surveyed her.  Behind him she saw Theo and Zabini, both looking uncharacteristically shaken.  The two masked Death Eaters were in a heap on the floor, and Theo and Zabini had their wands over them.  Cormac was sprawled on the ground and spread eagle, clearly unconscious.  Hermione closed her eyes and tried to bury her face in her shoulder as a silent sob rose.  She didn’t want them to see her like this.  It was too weak, too degrading.  Maybe if she couldn’t see them then she could pretend like they couldn't see her, either.

She heard some muttered cursing for a moment as a soft brush of magic almost caressed her, but she was still nude and stuck to the wall.  Nothing was happening.

“Poppy,” Malfoy's voice rasped.  “See if your magic can release her and then help her please, but ask her first.  Blaise, check on the others and then call Nita.”

Hermione cracked one eye to see Zabini’s eyes widen as he immediately strode toward the door and wrenched it open.  She heard his footsteps sprinting down the hall.  The house elf approached her and tried for several moments until finally something worked, and Hermione felt her arms and legs release.  She collapsed onto the ground and instinctively curled in on herself.  She was trembling as the memories of everything Cormac had just done threatened to overwhelm her.  She wondered if she was going into shock, and she barely heard the elf leave for a few moments and then return.

The elf whispered, “May Poppy cover Miss?”

Hermione took a shuddering breath and raised her head to find the elf holding a thick blanket.  It looked warm, and it was spun in green and gray.  Hermione swallowed and nodded, and the elf gently arranged the blanket around Hermione’s shoulders before tugging it together.  Hermione clutched at it and buried her face in it for a moment to try to calm herself.  The blanket was exceptionally soft and it smelled delicious, like some combination of cedar and spice.  Hermione breathed it in and finally felt her panic begin to ebb ever so slightly.  Only then did she raise her head to see Malfoy staring at her, fury dancing in his gaze.  Theo, too, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her, and he seemed torn between rage and despair.

“Granger,” said Malfoy in a tight voice.  “Did he…?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out.  Tears welled in her eyes as the panic started all over again.

Malfoy furrowed his brow for a moment until he seemed to realize the issue.  His eyes widened, and he looked fiercer than ever.

“He fucking silenced you?”

Hermione nodded through her tears, and he flicked his wand, and Hermione felt the spell release.  She took a shuddering gasp and dissolved into now-audible sobs.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Malfoy declared as he turned to the still-unconscious Cormac.

“Mate,” said Theo, reaching out to grab Malfoy.

Malfoy turned to growl at Theo now.  “But she’s—”

“I know,” Theo insisted.  “But you need to handle this the right way.”

Then he pulled Malfoy to him and started quickly talking in his ear.  It was so quiet Hermione couldn’t hear.

When Theo was done, Malfoy took a deep breath and nodded once as he turned back to Cormac.  He crouched over him and placed his wand against his temple.  

“Legilimens,” he hissed.  

Cormac's body jerked, but he did not wake, which answered one question for Hermione: Malfoy could indeed perform legilimency on an unconscious person.  Cormac continued to twitch, and Hermione got the impression that Malfoy wasn’t making any attempt to be gentle.  She knew the moment he got to the scene with her, because he paled as he watched before finally shoving him away and turning around so Hermione couldn’t see his expression.  Theo was again frantically whispering something to him, and she saw Malfoy taking some deep breaths from behind.

When he finally turned, his expression was calm but so cold Hermione had to look away again.

They stood in silence until Zabini returned.

“He didn’t touch them,” he said simply, "and I called an elf to fetch her.”

Malfoy nodded once, and Hermione let out an exhale.  She hoped he meant Ginny and Luna, but she was too shaken to ask.

Finally Malfoy approached her, very slowly, his mask still in place.  Instinctively Hermione shrank from him and tugged her blanket tighter.

He halted.  “I’m not going to harm you,” he said carefully.  “Not like that.”

Hermione swallowed but said nothing as he walked even more slowly toward her before crouching down.

“Granger,” he said softly, "he needs to be punished.  Tell me how.”

She stared at him, and his eyes bored into hers.  They were hard, but encouraging at the same time.  She couldn’t believe he was letting her have any say in it, but now that he was she knew exactly what she wanted.

“I want it to hurt,” she said immediately.  “I don’t want him to feel safe anymore.”

Something like approval flashed across Malfoy’s face, and he nodded slowly.  

“Good.  Now tell me.  Do you want to do it, or do you want me to do it for you?”

She inhaled in surprise.  “You would… let me?”

“Just this once.  And I must warn you that despite what happened I can’t allow you to hold a wand without supervision.  But if you wish to punish him, I will let you do it provided I can hold your hand to cast with you.  If that makes you uncomfortable, then I need to do it without your help.”

“Yours is weak,” she said automatically.

A twisted expression appeared on Malfoy’s face.  “I can assure you, this one will not be weak.”

They both fell silent as Hermione considered this.  Did she want to hurt McLaggen for what he had done to her?  Yes.  Some part of her needed to do it, or else she would be terrified for the rest of her very short life.  She wanted to reclaim her fear from him.  Then again, it meant that Malfoy would touch her, and she wasn’t keen on any man touching any part of her.

She weighed it a moment longer and asked, “You only have to touch my hand?”

He hesitated for a moment.  “Strictly speaking, yes.  But if you wish to cast… that spell… the magic might fight you.  It will be easier if you’re braced against me too.”

She swallowed as she thought about it a little longer, and then she nodded.  “Okay,” she whispered.  “You can touch me… for this.  I need to do this.”

He nodded once and then rose and offered a hand to her.  She looked at it without moving for several seconds, but then gathered her courage and grasped it.  She stood on shaky legs and tugged the blanket to her more tightly as she approached Cormac's form cautiously.  Theo and Zabini were both watching her carefully as she swallowed and stared down at him.

“I hate him more than you,” she said.  “Even though you plan to murder me.”

She sensed Malfoy jerk a little in surprise behind her, but he said nothing to this and instead approached her slowly.

“Can I put my arm around your waist to brace you?” he asked quietly.

She closed her eyes for a moment, but forced the bile back down and nodded.  A moment later she felt herself being pulled against his chest, and while her heart stuttered, something about it also felt safe.  It was an odd sensation because Malfoy was going to end her life in just a handful of days.  She knew this.  And yet, he had been very clear with her about his motives and what he had promised her for her death.  He wasn’t out to cause her any more pain than necessary, and she sensed that he didn’t really want to kill her at all.  It was simply a way of ensuring his family’s safety, and they were more important to him than she was.  Of course they were.  Ever since that day he made the Vow, he had taken care not to cross her or push her or demand anything else from her except to stay alive.  They still bickered, and he still insulted her on occasion, but none of it felt personal, not even the plans for her death.  It was strange, indeed, to take comfort from one’s executioner, but in this moment she did.

“Have you ever cast an unforgivable before?” he asked quietly in her ear.

Hermione shook her head, and he tightened his arm a little more.

“Very well.  As you know, the cruciatus is fueled by hate and fear.  You will need to tap into that and draw on it.  It will feel like an exorcism of sorts — all of your own hate and fear will be poured into him.”

She nodded.  

“Alright then, here is my wand,” he said, and he raised his free hand to put his wand in her hand that was poking out from the blanket.  It sparked familiarly, and Hermione felt a rush of sadness as she held it.

“The last time I used this Harry was alive,” she said softly.

Malfoy’s hand tightened reflexively at this, but he said nothing as he covered her wand hand with his.

“Remember,” he said.  “Pour your hate and fear into the curse.  Turn it back on him.  Make him feel it, Granger.”

She nodded, and then Theo kneeled down by Cormac and placed his wand on his chest.

“Renervate,” said Theo, and then he stepped back as he and Zabini both trailed their wands on him.

Cormac groaned and started to sit up, and instinctively Hermione felt herself freeze.

“Breathe,” said Malfoy’s voice in her ear.  “He has three wands trained on him.  He's not going to touch you again.  You can do this, Granger.  I know you can.”

She swallowed hard and forced back her fear as Cormac's brown eyes opened and stared at her in amazement.

“Malfoy,” he snarled.  “What are you… what is…”

“Now,” Malfoy whispered in her ear, as he moved her hand to point the wand directly at Cormac's heart.

Hermione paused only a moment longer, as she focused on how much she loathed him.  

“Crucio!” she cried. 

The spell hit him, and the force of it pushed her back into Malfoy’s chest as she fought to release the darkness from within her.  Malfoy braced her and held her tightly, as Cormac began to scream and something poisonous welled up inside of her.  It was all the hate and fear and pain caused by the war, especially over the last year.  Memories of her friends dying, her own torture at Malfoy Manor, and finally the violation from Cormac moments earlier flashed before her as the feelings coalesced and then released.

Instinctively she pushed, and it seeped out of her and into him.  She realized Malfoy was right about it: this spell felt like she was transferring her pain and fear into McLaggen’s very soul.  She sensed she could control the intensity of it.  He might ache a little if she only said the words, but if she really wanted him to hurt then she had to push her own darkness toward him too.

She wanted him to hurt.  She wanted it more than anything at that moment.  She was powerful and this darkness had been building inside of her for years.  It was begging to be released.

Cormac was shrieking, twitching, and now he was staring up at her, more afraid than she had ever seen him.  It should have scared her just how good it felt to make him taste fear, but instead she was thrilled by it.  He had taken something from her, and now she was taking it right back.  

“Perfect,” said Malfoy’s voice in her ear.  “A little more.  Give him all of it, Granger.”

She gritted her teeth and pushed harder, and Cormac's screaming became inhuman as he wet himself.  At long last the last vestiges of her pain danced across Malfoy’s wand, and she took a shuddering breath as she broke the connection and lowered the wand.

Cormac's screams halted, but he was in a heap on the floor, weeping and still shaking, the smell of urine biting in Hermione’s nose.

Hermione sank into Malfoy, who gripped her firmly to hold her up.  It felt as though she had cracked open her heart and purged something from it.  She was utterly exhausted, but she felt better than she had in months.  She knew the darkness would build inside of her again before she met her end, but right now, at this very moment, she felt free.

She now understood how this spell could become addictive.  The rush, the power, the sheer relief it gave the castor was otherworldly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Malfoy said nothing to that, but he guided her back to the other side of the room.  She sank onto the floor again and watched as he took the wand back from her and then turned to Cormac himself.

“You will pay for this,” he said coldly.

“You sick fuck,” spat Cormac.  “You let that cunt–”

“Crucio!” cried Malfoy.

Hermione flinched at first, but she found she couldn’t tear her eyes away as she watched in fascination as the spell hit Cormac again. This time Malfoy’s curse was just as strong as hers had been, if not even more powerful.  She realized in that moment that she should never have doubted Malfoy.  He was more than capable of casting a powerful cruciatus, he simply hadn’t done it to her that day he presented her to Voldemort.  Instead of transferring his pain and hatred to her, he had kept it all to himself, and he had given her a very dull version of the spell while she screamed and pretended to be in far more pain than she felt.  She wondered why he held back with her.  Perhaps he simply didn’t hate her enough.  Or maybe he found torturing women to be distasteful.  Or perhaps he felt there was no need, since he would be executing her anyway.  Regardless of his motives then, he wasn’t holding back against Cormac now, and Hermione knew that this time the screams were real.

Malfoy was sweating with the effort by the time he finally lowered his wand, and Cormac looked back up at him.  His nose was bleeding, and his eyes looked dull through their tears.

“I’ll tell,” he croaked.  “I’ll tell the Dark Lord you allowed her a wand.”

Malfoy, however, just gave him a cruel smile.  “By all means, tell him.  I think the Dark Lord would be thrilled to know just how powerful her first cruciatus turned out to be.  You should also tell him that I let her cruciate you because you tried to rape her and take the thing that will make her death most valuable to him.  You had better hope that Nita confirms she’s still a virgin, because if she’s not… the Dark Lord will kill you himself.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.  

Malfoy knew she was a virgin?  Voldemort thought it made her valuable?

Cormac turned paler than ever at Malfoy’s words.  “But what…”

“The details are not any of your business,” said Malfoy.  “But suffice to say that there were many reasons I ordered you and the others to leave her alone.  She is not to be touched by anyone.  Her innocence makes her sacrifice far more powerful than it otherwise would be.”

A bloody virgin sacrifice, Hermione suddenly realized.  There must be some ritual or some spell that Voldemort would cast as part of it.  She felt sick.

“Will it hurt?” she asked in a small voice.

Malfoy turned to look at her in surprise.

“Will what hurt?” he asked cautiously.

“The ritual or… whatever it is you’re talking about.”

Malfoy’s eyes looked almost gentle now.  “No, Granger.  The ritual will take place after the sacrifice.  You won’t feel a thing.”

Then he turned back to Cormac and said harshly, “But it does require the blood from a dead virgin.”

Cormac was ashen now.

“No…” he whispered.  “Please… don’t say anything… don’t tell…”

“It’s not up to me,” said Malfoy.  “Nita will confirm one way or the other.”

There was silence, as they waited for this Nita to arrive.  Hermione had never heard of her and had no idea who she was.  But a few minutes later her questions were answered as there was a knock on the cell and a moment later one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen floated through the door.  Her hair was pale blonde and shone like moonlight.  Her skin was flawless and seemed ageless, though somehow Hermione knew this woman was much older than her.

“You summoned me?” she asked in a musical voice.

“Yes, Granger here was… attacked.  We need to confirm her status.”

Hermione swallowed hard as the beautiful woman turned toward her, and then she blurted out, “You’re a Veela.”

The woman gave her a small smile.  “You are observant.”

She knelt down by Hermione and studied her for a moment.  Something about the woman made Hermione trust her implicitly.  She knew it was probably the Veela magic, but she was so beautiful and seemed so good.  The part of Hermione that had been shattered seemed to reach for her.

“May I touch you my dear?” she asked gently.  

Hermione swallowed and nodded.

Nita placed her hands on Hermione’s face and closed her eyes.  Then Hermione felt a warmth traveling down her body and seeping into her heart.  It felt like Nita was examining her very soul and was pleased by what she found there.  It was lovely.

Hermione sighed with longing as Nita removed her hands and turned toward Malfoy.  

“She is still intact.  The spell held.”

“So the blood that was between her legs was from what?” he demanded.

Hermione blanched at this, but Malfoy wasn’t looking at her.  

“External injuries, no doubt.  It was not from full penetration.”

There was a groan of relief from Cormac, and a muscle in Malfoy’s jaw twitched.  But he nodded and then turned to Theo and Zabini.

“Take this useless fuck away and lock him in a spare cell until I have a chance to speak to the Dark Lord.  I want him out of my sight.”

Theo and Zabini both nodded firmly and hauled Cormac to his feet.

“No!” he shouted.  “I didn’t do anything, you heard her… Granger is fine!  I didn’t–”

“I will cruciate you until your brain oozes out of your fucking nose if you don’t shut up this instant,” Malfoy snarled.  “I am nowhere close to being done with you.  Now go.”

Theo and Zabini dragged Cormac away, and then Hermione was left with Malfoy and Nita.

“Can you heal her?” Malfoy said, now looking at Nita.

“Of course.  If I may touch you again, my dear?”

Hermione nodded eagerly.  Nita’s magic felt like being wrapped in a hug.  It was soothing, and Hermione was already craving it again.

Nita smiled a little and kneeled again as she placed her hands on Hermione’s head.  There was a pulse of magic, and this time it was so warm it almost burned as it moved through her body.  Hermione closed her eyes as she felt her head heal and her bruises diminish and the throbbing pain between her legs cool.  She sighed with relief as her body put itself back together.  Then she felt an odd tingle below her navel and opened her eyes to stare at Nita in confusion.

“I have reinforced the spell,” she said.  “He did not breach her, but we shouldn’t risk it.”

“What spell?” she asked in confusion.

Nita smiled at her serenely.  “It is nothing to worry about, my dear.  It is Veela magic.  Our race has always been desired by men for their baser instincts.  We have magic that prevents our bodies from being used against our will.  I’m sorry to say that it does not prevent an attack like you experienced, but no man can fully penetrate you unless you wish for it.”

Hermione felt a bit overwhelmed by this.

“And you cast it upon me…”

“Right after your capture, my dear.  We cannot be too careful.”

“Because I have to be a virgin for the ritual,” she said.  She flushed a bit, but she realized it must have been no secret.  She wasn’t sure if she should feel grateful for the precaution or bitter because of the reasoning behind it.  They were turning her into a perfect sacrifice.

“That’s certainly one reason,” said Nita blithely. “But virgin or no, it strikes me that all women should have agency over their bodies.  I am always happy to cast the spell upon any vulnerable woman.”

“And my friends?  Ginny and Luna?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, they are protected as well, my dear.  It seemed prudent, and I was there anyway to confirm your status.”

Hermione reached up and clasped Nita’s hand.  “Thank you,” she said sincerely.  “I won’t be there to help them, and I just…”

Nita smiled and stroked Hermione’s cheek.  “You have accepted your death.  I can sense it.”

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who was frozen now as he listened.  She nodded slowly.

“Yes, I knew it would probably end that way when I followed Harry, and I made my peace with it a long time ago.  I just hoped it would be an easy exit.  Malfoy has sworn he would give me that.  That’s why…” she hesitated and glanced at him again.  He looked almost sad as he watched her.

“That’s why I don’t hate him as much as I should,” she finished.

Malfoy made a sound of discontentment at this and then abruptly rose and stepped back.

“Poppy,” he said.  

“Yes Master?” said the little elf.  

Master.  So Poppy really is his.

“Bring Granger some clothes from… you know.”

Poppy gave a little bow and then apparated away.  

Hermione looked away and hugged the blanket to her more tightly as Nita rose too.  She placed a hand on Malfoy’s cheek.

“You need healing as well,” she said, but he shook his head.

“No.  Not yet.  Find me after.”

She pursed her lips in slight disapproval, but dropped her hand and stepped back.  “Very well.”

Then she looked at Hermione.  “I do hope we see each other again someday my dear.”

Hermione smiled wryly.  “I’ll be dead in less than a week.”

Nita gave her a knowing look.  “We both know that the veil is thin.”

Hermione nodded.  “It is, that’s true.”

Nita smiled and then moved off.  Now Hermione was left with Malfoy, who seemed to be waiting until Poppy returned with clothes for her.

“Granger, I’m sorry about —” he started, but Hermione cut him off.

“No.  You don’t get to apologize for what you’re going to do to me.  You don’t get to unburden yourself in that way.  I said I don’t hate you as much as I should.   That doesn’t mean I forgive you for it, especially if my body is going to be used to enhance You-Know-Who’s power after the fact.”

“How did you —” he started, but Hermione rolled her eyes.

“There’s only one thing he wants, Malfoy.  Just one thing.  It’s power.  He wants it from as many sources as he can find, and I know how powerful I am.  I imagine he found some ritual that will take it from me after my death, and evidently it’s stronger if I’m still a virgin when it happens.  So while I won’t deny that I’m pleased someone had the foresight to protect my virtue against vile men like Cormac, the motivation for it makes me angry.  Don’t interpret my cooperation and acceptance of the inevitable as forgiveness for your actions.”

Malfoy swallowed, and his face seemed to shutter at her words.  He just nodded curtly and wisely kept his mouth shut until Poppy appeared with fresh clothes that Hermione didn’t immediately recognize.

“These is fitting Miss.  Is Poppy allowed to speak to Miss now?” she asked Malfoy.

Draco gave a short nod.  “Yes, I suppose there’s no harm at this point.  Just nothing classified.”

Poppy gave a toothy grin at this, and Hermione couldn’t help it.  She smiled too.  It felt strange.

“I will leave you,” said Malfoy.  “Rest assured McLaggen will be handled.  I will be informing the Dark Lord of what he did to you.”

Hermione nodded her agreement.  She had no sympathy for whatever might happen to him once Voldemort learned his precious ritual had been threatened. 

Malfoy said nothing more as he slipped out, leaving Hermione to her thoughts.  She had been violated, terrified, and then exacted revenge.  She was changed, she knew that.  Though she only had a few days left, she would die a different woman than she had been.

******

Draco was staring into space, barely conscious of the other Death Eaters around him.  McLaggen had just been hauled off after the Dark Lord permitted Draco to torture him in front of the other Death Eaters.  It had been a large group this time, and Draco had been forced to heal McLaggen periodically so he wouldn't fully bleed out and die.  After all, Draco had more that he wished to do to the bastard.  The others had looked at him with some wariness and reservation when it was all over, but some of the more senior members had congratulated him on it before shoving a drink in his hand. 

Whispers of Draco's special skills had spread quietly in Death Eater circles before this night.  Up until very recently, Draco preferred privacy or just a small number of witnesses whenever he tortured a prisoner instead of showing off in front of a group.  He usually enjoyed it more that way, and there was always a chance that the wrong people would hear about it if his audience was too large.  But then again, this particular display had been effective in making the other Death Eaters sit up and take note.  They all respected and feared him now.  The Dark Lord had been quite pleased with the performance.  Besides, Draco would be doing a lot more than that very soon, and perhaps it was a good thing McLaggen had given him some practice at putting on a show.  The Dark Lord was firmly in power now, so it was probably time to go public with the full scope of Draco's talents.

He couldn't think about it rationally though.  Hermione's words were reverberating in his head.

"Don’t interpret my cooperation and acceptance of the inevitable as forgiveness for your actions."

He kept hearing her say this to him on a loop.  He couldn't get it to stop.

He thought she had forgiven him.  She had been talking to him every time he visited.  She had been cautious and occasionally biting, it was true, but for the most part they were cordial to each other now.  Ever since Draco found her that day she tried to kill herself, he had gone to great lengths to improve their relationship.  He didn't want her to take matters into her own hands, not ever.

He had never been so terrified as that day he found her, not even when she was brought in to the Manor or when he knew she was dodging fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement.  His heart had never ached like that before.

Or it hadn't until earlier that day when that fucking pig had attacked her.  Draco's magic positively crackled every time he thought about it.

She had been so scared.  There had been enough blood between her legs that he had scarcely noticed her nakedness.  He couldn't stop staring at the blood.  It wasn't dirty at all, but he already knew that.  No, it was red just like his.  It was full of magic and inordinately powerful.  McLaggen had spilled something utterly precious.  Draco had already spilled far more than that in retaliation, and he wasn't done yet.

But Draco needed her to forgive him.  He really, really needed her to forgive him.

She will, he tried to assure himself.  There is so much she doesn't know yet.

Draco took a deep breath and tried to occlude to push her words away.  He had been in a near-constant state of occlusion since the Battle of Hogwarts.  It was the only way he could stand to see Hermione every day, so bored and lonely in that prison cell.

Not long.  It won't be long now.

Pretty soon everything would change, and he wouldn't have to see her on that cell floor ever again.

He forced himself to remember the other thing she had said; the thing that made Draco sad to hear, but also gave him a spark of hope.

"I don’t hate him as much as I should."

He would cling to this.  It would be the thing he focused on over the next few days as he made his final preparations to kill Hermione Granger.

She may not have forgiven me, but she doesn't hate me.  Not really.     

Chapter Text

Hermione’s final days slipped from her like water through a sieve.  Now that Poppy and Flinky were allowed to talk to her, Hermione passed her time chatting to them about their lives and families.  She used her last few days to learn everything she could about house elves and hopefully plant the seeds of freedom in their minds.  She didn’t bother to ask about Malfoy.  She didn’t want to talk about Voldemort.  She tried very hard not to think about Cormac, and she buried the thing that had happened to her deep into a crevice of her brain so she would never have to confront it before she died.

After her final escape attempt failed only moments after it started, Hermione knew what was coming, and she didn’t want to think about Death Eaters in her last hours.

Instead, she thought of house elves and Harry and Ron and all of her friends she would see soon.  She still didn't fear death.  She knew there was something that came after, if Harry’s experiences after the Triwizard Tournament were anything to go by.  And the closer she got the more relieved she became that she would be seeing them again, even if her death would make Voldemort even more powerful than he already was.

After the attack by Cormac, she saw no guards except for Malfoy, Theo, and Zabini.  Of the three, Malfoy had largely avoided her and Theo had visited the most often.  The only time she allowed herself to think about Cormac during those last few days was when Theo showed up to report that Cormac had been denied a boon and was publicly tortured for his transgressions against her.  Malfoy had led it, and it had been so brutal that he had secured his position within Voldemort’s inner circle.

Hermione didn’t feel sorry for Cormac at all, but it was a bitter feeling to know that Malfoy had managed to use the thing that had happened to her to rise higher in the ranks.  Of course he would find some way to benefit himself from it.

Still, Malfoy was feared now, and she knew that was valuable.  It meant that her death would go precisely as planned, and nobody would think him soft for using a basic killing curse to end it.

After arriving at that conclusion, Hermione thanked Theo for letting her know, told him she didn’t want him to mention it again, and then focused on repressing it.  She shoved every single thought about Malfoy and Cormac and torture aside to focus on her two elf companions instead.  She was determined to die in peace.

Hermione woke on the fifth of June to sunlight streaming through the few ventholes in her cell.  From what she could see it was a glorious day, and her heart stuttered to think that the sun would rise again tomorrow, but she wouldn’t be there to see it.

She had been calm and composed up to this point, but now that the moment was coming upon her she began to get nervous.  She picked at her breakfast, which was some sort of interpretation of a last meal.  It was everything she loved to eat, but she tasted nothing as she sampled it.  Poppy gave her a dismayed look, but for once didn’t press her.  It didn’t matter.  None of it mattered.  She wasn’t going to starve to death in the next few hours.

The morning passed more quickly than she wished, and Hermione felt her nerves begin to fail her as the hour approached.  She tried to breathe and focus on her friends.

Harry and Ron.  Harry and Ron.  Harry and Ron.

They would greet her with open arms, she was certain of it.  They would say kind things to her and take her on a grand adventure and introduce her to Harry’s parents and Ron’s uncles who were killed in the first war.  If she was very lucky they would say nothing about Malfoy or any other wizard who had caused her pain.  The afterlife shouldn’t be painful at all.

She closed her eyes and focused on their faces, and Poppy gave her the space to do it.  Poppy had become her friend over the past few days.  She liked Flinky too, but he always took the night shift, and Hermione hadn’t gotten to know him quite as well.  Still, she was gratified when Flinky appeared a few minutes before it was time to hug her and wish her well.

“Flinky is liking Miss,” he croaked.  “Miss is giving Master Draco much to think about.”

Hermione gave him a wry smile.  “I’m sure.  And Flinky… promise me you’ll ask for your freedom once it’s safe for you to be unbound.”

“Flinky will think on it, Miss,” he replied.

Before she knew it, Malfoy was opening the door to her cell, looking very pale, with Theo following behind him.

“It’s time,” he said shortly.  “We’ll be escorting you to the Ministry.”

Hermione blinked.  “They are executing me in the Ministry?”

Malfoy inclined his head.  “Yes.  The Dark Lord has the Ministry firmly in his grasp now.”

Hermione felt sick as she contemplated it, but she supposed it made sense.  If Malfoy was willing to commit murder in public it must mean that Voldemort’s reign was secure.

She tried to breathe through her nerves and just nodded.

“Very well,” said Malfoy.  “I’ll admit you’ve been more cooperative than I was expecting these last few weeks.  But we’re at the end, and nothing can go wrong today, do you understand me?”

Hermione just stared at him and didn’t respond.

“Right,” he said a bit awkwardly.  “In that case, I hope you forgive us, but it needs to be done.”

“What needs to be –” she started, but she was cut off by Theo’s voice.

“Imperio,” he whispered.

Hermione felt her mind go blissfully blank.  All of her nerves and anxiety melted away, and she just looked at the two wizards in front of her with mild bemusement.  She didn’t even try to fight it, because why would she?  She had never been able to break the curse consistently like Harry could, and she was about to be executed.  The sliver of her brain that was still her knew that.  This little trick of Theo’s would let her walk to the gallows in peace.  It was sensible, really, and the small part of her that was aware was even thankful for it.  Her courage would not fail her at the very end.

“You will stay still,” said Theo, now raising his wand to her face, as Malfoy did the same.  “This won’t take long.”

They both began to mutter spells, and Hermione felt her features shifting.  Out of the corner of her eye her hair shortened and straightened.

“Don’t make her too pretty,” muttered Theo.  

The hair she could see in her peripheral vision changed from light blonde to a mousy brown.

“Better,” said Theo.  “Make her clothes a bit dirty too.”

Some distant part of her brain was alarmed by this change of plans, but she didn’t have the presence of mind to demand an explanation.  The cool blankness of the imperio curse was occupying too much space.  

Theo looked at her and said firmly, “You will tell anybody who asks that your name is Amalie Beumont.  You are a pureblood, aged eighteen years old, and you were educated at Beauxbatons.  You came back to England after finishing your education, and you were recently caught and imprisoned for smuggling muggleborns with your blood traitor family.  Draco Malfoy captured you and brought you here last night.  You will not reveal that you are Hermione Granger.  You will not tell anybody that you are under any spells or enchantments.  You will follow my orders and those of the Dark Lord and whoever becomes your master until I release the curse.  You will not interfere with the ceremony today, regardless of what you see.  You will remain silent and will not speak unless somebody asks you a direct question.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” muttered Hermione dully, though inside her alarm bells were ringing.  Theo seemed to notice this, because he tightened his grip on his wand, and he seemed to send a wave of calmness through the curse, as her mind quieted.

“Good,” he said.  Then he looked at Draco.  “I’ll keep her close.”

Draco nodded.  “Take her then.  I’ll be along shortly.”

Theo gripped her by the arm, and she obediently followed him out of the door and into the hallway where she found Zabini escorting Ginny and Luna, both of whom had absent expressions on their faces as well.  Hermione felt no excitement to see her friends for the first time in a month, nor did they register any surprise to see her as Amalie Beumont.  Instead, all three girls turned to Theo and Zabini and followed serenely as they made their way through a corridor in the dungeons, before coming to a halt in front of a blank wall.

“We will floo from the Slytherin common room,” said Theo.  “They’ve added a special connection for this.”

Sure enough, Zabini muttered the password, and the wall slid open to reveal a number of Death Eaters and prisoners lining up to floo.  Even through the fog in her mind Hermione could see that many of the prisoners had not fared as well as her.  Several were struggling, but most seemed to have given up, as they were escorted one by one to the fire.

Theo and Blaise herded Hermione and her friends toward it, and before long she was floo’ing with Theo to the Ministry of Magic.  There, he gripped both Hermione and Ginny by the arm and led them through the atrium and into an event hall that Hermione knew was often used for speeches by the Minister.  There was a stage with a low platform and large blade on it, along with a throne.  Behind it was an enormous cage, where Hermione and the others were led.  Before they were placed inside, Theo looked at them both.

“You will not acknowledge any other prisoners.  You will not speak to them.  You will only answer questions if asked by a Death Eater or the Dark Lord himself.”

“Yes,” muttered Hermione and Ginny at the same time.

Theo looked nervous, but nodded and ushered them in, before shutting the door behind them.  Then he stepped to the side and tightened his grip on the wand.

Stay calm.  Relax.  Don’t react.  

He seemed to be sending this message to Hermione through the curse or some other means.  She couldn’t be sure how he was doing it, but something about it felt so familiar that she implicitly trusted it.  Her curiosity and willingness to fight evaporated, as she was wrapped up in Theo’s calming presence in her mind.

It took nearly twenty minutes for the cage to fill and the Death Eaters to take their place on stage.  The seats in the event hall were filled with rank and file Ministry officials, and soon the crowd fell silent as the lights dimmed and the stage was illuminated.  Voldemort strode out to raucous applause.

He raised his hand for silence.

“My friends,” he said in a chilling voice.  “You all know why you’re here.  Today we mark my ascent and complete it with a blood offering from the last of Harry Potter’s closest friends.  My protege, Draco Malfoy, is young but ambitious.  He has brought me followers, and he has brought me prisoners, including Hermione Granger herself.  He has proven devotion beyond his years by locating the ritual that will be performed today and serving in the critical role of executioner.  As some of you know, I rose again with the blood of Harry Potter.  And now, I seize greater power with the death of Hermione Granger.  Draco, if you please…”

***

Voldemort moved to the throne, and the door to the event hall was flung open, and Draco Malfoy came striding into view.  He was dressed in robes of pure white, his face unmasked, like most of the Death Eaters on stage.  Beside him, he was escorting her.  Even through the haze in her mind Hermione registered shock to see herself approaching the stage, with hands tied behind her and dressed in a gown of diaphanous white.  She had white fairy lilies woven into her hair.  Her curls were loose, and it looked like she had bathed.  Her expression was accepting, but distant.  She was not fighting it.  

She looked like a bride out of some sort of mad fairy tale.  

There were whispers as Malfoy led her up to the stage, where the fake Hermione was told to kneel in front of the low table.

The real Hermione began to panic, as she realized what was about to happen.  She had been swapped.  Some other person was going to be killed in her place.

No, no, no, no, no!

She was chanting it in her head, trying to find a toehold to fight the curse and reveal the truth, when Theo’s magic pulsed so hard Hermione felt breathless.

You will not interfere.

Theo’s magic was pushing down her resistance while Malfoy approached Voldemort and bowed.  Voldemort placed a hand on his head as though offering some sort of prayer over him before Malfoy kneeled and drank from a flask that Voldemort handed to him.  Soon Malfoy moved back to the fake Hermione and began chanting, as he lifted a knife from the platform and sliced his palm.  He smeared the girl’s lips with blood and ordered her to taste it, which she did.  Then he smeared the blood across the top of her chest, right over her heart.

Hermione’s own heart was pounding, as she was struggling with Theo’s magic.  His was strong though and so oddly familiar that Hermione couldn’t find the grip she needed.  Every time she started, Theo’s magic intervened, and it felt so much like her own she didn’t know where one started and the other stopped.

Malfoy began chanting again, and before Hermione knew it the crowd was chanting too.  And then Malfoy positioned himself behind the kneeling girl and placed the same knife against her throat.  Hermione was screaming in her own mind, but Theo was not letting her go, as Malfoy’s free hand gripped the girl’s bound hands from behind and held her in place.

There was the tiniest flash of green at her back, so close to the girl that Hermione was certain Voldemort hadn’t seen it.  Malfoy’s hand did a little flick, and the tip of his wand disappeared up his sleeve just as he wrenched the knife across her throat and slit it, spilling her blood on the platform.  

No, not a platform.  An altar.

As soon as the girl’s throat was slit, Hermione stopped fighting Theo in her mind as she stared in horror at what had just happened.  Malfoy had killed the girl that looked like her without compunction or hesitation.  She desperately hoped that the tiny flash of green had been the killing curse right before she was sliced open, but she couldn’t be certain.  He hadn’t shouted the words, and it had been so subtle she was sure it went unnoticed.

The fog she had been fighting rolled across her brain again as Malfoy blooded himself from the altar and then used the knife blade to scoop some of it into a goblet, which smoked the moment the blood hit it.  He walked over to Voldemort and kneeled before him, offering the goblet up for Voldemort to drink.

Hermione scarcely noticed Malfoy’s white robes that were sprayed with the girl’s blood or the triumphant expression on Voldemort’s face as he drank.  She was too preoccupied by staring at herself, very dead with her throat slit, blood still leaching out of her onto the altar and the white gown.  Her eyes were open and dead.  So dead.  The fog started to roll away again as panic gripped her through the curse.

Theo must have felt it because he was sending his magic to her stronger than ever.

Breathe.  Stay calm.  Don’t panic.  It’s almost over.  

But it wasn’t working.  All Hermione could see was herself, dead and mutilated, and it was so much worse than if it had actually been her.  Seeing herself like this made her truly fear death for the first time in ages, and she feared Malfoy now too.  He hadn’t even hesitated as he butchered her.

***

Hermione had been placed on one end of the cage, a bit behind the others, and she felt a shock as the same calming spell Malfoy had used when first presenting her to Voldemort washed over her.  Paired with the imperius, her mind truly left her again, and she was in a daze as the ceremony concluded and the girl’s body was removed from the stage.

It was only as the Death Eaters were moving forward to select their boons that Hermione started to become aware of her surroundings again, though she was still in the shroud of the imperius.

Malfoy was allowed to go first, his selection predetermined.  He strode to the cages and grabbed Ginny, who went with him with slightly jerky movements.  He held her at his side as he rejoined Voldemort.  Several of the older Death Eaters went next, and they picked young girls Hermione barely recognized from Hogwarts.  Then it was Theo’s turn, and he picked Luna, who went to him willingly.

Hermione registered some relief at this.  She knew Theo would not harm Luna.  He was magically powerful, but had always struck her as the gentlest of her captors.

Yaxley and Dolohov stepped forward, and they picked Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, respectively, and then it was Zabini’s turn.  He marched up and down the cage, as though considering the available options, before he stopped directly in front of Hermione.

“You,” he said.  “Tell me your name.”

Theo’s magic pulsed hard, and Hermione said, “Amalie Beumont.”

“Did you go to Hogwarts?” he asked.  

“Beauxbatons,” she ground out, though she was fighting it.

“And your blood status?” he asked.

“Pureblood,” she said through clenched teeth.

“A continental pureblood then,” he said with some convincing surprise.  “I am most fortunate.  Very well.  I choose Amalie.”

The part of her brain that was still her registered this as odd.  It was true Zabini had looked in on her from time to time, but he rarely spoke except some very minimal small talk.  He usually approached her with detachment.  The notion that she belonged to him now was strange, though at least he didn’t seem cruel.  

Then again, perhaps he didn’t know who she was?  Theo and Malfoy had been the ones to change her appearance, not Zabini.

Theo pulled her back under the curse with a strong nudge, and Hermione rose to follow Zabini out of the cage, as he took a place near Malfoy.  Hermione looked at Malfoy with dull eyes and saw him staring at her intently.  She dropped her gaze, fear of what she had just witnessed penetrating her fog for a moment.

Hermione knew she should pay attention to who was going where, but she couldn’t.  Every time she felt herself starting to break through the curse, horror and fear threatened to drown her, and for a moment she just allowed the magic of the imperius curse to wash over her instead of trying to fight it.  It would smother her feelings, and she desperately needed that blank blissfulness to cope with everything that had just happened.

She was alive.  Against all odds, Malfoy and Theo, at least, had saved her life and killed somebody else in her place.  And what about Zabini?  Was he aware, or would he get a surprise as soon as her transfiguration wore off?  Human transfiguration never lasted very long.  She would have a day, at most.

Hermione felt the grip of panic again, and Theo sent another pulse of soothing magic to her.  

Blaise knows, it will be fine.

How was Theo speaking to her?  How was he reading her thoughts?  Hermione didn’t know.  She didn’t think that was how the imperius curse normally worked, but then again she had never cast it on anybody herself.

She felt another surge of Theo’s magic, and Hermione’s curiosity waned as she let her own mind retreat again.  Soon Zabini was gripping her by the arm and quickly escorting her out through the hall and toward a floo that was away from those being used by most of the guests.  He was walking quickly, pausing to speak to nobody.  Theo and Luna were behind them, with Malfoy closing in as well, though his progress was slowed a bit by other guests.  Zabini jerked her arm to indicate that she should keep up, and soon he threw some powder into the floo and stepped in with her.

“Malfoy Manor!” he said softly, and Hermione’s panic spiked again as they arrived at the place where she had been tortured.

“Fucking hell,” declared Theo, as he stepped through with Luna moments later.  “I can barely control her.”

He was sending calming waves through the curse, but Hermione’s panic was so strong that she felt his grip on her truly fracturing.

“Use that spell,” muttered Zabini.

“I already did!” insisted Theo.  “It’s too soon to do it again and…”

He was stopped by the floo turning green again and Malfoy stepping through with Ginny.

“Thank Merlin,” Zabini breathed, as he moved forward and took Ginny from Malfoy.

Malfoy stepped toward her, but Hermione’s panic reached a fever pitch when she saw him with her blood on his face and robes, and she backed against the wall and started to shake.

“Theo!” said Malfoy.

“I’m trying, but she’s fucking panicking, even through the curse!”

“But your bond…”

“I know,” he said through gritted teeth, “it’s the only thing that’s keeping me connected.  I think she would have thrown you out in the first five minutes.  Hang on…”

Theo closed his eyes, and seemed to wrap Hermione in his magic.  She felt the imperius strengthen, and something else was pushed toward her as well.  It filled her from the inside, and slowly her panic subsided.

“I’m getting there,” said Theo.  “But take her now before it breaks again.”

Malfoy nodded and moved forward.  “Granger, you’re coming with me.  I have a room all ready to go.  You’ll be safe there, nobody is going to harm you.”

“Zabini,” she gasped, pushing through the curse for a split second.

“He’s taking Ginny,” said Malfoy cautiously, as though speaking to a scared animal.  “He and I have swapped, as it were.  Now listen, I know today was a lot, but we must get you into your room, okay?  The Manor hosts random guests all the time, and people will wonder why I’m keeping you here since you’re supposed to be Blaise’s boon.  We need to give it a little time before we let the others know we swapped.”

Hermione was still shaking, but Theo was continuing to do that odd thing through her magic that was soothing her nerves.  As panic rose, he seemed to be pulling it away from her.  Over and over again, he drew it back.

“Hermione, go with Draco.  He’s not going to hurt you.  I’ll release you from the curse once I know you’re warded in.”

Hermione gave a jerky nod, and Malfoy held out a hand.  She twitched hard as she fought taking his hand, and disappointment flashed across his face for a moment, before he gave up and lowered it.  He gestured for her to follow instead.  Hermione followed slowly behind him as he led her toward a nearby staircase to move to a different wing of the Manor.  Hermione’s pulse was still skipping, and it was only the waves of Theo’s magic and the haze of the imperius that were keeping her calm enough to climb the stairs after him.  She dimly noticed that the others were following too.

Soon Hermione felt a shuddering as she passed through some wards, and once they were through it Zabini and Ginny split and moved a different direction, leaving just Luna and Theo behind them.  They approached a door and Malfoy used his bloody palm to open it before they all moved through into a small corridor.

“This way,” said Malfoy, leading Hermione toward a door, which he opened to reveal a beautiful bedroom and small parlor.  The moment the door was shut he turned to Theo.  “Can you release her?”

Theo looked at her skeptically.  Hermione’s stomach was rolling, and when she turned to look at Malfoy squarely all the blood on his robes made the part of her brain that was still her emerge again.

So much blood.  My blood.  Muddy blood.  It’s red just like his.  He did it to that girl.  What will he do to me?

“No,” Theo finally said.  “Not yet.  You need to go change and get cleaned up.  Your appearance is frightening her.”

Malfoy’s expression showed a flash of surprise at this, and he looked down at himself as though he had forgotten he was covered in somebody else’s blood.

“Oh,” he said, “right.  Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Malfoy left, some of Hermione’s panic receded as the curse and Theo's magic washed over her once more.  Then Theo turned to her and said, “You can speak to Luna if you wish.”

At this, Hermione focused on Luna for the first time.

“Luna!” she cried, as she turned to hug her friend, who patted her calmly on the back.

“Hermione, you were brave.”

“My name is Amalie,” she said, the imperius curse prompting her to lie about her identity.

“Oh, did you change it?” asked Luna curiously.  “You look a bit different, but your aura is still your own.  I would know you anywhere.”

Something about the familiarity of this made Hermione find a crack in the curse.

Let me go! she practically shouted into her head.

Theo winced.  “Fuck, don’t yell.  I’ll release it as soon as Draco gets back.”

He sent some more of his calming magic to her, and Hermione’s stilled as they waited for Malfoy to return, and he raised his wand toward her face and muttered, “Finite incantatum.”  Hermione saw her curls materialize in her peripheral vision.

Within fifteen minutes a door to the parlor opened and Malfoy walked through it, looking much less sinister in clean robes.  His hair was wet as though he had just showered, and his skin was pink from being scrubbed.

His gray eyes flicked toward Theo who nodded.  

“Alright.  But get ready…”

Hermione felt the fog from the curse fully lift, and she blinked as she stared back at Malfoy.  It took only moments for the memory of what she had just seen to hit her without any barrier from the curse to dull it, and she turned around and wretched.

“Granger!” he cried in alarm, and he started to move toward her.

Hermione stumbled in her panic to get away, and she tripped and fell, but turned to see him closing in on her and she scooted back against the wall.

“No,” she gasped.  “Stay away…”

Malfoy came to a halt and looked down at her with concern and hurt.  “But I…”

“You murdered her!  You murdered me!  That girl… oh God and she looked just like…”

Hermione felt panic clawing up her throat again, and she flinched as Malfoy drew his wand to vanish her sick.  He saw her reaction and placed the wand down on a nearby dresser and raised both hands in the air.

“Granger, you need to breathe,” he said slowly.  Then he looked at Theo.  “Can’t you… you know?”

“You’re sure you want her to –”

Malfoy nodded, and Theo sighed before sending another wave of calming magic toward her.  Hermione pulled it around herself like a blanket, but then registered that he had done it to her outside of the curse.  Now she looked at Theo in fear too.

“What was that?  What are you doing to me?  How can you…?”

Theo glared at Malfoy for a moment before turning back to Hermione.  “We have a bond, Hermione.  It’s too much to get into right now, but just know that we have one.  It’s not dark or ill intentioned or anything like that.  It can be used to siphon off troubling emotions, and we can communicate through it with enough concentration.”

“You can read my mind?”

“Only if I focus very hard on the bond,” he said.  “I’m not just hanging around in your head.”

Hermione’s gaze pierced him.  “But why?  How?”

“Later,” said Malfoy firmly.  “Not today.  We’ll explain everything to you in time, but today has been too much.”

At this Hermione felt something inside of her snap.

“Don’t speak to me,” she insisted.  “I want nothing to do with you.  I can’t believe you murdered some innocent person in my place.  And it was just… just…”  the bile rose in her throat again.  The memory of seeing herself dead and slain was replaying in her mind on repeat.  

Malfoy closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before opening them again.  His expression had gone flat.

“I will leave you alone soon, but I need to make a few things clear first.  You are going to be warded in here.  You can go anywhere in this suite, but you will not be able to leave it.  Poppy will be taking care of you, and you can call her if you need something.  That portrait will be watching you around the clock.”  He gestured toward a portrait of a young woman.  She was blonde and beautiful.

“She won’t speak to you,” Malfoy added, “but she will be reporting everything to me.  As for what happened today… I’m sorry that it distressed you, but it was the only way.  Please know she was a volunteer, and I killed her with an Avada before slicing her throat.  She didn’t feel it.”

Hermione blinked.  “A volunteer… a volunteer?  And that makes it fine that you…”

“You seemed perfectly willing for it to be you!” he snapped.  “So why does it surprise you that some other person was willing as well?”

Hermione shook her head hard, in disbelief at what she was hearing.  

“No…” she whispered.  “No, no, no… it should have been me.  It shouldn’t have… all that blood… my face…”

Theo sent more magic her way, and now she looked at him and glared. 

“Stop DOING that!” she cried.  “Let me feel it!  You’ve taken away my freedom and my choices and now my feelings!  Don’t you dare try to calm me down because he sliced open somebody who looked just like me right in front of me!”

Theo’s face fell, and Malfoy looked pale and as though he was starting to panic too.

“Granger…” said Malfoy desperately.

“NO!” she cried.  “Get out!  Just get out, all of you!”

She turned her face away and began to sob as she heard hushed, frantic voices, and then footsteps moving away.  A door shut, and then she heard a distant crash in the next room that made her flinch.

Tears were streaming down Hermione’s cheeks.  She had been saved, yes, but at what cost?  Malfoy had murdered somebody else in her place, and now she was trapped here in this beautiful, gilded prison until further notice.  And there was that odd bond with Theo… what was it?  How could her secrets be safe if both he and Malfoy could dip into her head whenever they pleased?

Was she safe here with Malfoy?  He was a murderer and obviously comfortable with violence.  Would he eventually lose control and try to touch her like Cormac or would he just snap her neck?  Could he get around Nita’s spell?  He was the one who called her, after all.  Who was to say he wouldn’t bring her in again to remove it while Hermione was asleep?

She didn’t trust him, she knew that much.  He had saved her, yes, but he pulled the wool over her eyes for weeks as he allowed her to believe she was going to die.  She had accepted it.  She had been nervous, but she had also been looking forward to seeing Harry and Ron again.  As odd as it sounded, it had given her last few weeks some sort of purpose to know she was marching toward that moment, hour by hour, when she could be reunited with her best friends.  She hadn’t even properly grieved for them because she was so certain she would be seeing them again soon.

But now she was here, alive and tucked away somewhere in Malfoy Manor.  Hermione had no idea what her purpose should be.

She raised her head and finally allowed herself to look around the room.  It was enormous, but she felt little curiosity about it.  She would explore it eventually, but not right now.  Not today.  Today she was drowning in her own mind, replaying the events of the past week and especially the past couple of hours in her head.  She couldn’t stop seeing it.

She jumped when she heard a CRACK! and Poppy appeared.

“Miss is alive!” she cried, and she moved over to clasp Hermione’s hand.

“Poppy, did you know?” she asked softly.

Poppy frowned.  “Poppy is suspecting it when she is told to arrange Miss’s room, but Master is not telling Poppy directly.  Poppy is happy Miss is not dead.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose at this and dropped her gaze as she nodded.

“Can Poppy offer Miss a bath?  Then perhaps some dreamless sleep?  Master is telling Poppy that Miss had a difficult day.”

Anger shot through Hermione with this news.  “Malfoy murdered somebody who looked like me right in front of me, Poppy.  Then he sliced her throat open.  I would say it was a very difficult day, but he will not be medicating me against my wishes.”

Poppy’s eyes were huge.  “Master is doing it to keep Miss safe, surely!” she cried.  “And Master is not ordering Poppy to medicate Miss.  He is just telling Poppy to offer if Miss would like it.  Miss can choose.”

Some of the fight left Hermione at this, and she just nodded dully.

“Fine,” she said.  “Let me have a bath first.  I haven’t felt properly clean in ages.  Then we’ll go from there.”

Poppy looked relieved that Hermione was cooperating and reached out a hand to pull Hermione to her feet.  “The wash room is just over here,” she said.  “Poppy will help with Miss’s hair.  Miss should bathe as long as she wishes.”

The little elf fussed over her as she filled the tub with warm water and the scent of orange blossom.  It was a scent Hermione had discovered at Hogwarts after nicking some of Lavender’s bath products during her first autumn there, and after that Lavender had always given her some for Christmas and her birthday.  She and Lavender hadn’t been close.  They were just token gifts from one roommate to another — always the same and never terribly personal — but Hermione had secretly loved it.  She had never asked Lavender where she purchased them, and she had turned to muggle alternatives when she and the boys went on the run.  The scent immediately took her back to happier days at the castle with her friends.  

Hermione sank down and closed her eyes as Poppy began to gently work some product into her hair.  It was so soothing, so wonderful, especially after the terrible day – no year – she had had.

“Poppy,” Hermione sniffed, as tears welled up.

“What is it, Miss?” she asked gently.

“Poppy, I’m sad,” she confessed.

“Then Miss should cry.  It will help.”

At this, Hermione’s tears spilled over, and she finally, truly cried.  She cried for her parents.  She cried for her best friends.  She cried for the wizarding world.  And she cried for herself.

As the scent of orange blossom filled her nose and the gentle fingers of the little elf worked the tension from her head and neck, Hermione sobbed until she had no tears left.

She didn’t know what to do next.

Chapter Text

Hermione awoke to the sounds of birds chirping, the sky streaked with pink and gold as the sun started to rise.  It took her a long while to remember where she was and how she had gotten here.

The bed she was next to was decadent, enormous, and the mattress was surely perfect.  But after a month sleeping propped against the wall in her cell Hermione was perfectly fine sleeping anywhere else but the bed that had been provided for her.  It was silly, perhaps, but it was one of the few things left that she could control.  Poppy protested, but Hermione insisted upon it and ended up wrapping herself in the green and gray blanket she had been using in her cell for the past week.  Poppy had retrieved it for her and even cast a charm on it to preserve that cedar and spice scent Hermione found so soothing.  She knew now that it must have belonged to Malfoy at one point, but she still thought of it as hers.  It had comforted her after one of the worst moments of her life, and it did so again after she emerged from the bath the previous night, utterly exhausted and emotionally wrung out.

She had only paused long enough to don a soft and surprisingly demure nightgown and eat a few bites of dinner before reluctantly accepting the dreamless sleep Poppy offered her.  After deciding to put her foot down about sleeping on the floor, Hermione moved to the softest bit of rug she could find and downed the potion.  Based on the morning sky she must have slept at least twelve hours, and she hated to admit that she felt much better for it.

She slowly rose to her feet and pulled the blanket around her shoulders a bit tighter as she took stock.  She was barefoot, hair surely wild from sleep, and the faint scent of orange blossom and cedar lingered around her.  She left the blanket on the floor and padded to the toilet to relieve herself before glancing in the mirror, where she came to an abrupt halt.

She had not gotten a good look at herself in a mirror since she left Shell Cottage, and she was surprised by what she found.  The last time she saw herself she had looked gaunt with mottled injuries and scars.  The girl she was seeing now had a healthy complexion.  Her cheeks were pink and her skin was smooth, her lacerations and scars faded to almost nothing.  Her curls were rioting of course, but whatever Poppy had done the previous day had tamed them into tight spirals that still held for the most part.  Poppy had even taken the time to contain it a little by tying half of it back with a pale blue ribbon, which was a small frippery Hermione had always enjoyed.  It was one of the few feminine things she had allowed herself, always feeling more confident in her ability to tie a bow than applying extensive makeup.  Her mother had cut dozens of ribbons for her in every shade of the rainbow, and Hermione typically used one whenever she wore her hair up at Hogwarts.  It was a small thing to be sure, but it was an indulgence she had not afforded herself in over a year because there was no space for things like hair ribbons when fighting in a war.  To wear one again was as odd as it was nostalgic.  And this one, she saw, perfectly matched the line of blue lace on the edge of her white nightgown.  She had the oddest thought that she looked like Wendy from Peter Pan.

Then again, Wendy was innocent, and Hermione was haunted.  Despite the fact that Malfoy had taken care to physically heal her and feed her while she was a prisoner, the things she had been through over the past month were etched on her face.  Hermione looked like a doll – so beautiful, but so sad.  She wondered how she would ever smile again.

She sighed as she glanced down at the counter and froze again.  Hermione recognized a number of products she liked to use before she ever went on the run, including her favorite moisturizer and muggle toothpaste.  Once again she had been too distraught the previous day to notice, but she was certainly taking note of it now.  She hesitated, but then opened a drawer and found the sparse makeup she used to wear when feeling particularly brave, along with several magical equivalents that she knew Lavender and Parvati used to obsess over.  

Hermione furrowed her brow at this, a suspicion growing as she looked at the toiletries she hadn’t seen in a year.  As she considered them, she moved out of the bathroom and decided it was time to explore her new prison.

It was an upgrade from the Hogwarts dungeons, Hermione could certainly acknowledge that.  There was an enormous window, with a spectacular view over the extensive gardens and the countryside in the distance.  There was even a door to a large balcony, though of course it was locked.  Beneath the window was a window seat, both long and deep.  Hermione was drawn to it, and she knew she could spend hours there reading if given half a chance.

If Hermione had guessed, she would have expected the Malfoy home to be filled with dark woods and Slytherin green and silver.  That was certainly how the first floor had been decorated, or what little of it she had seen when brought in with the Snatchers that day.  But this room was surprisingly light and decorated in French blue and white, with a hint of gold.  The parlor contained a fireplace, sofa, and chaise lounge, along with a dainty escritoire, and a small, but ornate marble-topped table that could comfortably seat four.  Near it was the door to the loo and next to it the door to a closet.

She felt a slight chill as she looked around the room critically for the first time since she was brought here.  Something about it reminded her of the dollhouse she used to play with as a little girl.  She and her parents had spent hours together building it and then decorating it.  The wallpaper was similar to the miniature blue and white toile Hermione had selected.  It was installed above wainscoting painted white, and the trim work was even familiar.  The furniture filling the space looked formal and antique and of a similar style to the tiny pieces she and her mother had so lovingly selected and placed.  She had played with it for hours as a young child, imagining a place filled with family and friends before her Hogwarts letter arrived.  Hermione had been a lonely child.  She was bookish and strange things happened around her when she became emotional, and she had no real friends until she went to Hogwarts.  Her dollhouse and her books filled the void of her imagination.  It was the one thing from her childhood she never got rid of during her years at Hogwarts, even as she grew and no longer needed it for entertainment.  Of course she didn't have it anymore.  It had been left behind during the war, just like her parents.  Hermione abandoned it along with them.  

But this room was...

No.  It was just a coincidence, surely.

She shivered and pushed that thought away as she turned to the closet and opened it with some trepidation.

Her jaw dropped when she saw what was inside: an entire wardrobe, both muggle and magical, in every shade, though she noticed a very limited amount of red or green.  Malfoy, it seemed, was determined to be neutral in that respect, and there were only two dresses that Hermione saw to be in these colors.  Both of them to appeared to be almost medieval in style, which was truly baffling.  Hermione walked in and ran a hand along the robes and dresses which were in a more modern design, all of which were finer and more beautiful than anything she had ever worn before.  They were for every season and every occasion.  She saw fur trimmed collars and sequined cocktail dresses and professional pencil skirts.  It was absurd.

Some part of her wondered if these had ever belonged to anybody else – a previous girlfriend or even his mother.  But instinctively Hermione knew they had not.  He had purchased them and brought them here for her to wear… but why?  What was she to do with dozens of robes, dresses, and gowns, when she was a prisoner in this beautiful cell?

Her sense of unease was growing as Hermione closed the door quietly and then moved to a nearby dresser, which was filled to the brim with more nightgowns, underthings, and even some casual muggle clothing that looked like athletic wear, but was obviously very expensive.  Hermione’s hands ran along the dozen bras that were precisely her size, all made of satin and lace and in a range of pastels and neutrals.  They were more feminine than sexy, but still delicate in their rendering. Each had a matching pair of knickers and several even had matching garter belts, presumably for the acromantula silk stockings she found in the next drawer over.  

Another drawer contained items that could only be described as lingerie.  The pieces were more sensual, though not quite as revealing as she knew they could be.  They looked very much like slips or some other sort of nightwear, but they favored silk instead of cotton and most pieces had bras sewn in.   It was not at all like something Hermione would ever wear, though it did contain far more red and emerald green than anything else in her wardrobe. She furrowed her brow at this.

She reached for the last drawer on the bottom and froze when she opened it.  There were her clothes — the few things she had packed to wear on the run.  Here were her ratty jeans and Gryffindor sweaters and even a hoodie from Oxford that she had worn constantly the previous winter.  None of the boys’ clothes were there of course.  They had been the type to leave everything strewn about whatever room they last inhabited, and more often than not she had packed the tent with their shirts and underpants shoved under various pieces of furniture.  Hermione, however, was neater than that and had used her beaded bag to hold her clothes through the entirety of the previous year.  She hadn’t packed much, and she never liked things being untidy and out of order.

Malfoy had taken her beaded bag.

She had asked him about it at Hogwarts a few times, but he never deigned to respond, and she had given up.  But here was proof staring her in the face that he had taken her bag and searched it.

Hands shaking she closed the drawer with a snap and continued her search.  She moved to the bookcase, which was filled with books, and as Hermione read the spines, her jaw dropped.  They were nearly all muggle and quite a few looked very old.  She hesitated before she randomly plucked one off the shelf, only to discover it was a first edition of Adventures of Sherlock Holmes in excellent condition.  She gulped and quickly closed it before placing it back on the shelf and staring at the others.

Surely not.  Surely, surely this wasn’t an entire case full of valuable muggle books.  But as her eyes roved over them and she checked a few others, she eventually concluded that this was precisely what they were.

It was only the bottom shelf that contained any magical books, and as Hermione surveyed them she saw that they were the ones from her bag — though certainly not all of them.  He had left her Spellman’s Syllabary, but of course there were no books in runes for her to translate, so it was entirely useless.  He had left her Hogwarts, A History as well as The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.

But none of her books on horcruxes were there, nor any books that might help her do actual magic.  Even stranger, her copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard was not there.  Hermione wondered if he had somehow learned that Dumbledore left it to her.

Hermione’s heart was racing as she turned away from the bookcase to compose herself.  But then her gaze fell on one of the nightstands, and her heart stopped.  She blinked in disbelief at what she was seeing, and she approached it slowly before lifting it up with shaky hands, hardly daring to believe her eyes.

There was no doubt about it: Malfoy had framed a picture of Hermione and her parents, one that she had never even seen before.  It was magical, which was an incredible surprise to her, and she appeared to be twelve or thirteen in the photo.  They were in Diagon Alley enjoying an ice cream together at Florian Fortescue’s.  Her pulse started to race as she thought back to that day: it was just before third year, before her parents dropped her off at the Leaky Cauldron to meet with the Weasleys.  Hermione had not seen Malfoy that day, but he – or someone else – must have seen her and snapped this picture.  In the photo her mother was teasing Hermione while her father had an amused but slightly pained look on his face, and Hermione blushed with a shy smile.  She remembered that day so clearly.  Her mother had been interrogating her about Harry and Ron and which one of them she had a crush on.  Her dad had begged her mother to have mercy on him because he couldn’t stand the thought of his little girl liking boys.

Hermione sniffed and tears filled her eyes at how innocent and happy the three of them looked.  She placed the photograph back down on the nightstand and opened the drawer to see if there was anything inside.  Here she covered her mouth as she let out another sob: the photo album she had made of her parents before she obliviated them was there.  All of the photographs were muggle of course.  Hermione had spent a full day collecting them and casting a preservation charm on them before she performed the obliviation.  She knew it had been a risk to bring it with her, but she hadn’t been able to bear to leave these memories of them behind.  It was the only thing she still had of theirs.  Hermione knew that Malfoy must have removed this from her bag as well.  She traced a shaky finger across the top of it and then took a deep breath and shut that drawer too.

She then moved to the last thing she hadn’t explored yet: a dressing table.

This was located between the parlor and bedroom, near the closet and loo.  The table was large, with a trifold mirror and soft stool.  It was exceptionally feminine and reminded Hermione of those regency era films, when the lady of the house would sit at something like this to ready herself for a ball.  She slid open the drawer and found several combs and brushes, a filigreed handheld mirror, and any number of potions with labels in French in such an ornate script that Hermione struggled to read them.  On the top of the dressing table was a jewelry box that Hermione opened, and by now she wasn’t terribly surprised to find it filled with earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and even brooches and hair combs.  The pieces were uniformly delicate and less ostentatious than she would have expected coming from Malfoy, but there was no doubt she was staring at a small fortune of gold and gemstones, along with more casual pieces for every day.  Hermione even recognized a few things of her own that she knew had come from her beaded bag.  Evidently Malfoy deemed them safe for her to have back.

Hermione’s hand was shaking as she closed the jewelry box and then moved to the sofa to compose herself.

The clothes, makeup, books, jewelry, and even the very room she was staying in all carried with them a sense of permanence.  She instinctively knew he did not intend for her to be here on a temporary basis.  Why else would he have gone through the trouble to procure all of this for her?  It was obvious that he intended for her to live here for months or even years.

It was an unsettling thought, and it was confusing.  

Why?  Why on earth had he bothered?  When had he arranged all of this?  It was true he had a full month to prepare for her arrival, but this was still far more than she would ever have expected.  And how had he known about the products she favored, the colors she liked, the type of furniture and decor that drew her in?  And if he was intending to just use her for sex eventually – because that was truly the only thing Hermione could believe he might want from her – then why bother with anything except for lingerie and underwear?  Why give her a full range of muggle and magical clothing too?

Bloody hell, some of the clothes in her closet were appropriate for a boardroom.

The whole thing was odd, and Hermione was sure she was missing some critical point that could explain it.  She waffled with herself about it, because after the previous day she had no desire to speak to him.  He had terrified her at first, and even though she felt a little calmer after a good cry and full night of sleep, she still wasn’t interested in engaging with him.  In fact, she would be happiest if she never saw him again.  After the things he had done and the lies he had told she certainly didn’t trust him.  

And yet, she was warded into his home, settled into a room that was so obviously meant to be hers that she knew she would have to address this situation with him one way or the other.  How else would she get to the bottom of all this?  How else would she discover what had happened to the rest of the things in her beaded bag?  She also had many questions from the previous day, and she knew she wouldn’t get answers to them unless she sought him out.  Besides, diamond-encrusted hair combs and rare first edition novels aside, Voldemort was still in power.  Hermione was one of three people who knew how to end it.  It was only now that she remembered her ruminations from a few weeks ago when she determined that Ginny might be able to get the job done and kill the snake.  At the time, Hermione had believed Ginny would be going to Malfoy Manor, where Hermione now found herself.

In an surprising twist, it was now Hermione who was warded into the same home that Voldemort liked to use as a base.  She had no idea where Ginny and Luna were now.  Presumably they were with Zabini and Theo, but neither of them were as close to Voldemort as Malfoy was.  That was incredibly obvious.

Hermione was at war with herself.  Should she engage with Malfoy and learn more about whatever had caused him to go to such lengths to keep her comfortable?  Should she castigate him for the things he had done and probably would do in the future?  Should she just ignore him and trust that eventually she would be able to escape and go after the snake alone?

Hermione turned these options over and over in her mind, until eventually she called, “Poppy!”

The little elf appeared with a CRACK!

“Yes Miss?” she said with concern.

“Poppy, I have questions for Malfoy.  Do you think he would be willing to see me?”

Poppy looked ecstatic.  “Poppy is certain, Miss.  He is having a full schedule today with the celebrations of the Dark Lord’s triumph and has already left the Manor, but I can tell him you is wanting to speak to him as soon as he is returned.”

Hermione swallowed, and nodded.  “Yes, please.  It’s no great rush, I am obviously not going anywhere.”

Poppy bobbed.  “Yes, Miss.  I will let him know.  Now then, shall I fetch Miss breakfast?  And perhaps Miss would like to dress too.  Poppy can assist Miss with her hair.”

And so it was that Poppy took over Hermione’s morning, and Hermione allowed her to do it.  After all, what else was there to do in this dollhouse of hers while she waited for her so-called master to arrive?

******

Hermione was sitting on the window seat, wrapped in her favorite blanket and absorbed in Little Women when the knock came on her door.  To her surprise it wasn’t the door to the hallway that drew her attention, but a different door off the parlor that had been locked when she explored earlier that day.  She thought Malfoy had disappeared through it the night before, but she had been in such a state of shock that she couldn’t be certain.

“Come in,” she said cautiously.

At her invitation the door opened and Malfoy stepped through it.  Hermione stared at him in surprise.

He was dressed in something that looked like formal military regalia that looked to be a hundred years out of fashion.  He wore polished boots, with trousers that could only be described as breaches, a tailored coat in sharp black with several gold bars attached to the breast.  He even had a cape over one shoulder, lined in emerald green satin.  It was utterly ridiculous.

“What are you wearing?” she blurted out.

Malfoy glanced down at himself and raised an eyebrow.  “The Dark Lord’s new dress uniform for his inner circle.  There is a ball tonight to celebrate his victory.”

Hermione gaped at him.

“A ball?”  

Malfoy nodded.  “Yes, and it’s a command performance.  But I won’t be missed just yet, and Poppy said you had questions for me.”

Hermione nodded and slipped a bookmark into her book before placing it on the window seat, unwrapping the blanket, and getting to her feet.  She glanced at Malfoy to find him staring at her, and Hermione supposed she knew why.  Poppy had convinced her to wear a sundress in canary yellow – a color that always made her honey skin glow.  It was conservatively cut but more feminine than anything Hermione had worn since going on the run a year ago.  She felt faintly embarrassed to be so dressed up when she had nowhere to go, but the garment was surprisingly comfortable and Hermione had eventually decided that she could happily spend all day in it.  Besides, Poppy had been so thrilled to dress Hermione that Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say no.  She had even deigned to sit at the dressing table for a full hour while Poppy fussed with her hair, eventually tying it up in a knot on top of her head, with her stray curls arranged just so.  Of course, she produced another ribbon in precisely the same shade of yellow, and Poppy had delighted in tying it around the knot of her hair, declaring Hermione’s proclivity for ribbons to be the most charming thing.

“Ignore it,” said Hermione, gesturing to her clothes.  “It’s Poppy’s fault.”

A small smile passed over Malfoy’s face at this as he approached her, but then she raised a hand to halt his progress.

“I want to speak with you, but to be perfectly frank I’m still not comfortable being close to you after the things I saw yesterday.  You can sit on the sofa, and I’ll sit over here, if that’s alright,” she said, gesturing to the vanity chair, which was as far from the sofa as she could get without sitting on the bed.

Malfoy’s face turned blank at this, but he swallowed and nodded as he made his way to the sofa, while Hermione perched on the vanity stool.

“I have about a hundred questions and scarcely know where to start,” she said slowly.

Malfoy nodded.  “I’m sure you do.”

“First, I want to say that if you plan to lie to me, you should just leave now.  I have no interest in talking to you if you won’t be truthful.”

Malfoy studied her.  “I won’t lie,” he finally said.  “I may not answer all of your questions, but I won’t tell you any lies.”

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.  Of course he could be lying to her now, but there was nothing she could do about that.  At least she had made her position clear before beginning.

“Very well,” she said.  “The biggest question first: why pretend to kill me?”

He looked at her like she was dense.  “I would have thought that was obvious.  The Dark Lord made it clear that he wanted you dead.  He’s wanted you dead for the past several years.  There was absolutely no possibility that he would let you live once you were caught.  Pleading for your life would have accomplished nothing and would have angered him unnecessarily.”

Hermione huffed in annoyance.  “Sure, but why stage something like that?  Why not just kill me?”

He looked irritated by this.  “Because I didn’t want to kill you.  Obviously,” he added, gesturing around the room.  “But the Dark Lord needed to see you die or he would have continued looking for you.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat a little.  “Fine, but you still arranged it didn’t you?  Why bother?  Why get involved at all?”

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Look, I know my motives might be a little mysterious to you, but suffice to say I don’t want you dead.  I know that probably surprises you, given the way I behaved before the war, but it’s true.  Given that I went to the effort to kill somebody else in your stead, hopefully you can believe me when I say that I value your life.  I offered to kill you because it gave me the opportunity to save you instead.  Most of the others would have just gone through with it to fulfill the Dark Lord’s wishes.  Inserting myself into it and asking to do it gave me oversight into how you were treated in prison.  It let me concoct the plan to get you out without making the Dark Lord suspicious.  And it had the added benefit of making me closer to the Dark Lord than even my father used to be.  I’m one of his favorites now, and that gives me a lot of leverage over the others and allows me to arrange things as I see fit.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she turned his words over in her mind.  

“Why not tell me about it in advance?”

“You wouldn’t have cooperated, and your mind is a fucking open book.  You’ve never learned even a drop of occlumency, that was very obvious the couple of times I searched you.  I tried to restrict the Death Eaters who went to your cell, but I couldn’t be certain that I would be able to stop everybody who is a legilimens from visiting you.  There are several besides me.  You couldn’t know about the plan.”

Hermione’s cheeks burned.  “You should never have searched my mind.”

He gave her an irritated look.  “You should have learned occlumency.  I know Potter was hopeless, but you are not.  What did you think would happen if you were caught by the Death Eaters?”

Hermione gritted her teeth.  “It’s a violation.”

“That may be so.  But it’s also the fastest way to get the truth out of somebody who is unconscious or near-so.  That was the state of you both times I searched.”

Hermione scowled.  “What did you learn then?”

“It doesn’t matter.  I learned enough.  It was nothing I didn’t already know or suspect.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. She wanted to ask about the horcruxes because she strongly suspected Voldemort had figured it out.  But then again, perhaps he wasn’t aware that they were all gone except for the snake.  Maybe he thought the locket was just missing or the diadem had been moved before the fire in the Room of Requirement.  She didn’t dare ask Malfoy about it, so she switched subjects.

“So you searched me, told You-Know-Who it was everything he expected, and then claimed Ginny as your boon.”

Malfoy shrugged.  “Sure, and that’s a perfect example of the things I can do with the Dark Lord’s favor.  I was given the privilege of claiming her because I turned you over at the same time.  The Dark Lord would never execute a female member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.  He has some long-term plans that involve repopulating the pureblood ranks, and he needs as many pureblood witches as he can get for it.  But she was still a blood traitor, an honorary member of the Order of the Phoenix, and Potter’s former girlfriend.  She would have been one of the first picks, if not the very first pick if I hadn’t claimed her for myself when I had the chance.  It saved her from going to somebody like Dolohov.”

Hermione shuddered as she considered this.  

“You gave her to Zabini though,” she pointed out.  

Malfoy looked a bit bored by this.  “I have no interest in Ginny Weasley.  But Blaise has always had a crush on her, and he would treat her well.  We knew the Dark Lord would start allotting prisoners once the dust from the battle settled, and there was no chance whatsoever Ginny would be available by the time his turn came.  Blaise is a talented Death Eater, but he’s fairly new and doesn’t have the pedigree to rise as high as I can.  We agreed that I would claim her for myself if I got the opportunity.”

Hermione gaped.  “Blaise has a crush on her?”

Malfoy smirked.  “For years, though he was in denial about it until fairly recently.”

Hermione blinked at this surprising news.  That wasn’t at all what she had expected, but then again if he actually cared about her it made Hermione more confident that he wouldn’t hurt her.

“I’m fairly certain Ginny doesn’t reciprocate his feelings,” she muttered.

Malfoy actually laughed.  “She doesn’t.  The only wandless spell she knows is the bat-bogey hex, and she’s hit him with it a half dozen times over the last month.  It hasn’t changed a thing though, he’s more smitten than ever.”

Hermione was surprised to feel the smallest smile cross her face at this.  

“Alright then, I suppose I can see why you saved Ginny for Blaise.  But what about Theo and Luna?” she asked.

Malfoy smirked.  “Theo is ranked high enough that we knew he would get a chance to claim Luna if he made it clear that he wanted her.  She’s a pureblood, but a bit odd and everyone knows it.  She’s not as big of a prize as Ginny, so he didn’t have to fight very hard to get the others to back off.  As for why… it’s because Theo and Luna are dating.  Didn’t you know?”

Hermione spluttered.  “Excuse me?”

Malfoy inclined his head and chuckled at her expression.  “Yes.  They kept it very quiet of course, but they got together at Hogwarts last autumn before Luna was kidnapped and brought to the Manor as a prisoner.  She had no objections to playing along with our little scheme to save you, and she’s a natural occlumens.  Her mind is totally bizarre, and I can never get anything out of her.  She was aware of what we were doing the entire time.”

Hermione just shook her head in amazement.  “And me?  Am I just collateral or are you like Blaise with a lingering crush?”

Hermione surprised herself by asking this, but she was suddenly desperately curious to know.  If Blaise and Theo had arranged their selections with romance in mind, then perhaps Malfoy had too.  The things in her room certainly implied it, but then again, Malfoy had always treated her horribly, at least until the last month.  It seemed impossible to believe he actually cared about her.

Malfoy gave a bitter laugh at Hermione’s question.  “I can assure you, Granger, it’s not a crush.”

Hermione wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed by this.  

“Collateral then,” she said.  “But for what purpose?”

Now he stared at her squarely.  “I'm working with the Order.”

Hermione blinked as her jaw dropped.  “Excuse me?”

Malfoy shrugged.  “I’m not Severus.  I’m not a double agent.  But I do have connections within the Order.  The fighting didn’t end at the Battle of Hogwarts, you know.  As much as the Dark Lord wishes the war ended with Potter’s death, it didn’t, and he knows it.  As long as he is in power, I am rising in his ranks.  And if the Order ever succeeds and actually ends him, I have arranged pardons for myself, my mother, and my two closest friends.”

Theo and Zabini, she deduced.  But then she realized somebody obvious was missing from this list.

“And Lucius?”

“Dead,” said Malfoy curtly.  “Battle of Hogwarts.”

Hermione blinked awkwardly at this and glanced at his signet ring.  She had noticed him wearing it over the past month on occasion, but didn’t realize it was because Lucius was dead.  She considered it for a moment and decided she didn’t feel at all sorry for Lucius Malfoy’s death, and Malfoy himself seemed relatively unbothered by it.  Hermione didn’t know what else to say, so she chose to ignore it. 

“So what… you’re playing both sides then?”

Malfoy gave a negligent shrug.  “Wouldn’t you?”

Hermione scowled.  “No.  I wouldn’t.”

He rolled his eyes at her.  “Your moral superiority needs a serious adjustment, Granger.  Make no mistake, the powers that be in the Order were more than happy to trade you for a pardon.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, as a sinking feeling opened in her stomach.

“I mean that you, Potter, and Weasley went rogue.  The Order wanted you contained.  Ginny Weasley too, for that matter.  Blaise and I are keeping both of you out of the way while the more senior members take stock and regroup.”

“There is no way the Weasleys would agree with that,” she insisted.

Malfoy shrugged.  “Most of the Weasleys are just cannon fodder, surely you know that.  I believe they’ve been told that she was smuggled out to a safe house.  According to my sources they are relieved she’s safe and seem willing to let sleeping dogs lie for now.”

“And me?  Do they know about me?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.  “The circle of people who know you’re alive is very small, and the Weasley’s are not included.  The whole family is far too reckless and liable to get themselves caught to be trusted with information like that.  It’s just a few Order members who know… the ones who don’t throw themselves in front of every curse that comes their way.”

Hermione just stared at him, as the truth of her situation sunk in.  “So there are members of the Order who know I’m alive and here?  And they aren’t going to help me escape?”

“That’s correct,” he said.  “I am keeping you safe while providing a few other pieces of intelligence now and then.  If they ever manage to win, I’ll be able to stay out of Azkaban, regardless of what I do while in the Dark Lord’s service.”

Hermione felt all the air leave her body as she thought about it.  She wanted to believe he was lying, but his words had the ring of truth to them.  Malfoy didn’t truly care for her.  He cared for his mother, his friends, and himself.  Of course he would keep her here in this pampered cage to fulfill the terms of his agreement.  But who in the Order was he working with?  Kingsley?  McGonagall?

She felt her anger start to build as she thought about it, and her magic crackled.

“Who traded me?” she asked bitterly.

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“Then who died in my place?"

“I’m not going to tell you that either, not yet,” he said.

“Then what on earth was Theo doing to me yesterday?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“When will I see him again?”

“I couldn’t say.  He’s surely busy rekindling his relationship with Luna.”

His flippancy made her angrier than ever, and she got to her feet and glared at him.  

“Where is my beaded bag?  The one I’m sure you took from me after you captured me?”

“Confiscated,” he said carelessly.  “I already removed the things you’re allowed to have from it.  Perhaps you’ve noticed?”

Her blood was boiling now.

“And my wand?” she hissed.

“You meant Aunt Bella’s wand,” he corrected.  “It’s been returned.  And before you ask, Potter’s special cloak has been gifted to the Dark Lord.  Potter was cowering under it when he died.”

Hermione felt herself blanche at this.  How had she forgotten about the Invisibility Cloak?

Because you’ve spent the last month assuming you would die.

But this was terrible news.  She still wasn’t sure if she believed that the Deathly Hallows were real, but if Harry had been right then Voldemort now had two out of the three.

“And Harry’s bag?” she asked in a brittle voice, remembering the mokeskin bag he wore all the time — the bag where he kept the snitch that he was sure housed the ring and Resurrection Stone.  “He was wearing it around his neck when he died.”

Malfoy was eyeing her suspiciously now, but his answering drawl still sounded bored and had that same air of carelessness about it that felt like a slap in the face.

“I would assume it burned up with his body.”

Hermione thought her heart was failing her.

“His body was burned?” she said in a strangled voice.

“Surely you didn’t want him to become an inferius.  I rather thought I was doing him a favor.  The Weasel too.”

Hermione felt faint as she stood and started backing away from him.  His expression darkened as he watched her.

“You disgust me,” she whispered, as she started to shake.  Whether it was from anger or fear, she wasn’t certain.  “I can’t believe you… desecrating the bodies of my best friends… enhancing You-Know-Who’s power… working with the Order behind my back to keep me prisoner…”

“I think you mean, working to keep you safe,” he said, his own eyes flashing now as he got to his feet too.  “You seem to forget that you, Potter, and Weasley just disappeared and allowed the Order to spend months wondering what the fuck you three were doing.  And then you finally reappeared only for Potter to die, because none of you involved the Order in your plans while you were on the run.  So does it really surprise you that they want you out of the way?  And does it surprise you that I offered to be your jailor when I found you that night?  You have a fucking death wish, Granger.  Over and over again you were prepared to die – you were even prepared for me to kill you!  It’s entirely unstrategic, and it makes you unpredictable and a liability to them.  It shouldn’t surprise you that I played the games I needed to play to make the Order happy and save my own skin if they ever pull off the impossible and kill him!  That included burning the bodies of as many Order members as I could find so the Dark Lord couldn’t use them to make another army of inferi or parade their severed heads through the streets!  And yes, I went behind your back to arrange your imprisonment here because I couldn’t give you the opportunity to interfere and place yourself in even more danger or risk fucking up the Order’s plans yet again!”

He was breathing hard, and he was shouting at her by the end of it.  Hermione felt a mixture of shame and rage.  Some part of her knew he was right.  Of course he was right.  She and the boys had just hauled off and done their own thing without keeping the Order informed, and it resulted in a very last minute and haphazard battle plan at Hogwarts that killed her two best friends and so many others.  And rationally she knew that a burned corpse was better than a reanimated one.  Of course it would be preferable for Harry and Ron to be cremated than used as symbols of Voldemort’s win.  But Hermione wasn’t feeling rational.  She was feeling terrified, hurt, and betrayed.

She hated him in that moment.

“Get out,” Hermione demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, get out!  I can’t even look at you!  I certainly don’t want to talk to you!”

Malfoy sneered and strode toward the door he had arrived from.  Before he left, he turned to glare at her.  

“Get your shit together, Granger.  Stop being so fucking morally superior and realize that we are still in a war.  It’s not like your side is blameless.  They aren’t exactly communing with the unicorns and shitting rainbows.  There are people in your precious Order who would rather have you out of the way than making stupid decisions that could pull them into another battle where half of them die.  They will go to great lengths to make sure you don’t fuck it up for them again.  You need to get your head out of your own arse and realize that the world isn’t black and white.”

Then he strode through the door and slammed it behind him.  A moment later she heard another enormous CRASH, and she flinched.  It was a long while later that the fight finally drained out of her, leaving Hermione to stare at the door and wonder how it had all gone so wrong.

Chapter Text

Hermione was being led to an altar while Voldemort sat on a throne and watched.

“We are willing to trade her, my lord,” said the smooth voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.  “She has been a liability to us.”

“Very good,” he hissed.  “Draco, prepare the prisoner.”

Malfoy strode forward wearing robes of pure white.  He waved his wand and transformed Hermione’s prisoner garb into a nightgown.

“You need a ribbon too,” he insisted, with another flick of his wand.

Hermione felt blank nothingness as she approached the altar and then laid down on it.

“It’s my turn now,” said Cormac McLaggen’s voice, and he flicked his wand and secured her to the altar and then vanished her clothes.

The blankness in Hermione’s mind evaporated, and she began to struggle as she realized what he was about to do.  She was panicking, fear blooming inside of her as his fingers clawed at her most intimate parts.  Then he raised a knife and started to slice her throat, as her entire body lit on fire with pain.  It shouldn’t hurt this much.  It shouldn’t feel like the cruciatus.

Bellatrix’s cackle echoed as Hermione felt hot blood spill and her vision swim.  She was screaming and thrashing and…

THUD.

Hermione’s eyes flew open, her cheeks wet with tears.  She was on the floor, having tumbled off of the window seat where she was dozing, tangled up in the green and gray blanket.

She looked up to find Malfoy’s worried face watching her, and she gasped and scrambled back a little as she reached up to touch her hair, finding a ribbon there.

“Don’t make me,” she blurted out.

“Granger,” he said slowly.  “You’re alright.  It was just a dream.”

“Just a…” she said softly, as the realization that he was right swept over her.  A few more tears spilled out in relief.  “Thank God.”

She leaned back against the window seat and shut her eyes for a moment.  

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked carefully.

She opened her eyes again to look at him.  

She hadn’t seen Malfoy in a week, not since their last argument.  She had deduced that his room was attached to her parlor because she occasionally heard him slamming drawers shut and stomping around in there, and he was the only one who had ever walked through that door.  But she hadn’t asked to see him again, still smarting from his comments about her recklessness and need to be contained.  

She had passed the last week allowing Poppy to play dress up with her, which was entirely ridiculous.  She saw nobody but the little elf and the portrait of the blonde woman who never spoke.  But Hermione reasoned that having the small elf on her side could only benefit her, so if Poppy wanted to give her long baths and choose her outfits, Hermione would let her do it.  When Poppy wasn’t pampering her, Hermione read books on the window seat.  It kept her mind engaged and was more entertaining than Hogwarts had been, but it was also entirely useless.  

She had all but decided the previous day she would have to shelve her pride at some point and speak to Malfoy again, because there was no way for her to glean the information she needed about the snake while she was stuck here.  Poppy was chatty, but was obviously in the dark about most of the going ons of the Manor, having been tasked to care for Hermione almost exclusively, ever since the Battle of Hogwarts.  She occasionally dropped tidbits about Malfoy’s schedule, but that was all.  She explained that Hermione was her main duty now, and Master Draco had not spoken to her in detail about anything else going on in the outside world or even the other guests who were dropping by the Manor.  He had other elves for that.

Poppy seemed to be oddly proud to be tasked with Hermione’s care, but Hermione suspected Malfoy intentionally kept Poppy in the dark.  If she knew nothing, then she couldn’t accidentally share anything with Hermione that might cause Hermione to snap and try to run.  That meant Malfoy was entirely in control of the information Hermione received.

Hermione knew she could never escape if her entire world was pretty clothing, muggle novels, and Poppy.  She needed to learn Malfoy’s habits.  She needed to learn who else was in the Manor with her and where Voldemort was spending his time.  Perhaps she would even discover the wards he had used to keep her prisoner.  That meant she would have to let her anger burn out and move past her fear of him in order to speak to him.

Still, she hadn’t expected to see him again like this.  It was the middle of the night and moonlight was streaming through her window.  His pale face and hair looked ghostly.  She glanced down and realized he was wearing a simple muggle T-shirt and joggers.  He looked entirely normal like this, not like the Death Eater from her dream.  Even the small glimpse of the Dark Mark she saw on his left forearm just looked like a regular tattoo.  It made him less scary and more like the prat she knew from Hogwarts.

“Why are you here?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“You were screaming,” he said wryly.

“Oh,” she replied, looking down at her knees for a moment in embarrassment.  Then she looked back up at him.  “You should put a silencing charm on my room.  I have nightmares now and then.”

He settled himself on the floor near her.  She hadn’t been this close to him since that day with Cormac, but he wasn’t intimidating like this so she didn’t object.

He just shook his head at her.  “I can’t do that.  My wards should be impenetrable, but if someone manages to find a way into your room, I need to be able to hear you scream.”

Her heart sped up at this, and some of her residual fear must have shown on her face.  

“Hey,” he said soothingly.  “I told you, they should be impenetrable, and besides… anybody who would harm you thinks you’re dead.  Absolutely nobody is looking for you.”

“Not even Cormac?”

She didn’t mean for the question to slip out, but he terrified her even more than some of the others whom she rationally knew were more dangerous.  In the moonlight Hermione could see Malfoy’s face darken at this.

“No.”

“What about your mother?  Does she know that I’m here?”

It was something Hermione had been wondering for the past week.  Did Narcissa know of all the things her son had done?

He cocked his head.  “She’s aware, but she’s warded out too for plausible deniability.  The Manor is large enough that she has no need to come here.”

Hermione absorbed this.

“And you’re sure Cormac can’t find me?” she asked again.  She was still feeling ill from her nightmare, her body felt dirty from phantom fingers touching her like… 

She shuddered.

He frowned and studied her.

“Is that what you were dreaming about?”

Hermione looked down and swallowed hard.  “Partially.  That was the worst bit.”

Malfoy looked grim.

“He won’t look for you.  Even if he wanted to, I’m afraid it would be impossible.  He’s currently enjoying an extended stay in the Manor dungeons.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened at this.  “Are you still torturing him?  I thought he was already punished!”

He cocked an eyebrow at her.  “Why do you assume it’s me?”

“Because Theo told me you handled it… rather publicly,” she said a bit nervously.

Malfoy snorted.  “Fine.  I’ve had my time with him, you’re right.  It’s Theo’s turn now though.”

“Theo?  He would never!” she insisted.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.  “Theo is not as close to the Dark Lord as I am, but he’s fairly high up, Granger.  You don’t get there by keeping your hands clean.  He’s endlessly creative and has always been the type to seek revenge when he thinks it’s warranted.  You two have that in common.”

Hermione felt a bit faint.

“So all of that is because of what he did to me?”

“That’s part of it.  The other part is the fact that he blatantly disobeyed my orders.  I may be young, but I’m in charge of quite a few people now, including him.  I made it clear that you were not to be touched, and he ignored me.  I need to make an example out of him to keep the others in line, and the Dark Lord agrees.  That little fucktard has to learn there’s a hierarchy, and he can’t break rank without suffering extensive consequences.  And the others need to see that I show no mercy when my orders are not followed.  The Dark Lord was in full support of his punishment — both the public and the private bits.”

“And it endears you to You-Know-Who,” she said slowly.  “If you continue to torture him, I mean.”

“Now you’re getting it,” he said approvingly.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“After what he did to you?  Not even a little bit.  It was one of those times when the Dark Lord’s wishes perfectly aligned with my own.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“So what did you do to him?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.  Rest assured he’s appropriately terrified of me.”

Hermione thought about this and decided she really didn’t want to know.  

“How much longer will you hold him?”

“I’d say a few more days should do it.  Blaise needs some practice too.”

Hermione’s stomach turned at this.

“And when he’s out he won’t find me?”

Malfoy’s eyes softened.  “No, Granger.  McLaggen will never feel secure around me or the others again.  He wouldn’t dream of searching my private wing, even if the wards permitted him… which they don’t.”

Hermione’s curiosity piqued at this.  “I’m in your private wing?”

Malfoy nodded.  “Yes.  The only people I would allow in already know about you.”

“Is it just this room then or is it others?”

He hesitated for a moment.  “Others.  Yours isn’t the only one.  But I can’t let you out to explore the rest of the rooms until you are settled and we understand each other a little better.”

Hermione made a frustrated noise at this.

“I know,” he said soothingly.  

“No you don’t!” she insisted, her temper getting the better of her.  “This is a prison, Malfoy!  I can’t spend my life reading muggle novels and seeing nobody but Poppy!  I’m useless like this!”

“You’re safe like this,” he insisted.

She glared at him.  “Safe and miserable!  Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance?  It would have been kinder!”

Even in the moonlight Hermione saw something harden on his face.  “You wish I had killed you?” he said in a tight voice.

“At least I would have seen my friends!” she burst out, as the tears started again.  “I would have been with them again, and I wouldn’t have been stuck here with nothing…”

“You would rather be dead with Potter than alive in this suite?  When you have every luxury a woman could ever want?  When you are cared for and kept safe?”

“I don’t care about luxury!” she declared.  “I care about my friends!  I care about the war!  And if I can’t participate, then yes I would rather be dead so I can see my best friends again!”

Hermione knew she was getting hysterical, but she missed Harry and Ron so much.  She had only begun to properly grieve for them during the past week, once she realized she wasn’t joining them.  She had spent hours crying and then becoming angry and then moving to listlessness.  It was an endless loop of misery she couldn’t seem to break from.  Even the books had not been a sufficient distraction.  Her emotions were all over the place.

Something dangerous flashed on Malfoy’s face at this.  “I thought you weren’t romantically involved with Potter.”

“What are you talking about?  Of course I was never romantically involved with him!  But he was my best friend, practically my brother!”

Malfoy’s jaw twitched.  “Weasley then?  Is that whom you wish to be with forever?”

Hermione scowled.  “Why does it matter?”

“I’m trying to understand you, Granger, and I confess, I’m struggling.  Wishing for death so you can spend an eternity with Potter and Weasley when you could be here instead is not something I can rationalize.  You have never struck me as the type to give up.  I never would have dreamed that you might be suicidal until I found you starving yourself.  At least that time you thought you were saving yourself from a more painful death.  I didn’t like it, but I could understand it.  But now here you are with all of my resources at your disposal, and you are telling me you wish I had killed you.  I don’t get it, unless you were so in love with one of them that you can’t bear to live without them.”

He said this last part a little bitterly, and Hermione slumped, trying desperately to get a grip on her emotions.  She needed him to talk to her and maybe even trust her with information or a little more freedom.  He would never do that if he believed she was truly suicidal, because her safety was the key to his pardon with the Order.  He was holding her for them, and if she was gone he would be out of luck.  She was saying things to him that she didn’t really mean and that could make her captivity worse if she couldn’t get a handle on herself.  She just missed her friends terribly and hadn’t fully processed their deaths yet.

“It’s not that I wish to be dead,” she said slowly, closing her eyes to try to exert some control back into her voice.  “And no, I wasn’t with Ron.  I kissed him exactly one time in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts when we both thought we were about to die.  It wasn’t exactly mind-blowing.”

Some of Malfoy’s tension eased slightly at this.

“So what is it then, if you aren’t in love with one of them?”

Hermione sighed, feeling exhausted and wrung out.  “I wish to have some purpose.  I’m not made to just sit around reading novels all day.”

“Aren’t you?” he asked wryly.

She shot him a dirty look that made his lips twitch.  “No, I’m not.  I’m made for action, or at least research.  I have to be in it to be happy.  Regardless of what the Order may think, I am not as reckless as Harry and Ron were.  I held them back quite often, and I’m probably the reason they made it as long as they did.  But when I was with them I was still doing something.  I had problems to solve.  I was valuable.  Being stuck in here with no purpose is driving me mad, and it means that I have nothing to distract me from thinking about them or Cormac or that horrible execution.”

“So now you don’t want to die?” he asked, and she heard the skepticism in his voice.  God, but she had bollocksed this up.

“No, I don’t.  I just… you have to understand, I spent a month after the battle that killed my best friends believing I was going to join them.  I never properly grieved them because I knew I would see them soon.  I think I had one really good cry as soon as I woke up, and that was all.  Once I was sentenced to death and it became clear I couldn’t escape, my grief went on hold. Part of me was relieved by it.  I’ve been fighting a long time, and I never thought I would be the one left behind without either of them.  And then the thing with Cormac… it happened less than a week before I was supposed to die, and it was…..”

She gulped.  “It was truly the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and that includes being tortured in the Manor a few months ago.  But casting that cruciatus and Nita helped in the very short term — it purged enough of the fear to get me to the execution day at any rate — so I didn’t allow myself to think about that either, because why would I when I only had a few days left?  I buried it.”

“But I didn’t kill you,” he said slowly.

“No,” she said quietly, “you didn’t.  And I’ve spent the last week trying to comprehend a world where I am alive and Harry and Ron are not.  I’m trying to understand what Cormac did to me because now I don’t have an obvious death date when none of it matters any longer.  All of it is hard for me, and it’s just now hitting me that they are both gone, and I’m left behind to deal with everything alone.  I miss them like…” she trailed off and put a hand against her heart.

She glanced at him, and his eyes were softer now.  She hoped he was starting to understand.

“I wasn’t in love with either one of them,” she continued.  “I’m not some tragic Shakespearean heroine who wants to kill herself to join her true love in death or any nonsense like that.  I’m grateful to be alive, truly.  I just don’t know how to exist without them yet.  I don’t know who I am anymore.  Who is Hermione Granger if she’s not the calm, sensible witch whose chief concern is nagging Harry Potter and Ron Weasley about their school work and deplorable table manners?”

She gave him a weak smile as she said this last bit, and she saw him studying her.  He was weighing everything she had just said.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that she’s a rather brave and brilliant witch who has some impressive wandless magic and who is willing to mete out her own justice when the circumstances warrant it.  I think she’s having a pretty rough go of it right now, but I also think she’s strong enough to survive and find her purpose.”

“I hope so,” she said sincerely.  “But that’s just it, isn’t it?  I need some purpose.  I can’t just play dress up with Poppy while the war rages on and the world passes me by.  I will never fully process what happened to them or to me if I’m stuck here with nothing but a few books and my own thoughts.”

He was silent for a long while as he considered this.  Finally he said, “I’ll make you a deal.”

She raised her eyebrows curiously.

“I will give you a few things to study… magical things that might give you some purpose while you are here.  And I will also allow Poppy to give you copies of The Daily Prophet so you can see what is going on in the outside world.  But in exchange I want you to talk to me about what you’re reading so you have some context for it.  You will read things about me and the others that you won't like and may frighten you, but you can’t shut me out if I give you access to that information.  We play many roles, and sometimes that means we do terrible things.  But I need you to trust that I will never do terrible things to you, nor will Theo or Blaise.  Finally, I want you to do your best to settle in while you are here.  I understand that everything has been turned on its head and very difficult recently, but you are safe here and can allow others to take care of you for once.  Poppy can tell you aren’t enthusiastic about her attention, and it distresses her.  Please accept her help and try to enjoy it.  And for Salazar’s sake, no more protesting your captivity by sleeping on the floor.”

Hermione’s heart was racing, as she considered this offer.  Truly, it was more than she could have hoped for as a first step.  She still wasn’t sure she trusted him to tell her the truth, but she had to admit she was starting to believe that he wouldn’t harm her.  No doubt the papers would give her a glimpse of what he had been up to as a member of Voldemort’s inner circle, and he knew she might react poorly to it.  It wasn’t unreasonable to request a chance to explain himself as part of the trade.  She found that she couldn’t begrudge him this, especially knowing that The Prophet rarely printed the whole truth.

He also wanted her to accept the luxury he was providing her instead of fighting it. Hermione felt a small burn of shame to learn that she had distressed Poppy.  She thought she had done a credible job of playing along to make Poppy happy, but evidently the small elf sensed that Hermione was reluctant. 

“Alright,” she finally said.  “That’s fair.  Maybe you can give me the papers in the morning, and we can take tea to discuss them.  Or dinner.  Or any time that works for you, really, I’m obviously not going anywhere.”

She thought she saw his eyes light up at this suggestion, and he nodded.

“That works.  I won’t be able to do it every single day, but we can do tea whenever my schedule permits it.  I’m usually free then.”

Hermione nodded.  “Okay.  And I promise I will try to be more… enthusiastic… about Poppy’s attention.”

At this he smirked a little at her expression.  “It’s not so bad, Granger.”

She groaned.  “It’s the hair, Malfoy.  She insists on making it perfect, and I swear she spends an hour on it every damn day…”

He chuckled at this and rose to his feet, reaching down to offer her a hand.  She gave him a questioning look.

“No more sleeping on the floor, remember?”

Hermione sighed in resignation, but put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.  As she rose the blanket pooled at her feet, and she bent to place it back on the window seat.  She turned to find Malfoy staring at her, his hand still grasping hers.

Hermione blushed, only now remembering that she was in a nightgown.  Again, it was fairly conservative, but the fabric was thin, the neckline showed off her shoulders and collarbones, and she was wearing very little underneath.  She felt her face flame, and she just hoped Malfoy couldn’t see very much in the darkness.

He seemed to snap out of it and tugged on her hand, leading her toward the bed, which Poppy continued to turn down for her each evening even as it went unused.

“In you get,” he said in a slightly strained voice.

Hermione climbed in and sat down to settle herself before turning to look at him.

“Try to sleep,” he said.  “No bad dreams.”

She swallowed and nodded a bit awkwardly.

He gave her a tight smile and started to turn to head back to his own room when she said, “Malfoy.”

He paused and turned back.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.  “For listening I mean.”

He nodded.  “Just make sure you stay with me and don’t go to them.  I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but those two never really appreciated your magnificence.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.  “I thought you said it wasn’t a crush,” she blurted out.

He gave her a faint smile.  “It’s not.”

Then he turned and walked through the door to his room, closing it behind him.

Later on, after Hermione had sunk back into the world’s most perfect mattress, she found herself on the very edge of sleep.  It was that hazy place where dreams began and blended with reality, where consciousness drifted in and out.  So Hermione was certain she had slipped into the barest edge of a dream when she heard a faint sound, only audible because nothing else was awake in Malfoy Manor except for her, and even that was debatable.

It was a man, and he was screaming with a kind of terrible pain, as though he was being slowly bled.

No bad dreams, she admonished herself, repeating the thing Malfoy had told her with her last bit of awareness before finally letting sleep claim her.

******

Draco stared down at the form of Cormac McLaggen, who was whimpering on the floor of his cellar.

"Nott will be back for more tomorrow," he said coldly, "but I wanted to visit you again tonight."

McLaggen raised his head to stare at Draco.  There was fear in his eyes, pain.  He smelled of dried blood and excrement.  Draco breathed it in.  The stench was terrible, but it also calmed him.  He needed something to calm him.  Hermione had looked so frightened tonight.  She was dreaming about this bastard at Draco's feet, trapped in nightmares so severe she screamed.

Draco had very few nightmares himself, but Hermione Granger's screams featured in every single one of them.  He had been triggered almost as much as she had.

"Why?" rasped McLaggen.  "Why won't you let me go?  I didn't fucking do anything!"

Draco knelt down and looked at McLaggen's wand hand with a critical eye.  It was mutilated.  It was destroyed.  It was one of Draco's finest masterpieces.

"You know why.  But if you need a reminder..."

Draco pulled out his knife, and McLaggen's eyes widened in fear again.  "No!  No, you've already..."

"Shhh," said Draco softly.  "I'm just refreshing your memory so you don't forget who is in charge.  Let's call it... course correction."

Draco moved in a flash and slammed McLaggen's head against the stone wall to daze him before kneeling on his chest and neck.  McLaggen gasped, and his eyes bulged as he started to turn purple.  Draco studied him for a moment.  Purple was good.  Blue was the color that meant imminent death.  But if he was purple he would still feel it and be alive for more practice tomorrow.

Excellent.

Draco shifted position ever so slightly and then pulled out his wand to secure McLaggen's arms and legs to the floor, much like he had done to Hermione that day.  Satisfied that he wouldn't be going anywhere, Draco tossed his wand aside and then shoved McLaggen's grimy shirt above his navel, exposing a clear expanse of belly.  He was pasty, and Draco frowned as he took it in.  It was too pristine.  It reminded Draco of a blank canvas, when it should be marred by Draco’s handiwork.  Then again, Draco considered himself an artist, and there was so much he could do with this.  He just needed some inspiration.

McLaggen was struggling, making muffled choking noises as he felt the cool metal from Draco's blade touch bare skin.

"Keep quiet now," said Draco calmly.  "We wouldn't want to disturb my boon with your screams.  She had some bad dreams tonight, and I just got her settled again.  I'm very concerned about the amount of sleep she has been getting recently.  She requires her rest, and I won't be pleased if you wake her up."

Draco took a moment to think of Hermione.  She had been so sad tonight, but so pretty.  Her white nightgown gave her an air of sweetness that made Draco want to carefully tuck her away, cocooned in something soft and delicate.  Then again, it was also sheer enough to tempt him.

But no, he would be good.  She hadn't been on speaking terms with him recently.  At first it disappointed him and even angered him a little bit.  But he gave her some space, and then she explained herself to him tonight.  Of course he could forgive her for pushing him away at first.  She had been through a terrible ordeal and needed time to adjust.  He had made excellent progress with her tonight though, and tomorrow he would be able to join her for tea and perhaps give her something to do that would settle her mind.  

The prospect of daily teas with her was nothing short of thrilling. 

Another groan made Draco snap out of it.  But his thoughts of Hermione had given him all the inspiration he needed for McLaggen's exposed stomach.  Draco just needed to ensure McLaggen stayed quiet enough so that his screams wouldn't reach her room.  It was a few floors away, but sounds could carry in the night.

Draco paused for a moment to retrieve a dirty rag nearby.  He couldn't be certain what McLaggen had used it for, but he could guess.  It was filthy.  Draco stuffed it in McLaggen's mouth and then wrinkled his nose as he scourgified his hands.  He didn't mind blood at all, but he wasn’t keen on touching anything else that had come out of McLaggen.

Draco then picked up his knife again and began to carefully carve a pattern into McLaggen's flesh.  It wasn't so deep that he would die from it, but it would scar permanently.  It was a rendering of the Malfoy crest.  Draco had learned to draw it as a child of course, at the behest of his father and his tutors.  But this version of it had a small twist.  He encircled it with ribbons that reminded him of Hermione.  It was subtle to be sure.  Nobody but him would understand it, but then again he would never put her in danger by being too obvious with the reference.  Draco finished one section and sat back to admire his progress.  

It was beautiful, but there was a lot more to do.

The smell of blood filled his nose and McLaggen's muffled screams flooded his ears.  Draco finally relaxed as he continued to work.  This was what he was good at.  This and keeping Hermione safe. 

He would check on her once he was done here.  He checked on her every night.

He couldn't help it.

******

Hermione took her time waking up the next morning.  She was a bit sore from sleeping in a new place, but the mattress was like a cloud, and the linens surely had a higher thread count than she had ever experienced in her life.  It was truly decadent, excessive, and while she felt guilty for enjoying it she told herself it would make Poppy happy to see her like this.

Sure enough, Poppy made an appearance soon after Hermione woke, and her eyes filled with tears to see Hermione nested in the large bed.

After the conversation the night before, Hermione was determined to turn a new leaf with the little elf.  Embarrassing luxury or not, pampering Hermione was something that gave Poppy great joy, and Hermione knew this was an easy concession for her to make in her quest to learn more about what was going on with the war.  Malfoy evidently cared about the elf’s feelings, and as surprising as that might be, Hermione knew that she did too.  It was a small alignment to be sure, but it was a start.  And if it convinced Malfoy she was being cooperative he might loosen the reins even more.

“Poppy,” she said.  “Could you help me dress please?  Perhaps another sundress like the yellow one from from a week ago?  I quite liked that one, but I’m not sure if any of the others fit the same way.”

Poppy perked up at this, obviously pleased Hermione was taking some interest in it.  She bustled into the closet and pulled out several options, encouraging Hermione to wear one that was the palest shade of blush pink.

“I’ve never really gone for pink,” said Hermione frowning.

“It will be perfect with Miss’s skin though,” insisted the elf.  “Try it, and if Miss does not like it, we can select something different.”

Hermione shrugged and donned the dress before turning to stare at herself in a long mirror that was attached to the back of her bathroom door.  She gaped.

“Wow,” she said.  Poppy was absolutely right.  It was incredibly flattering on her, and she nodded at the elf.  “This will do.  I never would have picked it myself, but I’m impressed.”

Perhaps she was laying it on too thick, because Poppy’s eyes began to water again with pleasure, and she shoo’d Hermione to the dressing table where she stood on a small stool and began to arrange her hair.

Today she twisted several strands back off of Hermione’s face and, as always, secured it with a ribbon.

“Poppy, where did all of these ribbons come from?” she asked idly.

Poppy gave her a toothy grin.  “Twas a challenge to find exact matches, Miss, but Poppy and the others have been shopping since Miss was first caught.  They is from all over England and France.  Master Draco insisted Miss must have one for every outfit.”

Hermione blinked in surprise and fell silent as she considered this.  It was true she wore ribbons frequently at Hogwarts, but she was surprised he had noticed.  She was certain Ron and Harry never did.  It reminded her that she still had not asked Malfoy about some of the very personal things she found in her room, but other questions had taken priority.  Perhaps she would get to the bottom of it soon.

After Poppy finally wrapped up, she left Hermione alone for a few minutes to collect breakfast, and she soon returned with a meal and The Daily Prophet.

Hermione snatched it eagerly before her jaw dropped in disbelief at the article on the front page.

Unregistered Mudblood Sightings on the Rise.  The Dark Lord’s Knife at Work to Secure Britain’s Wizarding Population.

by Barnabus Cuff

Reports of unregistered mudbloods reached an all-time high last week, ever since the Mudblood Registration Commission (formerly known as the Muggleborn Registration Commission) went into effect nearly a year ago.  The public is asked to remain calm as the Dark Lord’s Knife – Draco Malfoy — and his special team of Death Eaters work to discover their hiding places and prevent them from stealing additional magic from pureblood witches and wizards.

“Our methods have proven effective at discovering and tracking mudbloods who have stolen magic illegally,” said Mr. Malfoy.  “As you know, the Dark Lord and the Ministry of Magic require them to be registered so that they may be rehabilitated for their crimes and reintroduced to magical society in a more appropriate position, such as servants or laborers.  Once caught, those who are unregistered shall be marked so that they may be tracked again in the future.”

As readers of The Prophet may know, Mr. Malfoy’s title of ‘the Knife,’ was granted to him by the Dark Lord himself, thanks to Mr. Malfoy’s personal blades that have been used in the service of the Dark Lord since his rise.

“Malfoy’s knife skills are second to none,” reported his close friend and fellow Death Eater Theodore Nott.  “He has several that are enchanted, including the blade that was used for the ceremony on the fifth of June.  He is an expert in blood magic.”

When asked if his enchanted knives are being used to keep purebloods safe from mudbloods, Mr. Malfoy confirmed that they were.  

“I am using all resources at my disposal to ensure the safety of the pureblood population, including several enchanted objects that have been in my family for centuries.  My team and I will continue to work with the Ministry, including the Head of the Mudblood Registration Commission Dolores Umbridge, to ensure peace for purebloods in our world.”

In the event any pureblood or half-blood witch or wizard encounters a mudblood they are asked not to engage as the mudblood may be armed and dangerous.  Any sightings should be reported to the Ministry of Magic.  Mr. Malfoy’s team will be responding as quickly as possible.

Hermione gaped at the article, fury starting to build as she read it a second and then third time.

She then ripped the paper open to see if she could learn any more, and she discovered that Zabini had apparently led a team to “victory” in a small skirmish with the “terrorist resistance,” though no casualties were reported.  Dolohov had evidently executed a prisoner whose name Hermione did not recognize after Bellatrix oversaw his “punishment.”  Grayback was the newly appointed leader of the werewolf faction and had been given a job at the Ministry of Magic as the new Head of the Dark Creatures Liaison Office.  Malfoy was reported again in the society pages of all things, thanks to the fact that he had danced with one Astoria Greengrass at Voldemort’s Victory Ball.  Theo’s name made an appearance in that column as well, with speculation about a romantic entanglement with Daphne Greengrass.  Finally, Pansy Parkinson was evidently engaged to marry Marcus Flint.  They had completed something called a tying ceremony the previous day, and Hermione stared at the picture of Pansy with disbelief.  She looked beautiful.

Absolutely disgusted, Hermione threw the paper aside, as she found herself fuming.  She couldn’t believe it had gotten this bad.  The Daily Prophet had always been biased, but this was beyond the pale.  How on earth could Malfoy justify his actions to her?  He said he had to do terrible things, and he played many roles.  But this?   She was furious with him and, though she was doing her best to trust her safety to him, she was also frightened.  What if he decided to turn her over too?

Hermione was agitated as the morning slipped into the afternoon.  Poppy had informed her that Malfoy would be joining her for tea, and Hermione was on edge as she waited for the appointed hour to arrive.  She wanted to rage at him.  She wanted to hide from him.  She was both appalled and scared.  She knew she needed answers to settle her mind, and she was regretting waiting until tea to get them.

Hermione heard a knock on her door, and her heart started to race.  Tea was set out on her table, but Hermione wasn’t seated.  She was standing, waiting for him to enter, and warring with herself about which emotion should win.

She told him to come in, and he opened the door.  He took a moment to look her up and down, and he smiled a little at what he found.  The expression on his face irritated her so much that fury won.

“What the fuck is this?” she demanded, as she threw the paper in his face.  “Umbridge?  You’re working with that horrible woman to round up muggleborns and force them into slavery or what… some sort of caste system?  She’s terrible!  One of the worst!  How could you possibly do that?”

Malfoy blinked in surprise, as Hermione planted her feet, breathing hard.  He contemplated her for a moment and said, “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think Umbridge would be the thing that got you bent out of shape.”

“She’s not,” said Hermione automatically, as she unconsciously rubbed the back of her right hand.  Though Umbridge had only used her quill on Hermione one time, she still remembered the feeling of it slicing into her skin.  She had never told either of the boys about it, not trusting their tempers around her.

Malfoy noticed the gesture and cocked his head to study her.  “Are you sure about that?”

“Of course,” said Hermione.  “It’s the whole rounding up muggleborns thing that bothers me, not so much Umbridge.  I just don’t understand how you can stand her and–”

“Come sit,” he said, cutting her off and gesturing toward the table.

“No,” said Hermione.  

He sighed.  “Granger.  You promised you would listen.  Come sit so we can talk about it.”

Hermione worried her lip for a moment, but finally approached him slowly and sat stiffly.  “I’m not sure what you could possibly say to justify this,” she said as Malfoy sat too and began to prepare tea.  To her slight surprise he didn’t ask her how she took it, he simply prepared a cup exactly how she liked it and pushed it over to her.

“Before I got involved, Umbridge was imprisoning all of them in Azkaban,” he said simply.  “I went to the Dark Lord and explained that this was inefficient and a poor use of magical resources.  The magical population simply isn’t large enough to imprison everyone of muggle birth, and it was something that drew sympathizers to the resistance.  I explained that mudbloods could be registered and tracked, but they should be given jobs that kept them beneath purebloods.  That would keep our economy functioning and would remove a key piece of propaganda the resistance was using to entice followers.  It would also allow loyal purebloods to keep an eye on them.  In the end, several hundred people were released from Azkaban thanks to me.”

Hermione stilled, not expecting this.

“Alright,” she said slowly.  “I’m listening.”

He shrugged.  “I’m not saying it’s great.  But it’s better than Azkaban, and neither the Dark Lord nor the Ministry bothers to track every single one of them.  If a few disappear into Order safe houses or leave the country, it goes unnoticed as long as it’s just a slow trickle.  Those who don’t disappear have various employment opportunities that are relatively safe.”

“Like what?” she asked skeptically.  

“Shop clerks.  Laborers.  Staff for parties and the Dark Lord’s revels.  Other jobs like that.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes.  “Prostitutes?”

“Some,” he admitted.  “Though my team certainly doesn't force any woman into it.  Those who do want to sell their bodies are doing it voluntarily.”

Hermione snorted in disbelief.  “Right.  Sure.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow.  “It’s true, Granger.  They are paid far more generously than those who opt to simply serve the Death Eaters food and drink.  Right or wrong, it takes money to leave the country and set up somewhere new.  Most of the women who opt for it only work for a few weeks or months before they disappear to the continent or America.”

Hermione felt ill as she thought about it.  “And you’re telling me your waitstaff and laborers aren’t sexually assaulted?  They’re somehow protected from Death Eaters like Cormac?”

Malfoy looked grim, as though he really wished they were discussing something different.  “Nita helps protect the women,” he said.  “The laborers are sent to work in Blaise’s vineyards or my apothecary company or other places like that – they don’t draw notice.  The waitstaff are rotated through the parties and other social events that are held for the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord.  While it’s true the waitstaff serve as eye-candy of sorts, the Death Eaters know they aren’t there for pleasure.  If they want easy sex then they have to earn a boon or pay a prostitute for it.  The wait staff are off limits except for flirting and very minor touching, unless the staff member is willing to go home with one of them on her own time.  It doesn’t happen while she’s being paid by me.”

Hermione fell silent as she considered this.  

“So what… you’re funding an economy of low-paying jobs for muggleborns like me?”

Malfoy raised one eyebrow.  “I’m just one of the Death Eaters putting up the gold for it, but yes… in a manner of speaking.  While the war is still ongoing, it has moved underground with Potter’s death.  The Dark Lord knows he will never fully secure his position if the wizarding world is in a state of open warfare like it’s been for the past year.  He is trying to return some semblance of normal to pureblood and half-blood populations to make them see that his version of the world is tolerable.  It will make them complacent and unwilling to seek out the Order or directly challenge him.  And at a practical level, that means our shops have to be open and our wine has to be poured.  Those are ideal jobs for muggleborns.”

“What about me then?” she asked, and again she rubbed the back of her hand.  “I never did register with that foul Umbridge woman.”

Malfoy’s mouth thinned.  “What did she do to you?”

Hermione’s heart sped up a little.  “Pardon?”

“You heard me.  I’m sharing secrets with you.  Now I want something in return.  Tell me what she did to you, Granger.”

Hermione pursed her lips for a moment, but then sighed.  “Nothing much.  Just a blood quill.  It wasn’t as bad as Harry’s.  I mean, mine didn’t scar like his did, but…” she trailed off as she noticed the slightly terrifying look on his face.

“How many times?” he said softly.

“Just once!” she said quickly, feeling inexplicably nervous at the expression on his face.  “It was a detention, you know, and it made me so angry I set the damn thing on fire by accident.  She gave up on me after that.”

A muscle in Malfoy’s jaw twitched for a moment before his face went completely blank.  “Very well.  Any other questions for me?”

Hermione hurried to ask him something else, watching him warily now.  His reaction to Umbridge had unnerved her.  

“This moniker of yours… the Knife.  What is that about?”

“I’m skilled with knives,” he said.  “The Dark Lord has taken note of it, that’s all.”

“How skilled?” she asked uncomfortably, as she twisted her napkin in her lap anxiously.

He was watching her carefully.  “I can almost always hit my target within fifteen meters.”

Hermione blanched, and Malfoy hurried to calm her.  “Don’t worry about it.  It’s just something I learned growing up, and I’ve practiced extensively in recent years.  Have I given you any reason to think I would harm you?”

“No,” she said a bit nervously.  

“Exactly,” he said soothingly.  “You are perfectly safe with me.”

“This marking muggleborns thing though…” she said.

Malfoy waved her off.  “It’s a small cut on the bicep to note they have been registered.  It’s nothing more than that.  The tracking is really overstated.  The knife I use leaves a magical residue behind, but the minute they pass through standard wards I can’t find them anymore.”

“But the knife you use is cursed?”

Hermione now rubbed her neck a little as she stared down at her plate.  She barely remembered Bellatrix holding that cursed knife to her throat because she was nearly unconscious when it happened, but she had a nasty scar for weeks.  It was now nothing more than a very thin white line, and she suspected she knew why.  It was incredibly disconcerting, having tea with this young man who was now a senior Death Eater.  Two years ago she had not believed it, but now she was certain he was telling the truth.  Something about him had changed and grown, and he was dangerous.  Very dangerous.  And yet, he seemed determined to protect her, heal her.  Even knowing about his pardon, she was struggling to reconcile it.

She chanced a glance at him, and he was looking at her with uncharacteristic concern.  “Yes it is cursed, but with the countercurse the scarring is very light.”

Hermione frowned, feeling distressed.  “So you’re branding them.  Like cattle.”

“Granger…”

“No, Malfoy, I want to hear you say it.”

He sighed.  “Yes, I’m branding them.  I had to come up with some way to convince the Dark Lord they would be identifiable and trackable.  I can assure you it is very small, just a scar that’s hidden most of the time.  It’s not even a tattoo.”

“But—”

“Granger, you know I’m a Death Eater.  I’m actively working for the Dark Lord, and the things I am doing help keep you and others safe.  I’m not saying it’s perfect, but giving a muggleborn a small scar and a job is much better than letting them rot in Azkaban.”

Hermione felt herself deflate at this.  Malfoy was silent as he watched her process this.  She knew he was right, but she hated it.  

“I feel so useless,” she finally said.

He looked surprisingly sympathetic.  “You won’t be for long,” he said.  

Hermione felt an unfamiliar jolt of excitement.  “Oh?”

“Yes.  After our conversation last night I considered matters closely.  I am willing to let you and the others help gather information for the Order, but there will be conditions.  You will all be under my supervision.  You will also need to train in several discrete skills before I let you out of the wards.  And you must let go of some of your idealistic notions about saving everyone before I let you do anything more than read the papers.  You have to understand that the Dark Lord is largely in control.  The Order is still a force to be reckoned with, but they operate in the shadows.  Not everyone can be saved.  Difficult decisions have to be made.  Those of us who work with both sides have to act like loyal Death Eaters in public, and that means we will do things you won’t agree with.  You will need to convince me that you won’t break any of my rules if I let you help.”

Hermione was staring at him in shock.  She hadn’t been expecting this at all.

“Why?” she finally asked.

He sighed.  “Because as much as I wish I could keep you locked away in this suite forever, I know you’ll be miserable if I do that.  Besides, you’re incredibly talented, and it’s a waste of your skills if we aren’t using you.  That being said, my methods aren’t at all like Potter’s.  I’m more than willing to torture and kill to get what I want and keep my cover.  I’m willing to watch innocent people be hurt, traumatized, and die in front of me.  I’m willing to wait and bide my time for revenge when somebody I care about is wronged.  It’s the only way to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces, and that’s how I’m most valuable to the other side.  You will have to convince me that you can do the same thing before I let you out of here, because you’re supposed to be dead.  That means you will never see the light of day as Hermione Granger while the Dark Lord is still alive, and I have to believe that you will guard whatever cover I give you above all else.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding as she absorbed his words.  She knew he was right of course – he and the others were valuable to the Order precisely because they were willing to get their hands dirty in Voldemort’s service.  Malfoy publicly executed that girl, and who knows how many others he had tortured and killed.  Harry and Ron would never have done that.  Neville wouldn’t have done it either.  They would all rather die first.

And they did die, she reminded herself.  They all died, and the war wasn’t over.  Harry, of course, had to die, but Ron and Neville did not.  They were brave and righteous, but it all came to nothing.

“You’re saying I need to compromise on my morals,” she said slowly.  “Perfection is the enemy of good enough, and I may have to lose some personal battles to win the war.”

“Precisely,” he said.

“It’s not like me,” she confessed.

“I know it’s not,” he said simply, and he sounded surprisingly gentle as he said it.  “But those are my terms.  You have plenty of time to think about it while you train.  Like I said, I’m not letting you out of here until you have a few more skills under your belt in any event.”

Hermione’s interest was piqued.  “Alright.  And what do I need to learn?”

“The basics of occlumency to start.  You don’t have to be an expert because I’m not going to put you in a position where your mind would be actively searched, but if somebody pokes you with some passing legilimency, you need to be able to hide your identity and the fact that you’re assisting me.”

Hermione inclined her head.  “That’s fair.”

Malfoy nodded.  “Also self-defense.”

“I know self-defense,” she said.

He shook his head.  “Not without a wand you don’t.  And you won’t be allowed a wand while you are undercover, so you will be limited to wandless magic and hand-to-hand combat.”

“Do you think I’ll need it?” she asked a little nervously.

Malfoy looked at her intently.  “I certainly hope not, but I’m not willing to risk it.”

Hermione exhaled.  “Alright then.”

“And finally… I want you to consider becoming an animagus.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.  “That can take years!”

“It can, but it doesn’t have to,” he said.  “Your wandless magic is so good I think you will manage it fairly easily.  The hardest part is finding clear instructions about how to do it because the Ministry keeps most of that information locked down so they can track who is attempting a transformation.  The good news for us is the Malfoys secured a copy of those instructions in our private library years ago, along with a few other books on it that should help.  We can select an animal that will make you the perfect spy and give you a way to escape if you are ever caught.”

“But I thought you can’t select your animal.  It’s usually the same as a wizard’s patronus, remember?  My patronus is an otter.  They’re small, but not exactly useful for spying.”

Malfoy seemed to be weighing something.  “You actually can select your animal if you’re willing to do a ritual first.  It’s blood magic using blood from the animal you pick.”

Hermione glanced down at The Prophet.  “Theo said you are an expert in blood magic.”

“I am,” he said, “and I won’t lie to you, the ritual is messy and rather dark.  You won’t like it at all.  But it does allow you to select your animal.  That’s how Skeeter chose to become a scarab beetle.  It wasn’t an accident.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.  “I’m not turning into an insect.”

Malfoy was amused.  “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.  But we’ll find some other animal that’s appropriately discreet.”

“A cat?” asked Hermione hopefully.

Malfoy snorted.  “No.”

Hermione’s face fell.  “Well what then?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” confessed Malfoy.  “I’m still thinking about it, but I want you to read up on the process in the meantime.  Since you’re supposed to be dead, nobody will miss you when you spend time in your animal form.”

“That’s what Pettigrew did,” acknowledged Hermione.  “He spent thirteen years as a rat.”

“I know, and that’s what gave me the idea,” admitted Malfoy. 

At this he pulled out a stack of books, two on occlumency and three on animagi transformations, and passed them across the table to her.  She took them and couldn’t help the small spark of excitement.

“Read these,” he said, “and we’ll go from there.”

“You’re serious?” she said.

Malfoy nodded.  “Yes.  But you’ll play by my rules, Granger.  I’m not going to compromise on that.”

She just nodded.  “And you’ll keep taking tea with me so I’m not perpetually angry with you every time I read The Prophet?”

He flashed a grin at her.  “That’s why I’m here.  Call it a trust-building exercise.”

She rolled her eyes at this and grabbed another sandwich from the tea tray.

“Fine.  Then tell me about this ball you attended and what on earth You-Know-Who was thinking with those ridiculous uniforms.  Build some trust with me by telling me what the world is like outside of my gilded cage.”

At this, Malfoy launched into a story about a quadrille and Bellatrix stepping on his toes, and Hermione just shook her head to herself.  She could never have imagined this even a couple months ago, but here she was.  And for the first time since she had been captured by Malfoy she thought she might have found real purpose.

She just needed to let her morals go first.

Chapter Text

The loss of Harry, Ron, and the others continued to hit her at odd times.  When her mind was busy she could occasionally forget that they weren’t there.  She had spent so many years in solitude with her studies that she was accustomed to feeling alone when learning something new, even when they were sitting with her.  Then again, her comfort within the walls of her own mind wasn’t always enough, because the oddest things could set her off.

The animagi books contained a paragraph about owls, and she sobbed for half an hour, remembering Harry and Hedwig.  The occlumency text talked about visualizing fields of flowers, and she was desolate as she remembered happier days spent at the Burrow.  Even the occasional photograph in The Daily Prophet would catch her off-guard, as she remembered Colin and the hundreds of pictures he had taken of Harry and the others over the years.

His loss was even more poignant when Hermione learned that the photograph on her nightstand had been taken by him.  He had seen Hermione and her parents in Diagon Alley that day and snapped it.  Malfoy told her he found it when searching the Creevey family home after the Battle of Hogwarts, and he took it for Hermione to keep.

Malfoy, and especially Poppy, seemed to fret over her grief.  It was entirely odd seeing looks of worry cross Malfoy’s face whenever he caught her crying, and she couldn’t rationalize it.  He was a murderer for heaven’s sake.  He had killed and tortured other people in front of her.  And yet, he seemed preoccupied by her sadness and was constantly plying her with tea or telling Poppy to draw a bath for her whenever she was upset.  The third time he woke her up from a nightmare Hermione nearly had a panic attack as she dreamed of Cormac again.  After getting her permission to touch her, Malfoy squeezed her tight to force her to breathe in time with him.  She was enveloped by him, and he held on for what felt like ages.

It wasn’t his breathing that finally calmed her down that night as much as his scent.  It was identical to the green and gray blanket she so loved.

When she was finally calm, Malfoy cupped her face and studied her intently.  “Would it help you relax if I killed him?” he asked her very seriously.  “I already took a few fingers, but I can send him through the veil if you wish.”

Hermione knew her eyes were huge as she stared at this baffling man.  It made her afraid to hear him speak of murder so easily, and when he noticed her fear he spoke in that same, soothing voice he liked to use whenever she became anxious.

“Don’t worry yourself about the details,” he insisted.  “Just tell me if it would help you sleep.  You are working very hard on your new projects, and you need your rest.”

God, he was calmly offering to murder a man because he thought it might help her be more rested.  Hermione swallowed and shook her head, thinking quickly about what she should say to this.

“No, don’t hurt him any more than you already have.  And besides, it’s not just him, it’s also Harry and Ron and the others.  I dreamt about them too.  It was just… a lot tonight.”

At this his expression softened.  “Very well.  Don’t hesitate to ask for dreamless sleep if you need it.  And do let me know if you change your mind about him.  You shouldn’t be afraid here.”

He left her to her own thoughts after that, and Hermione found herself more confused than ever by his behavior.  He was gentle, almost caring, whenever she was anxious, but when he caught her on a good day he often reverted to his old self and became sarcastic and biting.  They bickered constantly, especially when it came to her occlumency, which they had been practicing for a few weeks now.

The trouble with occlumency was that Hermione couldn’t meditate.  She had never enjoyed a still mind, and no matter how much she read about it she couldn’t visualize a meadow or a pond or the ocean or any other single thing she was supposed to be thinking about for more than a couple seconds before intrusive thoughts began.  Instead, she found the best way to keep Malfoy out was doing the opposite of meditating and allowing her brain to run rampant.  She could simply overwhelm him with stray thoughts and odd connections, often reciting magical theorems in her mind or mentally rambling on about obscure facts of history or even magical trivia.  When he pressed with more than just a light brush, however, something about it reminded her of Cormac trying to intrude into her body, and it tended to cause an anxiety spiral.  She was learning to control her panic until she pushed him out, but the fact that she reacted that way at all never failed to put Malfoy in a foul mood.

“You need to think of something still, Granger!  Sending yourself off the deep end with worry is not a healthy way to do this!”

“You said yourself I don’t have to be an expert, and we both know this works.  I don’t reveal anything about my identity or you or what I’m doing for the Order.  And didn’t you say I wouldn’t be actively searched?”

“That may be true, but the training is upsetting you.  What if somebody does push?  Will you be able to hold it together until you get them out of your head?”

“Yes!  I can do it to you, can’t I?”

“Only barely, and then you start to panic afterwards.  It makes you so afraid.”  He seemed angry with her, but also very worried, and Hermione groaned in frustration.

“It’s fine!  It just…. feels wrong, you know?  When you push it’s like you’re seeing all of my thoughts under a microscope.  It feels very exposed, even if I can hide the thing I’m keeping away from you.  I just need a moment to compose myself afterwards!”

“You may not have moments.”

“Well I don’t know what to say about that, because my brain isn’t a still place, and if my method works well enough then why do you have such a problem with it?”

“I don’t like it when you’re anxious,” he insisted, frowning at her stubbornness.

“Have you met me?  I’m an anxious person!  For good reason!”

“Then you need to find a way to relax.  Occlumency is easier when you’re relaxed.”

And with that, he cut off their practice and called Poppy to draw yet another bath for her and to send her to bed early.

The next day he proposed a solution that made Hermione’s jaw drop in disbelief.

“Here is what we will do.  If anybody presses against your mind with more than a light brush, you’ll simply signal to me, and I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of it how?” she demanded.

He didn’t answer, but drew his knife from an arm holster and flipped it through the air a few times before catching it and casually resheathing it.

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

“I’m entirely serious.”

“But how am I supposed to signal you?  I don’t even know what you plan to have me do or where I will be.  What if you aren’t around?”

“Then you call for Theo, and he will take care of it.”

“Call him how?”  

“Through your bond.”

“Oh, right, how could I forget?  I have a bond with Theo that nobody will explain to me.”

He nodded, as though it was the most obvious thing.  “All in good time.  Anyway, that plan should work.  If you have to occlude and start to get too anxious, one of us will just find the right moment and handle it.  We’ll make sure they forget anything they saw in your head.”

He said this as though he was Father Christmas presenting a gift to her.

“Malfoy, you can’t just maim people every time they do something to me that makes me upset!”

“And why not?” he demanded.  “I’m responsible for your safety, yes?  If you have a panic attack in the middle of a mission then that is the very definition of not safe.”

Yes, he was truly maddening, and Hermione often felt like she was getting whiplash when she was with him.  He was exceedingly gentle whenever she became upset, but at times it was almost too much as he hovered over her.  He often turned sarcastic when they bickered, but occasionally he crossed a line and it felt a little cruel.  He was incredibly observant, but it also bordered on creepy.  Hermione soon learned that the very personal things in her room were based entirely on Malfoy’s observations of her for the first six years at Hogwarts, and yet he still didn’t seem to understand why his own casual talk of murder and torture might bother her.

“We will never harm you,” he would always say whenever she expressed how uncomfortable it made her.  “I know it’s upsetting to think about people dying, but you’re safe now.  You don’t have to be frightened.”

There were times she wondered if he was a sociopath, but there seemed to be too many people he cared about for that label to really stick.  Besides, he showed such empathy whenever she was upset about her friends’ deaths that it was clear he had some ability to emotionally relate to others.  And yet, he also wasn’t bothered by harming or even killing other people if he felt it was the best way to achieve his goals.  Hermione logically knew that she should be terrified of him, but instead she was just… on edge.  And though she continued to fight it, that edginess she felt around him slipped further and further away the more time she spent with him.

She still wasn’t sure if he really trusted him, but she started to believe he would never harm her.  He had proven to her over and over again that he wanted to keep her safe and content.  She rather thought he would be the type who was perfectly comfortable leveling a building with the intent to kill everyone inside of it, but only after he made sure she was tucked away, preferably en route to a lingering bath and a calming draught just in case the violence made her anxiety worse.

He seemed determined to make sure she wasn’t scared of him, and as part of this she thought he might be trying to desensitize her.  He never gave her details, but he also didn’t hide what he was doing from her.  The Daily Prophet followed him quite a bit, and he always filled in any blanks for her when they debriefed over tea.  

Sometimes it was gratifying, like the time The Prophet reported that the Dark Lord’s Knife had uncovered a plot to illegally traffic mudbloods who had been promised to the service of the Dark Lord.  Madam Dolores Umbridge was held responsible and was punished most severely for her traitorous acts.

The evidence, he told her, was entirely fabricated, but it gave him a chance to get even with the evil bitch.  Evidently Zabini had some serious complaints about her as well, as Ginny had also been a target of her blood quill.

But then there were other times it was unsettling.

After reading that he had performed another execution, she asked if it was true, and he said, “Yes of course.” 

Then she asked him how many people he had killed in total.

“Seventeen at last count,” he said as he took a bite of scone.

“And do you feel bad about it?”

“Maybe a little bit the first time,” he admitted, “but I got over it pretty quickly.  Besides, I only kill people when it’s necessary.  Most of the people who die have tried to fuck with me, my family, or my friends.  Other than that, I only kill when I have to fulfill a command from the Dark Lord or the Order.”

He was so matter-of-fact about it that Hermione unconsciously found herself justifying his behavior.

It’s for the war, she told herself.  He’s not just slaughtering innocents.  He helped the muggleborns in Azkaban!  He uses Nita to protect the women he employs!  He’s not a monster!

But then she would remember that compared to his seventeen deaths, Hermione was responsible for precisely zero.  As far as she knew, Harry, Ron, and Neville had been responsible for zero as well.

And yet they’re dead, and Malfoy is not.  And the only reason I’m still alive is because of him.

She felt like one of those cartoon characters with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.  The angel always looked like Harry, telling her to be uncompromising with her morals.  The devil, of course, was the spitting image of Malfoy, explaining with chilling rationality that people die in a war, and isn’t it better if those people are not your friends and family?

Hermione was torn, but she found herself listening to the devil more and more often as their teas continued.  And then he pulled out an ace she never expected.

She heard a familiar knock on the door to her parlor, though it was not at their usual time. 

“Come in,” she said curiously, as she rose to her feet.

The door opened, and Hermione heard a squeal and saw a blur of red as Ginny came sprinting through the door and then collided with her.

“Gin!” she gasped, hugging her friend hard.  Immediately tears sprang to her eyes, but this time they weren’t from grief.  They were from relief and happiness.  She hadn’t seen Ginny since the mock execution weeks ago, and they hadn’t spoken then, having both been under the imperius curse.  

“It’s good to see you again Hermione,” came Luna’s voice, and Hermione peeled herself away to find Luna humming to herself as she looked around the room with mild curiosity.

“You too, Luna,” she said, as she pulled Luna in for a hug.  Over her shoulder she saw Malfoy, Theo, and Zabini watching the girls with some amusement, though there was an undercurrent of tension too.  She was sure she knew why.

“It’s been a long time,” she added, staring pointedly at Malfoy, who just raised a defiant eyebrow at her.

“Hermione, tell me something so I know for sure it’s you,” demanded Ginny.  “Blaise insists the person Malfoy killed during the ceremony was somebody else, but I need to be certain.”

Hermione frowned a little at the use of Zabini’s first name, but she didn’t comment on it as she thought of something that would reassure Ginny.

“Harry did not have a Hungarian horntail tattooed on his chest,” she finally said.

“What the fuck?” she heard Malfoy mutter under his breath, but Ginny just squealed again and clamped Hermione in another hug.

“Merlin, I’ve missed you,” she breathed.  “Can you believe those three prats?  First they kidnap us and then they save us?  I never know if I should thank them or hex them.”

“I know what you mean,” said Hermione seriously as she cast another eye over the young men.

“Any chance you three can give us some privacy?” she asked.  “It’s been ages.”

They exchanged a glance, but then nodded.

“You can have a few minutes, but not long today.  Blaise has guard duty coming up,” said Malfoy, before he gestured toward the door and Theo and Zabini disappeared through it.  

The moment the door shut, Ginny turned to Hermione and said, “Tell me, then.  Is Malfoy evil?”

Hermione hesitated.  “I… don’t know.  He’s not evil toward me.  Not at all.  I mean, he can be irritating and sarcastic, but he treats me fairly well I suppose.  Then again, he’s killed a lot of people.”

“So has Theo,” admitted Luna.

“And Blaise,” added Ginny.

“It’s Blaise now?” asked Hermione with a questioning look.

Ginny blushed a little, but nodded.  “Yes.  I’m… still figuring things out.  But he’s let me hex him over and over again, and he’s never lost his temper with me a single time.  He’s been really kind while I’ve been adjusting to everything.”

“And Harry?” asked Hermione.

Ginny looked a little perturbed by this.  “Harry is dead, and he hurt me a lot before he went on the run with you.  I waited for him for an entire year, but…”

“I get it,” said Hermione softly.  “You need to move on.”

“Yes,” said Ginny.  “I’ve struggled with his death, don’t get me wrong.  Ron’s too of course, and Fred’s and Neville’s and the others…  some days all I’ve done is cry.  But they aren’t here, and Blaise is.  The war is not over.  I can’t afford to completely fall apart.”

“Have you heard from your parents?  Or anybody else in the Order?  Malfoy is very vague whenever I ask for details about the others.”

Ginny nodded.  “I’ve exchanged a couple letters with Mum.  She doesn’t say much, mind you, but she and Dad are alive.  So are Bill and Percy and George.  Charley is missing, but they are hopeful he isn’t dead because they think the Death Eaters would have announced it if he were.”

“God, I’m sorry, Gin.”

Ginny nodded glumly.  “I tried to prepare for it, but it’s very hard.”

“Are your parents… okay with you being here?” asked Hermione delicately.

Ginny shot her a knowing look.  “They don’t know where I am.  Evidently the Order told them I was smuggled away into safety, so I told them the same thing.  Frankly, it’s the truth, though it obviously wasn’t done in the way they would expect.  I told them I’m safe, but it’s too dangerous for me to leave right now, so the best we can do is the occasional letter.  I think they’re just relieved I’m out of the fighting and unharmed.”

“And you, Luna?”

“I’ve let Father know the same thing,” said Luna lightly.  “He misses me of course, but he trusts me.”

“And did either of you tell them about me?  Or each other?”

Both girls shook their heads.  “Our mail is being monitored before it’s sent.  Blaise insisted your survival has to remain top secret for your own safety.”

“Theo said the same thing,” added Luna.  “And I wouldn’t betray him or put him in danger like that.”

“I didn’t know you and Theo were together,” said Hermione with a soft smile toward Luna.

“We are.  It was a long time coming, and he’s very kind to me.”    

“And Blaise has a crush on you,” said Hermione, now turning to Ginny.  “Malfoy told me the first day here.”

Ginny’s cheeks turned pink.  “I’ve figured that out for myself.  It’s the only explanation for his behavior.  He treats me like a damned princess, though he hasn’t given me everything I’ve asked for.  Malfoy hasn’t allowed it, and apparently he’s in charge.”

“Like what?” asked Hermione curiously.

“Like seeing you and Luna, of course.  At least not until today.”

Hermione smiled a little at this.  “And you’re actually considering some sort of relationship with him?”

Ginny shrugged.  “Like I said, I can’t help but like him.  He’s been very kind to me.”

“Just like Theo has been to me,” added Luna.  “He’s a lovely person.”

“They are kind even though they kill people?” Hermione pressed.

Luna nodded.  “Yes.  We’re in a war.  Theo has a dark side like all of us, but he is devoted to the people he loves.  That’s enough for me.”

Hermione fell silent as she thought about this.  Was that really enough?  Could that be enough?  It was certainly enough for her to no longer feel unsafe around Malfoy.  But was it enough for her to accept his actions and even do similar things herself if the need arose?

Maybe.  I did cruciate Cormac afterall.

It wasn’t lost on her that Malfoy drew out Hermione’s own darkness at one of her lowest moments.  She knew she should feel bad about torturing Cormac, but she didn’t.  He had hurt her, so she hurt him back.  It was terrible, but also empowering.  And if she hadn’t done it, she knew her panic surrounding her dreams and occlumency training would be worse than ever.  She didn’t regret it at all.

Perhaps a dose of darkness was necessary in war.  It could keep the people she loved alive.  It could even keep her sane.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by Ginny’s teasing voice.  “So has Malfoy tried to have his wicked way with you yet?”

“Pardon?” asked Hermione, totally nonplussed.

Ginny looked at her like she was an idiot.  “I’m asking about Malfoy.  Obviously Theo and Luna are together.  Blaise is openly smitten with me, and I’ll admit I’m starting to fall for him though I’ve been taking it slow and haven’t even kissed him yet.  But then there’s Malfoy.  He’s giving you all this and killing people in your place.  Don’t you think he cares about you?”

Ginny gestured around the large room and parlor.

“I’m just collateral,” said Hermione.  “He’s made a deal with the Order.  If he keeps us safe, then they will give him, his mother, Theo, and Blaise a pardon if they ever take down You-Know-Who.”

Hermione almost tripped over Blaise’s name, but she decided she couldn’t be the only one who called him ‘Zabini’ in private.  While she was at Hogwarts she had noticed that the men often reverted to surnames with each other when there were other Death Eaters around.  In private, however, they usually called each other by their first names.

“Blaise told me about their agreement with the Order, but I don’t think that’s his only motivation,” said Ginny skeptically.  “I’m locked away in Malfoy Manor too, you know.”

“As am I,” said Luna.

Hermione gaped at them, not expecting this.  “Pardon?  We’ve been down the hall from each other this whole time?”

“Evidently,” said Ginny.  “And don’t get me wrong, my room is very nice and comfortable.  There is plenty of space, and Blaise took the time to prepare it for me.  But it’s nothing like yours.”

Luna shook her head in agreement.  “Nor mine.  That’s why they brought us here today.  You have the most space by far.”

“To be fair, Blaise did say there’s a large training room in this wing that we will be using soon,” said Ginny.

“Oh yes,” said Luna, “that’s true.  Theo took me there the other day.  But it’s not nearly as comfortable as Hermione’s room for a chat.”

Hermione blinked at their expectant faces, and then she shook her head slowly.  “No… no, I don’t think that’s right.”

“But–” started Ginny, but Hermione shook her head harder.

“No.  I’ve actually asked him a couple times if he has a crush on me, and he insists he doesn’t.  I think I’m in here because he and Blaise traded us,” she said, looking at Ginny.  “His room is just through that door.  I think it’s just proximity.”

“But why bother to trade at all?” pressed Ginny. “Blaise could have managed both of us.”

Hermione shrugged.  “Maybe he just wanted to separate us into our own rooms?  And besides, something happened to me… at Hogwarts…” she trailed off and looked down for a moment.  When she glanced back at her friends, Luna was looking sympathetic and Ginny’s eyes were narrowed as though she was trying to work out a puzzle.

“Don’t tell me it was–” she started, and Hermione quickly interjected.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it, but let’s just say it involved Cormac McLaggen, and Malfoy caught him and tortured him for it.  I’ve… had a rough go of it.  I think he traded with Blaise and put me in here so he could keep an eye on me, that’s all."  

Both of her friends rose to hug her, though when they pulled away, Ginny was still looking thoughtful.

“I still think–” she started, but Hermione cut her off again.

“Save it, Gin,” she said.  “It’s not like that.  We argue way too much for it to be like that.”

Ginny sighed.

“Fine,” she said.  “But if it does turn into that…”

Hermione scowled, as Ginny smirked.

“Look, Luna and I each have our own Death Eater.  You could too.  We certainly can’t judge you for it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at this before turning serious.

“I really struggle with what they are doing.  It’s not right.”

“No, but war isn’t right either,” said Ginny firmly.  “And the Order did practically trade us, didn’t they?  To get us out of the way?  And they must have offered somebody in your place for that sacrifice.  Their hands aren’t clean either, Hermione.  We have to look at the bigger picture and be willing to compromise now and then to take out You-Know-Who.”

Hermione slumped.

“Maybe you’re right.  I’ve been wondering if I wasn’t going half mad to consider it.  I mean, Malfoy is the only human I’ve seen for weeks now, and he makes the things he does sound so sensible.  A few months ago I don’t think I would have found a way to rationalize murder, and now I’m nodding along whenever he tells me he killed somebody.  I keep thinking he must be brainwashing me.”

“But you dance on the edge yourself now and then,” pointed out Ginny.  “Have you forgotten Rita Skeeter?  Or Marietta Edgecomb?  You may not have killed anybody, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be ruthless and do cruel things to get your way.  If the things that Blaise and the others are doing save more lives than they hurt, I’ve decided to support it, whatever it is.  Blaise has said they could use our help, once we’re trained a little.”

“That sounds an awful lot like Dumbledore’s ‘greater good’ argument,” pointed out Hermione.

“Perhaps,” chimed Luna.  “But Ginny isn’t wrong.  Peace will be purchased with the deaths of You-Know-Who and his most fervent followers.  That will require sacrifices along the way, and we may have to do some terrible things to get there.”

Hermione stared at her two friends and wondered if all three of them hadn’t been brainwashed by their respective Death Eaters.  Then again, did it even matter if it was true?  Ginny and Luna were the only friends Hermione had left.  She had nothing to prove to anybody, and most of the world believed that she was dead.

Hermione took a deep breath and said a silent apology to the angel on her shoulder who looked so much like Harry.

“Alright, you both win,” said Hermione.  “I’ll go along with whatever they ask us to do.”    

******

Hermione and her friends caught up with each other for another thirty minutes or so before the wizards came back in and told them it was time.

“I have to take Ginny back,” said Blaise.  “I need to leave for duty very soon.”

The girls rose, and Ginny hugged Hermione one more time before giving her a kiss on the cheek.  Then she did the same to Luna before accepting the hand Blaise held out for her and moving out of the room.

“I’ll take Luna back too,” said Theo, “but then I’d like to come back and talk to Hermione about something if that’s alright.”

Hermione’s heart leapt, hoping this meant he would finally explain whatever bond they supposedly had.  Malfoy had categorically refused to speak about it, always saying that it was Theo’s story to tell.  This was the first time Hermione had seen him since that horrible day she arrived.

Malfoy exchanged a look with Theo and nodded.

As soon as they left, Hermione pounced.

“Can I see my friends again soon?” she begged.  “I’ve missed them so much.”

Malfoy studied her.  “Did it help?  It didn’t make you anxious?”

“It helped,” she said instantly.  Then she remembered Ginny’s suspicions about him and decided to test that theory a little.  

“It made me happier than I’ve been in ages.”

She watched him carefully, and his face seemed to smooth at her words.

“Perhaps we can do it again,” he said slowly.  “It took a few weeks to arrange this.  We needed to make sure all three of you were starting to settle in before allowing it.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if she really bought this excuse for keeping her away from her friends, but she decided not to openly question him.

“Being able to see them will make me settle more quickly,” she said.  “They are the only friends I have left.”

Malfoy looked like he was weighing her words, and Hermione wondered if she was laying it on too thick.  Then again, she rarely asked him for anything directly, and she sensed that he wouldn’t tell her no if she truly wanted something that wouldn’t hurt her.

“Please,” she added.  “I need them.”

“Alright,” he said, no longer hesitating.  “I’ll make sure you get to see them more often.”

Hermione’s face split into the first true smile she could recall since the Battle of Hogwarts, and she strode toward him and grasped his hands.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.  “Thank you so much.”

Malfoy looked stunned by her reaction and nodded mutely, though he gripped her hands firmly.  He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from her face.

Hermione felt herself blush unexpectedly, though she was still smiling broadly as she dropped her eyes for a moment in embarrassment and then looked back up at him through her lashes.

He inhaled as he stared at her, not blinking, and for a brief moment Hermione wondered if Ginny might be right about him.  He had always watched her, she knew that.  He usually didn’t speak to her at school, choosing instead to target Harry and Ron with his bullying.  The classes he shared with her that didn’t include those two had been uneventful.  In fact, there were entire school years that passed when he never said a single word to her while he was harassing her best friends.  But despite his silence, she had caught his silver gaze on her frequently, usually accompanied by a sneer.  The rare times he did speak to her were uniformly hostile, at least until he captured her.  

And yet, he obviously noticed many things about her.  He made note of her likes and preferences.  Evidence of this was scattered all around her room.  And now she had really smiled at him for the first time ever, and he seemed transfixed.

It’s not a crush.

For all of her doubts about him, she had never doubted him whenever he said this.  That meant Ginny must be wrong about him.  Then again, it had been a few weeks since she last asked.  So much had happened between them, and they had been interacting almost daily.  He certainly seemed to care about her safety and mental well-being.  Maybe his feelings about her had changed.

“Is it a crush now?” she asked, and she tried to make it sound like she was teasing him a little to calm her inexplicable nerves.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.  “No,” he said in a rough voice.  “It’s definitely not a crush.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling oddly disappointed, and then puzzled.  Perhaps he was simply shocked that she was treating him as a friend and not an adversary.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but Theo strode back in alone, and Hermione jumped back, wrenching her hands away from Malfoy.  Theo halted, looking between them curiously, as Malfoy cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck a bit awkwardly.  He said nothing more but just made his way to the sofa and gestured for Theo to do the same.  Hermione lowered herself on the chaise lounge opposite the sofa and pulled her favorite green and gray blanket on top of her as she waited.  She sensed that whatever this was could be important, and she found herself growing a little nervous.  She needed that comforting scent of cedar and spice.

She couldn’t help but notice Malfoy’s gaze lingering on her, taking in everything: her expression, her foot jiggling as she waited, the blanket she was pulling up near her face.

Theo took a deep breath.  “I owe you an explanation about a few things,” he said.  “And it’s… a lot.  It’s crazy, actually, but just bear with me.”

Hermione frowned, but nodded cautiously.

“I’m Theo Nott,” he said.  

“I know,” said Hermione in confusion.

Theo sighed.  “Theo Nott is an only child.”

“So am I,” commented Hermione.

“Are you?” he asked shrewdly.

Hermione furrowed her brow.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you have any siblings?”

“No,” she said slowly.  “I mean, I guess technically I do, but it doesn’t really count.”

Theo had an inscrutable expression on his face.  “Oh? Tell me what that means.”

Hermione shrugged.  “It means I was born a twin.  But twin births are high risk in the muggle world, and we arrived early.  My brother passed away before we ever left the hospital, and my parents never tried again.  Obviously it was upsetting to them so they rarely talked about it, but my mother did tell me about it once.  Twins run in her family, and she wanted to make sure I was aware of it.  For all practical purposes though, I’m an only child.”

Theo nodded slowly.  

“Well that’s the thing.  You see, when my mother was pregnant, the first war was in full swing.  Father was a Death Eater and wasn’t around all that often, including the night she went into labor.  Father was a harsh man, and my mother was rightfully terrified of him.  He never saw that the little boy she delivered that night was stillborn.  Father would have killed her if he knew.”

Hermione was staring at him, her heart starting to race as she sensed where this was going.

“All magical babies are identified by the Ministry of Magic once magic presents during pregnancy,” added Theo.  “Muggleborns included.  There’s a book in the Department of Mysteries that records the name and address of the mother so the Ministry can keep an eye on it as children grow.  It helps them keep the accidental magic contained, especially within the muggleborn population, because muggleborn children don’t acquire the Trace until they enter the magical world for the first time.  The book is confidential, highly classified, but it can be accessed with enough influence and money.”

“No…” she whispered, but Theo plowed on.

“When my mother saw that her baby hadn’t survived she called her best friend Narcissa Malfoy.”

“Who called my father,” Malfoy chimed in.

“And together they bribed the keeper of that room in the Department of Mysteries to scour the book for muggleborn pregnancies,” said Theo.

Hermione felt faint, and she closed her eyes as she listened.

“They found a registered twin pregnancy, both a boy and a girl, due about six weeks after my mother had given birth.”

“Theo…” said Hermione softly.

He looked very upset, but determined to finish it.

“They found the couple and cast a spell on the mother that caused her to go into labor.  It was early, but she delivered two healthy babies, and my mother’s deceased child was swapped for the boy after they took him away to be checked out.  They obliviated the muggle doctors, changed the medical records, and even spent a small fortune to modify the book in the Department of Mysteries to make it look like the muggleborn boy had died and Theodore Nott had lived.  That allowed them to keep the secret from everybody, including Dumbledore.  The headmaster at Hogwarts gets a notice of magical children directly from the Department of Mysteries before each school year.”

Hermione had tears in her eyes as she stared at him.  He had curls that were just like hers.  They had the same nose.  She had always thought they looked very much alike, though she had her dad’s hazel eyes and he had…

“You have mum’s eyes,” she said simply.  “They are bright blue.”

Theo swallowed hard, and he stared at her almost longingly.

“You believe me then?”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“You should hate me,” he insisted.

“You were a newborn.”

Theo looked down at his lap and nodded.  “Yeah.”

“Tell me though, how did you find out?”

He gave a mirthless laugh.  “At first?  Luna.”

Hermione was startled.  “Pardon?”

He shrugged.  “Luna says our auras look the same.  After Father and the others tried to kill you in the Department of Mysteries, she overheard me saying some… unkind things about you on the train.  She confronted me and asked me why I would ever want my sister to be hurt.  She said the man who I thought was my father was obviously not related to me, and she was sure my real parents would be ashamed to hear me speak about you that way.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.  “And you believed her?”

“Not at first.  But Mother was dead by then, and I never looked like either one of my parents.  Mother and the others hid plenty of things about me, but they couldn’t hide the way I looked.  Polyjuice and transfiguration wears off too quickly, you know.  It never would have worked for long so they didn’t bother to try.  Anyway, Father and I had a…complex relationship because of it.  He died next to Lucius in the Battle of Hogwarts, so he never discovered the switch.  But he also didn’t like me very much while he was alive, and a few times I overheard him accuse my mother of performing some magic to make him accept me.  I think he believed she had an affair, but he never found evidence of it other than the way I look.  My mother and godparents did some very obscure blood magic on me right after the switch so the wards at Nott Castle and Gringotts would acknowledge me as his flesh and blood.  Mother always threw that back in his face whenever he questioned her about it.  He never found the spell they used so he had no proof of anything at all, but the point is I always knew he was suspicious.  And after the thing Luna said… well of course I noticed we looked like siblings.  I saw you at the Sorting Ceremony in first year and was totally dumbfounded by it.  I always chalked it up to coincidence, but when she said that, I just… got this feeling.”

“So what did you do?”

“I asked my godmother about it.  She was Mum’s best friend, and I’ve been very close to her my whole life.”

“Narcissa…” Hermione murmured.

“Precisely,” said Theo.  “She told me everything, but insisted it needed to be kept secret, especially from my father and the Dark Lord.  She taught me occlumency that summer.”

“Because you’re muggleborn,” said Hermione in amazement.

“Yes, but not only that.  My sister was Harry Potter’s best friend,” he added.

“God,” muttered Hermione, as she fell silent and thought about it.  Theo gave her a moment to process it, and she glanced at Draco to see him watching her worriedly.

“I can’t believe they did that to Mum and Dad,” she said softly.  “To us.”

Theo sighed.  “I know.  I… really let Narcissa have it, actually.  Her only justification was that it saved my mum’s life at the time.  Father would have blamed her for the stillbirth and probably killed her for it.  They chose your — or I suppose our — parents because the timing of the stillbirth was close enough to our due date that they could pull off the swap, and our parents would still have you after they took me.  They would still be able to raise and know at least one child.”

Hermione felt a lump in her throat.  “Theo, they don’t know me anymore, nor you,” she said quietly.

He frowned.  “What?”

“I… obliviated them.  More than a year ago now, before I went on the run.  I removed their memories of me and the few they had of you.  Mum had a couple of early miscarriages before she had us, and I made her and dad believe they stopped trying after the second one.  She doesn’t remember ever being pregnant with us.  I thought it would be too painful for her.”

He looked stricken by this news.

“I’m sorry, I—”

He was shaking his head.  “No, you shouldn’t apologize to me for anything, I just—”

“It’s to keep them safe,” she said hurriedly.  “I couldn’t be there to protect them, so I obliviated them and sent them out of the country.  If England ever becomes safe for them again I’ll bring them back and try to reverse it, but I thought it was just me who would care if it didn’t work and… oh God…”

Hermione started breathing hard, as she realized she may have taken her parents away from their other child… her brother, whom she could barely believe was her brother, except that everything he told her made sense.  Hermione had survived birth with only a short stay in the neonatal ward and always thought it strange that her brother had not.  They looked just alike.  His magic felt so familiar.  They had always been ranked first and second in their classes at Hogwarts.  He had never been as openly cruel to her as the other Slytherins.

Oh my God, what did I do?

She distantly realized she was on the verge of another panic attack as she began to shake.  She pulled the blanket around her more tightly and squeezed her eyes closed, but then she heard some movement and a familiar voice say, “Granger…”

Instinctively she reached out for him, and Malfoy’s large arms pulled her to him, squeezing tightly again, just like that night he offered to kill Cormac for her.

“Breathe…” he whispered.  “Deep, calming breaths… it will all work out… he’s not cross with you… you did the right thing…”

She buried her face into his shoulder, inhaling that scent and cataloging the notes.  And then, for the first time since that day she arrived at Malfoy Manor she felt Theo’s magic envelop her too, and she slumped.  He was siphoning away her fear and anxiety.  Only now did Hermione realize she was practically clutching the front of Malfoy’s shirt.  She loosened her grip a little as she pushed back to look at Theo again.  Malfoy shifted position to let her do it, but he stayed next to her and didn’t move away.

Theo was watching her with concern and a little wariness.

“That thing you can do…”

He cleared his throat.  “Our bond.  Right.”

“It’s because of this isn’t it?  Because we’re siblings.”

“Not just siblings, but twins,” he said.  “Magical twins all have bonds like ours.”

Hermione furrowed her brow.  “Really?  I never heard of such a thing.  And I roomed with Parvati Patil for six years and obviously knew the Weasley twins well…”

Theo shrugged.  “Most magical parents block the bond when twins are young.  It makes their accidental magic more volatile.  It lends itself to mischief because they can communicate with each other when they figure out how to work it.  The magic to block it is arguably a little dark, but it’s fully reversible so almost everybody does it.  Based on what I know, I’d guess the Patil twins had their bond blocked.  The Weasley’s though…”

“Didn’t,” finished Hermione, as she remembered Fred and George’s uncanny ability to know what the other was thinking and finish each other’s sentences.

“I was actually going to say they probably did, but I’d wager they broke into the Restricted Section at Hogwarts and reversed it themselves within a month of arriving during their first year.”

Hermione unexpectedly caught herself smiling a little at this theory.

“I’d bet you’re right,” she acknowledged.

Then she looked at him again and said, “So our bond…”

“Blocked at birth.  Mother and my godparents knew we would be in the same year at Hogwarts of course.  They didn’t want to risk us figuring it out for ourselves if we ended up sensing each other’s magic.  I found the spell to reverse it and unblocked it after we captured you, while you were still unconscious.  I wish I could have used it to help you after McLaggen, but I didn’t dare use it until the execution day in case somebody else noticed what I was doing.  We were relying on it to help you stay calm and fully submit to the imperius.  We were worried you were powerful enough to break out of it.”

“I still can’t believe you imperiused me,” she muttered.

“It was for your safety,” came Malfoy’s voice next to her, and she heard a stubborn tone that told her he fully supported what Theo had done.  A glance at Theo’s face told her he was in agreement and wouldn’t be apologizing for it either.

She sighed and nodded a little and slumped.  She knew she would have blown their whole plan if they hadn’t used every resource they had to subdue her.  Hell, she had tried.

“So what does it do?  How do you work it?”

Theo frowned a little as he thought about it.  “It’s mostly what we’ve already done.  We can send emotions to each other and absorb the other’s feelings to diffuse them.  We can communicate if we focus very hard.  It’s a bit like a muscle.  It takes exercise, and it’s supposed to get easier to use with practice.  Most of it has been one-sided so far, but you have shouted in my head a couple times.”

Hermione nodded slowly.  “I’d like to learn how to use it.  It could be helpful.”

“You will,” said Theo instantly.  “We will.  It’s a unique advantage that absolutely nobody would ever suspect.  Besides, if the Weasley twins can become experts then surely we can too.”

Hermione gave him a genuine smile at this and reached a hand out for him.  Theo blinked in surprise, but pleasure also flashed across his face as he rose and walked over to her to take her hand and settled himself on the other side of her from Malfoy.  Her magic recognized his instantly at the touch, and she rather unexpectedly found herself nestled between two members of Voldemort’s inner circle, both of whom were much larger than she was.  Surprisingly, it made her safe instead of scared.

“My brother the Death Eater,” she mused out loud.

“My sister, the swottiest member of the Order of the Phoenix,” he retorted.

Hermione found herself smiling a little at this before turning serious.  

“I suppose I truly have nothing to fear from you then,” she said quietly.

Theo jiggled her hand to make her look at him, and she saw him staring at her earnestly.  

“Nothing at all,” he said seriously.  “I know you’ve just learned about it, but I’ve had a couple of years to get used to the idea.  Perhaps I should have told you before now, but we all thought it best to keep it quiet while Potter was alive because it would have made both of us targets if it had gotten out.  But no, I would never hurt my sister.  If anything, I’m afraid of what you will do to me.  I’ve followed news about you closely ever since I found out, and I swear you’re going to send me to an early grave from stress.”

Hermione smiled a little at this and put her head on his shoulder.

“It’s been a rough couple years, that’s true.”

“Especially that day at Malfoy Manor,” he said softly.  

She raised her head to look at him.  “You know about that?”

“Of course,” he said.  “Draco contacted me as soon as he could.  He and Narcissa had to play along in front of the others, but they would have tried to extract you if Potter and Weasley hadn’t arrived.  Bella moved to the very top of my shit list after that.  I’ve had to bide my time with her though — she’s dangerous.”

“What about Lucius?” she asked.

She heard Malfoy sigh.  “He would have given you to the Dark Lord.  Mother and I were… not pleased.”

“Lucius only cared about Draco and me,” clarified Theo.  “He probably would have been relieved if you had died.  Any temptation to disclose the secret would have died with you.”

“But he’s gone,” Malfoy reminded her gently.  “You have nothing to fear from him either.”

The knot in her stomach eased at this.

“And the great blond prat to my right?” she asked Theo.  “I suppose this all means I’m truly safe with him too, despite his propensity for murder?”

Malfoy made an offended sound, but she heard Theo chuckle.  “Like I would ever allow my baby sister to room next to a bloke I didn’t trust.”

Hermione lifted her head and scowled at Theo.

“Baby sister?” demanded.

“Of course,” he said easily.  “Aunt Cissy says I’m four minutes older than you.”

Hermione scoffed at this, and Theo just nudged her playfully.  “You’d best get used to it.  You're my little sister, and that means I will claim big brother privileges for the rest of our lives.  That includes getting revenge against anybody who hurts you and thoroughly vetting potential boyfriends to make sure I approve.”

“You are ridiculous,” she said, though a small part of her was thrilled at the declaration.  Theo had accepted it, had accepted her.  She believed him too, as she remembered his warmth and kindness while she was imprisoned at Hogwarts.  Malfoy’s comments about Theo taking his turn with Cormac also made perfect sense now.  Theo must have been enraged by what Cormac had done to her.  He was very dangerous, just like Malfoy, but she had nothing to fear from either one of them.

“And you?” she asked, turning to Malfoy.  “How long have you known?”

“Since Theo found out,” he said, “but I’ll admit I suspected something like it for years beforehand.  I always assumed it was reversed though, and you were the pureblood who had been lost or hidden during the first war.  You and Theo are just so much alike, even beyond your appearance, that I always wondered if you were actually siblings or at least cousins.  It’s uncanny sometimes.”

Hermione nodded slowly.  “So that’s why you were always watching me at Hogwarts then?  You were trying to figure out if I was secretly a pureblood and related to Theo?”

“Mmmm,” he said noncommittally.

“Well what do you think now that you know Theo’s blood is just as muddy as mine?”

He rolled his eyes.  “I decided most of that was bullshit before I learned the truth, Granger.  The Dark Lord is a half-blood, you know.  He’s the most powerful wizard alive today, and his father was a muggle.  Obviously none of it matters.”

Hermione was so shocked her jaw dropped.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said in amusement.

“But you still called me a mudblood while I was locked up at Hogwarts!”

He rolled his eyes.  “Obviously I had to.”

“Theo didn’t,” she pointed out.

“I know, and I told him he was being an idiot by not playing along.  It’s all a show, Granger.  I told you we play a lot of different roles.  I haven’t called you that word since you came to stay here, have I?”

She stilled as she thought about it.  No, he hadn’t.  He just called her Granger, and he didn’t refer to other muggleborns as mudbloods either.

“This is all so crazy,” she said.

“It is,” agreed Theo.  “But I’m glad we finally found each other.”

Hermione smiled slowly at this and squeezed his hand one more time.

“Me too.”

Chapter Text

Malfoy gave it one more week before he announced it was time to start training in self-defense.  This, she learned, would take place in the elusive training room that Luna and Ginny had both mentioned.

The previous week had been like some kind of dream.  Malfoy seemed to be feeling generous, because while she still saw him for tea each day, she now took breakfast with Theo and usually had dinner with Ginny and Luna.  Even Blaise dropped in to eat with the girls from time to time, where he stared at Ginny with a positively sloppy expression on his face.  

She hadn’t been this socially engaged since she was a student at Hogwarts.  

It gave her some of her lightness back, if only for a short while.  It was a balm to her soul, eating with her friends and getting to know her brother.  She and Theo swapped stories over breakfast each day, where he regaled her with countless adventures alongside Malfoy as young children, exploring the farthest reaches of the Malfoy estate.  She learned that Theo and Malfoy had been each other’s best friends for as long as either of them could remember, having practically been raised together.  Blaise, he told her, was an addition that came from Hogwarts, as were the others in their extended friends group.  Crabbe and Goyle, Theo said with an eye-roll, were simply Malfoy’s lackeys that he used to bully Gryffindors.  He had never considered them close friends.  

As for Hermione, she answered what felt like a thousand questions from Theo all about the muggle world and their parents.  It felt good to talk about them because nobody who knew what she had done to them ever did.  It was as though they died, and for the last year she had hardly spoken of them.  But talking to Theo about them was different.  They were his parents too, though they didn’t know each other.  He was intensely curious about what his life would have been like if he hadn’t been taken and introduced to magic as an infant.

“I’ve done a lot of research on muggle things since learning the truth,” he confessed.  “That IV bag we stuck in your arm at Hogwarts… it was my idea to keep muggle medical things around because they are easier to acquire than many potions.  And I’ve learned about muggle currency and banking and things like that.  I’m the one who gave Draco a book list and bank card to go shopping for those muggle books on your shelf, you know.  Of course the git was too poncey for regular books and insisted on first editions.  He owed me an absolute fortune when he was done, and I had to obliviate the book shop owners because of how much money he spent…. Well, you know what you have, so I’m sure you can imagine it.  I have to be careful not to reveal just how much I know about the muggle world around the other Death Eaters, but I know a lot.”

Hermione also told him about some of her adventures with Harry and Ron, and he shuddered to hear about the three-headed dog and scoffed when she described degnoming the Weasleys' garden and became angry when she told him about Ron walking out on her and Harry in the forest that day.  Hermione had always thought of Harry as her brother, and she told Theo so.  Thankfully, he didn’t seem to resent it, having always felt the same way about Malfoy.  All four of them – Harry, Theo, Malfoy, and Hermione – had believed themselves to be only children.  Naturally they had self-selected their own siblings before they learned the truth.  

“I’ve learned that families can be adopted.  It’s not always about blood,” he said simply.

She knew he was right of course, but that didn’t mean she was any less thrilled to discover she had a true blood sibling – a twin who was her other half.

During their breakfasts she learned that Malfoy was absolutely correct when he said that she and Theo were very much alike.  They shared the same favorite subject in school (Arithmancy).  They took their tea the same way (with a splash of milk).  They both despised heights.  They laughed the same way and talked with their hands when they got excited and both slept on their left sides.  Occasionally Malfoy would wander in while they were eating together and just shake his head in amusement to see them interacting together.  But all the teasing in the world from the likes of Draco Malfoy couldn’t do a thing to quell her enthusiasm for her mornings with Theo.  They had years to catch up on.

When breakfast was over, they would spend another hour testing the limits of their bond before going their separate ways.  Malfoy, it seemed, had arranged Theo’s schedule to accommodate this because he encouraged them to practice daily.  Hermione quickly learned how to tap into it and send emotions to Theo and absorb his in return to bring him back to equilibrium.  Talking to each other was more complicated, and she still had a tendency to shout in Theo’s head, but they were improving day by day.  She also learned how to peek into his head to read his train of thought, and now she could feel it whenever he did it to her.  It was comforting to know they could do it when necessary, but they would never be able to truly spy on each other.

Working on the bond with Theo also improved her occlumency as she got increasingly used to having another presence in her mind.  Malfoy was still not thrilled about the method she used to hide sensitive information from him, but she had adjusted and the panic attacks diminished with more practice.

During the lulls in her day, Hermione caught up on the news and continued her reading about animagi and occasionally a muggle novel to give her brain a break.  Malfoy had told her she didn’t need to have the transformation complete before her first mission for him, but she was still keen to work on it as soon as possible.  Now that she was learning more about it, the process fascinated her, and she spent more time than she cared to admit weighing the advantages and disadvantages of various animal forms.

Even the pang of the loss of Harry and Ron was lessening.  She still grieved them, and there were moments when she was caught off guard by her sadness, but she could see some light again, and it was the thing she needed to begin the arduous process of truly moving on.  She knew it would still be months before she had truly accepted their deaths – if not years – but she could feel progress being made.  It was a relief to finally believe that she would recover eventually.  She wouldn’t be sad forever.  And right now, that was enough.

Through all of it, Malfoy seemed to watch her.  It was similar to the glances she used to catch at Hogwarts, but this time he usually smirked at her instead of scowled.  She rather thought he was aware of her ever-increasing good mood, and he was giving himself full credit for it.  Under normal circumstances she knew this would annoy her, but it was so needed after the recent months she had that she couldn’t even bring herself to be irritated by it.  In fact, she threw more than one genuine smile his way that week, and each time he blinked in delighted surprise.

That was especially true when he dropped the news that she would finally be allowed to leave her room.

“It’s time to start training you three in self-defense,” said Malfoy at one of their teas.  “This wing has a large room I’ve set aside for it, so it’s only the six of us who can use it.”

“Do you mean…” she said breathlessly, hardly daring to hope.

“It means you will get to leave to visit the training room,” he said.

Hermione actually squealed, and she knew her smile must have been blinding because Malfoy appeared almost worried by her reaction.

“But you can’t leave the wing,” he hurried to say.  “You absolutely cannot leave the wards yet.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, still smiling broadly.  “That’s fine, I don’t care about that.  I’m just excited to get out of this room!”

“Alright…” he said, looking at her as though she was going mad.  “But I’m telling you right now, if you give me the slightest hint you might try to escape I’ll lock you back in here until the damn war is over.”

She huffed in annoyance.  “I’m not going to try to escape.”

“Aren’t you?” he challenged.

“Of course not,” she insisted.  “Where else would I go?  And why would I go anywhere else?  I have everything I need here, and all the people I care about under one roof.  With the exception of my parents – who don’t know I exist – I have nobody else.”

It was true.  She had her two living friends, her actual brother, and even Malfoy and Blaise were starting to grow on her.  She was safe here in this private wing of Malfoy Manor, and she had rather quickly gotten used to the luxury afforded to her by Malfoy and Poppy.  As much as Hermione tried to fight it, she had never been one who enjoyed roughing it, and Malfoy Manor was the opposite of all things rough.  Hermione had even fully adapted to Poppy’s hour-long hair and skincare routine, and it had now become a soothing daily ritual while she read the papers.  

Besides, even if Hermione wanted to escape, where on earth would she go?  Her parents’ old house was entirely without wards and had been sold.  The Burrow and Shell Cottage were under strict surveillance.  And Grimmauld Place – she recently learned – was now owned by Malfoy too as the eldest male Black.  Harry had died without a will, so it reverted back to the Black family.

Even Hermione’s money was inaccessible at the moment, so it wasn’t like she could leave and buy some place of her own.  Hermione had inherited at least part of the Potter fortune thanks to a beneficiary form Harry signed just before their second year of Hogwarts.  It was the only provision he had ever made for his assets if he died.  She strongly suspected that part of it was supposed to go to Ron too, but since he died the same day she wasn’t sure if his portion had been passed to the rest of the Weasleys or if Hermione had gotten it as well.  Hermione’s own share was just sitting in a vault in the belly of the earth waiting for her to withdraw it, but she knew it would be a suicide mission to go there and retrieve any of it.  Malfoy, in a true stroke of luck, managed to intercept the key that Gringotts owled to her the day after the Battle of Hogwarts.  That meant none of the other Death Eaters knew about her inheritance or thought to check with Gringotts to see if she was still alive after Malfoy purportedly executed her.  Hermione was relieved when he told her about it, but she knew nothing could come of it just yet.  Being rich on paper meant very little until she could show her real face in Diagon Alley.

No, everything Hermione wanted and needed was currently housed at Malfoy Manor.  She wanted to leave her room, certainly, but she wasn’t stupid enough to cross Malfoy’s wards without having a very good reason to do it.

Malfoy must have seen that she was being honest, because his eyes softened a little.

“Alright then.  We can begin training tomorrow.”

******

Hermione looked at the black ribbon that Poppy presented her a bit askance.

“Poppy, they are training me in hand-to-hand combat,” she said, gesturing to the muggle athletic wear she had donned for her first lesson with Malfoy and the others.

“Miss should still wear it,” insisted the elf.  “Tis perfect!”

Hermione sighed but didn’t fight her about it any longer.  “Fine.  But if it gets in the way this time, it will be the only time.”

“Very well,” said Poppy unconcernedly, and she gave a fond look at Hermione’s hair as she tied the bow with a flourish.  Hermione really couldn’t fathom why.  Her curls were gathered into a high ponytail and doing their best to spring free.

A moment later a knock came on her door, and she called for Malfoy to enter.  He came to a halt when he saw her, and she blushed just a bit as his eyes traveled over her form.

Honestly, what was he expecting?

He was the one who had gotten her these clothes.  She wasn’t sure why he seemed so surprised to see her in muggle spandex and trainers.  She let out a small huff of annoyance, and amusement flashed across his face before gesturing toward the door that led to the hallway – a door she hadn’t walked through since the day she entered Malfoy Manor.

“Shall we?” he asked a bit mockingly as he turned the knob and opened the door for her.

Hermione hesitated for only a moment before walking forward and cautiously crossing the threshold.  

“The training room is at the end of the hall,” he said, gesturing several doors down.  Hermione saw that she was in what appeared to be a corridor with doors on either end.

“That door,” he said, pointing to the opposite end from the training room, “leads to the rest of the Manor.  The special wards that keep you and the others safe end there, so you will not be able to walk through it without me, Theo, or Blaise helping you.”

“Evidently you don’t have to be that worried about our escaping then,” she said as she followed him toward the training room.

He just gave her a skeptical look.  “Right.”  

As they passed several other closed doors, Hermione looked at them questioningly.

“And these are…” she started.

“Doors to my bedroom and the others’ rooms as well.  All six of us are living in this wing at the moment.  My personal study is also up here.  There’s a larger office on the main level, but I only use it when hosting meetings.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at this.  He was speaking about it as though he had an actual job other than being a Death Eater.  Then again, perhaps he did.  His father was gone, and she knew how patriarchal wizarding society could be.  She remembered him mentioning a family apothecary company.  Perhaps he was the one running it instead of his mother.

It was a strange thought.

Malfoy opened the door to the training room, and Hermione’s jaw dropped when she walked through it.  It was enormous and surprisingly modern.  It reminded her of a yoga studio with blonde wood floors and an entire wall of mirrors on one side.  Then again, a yoga studio would never have a wall of knives, chains, and other devices of torture displayed so prominently on one end or targets lining the wall on the other.  Nor would it have something that looked like a wrestling mat filling a large portion of the floor or mannequins that Hermione strongly suspected were magical. Hermione eyed it a bit nervously.  She wondered if Malfoy was intending to have her fight them.

There was a table to the left as they walked in with various knives and holsters spread out.  Ginny and Luna were already examining them, while Blaise and Theo seemed to be measuring their forearms.

“We haven’t discussed this, but I will have to touch you for training,” said Malfoy under his breath.  “Theo and Blaise too.  Is that alright?”

Hermione spun to look at him watching her with some concern.

She just bit her lip and nodded.  “Yes… I assumed as much.  You don’t have to ask while we’re in here.”

He nodded and seemed to be steeling himself for something.  “In that case, let’s get you fitted with a knife and holster, shall we?”

He gestured toward the table, and Hermione approached it a bit cautiously.  Malfoy didn’t bother to measure her, but instead he reached across the table and grabbed a small holster that he began to secure to her left forearm.  

“You’re right-handed,” he said.  “So this needs to be on your left arm.”

She wasn’t sure when he had noticed this, but she nodded and let him tighten it.

“The next one is a bit more… personal,” he said with a small grimace.  He reached for a much larger holster and crouched down in front of her right leg.

“Step into it,” he said.  

Hermione looked at him questioningly.  “Pardon?”

“Step into the circle so I can tighten it.”

Hermione balanced on one foot as she did so, and then to her utter shock Malfoy moved the holster as high up on her thigh as it would go.  He was kneeling in front of her, his face far too close to her crotch for comfort, and she turned crimson as he began to tighten the straps on it.

“Seriously?” she asked a bit weakly.

A muscle in his jaw twitched.  “It’s the best way.  The blokes and I can wear knives in our boots, but women generally do not have that luxury because your footwear won’t allow for it.  Even your forearm would require long sleeves to stay hidden, and that’s not always possible for you like it is for us.  Your inner thigh is discrete and should always remain covered, regardless of what we have you doing.”

He looked pointedly at her as he said this last bit.

“So what, I’m supposed to reach down into my trousers and –”

He choked a little, but hurried to say, “Trousers will not be involved.  You’ll always be in a dress or skirt.”

“And you still won’t tell me what you are planning?”

“Not until I absolutely have to,” he muttered.

Task completed, he rose to his feet and then surveyed the knives for a moment before selecting a short, thin one to sheath in her arm holster and a slightly longer one he slipped next to her thigh.  "These are stilettos.  Italian, of course, they make the best.  They're thin, very sharp, excellent for close knife work and suitable enough for throwing with some practice."

Hermione looked at the knives cautiously.

“You also need these,” he added, now pointing below the table to a pair of very strappy, very high gold heels.

“Pardon?” she asked in disbelief.

“The shoes.  You need to wear them.”

She glanced at Ginny and Luna and saw they were already wearing heels.

“Why?” she demanded.

He rolled his eyes.  “Because you will be dressed up when we let you out of here.  If you need trainers to fight then you won’t be able to properly defend yourself when wearing shoes like these.  You will be unbalanced and unstable if you don’t practice in them.”

Hermione eyed them skeptically for another moment before sighing.  “Fine.  These are called stilettos too, you know.”

Malfoy just smirked as she kicked off her trainers and peeled off her socks before slipping on the heels.  They must have been four inches high.  At least they had a cushioning charm on them.

She stood and looked at herself in the mirror.  She felt ridiculous in her muggle spandex, knife holsters, and high heels.

“The ribbon’s a nice touch,” said Malfoy, now giving her a teasing smile in the mirror as she surveyed herself with some dismay.

“Shut it,” she muttered.

“Why?” he said, approaching her from behind and reaching up to tug on it lightly.  “It’s very pretty.”

Without even thinking about it, Hermione gave a half-hearted ram with her elbow, fully intending to shove it into his stomach in a mocking way.  But to her utter surprise he caught her arm, twisted it behind her before gripping her other arm too and trapping her wrists in one hand.  Then he had his own knife to her throat with his other hand before she could blink.  She was staring in the mirror in shock, breathing hard and shaking just a little.  She was frozen, terrified, and trying to calm her panic.

“You’ll have to be faster than that,” he said before releasing her and casually throwing his knife toward a target against the wall that was about five meters away.  It sank into the very center with a thud.

Ginny and Luna were staring at them both, eyes wide.

Hermione swallowed hard and reached up to touch her throat, but there wasn’t a single scratch on her.  She willed her racing heart to slow down as she rubbed the same spot just a little bit.

He was just proving a point.  He won’t actually hurt me.

She glanced at Theo and Blaise, and to her consternation neither of them looked at all surprised by what Malfoy had just done.  Theo actually winked at her.

“Let’s get started,” said Malfoy.  “Come over here so I can show you how to properly hold a fucking knife.”

******

The training was fast-paced.  They started by Malfoy demonstrating different grips.  Hermione learned there was a right way and definitely a wrong way to hold a knife when trying to stab something.  The wrong way could lead to serious injury for the holder, as demonstrated by Ginny when she wasn’t paying close attention and inadvertently sliced her palm open when her knife slipped.  

A quick healing spell later, all three witches were taking Malfoy’s lessons much more seriously.

The grips for stabbing were different than the grips for throwing, and Malfoy made them switch between the two over and over again before moving on to the next lesson: unholstering and reholstering.

“You have to do it instinctively with the correct grip the first time.  It has to be muscle memory.  The holster keeps you and your blade safe.  But you can’t use your knife while it’s put away, and if you need to defend yourself you can’t spare any time to ponder the right grip.”

He made them draw from their forearms first before moving on to drawing from their thighs.  This was a bit more precarious as all three witches were very cautious about slicing some important bits on the draw, and it was a holstering method none of the wizards had used very often.  

“This one is more important than the arm,” insisted Malfoy.  “It’s the only place we are certain you will always be able to hide a knife.”

And so they practiced.  By the time Malfoy called it all three witches were drawing more quickly, but still not fast enough to satisfy him.

“We’ll keep working on it tomorrow,” he said.  “Blaise is up next.”

Blaise called them over to the mat to begin lessons in hand-to-hand combat.

“The first lesson is throwing a punch,” he said.  “Keep your thumb out if you don’t want to break it.”

He pulled out his wand and waved it, and the mannequins moved in front of each of the girls.  Over and over again they practiced.  The mannequins felt surprisingly lifelike, and they glowed green for light strikes, yellow for moderate, and red when there was enough force to incapacitate someone.  Hermione supposed it was a bit like boxing, but the witches weren’t allowed gloves, and Hermione’s hand was soon aching.  They took periodic breaks for healing spells on their knuckles, much to her relief.

It was unsurprising that Ginny was clearly better than Hermione or Luna at this station.  She explained that the twins had shown her how to punch when she was just a child, and she had plenty of practice growing up with her big brothers.

They ended with dodging and wandless magic, led by Theo.  He cast light stinging hexes toward them, and they were required to either dodge or try to disarm him with magic.  Hermione’s attempts at expelliarmus were largely unsuccessful, and Malfoy’s mouth became a grim line as she turned an ankle trying to dodge in high heels.  Then again, she was the only one of the three who produced anything wandless at all, until Ginny got frustrated and bat-bogeyed Theo.

“All three of you need to practice basic defensive spells with wandless magic,” said Malfoy curtly, as Hermione rubbed her throbbing ankle.  “For now, that will be your homework between sessions.  Start with expelliarmus and work your way up.  I want to see some basic shields and stunning spells that are strong enough to at least slow down your opponent before we let you out of here.”

With that he dismissed them, and all three girls wearily began to trudge toward the door.  As Hermione passed Malfoy, however, he suddenly reached out and grabbed her, spun her around and pinned her to the wall with his knife against her throat for a second time.

Ginny and Luna tensed, while Hermione stared at him in fear.  She could clearly see his face this time, and it reminded her of that day he had executed the girl who looked just like her.  It was cold, harsh, and he looked perfectly capable of slicing her throat open.  Her heart started racing, and she felt panic begin to overtake her as her breathing went shallow.  Malfoy could slaughter her, just like that girl.  She was pinned to the wall, just like that day with Cormac.  He could harm her, he could touch her, he could overpower her, he could...

“Last thing to remember,” he said casually, his mask falling away and melting back into his normal expression.  “Never turn your back on your opponent.”

He released her again, as he sheathed his knife and stepped away.  Hermione was barely holding it together as she swallowed hard.  She was trembling, as her eyes dropped to the floor.

“Come,” he said, holding out a hand for her to take.  “Let’s return to your room.”

She didn’t take his hand, but clenched her own in a fist and stepped away from the wall.  They walked side by side saying nothing, as her friends turned and began to follow Theo and Blaise.

“Same time tomorrow,” called Malfoy after them.  Luna and Ginny cast slightly worried looks back at Hermione, but they said nothing as they disappeared into their own rooms and Malfoy led Hermione to hers.

She was silent as she moved into her room and sank down on the sofa, rubbing her throbbing ankle.  She could barely look at him.  She was too shaken.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward her ankle.

“No,” she said curtly, chancing the briefest glance to see how he would react.

Malfoy paused, and a look of surprise flashed across his face.

“Granger, you need —”

“I’ll be fine,” she said curtly, looking away again.

“Granger,” he tried again, “you know I had to —”

“I’d like to be alone,” she said, finally looking squarely at him so that he could see just how serious she was.  She couldn't stand to be here with him.  She could still feel that terrible rush of adrenaline, and she needed some space to come down from it.  Over and over again the memory of herself being sliced open was playing in her mind.  It was on a terrible loop, and she didn't think she would break out of it until he left.

His face turned to stone at this, but she saw something stirring in his eyes made her shrink away a little.  She had just been reminded of exactly how dangerous he could be.

“I’ll see you for tea then?” he said, with a bit of a question in his voice.

“I’d rather not today, thanks.”

She started to look away again, but his face seemed to crack, and she caught a look of slight desperation pass across it.

“Granger, I didn’t mean to —”

“Please,” she said softly, but firmly, closing her eyes and trying to center herself as much as she could while he was still standing too close.  “I just need some space to think.”

He obviously wasn’t pleased by this, but she sensed him backing away, and a moment later she heard the door close quietly behind him.  Only then did she open her eyes and feel some of the tension drain out of her.

It didn’t surprise her at all to see Poppy arrive only a moment later, already fretting over her ankle, and Hermione then had the even more uncomfortable task of getting the little elf to leave too.

“Please, Poppy, I’m perfectly fine.  I’d just like to be alone the rest of the day.  I have a lot to think about.”

Poppy seemed even less inclined than Malfoy to let Hermione be, but she finally made her exit, hands wringing with worry.

Hermione sighed as she reached down and unclasped her shoes.  Her ankle did hurt, yes, but her feet felt even worse.  All the cushioning charms in the world couldn’t stop the straps from digging into her skin, leaving open blisters behind in several places.  She winced a little as she stared at them.  She knew they could be healed and the skin as soft as ever, but then again she had taken dance lessons as a child just long enough to learn that blisters always came before calluses.  Training in high heels might feel ridiculous, but if Malfoy was correct that she would always be dressed up, then she knew he was right to insist upon it.  It was better for her feet to toughen up than be torn to shreds and healed again after every training session.

She sighed and decided to hop into the shower before giving herself space to think.  She flinched a little as she put weight on her ankle.  It was worse than she realized.  She hobbled to the shower and then sank down on a small bench as she allowed the water to wash the sweat and fear off.

Why was she so afraid?  

The hyper rational part of her brain knew that Malfoy wouldn’t harm her, despite being perfectly capable of it.  He had innumerable opportunities to injure her and had never once done it, not really.  Theo, too, was safe.  He was her twin, and she already trusted him implicitly.  She was certain Theo would never permit Malfoy or Blaise to spend time around her if he had a single doubt about her safety with them.

And yet, the moment Malfoy surprised her and grabbed her, her entire body flooded with fear.  The second time was even worse than the first because it had been entirely unprompted, and she was held against a wall instead of braced against his body.  It felt too much like being stuck to that dungeon wall at Hogwarts, and it made her fear crippling.  She was frozen and had no ability to do anything except remember Malfoy slicing the throat of her lookalike and Cormac hurting her that day.

It made her scared, angry, but most of all incredibly frustrated.  She knew why he had done it.  She knew it.  And yet, she was still angry that he had singled her out for it.  She told him he could touch her, but she didn’t mean like that.  She thought she would have some time to prepare, some explanation of what was coming before it happened.  If he was going to surprise one of them to prove his point, why didn’t he pick Luna or Ginny?

Because you’re the one with the problem.

She absolutely hated it, but she knew it was true.  Something inside of her was broken now.  She wasn’t sure if it was because of the war or losing her best friends or that day with Cormac or watching herself be murdered.  Perhaps it was all of those things.  Whatever it was, it was insidious.  She could exist for hours or even days and feel as though she had a grasp on her mental state until something would trigger her, and she would begin to spiral again.  There was some dark, terrified version of herself that was lying in wait in the back of her brain, and that shadow of Hermione emerged at the most inopportune times.

She couldn’t go on missions like this.  Malfoy would never let her out of the Manor if she couldn’t cope with her fear.  And as angry as the thought made her, she knew deep down he would be right to leave her behind.  She would be a liability like this.  She would be a danger to herself and the others if she froze at every unexpected touch or grab.  She wasn’t certain what he was planning for them, but dresses and high heels implied parties or at least some type of social occasion.  Regardless of whatever safeguards Malfoy put into place, there was no guarantee that Malfoy, Theo, and Blaise would be the only men touching her.  She had to find some way to cope with this debilitating fear of hers or she would be trapped in her beautiful prison and utterly useless.

Hermione whiled away the afternoon with some half-hearted attempts at wandless magic and reading about animagi transformations, pausing every so often to stare out the window and wonder how on earth she could heal herself.  She knew there were muggle and magical healers that specialized in this sort of thing, but that wasn’t an option.  Even if Malfoy was willing to smuggle a mind healer into her room, she suspected that he or she would really be guiding her through her own healing instead of curing her in a literal sense.  The hard work would still fall on Hermione.

Tea came and went and then dinner did too.  Hermione rejected all visitors as she mulled the problem over in her mind.  Possible solutions, along with multiple pros and cons lists flitted through her head.  As night fell and Hermione prepared for bed, she did come to one, firm conclusion: it would undoubtedly be a process and wouldn’t happen in a day.  She needed to push herself and practice.  She had mostly coped by suppressing her feelings, but she probably needed to allow herself to feel her emotions if she was ever going to figure out how to move past them.  And she would need to be patient with herself and the others.  She couldn’t allow a moment like today be the reason she gave up.  She would always have to try again, even if it felt like taking a step backwards whenever something made her panic.

Hermione started to approach her bed and then hesitated.  She knew what she would be in for tonight.  She would descend into nightmares, mostly likely involving Malfoy and probably Cormac too.  She was certain she would see her own neck being sliced open over and over again.  She would watch it all night unless she happened to scream, in which case Malfoy would wake her.

Hermione didn’t want to see it, but she didn’t think she could avoid it unless she understood that day better.  Malfoy had deftly sidestepped most of her questions about it, but she thought – or maybe just hoped – that his reticence about it was one of the things that was holding back her ability to really process it.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione gathered her courage and turned away from the bed.  She padded across the room and toward the parlor where she approached the door connecting her suite to Malfoy’s room.  She couldn’t be certain he was in there, but it was late, and he was senior enough to be able to assign various night guard duties to others.  He had never failed to arrive whenever she screamed in the middle of the night.

She swallowed hard and raised her hand to knock.  

It was time to get some answers.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s heart was pounding as she knocked and then waited.

What am I thinking?  I must have lost my mind.  But I need to know, and he can give me answers…

A few moments later she heard the knob turn and the door was flung open by a glassy-eyed Malfoy.  He stared down at her, saying nothing, but he was dressed casually in a muggle T-shirt and joggers, which told her he was ready for bed.  His hair was standing on end, as though he had been running his fingers through it, and as he watched her he raised a glass of something brown to his lips and drank.

“Are you drinking?” she blurted out.  Harry and Ron had both been known to seek a bottle now and then during their year on the run, but she had never seen Malfoy do it.  

“Yes,” he said simply, as his eyes studied her.

“What is it?”

“Firewhiskey.”

“Are you drunk?”

She sincerely hoped he wasn’t drunk.  She had gathered her courage for this, and a drunk Malfoy would surely be a volatile Malfoy – more volatile than usual, that is.  Now that she was facing him she didn’t want to do this a second time.

“Unfortunately not,” he said wryly.  

“Oh,” she said with relief.  “That’s good.”

He said nothing to this, but just drained his drink and turned to place the empty glass on the nearest piece of furniture.

“What do you want, Granger?” he asked with a long-suffering sigh. 

Hermione thought he sounded a little bitter, and she internally winced.  She should have expected this.  She had absolutely spurned all of his attempts to speak to her earlier that day, and he was the type to become easily offended and hold a grudge.  

But I needed the space to sort my own thoughts first, she tried to reassure herself. 

Surely once she explained that he would forgive her.  Still, the way he was looking at her was unsettling.

Unconsciously Hermione plucked at her nightgown and began to twist the fabric in her hands.  It was only then that she remembered she was rather underdressed and dropped it to cross her arms over her chest.  Malfoy had seen her like this before, but she was still a little embarrassed that she hadn’t even taken the time to put on real clothes first.

She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and then it just came spilling out.

“I’m broken.  And I don’t know if it’s just one thing or many things, but I am.  I’m sorry I kicked you out earlier, I just needed space to think.  That’s what I’ve been doing all day - thinking I mean - and I have some ideas that might help… eventually.  I’m aware that you didn’t sign up for this.  You surely didn’t think I would be so difficult.  I’m such a head case now, and I know I’m far more work than you anticipated when you agreed to keep me safe.  I know you don’t really care about me, and I wouldn’t expect you to.  I’m just your collateral for your pardon, and you’ve truly gone above and beyond to make me as comfortable as I can be.  So I know I’m being unfair when I ask you for more, but… I need help.  And I need some answers.  Some of the things that trigger me involve you, and I just don’t think I’m going to get past them until I know more.  I’m hoping you are willing to at least give me that.”

She realized she was rambling and abruptly stopped speaking.  Then she finally raised her eyes to find him staring at her.  His expression was impossible to read, and she wondered if he was occluding.  He seemed to be weighing his response.

“You need help…” he said slowly.

“Yes,” said Hermione, swallowing hard.

“And you want information.”

“Also yes,” she said.  “I’m hoping you can provide both, but if not… the information is more important.”

He cocked his head to study her.

“I assume you’re talking about the execution?” he said carefully.

Hermione nodded and looked back at the carpet.

“I haven’t answered your questions about that because I don't want to frighten you,” he said.  “Nor do I want you to have to mourn yet another person.”

She looked up again sharply and said, “You won’t frighten me.  Truly.  It’s just… I see it over and over again.  I see you killing me.  I know it wasn’t actually me, but I don’t know who it was, and that means I can’t even substitute some other person in my mind’s eye whenever I remember it.  Even if I have to mourn another friend, I think that would be better than only imagining myself.  When you put that knife to my neck today… I remembered it.  I remembered you killing me.  It made me panic.  I think I need to be able to separate myself from that day if I’m going to be able to train successfully.”

Even in the dark, she could see how grim he looked at her words, but after considering it for a few moments he finally sighed and nodded.

“Fine, but if I tell you this, then I want you to let me heal your ankle.  It has to be healed before training tomorrow, and there’s no reason to be stubborn about it.  Poppy told me you refused her help.”

Relief made Hermione feel positively lightheaded.  She nodded quickly and then turned to make her way into the parlor, turning on a couple lamps as she went with Malfoy close on her heels.  She was limping slightly, and she could see the disapproval on his face as they both settled onto the sofa, though Malfoy was giving her some space and wasn’t trying to touch her.  Hermione was grateful for it.

“Tell me your questions,” he said shortly.

She took a deep breath, hardly daring to believe he was finally going to give her some answers.

“Who was it?  Who was the volunteer who took my place?”

Malfoy grimaced, though he didn’t look surprised by her opening question.

“Lavender Brown,” he finally said.

Hermione gasped.  

“Lavender?   But she… we… I mean, we were never close and…” she trailed off, hopelessly confused and surprisingly devastated by the news.

Malfoy raised a hand to silence her.

“She was seriously injured in the Battle of Hogwarts, and she was dying a painful death.  She had extensive bites from Fenrir Greyback and Dolohov got her with a curse that was slowly necrotizing her flesh over a matter of weeks.  She survived the Battle of Hogwarts, but the curse from Dolohov could not be reversed.  She wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway, so she was approached about taking your place.  She did it willingly, and I gave her a painless death.”

Hermione’s heart hurt to hear it.  She and Lavender had never really gotten on.  They had been too different and for a time they fought over the same boy.  And yet, Lavender was a Gryffindor.  She had been part of Dumbledore’s Army.  She was brave.  Hermione felt humbled that she had traded places and sacrificed her last few days to give Hermione a way out.

But then she remembered something important about Lavender Brown, and her eyes widened.

“Lavender wasn’t a virgin.”

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow at her questioningly.  “What are you on about?”

“I mean for the ritual?  You said it required virgin blood.  I’m fairly certain she had sex with Ron in sixth year.  She told me all about it.”

Hermione grimaced a bit with the memory.

Malfoy winced as well, but he waved her off.  “Irrelevant.”

“I thought the ritual…”

“What ritual?” he said, with a smile smile on his face.  It seemed a bit out of place given the seriousness of their conversation, but perhaps he was simply relieved that Hermione believed him and wasn’t yelling at him for killing somebody she knew.

“What do you mean, what ritual?  The ritual with the robes and the altar and the spilling of blood when You-Know-Who drank that potion!”

Malfoy actually rolled his eyes.  “I made it up, Granger.  It wasn’t real.”

She stared at him in disbelief.  “Excuse me?”

He looked at her like she was dense.  “Do you really think I would have performed some dark ritual to give the Dark Lord even more power than he already has?”

“Well… yes,” said Hermione honestly.  “You’re a Death Eater, aren’t you?”

Malfoy scoffed.  “Just because I’m a Death Eater doesn’t make me stupid.  I would never do that.”

“But then… how?” she said weakly.

He shrugged.  “It was easy.  I pulled an old grimoire out of the Malfoy library that described the potion and ritual, performed some spells to change the text a little bit, and then presented it to the Dark Lord as though I had discovered it.”

She stared at him in disbelief.  “And he didn’t doubt you?”

“Of course not.  His dark magic expert confirmed that the ritual should work and that the grimoire was legitimate.  That part wasn’t a lie, of course.  I had to defile a six hundred year old book for it – it was a family heirloom and everything – but he wouldn’t have believed it without that sort of provenance.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as the truth hit her.  “His dark magic expert… Snape?” she breathed.

Malfoy inclined his head in confirmation.  “Exactly.”

“And he wasn’t suspicious when nothing happened during the ritual?” she asked, still trying to process this.

Malfoy gave a dismissive shrug.  “Severus brewed a potion that gave him a noticeable adrenaline rush.  He felt something when he drank it.”

Hermione was trying to process the fact that Voldemort had been fooled by what was essentially a magical energy drink, and she had to admit she was struggling to understand how they got away with it.

“And afterwards?”

“Theo tells me the muggles call it the placebo effect.  He felt more powerful because he believed the ritual worked.  It’s not like he does magic often enough to gauge it well.  Most of the time he lets his followers mete out punishments and do his dirty work for him.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes at this, as though Voldemort was an idiot instead of a highly dangerous wizard.  Then again, maybe Malfoy had a point.  Voldemort had been fooled by the young wizard before her.

“My God,” she muttered, as she absorbed everything Malfoy just said.

He was quiet as he watched her consider this.  

“What was the point then?” she asked softly.  “You could have pretended to kill me without some fake ritual.”

Malfoy raised one eyebrow.  “Think about it.  What does the Dark Lord want more than anything?”

“Power,” said Hermione automatically.

“Exactly.  But more specifically, he wants public power.  He has lived and ruled over a small number of followers in the shadows for years and moving into the open was a pinnacle moment for him.  All of that means he’s fairly easy to manipulate if you understand what he craves.”

“A spectacle,” said Hermione slowly.  “He wants a spectacle.  That’s what you said the day you presented me to him.”

“Precisely,” said Malfoy with some satisfaction.  “That’s what he wants, so that’s what I gave him.  I had the outlines of a plan ready to go before you were ever caught.  When I brought you to him and asked him to delay your execution date to make it a very public event, I was sure he would say yes.  That bought us some much-needed time.  I was able to make plans with the Order and find somebody to take your place.  I had time to change the wards in the Manor and prepare rooms for each of you.  I ‘discovered’ the ritual in that family grimoire.  Severus was able to brew a potion that would make him believe the ritual had been a success.  And then I proved my loyalty to him by committing murder in his name.  We put on a fucking show with the altar and the white robes and the blood from a supposed virgin and everything.  He got to see Hermione Granger die - or so he thought - and he humiliated her in death by taking her considerable power all for himself.  That fully secured my position in his ranks and made me one of his favorites.  The control that gives me is incredibly valuable and cannot be understated.  It also allowed me to promote Theo and Blaise to give them more sway as well, not to mention the fact that it gave me Ginny as my boon.  He never suspected anything was amiss because he was so taken in by the pageantry of it all.”

Hermione was dumbstruck, as she stared at him in amazement.  “That’s… well, it’s absolutely brilliant.  I never really thought about his flair for dramatics being a blind spot, but you’re absolutely right that it is.  You played him like a fiddle, didn’t you?  I’ll admit, I’m impressed.”

He gave her a small smile.  “That’s high praise indeed, coming from you.”

She felt herself blushing, but she hoped it wasn’t too obvious in the dim light.

“So that day with Cormac - when you had Nita check me - why?  If it was all fake?”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed.  “First and foremost I needed to know what that fucker did to you, and I couldn’t be certain from his memories.  He clearly had the intent, but the barrier Nita created confused him, and he wasn’t sure if he had managed to penetrate you or not.  I just… I had to know.  So there was that.  And also, it gave me a memory to show the Dark Lord.  He would have expected me to check because of the ritual, and I thought that if I showed him that I was concerned about it then he would let me oversee McLaggen’s punishment.  That was something I was quite keen to do.”

She went cold at this.  “Did you show him when I cast that curse?”

Malfoy nodded.  “Yes.  McLaggen was an idiot to believe the Dark Lord would care that I let you hold a wand under close supervision.  He wasn’t angry with me at all – he was thrilled.  You may not be aware, but very few witches or wizards can cast a cruciatus that well on the first try, let alone with a wand that’s not theirs.  It showed him your power and your ruthless streak.”

Her heart dropped.  “Is that why you let me do it then?”

“Of course not.  I thought it might help you if you could see McLaggen be punished or do it yourself.  I never expected you to perform that well, and I fully intended to occlude that part from the Dark Lord when I offered you the chance.  It turns out I didn’t have to occlude it at all, and it made him even more pleased with my gift.”

Hermione’s tension eased at his words.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He fell silent as he waited to see if there was anything else.

“One last question: what would you have done if Lavender didn’t volunteer?  Or if the Order didn’t offer you a pardon?”

“That’s two questions,” he pointed out.

She just gave him an irritated look, and he smiled a little.

“Fine.  If Brown hadn’t volunteered I would have used the sickest prisoner I could find or perhaps a muggle.”

She blinked in surprise and then felt a bit ill.

“You would have killed somebody regardless then?” she asked faintly.

“Yes.  You were a very important prisoner – far more important than the rest of them,” he said simply.  “There was never any question about swapping you.  I suppose it was nice that Brown volunteered though.  It saved me from having to kidnap someone.”

He shrugged carelessly, and Hermione shuddered a little at how unconcerned he seemed by it.

“And the pardon?”

He looked at her very seriously.  “Granger, what do you think?  Really?  Would I have killed you if the Order didn’t offer me a pardon?”

She hesitated, and his jaw clenched.

“The answer is no,” he said curtly.  “You were never going to die, and I always planned to bring you to the Manor after the execution date.  The Order didn’t know that though, so I certainly wasn’t above negotiating a pardon while I was at it.  I locked it down with an Unbreakable Vow and everything.”

“You made an Unbreakable Vow for it?”

He nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world.  “Yes, it’s shocking how much value others place in a gesture like that.  Really, there’s nothing to it when you are promising to do something you plan to do anyway.”

An odd feeling moved through Hermione at this as she remembered just how readily he had offered her an Unbreakable Vow too.  

“Why?” she said, in slight wonder.  “Why save me regardless?”

“There are a lot of reasons,” he said evasively.

“Tell me at least one of them,” she said.  “Please,” she added, in case that helped.

He seemed to be weighing something, and as he did it his eyes clouded, and his mask fell in place.  

“Well a big reason is the fact that you’re Theo’s sister.  I would never murder my best mate’s sister.  Once he accepted the truth about your relationship, he pretty quickly decided that he loves you.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, blinking in surprise.

Of course.  That was an incredibly obvious point, and now she felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner.  She should have known that the whole ritual was an enormous ploy the moment Theo revealed the truth to her.  Then again, she was still getting used to the idea of a brother.  Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that this had not occurred to her.

“So you and the others planned to save all three of us.  But you did it in a way that made you one of You-Know-Who’s favorites while also wrangling pardons from the Order at the same time.”

“That about sums it up, yes,” he said.

Hermione was reluctantly impressed, and she felt like she was finally starting to see him clearly.  It was so very underhanded, and yet it fit every single thing she knew about the Slytherins.  Why wouldn’t they use the thing they intended to do anyway to extract favors from both sides?  It was devious, but utterly brilliant. 

She wondered if she should be irritated by the fact that Malfoy and the others had pulled the wool over the Order’s eyes in much the same way as Voldemort’s.  But as she thought about it, she decided she wasn’t annoyed.  Not at all.  After all, the Order was apparently willing to have a Death Eater imprison her to keep her out of the way.  They couldn’t have known for certain that Malfoy would treat her and the others well once they were at the Manor, and she found herself far angrier with the Order than with the wizards she now lived with.  Besides, body counts aside, she was starting to believe that Malfoy, Theo, and Blaise weren’t evil, not really.  It was obvious to her that they were actively undermining Voldemort’s regime in a slow and methodical way.  It would be a travesty if they ended up in Azkaban someday because of the fiction they had to maintain while they were doing it.

Yes, Malfoy and the others had played the game perfectly.  And now that she knew the truth about it, she felt much better about her supposed execution day.  She was very sad for Lavender of course, and Hermione knew she would take some time to mourn her old roommate.  But she was less bothered by Malfoy’s role in Lavender’s death than she thought she would be.  Lavender was dying anyway, and Malfoy gave her a painless exit before he slit her throat.  Hermione had seen the tiny flash of green herself, and she now knew just how precise Malfoy was with a knife.  He had been telling her the truth that Lavender was gone before he did it.  She never felt a thing.  

For the first time since that day, Hermione could finally envision some other person kneeling before the altar: a dying Lavender Brown who was very ill and embracing a painless death with relief.  The image of it in her mind’s eye made that small part of her that still feared Malfoy recede.  

“Thank you,” she said quietly.  “This… this helps.  It helps a lot.  I have more that I need to process, but this was a big part of it.”

He inclined his head.  “You’re welcome.  And now it’s time to hold up your end of the bargain.  Let me see that ankle.”

Hermione sighed but spun around on the sofa a little so she was facing him squarely.  She lifted her foot so he could examine it.

“May I?” he asked, as he reached for it.

“Yes, it’s fine,” she said quickly.

Malfoy lifted her foot into his lap and examined it.  He scowled at what he found.

“Your ankle is swollen.  It might even be sprained.  And what is all this?”

He ran his thumb near one of her blisters, though mercifully he didn’t touch it.

“It’s from those shoes.”

“We charmed them,” he said, his scowl deepening.

She shrugged.  “Wearing them to a party where you just stand around is one thing.   Fighting and dodging spells while wearing them is completely different.  It’s fine.”

“I’ll heal this too and —”

“No,” said Hermione quickly.  “Please don’t.”

He looked frustrated.  “You agreed to let me —”

“It’s not that!” she insisted.  “Fixing my ankle is fine – that was just a stupid twist because I went off balance.  But my feet need to toughen up if I’m supposed to wear those shoes.  It will do me no favors to heal my feet and then let them get torn apart again during every training session.”

He paused.  “Then what do you suggest?”

“Have us train barefoot for a couple days in between the days we wear the shoes.  That will let our feet breathe and heal enough so the blisters eventually turn into calluses.  Once that happens we can wear the shoes all the time.”

“How do you know that?” he asked a bit skeptically.

She shrugged.  “I took ballet until I went to Hogwarts.  I was never very good, but I did it long enough to move to pointe shoes before I quit.  Trust me, pointe shoes are much worse than this.  My feet used to bleed all the time.”

His hand reflexively gripped her foot as she said this, but he just swallowed and nodded.  

“Alright.  Two days off and then back in the shoes.  But if it doesn’t work…”

“It will,” said Hermione firmly.  “It won’t feel great for a couple weeks, but it’s better in the long run.”

He nodded and raised his wand, casting an episky over her ankle.  It turned hot and then cold, and then the dull pain melted away.

Hermione groaned as she fell back against the sofa.  “God, thank you…”

He was still holding her foot, and Hermione opened her eyes to find him staring at her.  She followed the path of his gaze and realized her nightgown was riding up, and he probably had a clear view up her skirt.  She cleared her throat and adjusted it, as Malfoy’s eyes snapped up to her face.  He was wearing a curious expression, and his cheeks were slightly pink.

“So… is there anything else?” he asked in a tight voice.

“Pardon?” 

Hermione was thoroughly distracted by her inadvertent exposure and the odd feeling of having her foot in his lap.  He still had not let go of it.

“You said you needed help and that only some of it was information.  Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to blush.  Her plan — which had sounded so good in her head — was more intimidating than she thought it would be now that it came time to ask.

“I don’t know…” she said a bit nervously, worrying the hem of her nightgown as she thought about it.

“Granger,” he said, and his voice had taken on that tone he often used when he was trying to calm her down.  “Just tell me.”

“No judgment, please,” she said, biting her lip.

“Of course not,” he said, and his expression had gone a bit flat again.

“Alright.  Well it’s just… I have trouble being touched.  You know that.  And I mean, usually you ask me, and it’s fine, but then when you surprised me with it during training it made me panic, and I think I need… practice with that.”

She couldn’t meet his eye as she said it.

“You need practice being touched,” he said carefully.  It wasn’t a question, but he had an odd tone in his voice as he said it.

“Yes,” she said, now daring to glance at him.  “Not, you know… like that.  But being grabbed, being held, things like that.  I know I could ask Theo, it’s just that he’s my brother.  The fact that I even have a brother is still new for me, of course, but his magic feels so similar to mine that I already know it won’t be jarring enough if he does it.  It would be better if that person is not related to me.  I thought about asking Ginny or Luna, but they’ve both hugged me, and it didn’t phase me at all.  I think it needs to be someone who is male.  And Blaise —”

“Not Blaise,” he cut her off.  “He’s making headway on Ginny.”

“Right,” said Hermione, feeling a bit relieved that he seemed to understand her reasoning.  “Even though I don’t mean anything by it, I still don’t want to give either one of them the wrong impression.   It might interfere with whatever is going on between them.  So that leaves you, unless you tell me you really are seeing one of the Greengrass sisters or —”

“I’m not,” he said quickly.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, now feeling a bit more enthusiastic.  “I figured that article was just Rita’s usual bullshit.  So yeah.  If you’re willing, I think it would help me a lot if you could touch me now and then.  I don’t know what you are planning, but if some other Death Eater touches me —”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he said darkly.

She looked at him squarely now and gave him a stern look.  

“If that’s really true then all of this self-defense training is pointless.  Even if you don’t plan for it to happen, you know it could.  And if someone grabs me, then I can’t afford to have a panic attack.  I’ve been turning this over in my head for hours, and I think that day with Cormac just broke my fight or flight response.  I can’t seem to do anything except freeze, and that’s the worst possible reaction.  Even with you today I froze and panicked simply because it surprised me, and I know it was just a demonstration and you aren’t going to hurt me.  If I can’t move past it with you, then how can I do it with some other Death Eater who actually means to harm me?” 

He was silent for a long while as he absorbed this.  Finally he said, “Alright.  Tell me how you would like to proceed.”

She licked her lips and took a deep breath.  “Well first, you should stop asking every single time you touch me.  I know what I said to you at Hogwarts, but things have changed, and I’ve moved past it with you.  Most people don’t ask every single time they touch another person, and Death Eaters certainly don’t.”

“Okay,” he said neutrally.  “I’ll stop asking.”

“And maybe start with my hands or arms.  Maybe my waist.  And…” she hesitated, wondering if she was brave enough for this.

“And?” he prompted.

“And my neck,” she said quietly, now looking down at her lap.  “Cormac choked me really hard that day, and it just…” She trailed off, struggling to describe the kind of cold terror it inspired.

She glanced up to see a dangerous look pass across his face before it disappeared, and his expression went flat again.

“That’s fine,” he said.  “I can do that.”

“And maybe start light and work up to it being more aggressive… as I get used to it, I mean.  I’ll try to suspend that rule for training because I know you can’t take it easy on me there, but please bear with me if I find it difficult at first.  I might need some time to process it afterwards like I did today.”

“You aren’t angry with me about our training today?” he asked in a suspiciously casual voice.  

She studied his face and saw some unfamiliar expression there.  If she didn’t know better she would say it was self-loathing and regret.

“No,” she said.  “Well not anymore,” she amended.  “I was at first because it surprised me and scared me.  Then I realized the problem was really me and not you.  I should have anticipated something like that happening.  I know you weren’t trying to make me spiral.”

His expression seemed to clear at her words.  “Alright.  And if you kick me out again…”

“Don’t take it personally,” she said.  “And I mean it, don’t go easy on me in training.  I just might need some time to process it alone, that’s all.”

“Alright.  Anything else?”

“No, I think that covers it.  I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

She fell silent and only now realized he was absently tracing small circles on her foot that he was still holding in his lap.  He appeared to be thinking hard about something and wasn’t quite aware of what he was doing.  Hermione’s heart picked up ever so slightly, but she forced it to slow again as she allowed herself to experience that sensation.

It’s okay.  Nothing is going to hurt me here.

Finally he seemed to come to a decision about something because he nodded once and then moved her foot off his lap.  He stood before reaching a hand down for her.

She didn’t give herself time to hesitate as she took and let him pull her to her feet.  

“We’ll practice, Granger,” he said.

“You really don’t mind?” she asked a bit nervously.

He lifted one eyebrow and then surprised her by lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her a bit closer.

He raised his free hand to gently touch her throat.  It was the lightest thing, but it made her freeze, and her pulse skyrocketed as she struggled to control her breathing.  She was sure he could feel her heart pounding just below the surface of her skin.

“Why would I mind this?” he asked quietly, as he rubbed his thumb up and down near her jawline.

She said nothing, but swallowed hard, as she willed her body to calm down.  She was feeling panicky, anxious, but also something else.  It was something she couldn’t quite pinpoint while her heart was trying to gallop out of her chest.

She forced herself to focus on his question.

“Because I’m me and you’re you.”

He seemed amused by this.  “And?  You think I’m opposed to touching a pretty girl?  Especially when she asks me so nicely?”

Hermione’s heart stuttered again, but for a completely different reason this time.  He was staring at her intently, as though cataloging every reaction.

“You think my ribbons are pretty,” she blurted out.  

What on earth are you saying Hermione?  Calm the fuck down and get it together.

Then again, this sort of reaction was precisely the reason she needed help.  Even a very light touch in certain places caused her to lose her head.  It was irrational, but she couldn’t help it.  Before Cormac she would have had some snarky response for him.  But now… she could barely think.

“I do, that’s true,” he agreed sincerely.  “Though I notice you aren’t wearing one tonight.  It’s not like you.  I was under the impression you wear one around the clock.”

“I kicked Poppy out too,” she admitted, closing her eyes for a moment to steady her breathing.  He was still stroking her neck, and it was making her breath stutter and her brain fuzzy.  “I like ribbons, but she’s the one who insists I wear them all the time.”

Malfoy made a discontented sound at that.  “Kick me out if you must, but you should let her take care of you.  She only wants to help you.”

“I know I shouldn’t have made her leave, I just needed to think,” she said softly.

They were quiet for a moment longer, as his hand moved a bit lower, and he rested the weight of his palm against her clavicle while his thumb continued those maddening circles at the base of her throat

“Is this alright?” he asked in a casual tone, but Hermione opened her eyes to find him studying her intently.

She swallowed and nodded.

“It’s not a crush,” she said, though she couldn’t fathom why.  Her mouth seemed to have totally disconnected from her brain.

“Absolutely not,” he agreed seriously.

“Okay,” she said softly and closed her eyes again as she let herself feel it.  His touch felt oddly authoritative, but still very gentle, and eventually her heart and breathing both slowed as she adjusted to it.

“There…” he whispered, and now Hermione was certain he could feel everything happening to her body.  “Just like that.  You’re doing so well for me…”

Something about his words sunk into a previously unexplored part of her brain.  It was strange, but heady, and it made her breathing go shallow again, though she was also feeling more relaxed now than she had been all evening.  Her eyes fluttered open to find him closer than ever, staring at her like he was trying to memorize something.  She could smell the alcohol on his breath from this distance, along with that familiar scent of him that was cedar and spice.  It calmed her as it always did, and she felt herself melt a little into his touch.

“Oh Granger…” he sighed.  “Always such a perfect girl.”

She flushed at his praise, and she found herself looking up at him through her eyelashes.  He stroked her for a few moments longer before he finally lowered his hand from her neck.

He didn’t release the hand he was holding, and instead gave it a small tug to lead her toward her bed.

“It’s late,” he said simply.  

She nodded and climbed in.  He watched her get settled before turning and heading back through the parlor, turning off the lamps as he went.

“Malfoy,” she said, as he got to his door.  He stopped and turned to look at her one last time.

“Thank you… for helping me like this.”

His mouth quirked into a small smile.

“I can assure you, Granger, the pleasure is all mine.”

Then he was gone, through the door, leaving Hermione to stare at it and wonder why her heart was racing yet again.

******

Draco had touched her.  She had let him touch her.  She had asked him to touch her.

So many things had gone wrong.  He thought she was angry at him.  He thought he had ruined everything.

The execution day kept coming between them.  It wasn't the first time, but it was more apparent today than usual.  Draco had kept many things from her because he was sure she would hate him if she knew the truth.  He never wanted her to know about Lavender Brown, but he couldn't tell his sweet girl no when she turned the full power of her huge hazel eyes on him.  So he had told her the name of the person he killed that day, and then she had thanked him. 

And then he got to touch her.

He had touched her before.  He had hugged her a few times and touched her hand.  Every night he slipped into her room to watch her breathing, curled up in her bed that was large enough for two people, and he always touched her hair or her ribbons when he did it.  He would never touch her inappropriately.  He would never violate her.  He would never hurt her.  He just wanted to feel some part of her to convince himself she was really there.

And her hair was so pretty.

Now he could do it whenever he wanted to.

The first time he touched her had been in second year.  He had stared at her petrified form in the hospital wing and tugged on a curl.  The first time she had touched him had been in third year, when she slapped him.  Draco had come in his pants almost on command.  Thank Salazar for billowing robes that hid the evidence.

Since then, the touches had been sporadic, though they had gotten more frequent after she arrived at the Manor.  He remembered all of them. 

And this... this would be everything.  He could help her.  He could make her trust him.  He could place a finger on that soft neck and feel her pulse scatter.  He would know every single thing happening inside of her body whenever he did it.  He would see her flush and feel her little puffs of air on his face and inhale that scent of orange blossom that was just hers.

Draco poured himself another firewhiskey, this time in celebration.  He took a long drink before settling onto the small sofa in his room and unbuttoning his trousers.

Because every time he touched her, he also touched himself. 

He always had.

Chapter Text

True to his word, Malfoy took it upon himself to continue touching her by surprise.  He rarely spoke of it, but he always seemed to watch her carefully with each new thing he tried.  He would grab her hand to lead her to tea.  He would stand behind her and rub her arms whenever she got a chill.  When they sat on the couch together he’d fling an arm across the back of it and play with her curls or stroke the nape of her neck.

Hermione oscillated between panic and relaxation as he slowly, but surely touched her with increasing frequency and firmness.  To her great relief the panicked moments were outweighed by the pleasurable ones, and she felt that broken part of her being put back together.  It wasn’t perfect, and it was inconsistent, but she knew it was working, and that was the most important thing.  With time she hoped she would be able to keep her head long enough to defend herself if some other Death Eater was doing it.

Theo, she discovered, was also a rather handsy and affectionate person.  But as Hermione had suspected, she didn’t have the same visceral reaction to him, so he was able to embrace her and even carry her around in jest, either bridal style or hoisted over his shoulder, without triggering any type of panic.  She invited him to do it whenever he wished after he saw Draco holding her hand one day, and he gave her a questioning smirk.  

“He’s helping me get used to being touched so I don’t have panic attacks anymore,” she said in response to his teasing look.  “It’s nothing more than that.”

At this, Theo softened.

“Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything to me about it.  Could I help too?”

“Of course.  Touch me whenever you’d like.  I could use the practice, and I don’t react as strongly to you as I do to him since you’re my brother.  I don’t think you have to be that careful with me, but I’ll let you know if anything is difficult.”

At this, Theo pulled her in for a big hug and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

Hermione felt her face warm with pleasure.  She still wasn’t entirely used to having a real brother, but she loved everything about it.  

“Do you think we would have liked each other this much if we had grown up together?” she asked him, as he plopped his chin on top of her head.

“Unclear,” he responded.  “We might have driven each other mad.  So maybe that’s a silver lining to our nearly two decades of separation?”

“I rather think so.”

“And now that we’ve found each other, you know that you can’t bring yourself to deny me my brotherly privileges of potential boyfriend-vetting,” he said.  “For what it’s worth, I do approve of Draco.  He’s sufficiently scary and protective of you, which is a prerequisite.  On the downside, he’s a bit weird about certain things when it comes to you and can be an absolute wanker sometimes.  But overall I feel the good outweighs the bad, and nobody is perfect.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed.  “There’s nothing to approve of.  He’s impossible.”

Theo just grinned and gave her a kiss on the cheek this time.

“Hmmm, let me know if he finally wears you down.  Luna and I have a bet going, you know.”

He left with a wink as Hermione rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help chuckling at Theo’s antics.  He had opened up so much ever since confessing their relationship, and he seemed to take great delight in gently teasing her.

After that exchange Theo began to touch her more often too, and she often found herself ensconced between Theo and Malfoy on the sofa or chaise lounge.  Inevitably she would be embraced by one with her legs in the lap of the other.  For a time their contact only went in one direction, with Theo hugging her and Malfoy handling her feet.  But one day she tried it in reverse and found she could do it.  Being reclined against Malfoy’s chest with his arms around her nearly sent her spiraling at first, but he talked her through it, and eventually she relaxed.  

It was a bit frustrating just how momentous it felt.

From then on Hermione made a point to let Malfoy embrace her regularly.  It still made her heart race, but she suspected it was for other reasons than fear the more they practiced.

Her friends, of course, became a bit of a complication.  After seeing Hermione touch both wizards, Hermione shared the news of her relationship with Theo.  Ginny was thrilled, and Luna gave her a knowing smile.  The news that Theo was really Hermione’s twin explained away his obvious affection for her, but Ginny and Luna were still both convinced that Malfoy had feelings for her too. Hermione insisted it wasn’t true.  They had become friendly, to be sure, and he was clearly the best choice out of the three wizards to help her with her issues around touch.  But it was nothing more than that.  She explained that he was surprisingly loyal, and he cared about her in proximity to Theo.  He was simply doing as she asked, so his tendency to keep a hand on her didn’t mean anything at all.

The problem, of course, was that Hermione was softening toward him, and some small part of her hoped that Malfoy would develop a crush eventually.  She knew she was mad to even consider it, and most of the time she didn’t think about it.  But now and then he gave her a heated look or his hand lingered just a shade too long, and it made Hermione sigh with a bit of longing.

It was really nothing though, and she rarely allowed herself to think about it.  

Training was another matter altogether.  After a couple of weeks Hermione’s feet hardened, as did those of her friends.  They were wearing the strappy shoes all the time now, as they continued to learn how to draw, stab, punch, and kick an opponent if they happened to be caught.  Once or twice they had even landed a hit on the wizards by aiming a stiletto heel at a sensitive body part, and their victims turned pale as they discovered just how dangerous high heels could really be.

But despite the occasional victory, training in hand-to-hand combat and knife fighting was exhausting, and they rarely won against any of the wizards, though Hermione had noticed marked improvement.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, Ginny was the best of the three at all things combat thanks to her natural athleticism and a lifetime spent fighting her older brothers.  But when it came to wandless magic, Hermione was soon outstripping the rest, and it wasn’t long before she was the one teaching the others – not just her friends, but the wizards too.  Before long they could all wandlessly disarm an opponent, and they had advanced to shields and light stunning.  It was only the occasional rough grab by Malfoy or Blaise that threw her off her game and made her panic return.

Malfoy had not been lying when he said that his position within Voldemort’s inner circle was valuable.  He had quickly risen to be some sort of commander or low-level general, and that put him in charge of quite a few of the Death Eater’s schedules.  He had managed to arrange the wizards’ guard duties around their training, and with only a few exceptions for last-minute skirmishes with the Order, he soon developed a routine that worked for all six of them.  

Poppy would wake Hermione early for her daily jaunt in front of the dressing table, where she would read The Prophet and make mental notes of the things she needed to address with Malfoy and Theo.  An hour later she would have breakfast, and Malfoy and Theo would both join her for it.  Here she would quiz them about reported events, and they would fill in the notable gaps in reporting.

The Daily Prophet was truly in Voldemort’s pocket.

After that, all three would settle on the couch, and usually Hermione would snuggle with one of them while she and Theo practiced with their bond.  It was going very well, and they could now communicate readily through it and siphon each other’s emotions without tremendous effort.  Hermione knew they could probably cease practicing with it, but she enjoyed the time they spent together, even though Malfoy liked to crash it too.

Training began mid-morning once the practice with their bond was done and would run until it was time for a late lunch.  From there, they would scatter to their individual rooms to shower and eat.  Usually Theo and Blaise would leave for guard duty in the afternoons – Malfoy had managed to make them each other’s partners to keep them on the same schedule – while Malfoy himself would either pander to Voldemort or spend a few hours checking in on the family businesses or the Order.  The afternoons were the witches’ time to study and practice the things they had learned that day, or in Hermione’s case, the time to decompress.  Malfoy would usually pop in for tea unless Hermione had a particularly hard training session and requested privacy.  But regardless of how training went that day, the whole group would typically get together for dinner in Hermione’s room.  Evidently she had the largest room of them all, even including Malfoy’s, for some truly baffling reason.  

Malfoy quickly upgraded her four-person table to a six top.

They had all fallen into a routine with each other, and something about it eased Hermione’s anxiety in a way that nothing else could.  She had always been a creature of habit who adhered to a strict schedule.  With the exception of the weekends – during which the wizards typically had to attend social events with the other Death Eaters and a weekly dinner with Narcissa Malfoy – her schedule was fixed.  It gave her peace, and she craved it.

Of course, given that it was Malfoy who had granted her that peace, it would also be Malfoy who shattered it as he looked around the new table at dinner one evening.

“Granger, I’ve picked an animagus form for you.”

The others raised their heads curiously, and something on Malfoy’s face made Hermione’s stomach twist in knots.

“Oh?” she asked carefully.

“Yes,” he said.  “A bird.”

“Absolutely not,” she said quickly.  “I don’t fly.”

“Granger…” he rolled his eyes as the others stifled their laughs.

“I’m serious Malfoy, I’d rather be an insect than a bird.”

He gave her a stern look.  “Most insects fly too, don’t they?  Don’t even suggest it.  You’ll be a bird.  In fact, I want you to learn two forms.  You should turn into a standard garden bird and a bird of prey.”

She stared at him.  “Two forms?  But nobody attempts two forms!”

“Sure they do.  There are records of it.”

“From hundreds of years ago!” she insisted.  

“So?  That means it’s possible.  Theoretically it should be easier if the animals are similar.  So let’s go with two kinds of birds.”

She huffed.  “And what about the rest of you then?  Are you all going to attempt a transformation too?”

“Theo could do it,” said Blaise thoughtfully.  “He’s second behind Hermione with wandless magic.”

“I’m into it,” said Theo gamely.  “But no birds or other flying things.  I don’t do heights.”

“Of course not,” said Malfoy cordially.

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“Excuse me!” she demanded.  “I hate heights just as much as he does!  Why can’t I be a field mouse or a squirrel or something?”

Malfoy gave her an incredulous look.  “You want to be some type of prey?  Have you lost your damned mind?  You could be eaten by regular animals, not to mention that fucking snake!”

Hermione stilled.  It was the first time any of the wizards had mentioned Nagini since she arrived.  Hermione had thought about asking Malfoy and Theo about her on many occasions, but she had always decided to bide her time in the hope that the topic would arise organically.  

Now that it had, Hermione pointedly did not look at Ginny or Luna.

Play it cool.

“He still has that snake?”

Malfoy caught something in her voice, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  

“Why?”

So he didn’t see those memories then.

This was a relief, though truly a bit of a surprise.  He had never told her what he saw in her head while she was knocked out at Hogwarts, and she had never really pressed him about it, having always been a bit afraid of what she would learn.  Evidently he had failed to find this last secret, and Hermione hoped that meant Voldemort was off his guard about it too.

She shrugged.  “I just didn’t realize it survived.  It’s creepy isn’t it?”

She stared at him innocently, while he studied her a bit too intently.  She tried not to blink.

“It survived,” he said slowly, “and it still makes an appearance now and then.  Which is why you won’t be prey.”

Secretly she was thrilled.  This told her Malfoy anticipated her encountering the snake at some point.  But to maintain the secret she huffed.  

“Well even so… what’s Theo meant to be then?”

“I’d fancy being a wolf or bear.  Some kind of apex predator,” said Theo with relish.

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Neither wolves nor bears have lived in the wild in the UK for hundreds of years.  You would never blend in.”

“A fox then,” said Ginny.  “And maybe I’d like to give it a go too.  My patronus is a horse.”

“That could be useful,” said Malfoy thoughtfully.  “We wouldn’t have to pick an alternative form for you.”

Hermione stared at him in consternation.

“How is a horse useful?” she demanded.

“Because it means she could run really fast and carry one of us if she had to,” said Malfoy, like she was being thick.

“My patronus is a hare,” said Luna mildly.  “I suppose that won’t work.”

Hermione stared at her.  “You want to try it too?”

“Why not?” said Luna.  “It’s worth a shot.  I imagine you, me, and Ginny could work it out.  Our afternoons are free most days for practice.  Perhaps Theo could manage it as well, though his schedule is very full at the moment.”

“It is, that,” admitted Theo, looking a bit crestfallen as he considered fitting in yet another thing into his already packed days.

Malfoy was studying the three witches.  “Well if Granger goes bird and Ginny goes horse, maybe you could go as some sort of hunting dog, Luna.”

Luna looked intrigued, but Hermione interrupted.

“I never said I was going bird.”

“You’re going bird,” said Malfoy curtly.  “You’ll be a garden bird, at minimum, though I’d like you to try the second form too.  A bird is by far the most useful animal out of the three, and it’s the safest one too since you will blend in and could escape into the air if you have to.  You don’t get a choice in that.  I’m only willing to negotiate the species.”

Hermione huffed.  “Species?”

Malfoy gave her an insincere smile.  “Of course.  Would you like to be a robin?  Or perhaps a starling?”

“Maybe she could be a great tit!” suggested Ginny. “They are all over Mum’s garden!”

Hermione’s jaw dropped as the others howled with laughter.  Hermione glared at Ginny, who was sniggering.

“Your animagus name could be Titty,” she added.  “Nobody would ever suspect that these three are talking about you when they discuss Titty around the other Death Eaters.”

All three wizards were laughing so hard they couldn’t speak.

“I am going to murder you,” Hermione said seriously.  “All of you,” she added with a fierce glare at Malfoy in particular.

Hermione crossed her arms in irritation as she waited for them to all quiet down.

“If I’m going to be a garden variety bird it should be something native and common,” she ground out.

“That’s the spirit, little sparrow,” said Malfoy with a grin.  “We will find a suitable option.  Though for what it’s worth, a tit of some variety definitely has my vote.”

Hermione felt herself flush with embarrassment and discomfort as the others snickered at this.

She huffed again.  “And the bird of prey?  Assuming I can even manage two forms?”

“Ah, no choice there, I’m afraid.  I want you to be a golden eagle.”

There was silence for a long moment, before Hermione finally said, “Pardon?”

“You heard me.  Your second form will be a golden eagle.”

She stared at him in disbelief.  “But why?”

“Because they’re native, and it will let you come with me to some of the Dark Lord’s social events for Death Eaters.  I won’t even have to sneak you in.  Ginny and Luna will be able to come too for that matter if they can manage a horse and hound.”

At this, the previous humor evaporated, and all three girls were listening intently now.  Theo and Blaise, she noticed, were giving Malfoy rather impressed looks.

“How so?” asked Ginny curiously.

He shrugged.  “The Dark Lord lives in a castle now, didn’t you know?  He fancies himself a nobleman.  He’s started making noises about hosting large hunts for the Death Eaters this autumn.  All three of us will have to go to a few of them.  He likes to watch hunting as a way of breaking up the monotony of regular torture.  Call it his new hobby.”

“Hunting?” asked Luna.

“Hobbies?” gaped Hermione.

“A sodding castle?” exclaimed Ginny.

“Yes,” said Malfoy simply, looking around at them in amusement.

“Explain,” demanded Hermione.  “Because I thought he was living in the Manor.”

To Hermione’s surprise, Malfoy just nodded at Theo, who sighed a little.

“No.  He doesn’t live here anymore.  He lives at Nott Castle.”

All three witches looked at him in surprise.  Hermione glanced at Luna and could see from her expression that even she didn’t know about this.

“Why?” asked Ginny.

Theo shrugged.  “Plenty of reasons.  I’m the last remaining Nott – legally speaking, I mean – technically the bloodline has completely died out.  But the point is I owned Nott Castle after Father died, and I had no other family living there.  I’ve never cared for it much.  The other senior Death Eaters have hosted the Dark Lord as a guest over the years, but I bested all of them by giving him his own estate.  It immediately bought me favor and elevated me to rank just a few spots below Draco.  It also meant that he moved out of Malfoy Manor since he now has a place that he considers to be his own.  None of us wanted him here, not just because of you three, but because of Narcissa.”

Hermione looked at him with some concern.

“And you didn’t… mind?” she asked delicately.  “Giving up your castle I mean?”

The notion that her brother owned a castle at one point was a truly odd one.  Then again, Theo was an aristocrat in all but blood.

Theo waved her off.  “Of course not.  Malfoy Manor has always been more of a home to me than Nott Castle.  Besides, I have a house just outside of London where my mother used to live.  That is still mine if I ever care to move out.”

“You just said he considers Nott Castle to be his,” said Ginny shrewdly.  “Does that mean it’s really not?”

Now Theo smirked.  “Technically it’s his for life, and it reverts back to my line if he dies.  I doubt that will happen any time soon, and I truly don’t care if I ever get it back.  I just needed to retain some blood tie to the property after I gave it to him, and a reversionary interest was enough to do that.  He was so happy to be offered his own castle and surrounding estate he didn’t read the fine print.  He just signed the papers as soon as I presented them.”

“Why did you need to keep a blood tie if you don’t care about getting it back?” asked Luna with uncharacteristic curiosity.

Now Theo’s eyes shone a little.  “Because it means I can still control the wards, not that the Dark Lord realizes it.   Since he has a life interest in it he can control the wards too, and that was enough to convince him that he owns it outright.  But someday if I needed to let in, say, a small army of Order members I could do it.  He wouldn’t even know it was me.  I can simply open a door at the edge of the estate and let anyone in without him being aware of it.”

All three girls’ eyes widened at this, and Hermione inhaled as she considered the possibility.

“Don’t tell me…” she said.

Theo nodded.  “Yes.  That’s one of the things I am giving the Order to secure my future pardon.”

Hermione glanced at Ginny and Luna.  “I thought Malfoy’s deal covered you and Blaise.”

Theo shrugged.  “It opened the door for it, that’s true.  Narcissa is certainly covered by it, but they did ask for proof of good faith from me and Blaise since we had both taken the Dark Mark.  I offered to give Nott Castle to the Dark Lord to lure him there and to grant them access through the wards whenever they call me to do it.  It won’t happen any time soon – they plan to take their time while they gather a critical number of people who will fight — but I can do it at any time.”

“And you?” Ginny asked, now turning to Blaise.

“Safe houses,” said Blaise easily.  “My properties are not as fine as Draco’s and Theo’s, but what I lack in quality I make up for in quantity.  My mother had homes all through continental Europe and several in England that she has put into my name over the past year to maintain favor with the Dark Lord.  He thinks wizarding wealth should be controlled by men, you know, and women who are independently wealthy threaten his ego.  Those who want to keep their properties and gold all to themselves — like Bellatrix — have to practically lick his fucking boots to maintain his favor.”

As he said this, Blaise rolled his eyes, but then he continued.  

“Anyway, my mother disagrees with his position, but she is shrewd and had little emotional attachment to most of her properties.  The moment I turned seventeen she started transferring them to me so that the Dark Lord would view her as sufficiently docile and no threat.  Each of her husbands left her at least one house when they died — but most had two or three.  They are all connected to each other, and they have unmonitored floo access since I’m a Death Eater and now own them.  There are fifteen houses in all.  It’s an easy way to smuggle people out of the country when the Order can’t convince them to stay and fight.”

Hermione and the others gaped at him.  All three wizards laughed a little.

“I can’t believe you three!” Ginny finally said.  “That’s just… unbelievable!”

“You lied to me about that pardon,” said Hermione, now pointing her finger at Malfoy.

He just grinned unapologetically.

“I misled you perhaps, but my offer was the first one to come through, and it did open the door for Theo and Blaise.  They just locked it down by offering their own trade too.”

“And in Draco’s defense, the things he had to do to secure his pardon were the most challenging by far,” added Theo.  “Blaise and I just had to provide access to properties we didn’t care about.  Draco had to make it look like you died.”

Hermione exhaled, as she absorbed the lengths these three had gone to in order to play both sides. 

It was so brilliant and shrewd, and though all three of the wizards had confessed to doing it in order to take advantage of whoever was in power, Hermione was now sure that none of them truly wanted Voldemort to rule. 

“So he lives in a castle now,” Ginny mused, returning to the earlier conversation.

“Yes,” said Draco.  “And like I said he wants to be a lord.  He has no real skill with horses and hawks himself, but plenty of the higher ranked Death Eaters do.  He likes how violent hunting can be, and he needs to entertain his followers.  He wants them to think that his way of life is superior to the old one.  He keeps his Death Eaters in line through fear of course, but he also has this misguided belief that he’s benevolent to those who pander for his favor.  Nott Castle has extensive grounds, hunting lands, and woodlands surrounding it.  It’s the perfect property to cater to the hobbies of his most loyal followers, especially when they dovetail so well with his own bloodlust.  He’s spoken to me about it extensively because I was raised with those hobbies.”

“As was I,” added Theo.  “That was another reason we chose Nott Castle.  The outdoor recreation is better there than at Malfoy Manor, and the Dark Lord had intimated to Lucius and Draco that he envisioned entertaining his Death Eaters in that way if he ever won.  What better way to buy his trust than to make his dreams come true?”

“And that means,” said Blaise, now jumping in, “Ginny and Luna could turn into animals for a traditional mounted hunt and Hermione into a bird of prey for hawking.  I’m pretty sure Theo would get eaten if he turns into a fox though.  I don’t think the Dark Lord will play catch and release,” he added, and Theo and Malfoy both cracked grins at this.

“True,” added Theo.  “A fox would be a poor choice in that crowd.”

“This is mad,” declared Hermione.  “He really thinks he’s some proper English lord now?”

“Why not?” asked Malfoy, raising an eyebrow at her.  “He’s wanted to be on top of wizarding society ever since he began to gather followers decades ago.  This is just the next part of it.”

“I had no notion wizards even knew what a mounted hunt was!” declared Hermione.  “Muggles occasionally do it of course… though it’s considered rather poncey, and it’s needlessly cruel to the animals being hunted.  It’s not that popular anymore, but it's still associated with landed gentry and nobility.”

Theo inclined his head.  “Of course.  And it shouldn’t surprise you that wizards do it too.  Plenty of us have large estates, and the Statute of Secrecy is only a few hundred years old.  Traditionally we put protective spells on the prey if we release it in advance since it’s just for recreation, but I don’t think the Dark Lord will do that.”

“Of course,” said Hermione, now slumping back in her chair as she considered this angle.  “I suppose both populations did it before wizards went into hiding.  And the older wizarding families have kept up the traditions ever since?”

“Precisely,” said Blaise.  “We enjoy riding just like muggles do, and like Theo said we can protect the prey with spells so that the fox or deer or whatever doesn't die at the end.”

Hermione stared off into space as she contemplated it.  As odd as it seemed at first, it did rather fit with what she knew of Voldemort.  Hadn’t he selected Lucius Malfoy to protect a horcrux for him as a representative of the old families?  And Bellatrix too because of her wealth?  He had been an orphan.  He had never really fit in.  And now that he had a chance to live like a true lord, it gave him the opportunity to assert his dominance over his followers through his lifestyle choices and not just his magical skill.

God, he would probably hunt foxes in the morning and give away prisoners at revels the same night.  It was absolutely twisted.

“I suppose I can see it…” she finally said slowly.  “But if he wants to watch birds hunt, then why a sodding golden eagle?  They aren’t used for that!”

Malfoy smirked.  “Sure they are.  I’ll admit it’s rare because they are much harder to train than your more common hawk species, but it’s done now and then.  Besides, I already have a couple of hawks.  I do not have a properly trained eagle, and I’ve always wanted one.”

Hermione stared at him incredulously.

“You mean to tell me that you want me to turn into a bloody eagle so I can help you cheat?”

Malfoy grinned.  “It could be fun.”

“Christ,” muttered Hermione.  “And the garden bird is for what purpose then?”

“The great tit,” teased Theo.

“The garden bird,” insisted Hermione as they all started snickering again.

“I need someone who can spy on my mother’s garden parties,” said Draco offhandedly.  “And any other gatherings we learn about.  There are quite a few where Death Eaters aren’t invited.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at this.  “Why?” she finally asked.

“Draco’s worried that Narcissa is playing matchmaker, and he’ll end up engaged,” said Theo.

Draco reached over and tried to smack Theo on the head, but Theo ducked.

“Truly unbelievable,” muttered Hermione, now rolling her eyes.

Malfoy scowled at Theo.  “It’s not that…”

Hermione gave him a knowing look.

“Okay, not only that.  Plenty of Death Eater wives attend those events, and it’s filled with gossip.  My mother reports back to me what she can, but she can’t be everywhere at once, and the others are careful about what they say to her.  They all assume it will get back to me.”

Hermione pursed her lips.  

“The garden bird I understand,” she said with a small grimace.  “But the bloody eagle…”

“Don’t pretend like you aren’t interested in becoming England’s only dual animagus,” said Malfoy, giving her a teasing smile that made his left cheek dimple.

Hermione scowled.  Dammit, he knew her far too well now.  She was interested, and she supposed he was correct that two different species of the same type of animal would be a sensible way to accomplish it.  And that smile was challenging and arrogant.  He was throwing down the gauntlet just to see if she would pick it up.

Wanker.

“It’s just… birds!” she blurted out.

None of them seemed to find this situation to be nearly as problematic as Hermione did.  Only Theo gave her a slightly sympathetic look, but even he wore an expression that told her she would have no choice in the matter if Malfoy had deemed it so.

She glanced at Luna and Ginny one more time as she thought about it.  Luna’s expression was inscrutable as always, but Hermione thought she could read Ginny clearly.

Think of the snake, Ginny seemed to be saying with her eyes.

Yes, there was the matter of that bloody snake. Hermione now had a fair idea of where Nagini was living.  She must be tucked away at Nott Castle, surviving off of the abundance of game the estate evidently provided.  She might still be trotted out now and then for torture or some other manner of Death Eater entertainment, but Hermione was certain she would never leave the grounds.  Voldemort would keep her close to him as much as possible and in the security of his own warded castle whenever he was forced to leave her behind.

Hermione knew she didn’t stand a chance of getting within a hundred feet of Nott Castle unless she cooperated with Malfoy and arrived as a bird he could show off to the other Death Eaters — or at least one that was small enough to fly away and hide if the creepy snake fancied a snack.  After all, she didn’t even know where the castle was.  She would never find it without assistance that first time.  Theo would side with Malfoy to keep Hermione out if she didn’t cooperate.  That meant there was only one course of action.

“Fine,” she finally gritted out.  “I’ll turn into a bloody bird.”

Chapter Text

Just because Hermione had agreed to turn into a bird didn’t mean she was happy about it.

After she consented to do it she fell silent for the rest of the meal and picked at her remaining food, brooding over her fate.  She refused to make eye contact with Malfoy, whom she could tell was studying her in her peripheral vision, and she was even giving Theo a bit of a cold shoulder.

Dinner broke up, and Hermione moved away from both of them before either one could touch her, disappearing into the loo and starting the water for a bath to ensure that they would hear it.  She had no intention of leaving any time soon and hoped that by the time she emerged everyone would have retreated to their own rooms. 

She slipped into the tub and just sat, not bothering to scrub.  She had already bathed once today, and this was just a ploy.  She needed space to think.

Now that she had a bit of distance from it, she felt thoroughly ganged up on.  Nobody seemed to care that she was petrified of heights.  Even her own twin — who was also petrified of heights — backed up Malfoy to the hilt when he suggested it.

It felt a bit like a betrayal if she was being perfectly honest.  She knew Theo was more Malfoy’s than hers.  They had been raised together after all, and she and Theo were only just starting to get to know one another.  But it still stung that when faced with something his best friend wanted versus something his sister wanted, Theo chose his best friend.

And that best friend thoroughly respected Theo’s boundaries about heights, but not hers.  Whatever hopes she might have been privately harboring about his feelings were dashed.  Her initial impression had been correct that he was protecting her for Theo’s sake and not because he actually cared.  The touching had gone to her head, and she had misread his intentions.  He was simply doing what she asked of him.  It meant nothing.

Even Ginny irritated her, making jokes about tits.  Hermione supposed could see why the others thought it was funny, but it didn’t feel that funny to her when she was the butt of them.  

She wrapped her arms around her chest in the tub and hugged herself.  Cormac had touched her there and thoroughly traumatized her while he did it.  No boy had ever touched her there before he did, and while her breasts weren’t as foreign to her as that space between her legs, she had never really viewed them as a source of pleasure.  She knew that they were supposed to be, but instead they were just… there.  They were just a part of her that was vaguely irritating — a couple of largeish bumps on her chest that she had to cover while blokes didn’t.  They drew the attention of men and gave rapists like Cormac yet another way to hurt her.  They were also more sensitive than she first realized, and she could still remember the pain when he bruised them.

Rationally, Hermione was aware that Ginny didn’t know what had happened to her, not really.  Hermione had been resolutely mute every time she asked.  But Hermione still found herself growing angry about the innuendos.  Surely Ginny could guess, couldn’t she?  Luna seemed to suspect what happened, and they must have talked about it between them.  Either way, Hermione had not recovered enough to be able to make jokes about her private areas, let alone in a group that included men.  The fact that the wizards had laughed too — when they were the ones who found her that day — had felt like rubbing salt into an open wound.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, and it was a long while before Hermione deemed her bath and brooding complete.

Hermione rose and toweled off, wrapping herself in a fluffy dressing gown and padding into her room.  Mercifully, it was empty, and Hermione saw that Poppy had laid out a nightgown for her, along with the matching ribbon.  

Hermione huffed and ignored the ribbon, allowing her curls to tumble free instead.  She climbed into bed and lay awake for a long time, wondering how on earth she was meant to conquer yet another fear of hers.

******

Hermione broke the group’s routine the next day, though she privately blamed Malfoy for it.

When Poppy arrived to dress her, she begged off breakfast with Malfoy and Theo, claiming to feel unwell.  She didn’t answer when Malfoy knocked on her door to collect her for training, opting to skip for once.  They hadn’t taken a single day off since they started, and Hermione wasn’t interested in facing them all just yet.

She claimed a migraine, which was only partially a lie, and she stayed in bed to read a muggle novel and escape from her thoughts.  Her animagus texts lay untouched.

Poppy, naturally, fussed over her, bringing her a hot water bottle and some of Hermione’s own muggle medications that Malfoy had confiscated from her beaded bag.  Headaches were one of the few minor medical complaints in the wizarding world that weren’t easily curable, given that their origins could derive from any number of things.  That was why Hermione had selected it as her malaise of choice.  As she consumed two paracetamol tablets she explained to Poppy that muggle methods barely worked too.  It was best she be left alone to ride it out.

Poppy must have communicated this to the others because nobody attempted to interrupt her for the rest of the day, and Hermione was permitted to stew.  The following day she still had no interest in seeing the others, but she knew that if she feigned illness for the second day in a row, one of them would force their way in to check on her directly.

Instead, she told Poppy she was improved, though still wanted a couple hours alone in the morning to rest just a bit more.  She would, however, be attending training.

Poppy ensconced her at the dressing table to prepare her hair, but for once Hermione put her foot down and refused to wear a ribbon.  

“It’s just not necessary for training,” she declared.

Poppy tutted but seemed unwilling to press her about it, given that Hermione was only just recovering from feeling ill.

The truth was, she knew Malfoy liked her ribbons, and she was angry with him.  It was petty, perhaps, but she wouldn’t give him that, not when he had overruled her so thoroughly about her animagus form.

Sure enough, when he showed up to escort her to the training room, she caught some strain on his face, and his eyes immediately went to her hair.  He frowned when he saw her usual ribbon was missing, but Hermione ignored him and just strode to her own door, waiting for him to open it.

Because of course she could go into her prison without any help, but she needed Malfoy’s assistance to leave it.

He reached for her hand, but she jerked it back and turned away from him, crossing her arms as she marched down the carpeted hallway, Malfoy trailing in her wake.  She refused to look at him directly as they entered the training room, but she caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, and his expression was dark and pensive as he watched her turn away from him.

“Hermione, are you alright?” asked Theo with concern.

“Fine,” she snapped, turning away from him too and grabbing her holsters to gear up.  She caught a flash of hurt on his face, but she refused to feel guilty about it.  He had taken Malfoy’s side on the animagus issue and hadn’t even tried to intervene.  The anger spiked again when she remembered it.

Ginny gave her a questioning look, but Hermione ignored her too as she crossed her arms and waited for training to begin.

Perhaps sensing that she was feeling volatile today, Malfoy skipped knife fighting, opting instead to begin with targets.  Many lessons ago Hermione had figured out how to cheat with a barely whispered wandless spell that corrected the direction of her throw.  Usually her aim was good enough that she didn’t have to use it all that often, and it had always gone unnoticed in previous lessons.

But today her temper was frayed, her frustration was mounting, and on her fifth throw the knife went wide enough that when she corrected it wandlessly it swerved sharply to hit her own target instead of Luna’s, where it had clearly been headed.  She felt Malfoy’s gaze practically burning into her as she muttered a wandless accio to make it fly back toward her.

She wasn’t supposed to do that either, of course.  Catching flying knives in the air was not safe, but Hermione was feeling very obstinate and slightly reckless.  Besides, she had enough control over her wandless magic now that it came toward her hilt-first.  It was fine.

She sensed him before she heard him, and she spun around to find him glaring at her.

“You’re cheating,” he said harshly.  “And what the fuck are you thinking, performing an accio on a knife?”

“So?” she replied, turning her back to him.  “I’ve seen you flip yours in the air before.”

He grabbed her elbow, and started to say something, but she whipped back around and wrenched it from his grip.

Her patience with him had officially expired.

“Do not fucking touch me!” she hissed.

Malfoy blinked in surprise.  “Granger, this is training.  You know we have to—”

“Have to?  Have to?  Oh yes, apparently I have to do everything the great Draco Malfoy tells me to do!  Stay in my prison!  Sleep on my bed!  Take a bath!  Drink tea!  Learn to fight!  Turn into a fucking bird even though it terrifies me!  I might not have a choice about any of the rest of it, but I do have a choice about this.  Do not touch me, or I’ll use my spell to make sure my knife guts you!”

She was breathing hard, all the anger and frustration from the last couple of days coursing through her, and she turned and started to stride from the room.

“Hermione!” came Theo’s voice, and she stopped and turned to glare at him.  His eyes were wide, his face bloodless.  Behind him Malfoy looked like he had been turned to stone.

“I don’t want to hear it Theo!”

“But Hermione —”

“NO!” she shouted, now turning on him.  “You picked him!  It didn’t even matter that you know how terrifying heights can be!  You sided with him without a second thought!  And I get it alright?  He’s practically your brother, and you’ve had him your entire life!  I’m just the little sister you barely know.  But it still feels shitty to know that the moment Malfoy gives me an order you back it up without considering my feelings at all!”

She started to move away again and then Ginny’s voice rang out.

“Hermione!”

She spun around, practically snarling, and Ginny gulped at the look on her face.

“Don’t say another word, Ginny, I’m just as angry with you!”

“What?” she said in dismay.  “But —”

Hermione felt like she was having some sort of outer body experience.  She truly wasn’t as angry with Ginny as she was with Malfoy and Theo, but she had stewed about those jokes and revisited some dark memories the last couple of days because of them.  The words just spilled out of her, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Let’s all make jokes about tits, why don’t we?  Let’s laugh and mock Hermione because we’ve all conveniently forgotten that her tits were on display for all three of the wizards behind you when Cormac pinned me to a fucking wall at Hogwarts!  Isn’t it fun to joke about that when the only man who has ever touched them tried to rape me?”

Ginny had gone pale and looked horrified.  All the others looked equally disturbed.

“Hermione I didn’t —” 

“Yeah, you didn’t know, did you?” she said dully, the anger leaving her as quickly as it began.  She felt drained.  “I’m glad you don’t know what that’s like Gin.  But for the record, making jokes… like that… is still really hard for me.  I haven’t moved past it yet.”

She unconsciously wrapped her arms around her chest and backed up a few steps.

“I can’t do this right now,” she said hollowly as she turned and walked toward the door.

Finally, finally nobody followed her.

******

One of the others — she assumed Malfoy — had the foresight to tell Poppy to stay away from her for the rest of the day.  Food still appeared on her table for lunch, tea, and dinner, but she was left alone just as she wanted.

The following day was more of the same.  It was the first time since Hermione had arrived that Poppy didn’t show up to dress her hair, though a copy of The Daily Prophet still materialized on her nightstand, and Hermione reviewed it as she ate breakfast.  She soon lost her appetite, however, when she read the headline for that day.

Werewolf Treaty Under Negotiation

by Caroline Puckett

Representatives for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures have confirmed that Department Head Fenrir Greyback is in the process of negotiating a treaty with the werewolf population of Great Britain.  

“The treaty will provide rights, jobs, and hunting grounds for werewolves, who have always been marginalized,” said Marcus Flint, who is spearheading the project under Mr. Greyback.  “The Dark Lord has long believed that werewolves have not been given their due, and he is thrilled that they will be fully integrated into wizarding society going forward.”

When asked what jobs the werewolves might hold, Mr. Greyback’s office informed The Daily Prophet that they would be used as enforcers of the Dark Lord’s law.  As readers will know, the Ministry of Magic has undergone an audit of all departments and positions, with some departments being disbanded and others enhanced.  Werewolves who wish to join the Ministry of Magic as enforcers under the DMLE are welcome to apply as soon as the treaty has been finalized.

“The werewolves’ day to shine is coming,” said Mr. Greyback.  “And we have the Dark Lord and his closest followers to thank for it.  We will be working on rights for the giants and dementor populations as soon as this is complete.”

(cont’d on page 4)

Hermione felt sick and did not continue reading on page 4.  The article told her as much as she needed to know about it, and she wasn’t interested in reading additional quotes waxing poetic about the use of werewolves as enforcers.

Hermione had always felt strongly that werewolves were unfairly marginalized.  They should be given free wolfsbane and legal protection for regular employment.  But this…

Hermione shuddered, as she considered precisely how they would be enforcing the laws.  She suspected it would not be with wands.

She flipped through several more pages and then blinked in surprise when she saw an article featuring Theo and Malfoy from the night before.  Both of them were dressed in their finest military robes and spinning the Greengrass sisters on a dance floor, looking for all the world as though they had never been happier.  The Greengrasses were spitting images of each other: both tall and willowy and blonde.  As with previous articles, Theo was dancing with Daphne and Malfoy with Astoria, who was only a year junior.  As she watched, both wizards twirled them and then stepped back to kiss their hands as the girls sank into a deep curtsy at the end of the dance.

Hermione stared at it and swallowed hard.  She hoped it was all an act.  Theo seemed content with Luna, and of course they had to play up their role as debonair young Death Eaters in public.  She knew that.  It still stung though, especially knowing they had done this the previous night while she was left wallowing in her room.

Not that she wanted anybody around her, but still.  Did they have to look so damn happy while she was feeling anxious and miserable?

She sighed and tossed the paper aside.

A tiny part of her – some part she didn’t care to examine too closely – was also jealous.  Malfoy insisted he wasn’t with Astoria, but this wasn’t the first time she had seen him flirt with her in print.  Then again, what did she honestly expect?  Hermione was plain, damaged, and had a vicious temper when it was triggered, as evidenced by her threat to maim him the previous day.  She told him she would gut him for heaven’s sake.  She had absolutely lost it, and she felt guilty and embarrassed for the way she handled it, even though she was still very angry and hurt.

But why did she even care what Malfoy was doing with Astoria?  Did she have a crush on him?  She sincerely hoped not, but a tiny part of her was afraid she was heading that way.  It would be terrible if it were true though.  She could barely stand to be touched, and even the practice they had been doing hadn’t gotten anywhere close to things like lips, which he had grazed over Astoria’s hand in that photograph.  Hermione swallowed hard.  

What would that be like?

It made her heart race, and she quickly tried to tamp it down.  She didn’t know if it was fear or want that was making her react that way.  She couldn’t think about it now.  She was still too angry with him and too irritated with herself for losing her temper to think about it.

Hermione was jolted out of her thoughts by a familiar presence.

Hermione, can we have breakfast and talk?

It was Theo.  He had never tried to communicate through their bond at a distance, but evidently it was possible.  Instinctively Hermione started to occlude so he wouldn’t sense her feelings.  She mentally recited Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration in case he tried to check.  In their practice they had learned that they could block the other with occlumency, though Theo’s was always very still, just the way Malfoy liked it.  When he blocked Hermione she always saw the same placid lake over and over again.  Hermione, in contrast, continued to spout off magical theory in her head.  She knew that Theo would be aware of what she was doing if he checked, but she didn’t care.  Her emotions were all over the place: frustration, hurt, fear, intense embarrassment and regret for shouting at him the previous day.  She was sure that if he felt them he would try to siphon them and then demand to see her.  She wasn’t ready to face him yet.

She said nothing to Theo in return, and to her relief he seemed to take the hint, and she felt him leave her mind.

Hermione picked at breakfast and dug out some of her old clothes she used to wear when she was on the run with Harry and Ron.  She hadn’t touched them since arriving at the Manor, and they were organized haphazardly in that same drawer where she had found them on her first day.  She pulled out jeans and an old Gryffindor Quidditch jersey that had been Harry’s in third year and shook out the wrinkles before putting them on.  She took some comfort in clothes that were familiar and just hers.  She refused to use the green and gray blanket, but instead pulled the quilt off her bed and settled onto the window seat with another muggle novel, trying to clear her mind and give herself space to process the knowledge that she would be turning into a bird eventually.

Because she was still going to do it.  Anger and shame aside, Malfoy had practically challenged her to face this fear and learn how to fly.  She wasn’t going to back away from it, but God why did it have to be so hard?  Why did she have to face that fear too, along with all of the other ones she was dealing with at the moment?

It was a lot for her.

And why couldn’t her friends have been sympathetic and encouraging, instead of teasing her about it and making light of her fears?

As she skimmed her book and allowed her mind to wander, she eventually concluded that this was the thing that hurt the most.  Listening to Theo and the others side with Malfoy had certainly stung, but she knew that a bird was a good idea.  She could also admit that the tit joke was funny, even if it made her dwell on Cormac more than she usually did. 

No, the thing that was the most painful was the fact that none of them seemed aware of just how hard this would be for her.  Instead of saying things to ease her fears they teased her about them.  

The whole interaction made her remember Harry and Ron too and just how much she missed them both.  Ron, she knew, probably would have joined in with the teasing and would have demonstrated his typical obliviousness about her feelings.  But she didn’t think Harry would have done that.  He knew just how much she hated heights, and he had never given her a hard time about it, not once.  Nor did he ever press her to fly except when there was no other choice.  

She missed them both so much, but especially Harry.

Theo contacted her again around lunch, but Hermione continued to ignore him.  She had skipped training of course, and Malfoy had not even attempted to knock this time.  She ate by herself and settled in for another round with her book on the window seat, allowing the afternoon to melt away until she grew drowsy.

She was leaning against the window, eyes drifting shut as she surveyed the gardens rioting with color outside, when a knock made her sit up.

“Granger, I know you’re in there.  We need to talk.”

It was Malfoy of course.  Hermione said nothing and tried to ignore him.

“Granger, I know you’re decent.  I’m opening this door in ten seconds if you don’t let me in yourself.”

Hermione clenched her teeth, wondering just how he could be so sure that she was decent, before her gaze fell on the empty portrait where the blonde woman normally observed her silently.  She was so still and quiet that she faded into the background, and Hermione rarely thought of her anymore.

Hermione grumbled to herself, but she was feeling too stubborn to open the door for him.

Instead, she rearranged herself on the window seat, and stared at her book with determination as she heard the door open precisely ten seconds later.  It shut with a snap, and she heard Malfoy stride toward her.  Hermione did not raise her eyes to look at him.

“We need to talk about your animagus form,” he said bluntly.

Hermione said nothing, but turned the page.

“Granger, please look at me.”

Hermione continued to ignore him, until he reached down and plucked the book out of her hands.  Anger prickled, but she had been expecting it and refused to meet his eye.  Instead, she crossed her arms and turned to stare stubbornly out the window.

“Granger,” he said in a pleading voice.

Hermione stayed silent.

“Fine,” he said, sounding defeated.  “I’ll just talk then.  You should know that the others are insisting you be able to choose whatever form you want.  They say I was being unfair to you, and perhaps they were right.”

Hermione said nothing, but still continued to observe the gardens as though he wasn’t there.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry if it was too much.  I never would have suggested it if I didn’t think you could do it.  I know you don’t like heights, but the animagus books all make it clear that it shouldn’t matter once you’re in your form.”

Hermione stiffened as he said this.  She had intentionally skipped the chapters on birds, after reading the blurb about owls that made her cry with the memory of Hedwig.  She never thought she would transform into a bird, preferring to stay safely on land.  She disliked flying so much she didn’t even want to read about it.

So she hadn’t.

Involuntarily she felt her gaze being pulled to his face, and she was surprised by what she found.  He looked positively wrecked.  His eyes were bloodshot, his hair mussed, and he obviously hadn’t shaved today.  He didn’t look anything like the wizard in the paper from the previous night.

“Explain,” she said quietly.

He frowned in confusion.  “You read those chapters didn’t you?”

Hermione dropped her gaze and shook her head.  “No.  I don’t like flying, so I didn’t read them.”

She sensed him move a little closer to her, and he sank down on the window seat too.  She raised her eyes to look at him cautiously.

“You really hate it so much you didn’t even read the chapters about it?” he asked.  He looked perturbed, like he couldn’t decide which way the conversation should go from there.

Hermione felt a flash of irritation at this.  

“Well let’s see… The last time I flew was in the Room of Requirement when Crabbe tried to kill us all with fiendfyre.  The time before that was on the back of a dragon after we broke into Gringotts and had dozens of murderous goblins trying to kill us.  The time before that was a thestral that I couldn’t see, and I polyjuiced into Harry to be bait.  Death Eaters attacked me in the air and injured the thestral I was riding.  We barely made it to the ground, and I nearly died that time too.  The time before that was at the Weasley’s when they convinced me to play a pick-up game of Quidditch, and I fell and broke my wrist.  Admittedly that wasn’t as dangerous as death, but it still hurt like a bugger.  There have been other unfortunate incidents in the air, including another invisible thestral that took me to the Department of Mysteries where Dolohov nearly murdered me.  Then there was the time in third year when I had to help Harry steal that hippogriff from under McNair’s nose so he wouldn’t be executed thanks to you.  We ended up flying the hippogriff up to Professor Flitwick’s office and breaking Sirius Black out of custody at the same time.  It was all very stressful.  That doesn’t even touch on the number of times I watched Harry or Ron or Ginny — hell, even you — almost die on a broom.  So no, I really don’t like to fly.”

She fell silent and found Malfoy staring at her, looking stunned.

“I had no idea it was that bad,” he admitted.

Hermione sniffed.  “I’ve never liked heights, nor Theo.  I’m sure part of it is genetic, but I have also learned first hand just how dangerous it can be.”

He sighed, looking defeated.  “Granger, you don’t have to —” he started, but she cut him off.

“I said I would turn into a bird, didn’t I?  I’ll turn into a sodding bird.”

He looked perplexed now.

“But why?”

“Because I know it’s a good idea!  I just… it’s hard for me!  I’m already so damaged, and I’m trying to move past the things that scare me and now this… I just didn’t think I would have to confront this fear too!”

Hermione was mortified to feel tears start, but she couldn’t help it.  She sniffed and wiped them away angrily.

Malfoy made a jerky move as though starting to reach for her, but then he seemed to think better of it.  His hand clenched into a fist and dropped by his side, his knuckles white.

“Granger,” he said slowly.  Hermione was looking down at her lap as tears fell.

“Hermione,” he insisted.

This surprised her so much her head shot up instinctively.  He was staring at her intently as he took in everything about her.  She felt like she was under a microscope.

“I want you to read the chapters about birds before you make any decisions,” he said slowly.  “But I will leave it to be your decision.  I’m certainly not going to force you to do something that will frighten you this much.  I only ask that you have all the information before you decide one way or the other.”

Hermione slumped and nodded.

“Also,” he added, “I owe you an apology.  I should never have ambushed you like that in front of the others.  And the jokes… they were bang out of line.  I will let the others apologize for that too when you are ready to see them, but I will say that all five of us know we really fucked up.  I’m so sorry for that.”

Almost involuntarily, Hermione’s eyes drifted to the newspaper on the floor with the picture of Malfoy twirling Astoria around on the dance floor.  Astoria was probably a witch who would have laughed at the tit jokes and flirted while she did it.  She obviously had no trouble being touched by the wizard in front of her.  She probably even liked to fly and would have jumped at the chance to become a bird animagus.  She was beautiful, perfect, and Hermione was broken.

She didn’t know what to say to Malfoy, so she just nodded.  But when she glanced at him she saw him following her gaze to the picture.  His jaw clenched.

“You should know that Blaise had to take those memories away from us,” he said softly.  “Theo and I… we would never have gotten through last night convincingly without it.  He returned our memories just before we went to bed.”

Hermione looked up at him in shock.  He was giving her an almost pleading look now.

“Granger… Hermione,” he amended, “can I… touch you please? Without you gutting me I mean?”

Hermione hesitated for a moment.  She was still very upset, but her anger was finally starting to burn itself out.  She nodded.

Malfoy immediately reached for her hand and laced their fingers together before tugging her toward him.  Hermione found herself falling toward his embrace as he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.  She settled in against his chest with her head on his shoulder like they had done several times before, and she felt him sigh deeply.

“I didn’t know that he was the only one who has ever touched you there,” he finally said.

Hermione stiffened a little, but he started to rub circles on the back of the hand he was holding, and the truth came tumbling out.

“He was.  I’ve had a few chaste kisses, a few more snogs where clothes stayed on and hands didn’t wander too much, and an attempted rape by Cormac.  That is the full extent of my sexual history.”

“Really?” he said in a tight voice.

She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “That should never have happened to you, let alone the first time any bloke… well you know.”

“It was really painful,” she confessed.

He tightened his grip at this, but said, “It shouldn’t hurt.  If you ever… I mean, if some other bloke ever gets to… with hands or lips or… well, it should feel nice…” he trailed off a bit awkwardly.

Hermione felt her cheeks turning red.  Thank God she couldn’t see his face like this.

“I have a hard time imagining it,” she said quietly.  “Hands or lips seem almost impossible.  Who would want me like this?  I’m damaged goods.”

She turned slightly to see that picture of Astoria again, Malfoy bending over her hand and kissing it.

“I mean, I don’t even know if I could do that,” she added, nodding toward it.  “And it’s very tame.”

To her surprise, Malfoy nudged her so she was forced to sit up and look at him again.  He was far too close like this, and it made her squint a little to focus on him.  He seemed to be studying her face like he was memorizing everything about it, and he raised his free hand to wipe the track of tears that were still glistening on her cheeks.

Her heart seized at the intimate gesture.

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he said, in a slightly hoarse voice.  

He stared at her intently as he disentangled their fingers so he was gripping her hand just like Astoria’s in the photo.  He slowly raised it to his face without blinking.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he whispered.

The moment his lips touched the back of her hand, Hermione felt her cheeks flush and her heart began to race.  It wasn’t panic though, it was something else.  Something visceral and profound and exciting.  His lips were warm and soft, and it felt achingly perfect.

She forgot to breathe as she watched him, with wide eyes, kiss her there.  He lingered over it, his eyes never leaving her face as he then gave her knuckles a kiss too before turning over her hand and kissing the pulsepoint on the inside of her wrist.

As he did this his eyes fluttered closed, and he sighed a little, as though he was savoring it, and Hermione felt something unfamiliar tug deep in her abdomen.

When his eyes finally opened again, the silver made her feel like she was falling into them.  His gaze was endlessly deep, as though there were a thousand truths he was harboring if only she knew which questions to ask.

He lowered her hand and swallowed hard.

“See?” he said softly.  “Not broken.”

The faintest ghost of a smile crossed his lips as her gaze dropped.  It flicked back up to him again when she felt his hand under her chin.

“There’s nothing about you that’s broken or damaged, Hermione,” he said solemnly.  “Not a single thing.”

She gave him a sad smile at this, not really believing it, but unwilling to contradict him.  His hand moved to cup her cheek, and she leaned into it a bit.

“Maybe someday I’ll feel that way too,” she said.

Chapter Text

Malfoy left her to her own thoughts soon after that with a parting message.

“The others want to see you whenever you’re ready.  Maybe breakfast tomorrow with everyone?”

Hermione hesitated, but finally nodded, knowing she would need to move past this.  She had missed nearly three days of training, and it was time to face the others.

“I’ll let them know,” he said simply.

He closed the door quietly, and Hermione set aside her novel and picked up the animagus books with a tentative hand.  She flipped to the table of contents of the first one and found the chapter on bird transformations.  She hesitated for a moment before flipping to it, where she began to read.

Avian Forms

Like other non-mammalian transformations, avian or bird transformations often require an advanced grasp of wandless magic.  More complex than any mammal form – even those of predators or very large species – birds are so unlike humans that the magic is exceptionally advanced.

Once achieved, however, bird transformations are believed to be some of the most enjoyable.  The minds of most birds are relatively simple, so the witch or wizard that is in that form should find it easy to keep their own thoughts separate from that of the bird.  Most bird species, however, do have one remarkable instinct that is relatively unique: flight.

If the animagus form is a bird of flight, the witch or wizard will find it to be far easier to fly as a bird than any sort of assisted flight as a human.  Witches and wizards who have achieved these transformations report that flight as a bird is life-changing, freeing, and joyful.  It takes only a few minutes for most witches and wizards to learn how to tap the bird’s flight instinct, and even those who are hesitant flyers as humans state that it is a remarkably gratifying experience.

In fact, most witches and wizards who have reported bird transformations say that they prefer to never fly as a human again, as it feels ungainly and unnatural compared to their bird forms.  Birds of flight have no natural fear of heights as they cannot fall unless seriously injured, and even those witches and wizards who prefer to keep their feet firmly on the ground report that flying as a bird is a singular experience.

Though there will be some variations on a species by species basis, in many respects the bird form is an ideal animagus transformation: their brains are simple enough for the witch or wizard to keep their own mind while transformed, but the flight instinct is so deeply rooted that it takes very little skill to leverage it.

On and on Hermione read, and she was a bit surprised to find that every book reported the same thing: flying was easy, natural, and not terrifying at all when done as a bird.  Hermione’s favorite book, one that included first-hand reports from various animagis around the world, even contained an entry from an individual who was much like Hermione: utterly terrified of heights, but whose animagus form was a bird.

As a human there is no amount of gold that you could pay me to convince me that humans belong in the air.  I have ridden broomsticks only a few times and cannot abide tall buildings or watching others maneuver great heights.  But when I am in my bird form, it all melts away.  The bird does not fear the open air, it relishes it.  The bird wants nothing more than to soar on the thermal pockets that rise from the ground.  It feels excitement when it gets to kiss a cloud or dive for food.  And while I certainly remember my own distaste for heights while transformed, when I am a bird the instinct reassures me that all will be well.  I need only turn myself over to it, and I am utterly at peace.  There is nothing in the air that can harm me.

By the time she finished her reading, it was late, and she set the books aside to stare out of the window.  She should have expected this, and she was feeling a bit foolish for not considering it earlier.  Animagi transformations allowed witches and wizards to exploit the instincts of whatever their animal form might be.  Their minds melded with the animal so that certain human fears and emotions were dulled, even if their memories stayed intact.  

Hermione’s memories of flying were so negative that it never even occurred to her that the bird’s instinct might overrule her personal fears.  And yet, every book seemed to agree on this single point: birds liked to fly so much that it was a biological imperative.

Hermione had already decided to do it, and the books made her dread it a little less.  She knew she wouldn’t be fully convinced until she tried it for herself, but she certainly hoped they were right about it.

As irritating as Malfoy had been to impose the bird form on her, Hermione now understood why she had to be the bird: it would be considerably harder than a dog or a horse since it wasn’t a mammal.  

As Hermione learned more about it she had been truly stunned that Rita Skeeter had managed a beetle.  It was far more advanced than anything the Marauders or Minerva McGonagall had done.  It was even harder than a bird, though perhaps not two birds.  But the fact remained that beetles were about as far from a human as a creature could get.  They didn’t even have real skeletons.  Hermione had never thought of Rita Skeeter as being magically powerful, but evidently there was more to the woman than gossip and shoddy writing.

This was the reason the bird needed to be her.  Malfoy wanted at least one of them to have that form to be the perfect spy with an easy mode of escape.  Hermione’s wandless magic was the strongest out of all of them, so she was the one who was most likely to be able to achieve that form.  He had dismissed her fear of heights because he didn’t think it would matter once she was a bird and the flight instinct took over.

She still wished he had asked instead of told, but at least she now understood why he selected it.

She rose from the window seat and walked over to their connecting door, hesitating for a moment before she raised her hand to knock.

Within seconds the door opened, and Malfoy was staring down at her, looking both a little wary and eager.

“I’ll do it,” she said without further preamble.  “I read the chapters about birds, and now I know why you picked it.  The flight instinct should overrule my fear of heights.”

Malfoy exhaled, and she thought he looked relieved.

“Alright,” he said.

“In the future, please ask.”

“Yes,” he said, looking a bit chagrined.

“But I also don’t think you were wrong to want me to do it,” she acknowledged.  “My wandless magic is the strongest.”

Malfoy nodded and raised his hand to her cheek again.  

“Hermione,” he said, and her stomach flipped over.  Evidently he was calling her by her first name now.  “If you manage the transformation and you still feel frightened in the air, we’ll come up with some other plan.  I mean it, I don’t want you to be scared here.”

She softened a little.  “I know you don’t,” she said.  “You never want me to be scared.”

“No,” he said. 

She sighed.  “Alright.  I’ll go along with it.  As for the species, I don’t care what we pick – it just needs to be something common in an English garden.  Whatever you manage to catch will work.  I know we have to do that blood ritual for it…”

She felt a bit ill as she considered this, but he just nodded as he lowered his hand and grabbed hers instead.

“I’ll go hunting for something as soon as I can find the time,” he said. 

She pursed her lips, but nodded.  “And the golden eagle?  I can’t fathom where you will find one of those.”

He bit his lip for a moment.  “The truth is, I already have one.”

Hermione’s eyebrows flew up.  “Pardon?”

“You heard me.  I told you I’ve always wanted a trained eagle.  I got one awhile ago — before the Battle of Hogwarts.  She’s beautiful, but totally wild.  It’s going to take years to train her well enough to hunt her.  I don’t have the time to do it anymore, so I need to cut my losses one way or the other.”

“You would… kill her?” Hermione asked hesitantly.  “Your own pet?”

Malfoy raised one eyebrow.  “The things I am willing to do to advance a plan like this go much farther than that.  You can attempt the garden bird first, and if it’s too advanced then I’ll probably just release her.  But if you can manage a bird – and I’m sure you can do it – then yes.  I am happy to sacrifice her to give you that second form.”

Hermione’s heart was inexplicably pounding.  He was being so gentle with her, and yet everything about this was entirely unfeeling.  Hermione was a great lover of animals.  The blood sacrifice aspects of this had made her uncomfortable from the beginning, but she knew going into it that it would be necessary if she wanted to be something other than an otter.  That was why she had focused her research on small mammals.  Killing a golden eagle – something so noble and on the brink of being a threatened species — Malfoy’s pet – felt entirely different.

“You’re sure that a second form is necessary?” she asked nervously.  “I could go to Nott Castle as a garden bird.”

Malfoy raised one eyebrow.

“Hermione, please remind me… what eats garden birds?”

“Hawks, falcons…” she acknowledged.

“Precisely.  You have nothing to fear as a garden bird when you are in an actual garden, but you aren’t going to Nott Castle like that.  There are far too many birds of prey around – both native in the surrounding woods and brought in for sport.”

Hermione sighed and gave him a pensive look.  “You’re sure you are willing to sacrifice your pet?” she repeated.

He didn’t look perturbed by this at all, and Hermione wondered for a moment why she wasn’t properly terrified of him.

“Of course,” he said cordially.  “It’s just a bird and some blood, Hermione.  Think nothing of it.”

He raised her hand to kiss the back of it one more time, before slipping away.

******

Draco closed the door to Hermione's room and flexed his hand.  His lips were burning where they had just been on her.  He had spent the last few hours in a haze of disbelief that she had let him kiss her hand in the first place.  And then he got to do it again.  He would never be able to stop now.

Not that he had ever intended to stop.  No, the moment he finally caught her he knew there was no turning back.  Convincing her that he was safe, helping her settle into her new home, and now teaching her to accept his touch... all of it had been more difficult than he expected.  She was a fierce thing.  She had a temper.  She had been very hurt.  She had some fears that were so deeply rooted they had caught him off guard.  And Draco had always paid attention to her.  He had always watched her.  He thought he knew everything about her, and yet she continued to surprise him.  Her fear of heights had been one of those things.  Of course Draco knew she hated heights.  He had observed that in their very first flying lesson together as first year students.  And yet, despite his careful attention he had somehow misunderstood just how much she despised it.

The previous few days had been terrible.  When she threatened to gut him he actually feared she might do it, and then he would have to become firmer with her.  Even the day he brought her home after the execution, she hadn't looked that angry.  The few hours he spent obliviated at the party the night before had been a relief.  When Blaise returned his memories the weight of everything that had happened settled on him again, and he drank himself into a stupor.

But the thing Draco was learning about Hermione Granger was that her anger always burned out.  She could be reasoned with.  She might have a volatile temper, but she was fundamentally forgiving.

She was just so sweet.

She had forgiven him for being too heavy-handed with her.  Of course she had forgiven him, that's what she did.  And not only that, but she decided to proceed with the bird and allow Draco to pick both of her forms for her.  This was excellent news.  He couldn't give her a choice about the eagle, but he had spontaneously told her she could choose the garden bird species once he realized how much she disliked the idea.  It was meant to be a concession because he had strong opinions about it.  The fact that she had come around to it and was now letting Draco pick that too... Merlin, but she was just perfect.  She was so beautiful and trusting.  

And then Draco got to brush his lips across the top of her hand again.  Earlier that day he noted the freckles on her knuckles as he kissed her there too.  He had even kissed the inside of her wrist and inhaled while he did it.  

He learned she was using the orange blossom scent as a perfume and not just to bathe with.  He smelled it on her wrist.  She had placed it there intentionally, and it made him lightheaded.

It was his favorite scent in the world - his amortentia was filled with it.  Draco wanted to lick her every time he got close enough to smell it.

He moved to the loo where he stared at himself in the mirror.  His lips were still tingling, and he closed his eyes to remember the feel of them on her hand.  Her hands were so dainty and small.  They were soft, delicate, incredibly feminine.  

Draco could spend hours exploring her hands.  He wondered if she would ever paint her nails for him.  He had never once seen polish on her fingers, but he liked the way it looked.  Then again, if Hermione had a choice about it she might channel her inner Gryffindor and select some shade of red, and that wouldn't be right at all.  No, she should wear soft colors.  Perhaps a light pink or dusky rose.  It should be sweet like she was.  

Her nipples would be a dusky rose too, he was certain of it.  The pretty nightgowns she liked to wear had given him the barest hint when he saw her at night, and it drove him mad as he imagined them.

No, red didn't suit her at all, and that was why it was largely absent in her wardrobe.  She had a couple pieces of lingerie in that color, it was true, along with a single gown in her closet.  But as Draco considered it more closely he thought he might remove the red lingerie and replace it with more feminine colors.  Whites and pastels did amazing things for her coppery skin.

She needed nail polish in the palest pink, then.  It would look perfect on her.  Poppy could help her apply it.  Hermione had finally embraced the care Draco was providing through Poppy, and it settled something deep inside of him every time he looked in on her and saw her seated at her dressing table.  She looked perfect there and like she belonged.  She had grown to love that routine in the morning, giving her hair and skin all the care it deserved.  So why not her hands too?  They deserved just as much attention as the rest of her.

Besides, he was allowed to kiss her hands now.  They were finally his.  Draco had always taken excellent care of his things, and her hands were meant to be cherished.  They were how she interacted with the world.  They were the part of her that let her turn the pages of the books she loved so much.  They were often smudged with ink as she studied so diligently and took notes.  They needed to be cared for properly, and Draco was just the person to do it.

Draco licked his lips, tasting that faintest trace of orange blossom that still lingered there.

His girl was finally coming around to him, and even his persistent fuck-ups weren't delaying things too much.  In fact, they seemed to give him an opportunity to get closer to her once her temper cooled.  She would become angry and then forgive him, before melting into his arms and letting him try something new.  It had happened more than once now.  He was sorely tempted to continue pushing her buttons so he could draw her closer.  

There were just so many things he wanted to do with her, to her.

But then again, he was patient.  He was in no rush.  His girl wasn't just sweet, she was so very innocent.  She had never allowed another wizard to claim her body, and Draco was thrilled by this knowledge.  But it also meant he had be slow and intentional.  Every time she let him try something new he would celebrate it.  He would never take it for granted, not ever.

"Poppy," he said, and the small elf appeared with a CRACK!

"Yes, Master?"

"Poppy, Hermione is feeling much better.  You can resume your normal duties for her tomorrow."

Poppy curtsied, looking relieved.

"And there's another thing," he added.

"Yes Sir?"

"Please give her a manicure tomorrow morning.  Pale pink would be perfect for her nails.  We need to keep her hands soft and healthy.  I despise the fact that we have allowed her feet to become callused, but there was really no choice given the shoes she must learn to wear.  Her hands are different.  They are very special to me.  Please keep an eye on them."

"Of course."

"And while you're at it, remove the red lingerie from her dresser.  That was a mistake. I can't fathom what I was thinking when I selected it.  It's not nearly pretty enough for somebody like her.  She's an innocent, and that color reminds me of the whores the Dark Lord hires for his revels.  If you think she requires more pieces once the red is gone, inform me right away.  I would be happy to select something more suitable."

"I will remove it while she is sleeping, Sir."

"Perfect.  I know I can count on you, Poppy.  My Hermione can be a little stubborn, but she needs somebody to keep an eye on these things for her.  I want her mind to be focused on her studies.  That's how she finds her purpose, and it makes her happy and content to be here with us.  I don't want her to have a single concern about her physical care - that is for us to worry about, not her."

Poppy straightened up and gave him a firm nod.  "You is absolutely right, Master.  Miss Hermione is needing us to handle these things.  She is not knowing what to do."

Draco gave a fond smile as he thought about her.  "No, of course she doesn't know what to do.  Nobody has ever taken care of her properly.  But don't fret, Poppy.  We can handle it.  She's adjusting beautifully, thanks in large part to you."

Poppy gave him a toothy smile and disappeared a moment later with a CRACK!

Draco felt something inside of him ease, knowing that Poppy would give Hermione's lovely hands some extra attention tomorrow.  Hermione was learning to accept Poppy's help with grace and would surely permit Poppy to paint her nails that faint pink Draco was craving.  And now that she had forgiven him, things would go back to the way they had been - except now he could kiss her too.

******

The next morning Poppy woke Hermione up, looking a bit hesitant.  Hermione immediately leaned down to give her a hug.

“I could never be cross with you Poppy.  I was just at odds with the others.”

Poppy sniffed but hugged her back, and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to say no when Poppy sat her down at the dressing table and began an elaborate hairstyle with several braids, buns, and bows.  Then she went a step further and began to give Hermione a proper manicure with a shade of polish that reminded Hermione of a barely pink rose.

"I haven't had this done since I was a young girl," she commented.  "My mum used to take me to a salon to get my nails done now and then, but it's been years."

"Tis very important, Miss," chided Poppy gently.  "Your hands is needing attention too."

By the time Poppy was done with her, Hermione was running behind schedule.  But she decided it was a small price to pay for putting Poppy in the crossfire of her frustration with her friends.

Those friends arrived at breakfast, looking penitent and awkward.  Theo pushed to the front of the group, waffled for a moment, and then scooped her up into a big hug.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.  “You were absolutely right, and I behaved abominably.  I’ve told that wanker that if he makes you cry again I’ll practice my crucio on him.”

“Theo…” she said in exasperation.

He pulled back, looking serious.

“I mean it.  He shouldn’t have pushed you into it, and I shouldn’t have backed him up.  He agreed that would be an appropriate punishment if he upsets you like that ever again.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.  “A touch dramatic.”

“Never,” said Theo. 

Hermione smiled a little.  “I forgive you.”

“And the jokes…” he added.

“Theo,” Hermione sighed.  “It’s alright.  I overreacted.  You couldn’t have known it would make me think of that…”

He was watching her worriedly.  “I’ll be more mindful of it.  We all will.  There’s really no place for stupid jokes like that here.  What we are doing is too serious.”

She gave him a small smile, and he stepped aside so she could face Luna.

“Hermione, I apologize.”

“You didn’t do anything Luna,” she sighed.

“I laughed.  That was unkind.  I’ll try to do better.”

Hermione smiled at her.  “We’re good Luna.”

Blaise was behind her, and he stepped forward and started to open his mouth, but she cut him off.  “You too Blaise, we’re also good.”

He frowned.  “I never told you though… what he did to you… well let’s just say I would happily kill him if I didn’t know for a fact that Draco and Theo have been arguing about which one of them gets to do it.”

Hermione felt a lurch.  “Oh?”

“Yes,” he said.  “I don’t think McLaggen will get any more chances, and he’s such a fuck up he’s bound to make a mistake.  If he even looks at a witch the wrong way in front of one of us, he’s done.  My money’s on Draco.  He’s not above pulling rank to make sure he gets to wield the knife.  Theo and I will be allowed to hold the bugger down for him while he works though.”

God, these Death Eaters.

“Alright, well… thank you,” she said a bit awkwardly.

He nodded cordially, and then it was just Ginny, looking uncharacteristically abashed as she approached.

She opened her mouth, and then closed it.  Then tried again.

“I… I’m so sorry, Hermione.  I didn’t… I don’t…”

She looked frustrated with herself, and Hermione sighed and pulled her in for a hug.  “It’s alright.  I know that wasn’t what you meant.  I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

She swallowed and nodded.  “It was a really careless joke.”

Hermione looked at her seriously.  “You aren’t the only one who laughed Gin.  It would have been funny… I mean, it was funny.  It was just… that day was awful.  It hits me at the oddest times.”

She looked serious and nodded.  “Do you think… maybe after breakfast… you would be willing to tell me about it?  Or Luna?  None of the boys will say a word, but they look positively murderous every time one of us asks.”

Hermione weighed this.  She had no great interest in reliving that day, but then again… she hadn’t talked about it, not really.  Malfoy knew better than the others what had happened that day having seen it in Cormac’s mind, and she had dropped other nuggets of information for him now and then.  But she hadn’t told the story to anyone — not in her own way.  Hermione wondered if it would help.

Slowly she nodded.  “Alright.  Let’s eat and then see if these three will give us a few minutes.”

They settled into breakfast, and it was stilted at first, but they soon fell into their usual conversation once it became clear that Hermione was determined to move on.

“I’m still going to attempt the bird,” she announced.

Everyone but Malfoy looked at her skeptically, and she sighed.

“Look, I read about it over the last couple days, and supposedly the bird’s flight instinct will take over my fear of heights.  Malfoy says that if it doesn’t work we can go back to the drawing board.”

This seemed to reassure the others, and Hermione felt a small squeeze on her knee under the table.  She turned in surprise to find Malfoy speaking seriously with Theo on the other side of him and purportedly ignoring her, but she glanced down at her lap and saw it was indeed his hand under the table.  As she looked at it he turned his palm up, and Hermione slipped her hand into his, which he closed firmly.  She felt him running his thumb over her knuckles and even her nails before finally stilling.  He did not release it though.

Why did it feel different this time?  Was it because they had just fought and made up?  Was it because he had kissed this same hand twice now?  He had held this hand a dozen times before, but this — under the table so their friends wouldn’t see — made Hermione turn crimson.  It didn’t feel like he was trying to get her used to touch.  It was casual, as though he simply wanted to do it.

Conversation turned to Ginny’s birthday, which was only a couple days away.  Hermione felt a pang to realize that Harry’s birthday slipped by her with barely any note.  Though she still got the paper each day, she usually ignored the precise date.  Her days disappeared.  The entire summer had disappeared in the confines of the Hogwarts dungeons and Malfoy Manor, and she never allowed herself to think about it.

It was decided that Ginny’s birthday would be commemorated with a special dinner with her favorite meal.  Blaise, Hermione noticed, looked a little nervous.

“He has no idea what to get her,” murmured Malfoy’s voice in her ear.  “He’s been worrying about it for a couple weeks.”

Hermione smiled at this, but then turned serious as she whispered a suggestion in his ear.  He looked thoughtful.

“He might be able to do that.”

Breakfast broke up soon after.  They had just under an hour until their usual training time.

“I’d like the girls to stay here,” said Hermione to Malfoy.  “We need to talk.  You can collect us for training.”

There was some raised eyebrows at this, but the wizards didn’t object, and all three of them slipped into Malfoy’s room.

Hermione looked around, saw the portrait watching her intently, and waved her hand to cast muffliato.  The portrait scowled.

“I’ve been practicing that one,” she said to the others.  “Not that Malfoy isn’t already aware of what happened, but he doesn’t need to hear any more about it.”

Ginny and Luna settled down with her, and looked at her expectantly.  Hermione took a deep breath and began.

She told them everything.

She told them about her efforts to die before Malfoy killed her.  She told them about her boredom in prison and failed attempts to escape.  She told them about hexing the Death Eaters who taunted her, and how all of them backed off except for Cormac and Malfoy.  Then she told them about that day: she described how Cormac arrived and pinned her to the wall, silenced her, and then vanished her clothes before she could even react.  She told them how he had hit her and groped her so hard she bled between her legs.  She told them he ripped at her breasts and then choked her when he couldn’t seem to penetrate her fully.  And then she told them about the wizards arriving: how it took time for them to figure out a way to get her down and covered; how Malfoy performed legilimency on him to discover what happened; how he offered to let her choose his punishment; how she tortured Cormac first before Malfoy tortured him harder.

“It felt so good to torture him,” she confessed, as tears rolled down all of their cheeks.  “It was like the darkness was being purged.  I’ve never felt so powerful or such relief.”

And then she described Nita’s visit and the way her magic felt like it was stitching her back together.  

“She was so beautiful and kind.  She protected me.  She protected all of us.”

By the time Hermione was finished, she felt emotionally wrung out, but better than she had in ages.  Talking about it was one of the hardest things she had ever done, but the aftereffects reminded her of casting the cruciatus: it was as though something poisonous had been extracted from her.  It existed out in the open now and not just buried in Hermione’s memory of it.  She had never been so grateful for her girls.

Ginny gripped one hand while Luna gripped the other.  Ginny looked her in the eye and spoke with a seriousness that Hermione had come to learn could promise terrifying things.  

“This is what we’re going to do,” she said evenly.  “All three of us are going to become animagi.  We will ask the boys to make sure McLaggen is there during one of our visits to Nott Castle and have them bring him around to us.  I will trample his hands so he can never touch another woman.  Luna will bite his crotch so his pecker stops working.  And you can claw out his eyes so he’ll never be able to see a witch naked again.”

Hermione blinked, breathless at the thought.  

“That’s rather violent,” she said.

“I don’t fucking care,” said Ginny firmly.  “This war has taken too much from all of us.  Our families, our friends, our lives… he’s just one person, and I know his fate doesn’t make a damned bit of difference to the outcome, but it sure as hell will make me feel better.”

She crossed her arms and gave Hermione a fierce look that clearly said, Fight me on this, and you will lose.  It was an expression that was a perfect blend of her mother, Ron, and the twins.  It spoke of stubbornness and anger and perfect chaos.  

Hermione nodded slowly.  “Fine.  But Blaise did tell me that he has no more chances.  If he puts another toe out of line, Malfoy will kill him.”

Ginny gave an insolent shrug.  “That works too.  Just as long as he makes it really painful.”

“Theo said that Draco kept Cormac in his cellar and cut off a piece of each finger on his wand hand every single day for two weeks,” said Luna absently.  “Just small bits, you know, until he had nothing left.  Apparently he used a hot poker to cauterize the wounds between each round and didn’t heal him or give him any pain relief.  Then Theo flayed his back and Blaise practiced his cruciatus on him.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.  “God,” she muttered.

“Don’t do that,” warned Ginny, giving her a knowing look.

“Do what?”

“Feel bad for him.  He deserved every moment of pain.”

Hermione sank back in the sofa.  She had a hard time disagreeing with that.  But then again…

“Doesn’t it just seem… wrong to you?” she asked hesitantly.

Ginny snorted and shrugged.  “Frankly, I don’t give a shit.  It’s true that all three of them are kind of sadistic and maybe a little crazy, but I can’t bring myself to care when it’s used against other Death Eaters who have hurt one of us.  They would never do that to us.”

“That’s the measuring stick then?  What would they do to us?”

“It’s my entire world right now, Hermione,” said Ginny wearily.  “I can’t care about right and wrong while my family is in hiding and my brothers are dead and one of my best friends was hurt that badly.”

Hermione softened at this and reached out to squeeze Ginny’s hand.

“Maybe you’re right,” she sighed.  “Malfoy is very careful not to hurt me or trigger me.  He feels terrible whenever he pushes me too hard.  That’s why he’s been touching me slowly so I get used to it again.  I can’t allow myself to freeze if another Death Eater does it.”

Luna cocked her head and studied Hermione.  “If it would help to feel a woman’s touch too, do let me know.  I’d be happy to oblige.  That might be easier than a man’s while you are healing.”

Hermione’s eyebrows flew up and she turned crimson.  “You mean…”

Luna shrugged.  “No pressure of course, and I only think of you as a friend, Hermione.  I love Theo in a romantic way.  But I have some experience with women too, and I’m really quite good and gentle.  I’m sure Theo wouldn’t mind it if it would help you.  He loves you very much.”

Hermione caught Ginny’s eye, and she raised an amused eyebrow as if to say, Would you like for me to offer too?

“Thanks, Luna,” said Hermione, just shaking her head a little.  “I’ll consider it.”

*******

Ginny’s birthday bash was surprisingly fun.  After telling Poppy about the plan, she smuggled in some supplies, and together they decorated Hermione’s room and parlor with balloons, streamers, and confetti that floated from the ceiling before disappearing as it hit a solid surface.  It was wonderfully festive and something Hermione didn’t even know she was craving.

Ginny’s face when she saw it was priceless, and she squealed just like that day when she was reunited with Hermione for the first time.  Hermione was pleased and felt it was a passable substitute for a real gift.

The house elves outdid themselves and they had breakfast for dinner – a full English, no less.  The wizards seemed bemused by it, but the witches tucked in happily, explaining that it was a special treat that people who had not been raised in the aristocracy liked to enjoy now and then.  

Then it was time for the gift that Blaise had managed to arrange.

“I have a surprise for you, Bellisima,” he said, as he pulled something out from behind his back and tapped his wand to expand it.

Ginny’s mouth dropped, and her eyes filled with tears at the thing he was holding: a traditional chocolate birthday cake very obviously made by Molly Weasley.

“I have a letter too,” he said softly, "from all of your family members.  They send their greetings.”

Blaise was forced to set the cake down in order to catch Ginny who came flying at him.  She launched herself into his arms and kissed him full on the lips.  His eyes widened for a split second in surprise, but he didn’t miss a beat as he kissed her back with enthusiasm, and when she broke away, he was beaming down at her a bit breathlessly.

“Well that’s a happy birthday,” muttered Malfoy’s droll voice.  Hermione glanced at him and couldn’t help but smile a little as he inclined his head toward their two friends knowingly. 

Ginny herself was rather pink, but she looked delighted as she grabbed Blaise’s hand and led him to the table.  She plopped herself on his lap as Hermione cut slices of cake and handed them around to the group.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” came Theo’s voice a moment later.  Hermione and Luna nodded in agreement, while Blaise and Ginny ignored him.  She was busy feeding him cake from his fork.

“How long do you think they’re going to be like that?” came Malfoy’s voice again in her ear.  He had sidled up to Hermione to accept his cake, though he hadn’t tried it yet.

“Ginny is affectionate,” confessed Hermione.  “She and Harry were always all over each other.  It used to drive Ron mad.”

“And you?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged.  “It can be a little much, but for the most part I think it’s rather sweet.”

“So you’d be willing to feed a bloke cake, is that it?” he teased.

She turned to look at him squarely.  “I could.”

“I dare you.”

His eyes had an unholy twinkle in them.  Once again he was teasing her, but this time it didn’t feel malicious.  It didn’t cross any lines.  Hermione just rolled her own eyes and huffed for a moment as she grabbed the fork from his hands and speared a piece of his cake on it.

“Open up then,” she demanded.

“Very romantic, Granger,” he said dryly.

“Less talking, more eating, Malfoy.”

Something in the air shifted around them at these words, and Hermione couldn’t quite understand why.  But Malfoy bit his lip for a moment before saying, “Alright then,” and dropped his mouth open.

Hermione placed the fork in his mouth, and his lips closed around it, his eyes never leaving her face.  He quietly groaned in a terribly inappropriate way, and Hermione’s cheeks flushed as heat traveled down her neck to…

No.  It was madness.

And yet, as Draco Malfoy licked the cake off the end of the fork Hermione couldn’t help but imagine feeding him with just her fingers and feeling his tongue wrap around them.

She waited for the panic to start, but it didn’t.  And the sudden realization that Malfoy’s lips around her fingers didn’t terrify her almost terrified her.  Almost.

“Well?” she asked, and she was chagrined to hear her voice had gone a little breathless.

“Sublime,” he said.  “Hopefully it’s not the most delicious thing I will ever eat as Theo claims, but it will surely remain in the top five.”

“Oh?” she asked, as her heart was inexplicably racing.  “And what could be more delicious than this?”

Malfoy said nothing, but grabbed her free hand and raised it to his lips to kiss as he studied her. 

Hermione’s eyes widened.  She glanced back at the others to see if they had noticed, but Ginny and Blaise were utterly wrapped up in each other and Theo and Luna were busy getting an additional slice of cake.

Hermione swallowed hard.  “You keep saying it’s not a crush,” she said quietly.

“It’s not,” he said comfortably.

Then what is it? she wanted to ask, but the words died on her lips.  The only other possibility she could think of was fulfillment of the thing she had asked him to do.

But that didn’t seem quite right either.  Everything he did was intense and focused.  He was perfectly pleasant to Ginny and Luna, but he ignored them for the most part and seemed perpetually locked in on Hermione.  It was maddening, and she knew she should ask.

But no.  Not now.

Her heart was pounding, and she felt him stroking the inside of her wrist.  She was certain he could feel it.  Sure enough…

“Calm,” he said.  “Breathe.  Your pulse is like that bird you’re going to become… it positively skitters for me.  But let’s bring it down a notch, yes?”

Hermione focused on her breathing, and soon it slowed.

“There it is,” he said encouragingly.  “So much better.  Don’t ever be frightened of me.”

“Not even when…” she glanced back at their friends again.

Malfoy’s lips quirked up.  “Why does it bother you what they see?  Theo and Luna have been sharing a bed since the day she arrived.  And Merlin knows we’re about to experience the joys of public displays of affection from Ginny and Blaise.  A peck on the hand or cheek shouldn’t signify.”

Hermione felt a moment of terrible disappointment at his words.

It shouldn’t signify.  Because it’s not a crush.

Hermione nodded and lowered her gaze.  He released her hand and cupped her chin.  When she raised her eyes again reluctantly, she saw that his own gaze had sharpened.

“Tell me what just happened, Hermione.”

Hermione hesitated.  She didn’t want to.  She couldn’t bear for him to guess that she might be developing a crush on him, when he didn’t have one on her.  It would be mortifying.  It would mean that her plan for him to help her would have to stop.  It would cross too many lines.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Hermione…” he warned.

She closed her eyes and scrambled.  “You said it didn’t signify.  I just thought… well it would be important to me… you know, because of my problems and…”

His thumb stroked her cheek, and her eyes opened to find him staring at her intently.  “I meant it wouldn’t signify to them.  Theo and Luna are having plenty of sex.  I wish I could obliviate myself to forget some of the things he’s told me about it.  I reckon Ginny and Blaise are headed that direction very soon.  I meant that they would hardly notice a few pecks.  I wasn’t speaking of you or me.”

Hermione’s stomach unclenched.  “Oh…” she breathed.  “Alright then.”

He cocked his head to watch her a moment longer, and then nodded to himself.  “Better.  Talk to me, yeah?  I’d much rather fix something before it becomes a big problem.”

Hermione dipped her head, flushing a little.  She was sure he was referencing their fight about her animagus form. 

Malfoy released her, and they carried the rest of their cake over to the table.  It was delicious, truly, and it was surprisingly nostalgic.  Mrs. Weasley made the same cake for every birthday every year.  It was always a decadent chocolate with sticky, perfect icing.  As usual, Hermione could hardly finish her slice because it was so rich.

It was only as the party was winding down that the last birthday gift arrived: an announcement from Malfoy.

“You three have done well with your training,” he said, glancing at the girls who exchanged pleased looks.  “You’re all at least moderately proficient at occlumency, and I’d wager you could properly filet a wizard if he looked at you the wrong way."

Hermione and the others grinned at this.

“The animagus forms will come, but I did promise Hermione that it wasn’t necessary for them to be complete before I let you three out of here.”

Their eyes widened, and Hermione’s heart started to race, but this time it was from excitement and not nerves.

“There’s a gathering this weekend,” he added, “here at Malfoy Manor.  It will be marked Death Eaters and maybe a few boons.  There will be waitstaff helping.”

Everyone’s eyes were trained on Malfoy as he spoke.

“Since this is the first time, we will conceal you as staff.  You’ll be disguised, obviously.  I won’t lie,” he added, now looking directly at Hermione, “you will be oggled, and there may be an innocent touch or two.”

Hermione’s stomach curdled.  

“But it won’t be much,” he added, “and if you attract too much attention, one of us will pull you.”

“What do you mean, pull us?” asked Ginny.

Malfoy shrugged.  “Some of the waitstaff give special attention to certain Death Eaters for extra tips.  It’s nothing gratuitous, and it’s entirely up to the staff whether to engage beyond what they are paid by me to do.  If the other Death Eaters don’t behave, then Theo will pull Luna, Blaise will pull Ginny, and I’ll pull Hermione.  You three will just pretend to give us attention in that case, and then the others will be certain to leave you alone.  I doubt it will come to that though because the others know the rules.  The staff for this one is all mine, and I don’t fuck around.”

Hermione took a deep breath as she thought about that.  

I can do this, she thought.  If it gets to be too much, I’ll just go to Malfoy or alert Theo.

This was exactly what Hermione had been practicing for.

“And what do you need us to do there?” asked Luna, “other than serve drinks and such?”

Now Malfoy’s gaze fell on her.  “I need you to dose a few key Death Eaters with veritaserum.  The elves can’t do it because there’s no guarantee the right drink will go to the right person.  They are kept out of sight and my head of staff checks everything before it goes out into the room.  I don’t trust her loyalties or those of the other waitstaff who could help with this.  You’ll need to make sure our targets have had a few drinks before you do it so that they think it was the alcohol that made them spill their secrets.  And it won’t be all of them or that would be too suspicious – we will be selective.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she started to smile slowly.

“And to help,” he added, “your training for the next few days will be with a special guest.”

All three witches looked shocked at this.

“Who is it?” demanded Hermione.

Malfoy just smirked.  “You’ll see.”

Chapter Text

It didn’t matter how much the girls begged and pleaded – all three wizards were mute when it came to Malfoy’s special guest.

Hermione’s initial reaction – a very slight panic that somebody would discover them – immediately calmed and transformed into deep curiosity once she realized Theo and Blaise knew who the mystery guest was too, and neither of them seemed concerned.  On the contrary, all three wizards appeared amused by the girls’ collective frustration.

As the party broke up, Hermione made one last attempt to wrangle the truth out of them and zeroed in on Malfoy.

“Hey,” she said, catching his hand as he was about to disappear through the door into his room.

He turned in surprise and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Why won’t you tell me?” she asked, and she tried her best to affect a slight pout.  It was slightly ruined by a flash of Lavender Brown’s face in her mind’s eye.  She had seen Lavender do this dozens of times, and the memory made her sad.

Malfoy, however, didn’t seem to notice her distress and simply cocked his head to study her expression with curiosity.

“Well this is a fascinating development,” he murmured.

“What?” she asked innocently.  “I just want to know.”

His eyes narrowed, and she tried again.

“I mean, I’m safe here, and I don’t know about letting somebody else behind the wards… I want to know that it will be alright.”  Again, she gave him a pleading look, and he stepped very close to her.

“Hermione Granger,” he sighed, as he placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his.  “You little liar.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, and she gasped.  “I beg your pardon!”

He just smirked.  “You’re not scared.  I know precisely what you look like when you’re scared.  You turn pale and your heart races and you tremble.  But I see none of those things right now.  You’re just curious.”

She scowled, and he had the audacity to laugh at her.

“I want to know,” she demanded.

“By all means, do your best to convince me to tell you.”

This made Hermione falter.  “How?”

He gave a careless shrug.  “How indeed?”

Hermione bit her lip, and he watched with amusement as she tried to think of something she could trade or give up in exchange for learning about it.  She knew it was stupid – she would find out the following day regardless – but she was an intensely curious person, and she just had to know.

Then an idea struck her.

“What if I just say please… Draco?” she asked innocently.

The effect was instantaneous.  Malfoy’s – no, Draco’s – eyes grew huge and dark, and he huffed an exhale as he stared down at her in disbelief.  His hand moved to her face and gripped it.  

“Say that again,” he demanded.

“Draco…” she said with a little smile.

“Fuck…” he muttered to himself.  “Fuck, I just…it’s meant to be a surprise…”

“Please,” she begged.  “Please Draco.”

He shut his eyes at this and seemed to sway a little as his hand dropped from her face to her neck.  His touch was firm, but not threatening, and after a moment of uncertainty she calmed her racing heart.

“One more time,” he whispered.  “Beg me for it one more time…”

“Please Draco,” she said sincerely.  “I want it so badly.”

He groaned quietly.  “Alright, I’ll tell you on one condition.”

“What’s that?” she asked, hardly daring to believe her plan had actually worked.

“You don’t call me Malfoy anymore unless you’re cross with me.  We’re on a first-name basis now.”

“Okay,” she agreed easily. 

She wasn’t exactly sure what was happening between them, but she could tell that something in their dynamic was shifting at this very moment.  Calling him by his first name was no great burden.  All of the others did it, more often than not.  It was only Hermione and occasionally Ginny who still referred to him by his surname.  Still, he seemed to view it as momentous.  Some keen, innate part of Hermione – the part of her that liked hair ribbons and the scent of orange blossom and was distinctly female – was positively enamored by his reaction.  He was putty in her hands like this, and she allowed him to step a bit closer, his fingers still around her neck.  She felt his face drop to the top of her head.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he murmured into her hair, tightening his grip on her neck ever so slightly.  Her breath caught from his words and his hand.  Something about it both terrified and thrilled her.  As usual he felt her heart rate pick up under his fingers.  “Easy there… stay nice and calm for me… there you go… Gods, I just…  okay, I’ll tell you.”

As Hermione waited eagerly his hand finally dropped from her neck and laced into hers.  He took a few breaths in an effort to compose himself.

“It’s Nita,” he finally said.  “She’s quite trustworthy and would never harm any of you.”

Hermione stepped back so she could see his face clearly, her eyes lighting up at this.

“Nita!” she said with delight.  “Truly?  Oh it will be lovely to see her again!”

He smiled softly at her reaction.

“Truly.”

“Excellent,” she said.  “I was a bit afraid it was your mum, to be perfectly honest.”

He surprised her with a bark of laughter.  “No!  Not yet, at any rate.  Just Nita.”

Hermione beamed.  “Well I feel much better now that I know who it is.”

He gave her a fond, though exasperated look.  “Don’t pretend like you were actually afraid.  You know I would never let somebody through those wards who would harm you.”

She flushed a little.  “I suppose that’s true.  But Draco…” she glanced at him and saw his eyes were shining at the use of his first name, “I’m more excited now that I know.  Honestly, I despise surprises.  The anticipation is much better when I know what’s coming.”

He smiled wryly.  “I’ll bear that in mind.”  Then he turned serious for a moment.  “Will you be able to handle yourself around the other Death Eaters?”

Hermione gathered her courage and nodded firmly.  “Yes.  And if not, I’ll go to you or call for Theo through our bond if I can’t find you.”

His eyes shone with pleasure and a little relief at this.  “That’s exactly what I want you to do.  Now then, get some rest tonight and enjoy your training with Nita over the next few days while you prepare.  Her skills are… rather unique.”

He smirked at this last tidbit, as though he knew something she didn’t.  She scowled a little, realizing that he must not have told her everything.  He just chuckled and kissed the back of her hands before stepping through the door to his room.

“Sleep well tonight, Hermione.  Sweet girls should always have sweet dreams.”

******

Nita was a woman of many surprises.

The first surprise came right after Hermione and Draco walked into the training room the next day.

“Buongiorno Mamma,” came Blaise’s voice from behind her.

Hermione whipped around to stare at Blaise in amazement.

“Nita is your mother?” she gasped.

The three wizards and Nita all laughed at her expression.  Luna looked mildly curious.  Ginny, however, looked incredibly nervous as Nita’s deep blue eyes settled on her.

“Si,” answered Nita, who was still studying Ginny.  “Blaise is my only son.”

Hermione swiveled her head between them.  They looked absolutely nothing alike.

“But… but you’re… and she’s…” 

Hermione was struggling to find a graceful way to say the thing she wanted to say.

Nita, mercifully, seemed to understand the direction of Hermione’s thoughts.

“True Veela are all female,” she said simply.  “When we have boys, they are human like their fathers.  It is only the girls that carry our magic.”

Hermione’s head was still swiveling between the handsome, dark-skinned wizard and his utterly stunning, ageless mother with her fair skin and silvery hair.

“So you’re part-Veela,” she said, scowling at Blaise.

“Is that a problem?” he challenged.

Hermione threw up her hands.  “Not at all!  Except you acted like some bloody pureblood prick for years while we were at Hogwarts!  Just like Nott and Malfoy here, by the way.”

“Hey!” the other wizards said, and she turned to glare at them both.  

“Hush, I’m cross with you too.  All three of you are just bloody actors aren’t you?  Nott’s really a muggleborn, Zabini’s part-Veela, and soon Malfoy is going to tell me he’s really a werewolf.  We’ll have the trifecta won’t we?”

There was a slightly awkward silence, and she zeroed in on Malfoy.  “Are you a werewolf?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Of course not!”  

He had a suspicious look on his face, and she glared at him.

“I’m not,” he insisted.  “I just… had a close call once, that’s all.”

“Vampire?” she asked.

“No,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Zombie?”

“What the fuck is a zombie?”

“It’s a bit like an inferius,” supplied Luna.

Malfoy scowled.  “I’m not dead.”

“Half-blood then,” said Hermione, eyes still narrowed.

“Why on earth would you guess inferius before half-blood?” he demanded.

“Because that one seems more likely…” she trailed off as she realized he hadn’t denied it, and then her eyes got huge.  “You are a half-blood!”

“No!  I’m precisely who you think I am!  Draco Malfoy, pureblood, only son of Lucius and Narcissa.”

“Except you pretended to hate muggleborns for years,” pointed out Hermione.  “So it’s not exactly the same!”

He waved her off.  “You know why I did that.  Now if you’re quite finished, I believe you lot have a lesson?”

Hermione flushed, as she realized that all the others were watching the two of them bicker with amusement.

“Fine,” she huffed.  “But I’m still annoyed with all three of you.  Yes, including you, Draco.”

At the sound of his first name, his expression eased, and he gave her a teasing smile.  “I’ll find a way to manage.  Nita?"

“Of course,” she said, her eyes twinkling.  “If the witches would gather around me, please?”

Hermione, Ginny, and Luna approached Nita a bit cautiously.  Ginny was chewing her lip raw, and Hermione nudged her slightly in a silent show of moral support.

“One at a time so I can enhance the spell before we begin.”

Hermione stepped forward first, remembering what this was like.  Nita placed her hand on Hermione’s head, and once again Hermione felt that wonderful heat seep into her as though all the broken parts of her were being knitted back together.  The sharp twinge below her navel told her that the protection spell had been cast again.

Hermione stepped back, feeling far more at peace than she had been, and then Luna and Ginny stepped forward in turn.  With Ginny, Nita took a bit longer, though she said nothing as the redhead was thoroughly examined.

“Now then,” said Nita, turning to the wizards once she was done.  “You three may leave us.  Come check in an hour.”

The wizards exchanged glances with each other.

“Mamma,” said Blaise, “we would rather stay and–”

“No,” said Nita, cutting him off.  “These are women’s secrets.”

Hermione caught Draco’s eye, and she could tell by the look on his face that he would be questioning her thoroughly about this later on.  However, none of the three wizards dared contradict Nita, so they nodded and turned to leave.  Theo’s voice pushed into Hermione’s head just as they left.

Call for me if you need us.

I will, she replied, and she saw Theo nod toward Draco a little as they were exiting.

“very well,” said Nita, as she looked at the three witches.  “I understand that you will be going undercover as it were, to pull secrets out of Death Eaters.  The boys have asked me to assist you with this.  I am… rather adept at such things.”

Because she’s gorgeous, thought Hermione, still staring at the Veela with some amazement.

“It’s not just beauty, though that is part of it,” acknowledged Nita, as though sensing Hermione’s train of thought.  “All three of you are quite beautiful enough as it is, and I will be sure to tell the boys not to hide your beauty when they disguise you.  Therefore, beauty is not something we should concern ourselves with over the next few days.  Instead, you must learn a certain presence.  A way of carrying oneself.  It is about discovering what makes men weak and exploiting it.  And it is learning some sleight of hand to move things along.”

Hermione was spellbound.  She glanced at Luna and Ginny and saw they too were fascinated by this speech.  Involuntarily Hermione remembered the previous night, when she felt like Draco would give her anything at all simply because she used his first name.

Discover what makes men weak.

“Now you three will be posing as waitresses,” she said.  “I understand that means there will be plenty of looking, but minimal touching unless you permit it. Not that I believe any of our three wizards will permit it,” she said with a knowing smile.  “And that means your presence must be magnetic so that the Death Eaters wish for you to be in their vicinity.  They must want you to stay serving them, even when you do not permit them to touch you.  You must distract them with your faces and bodies so that they do not notice what you are doing with your hands.”

Here, Nita held out three rings and handed them out to each of the girls.

“This is how you will spike their drinks,” she said.  “The rings are hollow and can hold enough veritaserum for three drinks each.  I understand that all three of you have some wandless magic.  You will need it to open the tiny door at the bottom of the rings just here and release a few drops into the drinks as you pass them to your victims.  That way there will be no mistakes.”

Hermione took her ring and stared at it curiously.  It was rounded and plain, cast in gold, with a small divot that Hermione supposed was the trapdoor.  It would be just large enough to allow one drop at a time to make its way out of the chamber.  It had no engravings or gems and was entirely unremarkable.  

“The Borgias did something like this,” she said thoughtfully.  “They were muggles of course, but quite famous.  Supposedly Lucrezia Borgia used a hollow ring to poison any number of the Borgias’ enemies.  Historical accounts conflict though – some believe it wasn’t true and that she’s been labeled a murderess without any real evidence.”

“Oh it was quite true,” said Nita lightly.  “My great-great grandmother was never one to suffer fools.”

Her blue eyes were twinkling, and Hermione stared at her in disbelief.  “But…”

“Veela live longer than witches and wizards,” she said gently.  “Lucrezia was herself a Veela.  She was the daughter of a Pope and his mistress, who was a Veela too.  She was renowned as a great beauty and had several marriages, both magical and muggle.  She had ten children, seven of whom survived infancy, and only one of her surviving children was a girl.  That girl became a nun in the muggle world for a time, and after becoming disenchanted with that lifestyle she turned back to her Veela heritage and disappeared from the muggle world to continue our line.  She was my great grandmother, of course.”

Hermione was utterly fascinated.

“That’s just… gracious.”

Nita laughed lightly.  “Let’s just say that poison is a skill that runs in the family.”

At this, Hermione went cold, and only now did she remember the rumors about Blaise Zabini’s mother: Nita had seven previous husbands who died under suspicious circumstances.  She was a serial killer – a black widow – just as dangerous, if not more so, than the wizards they were living with.  And now she was about to let the witches in on her secrets.

The cognitive dissonance was unbelievable.  Hermione instinctively trusted Nita, felt safe around her.  She was all that was good and light and magnetic.

Magnetic.

Hermione realized it was Nita’s presence that was so compelling.  No doubt her Veela magic helped her seem trustworthy too, but that wasn’t everything.  It was the way she carried herself.  It was her confidence and assuredness.  She was graceful, angelic, enthralling. 

And yet, her method of murder – presumably poison – had been administered many times to the men she had actually married.

God.

“Let us begin,” said Nita, gesturing that all three should slip on their rings as she levitated a tray of glasses filled with water over to them.  “Hermione, you first, my dear, and no need to look so pale.  Nobody is asking you to murder our Death Eater friends just yet.”

Yet.

Hermione gulped.

******

Nita’s lessons were like nothing Hermione had ever imagined.  

They started with the most important task of learning to use their rings.  They used a muggle medical syringe — Hermione was sure that was Theo’s idea — to fill them with dark tea so they could see what they were doing while they practiced.  It took only a few tries before all three witches could wordlessly and wandlessly open and close the little trap door, and then they practiced dropping tea into a glass of water as they held it to pass to an unsuspecting Death Eater.  

They were lucky that veritaserum was odorless and colorless.  It would be entirely undetectable once inside the drinks and was fairly subtle while being added.  But it would still produce a small splash and that was why Nita returned the second day to teach them the next thing on her list: methods of distraction.

“Veela have an advantage here,” she admitted.  “Our magic can charm men who have not been socialized to it.”

“Socialized to it?” asked Ginny curiously.  

After a full day of Nita treating her no differently than the others, Ginny had warmed up to her.

“Yes,” said Nita.  “Men who are raised around Veelas or have sufficient exposure before puberty are not as susceptible to our magic.  Blaise’s head will never be turned by a Veela more than any other woman.  Theo and Draco are not entirely immune to Veela magic, but they will fare much better than most, as they both spent a couple of summers with me and Blaise after their first and second years of Hogwarts.  It was sufficient exposure to give them very good resistance, and they interact with me enough that they have continued to build it.”

Involuntarily Hermione remembered Ron and Harry encountering their first Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup.  They had both looked ready to fling themselves from the top box to join them, as had most of the other Weasley brothers.

Hermione had been incredibly irritated with both of them and had spun around to see the reactions of others in the box. She remembered her gaze landing on Draco, who had been glaring at her and totally ignoring the dancing Veelas at the match.  At the time she hadn’t thought much of it.  It was certainly not the first time she turned to find him scowling in her direction.  But now that she considered it she realized just how strange that had been.  She knew that Nita must be right, and he had at least some immunity.

It was an oddly comforting thought.

What she still didn’t know, however, was why he had been staring at her that day instead of watching the entertainment on the field.  Then again, he had always stared at her, hadn’t he?  

She sighed.

It wasn’t a crush.

She barely heard Luna’s next question.

“What about women who prefer other women?”

Nita gave Luna a knowing smile.  “Our magic is not strong on women.  We may have a certain look and our magic makes us approachable.  But no, Veelas do not affect witches in the same way as wizards, even if those witches have a preference for other women.”

“Fascinating,” murmured Luna.

“Quite,” agreed Nita.  “Now then, just because Veela magic gives us an advantage as it were, that doesn’t mean that witches such as yourselves can’t use your assets to distract a target.”

And then Nita launched into a lecture and demonstration that Hermione listened to with growing incredulity.  

A simple glance that called a man’s attention to her face.

A slight maneuvering of the arms to press her breasts up.

A cocktail napkin that falls on the floor and a bend to pick it up.

A toss of the head to expose the neck.

A coy look and shy smile to draw a man in just enough.

On and on she went, making the girls practice in the mirror, critiquing and correcting until she was satisfied with each gesture.

It was absurd.  It was ridiculous.  And yet…

Hadn’t Hermione seen other women do this?  Hadn’t she watched her two best friends fall for precisely these tricks?  Hadn’t she done something very similar to Draco to tease information out of him?  He transformed into something entirely malleable whenever she offered a smile or trusting expression.  He latched onto any invitation for affection or physical contact.

“All men have weaknesses.  Find them,” insisted Nita.

Hermione was starting to wonder if she was Draco’s weakness.  Some part of her still couldn’t believe it, but he had melted for her one too many times for her to truly dismiss the thought.  

If it’s not a crush then what is it?

Hermione didn’t have the answers, but she wondered if Nita was giving her the tools to push him in that direction if he wasn’t already on his way.  The thought made Hermione both eager and anxious.  She wasn’t confident in using her body that way, especially not when the wizard who was her target might be somebody she cared about.

But maybe she could…

No.  The very thought was madness.  

Not only madness, but it would be a terrible distraction to her just before her first mission.  She could not afford ruminations and daydreams about coaxing Draco to kiss her somewhere else.

She snapped to attention just in time to hear Nita’s final piece of advice.

“And if your mark does not fall for these tricks, then you can turn to the biggest one of all: use each other.”

“Pardon?” asked Hermione in confusion.

Nita gestured toward the three witches.  “Give each other the attention you would otherwise give to them.  You three are familiar with each other, no?”

Hermione turned crimson as she realized just how much Nita must have observed in their minds.

“Yes, but we don’t feel that way about each other.” said Ginny.

Nita gave a careless shrug.  

“And?  You have no feelings for the Death Eaters you are meaning to distract either.  If there is an occasion where touching becomes absolutely necessary to draw their attention, it is better to do it to each other than to them.”

All three witches absorbed this piece of advice.

“We certainly wouldn’t hurt each other…” said Luna slowly.  “We trust each other implicitly.”

“And the boys wouldn’t retaliate,” added Hermione quietly.  “If a Death Eater does it, they’d be just as likely to throw a knife as use their words to stop it.”

“Precisely,” agreed Nita.  “You should consider it a tool in your arsenal, that’s all.  At the very least, it would give you the element of surprise, and that will serve to distract them for a few seconds.”

Hermione was quiet as their final lesson before their first mission concluded.  There was no question she struggled with this more than Ginny and Luna did.  She had confidence in her mind, not her body.  The most intimate sexual experience of her young life was non-consensual and terrifying.  Innocent jokes about breasts had triggered her not that long ago.

She was sure that she would bugger this up.  And the whole plan made her feel dirty.

“Hermione, dear, stay back please,” said Nita as the wizards came to collect them at the end of their last lesson.  Draco shot her a questioning look, and she just shrugged as she turned toward Nita.  His eyes narrowed a little, but he hung back while Nita waved her hand and cast a privacy charm over the two of them.

“Hermione, you’re worried,” she said.  It wasn’t a question.

Hermione sighed.  “It’s just… this is so far out of my comfort zone.  Even before Cormac I’m just… not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“Sexual.  Pretty.  I don’t know!  I was always the smart one, not the attractive one.  It feels wrong.”

Nita contemplated her.  “Why does it feel wrong to use your body as it was intended?”

Hermione blinked at this question.  “Pardon?” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say to this.

“Your body.  It was made for sex, correct?”

Hermione considered this.

“I've never thought of it that way.”

“Tell me what your own mother has said to you about it.”

Hermione shrugged a little uncomfortably.  The topic of her parents was still painful.  “She just explained it to me once.  That was all.”

“And yet you feel shame when you think of it.”

“Maybe a little…” admitted Hermione.  “I’m not exactly a scarlet woman.”

Nita’s mouth quirked at this.  “An amusing expression.  Tell me: who called you that?”

Hermione blinked and stared at Nita in surprise.  “Nobody has called me that directly, but it was implied once.  Rita Skeeter wrote some nasty articles about me, and Ginny’s mum read them.  She is rather conservative and…” she trailed off.

“Oh yes, I’m quite aware,” said Nita wryly.  “I have seen it all in Ginevra’s mind.  But she has chosen to ignore those labels and experiment in natural ways despite her mother’s comments.  You, however, have chosen to internalize it.  I wonder why.”

Hermione stared off into space.  Nita was perceptive, intuitive.  There was no question her Veela magic helped her with this, but then again… she was right.  Hermione had internalized certain ideas about sex.

“I think… it might be because my best friends were boys.  I’m not totally clueless, I know there were always rumors about us.  But they weren’t true.  At most I had a crush on Ron for a time, but it was fairly innocent.  I just never thought of them that way, regardless of the rumors.”

“And so it affected your perception of sex,” said Nita.  “You went out of your way to prove your relationship with them was not sexual, and in doing so you closed yourself off to experimentation with any wizards, especially the ones you were closest to.”

“Yes.  And the thing Cormac did…”

“Was an act of violence, and nothing about it was legitimately sexual.”

“Wasn't it?” challenged Hermione.

Nita raised one eyebrow.  “It was a cruel expression of power, my dear.  There was no pleasure for you in it, nor did he intend for there to be.  Sex is meant to be enjoyable.  You must have some agency over it to have legitimacy.”

“He stripped me naked and groped me,” she insisted.  "He wanted me for his boon, and Draco told him no."

“Yes he did do that.  But if someone who cared about you stripped you naked and touched you intimately, would they have done it to you like that?  Would you react the same way?  What Mr. McLaggen did to you was unforgivable.  But you must not allow it to make you believe that sex is dirty or shameful.  He was exerting power over you in a violent way.  Legitimate sexual experiences are consensual and pleasurable for all parties, whatever form they happen to take.  That is true even when the sex involves uneven power dynamics with whips and chains and the like.”

Hermione was quiet as she absorbed this, and involuntarily her eyes drifted toward Draco who was leaning against the wall and watching them intently.  He couldn’t hear the conversation, but he was tracking her every expression.

If Draco stripped her naked and touched her like that would she feel as violated as the day Cormac had done it?

No.  Because he would never hurt you.  He would make sure you wanted it first and enjoyed it.  And you have a crush on him.

Dammit.

Hermione shoved the thought away.  It wasn’t the time.

“So you think I should what… embrace sex for these missions?”

Nita raised one eyebrow.  “Our species is dependent upon sex, is it not?  At least some of us must embrace it if we are to survive.  In any event, the notion that it is perverse or should be put on a pedestal is entirely wrong in my view.  It is yet another way men have sought to have power over us because being physically stronger isn’t enough.  Removing us from history books isn’t enough.  Bearing titles and owning property isn’t enough.  They try to control our sexuality too and in doing so women often internalize it.  Molly Weasley’s beliefs about those so-called scarlet women are not necessarily ill-intentioned, but they are incorrect.  Sex is perfectly natural, and it is just one way in which we as women can even the score a little bit.  We should be proud of that.  We should seek our own pleasure when we wish it.  We should view ourselves as beautiful, desirable, and powerful.  And when it comes to something like this mission of yours, we should not hesitate to leverage every advantage our sexuality can give to us.  Haven’t you considered why the boys have asked you three to do this in the first place?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow.  She had wondered, but hadn’t asked.  She didn’t want them to have second thoughts about involving her in a mission.

“It’s because all three of them understand how powerful a beautiful woman can be,” said Nita, answering her own question.  “They have all spent enough time around me to observe just how quickly a man can fall to a woman’s charms.  But they also know that the other Death Eaters underestimate it, and that presents a vulnerability that can be exploited.  The things you will be doing take acting and skill and reliance on your natural physical gifts in order to be successful without giving away the game.  It requires bravery and cunning and a deeply held belief that your sexuality is only yours.  Someday you may wish to share it with another person or even give it to that person to control.  But nobody can ever take that power from you without your consent, regardless of what they may say or do to you.”

Hermione was nearly breathless as she listened to Nita.  Nobody had ever spoken this way before.  Sex had always been faintly embarrassing to her before Cormac and then it became positively shameful.  But listening to Nita she realized that it didn’t have to be that way. 

“You’re saying that it’s not something to be afraid of,” said Hermione slowly, “and using my body to distract and manipulate evil men like the Death Eaters does not make me dirty.  It makes me smart, because I can control it.  They may look at me or try to touch me, but they will never truly have me.  That makes me more powerful than them because I have something they want, and I’m the only one who can give it to them.  Even Cormac didn’t take that away from me.”

Nita smiled with satisfaction.  “Precisely, my dear.  Reclaim that control.  Take it for yourself and know that only you can relinquish it.  You are a beautiful, brilliant young woman.  That makes you far more powerful than any man.  And if you need another boost, I can assist.”

“How?” asked Hermione curiously.

“I can give you a bit of Veela magic, if you wish.  It will not be nearly as strong as mine and will not necessarily attract men who do not already find you compelling.  But it should help you find confidence in your task.”

Hermione paused and considered this.

“If you don’t mind… yes, please.  I think I could use it, at least for this first mission.  I’ve been absolutely convinced I’m going to do something wrong.”

Nita smiled softly, and she placed her hands back on Hermione’s head.  With another pulse of magic, Hermione felt an odd sensation move through her.  It was similar to that day Nita had healed her after Cormac, but this time it was more subtle than that.  She thought about the mission and felt calm and in control.  She thought about her physical appearance and knew that she was beautiful.  She contemplated what it would be like to spike a Death Eater’s drink, and she wasn’t afraid.

This was brilliant.

Hermione smiled broadly and thanked Nita, who just gave her a serene nod of acknowledgment.

Then her thoughts turned to something she knew she shouldn’t ask.  But Nita was being open and generous with her, and Hermione seized the opportunity.

“Nita…” she started, “may I ask you something rather personal?”

“You wish to know why I murdered my husbands,” said Nita calmly.

Hermione blinked.  “Erm, yes.  If it’s not too nosy.”

“Oh it’s quite nosy, but I don’t mind.  Let’s see.  I’ve been married seven times.  Two of them died of natural causes: my first husband and my last — Blaise’s father.  The husbands in the middle were the unsatisfactory ones.”

Hermione gave her a bemused look as Nita ticked them off her fingers.  

“Antonio I killed because he struck me.  Bernardo took a mistress.  She knew he was married, so she suffered an unfortunate accident too of course.  Giovanni hid gambling debts from me, the fool.  Gabriel was a pathological liar and fraudster — though he did manage to swindle three other men out of their properties before he died so he wasn’t entirely useless.  And finally, Matteo turned to drink after he lost his position in the Italian Ministry.  He was beyond help, I’m afraid.”

She was calm and clearheaded as she gave this recital.

Hermione swallowed hard.  “And Blaise’s father?” asked Hermione.

“Lorenzo. The light of my life,” said Nita with a soft smile.  “I thought I loved my first husband, who was killed in a riding accident soon after we were wed.  And I did love Liam, truly, but we were both so young, and ours was an innocent love.  By the time I met Lorenzo I was older, more experienced.  I had sworn off marriage, having been disappointed over and over again.  But Lorenzo tore down all of my barriers and inserted himself into my heart in a way none of the others had ever managed.  He treated me like his queen.  He was kind to me, intelligent, and utterly smitten.  He could be cruel to others — for the world had been cruel to him before I met him — but he was never cruel to me.  He used to call me his principessa.  I was happy to have a child with him, and he adored Blaise with all of his heart.  He would tell me that I gave him his greatest gift.”

Hermione felt a rush of sympathy for her loss.

“He succumbed to a severe case of spattergroit mere weeks after we moved to the English countryside for his job,” she added.  “Blaise was three.  Lorenzo had been so excited about the move that I decided to bury him at the cottage we bought for our new adventure together, and I stayed there to raise Blaise, though of course we spent ample time in Italy as well.”

Hermione found herself empathizing with this woman who had killed at least five husbands and one mistress.  Nita was good, she decided, serial killing notwithstanding. 

“Thank you for telling me,” said Hermione.

Nita gave her a knowing smile.  “Your curiosity is a credit to you, my dear.  Now I wish you luck on your upcoming mission.”

Hermione smiled and turned once again to find Draco watching her, now with a single eyebrow raised.

She said farewell to Nita, who canceled their privacy spell, as she walked toward Draco who reached for her hand.

Perhaps it was Veela magic or maybe it was the speech Nita had given to her, but for the first time ever, Hermione recognized her own power in the act.  Draco was the one taking her hand, but she was the one allowing him to do it.  Just like Nita had said, she could rescind that privilege at any moment.  She had done it before, and she remembered how agitated it made him, how desperate.  Even her own brother had wilted under Hermione’s anger and disapproval, and there would never be any attraction between them.

A man who was attracted to her — like she suspected Draco was — could be crushed easily.

They were silent as he laced their fingers, and they made their way back to her room.  Their practice with Nita had been late that day, after dinner, and the sun had already set over the gardens.

As they reached the door to Draco’s room, he turned to her.

“Are you up for this first mission?  Magically speaking, you’re ready.  But if somebody says something untoward or tries to touch you…”

A muscle in his jaw twitched at this, and she sighed.

“I’m a little nervous, but I need to try it.  I do think this is a good way to ease us in.  I don't really fancy showing up as Blaise’s boon, you know.  He would never mistreat me, but I don’t think we would be convincing.”

He inclined his head.  “You’re right, and that’s one reason why we’re doing it this way.  Blaise and I have told the others that we are sharing boons for now.  Eventually we will make the swap official.  Blaise has been rising steadily, and it won’t be much longer until he can claim Ginny without a challenge from one of the others.”

“A challenge?” asked Hermione in confusion.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said simply, squeezing her hand.  “There have been a few boons who have been reshuffled, that’s all.  It’s usually because of a poor hand at cards or a demotion.  When that happens those without boons vie for one.  None of the other Death Eaters have made a direct trade with each other though.  Blaise and I are getting them used to the idea, and we’re waiting until he’s a little higher up before we announce it.”

Hermione blinked, anxiety starting to flood her again.  “Demotion…” she said.  “Does that mean that if you and Blaise… or Theo… they could take us away from you?”

His eyes turned nearly black, as he released her and cupped her face with both of his hands.

“Listen to me very carefully, Hermione.  Nobody – and I mean, nobody – will be taking you three away from us.  Anybody who tries is dead, do you understand me?”

Hermione willed herself to calm down.  His expression was dangerous, almost wild, and she knew it should scare her.  He wasn’t making idle threats.  But instead of feeling fear, she felt wrapped up and safe.  It reminded her of being surrounded by that favorite blanket.  Draco was green and gray and cedar and spice.  She thought she could lose herself in him and be content.

She reached up to cover his hands with hers.  “Thank you,” she said softly.  “Please don’t let them take us away.”

His gaze was fathomless, and she found herself falling into it.  Who was this man and what did he mean to her now?  How had he grown so important in only a few months?  Why did she trust him with her life and safety like this?

Because he will do things Harry and Ron would never have done to keep you here, whispered a small voice in her head.

“I won’t,” he said firmly, “nor Theo or Blaise.  Keeping you three safe is our highest priority.”

She knew it was a promise, and he would die before he broke it.

“Now tell me one more time,” he said, as he allowed her to pull his hands off of her cheeks, “will you be alright around the other Death Eaters?”

Hermione thought about this and nodded slowly.  “Yes.  Though you may be surprised by Nita’s methods.”

“I think a better word is ‘intimidated.’"

Hermione couldn’t help but grin at this, before turning serious.

“I can’t be the Hermione you know tomorrow.”

He cocked his head a little.  “No…” he said slowly.  “I suppose not.”

“I’ll be better.  Stronger.  More powerful.  Nita has given me a boost.”

“You’re already those things.”

“Mmmm,” she said noncommittally.  “But never like this.”

As usual, his eyes were mapping her face, trying to read her and something about his expression made Hermione feel reckless.  Or perhaps it was Veela magic giving her too much confidence.  She knew she should step away from him.  She should not be putting Nita’s lessons to use on him, at least not yet.  

But Hermione had been seized by an idea and could scarcely stop herself.  So instead of stepping away she reached up and slowly untied the ribbon in her hair.  Draco watched her do it with huge eyes, and she wondered if he thought she would keep going.

She didn’t, remembering something Nita had repeated over and over to them over the previous few days, and the Veela magic inside of her told her that it was true.

Less is more.  A wizard’s imagination is a powerful thing.

Hermione unknotted it slowly and then tugged it to pull free from her curls.  She dangled it in front of him for a moment and then draped it around his neck.  She heard his breathing go shallow.

“There,” she said.  “Hermione wears ribbons.  But whoever I will be tomorrow does not.  Keep this one safe for me until I can take it back.”

Draco reached up and clutched it like a lifeline, his knuckles turning white.  He said nothing, apparently at a loss for words.  Hermione stepped back and gave him one of the practiced looks Nita had taught her, and then she smirked as his eyes went dark.

“Good night, Draco,” she said, as she gently shoved him through the door and shut it in his face.

Chapter Text

The wizards suspended normal training the following morning to debrief the witches about their new identities.

“I have a lot of turnover in my staff, and I have already submitted papers for each of you,” said Draco.  “Read these and memorize them.”

Hermione took her paper and glanced down at it.

Name: Annabelle Goodman

Status: Squib

Age: 19

Education: None (Magically inferior)

Family: None (Disowned)

Skills: Waitressing, Serving (Not available for prostitution)

Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow at Draco.  “Really?”

He shrugged.  “Squibs aren’t well-tracked at all.  You and Luna will be posing that way, and Ginny will be posing as a muggleborn who went to Ilvermorny.  You’ll need to pretend to have an American accent,” he added, looking at Ginny.  

“Why not just polyjuice us?” asked Hermione.

All three wizards actually rolled their eyes at this question.

“Because it only lasts an hour before you have to find a way to take another dose.  We can transfigure you to last a full day.  And besides, if something goes wrong you should be in your own body.  It’s really hard to fight while polyjuiced into a different frame.  We’ll only be changing your faces and hair for this.”

Hermione was a bit chagrined to realize they were right.

“Well I think it’s brilliant,” said Ginny, looking at her own papers.  “And I can pretend to be American.  That’s no problem.  I’m Maya Williams.”

“And I’m Fara Singh,” said Luna as she eyed the other girls’ papers.  “None of us are prostitutes then?”

“No,” said Theo rather curtly.

They broke for lunch early and then reconvened in the training room where the wizards set to work transfiguring them before leaving the girls for their regular afternoon duties.

As she stared down the end of Malfoy’s wand, Hermione said, “I wish I could do this myself.”

“You would need a wand for it,” he replied.

“And if you would acquire one for me I would have one,” she pointed out.

“I’m not giving you the opportunity to escape,” he said shortly. 

“You still don’t trust me?” she asked incredulously.

“Would you?” replied Draco.

Hermione said nothing to this, but she just fell into a brooding silence as he continued to work.  He had been short with her all day, as though the closeness from the previous few days had never happened.  Hermione was sure he was on edge about the mission tonight, but she didn’t like being at odds with him.  Then again, the reminder that she was still his prisoner and wandless simply because he wanted her to be was enough to temporarily suppress whatever warm feelings she had been having for him, and not even the Veela magic swirling inside of her could convince her to placate him.  It was true he had trained her and encouraged wandless magic, but her wandless magic would never be strong enough to break his wards or cast an unforgivable curse against Nagini when the time came.  

She needed a wand, and she was certain Draco would never give her one.

Hermione was quiet, thinking about the mission tonight.  She had been excited about it.  He presented it to them as a generous gift and opportunity to do something important for the Order.  But now that the novelty had worn off and the moment was approaching, she finally started asking herself the questions she should have been asking all along: what did this do for Hermione’s mission?  How would this get her closer to the snake?  Other than building some trust with the wizards and a test of competency, it really accomplished nothing.  And her girlfriends were now so close to Theo and Blaise that she didn’t necessarily trust them to help her with it either – the wizards’ missions would surely take priority.

I need to pay attention and use these missions to my advantage.

If Draco wouldn’t give her a wand, then Hermione would have to take one at some point.  It didn’t have to be tonight, she reminded herself.  She wouldn’t be getting close to the snake until she could perform two animagi transformations, and that would take some time.  But if she did a good job tonight then there would be other parties too.  She needed to find the weak link – perhaps a young Death Eater who could be tricked or subdued.  The Veela magic would help with that task, surely.  She also needed to learn the layout of the Manor and discover all the dark alcoves to lure one away using the tricks Nita had taught her.  There were surely parlors that would stay empty or perhaps the library could work.  The Malfoy library was supposed to be famous, after all.  It would be large and secluded with many discrete corners where she could draw in a Death Eater before overpowering and obliviating him.

That’s what she told herself at any rate.

Draco was watching her face closely, and Hermione forced her thoughts away.  None of this would be happening tonight.  This party was about completing the mission, garnering some additional trust with their captors so she would be allowed to do it again, and learning more about the Death Eaters in attendance and the Manor.

“That will work,” Draco finally said in a curt voice.  

Hermione turned to the mirror and found a girl who reminded her of Ginny staring back.  She had thick, dark red hair that hung to the middle of her back.  Her eyes were bright green, much like Harry’s had been.  Her nose was a bit longer, and her skin fairer.  The freckles that used to be scattered across her nose had disappeared.  Her lips were the same and her body the same, though her skin tone had been lightened a smidge to be consistent with her face.  

“She’s attractive,” commented Hermione.  She thought she could work with this, and the Veela magic flared a bit.

Draco did not look pleased.

“I suppose,” he said a bit begrudgingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and then stared at her friends whose transformations were ending as well.  Ginny’s skin had turned chocolatey brown, absolutely flawless with deep eyes that were larger than Ginny’s had been.  Her hair was in short, tight curls and her cheekbones were high.  

“God, you’re stunning, Gin,” said Hermione in amazement.  

“I know, right?  I’m way prettier like this,” she said, admiring herself in the mirror.

Luna looked like the Patil twins’ younger sister, her skin a caramel brown and her black hair pin straight that fell nearly to her waist.  She also had dark, liquid eyes that were huge in her face.  Hermione, however, could still sense traces of Luna underneath Fara’s face.  She retained that air of calm that edged upon dottiness.  Hermione supposed that could never be transfigured away.

“We should be going,” said Theo, checking his watch.  Blaise and Draco both nodded, looking a little tense.

“Right,” said Draco.  “Poppy and Flinky will be here soon to dress you three and arrange your hair and such.  I’ve dropped the wards around my study just for tonight so you can floo from that fireplace directly to the servants’ fireplace near the kitchens at the correct time.  The floo address is Malfoy Manor – Servant’s Quarters.  Do not even think about trying to go anywhere else, because the wards surrounding the Manor will prohibit it, and you’ll be stuck up the chimney.  Once you arrive in the servant’s hall, you will be meeting Mrs. Higgins.  She’s my head of staff and will be expecting you.  Listen to what she tells you to do, but keep a low profile so you don’t draw her attention to you unnecessarily.  You each have your marks, so make a point to serve them and after a couple drinks drop the veritaserum.  Hermione, tell Theo when yours is done through your bond.  Luna and Ginny, either let one of us know directly or tell Hermione, and she’ll let Theo know.”

The girls all nodded.

“Right then, we’ll see you this evening,” he continued.  “Don’t do anything stupid, and if it gets to be too much just signal to us, and we’ll pull you.  I’d rather miss a dose of veritaserum than attract too much unwanted attention.”

“And the last thing,” said Theo, now jumping in, “is to remember that you can’t save everybody.  There may be some boons there – including some people you know.  Don’t act like you know who they are.  Don’t try to help them.  The party tonight should be on the tamer side, but you never know what might happen.  You’re to stay in character and do not interfere except to drop veritaserum.”

Hermione felt a sense of forboding wash over her at this warning, and a quick glance at her friends told her they were feeling the same way.

“Theo’s right,” said Draco, doubling down.  “If any of you break character, we will be pulling you immediately.  Ignore any boons or prostitutes who may show up.”

Hermione swallowed hard and nodded.  The wizards bid them farewell and left, and then Hermione immediately turned to her friends.

“Boons and prostitutes?” she exclaimed.

Ginny and Luna both looked a bit unnerved.  “I suppose it’s to be expected,” said Ginny a bit uncomfortably.

“God that’s not going to be easy,” said Hermione anxiously.

“No, but they are right,” said Luna with surprising firmness.  “We can’t break character.  I’d wager they’re inviting prostitutes to distract the Death Eaters for us.  I suppose they don’t have any control over the boons.”

“Then what the bloody hell was the point of those lessons with Nita?” demanded Hermione with a huff.  

Her friends shrugged.  “I suppose they want us to know what to do in case the prostitutes are otherwise occupied,” said Ginny wryly.

As it was, the afternoon wore on in a decidedly grimmer manner than it began.  Poppy and Flinky soon arrived to arrange the girls’ hair and help them dress in their uniforms for that night.  

Luna’s hair was plaited into several small braids that were woven together to hold her hair out of her face, while the rest of it fell in a sheet down her back.  Ginny’s hair was decorated with a thick, fabric headband in a black, green, and gold pattern.  And Hermione’s was gently curled and left to hang free, though Poppy performed some magic to ensure it would stay out of her face.

Then the elves applied makeup with dark lips and smokey eyes.  Hermione wrinkled her nose at the flavor of the ruby red lipstick.  It tasted like cherry cough syrup, and she knew she would be tasting it all night.  The jewelry came next.  All three girls donned their rings, but they were camouflaged with other pieces that were flashier so they would go unnoticed.  Luna was adorned with gold bangle bracelets and several necklaces.  Ginny had large, chandelier earrings that drew the eye toward her face and neck and two other rings that would surely sparkle in low light.  Hermione was given nothing else except a wide choker and small earrings.  The choker was gold and studded in tiny emeralds.

Their uniforms followed, and Hermione’s eyes widened when she saw what she was expected to wear.  It was a black dress with green and gold piping along the edges, fitted like a second skin.  It was strapless and the neckline plunged to a low sweetheart shape that pushed Hermione’s breasts up so they pillowed over the top and displayed ample cleavage.  The skirt hit mid-thigh and was just long enough to hide the thigh holsters and knives Poppy and Flinky insisted all three girls wear.  

“Well they did say eye-candy,” said Ginny, wrinkling her nose at the outfit in the mirror.

Hermione glanced at her friends who were wearing the same thing, but Hermione knew she was a bit more exposed than they were.  Whereas Blaise and Theo had made a point to remove moles and birthmarks on Ginny and Luna that would identify them, Draco had done nothing like that to Hermione.  Only her skin tone was a bit lighter than usual.  The freckles and beauty marks that dotted her arms and chest were still there.  If it wasn’t for the Veela magic telling her she was capable of doing this, Hermione would have felt far too exposed.

The last thing they put on were the shoes.  Hermione’s remained the original gold.  Ginny’s were charmed green.  Luna’s were charmed black.

“Tis time!” announced Poppy with some anxious hand-wringing.  “We is to take you to Master’s upper study!”

The girls followed the elves out of the training room and down the hall to a door that had always remained closed.  They opened it to find a small, but handsome study, whose walls were lined with books.  Hermione tried to glance at some of the titles as she passed.  She noticed several in runes, others in French, and only a handful of titles in English that she could read before they were hurried to the fireplace.  

All of the books appeared to be dark, and another sense of foreboding washed over Hermione as she observed it.  

Was this the famed Malfoy dark books collection?  Or was this just a sampling?  Had Hermione’s missing books from her beaded bag ended up here?

She tried to find the books about the horcruxes that she had studied so diligently in the tent, but there was no time.  Poppy and Flinky were lining them up at the fireplace one by one.

“Malfoy Manor – Servant’s Quarters!” they cried one at a time.  Hermione went last and stepped out on the other side to find herself in a group of about eight young women, all dressed identically, while elves in pillowcases identical to Poppy’s scurried about.

“Gather round,” said a stern looking woman who reminded Hermione very much of Madam Pince.  She had a beaky nose, sharp eyes, a thin mouth, and her hair was pulled tight into a severe bun.  She looked at Hermione, Ginny, and Luna with some skepticism.

“As you all know, I am Mrs. Higgins.  We have three new servers joining us tonight, though I’ve been told that you are aware of your duties.  You are to serve the Dark Lord’s men upstairs – drink, food, potions – whatever they wish.  You will be the only ones on the floor, other than certain guests who may be invited tonight.  Keep in mind that you are not to interfere with any of the Death Eaters’ pleasure.  The boons are the property of the Death Eaters who own them, and any prostitutes who are in attendance have the right to sell themselves to the highest bidder for the evening.  As usual, you are permitted to give special attention to any Death Eater who takes a shine to you for tips, though you may not go home with them until Mr. Malfoy calls an end to the party.”

The girls nodded, and Hermione’s heart began to thud with anticipation.  

“Now then, you three who are new will be on drinks, along with Caroline over here,” and Mrs. Hughes nodded to a petite blonde.  “The rest of you will be on food, circulating through the guests.  As always, if a Death Eater asks to be served exclusively by just one of you, we will have to accommodate it.”

You can do this Hermione.

Nita’s magic flared.

“Off you go,” said Mrs. Higgins, clapping her hands.  The girls scrambled forward to each collect a small silver tray, and Hermione and her friends hung back a little to follow the veterans through a short hallway and up a flight of stairs, where Hermione could hear music and male laughter floating down the stairwell.  At the top they slipped through a large door nearby to find a masculine-looking parlor, with a couple of card tables set up and several low seats and sofas strewn about.  The lights were dim, and Hermione scanned the small crowd that had already gathered.

Evidently firewhiskey had been set out while waiting for the servers to arrive to take individual orders.  Hermione did a double take when she saw Dolohov seated in one corner with Susan Bones next to him.  She was in a sparkly minidress with a collar and chain.  Hermione saw some bruises on her neck and arms, and her eyes looked dead.  For a moment it was as though the entire room disappeared as Hermione’s attention was pulled to her old acquaintance from the D.A.

“We can’t,” hissed Ginny’s voice in her faux American accent behind her.  “Not yet.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and tried to breathe.  

She was right.  This was so much bigger than Susan.

Still, her stomach was knotted with guilt as Hermione turned away, only to find Malfoy in one corner taking a sip of a drink and staring intently at her.  His eyes met hers for only a moment before they dropped slowly, taking in everything about her.  He wasn’t even pretending to hide the fact that he was looking at her breasts and legs.  Hermione felt heat creeping across her as his gaze lingered on her body, but there was that sense of Veela confidence too as she allowed him to stare.  Other than that single glance to confirm that she saw him, he was totally ignoring her face.

He seemed unwilling to look away, so Hermione was the one who forced herself to turn around once it had been long enough and make note of who else was there.  Rodolphus was in one corner, speaking to Blaise and Theo, both of whom were doing a better job than Draco of ignoring the girls.  Crabbe senior was speaking with both Goyles.  As Hermione watched, Yaxley arrived with Hannah Abbott, who looked almost as bad as Susan.  When Hermione’s horrified gaze fell on her, she saw that Hannah’s cheek was bruised, as though she had been struck.

Hermione swallowed hard and forced herself to turn away as she approached the group with Rodolphus.  He was one of her marks.

“Can I get you anything, sirs?” she asked in a soft voice, dropping her gaze to the floor, just as Nita had taught her.

“Malfoy has a twenty-five year firewhiskey in his cellar,” said Theo in a cold voice.  “Let’s start with that.  It will be better than this swill he’s trying to offload on us.”

“Seconded,” said Blaise.

“And me,” said Rodolphus, who was watching her with considerably more warmth than either Theo or Blaise.  “What’s your name, love?”

“Annabelle,” she said, gracing him with a small smile and slight jut of the hip.  “I’ll be back soon, gentlemen.”

Hermione turned and caught a glimpse of Draco, who was still staring at her.  He wasn’t speaking to anybody, but had settled into a chair, his gaze fixed on her as he tracked her progress back to the kitchens.

What is he doing?

He was supposed to be hosting, for heaven’s sake.  He should be ignoring her, drawing the others into conversation.

She huffed in annoyance, hoping that he would have snapped out of it by the time she returned to the room.  She made her way to the kitchens and put in a request with the elves.  It took a little searching, but eventually one of them produced a dusty bottle of the requested firewhiskey.

Hermione thanked them and brought the bottle along with three low glasses filled with ice back to the room.  As she entered she saw that Draco was still being antisocial in the corner, and once again his eyes locked on her and followed her over to Rodolphus and the others.

Several others had arrived in her absence, including Travers, who was her second mark of the evening.

“The twenty-five year,” she said as she approached Theo, Blaise, and Rodolphus.  She unscrewed the bottle with a flourish and poured a generous measure into each glass before passing it to each of them.  When it was Rodolphus’s turn, she intentionally tossed her hair a little and gave him a small smile.  The Veela magic thrummed a bit as his eyes gleamed and he accepted the glass.

“Thank you pet.  Tell me — how old are you?”

Hermione gave him a flirty smile to play along.

“Oh nineteen now — just barely.”

“Such a pretty little thing,” he said.  

She made herself blush and looked at him through her lashes.  “Thank you, Sir.  Would you like me to leave the bottle, or would you prefer I top you up?”

“Oh you’re welcome to come over here and help us out, pet.  As often as you wish.”

He winked at her, and Hermione forced herself to give a little laugh as she tossed her hair one more time and turned around to head toward Travers.  The Veela magic told her she had Rodolphus well in hand.

As she turned around, however, she nearly stumbled with surprise when she caught sight of another man being antisocial in a different corner who must have arrived while she was flirting with Rodolphus.  Severus Snape was in the opposite corner from Draco, staring at her just as intently as he was.

Hermione hurriedly averted her gaze and made a beeline for Travers, who had joined the group with Yaxley and Hannah Abbott.  

“…hundred galleons to share tonight?” she heard him say.  “I heard Malfoy and Zabini are sharing all the time now.  I haven’t the blunt that Dolohov demands for his.”

Again, Hermione almost tripped as she realized Travers was asking Yaxley to purchase Hannah for the evening.  She forced herself not to look at the resignation on Hannah’s face.  It was almost worse than seeing fear or loathing.

This had happened to her before.

“Sorry to interrupt, is there anything I can fetch for you?” she asked, forcing a terrible false smile on her face.  Not even the Veela magic could break through the disgust and revulsion she was feeling for the two men in front of her.

Unlike Rodolphus, they barely glanced at her, which came as a relief.  “Elf wine,” said Travers. 

“Gin for me,” said Yaxley.  “And my boon requires a contraceptive.  She will be working tonight.”

Hermione went pale and didn’t even bother to respond, but just bobbed and hurried back to the kitchen.  As she moved across the floor, dual gazes — one black, one gray — followed her every move.

She was feeling sick now as she conveyed the order to the elves and hurried back to the party to pass out drinks.  Travers and Yaxley both ignored her, which was the only positive thing she could say about it.  Spiking Travers’ drink would be simple and would require no help from Nita.  He was far more interested in Hannah than Hermione.

As she passed Hannah the potion, Hermione’s eyes met hers and softened with sympathy.  Hannah, however, gave her a hard look back, almost defiant.  It was surprisingly firm, and Hermione made a point to brush Hannah’s hand in solidarity as she passed her the contraceptive potion.  There were so many things she wanted to say to her: be strong, be fierce, they may take your body but they will never take you.  

But the warnings from Theo, Draco, and Mrs. Higgins echoed through her mind.  She couldn’t be caught interfering.  Hannah could not be saved tonight.  Hermione felt a lump rise in her throat and she made herself choke it back as she stepped away.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rodolphus already making his way to the bottom of his first drink, and she was about to wander over to him when she caught Snape’s eye as she turned.  He made a gesture to her that she should approach him.

This was not part of the plan.  Hermione wasn’t even aware he would be here tonight.  He certainly wasn’t one of the marks for any of the three girls, and Draco was reluctant to say very much about him whenever she asked.

Hermione knew he was still working to undermine Voldemort, but she had no idea if he was aware that she was still alive or if he had been involved at all after tricking Voldemort with the fake ritual.

She walked toward him, thinking quickly.  If there was one Death Eater in the room who might see through her disguise it was Snape.  He knew her well, though admittedly it had been a full year since they had really interacted with each other.  Draco had not bothered to change her voice as part of her disguise – a huge oversight in retrospect.

Hermione made the split-second decision to mimic Hagrid’s accent in an effort to throw him off the scent and hope that between that and Nita’s magic she would be able to get through this interaction.

“Will yeh be wantin’ anythin’ Sir?” she asked.  Hermione almost stumbled over the last word, as she fought the instinct to call him Professor.

“Who are you?” he asked, and Hermione felt the lightest brush of legilimency against her mind.  Immediately she started to occlude, reciting the twelve uses of dragon’s blood in her head.  She saw his eyes narrow, and she felt herself break out into a sweat.

“Annabelle, Sir.  I’m new.  Will yeh want a drink or summat?  We’ve got a nice brandy.”

God this was not how Hagrid talked.  Hermione was going to bollocks this up, Veela magic or not.

He ignored her question.  “Are you a Mudblood, Annabelle?”

“Squib,” she said automatically, while her mind moved to ancient runes, and she began to recite Tales of Beedle the Bard to herself in the original language she had memorized from Dumbledore’s copy.  She felt another soft prod of legilimency.

“Oh I think not,” said Snape softly.  “You seem… very well educated.”

Shit.  

Of course.  Her occlumency strategy was a veritable data dump of magical theory and facts.  These were things most squibs would never learn.  She made a sudden shift to muggle things and began to recite Shakespeare in her mind, landing on the first play she could think of.

“Not sure what yeh mean, Sir.  Just me mam – err, mum – and pa who taught me.  Fore they disowned me, I mean,” she added.  

Christ, she was bad at this.  Her natural accent was rather close to Draco’s.  And here she was trying to speak like Hagrid while mixing in phrases that Seamus Finnigan — who was Irish — might use.  

Absolutely nobody talked like this.

She felt another pass at legilimency.

“A Winter’s Tale?” he asked in dark amusement.  “That’s a fascinating choice.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She was named after a character in A Winter’s Tale.  Why on earth had her brain picked that play out of the dozen she had partially memorized as a child?

She immediately switched to Macbeth.

“Ah yes, the witches,” agreed Snape, his smile broadening.  It was one of the most disconcerting things Hermione had ever seen.  “That’s better.”

“I’m sorry Sir, I have no notion what yeh mean.  If yeh’ll be needin’ a drink?  Otherwise I must be gettin’ on to the others.”

“Of course, Annabelle.  You simply remind me of somebody, that’s all.  She was quite… extraordinary while she was alive.”

“Oh?” she asked tightly.

“Yes.  The hair and eyes are a perfect match.”

Now Hermione was confused.  She was certain Snape had seen through her and figured out he was talking to Hermione.  But she wasn’t a redhead with green eyes.  Hermione had no idea what was going on.  She had to get out of there.

“Thank yeh, sir,” she said quickly.  “I’d best be movin’ on.”

“Come find me when you have a break, and we can chat a bit more,” he said as she backed away.

She gave him a tight smile, but didn’t answer.  She absolutely would not be speaking to him again if she could help it.  She felt so very wrong-footed and on edge, and not even the little boost of confidence from the Veela magic had been enough to make her feel like she had handled herself.  Thank goodness she had it though — who knows how much worse it would have been without it.  She probably would have spiraled into a true panic the moment he started legilimency and stuttered at him incoherently.

Theo, she said, reaching out to him through their bond.  Is Snape safe?  I just had a very unsettling conversation with him.

She saw Theo pause as he took a sip of his drink, and his eyes found hers.

We know he’s working to undermine the Dark Lord, but his work with the Order is classified, and we don’t know enough about it to trust him.  Don’t reveal yourself to him.

I tried not to.  He did some legilimency on me though and knew I was lying about who I was.  He could tell I wasn’t a squib.

Fuck.  Do you need Draco to pull you?

No, but he asked me to come back and talk to him later.  Do I have to do that?

No.  Do two more rounds of drinks and spike the second round.  Then go to Draco and let him pull you.  Snape won’t expect to speak to you after that.

Okay.

Be safe.

She broke the connection as she made her way back to Rodolphus.  Theo had moved away toward Draco, but Blaise was still with him.

Rodolphus practically lit up as she arrived, and the Veela magic seemed to settle a bit as it sensed an interested wizard.

“Can I top you off?” she asked, reaching for their glasses.  Blaise handed his glass over first and then Rodolphus followed.

“Take a sip for yourself love,” Rodolphus offered.  “It’s wonderful stuff.  And leave some of that lipstick on the glass for me.”

Hermione blinked in surprise, but the Veela magic intervened and told her she could do this.  She passed Blaise his glass back and then pressed her lips to Rodolphus’s and pretended to take a sip before handing it back over.  He gave her a lazy smile, and his fingers touched hers as he accepted the glass.  

She gave him a slow smirk.  Her mark was eating out of her palm like this.

“I’ll be back to check on you boys in a few minutes,” she said with a flirty wink.  Rodolphus grinned just as the floo turned green and three heavily made up women stepped out onto the threshold.  They were not in uniform like the waitresses, nor were they in cocktail dresses like Hannah and Susan.  

They were in lingerie.  Very small, very sheer lingerie.

All three seemed perfectly at ease in a room full of dressed men, and they looked around to gauge the interest of those in attendance.  To Hermione’s chagrin she noticed Rodolphus looking at the three before his gaze slid back to her and fixed there instead.  Travers had perked up a little, but he soon refocused on Hannah.  Draco, she couldn’t help but notice, didn’t even look at them.  His gaze had not wavered from her the entire evening.

Yaxley, however, gestured for them to come over, and she saw the Goyles doing the same.

She tried not to shudder.

As she started to head back toward Travers, she caught Draco’s eye.  Theo was sitting with him now, but Draco was pointedly ignoring him as he was sprawled in a low-slung chair.  His expression was a bit challenging as he pulled out the hair ribbon she had given to him the night before and began to twirl it around his fingers lazily while his eyes bored into hers.

What on earth is he doing?

Hermione glanced around to see if anybody else noticed, and she gave him a fierce glare.  But he just raised one eyebrow and continued to play with the ribbon.

Feeling irritated now, she made her way toward Travers.  “Can I offer you a refill?”

“Go on then,” he said, and Hermione took his glass to pour his second drink.

She handed it back to him and topped up Yaxley too before deciding there was nothing for it.  She would have to approach Draco.  

She moved toward him, and his gaze swept over her from head to toe as she approached.

“What is wrong with you?” she said under her breath as she leaned toward him, as though offering him a drink.

“Merely observing your methods,” he said in a cold voice.

She scowled.  

“You’re going to bugger this whole thing up if you don’t stop staring.  Go oggle the prostitutes.”

“Is that what you want me to do?  Look at them instead of you?”

Hermione flushed.  No, that wasn’t what she wanted.  The fact that nearly naked women were making their rounds and heading his direction made her uncomfortable and even a little angry.  But what he was doing instead was completely reckless.

“I don’t care what you do, but you need to stop this.”

She pulled away from him.  “I’m going to presume you did not place a drink order,” she said coldly as she turned to move back to the middle of the room.  She nearly came face to face with a blonde in a sheer negligee.  Hermione could clearly see her nipples through it as the woman stepped around her.

“Do either of you fancy a tumble?” she asked both Draco and Theo.  Hermione couldn’t help but freeze to hear their answers.

Theo declined, but Draco’s voice drawled, “Ask me later.  It depends on how well behaved a certain acquaintance of mine is tonight.”

Hermione fought to control her temper.  She knew he was bating her.  They had already arranged that all three girls would ‘go home’ with the three wizards for appearances.  

“Poncey prick,” she muttered, trying hard not to feel the sting of tears in the corner of her eye.  She heard the prostitute move on, and Hermione willed her feet to trudge back toward Rodolphus.  The next drink would be spiked, and then she could be done with him.

She straightened up and marched over to him, throwing him a flirty smile as she did it.  At least he was easy and far less difficult to manage than his nephew in the corner.

She passed Blaise, who seemed to be heading toward Malfoy too, and he threw a wink at her.  As she passed the door to the stairwell that led to the kitchens, Ginny was emerging with a determined glint on her face.

Apparently Hermione wasn’t the only one with a Death Eater who was ready for his third drink.

“Annabelle,” said Rodolphus as she approached.  “Might I bother you for another?  My friend may want a top off too.  He just stepped away to speak to somebody else for a moment.”

“Certainly, Sir,” she said as she took the glass from him and turned to pour from the firewhiskey she had left on a nearby ledge.  Hermione willed her breathing to be steady and leaned on Nita’s magic.  This was it.  It was time for the slight of hand she had practiced over and over again.  The moment she needed to distract him was upon her.

She gripped the glass over the top with her ring suspended over it and turned to hand it back to him.  She caught Rodolphus’s eye and had a moment of inspiration based on their previous interaction.  She pretended to take another sip, and his pupils expanded to see her do it unprompted.

“Wonderful,” she said with a smile as she leaned forward and placed her free hand on the small coffee table in front of him, which she knew would make her breasts fall forward and give him a perilous view.  

She should be shaking in her very high heels, but she wasn’t.  She was playing him exactly as she had been taught.  Every bit of confidence from Nita welled up inside of her.

Sure enough, his gaze dropped precisely where Nita assured her it would, and Hermione wordlessly and wandlessly opened the little trap door in her ring.  She waited a full three seconds to ensure it was done.  His gaze did not waver from her chest as she placed the drink on the table and slid it slowly toward him.

“I hope you find it as delicious as I did,” she said.

He licked his lips.  “If you would like some extra galleons tonight love, find me at the end.  I do enjoy showing a pretty girl like yourself a good time.”

She rewarded him with a mysterious smile and then turned away.

Rodolophus is done, she called to Theo in her mind.

We’re on it, he said.  

Hermione looked toward him and saw he was now alone with Blaise.  Draco and his fixed stare had disappeared, thank God, and Theo was making his way toward her.  As he passed he gave her a small brush on her shoulder.  Those who didn’t know better would have said it was flirty.  Hermione knew it was a gesture of encouragement.

She approached Travers next.  Just one more, and he would be even simpler than Rodolphus.  He had largely ignored her all night.

Hermione’s stomach rolled as she saw that Hannah was now on his lap, and Traver’s hand was under her skirt.  Hannah looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Sir, can I top you up?”

He turned around in surprise and his hand stilled its progression.  “Oh, no.  I’d actually like to switch.  Can you fetch a G&T?”

“Of course,” she said quickly.

This would be even easier.  She could spike it on the way back from the kitchens.

She moved through the door and alighted down the stairs.  As soon as she reached the landing, she felt a hand dart out from the darkness and clasp her around her wrist.

Hermione acted on instinct, and her brain went on autopilot as she pulled the knife from her thigh holster and spun toward her opponent, shoving him with all her strength against the nearby wall as the knife went to his neck.

A familiar, silver gaze was staring down at her, completely ignoring the knife she was holding to his throat.  Instead, he appeared angry with her and a little desperate.

She nearly pulled the knife away, but then thought better of it, just in case.

“Who am I?” she asked.

“Like this? Annabelle,” he spat, and Hermione pressed the knife into his throat a bit more.  Any harder and he would start bleeding, but he completely ignored it.  Instead, he held up the ribbon and dangled it in her face.

“But with this?  Hermione.”

Hermione huffed out an irritated breath and backed away, pulling the knife with her and reholstering it.

“What the hell were you thinking?  I nearly killed you!”

Draco ignored her.  “I’m pulling you.  Right now.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because you’re done here.”

“But Travers—”

“Fuck Travers, I don’t care about him.  You are coming with me now.”

“But—”

“Tell Theo through your bond.  He and Blaise can end the party when they are done interrogating the others for me.  I’ve already informed Mrs. Higgins I’m taking you with me.”

He grabbed her hand tightly and started pulling her through a maze of hallways and corridors.

“Draco, stop and explain!” she demanded, but he ignored her and just pulled her hand harder.

Soon realizing she was totally lost and would never find her way back to the party without him, she knew there wasn’t anything she could do but reach out to Theo like he asked.

Theo, Draco is pulling me for some asinine reason.  I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but I think he’s taking me back to my room.  He said you and Blaise can end the party whenever you’re done talking to the others.  I didn’t get to Travers, but he had just asked for a G&T from the kitchens.  Ginny or Luna should be able to spike it easily.

Heard.  I’m surprised he lasted that long, came Theo’s voice.  It sounded amused.  Hermione huffed in annoyance and severed the connection.  

Before long she was entering the wing of the Manor that she knew through a back staircase, and Draco was pulling her through the main door and then down the hall to her room.  He flung open her door and practically shoved her inside of it before stalking in after her.

“Tell me what the hell has gotten into you!” she demanded.

He didn’t respond, but just raised his wand toward her and snarled, “Finite incantatem.”

Hermione felt her features shift, and in her peripheral vision her hair turned brown and curly again.  Draco’s eyes shone with something like fury as he strode toward her.

“Put this back on,” he demanded as he shoved the ribbon into her hand.

“Pardon?”  

“I said put it back on.  I can’t… you aren’t… fuck, I wanted to stab them…”

“Who?” she asked in confusion.

He looked at her like she was daft.

“Rodolphus.  Severus.  Crabbe Senior too – he was watching you, though you didn’t seem to notice.  And you also caught Pucey’s eye.  I made you far too pretty.  And you’re wearing that thing.”

His gaze once again swept over her dress as he sneered.

“You mean my assigned uniform as a member of your staff?” she cut in as she quickly snatched the ribbon from him.

“Nobody on my staff has ever attracted that much attention before.  I have no idea why it—”

He cut himself off as he noticed her deep blush.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” she insisted.

“Hermione…”

She huffed.  “It was just a little Veela magic!  Nita said it wouldn’t be strong or make those who weren’t attracted to me notice me… and it didn’t!  Traver’s barely looked my way!  Besides, it was just supposed to give me some confidence!”

Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as though praying for patience.  “She will be removing whatever spell she placed on you tomorrow,” he gritted out before opening his eyes and staring down at her balefully.  “Now put that fucking ribbon back in your hair!”

Hermione scrambled to pull back a few curls and tied the ribbon in.  She wasn’t thrilled about following his orders when he was in this sort of mood, but his temper was so volatile she didn’t dare object.

A muscle in his jaw twitched, as his eyes dropped to her form again, lingering at the choker around her neck and the upper swell of her breasts over the low top.

When he saw the ribbon was back in place, he reached up to trace the choker.  

“I gave this to you for a reason,” he said darkly.

Hermione’s mouth had gone dry.  “Oh?”

“To signal to the others that you aren’t their plaything.  To remind you of this.”

He touched her throat gently again, and Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed instinctively.

“Yes…” he whispered as his thumb traced its way up to her ear.  “Just like that…”  

She felt him step closer, and that familiar scent of him was in her nose, making her head light.  “Did any of them touch you?” he asked in a dangerous voice.

Hermione hesitated for a split second too long before saying, “No.”

“Who?” he asked, obviously picking up on her hesitation. “Which one?”

She sighed in defeat.

“Rodolphus brushed my fingers with his.  That’s all.”

“Did he invite you into his bed?” he asked bluntly.

Hermione was silent, unable to lie but unwilling to tell the truth.

He seemed to take her silence for confirmation, because something shifted in the air around him, and Hermione thought the room must have plunged several degrees.

He was unstable like this, teetering toward violence.  Some part of her wanted to rail at him for being so bloody maddening and hypocritical.  It was his plan after all.  She had simply done her job and used some magic from Nita to help her get through the night.  Was it her fault Rodolphus propositioned her?  Of course not, that was the entire point – to get him off his guard.  And yet, Hermione was afraid of the kind of damage Draco might do, intentionally or unintentionally, if she couldn’t find a way to quickly soothe his temper.

She tried something she had never done before and reached up to cup his cheek.  Nita’s lingering magic seemed to hum a little at the contact.  His skin was rough under her palm with a shadow of stubble.  The gesture took him by such surprise that he stopped scowling.

“He didn’t hurt me,” she said, trying to mimic the slow soothing voice he liked to use on her.  “He didn’t scare me.  And he disgusted me.  It was to be expected, Draco.  I was laying it on really thick so he wouldn’t suspect what I was doing, and I was leaning heavily on Nita’s magic at the same time.  I’m not surprised he suggested it.”

Draco’s eyes closed, and Hermione sensed him fighting for composure.

“He made you drink from his glass.  Then he tasted your lipstick after you left.  Blaise told me all about it.  Rodolphus said your lips tasted divine.”

Hermione’s stomach turned at this, and Draco opened his eyes to find her wrinkling her nose.

“Well first of all, I only pretended to drink, I’m not stupid.  Second, this lipstick is rather vile if you must know.  It’s flavored, which is a bit strange, and it tastes strongly of cherry.  I don’t care for it at all.  I suppose Annabelle has to wear it to maintain the fiction, but Hermione doesn’t.  I can assure you, my lips don’t taste like this.”

With that Hermione released his face and used the back of her hand to swipe some of the lipstick off.  She was sure it was smeared on her face now, but Draco didn’t seem to notice.  He grasped her hand and stared at the red streak on the back of it for a full ten seconds before raising it slowly to his face.  He didn’t kiss it, he smelled it.

“Cherry,” he confirmed.  “Not orange blossom.”

Hermione’s heart skipped.

“No,” she said quietly.  “Definitely not orange blossom.”

Draco picked up his wand with his free hand and pointed it at the ruby smear.

“Evanesco,” he whispered.  It vanished, and then he did it to her face.  That pungent taste of cherry that had been lingering about her all evening finally disappeared.

“Much better,” she said with a small smile.

He exhaled and nodded.

“Look,” she said.  “We’ll need to try this again….”

He gave her a fierce look, but she pressed on.  “We will, Draco.  We both know it.  I’ve done it once now so next time I suppose I can forego the Veela magic and be a little less flirtatious.  Meanwhile, it would be great if you didn’t stare at me all night and then ask the prostitutes to check in on you.”

A flash of guilt crossed his face, and it was such an unexpected expression Hermione blinked.  This was a man who tortured, maimed, and killed.  He didn’t feel guilt.

And yet, Hermione was sure that was what she had just seen.

“I wouldn’t have,” he said.  “I was… reacting.”

She pursed her lips for a moment, but gave him a curt nod.  She had no claim on him, she knew that.  She didn’t really have any right to be angry.  But she had been, and she was glad he knew it.

“Alright,” she said, trying to dispel her frustration.  Being angry with him wouldn’t get them anywhere.  “We just need to… rethink the next one.”

“Rethink.  Right,” he sighed, dropping his forehead to hers.  

Then she heard him add in a low voice, “Because the next one who touches you is losing a hand.”

She shivered.  “You weren’t like this in school,” she murmured.

“Wasn’t I?”

“No.  At least I don’t think you were…”

“Potter and Weasley were good deterrents.  They usually kept the less savory ones away from you.”

“You hated them.”

“True.  But you didn’t.  That makes a difference.”

“You’re so maddening.  I don’t understand it.”

He lifted his head and looked down at her again.

“You don’t have to understand it.  You just have to keep in mind that the next one who touches you or invites you into his bed will experience… severe consequences.”

She looked at him warily.  “Perhaps you’d best move along and let the others know that you and Blaise have traded boons then.  I could go like that instead.”

He hummed at this.  “You’d like that?  Being with me all night?”

She turned a little pink.  “It’s better than serving drinks I suppose.”

He huffed a little.  “Soon.  We’ve been getting questions about you two and will have to bring you out eventually.  There’s no good way for you to do reconnaissance in that form though.”

Hermione frowned as she realized he was right.

“Maybe we can alternate,” she suggested.  “Boons one week and waitstaff the next.”

He reached up to twirl a curl around his finger.

“That could have some merit.  I’ll think about it.”

She nodded, as he stepped back.

“It’s getting late.  You should get to bed,” he said, stepping toward his door.  

When he got there he turned back and took one last long look at her.  He seemed to shudder before turning around and heading through the door.

“Draco—” she started.

But he didn’t look back.  He simply called over his shoulder, “This is nothing like a crush Granger,” and then the door closed behind him.

Chapter Text

Nita appeared in Hermione’s room nearly the moment she woke the next morning and removed the Veela magic with a wry smile.

“I told Draco it did nothing more than enhance your natural abilities, my dear, but I’m afraid he insists.  Do try to remember what it was like for your next mission.  I doubt he will let me cast it again, but I can assure you it’s not necessary.  Your charm is all your own, and the magic just made you aware of it.”

Hermione appreciated the encouraging words.  Still, with that lovely balloon of confidence punctured, Hermione spent much of the morning dwelling on the party and all the things she hadn’t done.

She hadn’t dosed Travers.  She hadn’t been able to help Hannah or Susan.  She hadn’t made any mental notes about which Death Eaters would be easy marks for acquiring a wand eventually – other than Rodolphus of course, though she knew from experience he was a rather competent duelist so he was not her first choice.  She hadn’t seen any part of the Manor except for the kitchen, a small part of the servant’s hall, and the large parlor where the party was held.  There had been no opportunity to wander or explore or even flirt with anybody except for her marks and Snape — though even with the Veela magic that had been almost disastrous.  Draco’s eyes had been on her at nearly every moment, twirling her ribbon around his fingers which served as a terrible distraction. 

She didn’t think the Veela magic could be blamed for his keen attention to her, unfortunately.  He was largely immune to it.

It was incredibly frustrating.  She would never advance her own mission if all the parties were like that.  Once Draco started bringing her out as a boon her freedom would be even more restricted.  After the previous night she now knew that the boons stayed with their Death Eaters at all times, unless bargained away.  

And Draco would never bargain her away.

She had no immediate solution to this.  Her initial excitement at being sent on a mission had morphed into a commitment to do some reconnaissance for her own purposes.  But even with the boost from Nita it had been entirely fruitless, and she could not envision how another dozen parties would produce any better results.  Draco was too careful, making sure she was always watched and confined to a few small rooms with no good opportunity to leave.

Perhaps the Death Eaters weren’t the answer.

As she mulled this over, a different plan started to materialize in her mind.  Her chosen animagus form – assuming she could manage it – would be used to spy on garden parties.  She recalled what Draco said about wizards typically being excluded.  Hermione suspected he wouldn’t let her go alone, not really.  He would surely come up with some way to keep an eye on her.  But as a bird she would be expected to flit around and listen in on conversations, and that would give her some freedom.  As a bird she might be able to catch a witch alone and seize the moment to transform and overpower her before taking her wand and obliviating her.  

Hermione wouldn’t need a wand to achieve an animagus form – that was the entire reason Sirius had managed it in Azkaban, after all – but she also knew that wands could be incorporated into their forms just like clothing could.  Most animagis did carry wands all the time, and it would be little use to transform into an animal if one’s wand couldn’t come along too.

Yes, a garden party would give her more opportunities for it.  She would have a way to disappear from Draco.  Her target would be somebody frail or weak who was obviously not trained in combat like she was.  Even if it didn’t work perfectly for her, any wand would be better than no wand.

Keeping the wand hidden from Draco and learning how to cast an Avada Kedavra without him finding out about it would be another problem for a different day.  The wand had to come first.  And that meant she needed to focus on her animagi transformation and continue to build trust with Draco by attending the Death Eater parties as a waitress or boon.  She shouldn’t push his temper or needle him the way she had the night before.  The garden parties wouldn’t be as dangerous as the Death Eater events, but they would necessarily involve more freedom than anything he had granted her thus far.  She needed him to trust her.

Training the next morning was cut short to discuss the mission from the night before.  Despite the fact that the party had been nearly useless as far as Hermione was concerned, she did find herself intensely curious about the things Theo and Blaise had learned.

“It’s as you suspected,” Theo said, looking at Draco after glancing at the three girls.  “Rodolphus is plotting to take your position, and there are rumblings that you and Blaise are being swayed by your boons since nobody has seen them.  There are only a few others who have kept their boons totally hidden away... including me, I suppose.”

Hermione went cold and exchanged glances with the girls, who were both pale.

Draco, however, didn’t look too worried about that.  “We’ll bring them out in a few weeks.  Maybe Luna can go with you to the next one as your boon.  Blaise and I are close to making the switch official.”

Theo nodded, looking a bit relieved by that.  “I think so.  It would be better if all three of us didn’t bring our boons out at the same time.”

Draco nodded before turning to the other piece of information Theo had disclosed.  “And Rodolphus?  What is he planning?”

Theo bit his lip.  “A raid.  One you’re not supposed to know about until the very last minute.  Crabbe is in on it, and so is Avery.  The others didn’t know about it.  We managed to subtly obliviate Rodolphus, Crabbe, and Avery after speaking to them.  They won’t remember telling us.”

Hermione felt the tiniest measure of relief at that.

“Where is the raid?” asked Draco, eyes narrowed.

Theo sighed.  “The Burrow.”

Ginny gasped, and Theo looked at her apologetically.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “It relates back to the boons though.  Rodolphus doesn’t like that Draco has risen higher than him, and he’s been trying to find a way to discredit him.  Even though Draco and Blaise are about to switch boons, there are rumors that Draco has been compromised by you.  Blaise too.  Out of all the boons, you were the biggest prize and the one most obviously aligned with the Order.  Plenty of Death Eaters have some fondness for their boons, but being fond of you… ”

He trailed off and looked away.

Ginny looked pale and turned pleading eyes toward the three wizards.  Theo wasn’t meeting her gaze.  Blaise was looking a bit tense.  Draco, however, had a speculative look on his face as he leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.

“Let me guess – he’s going to tell me about it right before it happens and see if I warn them?”

“Essentially,” said Theo.

Draco snorted.  “Weak.”

Ginny’s face was starting to regain some color now, as she watched Draco.  “Why?” she asked.  “You can’t warn them, right?  Or that will confirm his suspicions?  And I know what Blaise is always saying… you all don’t have a choice, but…”

Draco glanced at her.  She looked distraught.  

“Rodolphus is an idiot, and his plan will not work.  Your family will be safe this time.  Although… it would probably be best if we don’t save the house.  I don’t want our loyalties questioned again when it comes to you three.”

Ginny blinked.  “That’s fine,” she breathed.  “That’s alright.  The Burrow is my home, but… my family matters more.”

Draco nodded.  “In that case, the solution is simple.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, but Blaise and Theo looked like they already knew where this was headed.

“We swap your parents for some muggles – tonight if possible – and then Blaise and I will go and burn the house down with the imposters inside of it.  One of us will pull the bodies out once the fire is done, and we’ll bring them to the Dark Lord.  Rodolphus’s plan will be mucked up, and nobody will think you have compromised us.”

All three witches froze, and Hermione’s heart started to race at the casual mention of murdering a couple of unlucky muggles. 

“I don’t think –” she started, but she was interrupted by Ginny.

“Yes,” said Ginny, looking paler than ever.  “Do it.  Please.”

“Alright,” said Draco comfortably.  “Anything else?”

“Wait,” insisted Hermione.  “You can’t just do that!  The Burrow is under a fidelius!  It has muggle repelling wards!”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Arthur is the Secret Keeper.  He wrote down the address in a letter to Ginny ages ago.  All three of us know where it is.  And bringing down muggle repelling wards is simple, you know that.”

Hermione stilled, as Ginny blushed.

“Then how will Rodolphus…” she started.

Malfoy shrugged.  “I’d wager he plans to catch Arthur with an imperius at the edge of the property.  The Death Eaters have known the location for ages.  Don’t you remember that wedding?  It’s been raided before, they just can’t see it while it’s under a fidelius.  If Arthur puts a toe outside of the boundaries, then Rodolphus will make him disclose the address.  Even if it’s Molly who leaves he could imperius her and coax Arthur out that way.  It’s been done before, it just takes a little patience.”

Hermione swallowed hard and just nodded.  She knew he was right.  She, Harry, and Ron left their warded house and tent multiple times.  The Weasley’s really weren’t the type to go into permanent hiding.  Arthur might be caught in a skirmish or even getting provisions in Ottery St. Catchpole.  It was only a matter of time before Rodolphus could get in.

Blaise began to question Ginny about the Burrow’s layout and other places her parents could hide, but Draco wasn’t listening.

“Don’t worry about it, Hermione,” he said softly.  “It will be simple.”

“But you are going to kill some muggles and…” she trailed off feeling ill.

“It’s alright.  It would upset Ginny if they died.  It would upset you if they died.  You know it isn’t their time to go.”

She knew he was right, but she still didn’t like it.

“Don’t think about it,” he said.  “We’ll handle it this afternoon.  You and the others should study your animagus theory.  I want to brew the potion to start the transformations tomorrow.”

This news was enough to distract her from Draco’s immediate plans.

“You caught a bird then?”

“I did,” he said.  “It’s a surprise.”

“I’d like to know what I’ll be killing,” she said grimly.

“No, no,” he chided.  “Not until it’s time.  You’re too softhearted, and you will dwell on it.  Put it aside for now, and we’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”

He was utterly infuriating.

“Draco, I don’t like any of this,” she insisted.

He sighed and gave her a tired sort of smile.  “I’ll tell you what.  I promise to Avada the muggles before we burn the house down.  And I’ll make sure you have a calming draught for the bird tomorrow.  Will that help?”

He was looking at her with such earnest concern that she closed her eyes and prayed for patience.  Once again, she wondered why he didn’t scare her.  Evidently his original plan was to burn the house down while the muggles were still alive.  Killing them humanely first was a compromise to make her feel better about it.

“Yes,” she said, because what else could she say?  She wouldn’t risk the Weasleys, and heaven help her but she wouldn’t risk Draco, or even Blaise, either.  If they didn’t have bodies to produce then Rodolphus could still argue they were compromised. 

That simply couldn’t happen.

“Excellent,” he murmured, raising her hand to kiss the back of it again.  “You’re far too sweet for all of this, but you’re doing so well with it.  Now be good for me and study this afternoon, okay?  I want to see that brilliant mind of yours full of animagi theory the next time I peek into it.”

Heat bloomed, and Hermione blushed.

She hated how much she liked him.

******

The wizards left soon after lunch.  Hermione, Ginny, and Luna tried to browbeat their brains into animagi theory while they waited for a report.  They had a tense tea, and finally around six o’clock the wizards returned with Hermione’s beaded bag in tow, which Draco tossed to Ginny.

“I reached out to my contact with the Order, and they evacuated your parents and George to your Aunt Murial’s.  They had emergency bags packed, but we took a couple hours to strip the house like you asked and put everything else in that bag.  Their muggle replacements are already dead and waiting for us in the sitting room.  We’ll burn the place down after we have dinner with my mother.  The fire will be more dramatic at night.”

With that announcement the wizards left to dress for their standing weekly Sunday dinner while the witches gaped at each other.

Hermione snapped out of it first.  “Let me see that,” she demanded, as she pulled her beaded bag toward her.  She hadn’t seen it since the Battle of Hogwarts.

She peered inside of it and exclaimed, “My God, half of the Burrow is in here!”

Sure enough, Hermione pulled out some familiar cookbooks, a Weasley knitted blanket, and even the family clock.  She watched as a tear rolled down Ginny’s cheek as she touched it.

“I’m so grateful to them,” she said quietly.

“They’re about to burn down your home, Ginny,” said Hermione with some disapproval.  

Ginny sniffed.  “That’s alright.  They saved the sentimental things, and everyone will be safer at Murial’s anyway.  It’s not as grand as Malfoy Manor, but it’s just as old and the wards are excellent.  They should have moved in with her a year ago, but they were just stubborn.  Mum and Dad can rebuild the Burrow if it ever becomes safe again.”

Hermione softened at this and pulled Ginny in for a hug.

“You’re right,” she said.  “Of course you’re right.  I’m glad they are okay.”

Dinner was much less tense than tea knowing that the only thing left to do was to burn the Burrow down.  Hermione didn’t think that would pose as much of an issue as getting the Weasleys to leave in the first place.  But the things the wizards had already done and would soon be doing were weighing on her mind.

She told herself the Weasleys were worth it.

******

“Draco, I expect you to escort Astoria to the autumn gala.  It is coming up in a month, you know.”

“Mother, I’ve told you a dozen times I have no interest in her.”

Draco exchanged knowing looks with Theo and Blaise.  Nita was absent tonight, but this had been a recurring theme at their weekly dinners on and off for ages now.

“Nonsense, you two are perfectly suited.  She’s a better match than… any others.”

“Everyone at this table knows who I want, Mother.  There is no need to be coy.”

“My dear, you know it’s not possible.  She’s —”

“My sister,” cut in Theo tersely. “She deserves more than being a boon, Aunt Cissy.  You know that.”

Narcissa sighed.  “I’ll not deny it.  But that’s her lot, and it will be until further notice.  You can’t possibly mean to tie with her, Draco.  The Dark Lord would never allow it, and it would draw unnecessary attention to her true identity."

Draco felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, as he fell silent.  His mother may be right in the near term, but Hermione was his now.  It was true he had only kissed her on the hand, but he told himself it wouldn’t be long before she was ready for more.  She was softening toward him day by day.  And he was willing to be patient and take as much time as she needed to be ready.  She was the only one he had ever wanted.

Draco knew he was in love with her.  He had been for a long time, and it wasn’t any great secret.  Hermione might not be aware of it just yet, but every person at the dinner table knew how he felt.

In Draco’s view, the only person who had any right to object was Theo, and even that was debatable.  Besides, Theo was in full support, so in Draco’s mind there should be no barriers to tie with the witch he loved other than those put up by Hermione herself.  He was wearing her down though, he was sure of it.  She was learning that Draco was always good to her.  He provided for her.  He anticipated her every need and took exceptional care of her.  His sweet girl was a Gryffindor at heart, and she was the type who wanted to see acts of service before she was convinced.  

Draco had committed to serving her in every single way a man could serve a woman long ago.  Everything he did — every single fucking thing he did — was to make sure she was safe and comfortable.  He wanted her to lean on him and need him.  She had to learn to trust him and be content.  He needed to be the center of her world because she was certainly the center of his.  

She was noticing his efforts, too.  He often caught her blushing at his attentions, and her gaze hovered on him persistently now.  Even when they argued, he often sensed an underlying fondness to it.  It was only a matter of time at this point, so why shouldn’t Draco be thinking about the steps he would need to take to have her exactly the way he wanted her?  With enough time and careful planning even the Dark Lord could be managed.  

Draco said nothing more for the rest of the meal, but as he rose his mother stopped him.  

“Draco, I have no objections in keeping her here as your boon.  I know you care about the girl, and she’s safe here with you.  But you must accept that there are certain expectations for you to fulfill when it comes to your lineage and your public facing role.  Please don’t make me take matters into my own hands.”

“You wouldn’t,” he insisted.

His mother sighed, and her usual melancholy seemed to settle around her.  “I certainly don’t want to.  I ask that you please not put me in the position to make such a difficult choice.”

Draco’s jaw clenched again, but he gave a curt nod, and Narcissa seemed to slump with relief.  Draco didn’t react.  Of course he was not going to put his mother in that position because the choice was not hers to begin with.  It never had been.

“I must be going,” he said coldly.

“Oh?”

“Theo, Blaise, and I have to burn down the Burrow.”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock.  “But the Weasleys….”

“They’ve been evacuated and replaced by muggles.  It’s fine.”

His mother’s hand darted out and clenched his arm.  “How many, Draco?  How many people will die before you stop?”

“However many it takes until I get what I want.”

Narcissa released him and took a step back and then another.  She was trembling.  “Don’t become him,” she whispered.

Draco’s face darkened.  He hated the thing his mother was implying.  It was poisonous.

“I’m not,” he said curtly.  “I’m greater than he ever was.”

Tears filled her eyes as she turned away.  Normally Draco would try to soothe her, but he had no patience for it tonight.  The others were waiting for him.  Draco strode toward the door, leaving his mother looking shaken.  He hated it, but he would only frighten her more if he stayed.  He was feeling too volatile after the comments about Astoria to trust his temper around her.  He needed to cool down first.

He glanced back as he left the dining room and saw her face turning uncharacteristically resolute.  It made him pause for a split second.

Would she really force the issue?

It wouldn’t be in character for her at all.  His mother had always been the docile sort.  She had a spine and could exert her superiority around the other wives, certainly, but she knew what was expected of her and had always been passive when pitched against her husband or son.  She knew better than to anger Lucius while he was alive, and she usually treated Draco with deference now that he was head of their household.  She had not objected to any of Draco’s plans involving Hermione, other than trying to push him toward Astoria for that so-called ‘public facing role.’

Then again, war and fear did peculiar things to people.

Draco forced himself to set it aside, but he couldn’t help his mind from drifting to one of his contingency plans for this very thing.  It was something he had dreamed about doing for a long time, and he knew it would probably be necessary to bring the Dark Lord on board.  He had even floated the idea by Theo weeks ago, and Theo had come around to it more quickly than he usually did.  It was true Draco hadn’t intended to do it this soon, but that look on his mother’s face…

Draco would need to remind Theo of it.  He was sure Theo would still agree with the matter in principle, if not the execution.

As for Hermione herself, she was so much like her brother.  They both needed time to consider new things.  If Draco approached her with the idea, she would take days or even weeks to absorb it, much like Theo had done.  She could also be stubborn, and she might resist it even though it was for her own good.  And now that Draco was thinking about it more closely, he concluded that he should start the process without delay.  He couldn’t waste time getting her used to the idea or arguing with her about it.

That meant Hermione couldn’t know.  

An unfamiliar sensation coursed through his body as he contemplated it.  It was not entirely pleasant.  It almost felt like…. guilt?

Draco frowned, but he pushed it away.  There was no room for guilt, not yet.

“Ready?” asked Blaise, as Draco approached him and Theo in the entry hall.  Blaise’s eyes were glittering a little.

Draco gave him a knowing look as he led them toward the front door so they could apparate.  In many respects Draco was far more similar to Blaise than Theo, even though he was a bit closer to Theo and always had been.  Draco and Blaise had shared the common experience of watching a witch from afar, fantasizing about her, and being willing to take desperate measures to get her.  Their witches were also entwined with each other and far more emotional than Luna Lovegood, who was the very definition of unruffled.  It was always a delicate balance between keeping their witches happy and doing the things that needed to be done so that Hermione and Ginny would come to rely on them.

Of course, Blaise did have several advantages when it came to attracting Ginny.  His mother approved of the match.  Ginny had arrived at the Manor mourning Potter, but also very angry with him, and that had given Blaise a clear opportunity to divert her attention.  Ginny had a ruthless streak and was much more willing to compromise on her morals than Hermione was.  And of course she hadn’t been hurt in the same way.  

Then again, when it came to something like burning down the Burrow, Draco would never have believed that Ginny would agree so quickly.  It took him and Blaise by surprise, but the moment she accepted it Draco knew that they would make sure she couldn’t change her mind.  

That was the real reason they had to do this tonight, even more so than the threat posed by Rodolphus.  Draco was sure Rodolphus could be managed in other ways.  Burning down the Burrow was just the simplest solution and happened to dovetail nicely with the wizards’ own desires.

Destroying the Burrow was something he and Blaise had both idly fantasized about for a long time, though they never believed they would really have the chance to do it.  That house was the heartbeat of everything that was Weasley, and as long as it was standing their witches would always cling to it as a reminder of their pasts.  It was time for them to fully embrace Draco and Blaise as the wizards who would be giving them a future, and daydreaming about returning to the Burrow at the end of the war would only slow that down.  Rodolphus’s foolish plan had given them the unexpected opportunity to level it, and now there would be no stopping them.  

Draco and the others apparated to the field immediately behind the property and looked at it one last time.  Draco glanced sideways at Blaise and saw a broad smile start to cross his face.  

“Finally,” he breathed.

Theo looked a bit disapproving, but inclined his head begrudgingly.  He knew just how much Blaise and Draco wanted this, even though he had always insisted it was unnecessary.  Then again, now that Rodolphus was actively plotting, Theo didn’t hesitate to get on board with the plan.  There was too much at stake to allow his scruples to override what needed to be done.

He and Hermione were so much alike.

“Go ahead and start,” said Draco, looking at the eager expression on Blaise's face.  “We’ll be right behind you.”

Blaise nodded and barely spared them a glance.  He was nearly quivering with excitement, as he moved forward and passed the wards.

“Do you think he’s finally going to fuck her tonight?” asked Theo wryly.  “I know Ginny agreed to it, but this is bound to make her emotional.  She will want comfort once it’s all over.”

Draco gave a huff of laughter.  “Could you blame him?”

Theo snorted.  “No, I suppose not.  I’d put a hundred galleons on some pretty words in Italian to soothe her, just as he’s unzipping her dress and working his way into her knickers.”  

“No bet,” said Draco instantly.  “That’s exactly what he’s going to do.  It’s bound to work.”

Theo looked at Draco critically.  “Why are we hanging back then?  I expect you’re just as eager.”

Draco shrugged.  He was eager, it was true.  But this was more important.

“You know that thing we talked about with Hermione?  The extra layer of protection I want to give to her?”

Theo’s eyes sharpened.  “Yes.”

“I’m going to do it.”

“Do you think it’s necessary?”

Draco shrugged.  “Hard to say.  I’m not going to risk it though.  And you know it’s a good idea.”

Theo was quiet for a moment.  “You know I want you to do it eventually.  I’ve felt guilty about the way we were raised.”

Draco didn’t allow his satisfaction to show on his face.  He knew Theo had felt guilty.  It was true Theo had been jealous of Hermione’s relationship with their biological parents, but he had also been given opportunities and security that she would never have unless Draco executed his plan and gave them to her. 

Draco was not above using that guilt.  He suspected it was the reason Theo had come around to the idea in the first place.

“Yes,” he said simply. 

“But you haven’t talked to her about it, have you?”

Draco shot him a look.  This was the precarious part.

“No, of course not.  She’s too delicate, Theo.  I will tell her when she’s ready, but it could be months before she’s settled in enough to hear it.  I can’t wait that long before starting the process.  It may never be needed, but I won’t risk it.”

Theo swallowed hard.  “I don’t like keeping her in the dark.”

“I know.  I don’t either.  But you know it’s the best approach right now.  You’ve said yourself she’s too fragile to know everything.”

Another look of guilt flashed across Theo’s face, and Draco forced himself not to smile when he saw it.  Theo had done a few things behind Hermione’s back too, and Draco suspected a subtle reminder was all that was needed.

“We will have to tell her someday, Draco.”

I’ve got him.

“And we will.  Once she has healed a little more.”

“She might hate us when she finds out.”

A shiver of displeasure passed through Draco at these words.

“She won’t,” he said firmly.  “She’s very sweet and forgiving.  And if you think she’s not ready to handle the things you need to tell her, then she’s certainly not ready to hear what I intend to do.”

Draco turned to look at Theo squarely.  His face was so much like Hermione’s, especially when lit by the small flames Blaise had started in the background.  They said nothing, but Draco knew they were thinking the same thing.

Mutually assured destruction.

Draco knew they would keep quiet because if one of them told Hermione the other’s secrets then they would both be fucked.  Draco may be more like Blaise, but he was bound tightly to Theo thanks to a shared history and the fact that they loved the same witch, though in very different ways.  And while they both wanted to get closer to her, they were also perfectly capable of withholding information from her too.

Especially when it gave them the things they each wanted so desperately.

“Fine.  You’re right.  When?”

“Tomorrow.  I will have the perfect opportunity.”

Theo’s mouth tightened.  “True.  That’s better than another—”

“Yes,” said Draco curtly, cutting him off.  “You know I’m not thrilled about that part, but she will be doing it as part of the ritual for the animagus potion anyway.  We might as well use it.”

Theo nodded.  “Alright.  I won’t say anything.”

“Neither will I.  We will tell her everything when she’s ready to hear it.”

Theo gave a firm nod.  “Then let’s do this.”

He strode forward and Draco followed.  Now that his plan for Hermione had been blessed, he could focus on the thing he had come for tonight.

And Draco was very eager.  

He barely spared a glance at the dead muggles in the sitting room.  Blaise was in the kitchen, coaxing the fire to burn larger, as Theo moved to the muggles to preemptively burn their polyjuiced bodies so they could be pulled out and taken to the Dark Lord while the rest of the building smoldered.  It would take a little time before the fire was self-sustaining, and Draco knew precisely where he wanted to start.

He took the stairs, two at a time to the first landing.  He opened the door the bedroom and looked around it quickly.  Yes, this was it.  He had seen this place in Hermione’s mind just one time, but he would never forget it.  The room was small but bright, with a large window and painted a cheerful blue.  There was a desk against the window overlooking the orchard and posters of the Holyhead Harpies on the wall.  Blaise had taken it upon himself to strip this room earlier, and it was mostly bare.  There was nothing left that should be saved.

Not that Draco had any intention of saving this.

His eyes fell on the thing he hated most about this room.  He raised his wand toward it and hesitated for just a split second.  

Hermione had been very upset by the prospect of burning down the Burrow, perhaps even more so than Ginny.  She had been quiet and withdrawn when he saw her before dinner, clearly perturbed by the dead muggles and destruction of property.  Then again, she had agreed to it, if a bit reluctantly.  And it would be worth a little tension if it meant he got to finish this.  

Draco thought for a moment longer and decided he could find some way to make it up to her.  He didn’t know what it would be yet, but he trusted that something would come to him.  Draco was excellent at identifying opportunities and leveraging them to his advantage.

Draco no longer hesitated as he whispered, “Incendio maxima,” and the flames roared to life.  Draco stepped back and started to smile.

He was ready to burn Hermione Granger’s past to the ground.

******

The wizards returned just before it was time for bed, smelling strongly of smoke.

“It’s done, Bellisima,” said Blaise gently, opening his arms for Ginny.  She ran to him and hugged him hard, and Hermione could see a few tears, but also the determination radiating from her friend.  Her home was gone, but the things and people she cared about the most were safe.

“We took the bodies to the Dark Lord,” added Theo.  “The story we’re going with is that Blaise has turned Ginny, and she disclosed the Burrow’s address with a letter her father smuggled to her.  Then he and Draco killed the Weasleys and burned it down.  The Dark Lord was thrilled.”

“It’s true,” said Blaise, now addressing Ginny.  “You may have to pretend to be a blood purist when you are seen in public, but you won’t have to talk very much.”

Ginny sniffed and pulled away.  “I can do that,” she said roughly.  “It’s probably safer anyway.”

“And it will secure Blaise’s claim on Ginny,” added Draco.  “We’ll be able to bring all three of you out as our boons soon.”

Hermione exchanged a glance at Ginny and knew they were thinking the same thing.  Trading boons was obviously more delicate than either Draco or Blaise disclosed given how long it had taken them to do it.  This would be an unexpected benefit of the thing the wizards had done tonight.

A moment later Ginny broke the gaze with Hermione and nestled into Blaise again.

"I'm going to take her back to her room," said Blaise softly.  "She needs some time."

Hermione saw an oddly knowing look pass between Theo and Draco at these words, but she couldn't make sense of it.  Blaise, however, didn't seem to think anything of it as he maneuvered Ginny away, closing followed by Theo and Luna.

Then it was just Draco left behind.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, as a smug look settled on his face.

Hermione stood questioningly as he moved back to his room, and a moment later a great “Mrreow” broke the silence, and he reappeared carrying a familiar ginger cat.

“Crookshanks!” Hermione gasped, striding forward to gather him to her.  She buried her face in his fur which smelled a bit smokey, and she squeezed him until he began to protest.  She looked up to find Draco watching her with satisfaction.

“How?” she asked weakly.  “I had to leave him behind a year ago, and Ginny said he ran away…”

“He didn’t,” said Draco.  “He just moved into the garden shed.  After we lit the place up, he came out to tell us off.  I’m sure he recognized me.”

“He recognized you?” she asked with confusion. 

“Of course he did.  Crooks and I are old friends, aren’t we boy?” he asked.

Then to Hermione’s utter shock he reached out a hand, and Crookshanks let Draco scratch him under the chin, and he began to purr.  As far as Hermione could recall, Crookshanks had never shown an ounce of affection toward anybody but her, with the notable exception of Sirius Black.

“I’m going to need an explanation,” she said.

Draco just chuckled.  “He used to roam all over Hogwarts, didn’t he?  It took a little time, but we became friendly.  He used to sleep with me when he wasn’t sleeping with you.”

Hermione was speechless.  

“It started around fourth year,” he added.  “Right after I made it clear that I thought Krum was a tosser.  Crooks agreed with me, and we became allies.”

Hermione shook her head, in disbelief.  “That’s just… wait.  Did you know he was mine?”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Obviously.  You showed up with him in third year.”

She had, and Draco had noticed.  That was a year he had barely spoken to her, but he had noticed her cat, managed to befriend it, and now here he was returning him to Hermione.  She could scarcely believe it.

If she didn’t have a crush on him already, this would have done it.  Her pet, her familiar, whom she had missed so much had just been returned to her.  She had never believed she would see him again. 

“Thank you,” she said, as Crookshanks hopped out of her arms.  

Hermione approached him, as another feeling of recklessness took over.  Draco kept telling her it wasn’t a crush, and only in the last couple of days did she finally have an inkling of what he could mean by it.  Maybe it wasn’t a crush because it was bigger than that.  It was more enduring than that.  He befriended Crookshanks because he disliked Krum – and why would he have any reason to dislike Krum, unless his crush had started back then?  Perhaps fourth year Draco wasn’t as comfortable with torture and murder as this version of him, but had he been just as jealous?  Had he seen Hermione at the Yule Ball and hated watching another boy touch her?

She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, but she wanted to push a boundary.  She wanted to be brave.  She didn’t know if she was truly ready to feel a kiss anywhere but the hand, but she wanted to try it.  And she rather thought Draco would do it for her.

She slipped her arms over his shoulders, and his hands immediately came up to hold her waist.  She leaned in and hugged him, and he wrapped his arms around her to squeeze back.

“Are you happy now?” he murmured.  “I know you were cross with me about the Burrow, but it was really for the best.  And I couldn’t bear to leave Crookshanks behind once he emerged.  There is plenty of space for him to live with us here in our wing.”

“Yes,” she said.  “Getting Crooks back… it makes me so happy.”

“Good.  I want you to be happy here.  That will make me very happy.”

“Draco,” she said, gathering her courage.  “If I said you could kiss me on the cheek… would that also make you happy?”

She felt his hands tighten, and his voice turned low.  “Yes, darling girl.  That would make me… incredibly happy.”

“You can,” she said, and immediately she felt his face turn toward hers.  His nose traced her cheekbone, and it made her pulse race just as she thought it would.  This was closer, tighter than they had ever been before, and his breath was leaving a hot trail as his lips grazed her cheek. 

“Orange blossom,” he sighed.  “So fucking good…”

Hermione’s nose wasn’t filled with orange blossom, but with cedar and spice, overlaid with smoke.  Instinctively she dipped her face into the crook of his neck, and she felt his pulse racing.  Another reckless thought seized her, and she gave his neck a tentative kiss.  He reacted instantly and pulled her tightly against him, and now Hermione could feel something firm in his trousers that made her freeze.

“You’re alright,” he breathed, as he held her there so she could feel it.  “It’s just me.”

It’s normal.  It’s natural.  Half of the human species has a body part that does this.

The tension slowly left her, and he sighed contentedly.  “Good.  You’re being so good just like that.  Look at how well you’re letting me touch you now.”

And she was, she realized.  Full frontage contact with lips on cheeks and necks was enormous progress compared to where she had been a few weeks ago.  She wouldn’t be able to do this with anybody else, she knew, but with Draco she could.  She laid her head on his shoulder while he continued to hold her close.  He seemed unwilling to move, lest the embrace end.

“It’s getting easier,” she said.  “With you I mean.”

He made a pleased sound at this.  “When I bring you out as my boon, do you think you’ll be able to play along then?”

“How?” she asked a little nervously, remembering Hannah sitting stiffly while Travers felt her up.

“Sitting on my lap, curled up against me, letting me play with your hair and neck.  Maybe some more kisses on your cheek.  I’m going to make it clear I’m very fond of you and that anybody who asks to share you is risking a limb.”

“Will they ask?”

“Doubtful,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek again.  “They’re about to learn that I officially traded away Ginny Weasley to have you all to myself.  Why would I ever share such a treasure?”

God, but he had a way with words.  Hermione couldn’t help but melt into him as he spoke to her.

“So lovely,” he murmured as he felt her relax against him.  “I know you’ll do well for me in front of the others, won’t you, sweet girl?  You’ll be perfect for me, just like this?”

Hermione nodded, unable to speak.  His voice was settling deep into the recesses of her mind.  She could listen to him say those pretty words to her forever.

“Good,” he said, finally pulling back from her.  “There will be another party soon.  I can’t wait to bring you with me.”

“No more waitressing then?” she asked wryly.

He shrugged.  “We’ll see.”

Based on his tone of voice, Hermione suspected he would never let her do it again.

She stifled a yawn, but his keen eye caught it of course.  “Get some rest.  We have a big day tomorrow.”

Then he looked down at Crookshanks.  “I’ll ask Poppy to put in a cat door for you.  That way you can sleep with whichever one of us has your favor on any given day.”

Crookshanks purred, and Hermione felt her heart melting for this boy who had committed murder and arson only hours earlier.   How much longer could she really fight her feelings for him?

She gave him a brilliant smile, and his eyes shone as he leaned in for one last kiss on the cheek and then — to her surprise — a reverent kiss on the forehead that made Hermione feel precisely like that priceless treasure he used to describe her.  When he finally pulled away he was smiling too.  He looked back at her expression as he crossed the threshold to his own room and gave her a wink before closing the door quietly behind him.

He knows he has me now.  Dammit.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s warm feelings persisted the following morning when she woke up to feel that familiar weight of Crookshanks on her pillow.  She buried herself in his warm fur and tried not to think about the thing she would be doing later on that morning.

Poppy helped her get ready, but Hermione opted to skip breakfast with Draco and Theo in order to do some last minute studying.  They had canceled training today and would be brewing the potion for the animagus transformations instead.

The potion contained some obscure ingredients, which Draco had been collecting slowly over the previous weeks.  The brew itself was fairly straightforward though, and Hermione felt certain they could complete it that morning.  The witches would take it during dinner when the wizards would be there to observe them.  The written accounts of it were vague and euphemistic, but all of their books made it clear the potion could be dangerous to the drinker while their brains connected to the animal for the first time.

The potion didn’t force a transformation.  Instead, it sent the drinker into a kind of fugue state.  It was technically possible to become an animagus without it, but the potion sped the process up considerably.  It would give the drinker vivid hallucinations so that visualizing the transformation would be more readily achievable.  And in the case of Hermione and Luna, it was required in order to draw out an animal that wasn’t already inside of them.

Hermione really didn’t want to think about that part.

Draco collected her at their normal time, giving her a piercing look.  No doubt he was worried she was cross with him again since she shut him out for breakfast, but Hermione gave him a tight smile, and he relaxed.

“You’re nervous,” he said, grabbing her hand and leading her through the door.

“I’ve never killed an animal before,” she said softly, “and I really don’t like blood.”

“Hey,” he said, stopping her in the hallway and looking down at her with concern.  “You can do it.  I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“I wish you could do it for me,” she confessed.

“Oh my sweet girl, so do I,” he sighed.  Hermione felt an odd blend of warmth at the term of endearment mixed with dread of the thing she was about to do.

It was terribly confusing.

She saw his eyes sharpen on her expression before he pulled her in for a hug.  

“If there was any way for me to do it for you…”

“I know,” she said quickly.  “I know you can’t.  It has to be by my hand.”

Her eyes dropped, and she tightened her arms around him.  It was starting to feel like too much again.

“It will be quick,” he said bracingly, rubbing her back a little.  “And you don’t have to watch Luna.  We can do yours first and then leave.”

Hermione swallowed hard and then nodded as she pulled away.  Truly, Luna’s sacrifice was far worse than Hermione’s.  She would be going as a dog, and Hermione was certain that if it had been her animal she would never manage it.  Theo had reassured Hermione that Luna’s chosen animal was very old and would have to be put down soon in any event — but Hermione still didn’t think she could have done it.  Luna had taken a stoic approach to it though, explaining that animal sacrifices had occurred now and then with her mother’s experiments when she was still alive.  Luna had seen a fair few and had participated in them before.  

But no, Hermione didn’t want to see it.  Her own sacrifice was going to be challenging enough.

It’s just a bird.  Just a garden bird.  It will be fine.

Steeling herself, Hermione followed Draco into the training room to find three cauldrons set up, with one having twice the quantity of ingredients as the other two.

“That’s mine then?” she asked.

Draco nodded.  “You’ll be making a double batch.”

“You’re so sure I can manage two…”

“I’ve never doubted it,” he said simply.

Hermione tried to hold this knowledge close to her heart as she settled down at her station.  This potion was so personal that it had to be brewed by the witch or wizard who would consume it.  She said little to the others and pointedly did not look over at the cages at the end of the room.  In her peripheral vision she could see a large form lying still in the larger of the two cages, and she assumed that was the dog.  Evidently the animals were stunned, and Hermione was grateful for it.

She still didn’t know which species of bird she would be.  After Draco had refused to tell her the previous day, she decided that she didn’t want to know.  It didn’t matter, and he was right that she would just dwell on it unnecessarily.  She had noticed him casting some curious glances at her, surely waiting for her to question him about it again. But her silence seemed to prompt his own, because she didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer.

She settled in with her brewing, the instructions memorized and motions practiced.  It was cathartic, in a way, being able to brew again.  She had always enjoyed potions and had a talent for it that had been unmatched until the Half-Blood Prince made his appearance in sixth year.  It had been far too long since she had done something like this, and some of the tension drained out of her as she worked.

“You enjoy this,” said Draco quietly.  He was leaning against a nearby wall, arms crossed, his gray eyes studying her as always.  “I always sat behind you in class, you know.  I’ve never been able to see your face while you work.”

“I’ve always liked potions,” she said.  “It’s relaxing.”

This word seemed to pique his interest.  

“You should tell me whenever you want to brew something.  That can be arranged.”

She gave him a little smile and fell silent as she focused on her task.  Her mind stilled like this.  Even her dread of the thing that was about to come was dulled and set aside.  It suddenly struck her that she hadn’t felt this way in ages.

“Do some legilimency,” she said to Draco, not bothering to raise her eyes from the potion, but instead letting her mind fall back into the routine of brewing.  She felt a nudge and then a prod and then a deeper push, but she ignored it and continued to brew.  A few moments later she felt him leave, and her eyes flicked up to find him watching her with a slow smile.

“Fucking finally,” he said.  “Right.  I’m getting you set up with a lab after this.  Evidently your still place is at the bottom of a cauldron.”

Hermione exhaled with a smile.  She would need to practice it that way before trying it among the Death Eaters of course, but it had felt different this time.  Draco’s pushing hadn’t sent her mind anywhere.  It didn’t make her feel like she was being examined.  It wasn’t a distraction, it was an impenetrable place he couldn’t enter, unless she allowed it.

Even if the animagi potion was a bust, that was something.

The brewing came to an end with only a few emergency assists for Ginny and Luna.  Hermione needed no help at all, having been utterly absorbed by her task.  As she gave the final stir before adding the blood, she lifted her spoon out, and it felt like coming up from being underwater as the stillness dissolved and she remembered what she was about to do.

She felt her own blood drain from her face at the thought.  

Draco seemed to sense the shift in her, because his expression went from fond to grim as he watched.  He pushed himself off the wall and strode toward her, holding out a small vial.

“Drink this,” he said.  “It’s your calming draught.”

Hermione didn’t question it and just tipped her head back.  She felt some of the calm from a few minutes earlier returning to her, but it wasn’t perfect.

Draco watched until he was sure the potion was working, and then he spoke quickly.

“Alright, Hermione first, then Ginny, then Luna.”

Even with the calming draught, Hermione’s stomach started to roll as she nodded quickly.  She needed to get this over with as soon as possible.

Draco pulled out his wand and waved it to dim the lights.  

“Over here,” he said, pointing to a space on the other side of the room that had a few candles, which Theo was lighting for her, along with a bowl and a knife.  There was a cushion on the floor as well, and Hermione went over to it and kneeled down, trying to get as comfortable as possible.

God, she really didn’t want to do this.

Draco disappeared for a moment, and she heard the sounds of a cage unlocking.  She closed her eyes as she heard him start to move back toward her, and she felt the telltale signs of a panic attack beginning.  Even with the calming draught it was going to pull her over within the next few seconds.  She was sure she would already be deep into one if she hadn’t taken that potion.

“Theo,” she said in a sort of desperate, strangled whisper.

“Give it to me, Hermione,” he said.  “Open for me.”

She opened their connection, and Theo immediately started siphoning her emotions.  They eased a little and began to dull as Draco placed the bird in front of her.

It was a dove.

“Oh God,” she said.

She knew it was stupid to assign meanings to animals, but she couldn’t help herself.  Doves were innocent symbols of peace and grace.  She was about to butcher it.

She stared at it, taking in all the details.  It wasn’t white like the doves in stories.  It was a collared dove, its body a sleek light gray that reminded her of Draco’s eyes with its tail the color of charcoal.  Around the back of its neck was a band in that same charcoal color that gave the dove its name.  It reminded her of the choker she had worn to that party – of having Draco’s hands on her throat.

It actually looked very much like a pigeon, but Hermione knew better. 

“You remember what to do?” asked Draco in that soothing voice of his.

Hermione swallowed and nodded, her eyes still fixed on the bird.  It looked dead, but she knew that it wasn’t because she would have to kill it.  It was just stunned.  The moment she touched it she would feel warmth.

Theo was siphoning harder than ever, and she felt Draco kneel behind her.

“You can do this,” he whispered, gently moving her hair aside and placing his hand on the back of her neck in precisely the same location as the dove’s collar.  He was rubbing it gently.  “Breathe.  It doesn’t know what’s happening.  Just make it quick, and it will be over before you know it.”

***

Hermione’s eyes squeezed shut, and she picked up the knife with a shaky hand and gripped the dove with the other.  It was warm, and she could feel its heart beating.

She froze for one second, then two, then three.  All of her friends were around her, watching her.  Theo and the calming draught were working overtime to keep her on the edge of her feelings, and Draco was still whispering to her.

“Good.  So good.  You’re holding everything perfectly.  Just say the words, and one little slice.  That’s all…”

She positioned the bird over the bowl and the knife near its throat.  She squeezed her eyes shut and tears leaked out as she murmured the words in Latin she had read a hundred times and memorized for this moment — words claiming the bird for herself and calling its life force inside of her.

At the end she pulled the knife across its throat, and she opened her eyes when she felt the hot blood spill over her hands.  The metallic smell filled her nose as she wrung the poor thing dry.  

Her hands were shaking when it was complete, and she dropped the knife and the remains of the dove, palms open to see the red death there.  Theo whipped out his wand to vanish the mess from her hands and the bird remains, so that all was left was the bowl with blood.  He was siphoning harder than ever, and Hermione let him do it.

***

“One more step before we add it to the potion,” murmured Draco, now handing her a second knife for her to use on herself.  It wasn’t a knife he typically used in training, but she thought it looked familiar.  It was obviously very old and fine.  There was a crest on the handle that she recognized from the silver goblets at Grimmauld Place.  It must be a Black family heirloom.     

Was this the family knife that was written about in the papers – the one he used to mark muggleborns to track them?  Would this enable him to find her if she ever ran or was taken?  Would it track her in both forms?  Had he told her the truth all those weeks ago when he said he couldn’t track through wards?

Did any of it even matter?  Hermione felt sure he would never stop looking if she disappeared.  

After the thing she had just done she was in no emotional state to process anything to do with the mysterious knife.  She was trembling and needed to finish this.  She hesitated for only a moment longer and then gripped the knife and opened her left palm with it.  She winced a little at the cut, but something about it also felt cathartic.  She milked her hand as blood poured freely into the bowl to mix with that of the dove’s.  If Draco was correct the potion would recognize the combined blood as one.

“That’s enough,” came Draco’s voice as he moved out from behind her and pulled her injured palm toward him.

He started tracing the cut, whispering words under his breath.  Hermione caught few words but thought she heard “Black” and “sanguis,” and “Columba.”  The blood stopped flowing, and the cut faded into an odd mark, with seven small dots seemingly at random that were a deep red.

“There,” he said, and Hermione caught a tone of deep satisfaction in his voice — something dark and covetous.  

He swiped a thumb across her palm one last time and released her hand.

“Best add it to the potion now,” he said.  “Ginny’s up next.”

Hermione rose on shaky legs while Blaise pulled another bowl and a regular knife forward for Ginny.  She would only be adding her own blood to the potion, since her horse form was already a part of her.  She had no sacrifice.

What am I thinking?  She made the biggest sacrifice of all last night to save her parents.

Draco followed Hermione back to her station, where she divided her potion into two equal parts.  In one of them she poured the blood while stirring clockwise six more times as Draco bottled the other half to save for later.  It would be used for the eagle if she could manage the dove.  

The last few moments of brewing wasn’t enough for her to relax again, and she wanted nothing more than to get out of there.  With the final stir, the potion steamed and then turned a clear blue that was the precise shade described in the books.  She slumped with relief.  It was done.

“Let’s go,” said Draco, taking the wooden spoon out of her hand and quickly bottling the rest of it before grabbing her gently and pulling her toward the door.

“We’ll see the rest of you this evening,” he said firmly.  “She needs some time.”

There were murmurs of farewell from the others, and Hermione saw several worried looks cast her way, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.  She felt ill, clammy.  She had killed some innocent thing for her own gain and then released quite a bit of her own blood too.  She was lightheaded from it.

“Come on, let’s get you settled,” he said as he pulled her into her room and forced her to sit on the chaise lounge.  “You look ill.”

“It was a lot of blood,” she confessed.  “Both kinds.”

Draco looked grim, but called Poppy for a blood replenishing potion, which Hermione took with some relief.  As she felt her color returning, she closed her eyes and tried to forget the sight of that poor dead bird.  Crookshanks jumped up next to her, and she automatically started to stroke his fur as he purred.  It was soothing, but it wasn’t enough.  She needed to distract herself.  And she needed some answers.

“Draco,” she said, “what did you do to my hand?”

He had been fussing with the green and gray blanket and giving Crookshanks a few pats.  He paused at this question.

“What makes you think I did something?” he asked in a too-casual voice.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, opening one eye to look at him.  “Was it a tracking spell?”

He gave her a slightly wary look as though wondering how she would react to the truth.

“Of sorts,” he said.  “It’s tied to my knife… and my ancestral home.”

“The Manor?” she asked in confusion.

He shook his head.  “Grimmauld Place.”

“I don’t understand.”

He sighed.  “Hang on, let me show you something.”

He disappeared into his room for a moment and soon returned holding a quill and ink.  He prepared the quill for her and then sat on the edge of the chaise lounge and turned her palm up before handing her the quill.

“Connect the dots,” he said.

Hermione furrowed her brow, but slowly started to draw lines between the red dots on her palm.  When she was finished her eyes were wide as she recognized it.

“It’s Columba,” she breathed, “the dove constellation.”

“Precisely,” he said.  “And I have the dragon.”

He turned his palm over and showed her.  She could see a few faded marks, which he connected to form Draco.  She had never noticed them before.

“What does it do?” she asked in fascination.

“It will help me find you if you ever go missing,” he said simply.  “It makes the tracking spell on my knife stronger.  All I have to do is go to Grimmauld Place and call for you.  I will be able to find you anywhere.”

Hermione studied him, trying to decide if he was telling her everything or not.  

“Through wards too?”

He nodded.  “The knife by itself is good enough for basic tracking, but I lose the trail inside of wards.   Tying it to the Black family magic makes that stronger.”

“So you’re saying I’m truly your prisoner now,” she said.  

She had very mixed feelings about this.  It was incredibly underhanded that he had done this without talking to her about it first, but then again did she expect anything less from him?  He was protective, almost possessive.  He was keeping her safe just as much as he was imprisoning her.  Did it really matter if she had a mark that would let him find her quickly?  It would be a shortcut, nothing more.  By now she was certain that he would always find her, mark or not, and he would leave no stone unturned if she ever went missing.

Because it wasn’t a crush.

“I prefer to think of it as a safety measure,” he said airily.

“Draco, I don't want to be your prisoner.”

Despite those mixed feelings — or maybe because of them — a slight feeling of panic started to creep.

“Hey,” he said soothingly, as he pushed her hair out of the way and began to rub her neck just like he had while she was killing that bird.  “That’s not why I did it.  And I don’t think of you as my prisoner, Hermione.  You’re a witch I care about very much, and you are here under my protection.”

”But the tracking…” 

“It’s just a safety measure, that’s all.  Please try to calm yourself and think for a moment.  Do you remember when I grabbed your wrist at the party and pulled you away?  It was true you went for my throat.  You did a great job defending yourself.  But what if it had been somebody else who did that to you?  What if they had stunned you from behind so you couldn’t call for Theo?  What if they took you some place you didn’t recognize so even the bond was useless?  You were outside of the protective wards in my wing that night, Hermione, and anybody could have taken you.”

“But—”

“You’ve told me before you have no interest in leaving because everything you care about is here.”

“That’s true,” she acknowledged.

“And I know you don’t want any other Death Eater to take you.”

“No, of course not, but I—”

“And this means nobody will ever be able to take you away from my protection, not for long.  If you go missing I will be able to find you very quickly and help you.  I would do everything in my power to find you anyway, Hermione, but when it comes to other Death Eaters seconds matter.  I wouldn’t hesitate to kill anybody who is trying to hurt you, darling girl, but I have to be able to find you first.”

Hermione felt what little fight she had draining out of her as he made this point.  She knew that if she ran he would do everything he could to find her, whether he could actively track her or not.  And while she certainly had an interest in breaking a few rules to acquire a wand and practice with it, she truly wasn’t interested in escaping. She wanted a bit more freedom around the Manor, that’s all.  She didn’t want to leave. And he was also correct that if she was taken or threatened by another Death Eater then seconds mattered.  

“I wish you had asked me first,” she said a bit lamely.

He pulled her hand into his lap and traced the constellation on it.  “You can be cross with me, little dove, but it’s to keep you safe.  I’m not apologizing for it.”

She should be angry, raging.  He had crossed a huge line.  She knew this.  

But upon hearing the affectionate name he had just used, all she could think about was that poor dove’s blood being spilled.  So she didn’t rage, she couldn’t.  She just didn’t have enough fight in her after the thing she had just done and the points he had made.  She was emotionally wrung out.

She wondered if Draco sensed this. 

She wondered if it even mattered.

“Columba,” she sighed, very frustrated with herself for moving on from it too quickly, but not able to summon the energy to take him to task just yet.  “I suppose that’s a good name for my animagus form if I can manage it.”

He smiled broadly at this, until his left cheek dimpled.  “I think that would be perfect.”

She exhaled and closed her eyes, finally allowing herself to feel.  She thought she sensed something of Columba stirring inside of her, though she knew it wouldn’t truly awaken until she consumed the potion this evening.

“Draco, I have one more question.”

“What is it, my darling?”

Hermione felt herself blush at how gentle and kind he was being.  He smiled a little to see it.

She tried to shake herself out of it and made herself focus.

“Is it just a tracking spell or is there something more to it?"

"It's just my way of protecting you, Hermione.  That's all.  It's nothing for you to worry about.  Now we have a long day ahead of us, and you need to rest so that you're ready to meet Columba this evening."

Hermione felt a frisson of doubt now.  She didn't know if the spell only tracked her or if it did something more than that.  She didn't know if she could trust him.  

Then again, she didn't know what to do if she couldn't trust him.

"Draco, promise me you aren't lying."

He sighed and gave her a tired sort of smile.

"I'm not lying, Hermione  Would I ever do something that hurt you?  Of course not.  All I have ever wanted to do is protect you and keep you safe and happy here with me.  Your Columba symbol will help me do that.  And if something ever happens to you, I'll be able to find you and hopefully get to you before you are in any real danger."

Hermione absorbed this silently, trying to decide if she could let it go or not.  She felt him settle into the chaise lounge behind and her pull her back against his chest.

"Relax, little dove.  Lean against me and close your eyes for a few minutes.  You've been through a terrible ordeal this morning, and now you're fretting.  Your heart is so tender.  I feared the sacrifice would be too difficult for you, but you did so well with it.  You were so brave.  Now it's time for you to breathe and rest and recover from it.  There is nothing for you to worry about.  You are safe here with me, and I'll stay with you the whole time."

Something about Draco's words washed over her, and she choked up a little as tears pricked her eyes.  He must have sensed her emotions because he continued to make soothing sounds as he wrapped his arms around her firmly and placed soft kisses on her cheek and the top of her head and even her shoulder.  When the worst of it passed, she found herself leaning into him.  

She didn't know if he was hiding things from her.  She didn't know how to find out. She didn't know if she had the emotional bandwidth to even care, at least not at that very moment.  That poor dove was on a loop in her mind's eye, and it was the only thing she could seem to focus on. 

“I didn't like killing her, Draco.  Doves are supposed to represent peace, tranquility, freedom, and hope.  I feel like I ruined it."

Draco made a sympathetic noise and nuzzled her harder.  "You could never ruin it, sweet girl.  All of those things are inside of you.  Columba will just enhance them.  That's why I chose her for you.  She is perfect for you."

“Do you really think so?”

“I'm positive.  Columba is a part of you now.  Try to embrace it, Hermione.  And rest with me while you do.”

Almost unconsciously Hermione's eyes fluttered closed.  That feeling of being emotionally drained soon caught up to her as she sank into the scent and feel of Draco behind her.  Before she knew it, she drifted off to sleep.

******

Hermione woke up around lunchtime to find Draco still holding her and looking at her with sincere concern.

"Are you feeling any better?  I knew you needed your rest.  I'm glad you were able to sleep."

Hermione's cheeks flushed bright red as she realized she had been sleeping on him for well over an hour.  He just gave her a contented smile when he saw it.

"I promise I behaved myself.  Crookshanks kept a very stern eye on me the entire time."

Hermione glanced at her cat who was indeed staring right at Draco from a chair on the other side of the room.

"Sorry," she muttered.

He tutted.  "Never be sorry for falling asleep on me.  I invited it, didn't I?  But I was thinking while you were resting... and I know said I wouldn't apologize for your Columba symbol, but I realized that wasn't well done of me.  I certainly don't regret protecting you, but I should have found a way to talk to you about it first, Hermione.  I'll admit I only realized last night that we would have a perfect opportunity for it today, and I'm afraid the situation with the Burrow and finding Crookshanks got in the way soon after it occurred to me.  And then this morning you didn't invite me in for breakfast, and once I finally saw you I could tell how nervous you were.  I didn't want to spring it on you and distract you from the sacrifice.  Still, I'm sorry I didn't ask first.  Can you forgive me?"

He was tracing her palm while he said this, and Hermione found herself melting a little.  He sounded so earnest and serious, and if he was telling her the truth that it only came to him last night, then she could see why he didn’t talk to her about it first.  He was right that a lot had happened.

“It really only occurred to you last night?”

He nodded.  “I’ve thought about it before, but I could never bring myself to cut you, my darling.  It was only last night that I remembered we would have the perfect opportunity for it today because you were slicing your palm anyway.”

Hermione started to nod.  A look of relief crossed his face, and he gave her that brilliant, dimpled smile that she loved so much before raising her hand to his lips and kissing it.

"Thank you.  You have such a forgiving nature.  I truly don't deserve it, but it's one of my favorite things about you."

Hermione flushed again and dropped her eyes.  "Just as long as you promise there's nothing bad or—"

She cut herself off as he raised her chin to make her look at him.  His face was serious, fervent.

"Nothing about it is bad.  Not one single thing, do you understand?  I could never, ever do something bad to you, Hermione, I swear it.  I may have fucked up by not asking you about it first, but that spell will protect you.  It was very important for us to do it, and I had to take advantage of the opportunity that we had for it.  Please tell me you understand that."

Hermione relaxed into his embrace and nodded again.  She still wasn't certain if he had told her everything about it, but she knew he wouldn't hurt her.  She believed that much.  He cared about her, that was very apparent.  And while she was still uncomfortable with the tracking, his heartfelt apology and sincere insistence that it was necessary to keep her safe made her push it down.  Besides, she truly didn't intend to leave.  If that ever changed, Draco would surely comb the earth to bring her back so the spell wouldn’t matter very much.  But it could be the difference between life or death if she was taken.

She felt him relax as he dropped another kiss on top of her head.

"Thank you, my darling girl.  You're my greatest treasure."

Hermione sighed into him, relishing the attention and the lovely things he said to her.  Whenever she had him like this he was all hers, and he was incredible.  She idly wondered if anybody but her got to see this side of him.  Somehow she didn't think so, and that made it even more special.

Hermione gave him a small smile, and he twinkled back at her before slowly disentangling himself.

"I need to check on a few Death Eater things before we meet this evening for the potion.  But please keep resting and let Poppy know if you need anything, alright?"

"I will," she said softly.

"Good girl," he murmured, before brushing a hand across her curls fondly and then moving away from her.  As the door to his room started to close, Hermione could have sworn she heard him whistling a jaunty tune, as though he had just achieved something extraordinary.

******

Everyone gathered in Hermione’s room for dinner.

“Well?” asked Hermione, trying her best not to look as disturbed as she felt when her eyes landed on Luna.

“I’m eager to see my horse,” said Ginny enthusiastically.  

“And I’ll be an English foxhound,” said Luna with some excitement.  “She really was a gorgeous thing.”

Hermione felt faintly ill, but she just gave Luna a tight smile.  “That’s great, Luna.  No issues then?”

“None,” she said.  “I think I can feel her life force in me.  She’s so happy.  I can’t wait to get to know her a little better.”

This was such a Luna way of seeing the world that Hermione gave her a genuine smile.

“You know what?  You’re right.  I’m eager to meet Columba.”

“Columba?” asked Theo curiously.  Hermione couldn’t help but notice he shot a piercing look at Draco, who seemed to give him a warning look back, though Hermione couldn't fathom why.

“Yes.  It’s the dove constellation.  I thought it would be a good name for my animagus form.”

“Oh I love that,” insisted Ginny.  “So that would make me what…?”

“Equus,” supplied Draco automatically.

“Then I’m Canis, I suppose,” mused Luna.  “I quite like it.”

Theo and Blaise both wrinkled their noses at this, while Draco looked smug.

“What?” asked Ginny, noticing their expressions.

“It’s just very… Malfoy,” said Blaise.

“It’s Black, actually,” corrected Hermione.  “They’re all named after stars or constellations.”

There was a moment of silence as all three wizards stared at her.  Theo and Blaise looked amazed.  Draco looked… hungry?

“How in the bloody hell did you know that?” demanded Theo.

Hermione shrugged.  “There’s a tapestry at Grimmauld Place.  Ginny and I lived there for a couple summers.”

“It’s true,” added Ginny.  “Draco’s on it.  And Hermione’s right, most of them are stars, aren’t they?”

“Not Narcissa,” pointed out Blaise.

“Perhaps not yet,” insisted Hermione.  “But her name is a derivation of Narcissus, which was a character in Greek mythology.  Many of the stars overlap with Greek mythology.  It wouldn't surprise me at all if a star was named after Narcissus at some point in the future.”

At this, everyone but Draco rolled their eyes.

“Honestly, Sis, must you swot us like that?”

“You share fifty percent of my genes,” she retorted.  

At this reminder, Theo’s face broke into a genuine smile.

“Yeah.  I do,” he said happily.

They ate quickly before settling around in a circle on the floor.  The three girls each held their potions and looked at each other with anticipation.

“It should last at least a half hour,” said Hermione nervously. “But it could go much longer than that.”

“We have all night if we need it,” said Draco.  “One of us will be with each of you the whole time.”

“You may have to restrain us,” reminded Ginny.  “If we start thrashing about or sleepwalking.”

“We’ve got you,” said Blaise.

“Bottoms up then,” said Luna.

All three girls raised their potions to their lips and drank.  Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, and she swayed.  She felt somebody catch her as she went limp and laid her gently on the floor.  She began to dream.

******

There was a fluttering in her chest, a rapid heart beat as her feathers ruffled and shook.  She wasn’t quite sure where she was — it was some place that was wooded.  She was perched on a low branch of a tree.  She heard a twig snap, and her head cocked to the side.  She heard it again, a larger crunching this time.

DANGER!

She took to the sky, wings spread, and immediately her fears melted away.  This was easy.  This was where she was meant to be.  It was safe up here in the sky, away from beasts that were larger than her. 

She soared over the trees and found a meadow.  There was a smoldering ruin nearby, and the sky was tinged with green.  Instinctively she flew around the green.  It felt wrong, like something that might come to life and devour her.

She continued to fly, passing fields and farmlands.  Occasionally she saw a small town and houses perched along the patchwork quilt of the countryside.

She didn’t know precisely where she was going, but she flew on for hours. Something inside of her — an instinct or perhaps a memory — told her she was heading the right direction.  

She passed rivers and ponds, slate roofs, and a circle of enormous stones.  Then there were more fields until she finally she saw it: the place she wanted to be.

It was a garden, alive and verdant in the late days of August.  She saw berries, ripe on some vines, and she flew down to eat one.  The juice burst in her mouth, tart and satisfying.  So she ate another and another until she was sated after her long flight.  

Berries were a gift.  Before long they would wither, and she would turn to seeds or perhaps the occasional insect.

Something inside of her protested this, but it was odd.  She had eaten insects many time before.

“No!” cried a voice.  “No insects!”

It was curious.

She hopped over to a gravel path and peered up to see a perch.  It was gray and looked to be a low ledge.  She stretched her wings and fluttered up to land on it.  She was delighted to find a basin with a pool of water.  She dipped her head and drank.

She heard a crunch of gravel, and her head shot up.  Another crunch, and her heart began to race.

DANGER!

She flew to a nearby branch and settled upon it.  Perhaps she should fly to some other place, but she was reluctant to leave.  It had berries and water and surely this place would have seeds in the winter.  Her keen eyes even caught some insects…

“Not insects!”

No, there would be no insects, but it had everything else.  And other than a few other birds that were smaller than her, this place was safe and beautiful.  She didn’t want to leave.

“There you are sweet girl,” came a voice.

Her heart started beating faster than ever.  She was flooded with fear, and knew she needed to fly away, but something made her pause.  It was unnatural, but she couldn’t help it.  She was frozen in place.

A figure moved into her sight line.  It was large and something white gold gleamed in the sunlight.  Its eyes were gray like the storm clouds that meant rain.

“I was so hoping you would find your way home.  I considered a pigeon, you know, because their homing instincts are better than a dove’s, but you just where to fly to, didn’t you?”

Her heart was still racing, but she couldn’t move.  She was in a high branch.  He couldn’t reach her up here.  He couldn’t.

“It’s time to wake up now, Hermione,” he said gently.  “You’ve been with Columba for ages.  The others woke up hours ago.  I finally decided I had to come fetch you myself.”

Something about these words stirred inside of her.  The fear receded, leaving wariness behind.  Who was this?  Was he her mate?  She would only have one for her whole life and hadn’t found him yet.  

“I could be your mate,” he said in a low voice that reminded her of the gravel he had just crunched.  “If you would have me.  That would be… the most exquisite pleasure.  And I’m in favor of monogamy.  Very much so.  Both of your birds will be monogamous.  I’ll admit it was a factor when I chose them.”

Now she felt an odd warmth at his words.  And there was interest, to be sure.  But it was all so odd.  He couldn’t be her mate, could he?  He looked nothing like her and couldn’t fly.

“I most certainly can fly, thank you very much.”  

Now he sounded…

Offended.

The word just came to her.  How odd.

“Come back to me Hermione,” he said.  “I know you’re in there.  I can hear you.  You’ve just been enjoying Columba so much you’ve forgotten yourself for a time.  Listen to my words and come back.  Show me what a good girl you can be.”

Something complex and multifaceted began to emerge, and soon she was being pushed aside.  She no longer knew what was happening.  But this other thing was bigger than her, stronger than her, far more powerful and intelligent than she was.

“Draco?” said a voice.

“There she is,” the figure said with relief.

“Draco, what…?”

“You’ve been learning all about Columba.  And in true Hermione Granger fashion I think you chose to immerse yourself.”

“Goodness.”

“Come back to me, little dove.  It’s nearly morning.”

“But how?” she asked.

“Come touch me.”

It was an odd thing, approaching a form so large.  It went against every instinct she had to get this close, but that thing in her head assured her it was safe.  He would never hurt her.  All she had to do was fly to him.

She — Columba — spread her wings and fluttered down from the branch, landing on his open hand.  He was holding berries, and they looked riper and sweeter than anything she had ever eaten before.  She couldn’t help herself.  She bent her head and plucked one from his hand.  He gave a low chuckle.

Then the thing inside of her emerged again.  This time it felt smoother, like it might be part of her after all.

“How do I do it Draco?  How do I wake up?”

“Tell me your name,” he said.  He was stroking her head now, down the back of her neck, touching her collar.  Her feathers ruffled at the sensation.

“I’m Columba,” said the thing that was also her.  “But I’m also Hermione.”

******

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open.  She felt like she was coming out of a deep sleep, though she had never felt more exhausted. 

It took her a moment to get her bearings, and as she began to stir she realized she was on something soft like a cloud.  That cedar and spice scent she loved so much was enveloping her, and the room was dark.  It was that time of night just before it began to lighten into morning.

“There you are,” came a rough voice.  “For a moment there I was worried I had lost you.”

Hermione turned to the side and found Draco’s tired face looking down at her.  He looked terrible.  His hair was standing on end, and his face was stubbled.  He had deep circles under his eyes and looked like he was ready to collapse.

He had obviously been up all night.

“What happened?” she asked.

His hand flexed on her waist, and only now did the full scope of her current situation hit her: they were in bed together – her bed – still clothed, though it seemed he had removed her shoes.  She wasn’t under the covers, but the gray and green blanket was draped around her, and Draco was propped up on his side, watching her.

“You explored Columba a bit too thoroughly.  Luna woke up after a couple hours.  Ginny around eleven.  But you…”

He trailed off, looking a bit haunted.  

“I got lost inside of her,” said Hermione softly, and he nodded.

It was a risk with the potion.  There were reports of witches and wizards dwelling inside of their animals for weeks or even months before they found their own minds again.  A very small number never reemerged.  Spending an hour or two in the animal’s mind before the human thoughts returned wasn’t uncommon at all, but much longer than four hours, and the books warned that the mind could be slipping away.  She had returned though.  Draco had found her.

“How did you do it?” she asked.  “How did you bring me back?”

“A spot of legilimency,” he said.  “I found myself in the Manor gardens.  I looked everywhere for you, but I finally concluded you weren’t there.  I hoped you were just away and would be returning, but a dove’s homing instinct isn’t that strong compared to other species.  I was just about to go to Grimmauld and call for you when you arrived.”

At this he moved his hand from her waist and opened her palm to trace the marks there.

“It would have worked in my mind?”

He shrugged.  “Hard to say, but it’s blood magic.  It’s complex and personal.  It would have been worth a try.  I told you the tracking spell was important, didn't I?  That potion is dangerous.”

They both fell silent, and Hermione flopped back on her pillow.  She was just as tired as he was.  She hadn’t been asleep – just lost in a vision.

Draco slid down next to her and laced their fingers together as his eyes closed too.

“What time is it?” she finally thought to ask.

“Around half-past four,” he said.  “I called Poppy before I went to find you and told her not to wake us up until half-nine.  We can eat and dress for training in thirty minutes.”

“And you moved me to my bed, when?”

“A few hours ago.  Unlike you, I don’t much fancy spending the entire night on the floor.”

Hermione had to admit that she couldn’t fault him for this.  Even the sofa and chaise lounge were too small for two people to comfortably spend the entire night.  But now that she had come back, he no longer had to stay.  She couldn’t help but notice he still hadn’t moved.

“You’re… staying here then?” she asked hesitantly.

“You will have to levitate me out of this bed if you don’t want me here,” he grumbled.  “I’m beat.  I’ll admit this wasn’t how I envisioned exhausting myself the first time I was in bed with you, but you know me… I’ll take whatever I can get.”

His eyes were closed as he said this, but a small smile crossed his face too.  Hermione felt her cheeks heat, but she supposed he could stay.  They were both clothed, very tired, and Draco had obviously been under a great deal of stress for the last several hours.  He wouldn’t be taking any liberties with her tonight.

Not that I would mind terribly, she admitted to herself.

She wouldn’t tell him that she remembered what he said to her while she was Columba – that he would be her mate if she would have him and that he intentionally sought out animals that were monogamous.  His rejection of a species with a strong homing instinct was also curious.  Pigeons were just as common as doves, and they were very closely related to one another.  In fact, the average person might find them to be interchangeable.  But there were slight differences, the homing instinct among them.  Evidently he had considered the pigeon as an alternative and rejected it.  That meant the dove was no accident.  He had obviously selected it for some specific reason.  Perhaps it was the symbolism.

Her palm prickled at this thought, but she was too tired to think any more about it.

“Alright,” she said, as a yawn caught her.  “It’s late.  You can stay.”

“Good girl,” he murmured as he shifted closer to her and draped an arm over her again.  “Sleep just like this.”

The scent of cedar and spice was all around her as she slowly relaxed into the linens and the wizard who had made himself home in her bed.

“You did so well finding your way home,” he murmured, and Hermione could tell he was on the verge of sleep.

“Malfoy Manor is my home now?”

“Mmmm.  Do you have any other home besides the Manor or Grimmauld Place?”

Hermione thought about the house where she had been raised.  Hermione had sold it soon after obliviating her parents.  She couldn’t bear the thought of ever returning there after the thing she had done to them, and they needed the funds for their very early retirement.  Hermione never expected to survive the war, so keeping a home for them in England was not a high priority.  In any event, she had started to separate herself from that place the moment she learned she was a witch and disappeared into the wizarding world for the first time.  Selling it had been sad, but it did not feel like she was losing her home when she did it.  The Burrow and Hogwarts had both been more of a home to her than where her parents lived for the last few years, but now the Burrow was gone and Hogwarts was in the control of the Death Eaters.  

“No,” she said.  “I don’t suppose I do.”

“Good,” he said blearily.  “Because if you did, I would have to burn it down.  You live with me now.”

That night Hermione dreamed of the thing she had seen while she was Columba — the smoldering ruins and the green in the sky.  She watched Draco torching the Burrow, not only to put on a good show for Voldemort, but also to remove any temptation she might ever have to return.  In the dream Columba was flying around, circling an enormous Dark Mark cast into the sky.  Her beady eyes watched as Draco set fire to the trundle bed in Ginny’s room, where Hermione used to sleep.  While he coaxed the flames to grow larger, his face broke into a broad, wild smile as he rejoiced in the destruction of the place she had always thought of as her magical home.

Why do you like him so much?  Columba seemed to ask her.

Hermione had no answers.

Chapter Text

The next two weeks were spent in training and mostly-futile attempts with the witches’ animagi transformations, though Draco did make good on his promise of a miniature potions lab and set up a table with a cauldron for her in one corner of the parlor.  

“I don’t want you brewing anything that will overtax you,” he said, "but calming draughts or healing potions are perfectly fine.”

Hermione couldn’t help but notice that the ingredients to make advanced potions that could help her escape or aid her in extracting information — like polyjuice and veritaserum — were missing.  Also missing were ingredients like aconite that could harm her if she ingested them.

He obviously did not trust her with them.

She was left with innocuous ingredients that when mixed together made innocuous potions, along with a small stack of books that had been heavily redacted.  

Like so many things with Draco Malfoy she didn’t know what to think about it.  Should she be grateful that he was giving her a chance to do something she genuinely enjoyed?  Or should she be angry that he was shackling her abilities while he did it?

When she expressed her frustrations to him he looked perplexed.

“It’s merely a way of helping you relax for occlumency.  Why would you need to brew polyjuice or veritaserum?  I have an ample stock of both.”

“I want a full lab.”

“You know I can’t do that.  But if the smaller lab distresses you, I can always remove it.”

The threat was not subtle, and Hermione grimaced.  But because she wanted to be able to brew something more than she wanted a complete lab, she kept her mouth shut and spent an hour a day brewing simple things while she emptied her mind and worked on honing her occlumency.

In the afternoons the witches would gather to practice their transformations.

It took five days of meditation and wandlessly trying to change anything before Hermione managed some feathers on the back of her hand.  It was two more days before Luna produced canine teeth that looked more canine than human.  The day after that, Ginny whinnied for the first time.

It was slow going, but their transformations were beginning.  It would come in fits and spurts – first one body part and then the next.  But the fact that all of them had finally produced something after a week of trying lightened their spirits, even if the hours where nothing happened seemed to drag on.

As they were approaching the end of the second week, Draco informed them at the end of training one day that there was to be another party, this time in the Malfoy ballroom.  His agitation was clear, as he announced it.

“I wasn’t going to have you three come, but Hermione has no choice, and I need Luna and Ginny there too to keep an eye on her.  The three of us will be more occupied than last time, and we may not be able to pull you if something goes wrong.”

“What? Why?” asked Hermione in confusion.

Draco’s jaw was so tense she could tell he was grinding his teeth.  

“Severus has requested you, personally.  Evidently you made an impression on him at the last party.  We have no choice but to have you pose as one of the waitresses again.”

“But –”

“We have no choice,” he insisted, but his agitation was clear.

Theo was eyeing him warily.  “It will be alright mate.  This is the autumn gala, right?  There will be Death Eater wives and daughters there too.  It will be much less charged than the last one.  No prostitutes, no going home with waitresses at the end of the night.  It’s just a lot of mingling and some dancing.  Hermione won’t have to speak to him for long because she’ll be working the entire room, not just a few groups.”

Hermione stilled as she absorbed this.  Narcissa would probably be there.  The Greengrass girls would probably be there.  Pansy might be there.  This was the sort of event that got photographed for the society pages in The Daily Prophet.  Would she be forced to watch Draco kiss Astoria’s hand and dance with her?

It made her feel ill.

“I don’t see why it’s so important for us to be there,” she insisted.  “If it’s a party where everyone is mingling for only a few minutes that doesn’t really lend itself to veritaserum, does it?”

“It’s important because Severus requested it,” said Blaise.

“But why?” she asked.  “Why do we care what Snape requests?”

“Because he outranks me!” Draco snapped angrily.

Hermione went pale.

“But I thought… you said we couldn’t be taken and…”

“He is not going to take you,” insisted Draco.  “He’s not.  I won’t let him.  But I can’t very well tell him you aren’t available to talk.”

“Maybe you fired her?” suggested Ginny.

“Then he would want her address.”

They all fell silent at this, and Hermione scrambled to control her racing heart.  Her encounter with Snape at the last party had been very unsettling.  She forced herself to think rationally about it.

“Look, Snape is part of the Order right?  Or at the very least he’s working against You-Know-Who?  He’s not going to harm me.  If it comes down to it, I can tell him who I am.”

“No,” said Draco.  “No, you cannot.”

“But–”

“You cannot.  He doesn't know that you’re here with me.  I told you that the list of Order members who know you are here is very small, and it needs to stay that way for everyone’s safety.”

“But then how do I–”

“Oh I don’t know,” he said angrily.  “What did you say to him last time that made him so fucking interested?  Maybe you can just take it back.”

Only now did Hermione realize what was happening.

“Wait a second, are you mad at me?”

Draco said nothing, but the set of his jaw told her that he was.

“You must have lost your damn mind!” she said, throwing her arms in the air.  “He called me over to start, and I said as little to him as possible!  It’s not my fault he did some passing legilimency and realized that a squib obviously would not be able to occlude!”

Draco’s eyes were burning into her.  “Then what did you say?”

“Nothing!  I pretended to have no idea what he was doing, and I got away from him as quickly as possible!”

“What did you show him in your head then?  While he was doing legilimency I mean?” cut in Theo.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look.  “At first?  Some magical theory and books in runes that I’ve memorized.  Then I remembered I was supposed to be a squib so I switched to Shakespeare.  He never saw who I was or anything about you all.”

Hermione decided that the wizards didn’t need to learn that she had started with A Winter’s Tale.  Draco’s temper was teetering.

“It doesn’t make sense,” said Blaise, frowning at this.  “He’s just famously disinterested in witches or wizards.  Many of us thought he was entirely asexual.  But I saw how he was watching you that night, and it was borderline creepy.”

It was precisely like Draco, she wanted to say, but she resisted.

“There have been rumors,” gritted out Draco, “from the first war, I mean.  Apparently he did have a fancy once, but she died.  Mother told me – she wouldn’t say who it was – but after that Severus never looked at another witch again.”

Hermione went still as she made herself remember everything from their conversation.

“He said I looked like a witch he once knew…” she said slowly. 

“Draco, why don’t you transfigure her back into Annabelle, and we can have another look,” suggested Luna.

Draco frowned, but nodded as he raised his wand and went to work.  Ten minutes later Hermione turned to stare at herself in the mirror, and the others were now looking at her thoughtfully too.

“She looks like Ginny,” said Theo.

Admittedly, that had been Hermione’s first thought too when she saw herself this way a couple weeks earlier.  But she knew it was just the hair.  Hermione tended to associate any redhead with the Weasleys.

“No…” she said slowly.  “No, other than the hair color I really don’t.  And Ginny’s hair isn’t this dark.”

She stared in the mirror, the dark red tresses in waves over her shoulders.  Green eyes very much like Harry’s were bright on her face.  Her nose was longer and slightly turned up at the end, but her mouth was precisely the same.  

She suddenly knew who she looked like.  She had seen pictures of the woman quite a few times.

Her eyes met Ginny’s in the mirror, and she could tell that Ginny thought so too.

“There’s no way,” Ginny insisted.  “No possible way, Hermione, that would be crazy.”

“What?” demanded Theo.  “Who is it?”

Luna was looking intrigued too, and she cocked her head to the side.

“You know…” she said.  “I can see it.  Harry showed me her picture once.”

“And they were in the same year at Hogwarts,” said Hermione softly.  

“But I thought he hated her!” insisted Ginny.  “Didn’t Harry say he called her a mudblood?”

“I’m starting to think that some people use that word when they don’t know what else to say.”

Involuntarily her eyes flicked to Draco, who had gone pale.  He was staring at Hermione with an odd expression on his face.  He looked remorseful but also a little defiant.  She wondered if he had really hated her back then.  When did it become an act?  When did he stop believing it?

She looked away from him and back to the mirror.

“It’s her, Gin.   You know it is.”

“But who?” demanded Blaise.  “We still don’t know who the bloody hell you three are talking about!”

“Harry’s mother,” said Hermione simply.  “Lily Evans Potter.  She looked just like me.  Or I suppose I look just like her.  And as I said, she was in Snape’s class at Hogwarts.  Gryffindor of course.”

The three wizards looked stunned.

“But Potter –” started Theo.

“Looked like his father James,” finished Hermione.  “He was the spitting image of James, except for the eyes.  And Draco gave me Harry’s eyes.”

Draco’s own eyes widened momentarily as he realized that he had.

“Fuck, I didn’t even notice,” he muttered.

Hermione shrugged.  “Probably subconscious.  You were trying to make me look different, and Harry’s were very different.”

“It just seems so unbelievable though,” said Theo frowning.  “Do you mean to tell me that Severus is what… in love with her?  Even though she married some other bloke and has been dead for years?”

Hermione nodded slowly.  “Yes, and it fits, doesn’t it?  Snape despised Harry – you know he did, don’t pretend like it wasn’t different from the other students.  But he also saved Harry’s life a few times.  And Snape was the one who heard the prophecy about Harry and told You-Know-Who.  He’s the reason the Potters were hunted down.  Dumbledore insisted that Snape didn’t know that the prophecy meant the Potters though, and he joined the Order the night You-Know-Who started to hunt them.  Harry blamed Snape for their deaths.”

All three wizards were listening to her with wide eyes.  Again, she glanced at Draco, and he looked positively ill.  

“He was in love with a muggleborn then,” he said.  “And he accidentally fed the Dark Lord the intelligence that killed her.”

Hermione glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking.  She didn’t believe Draco necessarily loved her, but he clearly had an interest in her.  She thought he might be putting himself into Snape’s shoes – perhaps he was imagining letting some crucial piece of information slip that meant Hermione died.

“Yes,” said Hermione.  “I imagine when he first saw me he thought he was seeing a ghost.  He asked me if I was a mudblood.  He said he could tell I was very well educated after he looked into my mind.”

“Lily Potter was a potions prodigy,” chimed Blaise.  “Slughorn used to rave about her at the Slug Club.  He always said she was even better than Severus.”

Hermione nodded slowly.

And there was the doe patronus in the woods, wasn’t there?  Somebody had stolen the Sword of Gryffindor from Snape and lured Harry out with a doe.  Hermione snorted to herself at how foolish they had been.  The Sword hadn’t been stolen at all.  Snape planted it and called Lily to find Harry.

Hermione didn’t share this with the others, but it was the last piece of evidence she needed.

“Yes, Snape was in love with Lily – he’s probably still in love with Lily – and Annabelle looks exactly like her.”

“He’s in love with her and obsessed with her then,” said Theo a bit darkly.  “That’s concerning.”

Draco looked grimmer than ever.  

“I don’t like it,” he said shortly.  “I don’t like it at all.”

Hermione exhaled as she thought hard.

“Let’s all be rational about this.  If Snape outranks you and wants to speak to me, then I suppose there’s no choice but to do it.  The good news is we know he won’t hurt me – not as Hermione or as Annabelle.  I certainly won’t be going home with him, and if this gala is really as busy as you say then Theo’s right that I won’t have to talk to him for very long.  I got away from him last time and can do it again.  I do think it’s a good idea to meet with him though, if he’s been thinking about me for the last couple of weeks.  I’ve obviously never met Lily Potter, but I know enough about her that I can make sure to behave differently.  It’s best to head this off before he starts to develop a real obsession with Annabelle too.”

“And if your behavior doesn’t put him off, and he wants to see you again?” demanded Draco.

“Then the next time he asks to see me we use a different hair color, and I’ll tell him I dyed it because I was tired of red.  We can make it almost black like Harry’s.  It will remind him of James and Harry, and that should be enough to make him back off.”

Draco didn’t look thrilled with this plan, but Hermione knew she was right.  

“It’s a good idea,” said Ginny, and Hermione threw her a grateful look.  “If we’re right about Lily, then Snape’s entire interest is based on Annabelle’s physical characteristics.  Give Hermione a chance to get rid of him the normal way, and if that doesn’t work then changing her hair should do it.  He’s obviously being driven by some nostalgic memory.”

Draco exhaled and swiped his hands over his face for a moment.  

“Fine,” he snapped.  “But I want all three of you to wear your knives and stay close together during the party.  Like I said, Blaise, Theo, and I are going to be forced to dance and mingle, and the ballroom is large.  There will be a few hundred people there.  We might lose sight of you in the crowd.”

Hermione stilled at this news.  Perhaps she would be able to slip away and explore Malfoy Manor after all.   Maybe she could catch a witch unawares on the way to the powder room and acquire a wand that way.  Maybe it would be worth confessing her plan to her friends so they could cover for her.  But would they?  Or were they more loyal to their respective boyfriends now than Hermione?

She couldn’t be sure.

“It will be fine,” said Luna in a soothing voice.  “We can help Hermione get away from him if needed.”

“Be sure that you do,” said Draco in a cold voice.  “Because godfather or not, if he tries anything with her, I’ll have to fucking kill him.  And Merlin knows he’d be harder to kill than the Dark Lord himself.”

******

The next several days were tense.  There were no soft touches.  There were no kisses to the back of her hand or cheek.  It was reminiscent of Draco’s reaction after the first party, but somehow worse.  He seemed to blame her for Snape’s interest, though she continued to insist that she hadn’t done a damn thing to encourage it.  The whole situation was just terrible luck.

He became cold enough that Hermione consumed more than one of her brewed calming draughts, and even Theo offered to intervene.

“I can throw a crucio his way if you’d like,” he said.  “He’s being an utter arse.”

Some tiny part of Hermione fantasized about it because his behavior hurt.  She had tried to fight her feelings for him.  She knew they weren’t healthy and that there were things about him that should be absolute deal breakers.

But she couldn’t help it.  He had crawled into her heart with his obsessive staring, his exceptional care, and the gentle touches that she knew she could only accept from him.

And now this chilliness — so reminiscent of their days at Hogwarts — threatened to bruise her heart.

Hermione hoped his foul mood was because of the gala.  She told herself it had to be.  He was jealous and had his own issues with anxiety and paranoia, especially when it came to Hermione and her safety.  But the more he ignored her the more she hurt, and by the time the gala finally rolled around she was wrung out.  

The only positive thing that had happened in the last few days was her animagus transformation.  She had finally managed a full wing on each arm, though not at the same time.

Still, it was little consolation when she was facing down a gala with an angry… what was he?  Not a boyfriend, certainly, and not a lover either.  No, an ornery, possessive jailer was the most fitting description for him.

When it came time to transfigure her into Annabelle, Draco scowled and wouldn’t speak to her.  He worked quickly and then turned with a dismissive air and strode out the door, slamming it as he went.  Theo gave a great eye-roll at his antics and quickly filled them in on the plan.

“Since you are all going to be there as servers, you’ll each have two marks for veritaserum.  Wait until Hermione has spoken to Severus before you bother to try, and if it doesn’t work tonight that’s okay.  Don’t do anything risky to get it done, none of them are that critical.  We have to give it a shot though, and if you manage to dose any of them let me or Blaise know.”

“Not Draco?” asked Hermione in a wry voice.

Theo grimaced.  “No.  He’s having an off night.”

Hermione gave a mirthless laugh and just turned away.

“Hermione,” said Theo as he pulled her aside from the others.  She looked up and found herself staring at that face that was so much like hers.  “It will be alright.  He’s just… emotional.  And he's bad with emotions.”

Hermione shook her head.  “He’s infuriating!  I thought something was starting, you know?  It’s been building for months now.  And I was…” she hesitated because she had barely admitted it to herself, let alone the others.  But this was Theo, her brother.   “I thought I might have… a crush,” she finished.

Theo looked like he was warring between amusement and dismay.

“I know,” she said.  “But I just… I can’t have feelings for him if this is how he behaves whenever somebody else notices me.  I mean, Snape doesn’t even want me, he wants Annabelle!  And Draco is blaming me for something that is nobody’s fault.  Honestly, if it’s anybody’s fault at all it’s his for making me a Lily Potter duplicate!  And yet, he’s acting like I did this intentionally.  He’s being cold and cruel.  It’s exactly like Hogwarts, and I hated him there!  And there are so many things I’ve had to overlook — all the people he’s tortured and killed, the way he has imprisoned me, the fact that he marked me with his knife in a way that means he can always track me without asking first… and I had nearly accepted those things!  I was starting to fall for him even with all of those flaws!  But then he turns around and starts to act like this?  I can’t do it, Theo.  It makes me want to run.  I don’t want to be stuck here on the brink of giving my heart away to somebody who is just going to break it.”

Hermione gave a great sniff and a single tear tracked down her cheek.  Theo cupped her face and brushed it away with his thumb.  

“Let me talk to him, Hermione.  He’s just… he blames himself.  He’s terrified that Severus is going to try something, and he won’t be there to stop it.  But he’s not a bad bloke, he’s really not.  And Merlin, if he fucks up a chance with you because of this… I’ll kill him myself.”

Hermione was already shaking her head.  “Please don’t.  At least not tonight.  I can’t… I don’t want…. Please Theo.  I need to know that anything he does is his own idea.”

“He made you cry!” he insisted.

“Lots of people have made me cry,” she retorted.  “I’m a rather weepy sort.”

“Hermione,” he sighed.

“I’m serious,” she said.

His mouth thinned.  He didn’t look happy at all, but he finally slumped.  “Fine,” he said.  “But if he does anything else to hurt you or fuck this up, I’m saying something.  This is just…” he gave a helpless gesture.

Hermione nodded curtly, and Theo changed the subject, looking almost as frustrated as Hermione felt.

“We need to have a plan for Severus,” he said, now turning back to the others and raising his voice so they could hear too.  “I know Hermione is going to do her best to get away from him, but how do you intend to snuff out this little fascination of his?”

“I’ll make it clear I’m not interested,” she said.

“How?” pressed Theo.

She shrugged.  “I’ll wing it.  But now that I know what to expect I’ll be better prepared for it.”

“Ginny and I can help,” added Luna.  “Can’t we Theo?  If she needs us?”

The five of them began to discuss a tentative, emergency plan.  It was not one that Hermione was terribly inclined to execute, but she had to admit that it was likely to work.  

“Will one of you tell Draco?” she asked.  “Just in case, I mean…”

“We’ll let him know,” said Blaise.  “You three are sure?”

“We’ve done it before, right Hermione?” asked Ginny, twinkling at her.

Hermione turned crimson and refused to answer.

Blaise and Theo left soon after that, and then the elves arrived with their uniforms for the evening, which were markedly different from the previous party.

“I suppose with the wives and daughters there the waitstaff doesn’t have to put out,” said Ginny, rolling her eyes.

Hermione, however, was relieved.  It was a simple black skirt and black oxford shirt with long-sleeves.  Her clothing looked very much like traditional waitstaff at any rather nice muggle restaurant.  They all slipped their thigh and arm holsters on, and then the elves charmed their shoes to appear to be closed-toe so they would blend in with the black stockings they were given to wear.

She would melt into the background like this.

Their hair and jewelry was arranged much like the previous party, though Ginny’s colorful headband was replaced with a simple, black one this time.  The jewelry too was more subtle for everyone but Hermione.  Poppy produced the choker again, and Hermione shook her head.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“But Master Draco wishes–” she started.

“I don’t care about his sodding wishes, I’m not wearing it.”

She wouldn’t, not when she was at such odds with him and her heart was feeling bruised.  After he explained what he meant by it, Hermione was not interested in wearing something that was meant to represent some sort of public claiming.

“I’ll wear anything else in my jewelry box, but not that,” she insisted.

Poppy wrung her hands, but apparated away and reappeared a few moments later with a simple necklace in silver.  It had a small G on it, and Hermione smiled sadly when she saw it.  This was one of the few things she had taken from her parents’ house and brought with her on the run.  It wasn’t something Draco had given to her.

Annabelle Goodman

The G could stand for Goodman just as well as Granger.  

She clasped it around her neck and played with the small charm for a moment before straightening up.  

“Right,” she said.  “Let’s send Snape packing, shall we?”

******

Hermione, Ginny, and Luna emerged with trays of champagne and began to move through the crowd.  She tried not to gasp at the opulence of the ballroom.  It had heavy molding on the walls, a fresco on the ceiling, and several shockingly ornate chandeliers casting a warm glow on the guests.

It struck Hermione just how privileged the three wizards she now lived with were.  This palatial building was Draco’s, and Nott Castle had been Theo’s, and Blaise had his fifteen homes all connected by floo.  He could probably sell them and build a place like this if he wanted to.

And yet, despite the shocking room in which they found themselves, most of the guests were affecting a bored air.  Draco had been correct that there were a few hundred people, and for the first time Hermione was getting a glimpse of just how normal the outside world must be.  Despite skirmishes with the Order and the occasional act of murder, Draco had insisted that Voldemort wanted the wizarding populace to be complacent.  He couldn’t burn it to the ground or else there would be nothing left to rule over.

No, this gala looked like nothing more than a very fancy party, with the wizards in dress robes and the witches in gowns.  Other than the fact that Death Eaters were mixing openly with various Ministry officials and their spouses, nothing about it struck Hermione as being particularly odd.  And that, she thought, felt very odd.

She had spent the last few months hiding her very existence while the Ministry of Magic was rebuilt and bureaucrats pushed paper.

Voldemort had won, and life continued as normal for everyone but those who were willing to put their lives on the line for their chosen side.  Most witches and wizards, she thought bitterly, were not so willing to sacrifice a comfortable life to pick sides.  They wanted to keep their heads down, their homes secure, and their families safe.  Their routines would largely stay the same, regardless of who was in power. 

Voldemort had been relying on it, and the evidence of it was all around her.  It made her inordinately angry, and she fought to control her temper.

This was not the time.

The three witches began to make their rounds through the guests, making a point to stay in close eyesight of one another.  It wasn’t until she had crossed to the other side of the room from the staging area for staff that she caught a glimpse of Draco.  He was standing with his mother, speaking animatedly with a middle-aged witch she didn’t recognize, his blonde hair shining in the candlelight.  His dress robes were fine, and even from behind she could tell he cut a handsome figure.  As she stared at him, Narcissa turned to the side, and Hermione studied her profile.  She was elegant, cold, and carved like marble.  She did not have a hair out of place, though she appeared a little tense.  Hermione ducked her head and moved on.

As they worked their way through the crowd she caught a glimpse of Rodolphus who was standing next to Bellatrix.  The sight of her made Hermione’s pulse shoot so high that she felt Theo nudge on their bond.  He immediately started siphoning her panic, and she felt his own fear in her head.

What the hell happened?  What is it?

Bellatrix is here.

Oh.  You’ll be alright, Sis.  Just avoid her.  

She’s tried to kill me multiple times.

I know it.  I told you she’s on my list.

Alright.  Just… next time give me some advanced warning, yeah?

Heard.  Let me know if you three need anything.

He severed his connection, and Hermione’s eyes swept the crowd until she found him.  His curly head was bent toward Draco now, saying something in his ear.

Telling him about Bellatrix no doubt, she thought.

Sure enough, Draco spun around and seemed to be looking for something.  She shrank away from his gaze, but she felt the heat of his stare lock on her from the other side of the room, and then Theo’s voice was in her head again just a moment later.

Draco wants me to ask you why you aren’t wearing your choker.

Because I know what it means, and I’m not playing along when he insists on being an arse.

She felt Theo chuckle a little before severing the connection once more, and again she sensed Draco looking at her again, but she refused to make eye contact.  She had to find Snape and get this over with.

“There,” muttered Ginny, gesturing to a corner cloaked in shadow.  Sure enough, Snape was hovering in the corner, rather like a large bat.

Or a cockroach, she was forced to acknowledge, remembering Draco’s comment from all those months ago.

“Let’s do it,” she said under her breath.  “If I put the tray down on the ledge next to him, that’s the signal that I need you.”

“Got it,” whispered Ginny, and then she and Luna melted away to serve some guests nearby.

“Evenin’ Sir,” she said as she approached him, offering him the last glass on her tray.  “Champagne?”

Snape took it with a murmured thanks, his eyes roving over her.  Hermione had decided that the blunt approach was best.  She wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“Me employer is sayin’ that you is wantin’ to speak to me, Sir,” she said.

God she was really bad at this accent.

Snape raised a single eyebrow.  “Indeed.  You scurried off too quickly last time, Miss…” 

“Goodman,” said Hermione promptly.  “Annabelle Goodman.”

He inclined his head.  “Very well, Miss Goodman.”

Hermione saw him eyeing the G on her necklace, and then her hair and eyes.

“I confess I find you to be a fascinating puzzle,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked in a bored voice.  “Ain’t nobody ever been thinkin’ I’m fascinatin’ afore.”

Nobody talks like this, Hermione.  Channel Hagrid.  HAGRID.

“I find that very hard to believe,” he said wryly.  She felt that press of legilimency on her mind and immediately began visualizing the bottom of a cauldron to block him from going further.

He paused, and his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, you are quite fascinating, aren’t you?  A pewter cauldron, size three if I’m not much mistaken?  We will have to do something about that, Annabelle.  I and… others… always favored size two for our brews.”

What the hell, Hermione.

Why, why did her best occlumency have to involve potions?  That had been Lily Evans’s best subject in school, not to mention Snape’s.

She switched to the more chaotic mental rambling method she originally used, this time thinking about movies she had seen years ago.

“Hmm, the women in your head are certainly pretty,” he said with a slight laugh in his voice.  “But you’re very beautiful too.”

Hermione was internally cringing and tried to keep it together.

“Mmmm,” she said, looking away.  “If you say so.  But Sir, I really must be gettin’–”

“Stay,” he said.  “That’s an order.”

“Sir,” she said, “I’m just here to serve some drink and earn some galleons.  Tha’s it.  I can’t be socializin’ with the guests for more than a mo’.   He’ll fire me arse.”

Hermione tried not to wince at her atrocious accent.

“He will not,” said Snape firmly.  “I’ve made it clear I wish to speak to you.  Draco will not interfere.”

That’s what you think.

Instead she gave an impatient sigh.  “I’m not sure wha’ yeh be wantin’ Sir.  I’m just a waitress.”

“I want to get to know you, Annabelle.  You’re beautiful, fiery, obviously intelligent, and far better educated than you are letting on.  I need at least an hour with you, if not the whole evening.”

Oh hell no.

Hermione idly wondered what Snape would say if he knew who she really was.  No doubt he would be revolted.  They knew each other well but had never gotten on for obvious reasons.  And here he was, practically propositioning her.

“Sir, I’m not good company like yer suggestin’,” she said.  “I’m seein’ someone.”

Snape’s expression darkened momentarily.

“You’re seeing Draco?” he asked coldly.

If only.

Instead, she made herself burst out laughing, as though it was the most preposterous thing she had ever heard.  She wiped her eyes with her free hand.

“Oh tha’s rich, Sir.  Me an’ a Death Eater… that ain’ never happenin’!”

His expression darkened further at this.  “You seemed rather close to Rodolphus the last time I saw you… and then you disappeared at the same time as Draco.”

She gave him a marvelous eye-roll.  “Honestly, Sir, that man… Rodolphus did yeh say his name is?  He’s the type to see a pair o’ nice tits and throw a galleon a girl’s way.  Easy pickin’s and no real work for me.  And as for Mr. Malfoy… well I don’ know nothin’ about disappearin’ when he did.  I just went to the kitchens to get a potion for me stomach, and Mrs. Higgins held me back.  I reckon that old bat was afraid o’ me infectin’ the party.”

She planted a hand on her hip and tried to look confident in her lie.  His eyes narrowed.

“Who are you seeing then?” he asked softly.

“Ain’ none o’ your business, if you don’ mind me sayin’,” she said.

“But I do mind.  I would very much like to know which man has drawn your attention, Annabelle.”

Hermione gave a long suffering sigh and debated with herself about their emergency plan.  She should last longer than this.  She really wasn’t thrilled about executing it, but he was awfully persistent, and Hermione wanted to be done with him.  She decided there was nothing for it.

She placed the tray on the ledge near him, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Ginny and Luna moving toward her.

“Well I did try to warn ya, Sir that it’s none o’ your business.  But I s’pose some people just gotta see with their own eyes.”

Then she turned toward Ginny.  “Hey!  Maya!”

Ginny glided over.

“Yes, Annie?” she said in her faux American accent.  

Hermione gave her a smirk.  “I’ve been missin’ you and Fara.”

Ginny gave her a concerned look and reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear.  “Don’t tell me you’re working too hard.  We can’t be having that.”

God she sounds exactly like Draco.

Hermione had the oddest urge to laugh, and she thought Ginny’s eyes were twinkling in Maya’s face as she reached up and stroked her cheek.

“I’ve gotta show this one why I’m not good company for ‘im.”

Ginny shot Snape an irritated look.

“She’s taken, you know.  Our little trio is quite enough without you butting in.”

Then Ginny gripped Hermione by the cheek and leaned forward to kiss her.

It was a bit different kissing Ginny as Maya, but something about it was still very familiar.  They had done this before, after all, just a few times in their early teen years.  They spent weeks at a time sleeping in the same room at the Burrow and then Grimmauld Place, and naturally they had experimented with each other just a little bit.

Ginny opened her mouth to deepen the kiss, and Hermione let her eyes flutter closed and decided she might as well enjoy it.  It wasn’t like she was being kissed on the lips by anybody else, though she sensed his gaze on her even as she pulled Ginny close.

“What about me, hmmm?” came Luna’s light voice, and Ginny and Hermione broke apart to see Fara raising one elegant eyebrow.

“O’course, Fara,” said Hermione with a smile, and this time she initiated by pulling Luna in.  Now this was new.  Luna had kissed her on the cheek before, but never like this.  And unlike Ginny, Hermione knew that Luna had been with women for more than just a few snogs.

Sure enough, Luna was experienced and a bit demanding, but still gentle.  Her fingers brushed Hermione’s hip and up her rib cage before settling on her waist.

When they broke apart, Hermione sensed they had drawn a few more stares, but she made herself ignore it as she turned to Snape.

“See now?” she said bluntly.  “I ain’ no good for no man.  No offense, o’course, I jus’ don’ like... all that.”  

She gestured vaguely toward his crotch, which was something she sincerely hoped never to do again.

“And we’re together,” added Luna.  “All three of us.  I do think a fourth would be too many for our dynamic, and I’m afraid you don’t have the correct equipment, Sir.”

Hermione had never seen Severus Snape truly shocked before, and she took a moment to relish it.

Then Ginny finished with her usual bluntness.  “Just because Mr. Malfoy puts us in outfits that shows off our goods doesn’t mean we’re into it.”

“Of course,” he said in a slightly strangled voice.  “My mistake.”

“Can I get back to servin’ then, Sir?” asked Hermione pointedly.

“Yes.  Yes, of course, I… I must be going.”

Hermione gave him a tight smile and picked up her tray to move away.  Only then did she allow her gaze to find Draco’s.  But he was studiously ignoring her and was instead flirting outrageously with Astoria Greengrass in the corner.  As she watched he reached for her hand and kissed it, giving her that twinkling dimpled smile that Hermione thought was all hers.  She came to a complete halt as she watched him on the other side of the room.  His gaze slid over Astoria’s shoulder and met hers just as his lips connected with her cheek and lingered there.  He whispered something in her ear that made her fling her arms around him and press herself against him, and he pulled her close, all while staring at Hermione with a challenging smile.

Hermione thought her heart might be breaking.  Yes, she had just rather publicly snogged Ginny and Luna, but it didn’t mean anything.  It was part of the plan to get rid of Snape for good.  Theo and Blaise had been in on it, and they promised they would tell Draco about it too.  He must have known the whole thing was nothing more than a show.

But this… this was personal.  He was punishing her, she just knew it. 

“Take it,” said Hermione, wrenching her ring off and handing it to Ginny, who was shooting a murderous look toward Draco.

Hermione tore her gaze from Draco just as the smile was sliding from his face, and his brow was furrowing with something that looked like confusion as he watched Hermione react.  He was still hugging Astoria though, and Hermione couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Hermione…” said Ginny, as her hand closed around the ring.

“No,” she said.  “No, I can’t do this tonight.  Just… cover for me, yeah?  I need to be alone.”

Hermione spun and strode toward the door to the service area, carrying her empty tray like a shield to part the crowd.  She hoped he would think she was just going to restock, and by the time he realized she was gone she would be well ahead of him.

She was in luck to find Mrs. Higgins with her back turned, preparing several trays of canapés, and Hermione ducked past her and slipped through a door to the servant’s hall.  She made her way down the stone corridor for several paces before picking a door at random and opening it.  She found herself in another hallway, this time more formal with old fashioned wallpaper and wood paneling.  She had no idea where she was, but it appeared to be deserted.  Hermione strode quickly, the carpet muffling her footsteps.  It wasn’t until she got to the end of the hall and turned a corner that she felt Theo pushing through their bond.

Hermione, where are you?  Draco is getting worried.

Screw him, she retorted.  I’m not interested.

Hermione, please don’t do this.

Do what?  Allow my heart to be played with by that giant git?  It’s too late.

He didn’t know!  Blaise and I didn’t have a chance to tell him before you started snogging them!  You three went to plan B much faster than we were expecting!  We just told him it was all fake, and he feels terrible.  Please come bring us a drink so he can talk to you himself.

Hermione came to a halt as she considered this.  No doubt he had been blinded by jealousy if he truly didn’t know.  Then again, it was her two best friends in front of Snape, whom he knew they were trying to get rid of tonight.  It didn’t take some great genius to conclude the whole thing was set up.

No.  He becomes petty and cruel the moment something doesn’t go his way.  He never gives me the benefit of the doubt.  He takes his anger out on me.  I’m done.

Hermione you can’t be done!

Theo was sounding frantic now, but Hermione had enough.  She pushed him out of her head, and she felt him pounding on their connection, but she didn’t let him through.

She knew she would only have minutes before Draco was after her.  She had no idea where she was going, but she had only one clear thought in her head: she had to stay within the wards of Malfoy Manor.

He would have to leave the party and go to Grimmauld Place to find her while she was in a property warded this heavily.  

Or at least that’s what she hoped.

Hermione knew she couldn’t hide forever.  At some point she would need to face him and his anger and her terrible, horrible, bloody inconvenient feelings.  Because even as she wanted to rage at him she found herself softening.  

She hated, absolutely hated the fact that she secretly liked his compulsion to be so territorial that he couldn’t even identify an obvious hoax when it was staring him in the face.  She hated that she loved the fact that she seemed to be the only one who ever made his veneer really crack.  She hated that she craved feeling his eyes on her as though she was the only person in a ballroom that could hold hundreds.  She hated that she had caved and had forgiven him so readily for marking her because she knew deep down that it was more than a simple tracking spell, and he had done something intimate with his own brand of family magic.

She hated all of it just as much as she loved it.  And bloody hell, she needed some space to think properly and calm down before she saw him again.  If she saw him right now she might stab him.  Or kiss him.  Or both.

She had just said she was done, hadn’t she?  She had told Theo that mere moments ago.  And she should be done.  She knew she bloody well should be done.

She wasn’t done.

She made a frustrated noise and chose a door at random, opening it softly and slipping inside.  She just needed to think and breathe and find some way to siphon these feelings herself without Theo’s help.  He was still pounding on their connection, but she couldn’t let him in like this.  

Hermione closed the door silently behind her and then came to an abrupt halt as she heard voices.  

She was in a room she didn’t recognize, paneled in dark wood.  As she breathed in, the smell of whiskey and cigars wafted gently through the air, and she wrinkled her nose, trying not to sneeze.  

She reached behind her for the doorknob and was about to turn it when she heard one of the voices say, “…Malfoy?”

Shit.

She shouldn’t be here.  She really, really shouldn’t be here.  She had no wand, and she was disguised as a waitress for heaven’s sake.  She could slip out now.  She should slip out now.

But they had just said Draco’s name, and Hermione couldn’t let it go.  She cared too much about the stupid prat to ignore a rumor or threat to him.  She had to know what they were saying.

She edged forward, willing herself to melt against the wall, and suddenly the marks on her palm started to tingle.

Draco was tracking her.

She didn’t know if she felt relief or terror at this.

She edged ever closer until she could see where the figures were sitting.  They were deep in conversation in a couple of armchairs, facing an unlit fireplace.  She strained to hear.

“… jumped up.  I know he’s my nephew, but he’s risen too high, too fast.”

“He’ll never have the sway at the Ministry that I do.  I delivered an entire department to our Lord.”

Hermione froze at the sound of the second voice, and fear flooded her.  She needed to get out.  She couldn’t be here.  This was a bad, terrible, awful place for her to be, but she couldn’t seem to move.  She couldn’t fucking move because Cormac McLaggen was raising his right hand to show Rodolphus Lestrange his missing fingers.

“That sadistic little fuck chopped off every one of my fingers…. Slowly, mind you.  All because I touched that mudblood he killed.  But I didn’t even fuck her, you know?  Just touched her and slapped her around a little.  He kept me in his bloody dungeon for weeks.”

Hermione closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe.  Instinctively she opened the connection to Theo, and she felt him jolt as he sensed her utter panic.

Hermione, where the fuck are you?  What’s happening?

I’m stuck in a room with Rodolphus and Cormac.  They don’t know I’m here, but… oh God, they’re talking about that day… Theo, I need him to die.  Tell Draco I really need him to die…

I will.  Do you know where you are?  Draco can tell you’re somewhere in the West Wing of the Manor, but he is having trouble finding your exact location through the wards.

No, I’ve never been here before.

Describe it, quickly, we are leaving the ballroom now.

It’s dark wood paneling and there are two leather armchairs in deep red and a fireplace.  They are smoking cigars and drinking whiskey.  There are some bookshelves on the wall and a couple of large windows looking out toward the gardens.  There’s a portrait of Lucius over the fireplace.  Oh God, he sees me Theo, he’s staring right at me…

Stay calm, he won’t say anything.  He knows Draco will destroy his portrait if he gives you away.  We know where you are and will be there in less than two minutes.  Just breathe alright?  Give me your emotions.

Hermione tried, but it wasn’t enough.  Rodolphus was asking for details, and now Cormac was regaling him with the story as though it had been a personal triumph.

“I had her pinned to the wall, naked,” he said.  “She was pretty, you know.  Feisty.  Tried to fight back, but a few smacks and she was moaning for me.”

It’s not true!  

Hermione was seething, paralyzed with anger and fear.  She made the tiniest sound of protest, and the wizards fell silent and turned around to find her staring at them, eyes huge and face pale.

Oh no.

“Annabelle?” said Rodolphus, standing to give her a twisted smile.  “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Who is this?” demanded Cormac.

“One of Draco’s servers.  A little pet, yes?  She flirted with me so prettily the other night before disappearing with my nephew halfway through the party.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding, and she felt Theo trying to take her fear, but there was too much.  This couldn’t be happening again.  No, it could not be happening to her again.

Theo they found me.

Don’t hesitate to take them out if you need to.  We will be there in thirty seconds.

She tried to breathe.

Thirty seconds.  Just thirty seconds.

She was shaking, as Cormac tilted his head to study her.  “Draco dipped his cock into this one?”

“I reckon,” said Rodolphus, sneering now.  “Shame, too.  I had such high hopes for you, pet.”

Hermione tried to control her shaking.  “He didn’t,” she said in a quivering voice.

“Oh how pretty,” said Rodolphus, now starting to walk toward her.  Cormac began to follow him.  “Shaking and trembling like a kitten, aren’t you, pet?  I can see why Draco was so eager for you.”

“I’m not keen on his leftovers, but I saw him watching you tonight,” added Cormac.

Cormac was at the gala tonight?

Of course he was, nearly all of the Death Eaters were there.  And why else would he be here in this room?  But how had Hermione not noticed him?  Why hadn’t her instincts gone haywire the moment she stepped into the ballroom?  How on earth had they failed her so badly?

“…I am keen to take the thing Malfoy wants,” Cormac added.

At these words, Hermione found her voice.

“Don’t come any closer.”

“Oh I’m afraid we must, pet,” said Rodolphus.  “My nephew can’t have all the fun.  And don’t you know, he stopped my friend Cormac here from playing with his last little bitch.  Draco owes him this one, I’m afraid.”

They took one more step closer, and Hermione finally unfroze.

“Stupefy! Stupefy!” she called in rapid succession.  It wasn’t strong enough without a wand to fully knock them out, but it slowed them both down.  The spell behaved a bit like an impedimenta when done wandlessly.  

She hit both of them thanks to the element of surprise, and their eyes were huge as she turned and started to flee.  That burst of magic was already making her shake again, and she fumbled with her sleeve to pull her knife out of her arm holster just as Cormac broke free and grabbed her by the wrist. 

***

Hermione spun around to stab him, but at that moment she heard the door burst open, and less than a second later something silver flew within a few centimeters of her cheek and lodged itself firmly into Cormac’s right eye.

Hermione blinked in shock as blood spurted, and something gelatinous oozed out, and he seized.  He was screaming as he started to fall, still clutching at her and pulling her down with him.  Hermione tried to scramble away and only then registered the duel taking place behind her.

It was two on one, and she heard Theo and Draco sending non-lethal spells toward Rodolphus while he returned Avada’s with reckless abandon, forcing them to dodge.  She knew why they were holding back from using the killing curse: she was too close.

Her adrenaline and instincts taking over from all the years she fought with Harry, Hermione reached down toward Cormac, who was still spluttering blood, his screams becoming fainter as he continued to twitch.  She knew he was dying a very painful death, and his body was giving out.  She fought the revulsion in her stomach as she quickly searched him and then she found it: his wand.  

***

She had done all of this with her back turned.  The three wizards were wholly preoccupied with each other and hadn’t noticed.  As she slid Cormac’s wand out of his robes pocket, her magic pulsed just a little to be connected to a wand again.

Still, the wand didn’t particularly like her, and she absolutely despised it.  The wand’s master was somebody she loathed, and she thought the wand could sense it.  She could feel it fighting her, but she gritted her teeth and bore down.  She would have one chance to do this before Rodolphus’s attention was squarely on her.

Gripping her knife in one hand and the wand in the other, Hermione twisted around on the floor and shouted, “Stupefy!” at Rodolphus.

He jerked in surprise to see the red jet of light coming toward his knees, but he was too late.  Her spell connected, and he collapsed, out cold now that Hermione’s magic had been directed with a wand.

Cormac’s wand and her knife went clattering on the floor, and she raised her hands to her face.  She was trembling badly.

She felt Theo start to siphon again as the scent of Draco filled her nose.

“Hermione,” he said gently, pulling her hands away from her face.  She opened her eyes to find him crouched down staring at her, eyes darting over every part of her face.  He looked terrified, enraged.  His anger was palpable, rolling off of him in waves.

“Did either of them touch you?”

She swallowed hard and shook her head.  “No, you saw it.  Just my wrist.”

Draco nodded once.  “McLaggen is dying.  Do you want to watch or would you like for us to take you away from here?”

She took a shaky breath to steady herself.  “I need…” 

Her throat closed as she tried to say the words.

“What do you need, little dove?” he asked.  His voice was gentle, but firm.  “Tell me.”

“I need to be able to cast Avada Kedavra.  To end it I mean… to end her.  And him.  I’ve never done it before.  I don’t want you to kill him, Draco.  You’ve killed too many people.  I need to do it.  I need the practice, and I don’t want his life on your conscience.”

The words just spilled out involuntarily.  She didn’t mean to tell him this, but she was so stunned, so shaken, she couldn’t help herself.  He stared at her, and she could see him turning over innumerable questions in his mind.

“Alright,” he said slowly.  “Once this is all over you’re going to tell me exactly what you mean by that.  But if you’d like to practice, this is a good opportunity.  He’s going to be dead in the next few minutes anyway.”

Hermione nodded, and he helped her stand.  He slipped his wand into her hand, and just like the last time she had faced Cormac, he wrapped his arm around her waist and braced her.  

“You have to call death when you say the words,” he said.  “You don’t just have to want it, you must summon it.  Death is inside all of us, waiting to claim us at any moment.   Draw him out to take McLaggen instead.”

It was a curious description indeed.  But Hermione remembered that wizards had always personified death in a way.  It had always been depicted as a figure lurking in the shadows, waiting for that perfect moment to strike.  Wasn’t The Tale of the Three Brothers precisely this?

She raised Draco's wand and thought about what he said.  She closed her eyes and willed death to emerge from her soul.  She would crack it open, ever so slightly and pull it out of herself and force it upon him.

“Avada Kedavra,” she whispered, and Hermione felt her soul cleave in two as something dark and thick emerged, traveling down Draco’s wand in a rush of green light.  It bathed Cormac, and he stopped twitching.  For the first time ever, Hermione felt someone else’s magic extinguish as the death that was waiting for her took him instead.  She gasped as it was sucked back into the wand, and her soul began to heal, though not in exactly the same shape as it had been.

“That was beautiful, sweet girl,” he murmured in her ear.  “Now Rodolphus?”

“Obliviate him,” she said.  “I’ll do it.”  She saw Theo looking surprised and sensed Draco’s reluctance, but it was for the best.  He was too highly ranked, and his death would require far more explanation than Cormac’s.

She pulled herself free from Draco and approached Rodolphus with a grimace.  She crouched down and whispered, “Obliviate.”

Immediately the spell connected, and Hermione began to sift through his memories.   She was an expert with this spell, and she knew she could craft something innocuous that would make him forget the entire thing.  She was relieved to find that he hadn’t been in the room terribly long.  He met Cormac here.  She replaced the memory of their conversation and subsequent duel with something mundane: he waited for Cormac and drank some firewhiskey and smoked a cigar and then another drink and another.  Cormac never showed, but Rodolphus drank himself into a stupor, which would explain why he would be waking up here the next morning.

Then she went back even further and found herself.  She erased his memories of her as Annabelle.  She replaced herself with a plain witch who held no interest for him that first night.  He would have no motivation to ever seek her out.

Spell complete, she levitated his body to one of the chairs and then vanished one of the glasses of whiskey on the coffee table in front of it.

“You’ll need to get rid of Cormac’s body and the blood,” she said stiffly, as she handed Draco his wand back.  “Rodolphus will wake up thinking that Cormac never arrived, and he just got drunk and fell asleep.  I erased every memory he had of Annabelle.  He will have no idea who I am.”

They nodded, and Draco looked at Theo.

“Theo, can you…”

“Yes,” said Theo, looking a bit pale.  “I’ll dump his body and make it look like the Order killed him.  You’ll want to get your knife though.”

***

Hermione watched as Draco approached Cormac’s body and placed his foot on his chest for leverage as he bent down and gripped the hilt of his knife.  She looked away as she heard a terrible sort of squelch, and then the sounds of a spell vanished the remains of his eye and brain on the blade.

Hermione wanted to vomit.

***

She heard the knife sheath, and then she felt Draco behind her gripping her arm to lead her away.

“Come along,” he murmured.  “Back to your room, and we’ll get you settled in.”

They were silent as he led her through the corridor and into a different door that connected to a servant’s hall behind it, up a staircase, and then another, before emerging in the wing near her room.  They saw nobody, but she didn’t feel Draco begin to relax until they passed through his wards.

He released her arm when they crossed the threshold to her room, and she hurried away from him, heading toward the window seat.  She was still angry with him, still jittery from the thing she had just been through, and there was something else… something that felt unsettled inside of her.

She was a murderer now.  The fact that Cormac had been dying anyway was little consolation.  Her soul was no longer pristine.

She didn’t know if she cared.

“I’m staying with you tonight,” he said.  “That was your first Avada.  There might be aftereffects.  But I need to go back to the gala first.  I won’t stay longer than an hour.”

Hermione said nothing and just curled on the window seat.  A moment later Crookshanks streaked over and hopped in her lap, giving Draco a soft hiss as he did it.  Hermione sank her fingers into his fur as she stared out at the balcony and gardens shrouded in moonlight.  Something of Columba stirred inside of her, and only now did she remember that doves didn’t just symbolize peace.  They also represented death.

“Hermione,” he sighed.

Again, she ignored him, and she heard him mutter a curse under his breath as he started to move to her door.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” he said.

She heard the door snap shut, and tears began to fall.

Chapter Text

His little dove had killed McLaggen.  She had actually fucking killed him.  She had cast a perfect Avada on her first try.  It was so strong, so beautiful, so…

Draco shuddered as he saw Theo slip back into the ballroom.  Astoria was trying to get his attention, but he had gone back to ignoring her.  Theo and Blaise claimed that kiss between their respective witches had all been a set up to make Snape go away, and once again Draco had fucked it up by overreacting and making her run.  

He still wasn’t certain there wasn’t more going on there.  He knew Hermione loved Ginny and Luna in her own way, and perhaps…

His gut twisted.  He felt ill and helpless as he considered it.  

No.  No, they said it was fake.

It had to be fake.  He didn’t know what he would do if Hermione was really into witches, and he could never truly draw her attention the way he needed.  The thought was intolerable.  It made him feel violent and reckless.  That stunt with Astoria had been stupid, but he did it because he had to get something from Hermione to convince him that she cared.

He had gotten it, alright.  His darling girl had fled and then committed murder to save Draco from taking yet another life, even though it was one he really wanted.  McLaggen’s death had been one he fantasized about often.

But she wanted it for herself.  She said she needed practice, and she was so sweet to be concerned for him.  How could he ever say no to that?

Surely she wouldn’t do that for Ginny and Luna.  Surely it was special.  It just had to mean something.

As much as he was clinging to this, he hated that she had been in that room in the first place.  He hated that he hadn’t killed McLaggen already.  She had been scared, hurt, and now she was angry with him again.

She will forgive me.  She has to forgive me. 

Theo caught his eye and made a gesture toward a side door with his head that told Draco he needed to follow.  There was an uncharacteristic harshness to Theo’s expression.  Draco had seen that precise look on Hermione’s face a few times now, but it was rare seeing it from his best mate.  

Draco knew he had fucked up.  Theo was itching for a fight.

Draco started to move toward him, and Astoria clutched at his arm.

“Get off, I need to go,” he said harshly.

Hurt flashed across her face.  “But I thought we were—”

He spun to glare her.  Yes, that moment with Astoria had technically been his fault, but Draco was more than happy to cast some blame upon her for it as well.  If she wasn’t so fucking easy and always hovering he would never have used her this way.

“We are nothing.  And this party bores me.  I need to tend to my boon.”

At the reminder of his boon, Astoria’s expression hardened.  “You won’t be able to keep her forever.”

Draco just raised one eyebrow.  “Watch me.”

He stalked off, leaving a fuming Astoria behind, and he joined Theo, who said nothing, but turned to lead Draco through a side door into a small room that was empty.  

As soon as the door shut, Theo spun to glare at him.

“I dumped his body just off of Diagon Alley and burned the Phoenix symbol over his Dark Mark.”

Draco nodded.  That was good.  The Order had started doing that recently as a way to claim kills.  He, Theo, and Blaise all knew the spell for the Phoenix brand in case they needed to use it for a situation like the one they found themselves in tonight.

“And I wrecked the art you left on his stomach,” added Theo.

Draco swallowed hard.  That was also good.

“You fucked up,” said Theo coldly.  “You really fucked up this time.  It’s your fault she was in that room with him in the first place.  You’re the entire reason she cast her first Avada.  If you hadn’t been such a bastard to her the last few days she never would have run, not even while you were jerking Astoria around in front of her.”

Draco’s heart sank.  Theo was right.  

“I know, alright?” he said.  “I know it’s my fault!  I just love her so much and —”

“If you love her Draco, then you need to fucking act like it!  Did you know she was in tears before the gala even started?  You’ve been a right arse to her for days, and she told me she couldn’t let you break her heart like this!”

Draco went cold.

“No,” he whispered.  “No, I haven’t broken her heart.  She’ll forgive me, I’ll go see her right now and—”

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Theo said in a harsh voice.  His eyes were flashing.  “Stay away until you can treat her the way she deserves.  She is so close to accepting all of this, Draco, but I will not let you hurt her again!”

Draco felt his lungs closing in.  Theo was right.  Of course he was right.  Draco had been stuck in a cycle of jealousy and fear when it came to Snape and then thrown for a loop when he watched Hermione kiss the other witches.  But if he couldn’t get it together, then he would push his sweet girl away from him for good.  She was too sensitive to be on the receiving end of his anger.  She was too innocent.  And she might not ever forgive him, and then she would never be his and...

She will.  She WILL forgive me.  She always does.

She had to be his.  There was no alternative.  Draco would let Theo get it out of his system and then go to her right away.  He would plead with her.  He would do anything he needed to bring her back around to him.  She was angry, she was hurt, but didn’t she always forgive him eventually?  Didn’t she always let Draco get close to her and lower her walls even more every time they argued?  He needed her.  He fucking needed her, and he wouldn’t be staying away, no matter what Theo had to say about it.

Draco said nothing as Theo withdrew his wand.  “We had a deal, remember?  About what happens if you hurt her again?”

“Yes,” said Draco hoarsely.  He deserved it.  He knew he deserved it.  Theo would not be gentle, but Draco didn’t want him to be.   

They said nothing more, and Draco exhaled to prepare himself while Theo waved his wand.  He silenced the room and then turned it on Draco.

“I’m giving you five tonight.  One for every day you’ve hurt her.”

Draco nodded mutely and closed his eyes.

“CRUCIO!” cried Theo, and Draco’s nerves lit on fire.

He dropped to his knees and began to scream.

******

Hermione was alone for mere moments before Poppy arrived in her room, exclaiming in dismay at the blood streaking her cheeks and hands.  Hermione didn’t have it in her to protest as Poppy gently extracted Crookshanks, shoo’d her into the loo, forced her into the tub, and then scrubbed Hermione’s skin raw.

Her curls, too, received some attention, as Poppy declared there was blood matted in them, no doubt from being pulled down with Cormac.  Hermione didn’t care to look, but the water did turn a very faint pink as the bath wore on.

Once Poppy was satisfied she hauled Hermione out of the tub, produced a nightgown with a fierce look and then made her sit at the dressing table in an effort to tame her curls at least a little bit.

“We is needing to work quickly,” she said.  “But a drying charm without your hair potions will make them…”

She made a gesture with her hand as though something was exploding.

“Right,” said Hermione dully.

Poppy worked as fast as Hermione had ever seen her, massaging several of those French products into her hair, section by section, before drying it.  She finished with a ribbon of course – pale green this time – and again Hermione didn’t have the capacity to protest.  She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed.

As she was slipping under the covers, her door opened without knocking, and Draco strode in, still in his dress robes.  He took one look at her and nodded firmly.

“Right.  I’m done downstairs.  I need to change, and then I’ll be back in a moment.”

Hermione noticed his hands twitching ever so slightly as he moved to the door.  He had a slight stiffness to him as well, along with a limp.  As he passed Crookshanks, Draco picked him up, ignoring the cat’s protests, and carried him through the connecting door, which he slammed shut behind him.  His hand gave a mighty tremble just as the door closed, and a moment later she heard him lock the flap on the cat door too.

Hermione frowned, considering this as he disappeared into his room.  She hated that she cared, but she did.  She wasn’t terribly inclined to ask him, though.  An idea struck her, and Hermione reached out to Theo.

Theo, what happened to Draco?  He’s twitching.

Is he in there with you?

Theo’s voice in her head sounded angry and agitated.  

No, she said quickly, slightly alarmed by the venom in his tone.  He’s in his room.  He just looked in on me, that’s all.

Hermione tried to ignore the fact that she was implicitly lying to him.  She knew Draco would be back at any minute.

Good.  I told him to stay the fuck away from you until he can treat you better.

A suspicion crossed Hermione’s mind.

Was it you?  Did you do something to him that made him so… twitchy?

I just reminded him of our deal, that’s all.

And what deal was that?

He hurts you, I cruciate him.

Hermione blinked in shock.  She had never believed Theo was actually serious.  He was so mild-mannered, especially compared to his best friend.

Then again, he had warned her, hadn’t he?

That was entirely unnecessary.

No, it was completely necessary.  He hurt you badly enough that you ran away and got yourself trapped with a couple of Death Eaters again.  It was all his fault.  He knows he deserved it.  He didn’t even fight back.

Theo…

Don’t, Sis I’m tired of his bullshit.

Theo severed their connection, and Hermione sighed.  She couldn’t even pretend to understand the nuances of Theo’s and Draco’s relationship, nor those with Blaise for that matter.  All three of them operated in a world where punishment was meted out with pain and sometimes death.  

It was still shocking to her, though.  She tried to imagine casting a crucio on Ginny or Luna or even Harry or Ron and couldn’t do it.  The fact that Theo’s curse had been strong enough that Draco was still trembling from it…

No, I’m not going to forgive him just because Theo punished him too.

She was still angry with him, and she had a right to be.  Even if she could overlook his behavior with Astoria – after all, he hadn’t known about the girls’ plan when she executed it – there was still the matter of being so cold toward her in the days leading up to the gala.  He had given her emotional whiplash for something that was in no way her fault.

She didn’t have it in her to forgive him just yet.  He had pushed her to the breaking point, and he was a major reason why she had ended up in that room with Rodolphus and Cormac.  Theo was absolutely correct about that.

The entire experience had been so terrible that she didn’t even remember to collect Cormac’s wand.  Not even after she murdered him.

Because she had murdered him.

She killed him so Draco wouldn’t be responsible for yet another death thanks to her.  She killed him for practice.

She felt some tremors course through her as she thought about it, and it felt like the crack in her heart was opening again.

Calm.  Breathe.  It’s an after-effect.  You read about this.

Hermione knew it could take some time for the soul to stitch itself back together again after performing murder.  That was why it was possible to make a horcrux with it – the horcrux extracted part of the soul after it cracked.  A wizard could make use of that fragile time in the immediate aftermath while the soul was still healing from such a heinous act.  The quickest and fastest way to heal the soul was with remorse, but Hermione truly didn’t feel remorse for killing Cormac.  That meant she would have to ride this out the hard way: with time, as her soul settled into its new shape with that fissure from the thing she had done.  It would solidify eventually, and she would move on.  But it would never look the same again.

The shaking subsided just as Draco’s door opened.

They stared at each other for several seconds, neither one moving or speaking.  He was dressed in a soft T-shirt and muggle athletic shorts.  She had only seen him like this in the middle of the night.  It was how he slept.

He moved into the room slowly and closed the door behind him softly.

He seemed to be weighing something as he approached her, cautiously.

“I need to stay with you tonight,” he finally said.  

“Theo told you to stay away.”

She hadn’t really intended to say it, but some part of her wanted him to know that she knew about his conflict with Theo because of his behavior.

He froze and gave her a wary look.  “I know.  But somebody needs to be with you after that.  He told me to stay away until I could treat you better.  I am determined to do that.”

Hermione gave a mirthless laugh.  “Right,” she said a little bitterly.  “You’re going to treat me better now that you’ve been reminded of just how dangerous all of this can be.”

His expression turned a bit frantic, a bit desperate.

“Hermione… please.  I’m just… I’m sorry, sweet girl.  I’m really, really bad at this.  I know I am.  I was an arse.”

Hermione felt herself softening, and she hated it.  She hated how much leniency she gave him because of the attention he would give her.  She was determined to stay firm, at least until she had a chance to say everything she needed to say.

“It felt really terrible,” she said slowly.  “The last few days… I know this isn’t a crush for you,” she said, and Draco shook his head hard.

“No.  No, it isn’t,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Well…” Hermione trailed off, unsure of how he would take this next thing, but she had to say it.  “Well it started to become a crush for me.  Maybe.  Or maybe not, I’m not certain…”

His eyes widened, and he went pale.

“...but I can’t let you do this to me!  I can’t have a crush — or a not crush — on somebody who takes it out on me every single time something doesn’t go his way!  Don’t you understand that?  Don’t you realize how much I have overlooked when it comes to you?  You treated me horribly for years.  You torture and kill people without a second thought.  You took me prisoner and marked me in a way that means I will never truly escape.  And I was prepared to overlook all of it until you reverted to that version of yourself from Hogwarts that made me despise you!  I have to have some standards, Draco!  I can’t be your whipping boy — or girl, I suppose — whenever things start to spin out of your control!”

He looked like he had stopped breathing.

“Please,” he whispered.  “Please don’t… just let me make it up to you.  Let me show you, Hermione.  I can’t… I’ve wanted…”

He moved his hands to his face, and his fingers laced through his hair, clutching at it.  He looked slightly deranged.

“I don’t know,” she said a bit sadly.  “I don’t like it when–”

But she was cut off by another tremor.  Her feelings about Draco, all of the confusion, the compromise, the pain and fear and anger made her shake.   Her eyes rolled back as she tried to control it.

Breathe.  Calm.  It’s normal.  It will pass.

She smelled him before she felt him.  That scent of cedar and spice wrapped her up before his arms did.  

“You have to let yourself feel it,” he murmured.  “You have to acknowledge it.  If you don’t, it will just get worse.”

She knew she should push him away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  His scent and arms comforted her like they always did.  And she trusted that he knew what he was talking about when it came to the tremors.  How many times had he cast this spell?  How many times had he been through this himself?

She made herself face it squarely.

I am a murderer.  I killed Cormac McLaggen.

The death in her heart stilled for a moment and retreated, but Hermione knew it was temporary.  There would be more tonight.  

She slumped in his arms, and only now did she tune in on his words.

“Good… you're doing so well with it.  Just breathe, yeah?  Please let me stay with you, at least for tonight.  There will be more.  You need somebody to be with you.”

Hermione said nothing to this, but just laid back in bed.  Draco took her silence as implicit consent and moved with her, tucking her into his chest like he had that night he brought her back when exploring Columba.

She knew she should kick him out, but she was so drained.  She was so tired of all of it.  And he said he wanted to make it up to her.  Maybe this could be a start.

He let out a sigh of relief that she wasn’t ousting him, and he pulled her in tightly.  She felt him bury his face into her hair as he breathed.

“I’m sorry.  I’m really, truly sorry.  Especially for tonight,” he added.

“Why did you do it?” she asked in a small voice.

He was silent for a long while.

“I just… I saw you kiss them.  Theo and Blaise didn’t tell me it was a setup.  I know I should have figured it out, but you looked like you were enjoying yourself.  And I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“I thought maybe I had read this all wrong.  I thought maybe you were into witches, and all the times you let me touch you really were because you needed me to move past your trauma.  And if that was the case, there would be nothing I could ever do to make you feel… well, I’m sure you can figure it out.  At least with another bloke, I could maybe… I don’t know.”

He trailed off a bit lamely, and Hermione paused as she considered this angle.  Perhaps she should have thought of it at some point over the last couple of hours, but so much had happened that it hadn’t crossed her mind.  How would she have felt if she had found Draco snogging a man?  

Disappointed.  Utterly helpless.  Desperately hopeful that he was bisexual so I would still have a chance, but terrified that he wasn’t.  Almost certain that he would never be mine, and there wasn’t a bloody thing I could do about it.

Oh.

“I’m not into women,” she said simply.

“You aren’t?”  

She heard hesitancy and some muted hopefulness in his voice.  Even now he wasn’t certain, despite Theo’s and Blaise’s reassurances.

She sighed.

“No.  I’ve snogged Ginny before of course, but–”

“Wait, what?”

Hermione huffed with frustration and spun around in bed to face him squarely.  

“Yes, I’ve snogged her before tonight.  Technically she was my first kiss.  I’m not into women though.”

“But if you…”

“Honestly, Draco, how do you think I know I’m not into women?  Ginny and I shared a room at the Burrow for years whenever I visited, and we snogged each other a handful of times when we were younger.  It was just some experimentation.  We figured we should try it because maybe we would like each other in that way if we did it, and that would be a hell of a lot faster than waiting for Harry and Ron to get their heads out of their arses and actually notice us.  Neither of us felt anything from it though.  We did it a couple more times just to practice.  You know, so we wouldn’t be terrible at it when a boy finally did kiss us… but it has been years.”

He was staring at her in some disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never snogged Theo or Blaise,” she added.

“No,” he said in a rough voice.  “Never.”

Hermione was a bit surprised by this, but she just shrugged.  “Well I did.  Ginny’s the only witch I’ve kissed before tonight.  Luna was new.”

“And Luna is…”

“Bisexual, but she’s in love with Theo.  She’s told me before that she only has friendly feelings for me.  It was all an act, Draco.  We wanted Snape to think precisely what you thought… that he would never stand a chance with Annabelle due to something that was entirely outside of his control.  It never occurred to me that you would believe it too.”

She felt him relax.

“Alright,” he said.  “That’s good.  I’m sorry I tried to test you with Astoria, I just–”

“Wait, what do you mean, test me?”

He gave her a bewildered look.  “To see if you reacted?  Because I thought maybe you were into women all of a sudden?  I don’t know, I just wanted to see if you even cared.”

“Of course I bloody well cared!” she insisted.  “I thought you were punishing me for kissing Ginny and Luna!”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  “No, that wasn’t it…”

She gave him a stern look.

“Alright, well that wasn’t all of it.  I just… I don’t know, Hermione, I was thrown off and wasn’t thinking, alright?  I wanted to draw some reaction out of you to reassure myself that I hadn’t been wrong this whole time.  And then of course you ran, and then you ended up in that room, and it was all my fault.”

He said this last part bitterly, and she sighed.  Her anger was dissipating.  He had been foolish and rash, but she could understand why he had done it.  The part with Astoria had been an enormous misunderstanding.  She had a hard time imagining how she would react to the same thing.

“Fine,” she said with a deep sigh.  “I get why you did it, and I’m sorry too.  I thought Theo and Blaise had explained everything to you in advance.  And it’s not like I have some claim on… well anyway.  I just… it’s the way you’ve behaved the last few days that really bothers me.  I don’t like it when you’re cold with me.  It feels really bad when you push me away.”

Her eyes dropped as she said this, and he gripped her hand with the mark on it as he pulled it to him.  She raised her eyes to find him staring at her, more intently than ever.

“Hermione, I’m an idiot.  I’m a huge, bloody idiot, and by all rights you should hate me.  Trust me, my darling, I am painfully aware of that.  I treated you horribly at Hogwarts, and I’ve never even apologized for it, because frankly I don’t deserve your forgiveness for that.  But you also need to know that regardless of what I do or say — or don’t do or say — I can never get away from you.  Not ever.”

He raised her hand and opened it, tracing the marks on her palm.

“Columba…” he whispered.  “My little dove.”

He brought her palm to his lips and kissed her seven times, one on each mark.  Her eyes were huge, her heart started to race.

Those suspicions that had been building about her mark – her sense that this was far more than just a tracking spell – bloomed.

“Draco,” she said.  “What else does it do?”

“Not yet,” he said simply, still tracing the mark.  “I promise I’ll tell you eventually, but… please, not yet.”

She knew she should press him on it.  But like so many things when it came to Draco she let it slide.

“Alright,” she sighed.  “But tell me someday.”

“I will,” he said, now lacing their fingers together.  

Hermione felt another tremor begin, and she closed her eyes as he began to stroke her face, her hair.  He whispered words of encouragement to her.  He was so soft like this and just hers.  This was the side of him she had fallen for.  This was the thing that made her so weak.

“Confront it.  Own it.  You were spectacular tonight.  A successful Avada on your very first try.  You had barely touched a wand in months.  I could scarcely believe it.”

I am a murderer.  I killed Cormac McLaggen.  I don’t feel sorry for it.  He deserved it, and I did it.  I would do it again.

Draco was still speaking.

“It was the most extraordinary thing, watching you snuff out his life like that.  I was so proud of you.  You’ve never been more beautiful than when you ended him.  I could watch that memory in a pensieve a thousand times and never grow bored of it.  It made me… fuck, you have no idea…”

God, he sounded… turned on?

That was… that was… Hermione didn’t know.  Terrifying?  Sexy?  Very, very wrong?

Yes, it was all of those things.

Her tremors subsided, and she stared up into his face.  His eyes had grown dark as he watched her work through them.

“How many more times will that happen?” she asked as she swallowed hard.  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face.

“At least a few more.  You’re doing well with them, though.  And the next time you kill it will be easier.”

He was stroking her face again, and it was so distracting.  Her eyes fluttered closed at his touch.

“Next time?” she asked faintly.

“Mmmm.  You implied you needed to do it at least two more times,” he said casually.

Her eyes opened again, and there was that dark longing in his gaze, but also some determination.  Her words from earlier that evening were about to come back to haunt her.  Her defenses immediately went up.

“I’ll tell you later.  Not now.”

“Yes now,” he pressed.  “I’m going to need time to prepare myself for it.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“Because whatever it is, it’s bound to be dangerous.  It’s going to send my anxiety to the heavens.  And then when you do it – because you will do it – I need to be ready for the personal aftereffects.”

“Personal aftereffects.”

“Mmm, yes.  The personal aftereffects of watching you take a life.  It’s just so…powerful.  So… perfect.”

She unconsciously shuddered, and his thumb moved to trace her lip.  Without considering what she was doing, her lips parted.

“Yes, so perfect,” he said again, his voice deepening and his eyes fixed on her lips.  God, but his voice was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic.  “You’re going to test every bit of self control that I have, aren’t you darling girl?”

He pressed his thumb on her lip a bit harder until it was moistened ever so slightly.  And then he raised it to his own mouth and sucked.

Heat blossomed in her lower belly.  What was this?  How was this happening now, tonight after she had killed somebody?  Why wasn’t she thinking about her anger, her sadness, all the things that had gone so terribly wrong tonight?  Why was she fixated on that thumb in his mouth?

“Orange blossom,” he sighed contentedly.  “You taste of orange blossom.  It’s my favorite.”

Did he taste of cedar and spice?  She was suddenly, urgently desperate to know.

“Tell me, little dove.  Who is on your list?” he said in that same, low voice.  He moved his thumb back to her lower lip and brushed it again.  Unconsciously her own tongue flicked out to taste.

Draco’s expression changed in an instant, and his pupils blew wide.  She had only seen him like this a handful of times before – completely focused on her, nearly vibrating with anticipation as he watched her.

She did it again, and he jerked ever so slightly.

Was this how she would do it then?  Was this the way to keep her secret?  She wondered if she could remember that Veela magic from Nita and serve as a distraction, but he was distracting her just as much.

Draco pressed his thumb on her lip a bit more firmly, and Hermione closed her lips around it.

“Oh fuck…” he breathed, his eyes huge.  

Instinctively she began to suck, and his breathing became shallow as he watched.  He was so affected like this, and it affected her.  She had never felt so powerful before, not ever.  Torturing another person or taking a life had nothing on this heat, this control.

But then he took it right back from her.  

“Suck it all off,” he whispered.  “Be sweet for me and lick off every drop.  Gods you’re perfect…”

Something about it made Hermione feel small, protected, and yet eager to please.  It was so odd, but she found herself obeying him without a second thought.  He did taste of cedar and spice, and it was making her feel slow, languid.  She barely had a thought in her head like this.

“It’s the Dark Lord, isn’t it?  He’s the man you were talking about…”

Hermione was feeling almost drunk as she nodded.

“And the woman… Bellatrix?” he guessed.

Hermione shook her head no.

He slipped his thumb out of her mouth and the fog started to clear as she looked up at him with some confusion.

“Not Bellatrix?  Then who?”

Hermione blinked, as she realized what he had just done.

“You… you…” she stuttered.

“Shhh….” he said, brushing a stray curl from her face.  “I needed to know.  And you were so good to tell me the first one.  Now tell me the second.  Let me help you.  I’ll admit that I’m surprised it’s not Bellatrix.  There aren’t many women who are marked Death Eaters, and she’s the highest ranked by far.  It certainly makes things much simpler though.  She can stay on Theo’s list.”

“She’s not on your list then?” Hermione asked, a mixture of curiosity and betrayal warring inside of her.  He had used her moment of weakness to coax this information out of her, though she supposed that Voldemort was obvious.  Still, she would have to remember this and guard against it in the future.  

And why wasn’t Bellatrix on his list?  Draco had brutally tortured Cormac and would have killed him if Hermione didn’t step in to finish it first.  He had exacted revenge against Umbridge.  Why not Bellatrix too?  The woman had injured her, tortured her.  Was it because they were related?  Did he care about his aunt more than Hermione?

She felt oddly hurt by the thought.

“There are complications when it comes to murdering one’s family members in certain pureblood lines.  The Black family is one that strongly disincentivizes it.  Murdering her would make me impotent and end my line for good.  That doesn’t even get into the legal complexities with inheritances, though admittedly the Malfoys have always been stricter about that than the Blacks.  But as it stands, it’s much simpler and more straightforward if we leave her for Theo.  I’m taking Dolohov instead.  You told me he nearly killed you in the Department of Mysteries.”

Hermione paused as she thought about this.  “But Bellatrix killed Sirius, and they’re both Blacks.”

“Yes, but she had no concerns about becoming barren.  She’s not terribly maternal, you know.  Nor did she worry about losing an inheritance, as she had a fortune of her own already.  In my case, I do need to be concerned about at least one of those things, so it’s much less complicated if Theo does it.”

“Less complicated,” she repeated.  

“Right.  Less complicated.  But that’s not what we’re talking about… you were about to tell me who that mysterious woman is.  Who is your target?”

Hermione stilled as she weighed this.  She didn’t know if telling him would benefit her or not.  If he knew he might try to keep her away.  Then again, he didn’t seem at all surprised by Voldemort.  Surely Draco knew she had been seeking his death this entire time, and he was still willing to bring her to Nott Castle.  

Maybe she could tell him in the same way she had told Ginny and Luna – just the target, not the reason why she was important.

“It’s not a woman,” said Hermione.

She saw his brow crinkle at this.  “It’s not?  But you said she…”

“Because it is female.  It’s Nagini.”

Draco went very still.  “You want to Avada the snake.”

“Yes,” admitted Hermione.

“Why?  What did she do to you?”

“She hasn’t done anything to me,” said Hermione.  It was mostly the truth.  Nagini had snapped at her during their foray at Bathilda Bagshot’s house, but she was really after Harry that day.  Hermione had just gotten in the way.

“Why do you want to kill her?” he demanded.

Hermione shook her head.  “I’m not telling you that.”

“Hermione…” he said, and his voice dropped low again.

“No.  I’m not falling for that again.  You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

He didn’t look pleased by this, but she gave him an obstinate look.

“If I tell you about the mark on your hand, will you tell me this?”

Hermione stilled.

“A secret for a secret?”

He nodded.

“I need a little time to think about it,” she said.  

He had already promised to share that secret of the mark with her eventually.  She would be giving him information about the horcruxes simply to learn about it earlier than she otherwise would.  That wasn’t a great trade, she knew.

To her slight surprise, he backed off.  “Alright.  Think about it.  I want to know all of your secrets.”

“And I want to know yours,” she insisted.

He reached for her hand again and traced the mark.

“I have many,” he said quietly.  “There are things you deserve to know that I’ve been too cowardly to say.  There have been times I’ve misled you to keep you safe.  There are truths I’m burning to share with you, but can’t speak of just yet.  But perhaps someday I’ll be able to tell you everything, and you can do the same with me.  I’ll admit I wish that there were no secrets between us.”

He fell silent, and Hermione studied his beautiful face in the low light cast by the single lamp on her nightstand.  He was achingly handsome, wickedly smart, dangerously amoral, and had a possessive streak that could turn violent in a moment.  But like this, he just looked like a young man, somebody who was pining for things he couldn’t yet have. 

There was one secret, however, that she was burning to know – even more so than the mark on her hand.

“I know it’s not a crush…” she said.

His eyes flicked up from her hand to stare at her face.

“No,” he said.

“And I’ve been wondering… how long has it been… not a crush?”

He swallowed hard, and Hermione thought that he had never looked so nervous.

“Years,” he said simply.  “Quite a few years.”

She blinked in surprise.  

“Was it… ever a crush?”

He shrugged.  “Maybe?  Possibly?  I’m not sure.  But you always made me feel things.  Most people don’t make me feel very much at all, but whatever you made me feel – jealousy, anger, joy – you have always drawn out the strongest version of it, even when nobody else could.  I know I haven’t handled it well.  When we were younger I didn’t know how to handle it.  And then our families and friends pulled us to opposite sides of the war before it ever started in earnest, and that pushed you further away from me than ever.  I don’t know if there was a day when I woke up and realized that it… wasn’t a crush.  All I know is that at some point I finally accepted that it wasn’t, and it’s been motivating me ever since.”

Hermione’s heart was racing.  She knew what he was telling her.  She was more sure than ever.  But she wanted to hear him say it.

“So if it’s not a crush… then what is it?”

He shifted a bit closer to her and started to trace the planes of her face.  His expression was so open, and he looked almost defeated as he studied her.  Hermione sensed that he had fought this thing that was so magnetic between them before finally giving in.  He had resisted it well before he was old enough to even understand what it was.  She had only been fighting her feelings for him for a few months, and she had all but given it up as a bad job, even though she had a dozen reasons not to want him.  She wondered how he had ever managed it.

By being cruel.  By being cold.  By calling her names and bullying her best friends and pushing her away.

“It’s…” his voice sounded choked.  “It’s a fixation.  An obsession.  A fascination.  A beautiful, wonderful, awful need for you to see me like I see you.  I can’t… I can’t even breathe sometimes.  A crush is innocent and fleeting.  It’s a brief attraction, maybe a fun flirtation.  There is nothing about this that is fun or fleeting or innocent.”

Hermione was utterly spellbound.  

“It’s maddening,” he continued. “It’s painful.  Sometimes you look at me, and I think I’m finally getting close.  And then somehow my own feelings always get in the way, and I fuck it up.  Over and over again, I fuck it up.  I have no excuses for it, none.  I know this.  I know that you deserve some righteous, blameless, Gryffindor bloke.  I tried to step aside for Weasley, I really did.  But even then I couldn’t do it.  I didn’t want him to have you, not when his feelings for you were so much less than mine…”

Hermione froze.  “You didn’t… kill him, did you?  I know he died at Hogwarts, but I don’t know how…”

He shook his head, and Hermione felt nearly lightheaded with relief.

“No,” he said.  “No, I didn’t.  But I also didn’t… Well, let’s just say that I might have been able to stop it if I had stopped looking for you.  He was dueling Avery, and I saw them but didn’t pause to help.  I was too eager to find you.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about this.  

He might have been able to save Ron.

But then again, battles were hectic.  Maybe she would have lost Draco too if he had stopped to help.  Maybe a different Death Eater would have captured her instead.  The thought made her feel cold.

“I’m glad you found me,” she whispered.  “That night I mean.  I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t.”

It was the first time she had said this out loud – the first time she had ever even admitted it to herself.  But she was grateful to him.  By the sound of it he had a singular focus in the battle that night.  He had saved her and her two girlfriends.  

It was enough.

“Me too,” he said simply.

Another tremor started, and Hermione breathed through it.

I killed Cormac McLaggen.  I’m glad I did it.  Draco helped me do it.  I’m learning to kill just like him.  I will kill for him.  I will kill for myself.  He still thinks my soul is beautiful, even when it’s damaged like this.

When it finally passed, she looked up to find him watching her with tenderness, but also that same heat.  It seemed that with every tremor he was reminded of the moment she had officially fallen off of her pedestal.  She had cracked herself open.  She had evened the playing field between them and could no longer claim such moral superiority.

She suddenly felt shy.  She had never bared her heart to a boy before, not ever.  And she still didn’t really understand what she felt for him.  He had evidently been examining his feelings much longer than she had.  But she knew there was something between them – something a little dark and twisted, but also incredibly powerful – and whether he was good for her or not, that bond drawing them together continued to grow stronger.  She couldn’t do anything about it.  It seemed to transcend logic, morality, or even hope.  It was indelible.

Besides, she was a murderer now.  Perhaps they deserved each other.

“Draco…” she said, feeling inexplicably nervous.  “I don’t know what this is.  It’s all very new.  And despite what you have said in the past I am a bit damaged and imperfect.  But for me, it is… not a crush, either.  At least I don’t think it is.  It’s hard to say what it is, precisely, but I expect it’s bigger than that or could be bigger with time.”

She looked at his face, knowing that her declaration wasn’t even a fraction of his.  But he still looked stunned, like he had been hit by a bludger.  

He reached up and gripped her face.  “Hermione,” he said softly.  “Hermione, please say you forgive me for the last few days.  Please.  I can’t… I just… I need you to say it first.  Please.”

“I forgive you,” she said, because she did.  

Why was it so easy to forgive him?  Why was it so simple to let her anger go?  

Why did it even matter?

They were in a war, and nearly everybody thought she was dead.  But Draco knew the truth, and he had secured a place in her heart that would never belong to anybody else, no matter the pain he caused her or the atrocities he committed.

“Thank Merlin,” he breathed, and then his face was so close to hers.  He hesitated, lips hovering over hers for just a moment.  

He was giving her a chance to back away, but Hermione didn’t want to.  She was so tired of fighting this war, but most of all she was tired of fighting him.

She paused for a heartbeat longer and then let her eyes flutter closed.  With a whisper of a breath he pressed himself toward her until their lips finally connected.

Chapter Text

It was the softest thing at first, tentative, hesitant.  Hermione could scarcely believe they were doing this – that he was kissing her and that she was letting him do it.

Her pulse picked up in that familiar way, but tonight it wasn’t because she was afraid.  It was excitement, wanting, months of build-up to this.

His lips were warm, soft, and his thumb stroked her cheek.  He kissed her like she was made of glass, as though she was some fragile thing that was utterly precious to him.

That was how it started.  And then in another breath his mouth teased hers open, and he groaned into it as his tongue traced her lip.

The sound stirred something deep in her belly.  It unlocked some place inside of her that had never been properly explored.  Her previous snogs had been innocent by comparison, even those that ended with teeth and tongue.  They had never been his teeth and tongue though, and that made all the difference.

He was intense, bold, utterly focused.  She knew this about him, and he was pouring it into her.  Years of taunting, fighting, arguing, and now saving each other.  It had all been building up to this.

His hand was shaking as he moved it from her face down to her neck – that place where he loved to touch her, ever since the very first night she had asked.  The spot that was just his now.

He pulled back and stared down at her, disbelief and longing etched on his face.

He looked wrecked.  Hermione had done that to him.

“Hermione…” he said in a rough voice.  

For once he seemed struck dumb.  The beautiful words he liked to use to coax her had vanished, leaving behind nothing but need.  

“Please can I… again?” he asked.

Hermione’s own voice left her, and she just nodded.

His hand on her throat tightened ever so slightly as he groaned with relief and kissed her again more fervently this time, more confidently.  She was pinned there, face tilted up toward him, entirely at his mercy.  He could have ended her at any moment, but she knew he never would.  No, it appeared that Hermione was the one who might end him.

His tongue pressed into hers again, and now it was Hermione who made a little whimper.  Draco’s hand spasmed at the sound, and he quickly moved it back up to her face, gripping it tightly enough that she knew he would have been suffocating her if he had left it on her neck where it had just been.

It was so much feeling, so much sensation.  

He pulled back again and closed his eyes as he swallowed hard.  His forehead dipped to hers as he spoke.

“You don’t have to push yourself for me,” he said, and Hermione wondered if he was really talking to her or if was trying to convince himself.  “I swore I would never… I’m not going to… what I’m trying to say is you’re in control of this part, yeah?”

Hermione had no words to this, but something in her stomach eased.  For all of Draco Malfoy’s flaws — and she knew he had many — he had always been very careful about the way he touched her.  Even when he tried something new he did it slowly, cautiously, always gauging how she handled it before pressing on with it.  Hermione might not be in control of any other aspects of her life, but she was certain that if she ever told him to stop or slow down, he would do it immediately.

“What do you want from me, then?” 

The question just slipped out, but Hermione was dying to know.  She sensed that this was emotional for him, but how committed to her was he outside of their beautiful prison?  Would he publicly date more suitable woman?  Did he envision keeping her here for sex once they worked up to it?

Was she really a boon now?

The thought made her feel nervous and a bit ill, but also oddly anticipatory.  She didn’t know how to sort her feelings about it.

“Anything you’ll give me,” he said instantly.  “Any scraps you can spare for me, I’ll take them.  I want all of it.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.  “You’re certain?”

He nodded.  “I know I might want more than you’re willing to give right now.  That’s alright.  I can manage.  I just… you have no idea, I never really thought I’d be able to…”

He cut himself off by leaning down to kiss her again.  When he pulled away for a third time, Hermione was breathless.  

He was giving her a serious look.  

“What I’m trying to say is don’t be afraid to stop me, yeah?  Don’t ever be afraid of me, sweet girl.”

Hermione knew her eyes were huge, and she nodded, and a look of relief seemed to cross his face.

“Good,” he said.  “That’s good.  Because I know I might want too much…”

His words trailed off, as he moved to his side and propped his head on his hand.  One finger trailed down her face.  It moved from her cheek toward her ear and down her neck, where she was still wearing that necklace with a G on it.  He touched it pensively.

“This is pretty.  Who gave it to you?”

Always jealous.

“My parents.”

His expression lightened a little.  “Good.  I know I didn’t earn your cooperation with the choker tonight.  Maybe next time…”

Hermione was surprised by this.  “Will there be a next time?”

He frowned a little.  “Perhaps.  We’ll see.  I know the last two have been rather poorly done of me.  But with Severus off the scent and Rodolphus forgetting everything about you, perhaps we should try again at some point.  There’s no doubt the veritaserum is useful.”

Hermione nodded a little, and he fell silent as he continued to trace the curve of her necklace.  Then his finger dropped a bit further to follow the outline of lace on her nightgown.  It was only now – at this moment – that Hermione remembered she was dressed for bed and wearing something rather thin and sheer.  She had been so distracted by everything else she had forgotten about it entirely.  Her face turned crimson. 

“What’s making you blush so beautifully?” he murmured, still running a single finger along the edge of the lace.  Hermione’s heart started pounding again, and her throat went dry.  Her skin erupted in goosebumps, and something odd seemed to tighten in her chest and around her nipples.  She knew what was happening, and her nightgown was too sheer for this.  She closed her eyes for a moment.  Maybe he wouldn’t notice.  Maybe he couldn’t see through her…

“I dream about touching them all the time, you know.  Thank you for giving me a small peek, my darling.  Someday when you’re ready, I would love to see them clearly.  You never have to hide them from me.”

Oh God.

She forced her eyes open and saw that he was staring right at her chest, the white fabric leaving far too little to the imagination, even in the low light.

Something of her panic must have shown on her face because Draco’s eyes met hers for a moment, and then he reached down to tug the covers up over her.

“Breathe.”

He reached across her and turned off the lamp, and only then did Hermione feel herself start to relax again.  

He slid back down next to her and put his arm firmly around her, his hand gripping hers and pulling it tightly against her body.

“I’ll be here if you have any more tremors,” he whispered.  “And any other night you want me.”

******

The next few days were tense, though for once Hermione was not in the middle of it.  After hearing the story of Cormac’s death from Theo, Draco was on thin ice with Blaise, Ginny, and Luna too.  Ironically, only Hermione seemed to have forgiven him.

It was rather gratifying to know that her brother and her friends had taken her side this time.  But after Draco showed up one evening with a split lip, she finally put her foot down.

Theo, that’s enough.

I’m not done, Hermione.

Yes, you are.  He has apologized repeatedly.  It’s time to move on.

It took another two days before things finally went back to normal with the others, and Hermione was forced to confess to her friends about that night he kissed her the first time to finally convince them.

After that night he didn’t come back to her bed.  Hermione woke up the following morning feeling shy, hesitant, and he seemed to know better than to push his luck.  But he had cupped her face and kissed her a few more times, and Hermione’s heart skipped each time he did it.  He was becoming more openly affectionate with her in front of the others, and Hermione wondered if they would be giving Blaise and Ginny some competition soon.

The girls’ animagus transformations continued to progress, though Hermione was well ahead of both Ginny and Luna, despite the fact that her transformation was the most challenging.

“You were always going to be twice as fast as us though,” said Ginny with a huff after she managed hooves for the first time.  “This is good, really.  You’ll have both of your forms done in the time it takes us to do one.”

By the time Hermione and Theo’s birthday rolled around in late September, her transformation was on the verge of being complete.  

She woke up that morning, prepared for an eventful day.  The girls would be going to a Death Eater event that night, but this time as boons.  Luna had been to one already and reported back that it wasn’t too bad.  A couple of Death Eaters had approached Theo for a trade, but he handled them well enough, and they backed off.

Hermione had to admit a small part of her was looking forward to it.  There was no mission except to be seen in order to give Draco and Blaise some cover.  They were the only Death Eaters left who had not brought their boons out in front of the others, and it was time to fix that.  Both of them were said to be fond of their boons, so for once Draco wouldn’t have to try to hide how much he wanted her, and Hermione would be able to stay with him all night and ignore any advances from the others.

It almost felt like a date, which was entirely strange.

Before that, however, the girls met with Hermione for their daily animagi practice.  The previous day Hermione had come so close to finishing her transformation that she thought another day or two might crack it.

“I can see why it took Sirius and James a couple years to manage it,” declared Ginny, whose face was screwed up.  “Between doing the research to learn all the steps and the potion and then the actual practice… well, it would have taken us ages too if Draco didn’t already have the instructions in his library.”

A moment later there was a pop and then a handsome tail emerged, which she turned around and swished.

Hermione and Luna chuckled.  Unlike Hermione and Luna who had a sacrifice, Ginny’s form was more nebulous.  She had not been able to clearly determine her markings or coloring from her vision, and it had been fascinating to watch everything emerge as she practiced body part by body part.

Hermione was convinced Ginny’s breed was an Arabian.  She was a true chestnut with a coat that looked red in certain lights, and her eyes were dark and expressive.  Blaise had been pleased when he heard Hermione’s guess, as Arabians were known to be excellent jumpers and could keep up in a hunt.  They were a very compact breed but could carry heavy loads and had good endurance.  

“Small but mighty,” were Blaise’s words.

“Stubborn and proud,” was how Draco described them.  “Mine likes to take a bite out of me whenever I hurt her feelings.”

“You’re still smarting over the fact that she threw you when you were twelve,” said Theo, rolling his eyes.

It was a rather perfect fit for Ginny, Hermione thought.  Everything the boys told them about the breed seemed to align.  

Hermione was focusing on her vision now, trying to nail that final piece of her own transformation.  She had managed every part of the dove so far except for the beak.  For some reason, it had eluded her for weeks.

Hermione closed her eyes and remembered eating the berries from the vine.  Then she had perched on Draco’s hand and eaten berries from his palm.  It had been sweet, nourishing, the flavor bursting on her tongue.

She had used her beak to drink from the birdbath.  The water had been cool, refreshing, and precisely what she needed after such a long flight.

She breathed in and out, focusing, concentrating.  She called to Columba inside of her, trying to remember every part and put it all together.

There was a faint POP! and Hermione found herself on the floor, her eyes suddenly able to see the tiniest speck of detail all the way across the room.  She gave a little hop and her wings rustled, and at that moment Ginny turned around and noticed her.

“HERMIONE!” she cried, with an enormous smile on her face.

DANGER!

For a split second Columba’s instincts took over, and Hermione found herself suddenly in the air.  Then Hermione’s own mind realized what she was doing, and she gave a frantic flap to land on the closest piece of furniture, which happened to be the escritoire.

She saw Crookshanks in the corner of the room, and her heart nearly failed again, but she tamped down on the bird’s instincts to stay very far away.  As for Crookshanks, he just narrowed his eyes at her.  Hermione recalled he was rather good at spotting animagi.

Her tiny heart was still racing frantically, and she was staring back at Ginny and Luna with shock at what she had just done.

Hermione tried to calm down and take stock.  She had small claws that were gripping the carvings in the wood.  She had wings and was covered in feathers.  Her eyesight was extraordinary, and yes… she even had a beak.

She opened it and let out a tentative coo.

Ginny and Luna started hopping up and down cheering, and again Columba was startled and tried to fly away, but Hermione suppressed it and forced herself to stay precisely where she was.

Ginny turned and started pounding on the door to Draco’s room, and a moment later he opened it, looking around him with alarm.

“Draco!  Look!” squealed Ginny, pointing at Hermione.

Draco stared at her for a full three seconds in disbelief, and then his face broke into a broad smile too.

“You did it!” he cried.  “Hang on, let me get the others!”

He disappeared for a few moments and then returned with Theo and Blaise in tow.  All three of them approached her and instinctively Hermione took a step back.  Draco threw out a hand to stop them.

“Hermione, can you understand us?” he asked, cocking his head to study her.

She cooed, and a small smile crossed his face.  

“I’ll take that as a yes.  But you still have bird instincts?”

Another coo, and he nodded thoughtfully.  

“Alright.  So we’re all much bigger than you.  We will stand back.  Do you think you can fly to my hand?”

He stepped slightly away from the others and held out a palm.  They were all watching eagerly, and Hermione canted her head to stare at it.

How on earth do I fly?

Launching herself into the air gave her some mild anxiety, but not as much as she had expected.  Columba wasn’t afraid of it at all, and Hermione tried to find that flight instinct inside of Columba without turning everything else over to her too.

Fly, she thought, and Columba spread her wings and with a few flaps settled onto Draco’s palm, albeit not very elegantly.  Hermione wasn’t sure how she managed it, but she actually stumbled on the landing.

Draco didn’t seem to care though, his smile was blinding.

“Brilliant.  This is absolutely brilliant.  Alright, time for a birthday present then.”

He motioned for the others to follow him, and he carried Hermione over to the door to the large patio that had remained locked for the entirety of her stay at the Manor.  He pulled out his wand with his free hand and muttered a complicated unlocking spell before gripping the knob and turning.

Then she was outside, and Hermione was almost grateful that she was a bird because her emotions were shocking.

She hadn’t been outside since the Battle of Hogwarts, not a single time.  The September air was warm, but autumn would be coming soon.  It was a glorious day, sunny and breezy.  Even as a dove Hermione’s eyes closed to feel it on her feathers.  She had missed this so much.

“Let’s fly,” said Draco simply, crouching down to the ground so she could hop off his hand.  “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared back into her room and reemerged moments later with his broom.  

“We’ll start on the patio before trying open air.  Hermione, are you okay?”

Hermione was nervous, but she told herself they could start small while she was getting used to managing the flight instinct.  She didn’t have to launch herself off the balcony just yet.  

She gave a small coo, and Draco grinned again.  

“Alright, little dove, see if you can fly from the ground to Ginny’s head.”

Ginny grinned and stood perfectly still about ten meters away.

Hermione reached toward Columba’s flight instinct and flapped to rise into the air.  Before she knew it she was settling on Ginny’s head with more grace than when she had landed on Draco.  Ginny giggled to feel Hermione balancing herself.

“Alright, now back to the ground,” said Draco.

This was a little different since she was already on a perch.  Columba told her to open her wings and glide down, with just a few flaps at the end to steady herself.  

She was getting it.

“Fly some laps for us,” suggested Theo.  “Maybe to the end of the balcony and back.  Do it a couple of times.”

Hermione cooed and, confidence building, rose into the air and flew to the end of the balcony until she had to lean on Columba to figure out how to turn.  She angled her wings out and to the side, and she coasted a bit over the edge of the rail, which nearly startled her into falling, but she pulled on Columba’s instincts, which told her she was perfectly fine.

Her heart slowed as she made her way back to her friends.  She tried it a couple more times, and at the final turn she intentionally went out into open air for just a few meters before turning and gliding back.

When she landed, Draco was gripping his broom.

“Right,” he said, his eyes twinkling.  “I’ll race you.”

He flung a leg over his broom and kicked off into the air.  Columba was startled for a moment, but Hermione’s competitive edge had been piqued, and she flapped hard to get speed and air.  She tried to reassure Columba that the large flying thing meant her no harm, and Hermione leaned on her flight instinct as she caught up to Draco, who was whooping with delight as she outstripped him.  

Hermione did not like heights.  She knew she didn’t like heights.  But this… this was…

Freedom.

The books had been right afterall.  Connecting to the bird’s flight instinct took only a little time, and she was quickly learning how to leverage the instinct while keeping her own mind at the forefront.  It made her natural reticence diminish.

How glorious was it to finally face a fear and overcome it with no exposure therapy and no real work other than achieving an advanced magical form.  She might never wish to be in the air as a human, but she wouldn’t have to be.  She was a bird now.

Hermione’s heart squeezed with her bittersweet success as it reminded her of Harry and Ron.  What would they say if they could see her now?  Flying around, as though she was made to be here because she was.  The part of her that was still Hermione missed them more keenly than ever.  But this success of hers — this ability to now fly in the air more gracefully than they ever could — made her feel connected to them in a way she had never experienced while they were alive.  She finally understood them, that unnatural urge to spend hours on a broomstick.  It had driven her mad for years.  It was only after they died and she started this project that she finally saw the merits of it.  She felt it gave her a link to them.

Hermione would fly now because they couldn’t.  There was still a member of their trio in the air.

And the air made Columba so happy.  It was enough to pull Hermione’s mood away from that pang of loss when she thought of Harry and Ron and toward an unbridled joy she hadn’t felt in months.

Draco was happy too.  He was doing corkscrews at a breakneck pace, and while Hermione wasn’t keen to race him like that her bird’s confidence in the air made her less worried about him than she otherwise would be as she watched.  She drifted toward the ground with a few flaps, where she finally got to see the Malfoy gardens up close for the first time.

Her excellent eyes saw a thatch of bilberries in a wilder part of the garden, and she flew over to eat one.  If she had been able to smile, she would have.

“Come on little dove, let’s go back to the others and get you some proper food,” came Draco’s amused voice.

Hermione said a wistful goodbye to the garden, hoping very much that she would be able to visit it again soon.  With a few flaps of her wings, she was back in the air again, heading up toward the balcony where the others were still gathered.  She settled onto Theo’s proffered arm who carried her inside, as Draco dismounted and flung his broom over his shoulder, looking dashing in a rather windswept sort of way.

They moved indoors, and Hermione fluttered from Theo’s arm to the ground and then prepared herself. The transformation back to human was easier than moving to the animal because it was her normal form and something she could easily visualize.  With some focus and concentration there was another POP! and Hermione was sprawled on the ground, wearing the biggest smile she could remember since Harry and Ron had died.

Her friends cheered for her, and Draco in particular looked ecstatic as he reached out a hand for her to haul her to her feet and then lifted her up in the air.  He spun her around, laughing, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

Without giving it another thought she leaned down and kissed him, which Draco immediately deepened, before backing her against a wall for support.  It was only the sounds of protest from their friends — and Theo’s threat to disembowel Draco if he didn’t stop ravaging his baby sister — that made them come up for air.

Hermione was breathless when she stared down at his gray eyes, which were almost blue as they crinkled at her.  

“I’m so bloody proud of you,” he whispered, and Hermione found herself beaming again before leaning down for another kiss before Theo’s disgusted sounds made her pull away.

“Thanks,” she breathed.  “The bird was a brilliant choice.”

Draco smiled brighter at this, obviously pleased that he had been right all along.

“You’re the one who’s brilliant, little dove,” he said.  “I bet you set some sort of record.”

“I can’t wait to do it again,” she confessed.  “Fly, I mean.  I can’t believe I’m going to say this because I still very much do not like heights in my own body, but as a bird… well, it’s extraordinary.”

He smiled again and pulled her back to the group, who immediately launched into a conversation about the thing she had achieved that day.  She felt normal like this, just a girl with her boyfriend and brother and friends celebrating a personal achievement.  There was no war, no gilded cage.

She was a bird now and had flown free.

******

Poppy outdid herself with a birthday celebration.  Since the group had plans that evening, Draco declared a birthday tea was in order.

Much like Ginny’s birthday, there were balloons and streamers and confetti.  Unlike Ginny’s birthday, they held it on the balcony, and a few decorations spilled out into the gardens below.

“I thought you might want to be outside,” said Draco quietly to her.  “It’s a beautiful day.”

“Does this mean my door will be unlocked more often?” she asked breathlessly.  Getting a glimpse of real sunlight had done wonders for her mood.  She had always enjoyed having a sunny spot to think and read.  She spent most of her childhood reading on her parents’ garden bench, and she always loved to work under the large beech tree at Hogwarts.

He studied her for a beat, and she knew his eyes missed nothing.  He saw her face turned up to meet the sun, her eyes alight with happiness as she breathed in fresh air.

“Soon.  I think we can do that soon.  You have to be careful about guests outside though.  Mother hosts garden parties year round.  The gardens are charmed to always stay warm.”

She knew this and had seen a few from her window, though she had never gotten a clear view as a human.

“I’m a bird now.”

“I know you are, my darling.  That’s why I’ll allow it once I put a few safety measures in place.  It won’t be long.”

Wards.  He means wards.

Hermione felt the prison bars materialize again as she wondered what, precisely, he had in store to make sure she couldn’t fly away.  And then there was that tracking spell…

“Will the tracking spell work through my animagus form?” she asked.

He just gave her a stern look.  “Let’s not find ourselves in a situation where we have to learn the answer to that, yes?”

A slight shiver hit her at the unsaid warning in his words.  But she pushed it away.  She wouldn’t allow anything to upset her today.  It was her birthday, and Theo decided to celebrate his birthday today too, since it was his real birthday.  He had grown up believing his birthday was the week prior, and he declared to Hermione that he would never celebrate it on that day again.  She had been allowed to go outside for the first time in months, and she had achieved something profoundly magical and impressive earlier that day.  She would always remember it.

No, she wouldn’t let anything get her down today.

In lieu of cake Poppy had presented some truly stunning and decadent petite fours as part of the tea in several different flavors: there was lemon and chocolate and strawberry and even pistachio.  They were tiny, ornate little bite sized treats that thoroughly charmed Hermione and were an excellent accompaniment to the elaborate tea service she had set out for them.

“I had them brought in from France,” Draco said into her ear as she ate her third.  “Do you like them?”

She blushed and nodded, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek.  “Good.  Surely you know by now that I’ve dreamed of spoiling you for a very long time.”

“Is that why you filled my room with things so quickly once you caught me?”

He looked at her seriously.  “Oh I was preparing long before I caught you sweet girl.  I had an idea about what you might like.  You’ve never told me, though.  Did I get it right?”

Another shiver passed over her, as she realized just how long he had been planning her captivity.  He had once told her he had a rough plan in place before the Battle, but if he had been preparing the room in advance as well…

She didn’t know what to think, so she just nodded.

“Good,” he said, brushing her hair back and kissing her on the forehead.

“Hey Hermione, turn into a bird again — I want to try something!” came Theo’s voice, pulling Hermione’s mind away from Draco.

Hermione turned and gave him a questioning look, but he was just grinning mischievously.

She shrugged and closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of the transformation from earlier.  It would take time before she could do it on a whim, but that would come.  The first full transformation was always the hardest, and now that she had done it once she had more than just a vision to focus her body.  She had a clear memory of precisely how it felt to be Columba.

There was a small POP! and she was a dove again.  She gave a soft coo.

Theo grinned and then she heard something in her head.

Does our bond still work?

She instinctively flapped her wings in her shock, but then her own mind regained control and she tried it.

Yes?

Holy shit I’m talking to a bird.  This is way better than Potter talking to that snake.

Honestly, Theo.  

Your feelings are different like this though.  Less complex.

I suppose that’s to be expected.

He broke their bond and turned to the others.

“We can still talk through our bond, even when she’s a bird!”

Draco looked surprised, but intrigued by this.  “That could come in handy.”

“I know, I wasn’t sure if it would work.  Her feelings are a little different, but we could communicate clearly.  She chastised me and everything.”

The others laughed as she focused hard and then transformed back into herself.  She was grinning too.

“I’m glad you didn’t try it for the first time while I was in the air.   I might have fallen in my shock.”

“Never, Sis,” he said, his eyes twinkling.  “You fly better than Draco now.”

Draco smacked him on the head, but he was smiling too.  He looked exceptionally pleased, as though he deserved every bit of credit for her achievement.

Their tea wrapped up soon after, and they headed inside to separate and prepare for the gathering that evening.

She certainly wasn’t expecting any gifts, not really.  The party had been lovely, and she felt as though she had given herself the best gift possible with her accomplishment that day.

Perhaps that was why she was surprised when Draco pulled her aside as the others were leaving.

“I have something for you.  I’ll admit I’ve been debating about when to give this to you, but you solved my dilemma perfectly.”

She quirked an eyebrow in question, and he held up a small box.  

“Happy birthday, little dove.  And happy animagus day too.”

Hermione smiled as she slowly started to unwrap it.  The box was long and thin, adorned with a silver ribbon tied in an elaborate bow.

“Keep the ribbon,” he said.  “It’s rather special, and we may need it later.”

Hermione studied it with curiosity and thought she saw the faintest outlines of a crest woven into the silk.  She could barely make it out though, so she simply untied it carefully and placed it in her nightstand.  She saw Draco making a mental note of precisely where she stored it.  He seemed pleased.

She carefully removed the paper and found herself holding a handsome wooden box.  She quirked an eyebrow at Draco questioningly.

“Go on and open it,” he said, watching her carefully.

She lifted the lid and discovered a necklace.  The chain was fine, and it contained a delicate pendant, with seven diamonds, seemingly at random, connected by thin silver bars.  Hermione gasped as she held it up and studied it.  She recognized it immediately of course.

“It’s Columba!” she said with delight.  She turned to beam at Draco, and he smiled too.  

“As I said, I couldn’t decide if I should give it to you for your birthday or your animagus day.  Then you solved the problem for me by making them the same.  It was quite thoughtful of you.”

She laughed, and he held his hand out for it.  She lifted it out of the box and handed it to him and spun around to face the vanity mirror, while holding her hair out of the way so he could clasp it around her neck.  His fingers brushed her nape, and it made goosebumps erupt all down her arm.

She saw him watching her in the mirror as his finger traced down the chain to the pendant that was settling below her clavicle.  The pendant was stunning – abstract, but perfect.  It was precisely the sort of thing she would have picked out for herself.  The diamonds had an unnatural sparkle to them and drew the eye.  He tilted his head as he studied it.

“It suits you.  We haven’t had a Columba for hundreds of years.  The necklace has protective enchantments.  It will deflect most minor hexes and jinxes, though it doesn’t stop truly dark magic.  The Black family has always given enchanted jewelry like this to its daughters upon a significant life event — coming of age or finishing Hogwarts or becoming engaged and leaving the protection of House Black.  The last witch who owned this received it as a coming of age gift.  Eventually she was removed from the Black family tree for marrying a muggleborn, but she kept it her whole life.  Black family heirlooms have a habit of always finding their way home again.”

Hermione’s breathing went shallow.  This was a family heirloom then, not just a pretty gift.

“Is that why…” she trailed off.

“I chose a dove?  That was one reason, yes.  I considered several options, but I’ll admit this necklace helped tip the scales.  Columba was a renowned beauty in her time.  She was said to be gentle and kind – the very spirit of the dove she was named for.  She tried to make peace with the Black family for her entire life after they disowned her, but they never accepted her again after her choice of husband.  When she died, letters were delivered to every family member who was still alive.  In those letters she forgave them for how they treated her, and the necklace was returned, along with a few other heirlooms she had taken with her.”

Hermione’s eyes softened as she listened to the story.  Columba sounded like a lovely person.  It was an honor to wear her necklace.

“And the eagle…” she prompted.

“Practical.  Powerful.  And also a constellation, you know.”

“Aquila,” she said, nodding.

Draco smiled at her in the mirror.  “Very good.  You were always top of the class in Astronomy.”

“And you were second,” she said.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment.  “It’s true.”

They were quiet for a moment as they looked at each other in the mirror.  

“Draco… do you really think I’ll be able to have a second form?”

He smiled slowly.  “I’ve never doubted it.”

“I just–”

“I think you should start tomorrow,” he added.

Hermione physically jolted at this.  “Tomorrow?  But I just finished the first form today!”

He shrugged.  “Precisely.  No need to delay.  If you get started with it now I think you’ll finish it around the same time as the others get their forms in place too.  Then we can take all three of you to Nott Castle.  The hunts will be starting soon.”

Hermione exhaled.  It was fast, but she supposed he was right.  There was no reason to delay it now that she had done it once.  She could continue getting faster with her dove form while she worked on her eagle.

“Alright,” she said.  “I suppose we can do that.  I’m not excited about…”

Her stomach twisted as she thought about the sacrifice.

He reached up and gripped her shoulders.  “Don’t think about it tonight.  There’s no need to ruin your birthday like that.  Besides, you’ve already done it once.  Think of all the other things you’ve done since then too.”

I’ve kissed Draco.  I’ve taken yet another person’s memories.  I’ve become a murderer.

“Okay,” she said softly.  “Tomorrow then.”

“Good girl.  Now wear that necklace for me tonight, yes?  It will give you some added protection and help remind you of who I really am while I have to be in character.”

She reached up and touched the necklace.  

Just who was Draco Malfoy?

Sometimes Hermione still wasn’t sure.

Chapter Text

Hermione got to see herself as Amalie Beumont for the first time that night.  Draco actually performed some legilimency on Theo to remind himself of what she looked like, claiming he was so distracted that day by other things he couldn’t precisely recall everything they had done to her.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect because nobody will remember you,” he said.  “But it can’t be too far off.”

Ginny and Luna, of course, were going as themselves, but the entire group gathered around while Hermione’s transfiguration took place, offering suggestions here and there.

“There was a lot of dirt on her,” said Blaise.  “You could keep the freckles.”

“And her hair was pretty lank, but she’s been cared for since then,” added Ginny.  “It can look better now.”

The end result was a rather pretty girl who had Theo’s eyes, Ginny’s nose, Luna’s hair in a medium brown, and Hermione’s lips.

“I’m not kissing anybody else’s lips,” he whispered to her as he finished.

Just like her transfiguration into Annabelle, Draco did nothing to her body, claiming that she needed to be able to fight in it if there was another emergency.  Privately, Hermione thought he had other reasons for keeping her body intact too, especially since he once again did not camouflage any moles or beauty marks.  This time her skin tone stayed the same shade as well.

Hermione thought that if she squinted very hard she could still see herself underneath the disguise.  But it was different enough that she didn’t think anybody else would notice.  The Death Eaters would see what they expected to see, and what they expected to see was a continental pureblood.

“You may want to speak with a slight accent if you have to talk,” said Draco.  “Or in French if you prefer.  I know that you can speak it.  I can too.  But it would be best if you don’t say much and just let me lead.”

“How did you know that I…” but she cut herself off when she remembered who she was talking to.

Draco seemed to know almost everything about her.  Sure enough, he rolled his eyes as though she was being dense for questioning him about it.

After Hermione’s transfiguration was complete, the others wandered off to get ready, though Draco pulled her aside before he left too.

“You are aware of what the Death Eaters think we do, yes?”

“Sex,” she said, blushing a little.

He nodded.  “And I’ve made it clear I enjoy it.  We’ll have to pretend.”

Hermione bit her lip nervously.  “Will I need to…”

“No,” he said firmly.  “Nothing too gratuitous unless you want to.  Just play along.  Tap me anywhere three times if anything becomes too much, alright?”

She swallowed but nodded.  “Okay.  But Hannah and Susan really just sat there.”

“Hannah and Susan are frequently rented out to others,” he said.  “What we are doing tonight will be more intense than what you saw.  I keep it fairly tame whenever I host, but we won’t be at the Manor tonight.”

Hermione blinked in surprise.  “We won’t?”

“No, the gathering tonight is at the Flint home.  It’s likely to be more explicit.  There will be a lot of boons there tonight, that’s why we chose it for your debut.”

“Oh,” said Hermione quietly.  “Okay, but…”

“Nobody will touch you except for me.  And I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.  I’m just trying to warn you.  I will have to say things about you that will probably embarrass you.  They all know I’m very fond of you, but I also have a reputation for having certain… preferences.  They all think that I traded Ginny Weasley for you, so…”

“So presumably I match your preferences,” she finished.

He inclined his head.

“Alright.  I’ll just… it will be fine.  You said I don’t have to speak much?”

“No.  In fact, it would be better if you don’t.”

Hermione exhaled in relief.  “And if you embarrass me and make me blush?”

He smirked.  “Then you’ll be perfect.”

Hermione frowned.  “I’m not sure I understand these preferences of yours.”

He raised a hand to her cheek.  “Nothing to worry about.  I can assure you that you already fit them very well when you decide to be good for me and cooperate.  I just ask you to stay quiet and follow my lead.”

His hand moved down to her neck, and her eyes fluttered closed as if on instinct.  “Precisely like that sweet girl,” he murmured.  “You’ll be perfect.”

He leaned in to give her a lingering kiss before releasing her.  “Now it’s time to get ready.  Poppy knows what you are to wear.”

He cast one last look at her as he swept out of the room, and Poppy soon appeared and began to fix her hair and makeup.

“Master Draco is replacing your lipstick, Miss,” she said, as she pulled out something in deep red.  “He is saying no cherry.”

Hermione watched as her eyes darkened, her lips were stained, and even a bit of shimmer appeared on the apples of her cheeks.

“Now your dress, Miss,” she said.

Poppy produced something tiny and white that appeared to be sequined.  Hermione stared at it in disbelief.

“Poppy, that’s not going to cover much.”

“Twill cover enough,” she insisted.  “You is simply needing to wear small things underneath.”

The ‘small things’ were small adhesives for her nipples and thin lace knickers, both nude.  The neckline was a halter that dipped in a V, the lowest point of which was below her breasts.  The back was rather low too.

“We shall keep it together with magic,” insisted Poppy.  “'Twill stay on you unless somebody moves it.”

Sure enough, Hermione practiced leaning forward, and the fabric seemed to magically cling to her.  There would be no wardrobe malfunctions, but it was still more skin than she had ever shown in public in her entire life.

She took a deep breath to steady herself as Poppy arrived with Hermione’s normal golden shoes and thigh holster for her knife.  The hem of the dress covered the holster while she was standing, but only barely.

“Poppy, should we disillusion it?” she asked with concern.

Poppy shook her head.  “No, Miss.  Master Draco is saying it is fine for the others to know you have it.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at this, but decided not to question it.  She had to trust that he knew what he was doing.  

The last thing she added was her new necklace and large diamond stud earrings that Poppy pulled out of her jewelry box.  

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror and thought she looked like a very expensive escort, paid for with gems and questionable ethics.

Then again, that’s exactly what they think I am.

She traced the Columba pendant with her finger and now realized what Draco meant by remembering who he was while she was wearing it.  Nobody else at the party would understand its meaning.  But Hermione knew.  It was a sentimental, family heirloom to memorialize an exceptional magical achievement and had nothing to do with sex.  It didn’t matter how he dressed her tonight or what the implications of it were.  The pendant was meant to remind her that she wasn’t his whore.  She was far more than that.

She could do this.  She could play along to give him the cover he needed with the other Death Eaters, and she wouldn’t forget who either of them were while it was happening.

She approached his door and knocked.  A moment later he opened it, fiddling with some cufflinks as he did so.  He paused what he was doing when he saw her and gave a long, appreciative look over her figure.

“You’ll forgive me if I look at you from the neck down,” he said.  “Those parts are still you.”

Hermione dipped her head as he finished with his cufflinks and then took his proffered arm.  He was surprisingly formal tonight in a tailored oxford with a jacket and no tie.  As they stepped into the hallway they met the others, and Hermione saw that neither of them were out of place.  Ginny was in a red minidress that was backless and Luna was wearing something that looked more like a black slip than a dress.

“Ready then?”

All three girls nodded.

“Two rules,” said Draco.  “First, you stay with us and follow our leads.  Second, if anybody but one of us touches you then I want you to draw on them.”

Hermione’s eyebrows flew up.  “Seriously?”

“Yes,” said Draco curtly.  “You and Ginny especially.  There have been mixed reactions to our swap.  Scare the shit out of them, and then one of us will take it from there.”

Hermione felt a sense of foreboding at this, but she and Ginny just nodded as they gripped the wizards’ arms and headed toward the exit of the wards.  Hermione looked around curiously as she was led through a part of the Manor she had never seen before to reach a floo parlor.  She made a mental note of the path and landmarks as she went.  She knew most of the fireplaces in the Manor either weren’t connected to the floo at all or only had one or two connections.  But this one would have access to everything.

Draco threw some powder into the fire and called, “Flint House!”

They spun through the fire and emerged on the other side into a dim room.  There were already several dozen people there, and Hermione looked around with some shock at what she was seeing.

The room was filled with Death Eaters and their boons in various stages of undress.  One group was at a card table making bets while scantily clad women were draped around them.  Several others were lounging around on sofas with boons spread out below them as they took their pleasure.  Hermione swallowed hard to see one woman she thankfully did not know on her knees between the legs of a man she recognized as Thorfinn Rowle.  And there was even a small stage where several women were stripping while an audience milled about and watched.

In addition to the boons were women who were obviously prostitutes – far more than the three Draco had hired for that night at his home.  Several Death Eaters were being pleasured by their boons and a prostitute at the same time.  

Hermione swallowed hard and made herself breathe.

A few conversations came to a halt when they saw Draco, and then eyes flitted to her standing next to him.  He slipped an arm around her waist and snagged a drink from a floating tray nearby and handed it to her.

“Don’t drink it,” he said, leaning down into her ear.  “Flint occasionally spikes them with hallucinogens or lust potions.  It’s entirely random.  Just vanish it slowly through the night.”

Hermione nodded and accepted the glass as he pulled away.  She saw Ginny and Blaise were getting just as much attention as she and Draco were.  Quite a few people had stopped what they were doing and watched as they split and made their way to opposite ends of the room.

“Let’s greet our host,” said Draco quietly.  “Then we’ll find a place to sit.”

Hermione nodded as Draco gripped her hand and led her toward Marcus Flint.  He was groping a prostitute, who was topless.  Hermione averted her eyes.

“Flint,” said Draco as he approached.  He turned to look at Draco and then Hermione.

“So she’s real,” he said.  “I was starting to wonder.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “I told you that Blaise and I switched unofficially awhile ago.  It took some time to train her.”

Flint cocked his head and studied her.  “Amalie, right?”

Hermione dipped her head but didn’t say anything.

“Pretty thing,” he commented.  “But not your usual, Draco.”

Draco scoffed.  “Like you would know anything about my usual.”

“I know enough,” he said.

“Whatever Pansy has told you is a load of bullshit.  Speaking of which… does your fiancée know that you’re fucking prostitutes?  She made you give up your boon, didn’t she?”

Flint turned red, as he glared at Draco.  “And does your fiancée know that your boon is alive and well in whatever hidey hole you’ve been keeping her?”

Hermione froze.

Fiancée?

She felt Draco grip her waist a bit harder, as he responded in a drawling voice.  “Please.  I would never be stupid enough to get engaged after Father died.  Surely you know me better than that.”

Flint scowled.  “It’s not so bad, Draco.  She’s a lovely choice.”

Draco gave a careless shrug.  “Until she learns to fuck the way I like, I’m not interested.  Amalie, though… she keeps me on my toes, don’t you, sweet girl?”  Draco trailed a finger down her arm, and Hermione tried to smile, but she was sure it came out more as a grimace.  Draco seemed to sense her tension because his grip against her hand was slightly painful.

“Well you may want to tell her that,” said Flint wryly.  “And Pansy and your mother for that matter.  All of the ladies are under the impression that you’re still engaged.”

“I’m not,” said Draco shortly.  “And as mother very well knows, I never really was.  Tell Pansy to stop spreading rumors about it or I’ll tell her where you’re sticking your prick on the weekends.”

Flint sneered and turned away as Draco dragged Hermione to a free seat.

“Come sit on my lap.  I’m sure you have questions.”

He sounded resigned, and Hermione nodded.

He settled down and patted his knee.  Hermione perched on the edge until he yanked her toward him, and she gave an inelegant tumble against his chest.

“That’s better,” he murmured, as he nuzzled her neck.  “Now then.  Before you ask, no I’m not engaged.  Father put together a contract last year, but nothing ever came of it, and then he died.  That’s all there is to it.”

Hermione didn’t relax yet.

“Who was it with?”

“I’m sure you can guess.”

“Astoria,” she said, her heart sinking a little.

He nodded, and pulled her in tighter.  “Theo had the same arrangement with Daphne.  In fact, both of our fathers schemed with Reginald Greengrass together.  But neither Theo nor I participated, and then Lucius and Tiberius both died at Hogwarts.  There’s really nothing Reggie can do to enforce it, but that’s why there are rumors.  The Greengrasses aren’t stupid enough to tell The Prophet we’re engaged, because they know we’re not.  But evidently they are telling the other ladies about the old contracts.”

“And you’re sure they know you aren’t engaged?”

He pulled back and looked at her.  “There’s been no tying ceremony, and I’ve never given her anything that might be construed as a token.”

She furrowed her brow.  “What’s a tying ceremony?  I’ve read about them before in the papers, but I don’t know what they are.”

“It’s a ceremony to become engaged.  Not everyone does them anymore, but it’s still very common for purebloods.  I wouldn't get engaged without one.”

“So you haven’t done a tying ceremony,” Hermione repeated. 

Draco looked relieved that she wasn’t shouting.  “Absolutely not.  Astoria and I are not tied, and I can assure you they know we aren’t.  Whatever they are saying about it is just wishful thinking.”

Hermione finally relaxed, and Draco sighed with relief as she sank into him, but then she looked away.

“Did you really… you know… with her.”

He gripped her face and made her look at him.

“You shouldn’t spend any time worrying about the witches I may or may not have fucked and then discarded while dreaming about you.  I have a history, but it’s meaningless, my darling.  I have everything I want right here.”

He pulled her in and kissed her, deepening it immediately.  The room around them seemed to melt away, and Hermione’s tension faded.  Perhaps he was right.  Did it really matter who he had been with before her?  She decided that it probably didn’t, not really.  As long as Draco wasn’t with some other witch at the same time as Hermione, she could leave the past in the past.  Her own past before Draco seemed like a different life.  Perhaps his did too.

As he kissed her Draco maneuvered her until she was straddling him, and then he broke away to whisper in her ear.

“Tell me when I need to stop.”

He pulled her earlobe into his teeth, and Hermione’s hips jerked involuntarily as she gasped.  She felt something hard between her legs, and she blushed to realize what it was.  But there was no question she was in a skimpy dress, with her breasts near his face, and he was starting to kiss her in places that were unfamiliar.   Maybe it was alright that he was turned on.

He began to work down the column of her throat, and Hermione pressed herself in closer.  His hands were skating along her bare back, skimming the edge of her dress, making her shudder.  It was so different like this, so sensual.  Her hips rolled again, and he groaned beneath her.  She did it one more time, and then he broke away and stared at her, with dark, dangerous eyes.

“Don’t start with me.  You are not prepared for all the ways I want to wreck you.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what had gotten into her.  Maybe it was the look in his eyes.  Maybe it was the danger and debauchery surrounding her.  Maybe it was her suspicion that he had shagged Astoria at some point.  Whatever it was, Hermione made the very rash decision to look him in the eye and rock her hips into him one last time.

His hand shot out and gripped her behind her neck, pulling her within a breath of him.  Then his palm flattened over her shoulder and started to trail downward, over her Columba pendant and down the open space of her dress between her breasts.  Her heart was pounding as he slipped his hand under the fabric of her deep neckline and rested it on the skin of her ribcage, just under the swell of one breast.  She felt his thumb brush the bottom of it, and she shuddered involuntarily.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, with another brush.  “You want me to touch you there?  I bet they’re getting so tight aren’t they?”

Hermione scarcely knew where she was anymore.  Every bit of attention was focused on him and his words and his thumb which was hovering so close to some place she had never really explored before.  It intrigued her as much as it terrified her.

She just swallowed and nodded, and he made an approving sound as he brushed again.

“Are you frightened?  Your heart is pounding.”

She nodded again and squeezed her eyes shut.

“That’s alright.  You can give it all to me.  You do such a good job turning over your fear to me.  You know I won’t hurt you.”

Hermione nodded again, and this time his thumb crept higher until he touched the thing covering her nipple.

“What’s this?” he murmured.

“An adhesive for my... you know,” Hermione managed to say.

“Vanish it,” he ordered.

Hermione gulped, but with a small flick of her hand, it disappeared, and now she could feel herself bare against the fabric.

“I’m not going to let myself look yet,” muttered Draco as his thumb started to circle around it.  “No, I have been imagining that moment, and I know exactly what it will be like.  You’ll be in bed with me, wearing one of your pretty little nightgowns and a ribbon in your hair.  They’re so lovely on you, you know.  The white with the lace just does something to me, I can’t explain it, and the matching ribbon fucking ends me every single time.  I’ll make sure a lamp is on so I can see everything properly, and then I’ll tease a strap off one shoulder and then the other.  Should I do the right first or the left?  I can never decide, sweet girl, and I’ve thought about it extensively.  Whichever one I choose, I know you’ll be afraid.  You’re always nervous and quivering for me the first time, but you’ll be so good and let me do what I want anyway, won’t you?  You’ll let me pull down the fabric and see you bare.  I bet they’re pink and perfect, and they’ll turn into lovely rosebuds as soon as I look at them.  Tell me I can do that someday…”

Hermione was entirely lost in his words, in the fantasy he was building for her.  It was so simple, but she could see it.  She could see every moment of it.  She nodded again, and he moved his lips to her neck.

“Thank you darling girl.  You do such a good job giving me the things I want.  And you’ll let me feel them now, won’t you?  I don’t want to see them yet – no, not here – but I want to know… how tight do they get?  How hard?  What will you do for me when I touch them?”

Hermione was breathing rapidly in anticipation, and then his thumb moved up to swipe across one bare nipple.  She nearly convulsed at the unusual, wonderful feeling, and her hips rocked across his harder than ever.  It created some odd pressure down low she wanted out, and some part of her thought that if she rubbed against him enough she would get it.

Draco swore and then did it again, this time pinching her nipple between his thumb and finger and rolling it a little, almost as though memorizing the precise shape.

Hermione felt herself shaking.

“So responsive,” he murmured.  “And so pert.  I can’t wait to lick them.  Do you want me to do that someday?  Lick and suck them for you?  Maybe a little bite?”

Hermione groaned, and at the sound she made he palmed her entire breast and gripped it hard.  

She suddenly froze, adrenaline and memories of Cormac flooding her, and she gave a wet gasp of shock.  

He immediately loosened his grip and started making soothing sounds.

“I’m sorry, little dove, I quite forgot myself.  You need a lighter touch, don’t you?  Of course you do, something so sweet and perfect shouldn’t be manhandled.”

He gave another gentle brush with that hand as the adrenaline drained out from Hermione, leaving her shaking a little.  She slumped against him as he made soothing sounds, continuing to touch her lightly.  Then he moved his hand out of her dress and slipped the other one in on the other side.

“What about the other, hmmm?  Can I touch that one too?  Gently though, never rough with you.  I promise I’ve learned my lesson.”

He started the process all over, this time on her other side, and it wasn’t long before Hermione forgot all about Cormac and the damage he inflicted on her, and instead was enjoying Draco’s light teasing.  When he finally touched that nipple too, Hermione ground into his hardness, seeking something she couldn’t quite define.  It was a tightness, almost painful, in her lower belly.  

“Draco, I need…” she whispered.

“Shhh, I know.  I bet your little cunt is so wet and throbbing for me, isn’t it?  My poor, sweet girl.  I can’t touch you there right now.  I have plans for that too, and they can’t be done here.  But if you want to rub on me and leave a spot on my trousers, I certainly won’t object.”

Hermione was torn between longing and mortification.  Was she really grinding on him so hard she might leave something behind?

Yes.

She swallowed and stilled.  He tutted a little.

“It will be harder for you tonight if you don’t keep going.  You’ll have to wait until you’re back in your room to help yourself.”

“I’ve never really…” she confessed.  “I haven’t…”

He pulled back and slipped his hand out of her dress as he stared at her in amazement.  “Herm – Amalie.  Do you mean to tell me you’ve never touched yourself before?”

She turned crimson, and her eyes dropped.  “It’s not that… I mean, I’ve done that a little bit of course, but I’m not very good at it and…” 

When she chanced a glance back up at him, he looked spellbound and cautious.

“Have you ever gotten yourself off before?”

She was slightly mortified, but she shook her head.

“And nobody else has either, right?  You once told me about your sexual history, and it sounded like nobody else had touched you like that… In a pleasurable way I mean.”

Again, she shook her head shyly, and he inhaled, looking like all of his dreams had just come true.

“That’s perfect,” he whispered.  “Promise me you won’t do it.  I know you need it, but please save that for me.  Keep your hands to yourself.”

Hermione nodded, feeling this was a rather easy promise to make.  Yes, she needed something, but she had never gotten there before so why try now?  Hermione knew that most witches her age did that now and then, but Hermione wasn’t one of them.  Hermione had never been terribly boy crazy, and the few exploratory swipes she had taken over the years had been largely unsuccessful and faintly embarrassing.  It was one of those things that sounded lovely in the few romance novels she had read — blinding pleasure, deep release, and spinning off into space — but in real life it took practice to get it right. 

When, exactly, was she supposed to practice?  She certainly wasn’t going to touch herself while sleeping in the same room as Ginny at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place.  They may have kissed each other a few times, but touching like that was entirely different.  Hermione would never experiment around her roommates at Hogwarts and certainly not while she was on the run with Harry and Ron.  Other than the few weeks she had spent with her parents during her early years at Hogwarts, she hadn’t had the privacy to explore her own body in earnest until she moved to the Manor.  Cormac had burned out any inclination to try before she arrived. 

It wasn’t like she had wizards to do it for her either.  She had been on a few Hogsmeade dates and enjoyed a handful of snogs, but they had all been fairly innocent.  Hermione knew she was very behind on this compared to others her age, even compared to her two friends who lived at the Manor with her.  But again, when exactly was she supposed to take a lover who could have given her those experiences in a natural, organic way?  

Should she have been doing those things with Viktor Krum, who was almost four years older than her?  Four years wasn’t a large age gap as an adult, she knew, but she had only been fifteen when he expressed an interest.  She had never been able to fully shake the sense that something wasn't quite right when he - at almost nineteen - asked her to the Yule Ball.  She had largely avoided anything physical with him other than some rushed kisses.  

Should she have let Justin Finch-Fletchley touch her like this after the few dates they had?  She had gone to him with Hogsmeade several times, but it wasn't until sixth year that he worked up the nerve to kiss her.  During that single kiss she learned she would only have friendly feelings for him.  

No, the boys most likely to introduce her to sex and pleasure would have been Harry or Ron, but the first was like her brother and the second was just as stubborn and awkward about romance and sex as she was.  Besides, she and the boys had far more important things to be dealing with for the last few years.

Like war.

Hermione felt sexually stunted.  She knew this.  She didn’t particularly like it, but only because she hated to fall behind on anything.  When it came to her nonexistent sexual history, however, she had accepted it because it was private and wasn't something she could prioritize while trying to bring down Voldemort.  She would have happily sworn off men forever if it meant having Harry and Ron back in her life or if it was somehow the key to killing Voldemort.  In fact, it was only recently — perhaps that very evening — that she found herself thinking seriously about sex again, thanks to Draco.  He wanted her to wait to experience that release she had read about in those books, so she would.  She knew from experience that the odd tightness would ease eventually.

He exhaled with a broad smile and leaned in to give her another deep kiss as his hand migrated back to the inside of her dress.  He was just closing his palm over the whole thing – much gentler this time – when a voice made her jump.

“Draco, I require a word.”

Hermione peeled her mouth off of Draco’s and turned to find Snape staring at them.  He was glaring at them both, Draco’s hand still very obviously inside of Hermione’s dress and covering her breast.  She belatedly remembered where she was, and she supposed that compared to some of the things she saw when she had walked in this was rather tame, but Draco’s hand was still right there, and Snape was right there, and oh God he had taught her in school for six years…

She knew her panic and mortification was showing on her face, because Snape’s eyes – which had initially dismissed her – slid back to her and then looked harder.  She saw him studying the necklace and then perhaps her lips and her chest where a few beauty marks were located… beauty marks that had not been covered when she was Hermione or Annabelle…

On instinct Hermione turned away from him and buried her face in Draco’s neck, angling her chest away from Snape and kissing Draco aggressively just below the ear.

He made a slightly strangled sound as he leaned back and let her do it.

“I’m rather busy at the moment, Godfather, as you can see…” he gasped.   Hermione felt his head tilt back to give her better access, and she kissed back up to his ear.

“He was looking at me closely,” she whispered so faintly she wasn’t sure he would catch it.  “He looked suspicious.”

Draco gave her a little squeeze with the hand that wasn’t inside of her dress to tell her he heard her as she resumed what she was doing.  He relaxed into it with a groan.

“I don’t care what you’re doing, I need a word.  Go send your whore to the buffet for a few minutes while we speak privately.”

Draco stilled, and then he spoke in a cold voice.  “She’s my boon, and I was just getting her warmed up.”

“She can stay warm with one of the others then,” said Snape dismissively.  “I need five minutes, Draco.  Now.”

She could tell Draco wasn’t happy about this, but Snape did outrank him.

“Fine,” he snapped.  “But if her cunt dries out and I have to start all over, I will be taking it out on you.”

She could practically feel Snape roll his eyes, as she blushed with embarrassment.  “I care not for your vulgar methods.  Just cast a lubrication charm like all the others and be done with it if you must.  Now send her away.”

Hermione froze again at the mention of a lubrication charm.  Cormac had used that on her, hadn’t he?

Yes, she distinctly remembered that trickle of viscous liquid down her inner thigh.  She closed her eyes and willed herself to stay calm.

Draco sensed it of course.  He always knew when she became tense.

“Now see what you’ve done, you’ve upset her!” he said angrily, and Hermione could feel that odd shift in the atmosphere that always meant Draco was teetering on the edge of violence.

“It’s alright,” she said, doing her best to force it back down as she pulled away from him, though she still kept her upper body angled away from Snape.  She remembered to use a very light French accent at the last possible moment.  “I can go.  I’m hungry anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Fine.  But I’ll be over there in five minutes.”

She nodded and scooted off his lap, blushing mightily as she discovered she had indeed left a wet spot on his trousers that he was making no effort to hide at all.  He spread his legs and lounged in an insolent way, making a gesture to Snape as though to say, get on with it.

As she was heading toward the food she heard Snape say, “That girl, Draco…” and she tried not to wince.

Now that she wasn’t in the sphere of Draco’s heat, Hermione permitted herself to look around again.  The room had deteriorated since her arrival.  Several boons must have been drugged for the enthusiasm they were showing their Death Eaters.  The strippers were now entirely nude and dancing for their small audience.  Ginny and Blaise were in one corner, Blaise looking like he was ready to draw a wand on whoever was conversing with them.  Ginny was shrinking into him, and Hermione was sure that the other Death Eater was asking to buy her.

It took a bit longer to find Luna and Theo, and Hermione gaped when she saw them.  They were positioned much like Draco and Hermione had been just moments earlier, though Theo’s hand was clearly inside of Luna’s knickers, and her dress was peeled down all the way to her waist.  She was topless as he licked… well, Hermione could imagine, since Draco had just asked her about doing that too.

It was… odd seeing them.  It was her brother and good friend.  They typically behaved with much less open affection than Ginny and Blaise or even Draco did around the others.  But here…. 

That thing in Hermione’s belly tightened again, and she swallowed hard and turned away.  She wished she could go to Blaise or Theo while she waited for Draco, instead of being alone for even a moment in this crowd.  But Blaise was beating back offers from the other Death Eaters, and Theo was extremely busy.  She straightened up and looked around again.  She wasn’t the only woman standing alone.  Surely she could do this for five minutes.  She marched over to the buffet and pretended to make a plate she absolutely would not eat.

She sensed Draco’s gaze on her back.  She could always feel it, and while it often made her feel a bit exposed, right now it gave her some confidence.  If anybody did something more than speak to her, she was sure that he would be over in a flash.

She lingered over the buffet, pretending as though she cared about which strawberry she was selecting.  It wasn’t long before a figure sidled up to her, and Hermione tensed.

She glanced sideways and recognized Walden McNair.  She shuddered, remembering Buckbeak.  

“What are you doing all alone?” he asked.

Hermione affected her very light French accent.  This one was much easier than Hagrid’s accent for her.  Between Fleur and trips to France as a child, she could maintain it without much thought or effort.  She belatedly wondered why she hadn’t chosen it for Annabelle the first time she encountered Snape.

“My master sent me to fetch refreshment.  He is expecting me back shortly.”

“Your master?  You call him master?”

She said nothing but continued to fill the plate slowly.  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Draco still in conversation with Snape, but he was watching her too.  

Good.

“And tell me… Amalie, right?  What has he done that makes you so docile and obedient?  Everyone knows the Malfoy’s like to be in control, and they can be violent.  His father was the same way with dear Narcissa, you know.  Does he beat you?  Lucius used to beat Narcissa.  I saw him do it once.  She misbehaved, and he knocked her out with a single blow.  Does Draco do that to you, love?  I have to beat my boon on occasion, but she’s getting better at following orders.”

Hermione froze, wholly unprepared for this dump of information about the Malfoy’s.  She wasn’t surprised by McNair.  In fact, she was sure that most of the boons were abused.  But Lucius and Narcissa?  Had Draco seen it?  Was that where his violent streak came from?  Was that why he was always telling her not to be afraid of him?  Was it why he didn’t seem upset that his father was dead?  But he had always revered his father as a young child, hadn’t he?  

It was all too confusing, and she struggled to come up with a response.  She decided to hedge.

“My master has had to discipline me, but I am not to speak of it,” she said quietly.  “I am obedient, and he is generous with me when I do as he says.”

“I must say, he’s done an excellent job on you,” said McNair, now brushing her arm with his hand.  Hermione shivered and jerked it away.  

“Oh come now, don’t be like that.  My boon is working for me tonight.  I’m all alone.  And everyone knows he shared you with Zabini for a long time.  I must say, there is a certain fascination about you among our group.  What convinced Draco to give up the Weasley girl?  She was the biggest prize of all, and he only got her for capturing that mudblood he killed.  We could scarcely believe it when he gave her up for you.  What is it about you, hmmm?”

Hermione was staring at her half-full plate of food as she moved a bit further away.

“My master does not share me any longer,” she said.  “He has no need for gold.”

McNair sneered.  “You think we sell our boons for gold?  No, girl, it’s to trade favors and to teach them their place.  Perhaps Draco hasn’t done such a good job on you after all.”

He gripped her arm hard very hard and jerked her toward him.  

Hermione reacted on instinct.  

She dropped the plate she was holding and went for the knife at her thigh.  Within a second she was holding it against his throat, and he was staring at her in disbelief.  Nearby, several people fell silent, and then a few more, and soon the whole room was quieting to observe the confrontation.  She realized a bit belatedly that they were giving the room a clear view, and the table wasn’t blocking them.  Any Death Eater could easily curse her at any moment, and she would have to rely on her necklace to help her.

But there was nothing for it.

“I said,” she enunciated very slowly, loud enough so her voice would carry.  “He. Does. Not. Share.”

She felt a gentle touch at her back, and she didn’t even need the cedar and spice scent to know it was Draco.

She pulled the knife away from McNair’s throat and stepped back toward Draco.  

He held out a hand silently, and she placed the knife in it.

“Thank you Amalie,” he said, loud enough for others around them to hear.

Then he made a show of lifting the hem of her dress and sliding the knife back in the holster on her thigh so everyone would know she had it.

McNair’s face was twisted.

“You allow her a weapon?” he demanded.

Draco’s arm slipped around her waist, and he pulled her back against his chest.  

“Why wouldn’t I allow it in a crowd like this?  She’s perfectly capable of helping herself if someone like you touches her.  She has her orders, don’t you sweet girl?  Gut anybody who touches you.”

She nodded.

McNair was looking at them in disbelief.

“She’s very good too,” continued Draco, now leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.  “The first time I tried to fuck her she got my own knife off of me and nearly killed me with it.  I’ve never been so hard in my life.”

McNair’s eyes widened, and Hermione shuddered at the heat in his voice and how easily the lie slipped out.

“And then I discovered something else about her,” Draco added.  “When I do this…” 

And now he drew his own knife from his sleeve so fast it was a blur.  He pressed it against her throat, and Hermione’s heart started to race.  She made herself breathe slowly through it.

He will never hurt me.

It was exactly like training.  He had held her like this dozens of times by now, and she always reacted the same way.

“…she melts for me,” finished Draco.  “She loves feeling my knife against her throat, just like I love feeling hers against mine.  Isn’t that right?”

He slid the short blade down her throat and teased the edge of her neckline open with it before he slipped it under.  The flat edge passed over one nipple, and she shuddered as the cold metal made them both peak.

Good God, she should not be so affected by this, but she was.  Perhaps it was because Draco had never once, in all of their training, given her so much as a scratch with his knife.  His control was so precise that she trusted him implicitly not to hurt her.  But she also had to stay very still and do exactly what he said so as to not hurt herself.  It turned her on in a way that felt so unexpected and a little wrong.

“You see how hard her nipples get for me like this?  And that greedy cunt gets so wet when I do this.  You’re wet right now, aren’t you, little dove?”

“Yes Master,” she breathed.

Draco jerked a little at this and immediately flicked his knife away from her skin and out of her dress.  But his other hand wrapped around her throat from behind, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Yes, that always makes you so eager to please me,” he crooned.  Hermione sensed the room was spellbound as they watched.  “And tell McNair again, do I share you any longer?”

“No Master.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Master.”

“Who owns your tits?”  

“You do, Master.”

“Who owns your cunt?” 

“You do, Master.”

“Who owns your arse?”

“Just you, Master.”

They were falling into a rhythm now.  Hermione felt warm like this, safe.  It was such an odd sensation in a room full of Death Eaters, but he was making her speak a truth out loud that was solidifying something between them.  It was showing itself again, that dark and twisted thing between them that should terrify her, but didn’t.  Because he had taken her fear and studied it, trained it, refined it.  She was still afraid of many things, but she was no longer afraid of him. 

“And are you obedient?”

“Yes, Master.”

“If I tell you to cut McNair, what will you do?”

“I’ll open his carotid, Master.  Or the femoral artery on his leg.  It will be fast and fatal.”

“Good girl.  And have you ever killed someone for me before?”

“Yes, Master,” Hermione said, as she finally opened her eyes to stare at McNair who was looking at her with fear.

I am a murderer.  I killed Cormac McLaggen.  Draco started it, but I ended it.  I killed him for Draco.  I killed him for myself.  I killed him for both of us.

His hand released her throat, and he sheathed his knife.  She glanced around and saw the room was utterly still.  Even the dancers on the stage had stopped what they were doing to watch.  She saw Theo out of the corner of his eye.  He had a dark expression on his face, but it was directed toward McNair and not Draco.  He wasn’t knocking on their bond.  He knew that she was perfectly safe right where she was.  

And Theo also knew that Draco had always been adept at creating a spectacle.

“I suggest you keep the lady’s advice in mind.  I.  Do.  Not.  Share.  I made this clear to you and the others before I brought her out tonight.  Do not think for a moment that I haven’t armed her and trained her to follow my orders, including in this.  She knows that nobody but me gets to touch her, and she also knows she will be punished mercilessly if she allows it.  Make no mistake: she will not allow it.  I will not allow it.  If you wish to share a boon, you will need to ask one of the others who haven’t put in the time and effort and gold to train theirs into perfect obedience.”

McNair’s eyes darkened at this, but he said nothing.  The message was clear.

“Now then, I must go inspect her for bruises.  You better hope I don’t find any.  And then she gets a reward for being so good, don’t you darling girl?  Maybe another pretty bauble to wear when you’re naked for me?  I know how much you like those.”

At this, McNair’s eyes dropped to her necklace and earrings, and she felt other eyes on her too.  While Hermione’s dress wasn’t terribly unusual for this crowd, she suddenly realized that her accessories stood out.  They were far more expensive than what most of the other boons were wearing.  She now understood the narrative Draco was crafting: she gave him sex, yes, but she was treated more like a mistress than a true whore.  He had first extracted her obedience with threats of violence, but he had earned her loyalty by being indulgent when she followed orders.  He was wealthy of course, and diamond earrings and necklaces would be nothing for him.  He could dress her up like a pretty doll to keep her complacent, and she followed his orders in exchange for his protection and gifts.  It didn’t matter if they had true emotional affection for each other.  They had landed on an arrangement that suited them both.

She wondered for a split second just how much of that was a lie and how much of it truly reflected their relationship now.

The Columba pendant seemed to burn against her chest.

Remember who he really is.

Hermione said nothing to reveal the nature of her thoughts, but she didn’t resist when he slipped a hand into hers and tugged her toward a side door.  She could feel dozens of eyes tracking them as he opened it and stepped inside to find an empty room that appeared to be a study.  As soon as the door was shut behind them, he turned and cupped her face, searching it for something.

“Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said.  “He just grabbed my arm, and I reacted.”

“Show me,” he demanded.

Hermione stepped back, and pointed to her right bicep.  A handprint-shaped bruise was already forming.  He touched it gently, and she felt the air begin to destabilize again.

“I can make him hurt for this.”

“Draco,” she said, but he wasn’t listening to her.

“Draco!” she tried again.  His eyes snapped up to hers.  “Don’t.  It’s not worth it.  You intimidated him well enough.”

“But —”

“No,” she insisted.  “Don’t.  It startled me, that’s all.  But it’s just a bruise, it’s not a big deal.  You know things like that are bound to happen around this crowd.  You trained me really well for it, and I had it under control.  Then you stepped in a few seconds later just like you promised.  Everything is fine.  You can’t have the others asking too many questions about why you care so much.”

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.  “I hate seeing bruises on a witch,” he said quietly.  “Especially you.”

Lucius and Narcissa.

“Have you seen it often?” she asked carefully.

“My father was not a nice man,” he confessed.  “He could be so warm and loving toward my mother and then turn on her in an instant.  He used to say he liked to see her fear.  And…” he hesitated.  “… and I understand it.  There are times when I wonder if I’m not exactly like him.  When you are afraid, it… affects me.”

Hermione went cold, and he watched her face.  

“Just like that,” he added a bit wryly.  Then he closed his eyes and exhaled.  “But my mother grew to hate him for it.  He never hurt her in front of me while I was a child, so I didn’t understand why she was so terrified or had the occasional bruise on her arms or neck until I was older.  Then one day he struck her in front of me, and I almost killed him for it.  I realized what was happening, and I swore I would never scare you like he scared her.  I would never raise a hand to you except to train you to defend yourself.  And the thought of anybody else doing that to you… hurting you, marking you, doing anything to exert their power over you… it makes me want to lock them in my dungeon and force them to die a very slow death.  I should be the only one who gets to see your fear.  And whenever you give it to me, I will help you overcome it instead of making it worse.”

Hermione’s anxiety started to ease.

“Good,” he said as he watched her closely.  “Don’t ever be afraid of me.”

He rubbed her arm a bit, and she leaned into him.  He let her, seeming to relish the contact she was initiating.

“Don’t go after McNair,” she said.  “Don’t turn this into a bigger thing than it already is.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” she said.  

He just nodded, and they were quiet for a time.

“What did Snape want?” 

“The Dark Lord has plans to interrogate the Wizengamot to find those who are disloyal to him.  Severus wants me to help him with it.”

A shiver of distaste passed through her.

“Hey, that’s a good thing,” he insisted.  “Severus knows I’m not loyal to the Dark Lord.  We will find a way to do it subtly.”

She relaxed a little.  “I suppose you’re right about that.”

“And also…” he added, hesitating a bit.

“Also what?”

“He wanted to talk about you.  And Annabelle.  I think he’s suspicious.”

Hermione groaned in exasperation.  “Surely he’s not interested in Amalie.  Amalie doesn’t look a thing like Annabelle.”

“No, but he said that something about you reminded him of Annabelle.  I don’t know what it was.  Maybe your beauty marks.”

He grimaced a little, but reached out to touch one.  

“I know I should have removed them,” he added.  “But I already had to change your face.  I’ve been fascinated with these ever since I saw your dress at the Yule Ball.  I want the parts of you that I touch to be all yours.”

Hermione blushed and then sighed.  

“Honestly Draco, maybe we should just tell him.  He’s the one who is most likely to figure it out.  He knows both of us too well.”

“We can’t tell him, I’ve told you that before.”

“But why not?” she insisted.

Hermione froze as a familiar voice spoke from the corner.  He must have slipped in silently while they were wrapped up in each other.

“Because Draco assured the Order that he killed you, Miss Granger.  And he assured me of that fact too.”

Chapter Text

Hermione gasped as Draco grabbed her hard and shoved her behind him before spinning around.  His wand was drawn and on Snape in an instant.

Snape, however, had his wand drawn too.  It was tense as they were both silent, waiting for the other to make a move.

Hermione couldn’t see Snape properly, with Draco’s hand still gripping her to hold her behind him.  But as the silence stretched she felt Draco’s hand release her and trail down her stomach and then her leg.

What on earth is he…?

For a split second she wondered if he was trying to feel her up now, but then she realized he was holding his wand with his non-dominant hand.  No, he wasn’t trying to feel her up.  He was trying to find her knife, since it was closest to his throwing hand.

Hermione moved as little as possible as she reached to slip it out of her thigh holster and pressed the hilt into Draco’s creeping hand.  As soon as he felt it he palmed it and shifted his weight ever so slightly.  Hermione knew he was a hair trigger away from launching it at Snape.  From this distance he would not miss, even if Snape tried to curse him first.

“What on earth were you thinking, Draco?” asked Snape, in a long-suffering voice.

It was such a familiar tone of dry exasperation that Hermione felt herself relax ever so slightly, but Draco seemed to tense even more.

“You know exactly what I was thinking.  The Order wasn’t willing to risk a swap to save her, and I was.”

Hermione jerked at this.

The Order hadn’t risked a swap?  Snape was actually telling the truth?  So that meant that Draco…

“You know why,” said Snape harshly.  “It was one life, Draco.  Just one life to secure your position in the Dark Lord’s ranks – to give the Order their second spy, one that he would truly never suspect since you were never asked to be a double agent like I was!  So I repeat myself: what were you thinking?”

Draco’s anger was palpable.

“You’re right,” he hissed.  “It was just one life, wasn’t it?  But I was thinking that it didn’t have to be her life! I told your Order from the beginning that Hermione didn’t have to die to give them what they wanted.  But none of you – none of you – cared about her enough to let me try!  The Order was so convinced I would slip and show the Dark Lord the truth in my head that they were willing to just cast her aside and make me kill her!  They thought I would fuck it up somehow, didn’t they?  None of them believed I could do it.  But I did do it.  I saved her, just like I told you I could, and now she is mine.”

He was breathing hard, and Hermione sensed a bit of madness about him.  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but instinctively she knew that it was the truth.  There were elements of his story that she had always found a little odd.  She had never been able to pinpoint the things that bothered her about it, but she had always felt that she didn’t know everything about that day Draco supposedly executed her.  Finally, she was learning truth.  She was learning why Draco didn’t trust the Order and why he had been so agitated when Snape expressed an interest in her.  He wasn’t just a sexual rival; it was because Draco lied to Snape to protect her.

She didn’t know what to think.

“Why?” she asked from behind him, and she stepped out ever so slightly.

Draco stepped back in front of her, and she gripped his arm.  “Please, Draco, I need to understand.”

He did not move aside, but he allowed her to poke her head around him so she could see Snape.  He had an odd look on his face as he stared back at her.

“Tell me why, Professor.”

Snape seemed to jolt at the reminder that he had once taught her.  Then he sighed.

“None of us were happy about it, Miss Granger, but we needed a second set of eyes in the Dark Lord’s inner circle.  I could only do so much, especially now that I am assigned back at Hogwarts on a daily basis.  Draco was perfectly positioned for it once Lucius died and he captured you.  And by getting him to cooperate, the Order was also able to arrange deals with Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini too.  All three of them had resources the Order desperately needed, and Draco’s favor enabled Nott and Zabini to climb rapidly too.  It was enormously important to make sure the execution went perfectly, and I’m sorry to say that you had nobody left who would advocate for you, except for…”

He trailed off delicately.

“Except for Draco,” Hermione supplied.

“Yes,” conceded Snape.  “You must understand it was nothing personal.”

Hermione felt bitterness well up inside of her.  “The Weasleys.  Did they know?”

“Ginny Weasley’s safety was more important to them than yours,” he said.  “As the plan was coming together and terms were negotiated, she took priority over you.  Draco made a Vow protect her.  It was admittedly a bit generic, but everyone knew that it meant he had to perform the ritual which involved killing you before claiming her.  We couldn’t get her out any other way without risking exposure.  Too many people saw her get captured, and she was being watched too closely.  He agreed to claim her and turn spy for the Order in exchange for a pardon.  I’m afraid the Weasley’s weren’t willing to risk Draco getting caught with a swap.  Draco would have been killed too, and Ginny would have gone to somebody else.”

“Why didn’t you just claim her then?” demanded Hermione.

A look of distaste flashed across Snape’s face.  “That would have been out of character.  It was much more convincing for Draco to do it.”

“So the Weasleys know she’s at the Manor?”

Snape rolled his eyes.  “Of course they do.  Don’t you think they would be scouring England if they thought she was in danger?  Malfoy Manor is a fortress.  It’s the safest place in the world for her, especially under the care of a Death Eater who will die if he harms her.”  Snape eyed Draco wryly now.  “I’ll admit that switching up boons concerned them at first, but I was able to convince them that Zabini seems to genuinely care for her, and he has been working with the Order too.  Besides, she is still living in the Manor under Draco’s eye.  If Zabini harms her, odds are good Draco’s Vow will be broken.”

So Draco had lied about the Weasley’s involvement.  Of course he had lied, and she had barely questioned it because it was right after her supposed execution when her emotions were all over the place.  It was obvious now that she really thought about it.  The Weasleys would never sit back and allow Ginny to be placed into hiding without them knowing precisely where she was.  And since they knew that, then of course they must know Draco wouldn’t harm her or they never would have allowed it.  But they didn’t know about Hermione because evidently Draco had lied to the entire Order about her.

She felt slightly faint, but she had to be certain she understood this.

“Draco said the Order made him promise to protect me too,” she said slowly.  “Me and Luna both.”

“If he told you that, then he lied,” said Snape simply. “It was just Ginny.  The Order has little interest in Luna Lovegood, and they needed you to secure Draco’s position.”  

She felt Draco stiffen in front of her.

Hermione didn’t know why this made her want to cry, but it did.  Hadn’t he told her he misled her?  Hadn’t he said there were things he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t?  So why was this lie so painful?

Because it made you think you were still important to the Order.   

But she wasn’t important to the Order.  Hadn’t Draco told her the day she arrived at the Manor that she and the boys had been reckless?  That the Order needed her contained so she wouldn’t help spark another battle that caused so many deaths?  Dumbledore had given her a mission, it was true, but the others didn’t know about it.  From their perspective, Draco was far more important than she was – so important that they were willing to kill her to solidify his spot next to Voldemort.  They wouldn’t even risk a swap in case it went wrong, not even when Draco suggested it.  She was expendable, and he had intervened for her against their explicit instructions.

She felt ill.

Draco shifted again in front of her, and Hermione’s attention snapped to him.  He still had his wand on Snape.

“Can you both just… lower your wands please?” she asked, feeling exhausted.  “We’re all on the same side here.”

Even if both sides wanted me dead, she thought bitterly.

Both Draco and Snape stared at each other intently, gripping their wands hard.  And then at precisely the same time they slowly lowered their wands.  Hermione glanced down and saw that Draco’s grip on the knife behind his back had not loosened at all.

Hermione forced herself to set aside her feelings about the Order.  She would have time to wallow in self-pity later, but there were things they had to sort right now, and there wasn’t much time before somebody might look in on them.

“How did you figure it out?” she asked.  “Did you overhear us or…?”

Snape gave her a marvelous eye-roll.  

“Please.  It was obvious once I realized you and Annabelle were the same person.  Draco practically begged the Order to let him swap you, and they threatened to withhold the Vow for a pardon if he didn’t drop it.  Eventually he let it go, but I was sent to the ceremony to watch to make sure he really did pull it off and claim Ginny.  He executed you so neatly that I wondered if it was really you.  But Draco put on a good show, and when I questioned him about it later he made sure to sound heartbroken enough that I was convinced.  I’ll admit the Annabelle trick threw me at first.  She reminded me of… someone… and it distracted me.  But there were things about her that were odd.  Her knowledge of magic was far too extensive to be a squib, but if she had been a British muggleborn she would have gone to Hogwarts, and I would have recognized her.  That and her accent was bizarre.  I knew she was hiding something.  I saw him watching Annabelle in precisely the same way he watched you tonight as Amalie.  And there is only one witch he has ever paid that sort of attention to, Miss Granger.  I watched my godson stare at the back of your head in Potions for five years.”

Hermione’s heart stuttered, and she glanced at Draco.  The little bit of his face that she could see was pink, but he looked determined.  Then Snape continued.

“I’ll admit the only reason I needed to confirm it for myself was because I never imagined he would actually convince you to work with him like this.  You have never seemed to care for him at all, and this is quite a bit more promiscuous than your usual hijinks.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to burn scarlet with embarrassment.  Draco glanced back and saw the look on her face.  He snarled, and Hermione saw the knife twitch.

“You have no fucking clue what we’ve been doing,” he said.  “The minute the Order wrote her off, then her business was no longer their concern.”

Snape raised one eyebrow.  “I think we both know that’s not true, Draco.  As soon as they find out she’s alive, they will try to extract her.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. 

“What?  Why?” she demanded.  “They were willing to kill me!”

Snape gave a disapproving sniff.  “Their stomachs are not that strong, Miss Granger.  Once the deed was done, I’m afraid there were some… second thoughts.  Plenty of remorse and ‘what did we do’s.’  That sort of thing.  They will be quite happy to learn that Draco did in fact manage the switch.  It will assuage their collective guilt.”

“No,” said Draco.  “They will not find out.  They will not take her.  Her home is with me now.”

Snape looked at him with something like pity.

“No, Draco, it’s not.  I understand you pulled the wool over their eyes, but –”

“But nothing!” he said, his voice raising.  “They were more than happy for her to die!  You were more than happy for her to die, even though you knew how good my occlumency is!  You knew I could pull off a switch, don’t deny it!  You just sat back and let them call all the shots in that meeting!”

Snape’s face turned cold.  “You’re right.  I did.  Because she needed to be out of the way for you to perform your duties, Draco.  You have been distracted by her since the day you met her.  I’ve known you for your entire life, and I could see the signs even when you and your parents were in denial about it.  She’s a liability, a weakness.  She makes you reckless.  I mean, look at you, Draco.  You are transfiguring her and letting her prance around with Death Eaters, acting like your whore, when it’s obvious to anybody who looks carefully that she has little experience with men.  Don’t you realize that a simple finite incantatum would make the whole thing fall apart?  I made an Unbreakable Vow to your mother more than a year ago that I would protect you!  My Vow didn’t just end when Dumbledore died — I am still beholden to it!  That means I had to make sure you went through with the ceremony!  It bought you favor with the Dark Lord, it secured your own Vow for a pardon with the Order, and it rid you of your biggest distraction all at the same time!  The plan was perfect, or it would have been had you actually followed through with it!”

Snape was sneering by the end of it, as though he was disgusted by Draco’s willingness to save her.  Hermione started to shake as the truth of his words hit her.  Draco had risked everything to save her, and he had been reckless.  She reached out to grip Draco’s jacket to steady herself, and he stepped in front of her ever so slightly.

“You’re not taking her,” he said quietly, and Hermione heard the danger in his voice.  “Nor will you tell them that she’s alive.  She is mine.  She belongs to me.  There is not a single thing you could give me that would make me give her up.  The switch is done, and nobody but you is aware of it.”

“Miss Granger belongs with the Order,” insisted Snape.  “You know she does, Draco.  You are living a fantasy.”

Hermione couldn’t say why this struck her, but suddenly she was angry.  She was so angry.

“I rather think,” she chimed in sharply, “that it should be my decision where I belong.  And I don’t appreciate either one of you making that decision for me!”

She sensed both men go completely still, and she stepped out from behind Draco so she could look at Snape squarely.

“You have dismissed my talents for years, Professor,” she said.  “And apparently my life is worth so little to you that you had no problem asking your godson to execute me, despite being aware of his feelings.”

Snape’s black eyes glittered, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione cut him off.

“I think Lily Evans would be ashamed of you.”

As she watched, Snape’s face drained of what little color it had.

“What?” he whispered.

“Lily Evans,” she said.  “That’s who Annabelle reminded you of, isn’t it?  You were in love with her.  You’re still in love with her.  Are you saying that you wouldn’t have done precisely what Draco did if the Order had asked you to kill Lily?”

Snape looked like he was seeing a ghost.

“No…” he said.  “No, there’s no way for you to know that…”

“It wasn’t that hard,” she said, wrinkling her nose.  “Just as you figured out who I was, I figured out who you were — who you truly were.  When you told Annabelle that she reminded you of somebody, I looked in the mirror and saw her.  Perhaps you’ve forgotten that her son was my best friend, and I’ve seen every single picture Harry had of her many times.”

Snape’s face looked bloodless as he stared at her in disbelief.

“And Lily never would have done it, Sir.  She never would have advocated killing an innocent woman like that, no matter what the Order might have gained from it.  Especially not when the Death Eater in question was willing to perform a swap for somebody who was dying anyway.  And if Lily had been the sacrifice, you would have done exactly what Draco did.  You would have hidden her away and taken her all for yourself, despite the fact that she had a husband and a son.”

Snape seemed to be speechless.

“I will acknowledge that you have made a few good points.  You’re right that we’ve been reckless, and I’m rather inexperienced in certain matters.”

She eyed Draco now.

“But then again, nobody but you has caught us, and you’re the only one who actually knows me.  And after tonight… well I think the others will leave me alone, don’t you?”

A muscle in Snape’s jaw twitched.

“So that brings us back to where I belong.  And I…”

She hesitated, scarcely believing she was about to do this.

“I belong with Draco,” she said simply.  “For many reasons, but the biggest one is that he valued my life when the Order did not.”

She glanced behind her at Draco and saw that his face was almost triumphant.  Then she turned back to Snape who had assumed a pensive expression, but he said nothing as he absorbed this.

“Godfather,” said Draco, and Hermione was surprised to hear him take on a pleading tone.  “Please don’t tell the Order.  She’s my… she’s mine.  She’s my Lily.”

Hermione’s heart clenched at this.  Surely he didn’t love her like that, not really.  Snape’s love for Lily had evidently transcended death and was decades old.  Draco’s feelings for her were darker and more obsessive.  They were probably unhealthy.  But perhaps he believed it.  Or maybe he simply knew it was the thing he needed to say to make sure Hermione stayed with him.

Snape’s face fell, and he looked resigned.  “Fine,” he said.  “I won’t breathe a word.”

“I’ll need a Vow to that effect,” said Hermione.  

Both men looked at her in surprise.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, scowling at Draco.  “You’ve been throwing around Unbreakable Vows for the last few months, haven’t you?  I want one from Professor Snape that says he won’t knowingly tell the Order or the Death Eaters that I’m alive and staying with you.  That’s all.”

Snape looked like he was about to refuse, but Hermione interjected.

“You owe me this, Professor, for being so careless with my life before now.  You know you do.”

Again his face fell, but he didn’t object.  He gave a single nod, and she approached him with Draco close behind her.  

Draco drew his wand as Hermione and Snape clasped hands.  She did not give him an opportunity to phrase the promise himself.

“Do you, Severus Snape, promise on your life that you will not disclose the fact that Hermione Jean Granger is alive to any person, portrait, or other magical object or being who is unaware of it, unless I give you explicit permission to do so?”

Snape scowled, but she thought Draco looked impressed with her wording.

“I do,” he gritted.

A gold band shot out of Draco’s wand and wrapped their hands.

“And do you promise on your life to keep Draco Lucius Malfoy’s deception on the fifth of June and every other time he has deceived the Death Eaters or a member of the Order of the Phoenix since that date a secret, until I release you from this Vow?”

He looked more irritated than ever as he said, “I do.”

Another golden band snaked out of Draco’s wand and wrapped around their hands.

“So may it be,” said Hermione.

The bonds sank into their skin, and Hermione felt a tingle.

She released his hand immediately and backed toward Draco, who wrapped his arm protectively around her waist.

“We need to return,” he said.  “Godfather, you go first.”

Snape’s lips thinned, but he nodded and tapped himself on the head to disillusion himself.  Hermione saw the door open, and then a shimmer disappeared through it.

When he was gone Draco turned to stare down at her.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he said.

Hermione exhaled and shook her head.  “Me neither.”

She fell silent.  She had picked Draco, yes, but the lies and deception stretched between them.  And she was certain it wasn’t the only thing he had kept from her.  Once again she felt her walls going up, her hesitancy around him emerging.  

She touched her pendant.

Remember who he is.

But who was Draco Malfoy, really?  

******

Hermione re-entered the party with Draco a few minutes later and did her best to sit on his lap and pretend that everything was fine, but internally she felt like she might be melting down.

The sodding Order had signed off on her death.  Draco had been the one to save her.  The entire plan had been his.  And then he lied about it and pretended like he was acting under the Order’s instructions all along.

It was a stupid thing to lie about.  Perhaps she could understand keeping it from her before she knew about her relationship with Theo or Draco’s own feelings.  But as they grew closer, why didn’t he say something about it?  What could he have possibly gained from it?

She wasn’t certain, and it made her feel wrongfooted, despite her choice to stay with him.

Then there was the question of Lavender Brown.  Had she really been a volunteer?  Was it even Lavender to begin with?  He had implied the Order procured her, but obviously they had nothing to do with it.  That meant he had lied about that too, or at least misled her.  

Hermione wanted to believe that it was Lavender and that she had truly been dying anyway.  If not, then the survivor’s guilt would be too much, and once again she would see her own face instead of Lavender’s every time she thought about that day.  But she didn’t know.  They hadn’t talked about it yet, and she was distracted as she considered all the ways he could have lied about that too.

Once they were back in the room with the other Death Eaters, Draco made some effort to kiss her neck and draw her interest back to him, but Hermione was lost in thought in the corner of the dark room as the Death Eaters around her drank and fucked themselves into a stupor.  The only good thing about it was that the others gave them a wide berth.  They looked at Draco with some fear, and she was getting her own looks as well.  But Hermione wasn’t engaged as Draco tried to draw out the heat she had been feeling earlier that evening.  She was stiff and unresponsive, and after an hour of failed attempts at coaxing her he called it and said it was time to leave.

Tension was radiating from him as they floo’d back to the Manor.  Ginny and Blaise were already gone, and Theo and Luna were wrapped up in each other again and looked like they would not be leaving for some time.  Draco was silent as he gripped her hand and led her through the Manor and across the wards.  

The moment they entered her room he muttered, “Finite incantatum,” and Hermione’s disguise disappeared.  This did not improve her mood, as it drove home Snape’s point about their recklessness.

“You’re angry with me,” he stated, turning to face her with his arms crossed.  He looked slightly defiant, and Hermione mentally braced herself for a fight.

“I don’t know what to believe,” she said honestly.

“You chose to stay with me,” he pointed out.

“Yes, because you didn’t try to kill me like the Order did.  That’s all.”

“Is it really the only reason?” he asked, uncrossing his arms and walking toward her.  “You’re sure there aren’t any others?”

Hermione flushed and looked away.

He touched her pendant.  “That’s what I thought,” he said.

Hermione felt a flash of anger and slapped his hand away.  “Don’t you start.”

“And don’t you be obstinate,” he said.

“Excuse me?” she asked with indignation.  “What did you just say?”

“You’re being obstinate,” he said, rolling his eyes at her.  “And I’ll admit that it turns me on sometimes, but I really prefer it when you’re cooperative.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, and then she turned her back on him.  “Get out,” she said.

He snorted in disbelief, and she could feel his irritation behind her.

“Stop acting like this,” he said curtly.  “I went against your precious Order to save your life.  And I’ve installed you in the Manor and kept you safe and comfortable.  I’m letting you practice magic.  I’ve given you family heirlooms. I’ve–”

“Lied to me,” she cut him off.  

He fell silent for a moment and his voice dropped.  “I haven’t lied to you since the day you arrived here.”

She spun and stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you being serious right now? Because you did!   You said the Order—”

“I never said the Order told me to save you.  I said the Order told me to deal with you.”

“You said there were Order members who knew about me!” she insisted.

“And there were.  Me.  Theo.  Blaise.  Even Luna to some degree.”

Hermione stared at him as she tried to absorb this.

“But I thought—”

“You thought many things,” he said.  “Quite a few of them were wrong, but I didn’t feel the need to correct you.  I did not, however, directly lie to you.  You asked me not to lie that first time we talked after you arrived, remember?  And I didn’t.”

“But you misled me…”

“Perhaps, but I told you that already,” he pointed out.  “You simply took the things I said and drew your own conclusions.”

“That’s as good as a lie!” she insisted.

“Is it really?  When I was trying to preserve your feelings?”

“My feelings?”

He moved so close to her she could smell that cedar and spice.  

“Of course your feelings.  Pardon me for worrying that it might make you feel shitty to learn that not a single person in your oh-so-sacred Order was willing to intervene for you as the plan came together during that meeting.  Not one.  The only person who even tried was me.  But even I can’t overrule the entire leadership, so I had to go behind their backs and arrange things myself!”

Hermione was shaking her head.  “No.  No, you’re lying again…. or pardon me… misleading me.  My feelings aren’t the only reason, are they?  Because after the ritual was over and the swap was done, they had no reason to want me dead.  Snape himself said they feel so guilty about it that they would try to extract me if they knew I was alive.”

His face turned to stone, and Hermione gave a mirthless laugh.  

“That’s the real reason you didn’t tell me, isn’t it?  You were afraid I would run or try to make contact with them – maybe even tell Snape himself – and they would take me away from you.”

He said nothing to this and Hermione scowled as she turned her back on him again.  The silence stretched until he broke it.

“You’ve committed yourself to me,” he said darkly.  “You said it in front of everyone tonight.  You are mine.  And you chose me instead of the Order.  You don’t get to take that back.”

Hermione shook her head, the exhaustion from the day suddenly catching up to her.  It was no longer her birthday – it was past midnight.

“Hermione…” he said, some urgency in his tone now.  “You don’t get to take it back.  You don’t.”

“Did you really kill Lavender Brown?” she asked, ignoring him.

He reached out to touch her shoulder behind her, and she jerked it away.

“Yes,” he said, sounding worried now.  “I told you I haven’t lied to you.”

“And was she dying?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Draco.  Was she dying?”

“Yes… in a way.”

“What do you mean, in a way?”

“She was a prisoner at Hogwarts.  She did not receive the medical care she needed to survive.”

A sick feeling started to creep through Hermione.

“Could she have?  If she had received better medical care?”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “Possibly, but it was never going to happen.  She was patched up somewhat, but by the time the healer who looked at the prisoners discovered what Dolohov had done to her, it was too late.  She knew she was dying, and when Theo and I approached her about swapping with you, she was willing.”

“So you what…?”

“Slipped her some draught of living death a few days before the ritual and reported that she died when her heart stopped,” said Draco curtly.  “Theo did it.  He was on duty that night and was responsible for disposing of her body.  He smuggled her out, and we gave her the antidote once it was safe.  Nobody was surprised she didn’t make it.  She was very ill.”

Silent tears started to track down her cheeks, but she kept her back to Draco.  She wasn’t sure why this was so much worse than what she had believed before that night.  Maybe it was because nobody knew just how brave Lavender had been.  Nobody in the Order had any idea what she had done.  And she had spent her last few weeks as a prisoner instead of in the relative comfort of an Order safe house. 

It was awful.

A small sob slipped out, and then she felt Draco’s hand on her shoulder again.

“Hermione,” he said softly.  She tried to pull away again, but her heart wasn’t in it.  Right now it was broken for Lavender, another person whom she hadn’t mourned properly.  Before now she had envisioned a martyr’s end for Lavender, and Hermione thought she had made her peace with it.  She pictured gratitude radiating from the senior-most members of the Order.  She imagined Kingsley and the others lining up to tell her just how brave she was.  She had convinced herself that Lavender was given a hero’s send-off and the chance to say goodbye.  But now all she could see was a dank cell and a girl alone and in pain as Theo and Draco approached her and asked her to die in Hermione’s place.

“Hermione,” he said, touching her shoulder more firmly this time.  “Let me help you.  Please.”

It broke her. 

She turned and saw concern and worry marring his features.  Her face crumpled, and he pulled her in tightly as she began to sob into his chest.

“Oh my darling,” he sighed.  “I didn’t lie to you, but I never wanted you to know the whole truth, either.  Your heart is too tender for it.”

She wasn’t sure how long she cried, but he held her through it, making comforting noises, as he slowly maneuvered her to sit on the edge of her bed.  He called for Poppy and said a few words to her Hermione didn’t catch.  But before she knew it he was unfolding one of her nightgowns and slipping it over her head, while she was still dressed.  Like most of them it was sleeveless, with a wide scoop neck and edged in tiny lace.  Hermione didn’t fight him as he guided her arms through the holes and then he unfastened her halter dress beneath it.  He nudged her to stand, and the dress dropped in a puddle at her feet, leaving just the nightgown behind.  

How odd that he had preserved her modesty after everything that had happened tonight.

Tears were still staining Hermione’s cheeks as he pulled her back toward him, and he fussed with her hair, tying part of it back with a ribbon, before reaching down and removing her earrings and then her shoes.  The necklace, however, he left on.

He pulled back the covers and guided her under them.  Hermione sank into her pillow, exhaustion and sadness hitting her all at once.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” he said, and he disappeared into his room for a short while.  Hermione could find no energy to move.

She stayed where she was until he strode in, wearing athletic shorts and nothing else.

Hermione blinked through her tears, surprised to see his chest bare.  She never had before, and her eyes unconsciously traced some scars and the Dark Mark that shone brightly on his left forearm.

She swallowed hard and only now realized he had dressed her precisely like the fantasy he had described to her earlier that night.

Surely not.

“I’m still a bit cross with you,” she sniffed as he slipped in beside her.  “I wish you had told me everything.”

She should kick him out.  Wait, hadn’t she already kicked him out before he told her about Lavender?  So why was he still here, in bed with her?

He was maddening, but Hermione knew she was weak as her defenses began to crumble.

He slipped under the covers too and settled in close to her.

“You need your rest.”

“Draco, I’m still very frustrated,” she tried again.  “I know you saved me, and I’m so thankful for that, but you also misled me about it!”

“Yes, but you know why I did that.  I’m sorry for it, but I didn’t want your feelings to be hurt.  You’re so sensitive, and you had just been through a terrible ordeal.  I didn’t want to burden you with the truth.  And you were right – I was afraid you wouldn’t choose me and would try to have the Order extract you.  But I was being foolish, I know that now.  Of course you chose to stay.  This is your home now, and everything you could possibly need is right here.  I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

He leaned in and kissed her softly, reverently on the forehead.  

“My sweetest girl…” he murmured, “you’ve had such a big day, and now you’re sad again.  Let me make you happy, Hermione.  You know I can do it.”

He nudged his nose against her neck and kissed her there.  Hermione sighed and tilted her head to give him better access, and he made sounds of approval.

“That’s so much better.  You forgive me now, don’t you?  It’s the Order that did the unforgivable thing to you my darling.  And every single one of them is on my list.”

Hermione froze.  “Draco… no.”

“Yes,” he said.

“No,” she insisted.  “No, you can't.”

He pulled away and looked at her seriously.  “Hermione, they were on your side and ordered me to execute you anyway.  There is no coming back from that.”

“But your pardon!” she insisted.

He gave her a fond look.  “You’re too forgiving, and you aren’t thinking clearly.  Of course not, you’re feeling anxious.  Don’t worry about the pardon, I will make sure to get it first before anything happens to them.  They will never know it’s me.  And if the Dark Lord ends up crushing them, then the pardon is irrelevant.  Either way, I can be patient.”

“Draco…” she pleaded.  “Please.  Please don’t do that.  I’m begging you.”

Something flashed in his eyes.  “You’re begging?”

She nodded quickly, her stomach lurching a little.  “Yes I… if there’s something you want from me… please, I couldn’t bear it if you did that to them.”

He was studying her intently.  “You’re willing to trade something for their lives?”

“Yes,” she whispered.  “Anything.”

“They don’t deserve that kind of consideration, Hermione,” he said.  He sounded displeased.

“I know,” she said quickly.  “Really,” she added, seeing his skeptical look.  “That’s why I picked you and not them, remember?  I know they don’t deserve it.  But…”

“But what?”

“But I’m tired of all the death, Draco.  And you’re right, I’m forgiving.  I would be happier knowing that they are alive and living with their guilt than increasing your body count.  Every time you kill somebody I have to find a way to overlook it.”

The tiny part of Hermione’s brain that was still rational realized just how ridiculous this sounded.  Murder was a common enough occurrence around Draco Malfoy that she had habituated to it.  She was talking to him like he simply had some irritating habit – like always leaving the kitchen cupboards open or forgetting to put the toilet seat down.

But no, she was talking about killing people.

God, there was something wrong with her.  And the thing that was wrong with her was clearly the emotional part of her brain that clung to his warmth and care and protection.   

Draco frowned a little as he considered her words.

“You really are a dove, aren’t you?  You’re very interested in peace – a bit too interested, in my view, but I know that’s your nature.  Very well.  Perhaps we can come up with a trade to remove some of them from my list.  But I will need to think on it, and I want you to think about it too.  I’ve never let a slight against you go unpunished, Hermione.  Not even while we were in school.”

She gave him a skeptical look.  “Even when you were the one slighting me?”

“Hermione,” he said patiently.  “I suffered for every slight.  You never gave me the time of day or any real attention at all.  It was maddening.  Believe me, you punished me quite a bit.”

“But—” she started.

“It’s true,” he insisted. “Anyway, why do you think I was always targeting Weasley?”

“Because you were jealous of Harry’s fame, and Ron was his best friend.”

Draco shook his head.  “No.  I was jealous of them both, that’s true, but I was jealous of the fact that they got to spend time around you, and I didn’t.  And then Weasley constantly bollocksed it up by hurting your feelings and making you cry.  It drove me mad.  He didn’t deserve you, and I made sure he knew it.”

Hermione felt an odd blend of warmth and frustration.

“And you must understand,” continued Draco, “my negative feelings toward Weasley, and to a lesser extent Potter, for failing to treat you the way you deserved were nothing compared to the rest of the Order.  They told me your life didn’t matter, and I had to be the one to kill you.  They were supposed to be on your side.  They were supposed to be protecting you when I couldn’t.  My anger at them far outstrips anything I ever felt toward your friends, darling girl.  So I want you to understand what you are asking me to give up if I take them off my list.  I’m not sure I’ll be able to bring myself to do it.  But if I think about it and agree, then I will ask for something from you that’s equivalent.  You should be very sure you’re ready before you strike that bargain with me.”

Trepidation rolled through Hermione at this warning, but she nodded.  He would tell her what he wanted first, surely, and she would have time to back out if it really was too much.  But what wouldn’t she trade for saving those whom she suspected were in on it – Kingsley, Molly, and Arthur at least – and perhaps others.  She was sure he would want sex, and she could give him that once she fully conquered her fear of touch.  He would want her to stay with him, and she could give him that too.  She suspected that if she could just embrace the part of herself that liked him despite all the red flags, she could even be happy with him.

She had no great need to spend time with the Order members who were a part of it ever again, but she didn’t want them dead either.

“Alright,” she said.  “I’ll make sure to think about it.”

“Then I’ll think about it too,” he said, leaning down and kissing her again.  “We work together so well, don’t we?”

She was quiet as he leaned over her and turned off the lamp.  Evidently his fantasy of her would not come true tonight then.  Hermione was a bit relieved.

He pulled her close, and drew her head in to settle on his bare chest.  It was surprisingly lovely.

“This is all I want,” he murmured.  “Just you and me, like this.  I love having you in my arms.  I love taking care of you.  I love… well, I love this.”

And then she was melting for him again, forgetting his misdirection and all the reasons she shouldn’t want him.

How easily she forgot.  How easily she let him care for her.  How easily she could be his if she just fell the whole way.

“Draco,” she whispered.  “Are you brainwashing me so I’ll accept the things you do?”

“Of course not,” he said earnestly.  “If you accept them it’s because you’ve made a conscious choice to do it.  I’ll admit I’ve been trying to protect you, and sometimes I take it too far.  But you have had a very, very rough go of it recently.  So many things have gone wrong, and so many people have treated you poorly.  I certainly haven’t been perfect myself, and I know that.  But I am trying to strike the right balance here, I really am.  We are in a war, and there’s no map for navigating this, sweet girl.  We both have to do the best we can with it.”

God it sounded so reasonable.  All she had to do was believe him.

I’m a fool, she thought.  I’m his pretty little fool.

But once again Hermione could no longer bring herself to care.

******

Draco was staring down at his Hermione, who had fallen asleep not that long ago.  He propped himself up a little so he could see her snuggled into his side, one hand tucked under her face and the other fisting the waistband of his shorts and clinging to it like her life depended on it.

She always clung to something when she slept.  He had seen her do this night after night whenever he checked in on her.  She curled into a small ball and burrowed herself into whatever heat and softness she could find.  Draco adored the fact that when he was in bed with her the thing she clung to was him.

She was utterly perfect like this.

Draco had only been in bed with her twice before tonight — the first time when she got lost as Columba and the second time after she killed McLaggen.  She had required Draco’s care both times, and of course he jumped at the opportunity.  

But this time…. 

Well it was true she had needed comfort tonight too, but it wasn’t quite the same.  They had argued a little, yes, but it hadn’t been quite so desperate.  She wasn’t truly angry with him when she tried to kick him out, she was simply blindsided by the Order and worried about Lavender Brown.  The moment she started to cry, Draco understood precisely why his darling girl had been so upset after that confrontation with Severus.  She didn’t want to leave Draco, she was just so empathetic and kind that she could hardly sort her own feelings at first.  Naturally she had been distressed to learn the Order didn’t care about her and Brown had suffered before she died.  Draco had simply been there to take the brunt of her emotions. 

He was more than happy to do it, and this time it didn’t take her long to accept his help once he explained that he had never truly lied to her.  Of course she didn’t like being kept in the dark, but she surely understood why Draco had done it.  And now that she was curled against him, Draco found he couldn't regret anything he had done that had brought them here tonight.  He never wanted to sleep apart from her again.  

He decided he would be moving into her bed going forward.  It was time.

Besides, it would give him a good opportunity to start exploring that decadent body of hers more thoroughly.  Now that he was allowed to kiss her lips and neck, he could barely stop himself from doing it all the time.  And tonight…

Draco closed his eyes and guided her hand to one side.  She could hang onto his waistband as much as she wanted, but he needed access too.

He slipped his hand down into his pants and began those familiar strokes.  He would go slow because she was right here.  But she slept more heavily than he did, and he thought he could get away with this without disturbing her.

His free hand brushed her curls and then her ribbon, and he carefully twisted them around his fingers.  He remembered the feeling of her tits earlier that night as he rubbed himself.  Her nipples pebbled perfectly.  She gave him such pretty gasps, and she ground her hot cunt on his cock.  She had done it instinctively.  She hardly even knew what she was doing.  Draco had to hang on and grit his teeth to guide her through it so he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of her.  She had become so sodden for him that she soaked through her tiny knickers and left evidence behind on his trousers.  He had not cleaned the wet spot of course.  No, he had saved those trousers just as they were and left them in his room to admire later. 

He exhaled and tried to stay quiet as he let the memory fill him and his imagination run.

She had responded so well to light, teasing touches.  She wanted a gentle caress and no lubrication charms, ever.  Gripping her breast too hard had made her freeze.  The very suggestion of lubricants made her shrink away.  She didn’t need them though.  The faintest touch on those perfect nipples made her wet and greedy for him.  It took almost no effort.

Draco had dreamed of it so many times.  He loved being gentle with her.  It reaffirmed everything he knew about her — her sweetness, her innocence.

Fuck, but she was so innocent.  No man had touched her like Draco had.  She had hardly even touched herself like that.  Whatever she had done to herself in the past had been unsatisfying, she had made that clear enough, and based on her obvious surprise that night Draco was certain the sensations were all new for her.  It was so much more than he had ever allowed himself to hope for.  After touching her nipples he was desperate to get between her legs.  He wanted to smell and taste the sex on her and know that he was the reason for it.

Being with her was different than any witch Draco had ever experienced before, but he wasn’t surprised by it.  Draco had had sex before Hermione, though his first time certainly hadn’t been his idea.  He lost his virginity to a prostitute whose name he didn’t know and whose face he scarcely remembered during the holiday break in fifth year.  His father had arranged it as one of his Christmas gifts, and at the time Draco felt faintly sickened by it.  But there were things about his father he still did not fully understand back then, signs he pointedly ignored in an effort to win Lucius’s approval.  Draco had gone along with it to make Lucius happy, never believing for a moment that his dreams might someday come true, and he would win over Hermione in the future.  Draco decided it was pointless to wait, pointless to protest when his father insisted that losing it to a professional was the best course of action.  It meant that Draco would never suffer the embarrassment of being inexperienced when engaging with a suitable witch going forward.

It was only during the spring holidays of that same year that Draco’s blinders came off.  The night he saw his father strike his mother for the first time made his head spin, before his anger at his father and also himself for ignoring the signs became so overwhelming that he snapped.  Draco dueled his father and lost only because his mother intervened.  More than two years later Draco still wasn’t sure what to think about his mother’s defense of Lucius, when it was clear she was terrified of him.  He eventually concluded that Lucius had some emotional or magical hold over Narcissa, despite her abuse — or perhaps because of it.  The events of that night shattered whatever childlike faith he had in the man.

But the point remained that Draco lost his virginity before he lost his trust in Lucius.   And after that, sex no longer felt special.

It wasn’t that hard to find a willing witch when the rare mood struck him.  Draco was very wealthy, very handsome, and generally didn’t give a single fuck about most of them.  It had proven to be a potent combination for the witches who viewed him as some sort of prize to be won.  He certainly wasn’t like McLaggen.  He didn’t force any woman to have sex with him.  But they threw themselves at him, eager to take anything he would give.  Most of the time he rejected them.  But now and then he would be struck by a moment of weakness.  It was usually after some interaction with Hermione that was particularly negative or when he learned news of her that made him stressed or jealous.  When that happened he would either find someone he could torture or else pull whatever witch had been hanging around and fuck her to get his feelings out.  Inevitably the witches he used that way discovered for themselves that he had no consideration for them, and he had broken more than one heart because of it.

Draco had never cared about that, though.  There was only one heart he had ever wanted.

The ways he used sex before Hermione’s captivity meant there were some things he had never done before she finally came to live at the Manor.  

He never worried about sex being good for the witch.  He never gave them any foreplay.  He certainly never stayed with them when it was done.

He had never kissed any of them.

Hermione was his first kiss.  She was the only woman he had ever kissed on the lips, and he would never give that to anybody else.  It was too special, too intimate for anybody but her.  He had promised himself that years ago, and by Salazar he had stuck to that promise.

If he had been able to see into the future, he would have rejected his father’s holiday gift that year and saved sex for Hermione too.  But he was rubbish at divination so he hadn’t stopped it, and sex had become oddly utilitarian as a result.  Kissing though, that was different.  It was optional.  It was affectionate.  He did save that for her, and then the moment he caught her and his vague dreams of having her started to crystallize, he turned into a monk overnight and stopped having sex with anybody else.

The times Hermione had frustrated him during her captivity he processed his feelings with torture instead.  It was better that way, healthier for their budding relationship.  Besides, even his urges to find somebody to torture became lessened whenever Hermione let him touch her instead.  Her surprised gasps and lovely reactions when she opened for him and let him comfort her or pleasure her did more to improve his mood than any torture ever could.  

Just like kissing, prioritizing her comfort and pleasure was also something that was reserved for her.  He had only ever experienced sex that was a bit rough and very impersonal.  Instinctively, he knew that soft sex, gentle sex… that could only ever be hers.  

He had never been particularly gentle before Hermione.  Draco didn’t do gentle.  The times he had turned to sex in the past, he usually just bent them over, fucked them, and then finished.  He used lubrication charms and didn’t bother to prepare them.  He relied on sensation to get off because it was the only way to finish when he wasn’t with her, especially because his feelings toward her were usually what made him seek out those other witches in the first place.  He occasionally fondled their breasts or arses, though of course they had always been a poor substitute for the ones he fantasized about.  But otherwise, he just used the other witches until he was done.

It was true he had taken a little time to learn how to make a woman come just in case his wildest dreams came true and he got the chance to do it with Hermione one day.  He had done that with Pansy, because he did care about her more than the others.  Still, even then he had approached it much like an anatomy lesson to learn the spots and techniques that women enjoyed.  It wasn’t something that he particularly enjoyed while he was learning with Pansy, so once he assured himself he could do it, he moved on from Pansy and never bothered to do it again.  A couple of the witches he had been with came anyway while he was pounding them.  The others didn’t.  He never concerned himself with it one way or the other.  

But with Hermione, he was positively desperate to touch her carefully, making note of every gasp and groan, mapping her entire body with his hands and tongue before he gave himself anything.  He craved it, but only when he was doing it with her.  It was an entirely different side to the physical act he had never experienced before now.

She was everything he wanted.  He burned for her.

Draco was lost in his fantasy now.  He would pull her nightgown off her shoulders, all the way down until she was bare for him.  She would be wearing a pair of adorable knickers.  Every single pair she had was edged in lace or had a small bow.  He had made sure of it.  She would be spread before him, a feast for the senses, and blushing so prettily while she did it.  She would look up at him through her lashes, and then her hazel eyes would widen in surprise before fluttering closed as his lips graced her breasts and then her stomach and then finally her cunt.  

That was also something Draco had never done before: he had never eaten a witch.  He didn’t care enough about any of them to bother.  But he was eager to taste Hermione.  He wanted her to grind her cunt into his face.  He wanted to lick and suck and drink up every bit of her she offered. 

He wanted to direct her, to lead her.  He wanted her to cry out his name and maybe even call him ‘master’ now and then.  Fuck, but that had made him practically lightheaded.  He had no idea what inspired her to do it, but it had nearly made him blow a load in his pants in front of McNair.  He knew he was the possessive type, the jealous type, especially when it came to Hermione.  He was known for very casual, very rough sex and expected his partners to just take it.  Before that night he had never realized just how easily he could get off based on nothing more than some words and creative positioning with his knife.

Surely that was because it was Hermione.  She was the one who told the others her cunt belonged to him.  She was the one whose nipple was under his blade.  She was the one who sank into him whenever he put his hand around her neck and turned her fear over to him to direct and control.

Would it have been so hot with anybody else?  

Not a chance.

Fuck.

He was pumping faster now, and his darling girl was still asleep.  He moved his face closer to her to smell her scent.  Orange blossom filled his nose as he kissed her forehead and then her ear, and finally he felt his balls tighten.  In her sleep she gave the tiniest little whimper and twisted his waistband harder, and the sound ended him.  He was fucking gone as he spurted hot all over his hand.

He slipped his hand out of his pants and started to move it toward her face.  He felt like he was in a trance as he took one of his soiled fingers and was nearly touching her lips with it when she gave another sigh that jolted him.

Draco’s heart was pounding, and he jerked his hand back as he realized what he had almost done.

No.  No, I can’t.

He might be obsessed.  He might be utterly mad for her.  He might torture and kill and set fire to things she held dear to keep her with him.  But there were some lines he would not cross.  Touching her in a new way without her knowledge was one of those lines.  It didn’t matter how much he might want to see his cum on her lips, he wouldn’t do it until she was awake.

And she will do that for you someday.  Besides, think of how much better it will be when it’s your whole cock in her mouth.

Draco whispered a spell to vanish the mess before he could be tempted to do it again.  

He sighed and slumped back for a moment, flinging his arm across his eyes to control himself.  Merlin, but she was sheer temptation.  He would be good for her though.  He promised himself he could give her that.

With his physical needs sated for a moment, his mind stilled and then drifted to her offer to trade something for the lives of the Order members who had condemned her.  He wasn’t thrilled by the idea.  He had been fantasizing about taking them out one by one when the war was over.  He would wait until the very end, after his pardon was issued.  He would even save their lives if he had to while the war was ongoing if that became necessary — in fact, he already had saved a couple of their lives.  He wanted to time it perfectly, and a bit of life-saving would throw suspicion off of him once he was ready.

Then again, he needed a few things from Hermione.  He needed her cooperation.  And even more than that, he would need her forgiveness.  

He glanced down to make sure she was still asleep before shifting slightly so he could reach her nightstand.  He eased the drawer open and pulled out the silver ribbon that he had used to wrap her Columba pendant the previous day.  He settled back and stared at it, twirling it in his fingers as he studied it.

This was what he wanted more than anything.  But he had kept things from her to get it, and there would be more he needed to do before he could tell her everything.  Guilt twisted his gut as he thought about it.  She might be angry when he finally told her.  She might even try to leave.  That guilt was still unfamiliar — he had never felt it so strongly before.  But it continued to grow with each passing day as she let him get closer to her.

Draco needed her to choose him when the time came.  He would give her one chance, and if she chose him he would never let her out of his sight again.  And perhaps if she had some incentive to do it…. If there was something he could give her to convince her to forgive him and stay…

He mentally ran through his list of names.  He had done it hundreds of times before.  He knew precisely how he was going to kill each one of them.  Something about exacting revenge for his darling girl always made him hard, and he had gotten off more than once thinking about it.

Could he give that up to buy her cooperation and then later her forgiveness once she learned everything he had done to keep her here?  He thought he had enough names for it and even a couple to spare just in case something else came between them in the interim.  

He looked at the silver ribbon one more time and clutched it.

Yes.  I can give up my revenge for that.

Decision made, he shoved the ribbon in his pocket and then turned to settle in with her.

His beautiful girl gave a soft sigh, as though sensing her lover was nearby, and it made Draco smile.  

Because he did love her.  

He loved her enough to rise through the Death Eater ranks for her.  He loved her enough to respect her boundaries with her body.  He loved her enough to give her every single thing in the world that he had to give.  

He even loved her enough to abandon his plan for revenge — but only if she forgave him first.

Chapter Text

Hermione woke the next morning to Draco’s face nuzzling her.  

“Good morning,” he said as he nibbled her ear and then gave a long lick down her neck.

Hermione gasped and arched a bit as her eyes fluttered open.

“Wha –?” she said blearily.

He quieted her with a deep kiss, and Hermione sighed into it.

I’m supposed to be cross with him, she remembered.

But really, she wasn’t.  In the light of day the secrets he had kept from her about the Order didn’t seem nearly as serious.  He had his reasons for it – he was trying to protect both of their hearts in a way.  Could she really blame him for worrying about her mental state?  Could she fault his own fears that she might run when he wanted her so badly?

No, she couldn’t.

“Draco,” she said.  “I’m not angry anymore.”

His head lifted, and his eyes crinkled into a smile.  

“Good,” he said simply, and then he returned to what he was doing.  But speaking of which…

“Draco, what are you doing?” she asked as he placed his mouth over one of her beauty marks and started to suck.

“Picking up from where we left off last night,” he said as he pulled back and admired his handiwork.  “Do you remember how you were feeling before it all went sideways with Severus?”

Hermione nodded and swallowed hard.  His gray eyes flicked up to meet hers.

“Can you tell me about it?” he asked.  “Tell me everything.”

Hermione turned pink and looked away in embarrassment.  

“It was… it made me feel…” her voice died in her throat, and she glanced at Draco to find him looking at her fondly.

“Did it make you feel good?”

She nodded.

“Did it excite you?”

She nodded again.

“I know your knickers got damp.  And you liked my fingers on your nipples, didn’t you?”

She was crimson now as she nodded.

“Can I touch them again?  You don’t have to let me look, but I’ve already touched them…”

Hermione sucked in a breath, but then nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again. 

To her surprise she felt his hand go under the skirt of her nightgown and start to travel up her thigh.

“Draco, what are you…?” she asked.

“It’s just easier this way.  It’s nothing to worry about.”

His hands skated up her thighs, pausing a moment when he reached her knickers.  He stroked them for a moment.

“I love knowing that you're clad in lace and satin.  I spent hours picking out your underthings, did you know that?”

Hermione shook her head, in slight disbelief he was telling her all of this.  But it was doing something to her.  It was turning her on.  She arched toward him a bit.

“Just like that,” he murmured as his hand continued to travel up until he reached the underside of one breast again.

His touch was gentle, but purposeful as he caressed them slowly.  He seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever as he grazed her nipples, which tightened almost painfully under his touch.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he sighed contentedly.

Hermione felt that odd sensation begin in her belly – the one that had made her ache the previous night.

“Draco…” she groaned.  

He raised his head to stare at her.  “Yes, little dove?  Do you want more?”

“I don’t…. I mean…” 

She struggled to articulate what she needed.

“Is it something low?” he asked.  “Is that what you are feeling?”

Hermione squeezed her eyes and nodded.

“Do you like how it feels?  Or is it frustrating you?”

“I want… ”

“What do you want?”

“I want to get it out,” she confessed.

She opened her eyes in frustration to find him staring at her intently.

“Do you want me to help you get it out?”

“You really want to do that?” she asked hesitantly.

He nodded.  “If you wish.  I’ll need to touch you in other places though.  More than I’m doing right now.”

Hermione licked her lips as she thought about it.  Was she ready for this?  She had no idea.  She didn’t know what she was doing.  Nobody had touched her intimately other than Cormac, and he didn’t count.

“It might make me nervous,” she confessed.

“Are you nervous now?” he asked.

She swallowed and nodded a little.

“And what have I told you about that?”

“That you like to see my fear,” she whispered.

“That’s right,” he said.  “I like it when you give it to me and allow me to help you.  Let me take this fear away from you, Hermione.  Let me show you what it feels like.  I can make it so good for you.”

“It won’t hurt?” she asked, remembering just how painful the experience with Cormac had been.

Draco’s eyes darkened.  “You should never have known that kind of pain, sweet girl.  Not ever.  The things I will do to you won’t feel anything like that, I promise.”

“Alright,” she breathed.  

Before her eyes fluttered closed she caught the look on Draco’s face.  He looked transcendent, like she had just given him the biggest prize of all.  

Perhaps I should have traded somebody’s life for this.

Only now did she remember their bargain – or their promise to talk about making a bargain – for the lives of the Order members he had marked.  But it was too late.  He had eased her into this so naturally that she had barely a thought for them as she turned herself over to him.

She felt his hand start to creep down her stomach and then dance on the edge of her knickers.  He traced the top edge and then the section that circled one thigh as he slowly edged closer to her center.

Hermione was trying to control her breathing.  She was tense, anxious, but she wanted this.  She knew she wanted this.  She wanted to know what it felt like, but even more than that she wanted to know that Cormac had not ruined this for her forever.  

Draco leaned in and gave her a deep kiss before pulling back and settling near her ear.

“Breathe,” he whispered, “and open your legs for me.”

Hermione summoned her courage and did as he asked, and his finger immediately traced farther down that lace edge around her thigh.

“I bet you’re already wet, aren’t you?” he asked. 

Hermione nodded.

“Let me see for myself,” he said.

He made the lightest brush over the top of her knickers, right on her core, and Hermione gasped in surprise.

He gave a low chuckle.  “Oh my darling, if that’s your reaction when your knickers are still on, I can’t wait to see what you’ll do for me when my fingers are inside of you.  And you’re already wet enough to be soaking the fabric.  What have you been doing every time you get like this?”

“I just change my knickers,” she breathed.

He gave a deep laugh at that and kissed her again.

“No more of that.  From now on you come find me, and I’ll help you get it out, okay?”

She nodded.

“Good.  Let me feel you now…”

He slipped a finger under the fabric, and Hermione felt her heart race as he swiped it once against her.  He hissed under his breath.

“Fuck…”

Hermione’s own breath caught at the odd feeling.  It was totally foreign, and yet she sensed she was close to having something she needed.

She felt him slip a finger into her, and he seemed to twist it a bit.  She was nervous, but it felt so different than Cormac or even her few half-hearted attempts at self-exploration.  This was okay.  She could do this.  She gasped at the little burst of pleasure it gave her.

“You like that…” he muttered, as he did it again.

Hermione felt her mind start to float as she settled into the sensations.  Then she heard him say, “Let’s see how you like it when I touch you in that special place then.”

“What?” she murmured.  She wasn’t paying attention.  She was far too preoccupied by his hands.

He froze for a moment, just long enough for her to open a hazy eye and see him staring at her hungrily.  “Nothing for you to worry about.  Let me handle it.”

“Alright,” she said, as her eyes fluttered closed again.  She couldn’t be bothered to question him further, and if she allowed her brain to start thinking then all these lovely feelings might evaporate.

He resumed what he was doing with that finger moving in and out of her, and then she felt him press on something else that made her gasp and arch.  Her eyes flew open in surprise.  It felt like a jolt of electricity shot through her.

“What was–”

“That’s your clit,” he said, and he did it again.  

Hermione jolted again, instinctively rocking her hips against his hand for more.  “It’s a bit hidden, but I found it, didn't I?”

“Oh God...”

“Like I said, you don’t need to worry about it.  If you need it to be touched, I’ll do it for you.”

He did it again, and this time Hermione moaned.  She felt his breathing going shallow, and she opened her eyes to find his eyes locked on her face.

“Draco, I need…”

He did it again, and her eyes closed again as she sank back into that delicious feeling.  Then again and then another.  He was slowly increasing his speed, and she wrenched her eyes open again, begging him for something, but she didn’t know what.  Her hips were rocking in time with his fingers, and she was so close.  So close.

“Come for me, Hermione,” he said darkly.  “Give me this.  I’ve dreamed about seeing you like this for years.  Give it to me…”

It climbed and built and she felt herself edging ever closer to something she couldn’t identify.  That string in her belly was taught, nearly to the point when she thought it might rip.  And she wanted it to.  She needed it to.

Something wrenched, and she fell open with a cry, eyes squeezing shut, legs spread wantonly. Her hands gripped her pillow as she spun off into space.

“Goddamn…” he whispered.  She heard reverence in his voice, and he sounded awed.  She opened her eyes and found that his were nearly black as he stared at her.

“I have never seen anything like that,” he confessed.  “Not ever.  And now…”

She felt him slip his fingers from her and raised them to his face.  She was mortified to see how coated they were, but he appeared to be elated by it.  Then to her utter shock he opened his mouth and began to suck on them, his eyes rolling back as he gave a great groan of delight.

Hermione’s eyes were huge.  She was totally out of her element now.  What was supposed to happen next?  The thing he had just done… it made her excited again.  But she was also feeling shy and incredibly nervous.

He opened his eyes slowly and looked down at her.

“I want to see Nita,” she said, the words just spilling out of her.

He stilled as he removed his fingers slowly and raised one eyebrow.  “Why?  You’ve already let me in, Hermione.  There’s no reason to enhance the spell.”

“No,” she said hurriedly.  “No, it’s not that.  It’s just…”

She flushed and looked down in embarrassment.

He gripped her chin and pulled her face so she was forced to look at him.

“Tell me.  Why do you want Nita?”

“I just… I don’t know what to do!” she confessed.  “I don’t know how to… you know… for you I mean, and…”

Draco’s eyes began to shine a little.  “You want a private lesson with a Veela?”

Hermione flushed.  “She’s just so confident.  She knows what she’s about.  She made me feel confident enough to pretend as Annabelle.  Maybe she can help me get more comfortable with it for real too… with you, I mean.”

The truth was she had no idea what she was doing, but Nita would know what to do.  Nita had seven previous husbands and surely any number of other lovers in between.  Nita seemed to think sexual things were entirely normal and nothing to be ashamed of at all.  She was kind and approachable when she wasn’t killing her husbands.  Hermione needed advice, a confidence boost.  

She needed that Veela magic.

He gave her a slow, lazy smile and bent down to give her a lingering kiss.

“Just when I think you can’t get any sweeter you go and say something like that.  But you don’t need Nita for that.  You have me.  She could tell you what a typical wizard enjoys, I’m sure, but why would you need to know that?  It doesn’t matter what they like.  It only matters what I like and what you like and what we like together.”

Hermione frowned at this.  “I’m not sure if that will work, Draco.”

He looked amused.  “Why wouldn’t that work?”

“I’m just—”

So inexperienced that it terrifies me.

“—a bit out of my depth.”

He gave her a soft smile and stroked her face.  “This is all new for you, isn’t it?  You’ve never even seen a wizard properly, let alone touched one.”

She shook her head hesitantly.

“Hermione, you don’t have to know what you’re doing.  I’m honestly thrilled that you don’t.  It means that the only wizard you will ever know in that way is me, and I’m the only one who gets to know you like that too.  I promise you don’t need anybody else to tell you what I might like because I am more than happy to do that whenever you are ready.”

“But you said you have preferences… and I still don’t know what those are…”

He smiled again, and pulled her to him.  “Darling girl, I have just one preference, and it’s you.”

“Draco, that makes no sense.”

“Of course it does.  You are starting to trust me with your body.  That is something I will never ever take for granted.   You let me have your very first orgasm this morning, and that was everything to me.  You are trusting me to show you what you like and to guide you toward pleasure.  And you also trust me to stop when it becomes too much and to pace things appropriately.  Every time you give me your fear it means you are trusting me with that part of you that somebody else tried to take and shatter.  The fact that you tell me when you’re afraid and allow me to help you with it… it’s precious to me, Hermione.  So you don’t have to worry about any of my so-called preferences.  You don’t have to worry about being inexperienced.  My only preference is that you keep trusting me to lead you in this.  That’s all.”

Something inside of Hermione eased.

“You really don’t mind, then?  I don’t want you to be disappointed in our… arrangement.  And I know I need quite a bit of help still and—”

He raised a finger to her lips to quiet her.  “This is far more than an arrangement to me.  I consider you to be mine.  We are living in our home.  We are sleeping in our bed.  We are having to hide the thing we have together right now for our safety, but I hope it won’t be forever.  Arrangements have end dates.”

“And this doesn’t?” she asked hesitantly.  She didn’t know if she was terrified or thrilled by the prospect.

“All you have to do is accept it, Hermione.  I know it can be challenging — I spent a long time in denial about it myself — but we are together now, just as we always should have been.  This is not an arrangement with an end date.”

Hermione was breathless.  Could she fall?  Could she finally stop fighting it, stop asking herself if he was really right for her?

She was close, so close.

“I’ll try to accept it,” she said, because that was true.  She knew she would never be rid of him now, and she didn’t think she would ever want to be.  She had never dreamed of finding a wizard so attentive to her, so considerate of her and the things she had been through.  But his intensity, his seriousness, his adherence to his own moral code that was still rather different from hers, made her cautious.  She was a fly caught in his web, and he was spinning it all around her. 

“Good.  Now while we’re discussing arrangements that do have endings at some point… let’s revisit the arrangement we discussed last night.  I was up late thinking it over, and I have decided that I am willing to trade an Order member’s life for something from you – one for one, as it were.”

Hermione grasped the change of topic gratefully.

“But there is more than one Order member,” she protested.  “You said it was a group.”

“Yes,” he agreed.  “So I will need something for each one of them, unless you wish to pick and choose.”

Hermione went cold.  “How many?” she demanded.

“There were six who were involved in the decision,” he said.  “Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minerva McGonagall, Molly and Arthur Weasley, Severus, and Aberforth Dumbledore.  I intended for all of them to be punished.”

“You would kill Snape?” she demanded.  “Your own godfather?”

He shrugged negligently.  “He’s not exactly the nurturing type.”

Hermione grimaced and exhaled.  “Alright… Well if there are six… maybe I could do things to you that you like this morning?  Would that be enough for one?  And after we work up to it, maybe my virginity for another one or two?”

She went pink, but as she watched his face darkened, and he looked angry.  

“You think that’s what I want from you?”

Hermione blinked in surprise.  “Don’t you?”

“No, Hermione.  If you ever pleasure me like that or give me your virginity it will be a gift, not a trade.  Don’t even suggest sexual favors.  You aren’t my whore, and you can’t buy their lives with your body.”

Hermione felt an odd spark of shame.

“What then?  What do you want from me?”

“Cooperation.”

“Give me an example, please,” she said in exasperation.

Now he gave her a smile as though he had her right where he wanted her.  “Today when we do the ritual for Aquila, I want you to use my knife on your other palm.  And let me heal it the same way I did for Columba.”

Hermione’s palm with the Columba markings tingled as she stared at him.  “You still haven’t told me everything it does.”

“No,” he agreed.

“But it tracks me…” she said slowly.  

“When I want it to, yes.”

“And you need to do it a second time?”

“It should make the tracking stronger,” he said simply.  “I couldn’t get a good lock on you that night in the Manor when you ran and ended up with Rodolphus and McLaggen.  I would have had to go to Grimmauld Place to determine your exact location, and there wasn’t enough time to do that.  I was terrified, Hermione, you have no idea.  We need to strengthen it, and I think doing it a second time will help.”

Hermione paused as she considered this.  He hadn’t been able to find her right away, it was true.  She had been stuck there, terrified, and it was precisely the sort of thing he had warned her about when he marked her as Columba in the first place.  Then again, he was still hiding things from her about it.  She didn’t like it, but she didn’t know how to get him to tell her everything before she agreed.  She was sure he wouldn’t.

“And you won’t tell me what else it does?”

“I’ve told you it gives you protection, sweet girl.  I will tell you everything eventually, but I’m not ready for it yet.  Please trust me that it’s nothing bad.  It’s important enough that I would have done it without asking you, but I know that made you cross last time.  So this time I’m asking… and I’m also offering to remove one of the Order members from my list if you cooperate.  You get to choose who it is.”

Hermione looked away as she thought about it.  He was asking her to take a leap of faith and trust him blindly.  She didn’t like the secrecy, but she knew this wasn’t a choice when other people’s lives were at stake, not really.  She did believe that he would never hurt her.  And as for the tracking… well, he could already track her pretty well, and enhancing it would make situations like that night with Cormac less precarious.

“So that’s what you mean by cooperation,” she said wryly.

He inclined his head.  “It’s much more important to me than sex.”

She exhaled, her decision made.

“Fine,” she said, her stomach twisting a bit at the thing she would be doing very soon.  “I’ll use your knife and let you heal it for me.”

His face broke into a broad smile and he leaned in to kiss her.

“Excellent.  Now tell me… who are we taking off my list?”

Hermione knew her answer was unstrategic.  It was probably the least important person of the whole bunch for a myriad of reasons.  She told herself there would be opportunities to save the others too, but until she could think of something else to trade she would have to prioritize.  And the first priority was an emotional one, but she felt no hesitation as she spoke.

“Molly Weasley.  I want Molly Weasley to be taken off your list.”

******

At first, Hermione was surprised they were still proceeding with the eagle after everything that happened the previous night.  But after Draco requested to use his knife and heal her palm, she suspected he had several motivations for pressing onward.

Some part of her wondered why he hadn’t demanded it from her before now if it was really that important.  Surely she could cut her palm open at any time, and it didn’t need to be performed as part of an animagus transformation.

But then another part of her thought back to the time they did this for Columba and remembered what he said about being unable to bring himself to cut her.  He seemed to have very few qualms about seducing her and desensitizing her and possibly even manipulating her.  But he did have some hard rules, chief among them that he would never physically hurt her.

So perhaps it wasn’t so surprising that he bided his time and waited until her palm would have to be cut open anyway to do it.  There was no getting around that part of the animagus potion, after all, so perhaps he simply viewed it as an opportunity to be leveraged.

Hermione found herself dwelling on this as Draco slipped away for an hour or so in order to get ready, though she was pulled out of her thoughts when he reappeared with Theo for breakfast.  Theo looked a bit worse for the wear from the night before, but he listened intently as they told him about Snape and the Unbreakable Vow Hermione had extracted from him.

“You know what?  I think it’s a good thing,” he declared with some relief.  “Severus was always the weak point since he knows both of you so well.  It could help with future missions too.”

Theo was tasked with informing the others of this development during training, which Draco said he and Hermione would be skipping that day.

“We’re going to do the next sacrifice this morning, and then she’ll drink the potion right after it’s done,” insisted Draco.  “It took hours last time, and we don’t need to have another night like that.”

Theo was in agreement with this plan, so directly after breakfast he, Hermione, and Draco made their way to the training room where Draco had already set everything up.  

“This will be much faster.  We just need to reheat the base potion you made, perform the sacrifice, collect the blood, and that will be all.”

Hermione’s eyes slid toward the cage in the corner with a large feathery lump, and she exhaled as she nodded.

“Right.  Okay, I’ve done this before.  It’s just like last time…”

She tried to tell herself it would be just like the dove.  They were both birds, after all, and she had done this once before.   Now that she had some experience she knew that the animal would be living on inside of her once it was complete.  She would be killing it, yes, but its spirit would persist.  Hermione could feel Columba clearly now whenever she reached out, and she told herself Aquila would be the same way.

Still, her hands were shaking slightly as she dumped the bottled potion Draco handed to her in a cauldron and lit it.  Theo was busy lighting the candles and arranging the pillow for her to kneel on while she stirred it a few times.

“That looks perfect,” said Draco, peering into it as he rested a hand on her shoulder.  “You can do this, Hermione.  You’ve done it before.”

“I’ve done it before,” she repeated, as she made her way toward the pillow and crouched down.  

Draco moved to the cage, and Hermione closed her eyes to steady herself while she waited.

“Open for me, Hermione,” said Theo.  “Just like last time.  This one might be a bit more shocking than the dove…”

She opened her bond, and Theo immediately settled in as Hermione’s eyes landed on the eagle that Draco was bringing over to her.

God, this was not at all like a dove.

It was enormous – at least a meter tall.  Since it was unconscious, Draco was forced to cradle it like a baby due to its size, and when he laid it in front of her she gulped.

“Draco…” she said.

“You can do it.”

“It’s huge.”

“That’s because it’s female.  They are larger than the males.”

“I just… she’s beautiful.  She’s so majestic, and she’s your pet for heaven’s sake!  How can you be okay with this?”

He cupped her distressed face and looked at her seriously.

“I’m okay with this because it’s for you.  You’re right that she’s magnificent, but so are you.  It’s okay, Hermione.  I don’t have the same emotional attachment to her that you have with Crookshanks.  I do, however, have an emotional attachment to you, and I want you to have this.”

Hermione reached out to stroke her a little.  Her feathers were a rich golden brown.  The eyes, she knew, would be yellow.  Her beak was sharp, and her talons looked positively vicious.  She was made to hunt game and dominate the skies.  It was so very different than her berry-loving Columba.

“Okay…” she said slowly.  “Okay.  But this is it, right?  I’m never sacrificing another animal after this.”

“That’s right,” said Draco soothingly, rubbing circles on her back while Theo began to siphon in earnest.  “I’ll never ask you to sacrifice another animal while in your human form.”

Hermione froze.

“You mean… I might need to…”

“Hermione, you know why we are doing this,” he said firmly.  “It’s so we can take you with us to Nott Castle when we are called there for games and hunts.  You must know what happens on a hunt.  But you’ll be able to use her instincts while you do it.  I’ll never ask you to kill another animal while you are just you, I promise.”

Think of the snake.

“I don’t want to hunt for you, Draco.  Can’t you just show me off?”

“No, my darling.  You’ll need to hunt as well.  I thought you understood that.”

“I didn’t think…”

“You’ll need to.  Nobody brings animals just for show.  They are all there to work.”

“I need something else then,” she said, as an idea struck her.  She saw Theo peering at them curiously.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Another name from your list.  If I’m going to hunt for you and do this… awful thing… I need another name.”

“Alright,” he said easily.  Too easily.

“You aren’t objecting?”

“Why would I object?  There are plenty left for future trades.”

Hermione exhaled.  She wasn’t satisfied yet, but she would take it.  “Alright then.  Arthur.”

“Done,” said Draco.  “Now let’s finish this Hermione.”

Think of the snake.

Moments later, Hermione began to chant and drew the knife.

******

Draco pulled Hermione onto the chaise lounge with him, her back settled against her chest.  He held open her palm that now had ten tiny marks, which he traced in the shape of Aquila.

He had given her the same knife as last time when it came time to spill her own blood, and then he healed her wound just as she promised.  This time he had chanted so quietly that Hermione caught almost none of it.  She had no further hints of what the symbol could mean.

The look on his face when it was done, however, told Hermione that she probably could have asked for two lives if she had been smart about it.  She wondered what, precisely, she had agreed to.  He assured her he would tell her when he was ready.

And I did get two lives out of it in a way, she reassured herself.  Both of Ginny’s parents will be safe.

They were the most important of course.  She would try to save the others from Draco’s wrath as well, but if she had to pick and choose… well, she had made her choice.  

Draco assured her that Molly was off the list since she cooperated with her new mark and Arthur would be too after completing a full hunt.

“Everything is hard the first time,” he said.  “After you do it once it gets easier.  If you complete a full hunt as Aquila, then Arthur will be removed from my list too.  I must say I’m pleased you chose them first.  Out of the six, they were the most hesitant even though they had the most to gain from it to keep Ginny safe.  I really don't think they would have agreed to it if they hadn't just lost two sons and Potter at the Battle of Hogwarts the night before.  I haven't forgiven them for it, but it was obvious to me that they were overset and not thinking clearly.  Unfortunately I couldn't give them time to calm down and think rationally before striking my bargain with the Order.  There was no time for it.”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, relishing the stillness for a moment.  That tidbit about the Weasleys made her feel a little bit better.  Though she hadn’t forgiven them yet either, she suspected she would eventually.  They had lost Fred, Ron, and Harry, along with many of their friends in a single night right before Draco struck his bargain with the Order.  And not only that, but Charlie had gone missing, and their only daughter had been caught by the Death Eaters.  Out of seven children, only three made it out of the battle unscathed.  Of course they had been overset and emotional.  Of course they would have agreed to almost anything to keep Ginny safe, especially if Draco's ability to pull off a swap had been openly questioned by the others. 

Now that she knew they were still hesitant in the face of all of their loss, she was fiercely glad she had gone with her heart and picked them before any of the others.  Hermione didn't know if there would be opportunities to save the others too.  If there were opportunities, she would leverage them.  If not, she was coming to believe she could live with herself and with Draco if he took matters into his own hands and punished them.   

That realization was a little jarring.

Draco raised her palm to his lips and kissed the marks as he looked at them one more time.

“Aquila.  Fierce.  Bold.  Beautiful.  Strong.  She fits you too, just like Columba does.  Are you ready to meet her?”

Hermione nodded, and Draco handed her the potion.  She drank, and she felt him shift her to a more comfortable position in his arms as she fell back against him and began to dream.

******

She was hungry.

She was perched on a rocky bluff near her large nest, eyeing her prey below.  It was a hare, utterly oblivious that it was about to be eaten.

She tracked it for a few more moments before launching herself into the air.

The hare saw her shadow and bolted, but it wasn’t fast enough.  The ground had no cover for it, no place where it could hide.

She made note of its progress and the direction it was heading and then flew just out in front of it before she tucked her wings in and dropped.  She dove, traveling well over one hundred miles per hour.  It wasn’t her fastest dive by any measure, but it was sufficient for prey such as this.

At the last moment she angled her body upwards and sank her talons into its neck and abdomen.  She squeezed, and it was dead in moments.

She gave several great flaps of her wings, over two meters in length, as she rose from the ground with her catch.  She settled with it back in her nest.  She leaned down to open her beak and…

“Oh God, no!”

She paused, surveying the dead hare with some confusion.  Something stopped her from eating it.

She heard a familiar whistle, and her head jerked up.  It was that same man again, waving his arm at her.  He was on the other end of the field, trying to coax her to him.

She ignored him, as she usually did, and looked back down at her meal.

“No!  Go to him!”

Curious.

The man was jogging toward her.  He was larger than her, but she knew from experience that she could injure him.  She wasn’t frightened, just irritated.

He continued to call to her as he came closer.  As usual he was wearing a dragon leather gauntlet and carrying straps for her legs and a hood for her eyes.

She wasn’t interested.  She returned to her meal.

“GO TO HIM!”

She paused again and eyed him cautiously.  He had been trying to command her for a long time, but she had never listened before.

“Hermione!” he cried, as he doubled over, entirely out of breath from running toward her.  “If you would just bloody well get down here….”

She cocked her head as he straightened and wiped his brow.  

“Come on sweet girl.”

She turned her back on him and showed him her tail feathers.  There wasn’t anything about her that was sweet.

He huffed a laugh.  “Don’t tell me you’re going to be just as bratty as she was… Merlin, she was impossible.”

She ruffled her feathers in offense.

“Alright, alright, I apologize.  You’re right of course.  You aren’t bratty at all, are you?  You’re proud.  Proud and strong and very capable.  That’s why Aquila reminded me of you.”

She felt something odd emerging.

“Draco?”

“There you are,” he said smiling.  “My fierce girl.  That was much faster this time.  I suppose it’s because you’ve done it before.”

“You’re in my head again?”

“Of course.  After the last one I wasn’t risking it.  Eagles can fly well over a hundred miles in a single day.  I might have never found you.”

“Surely you would have tracked me with my mark.”

“You know I would have tried, but the logistics of that while in the air and also in your head are somewhat challenging.  It was much better to find you like this instead.”

She finally turned to face him.  She could see him clearly like this.  Aquila recognized his gear, but Hermione had never seen it before.

“She doesn’t care for the leash.”

“It’s called a jess.”

“That then.  It makes her feel trapped.”

He contemplated this.  

“That’s another thing you have in common with her, isn’t it?  I’ve tried to trap you both.  And I have failed.”

“You haven’t failed at all.”

“Oh yes I have.  I should never have given you a way out.  I really didn’t intend to.  But within a week of arriving you gave me doe eyes, and suddenly I’m tripping all over myself to train you to fight and help you become an animagus so you can go on missions.  Severus was right: I’ve completely lost the plot when it comes to you.”

“And Aquila?”

“Oh I spoiled her terribly.  She was so beautiful, and I was absolutely besotted if I’m being honest.  That’s probably why she would never hunt for me.  I never took her in hand properly to bring her to heel.”

“I thought you didn’t have an emotional attachment to her?”

“I said I wasn’t emotionally attached like you were to Crookshanks, and I wasn’t.  She was never a pet.  She was a wild thing, fiercely independent, remarkably talented, the most dangerous creature in the field if she wanted to be.  I admired her and wanted to contain her.  I wanted to harness her talents for myself.  But she always had her own mind about her.  She won far more often than I did.”

“I’m sorry I killed her.”

“You shouldn’t be.  She reminded me of you the very first time I laid eyes on her.”

The presence retreated for a moment, and she eyed the brown strap and hood haughtily.  She did not enjoy them, and the figure had been trying to foist them upon her for far too long.

Then the presence emerged again.

“Leave the jess and hood off, and we will both be more cooperative.”

He considered this.  “Hunting without a jess is uncommon.”

“But is it done?”

“Occasionally.  When the raptor is very well trained.”

“Then you’ll just have to trust me not to fly away.”

He was silent for a long while, so she continued.

“This morning you told me that I’ve started to trust you with my body, and that was true.  I trust you not to hurt me.  I trust you to protect me.  I trust that you care about me.  But trust goes both ways, Draco.  You must trust me to come back.  It’s something you have never understood about me.  You have confined me and marked me and withheld information from me.  Over and over again you’ve tried to clip my wings and cage me.  Some of it was for my safety, especially before we understood each other.  But it was mostly because you didn’t trust me not to leave you.  I am so close to accepting the things that are happening between us, but I won’t be able to do it unless you trust me enough to let me go.”

“Tell me why.  Tell me why it has to be that way to make you mine.”

“It’s simple: if I don’t have the freedom to leave, then I can never show you that I choose to stay.”

The presence receded, and she looked at him.  They stared each other in the eye for a long while.  Then slowly, cautiously, he lowered the strap and hood she so despised to the ground and stood, extending his arm toward her.

“Come to me, fierce girl.”

The presence inside of her lit with happiness before receding once more.  She looked at the figure and determined he was finally worthy of her cooperation.

She spread her wings and launched into the air, fluttering a moment later to land on his thick glove, perfectly perched and waiting.

His eyes were silver and seemed to be glinting with a mixture of pride and relief as she stilled.

“Now then,” he said, the anticipation thick in his voice, “let’s hunt.”

Chapter Text

After meeting Aquila for the first time, several things changed.

The most obvious thing was Draco’s appearance in her bed each night.  He didn’t talk about it, he just showed up.  He still kept most of his clothing in his room next door, but inevitably he would slide in under the covers with her, having deemed her bed to now be their bed.

It was remarkably wonderful being able to relax into Draco’s warm embrace and wake up with him in the mornings.  He was naturally an early riser, much to her surprise, and she always found him already awake and playing with her hair or the lace on her nightgowns whenever her eyes finally opened the next morning.  

He was a light sleeper too and always seemed to know the moment a nightmare started.  When he slept in his own room it would take a scream to have him appear, but now that he was in bed with her, he seemed to sense her agitation immediately, and it always roused him.  Hermione was surprised that he did not seem to suffer from nightmares in the same way that she did, but he had a simple explanation for it.

“My only nightmares involve watching you being tortured at the Manor or fighting during the Battle of Hogwarts or right after McLaggen.  I never have nightmares about myself.”

The truly shocking thing about having Draco in her bed at night was that he seemed perfectly content to slow the pace of their physical exploration of one another.  He had touched her intimately several more times, but he hadn’t asked for her to do anything to him in return, and he still had not seen any part of her while he was doing it.  Some nights they did nothing at all but cuddle before drifting off together.

The experience was so comforting that those red flags she associated with Draco Malfoy seemed to grow further and further distant.

Just like Ginny had once pointed out, Hermione’s whole world had narrowed to Draco and their little group at Malfoy Manor.  It was hard to worry about things like morals when the man who could take a life so easily treated her so carefully.

Even when he brought her out as his boon a couple more times he never took it farther than he had that first night.  The other Death Eaters steered clear of both of them, and there were no more confrontations or pressure to convince the others that she was his.  Some enthusiastic making out and grinding was all that was needed to convince them, and he didn’t seem in any great rush to push her with it, though he did continue to tell her some of his fantasies while he touched her.  He seemed to know what it did to her.

Yes, Hermione’s walls around him continued to fall.  That was especially true when his restrictions surrounding her captivity started to loosen.

“I want you to know I listened to you when you said I need to give you more freedom.  This is entirely against my better judgment, but we can unlock the door to your balcony, sweet girl.  You can go outside now, though I’d ask you to stay a bird while you are outdoors for your own safety.”

For the first week that she ventured outdoors, Draco settled in on the patio to watch.  She soared the skies and explored the extensive gardens, soon finding her favorite spots.  The Manor itself was enormous, and she spent hours as Columba perching on the various sills and peering through the windows.  Her vantage points were, admittedly, not always perfect and a number of rooms kept drapes closed.  But Hermione did begin to learn the general layout of the Manor from the exterior, and she made careful mental notes of everything she could see.

Draco’s wing, she learned, was on the east side, which accounted for the sunrises she would occasionally catch through her window.  She caught glimpses of Narcissa in a room that appeared to be quite similar to Hermione’s on the west side.  It would be at least a five minute walk from one to the other.

After a week, Draco seemed satisfied that she wouldn’t just fly away, and he started to let her go outside without his constant supervision.  As she continued her explorations she went further and further afield, until one day she asked Draco where the property line ended.

“I haven’t hit any wards yet, and I flew all the way to the nearest village,” she said.

Draco raised an eyebrow.  “I haven’t warded you into the estate, just my wing.  My wards allow you to pass freely once you leave my wing.”

Hermione blinked in surprise at this.  “But… why?”

He glanced at her hands.  “I’ll always be able to find you, Hermione.  My only concern about you flying too far is that you might have trouble getting back on your own if you end up in an unfamiliar area.   Promise me not to go further than the village until you have the Aquila transformation down too.  She will have a better homing instinct than Columba does.”

Hermione didn’t know if she should be thrilled or wary about her largely unrestricted abilities to fly.  She had assumed he would ward her in, but evidently he felt so confident in his tracking spell after enhancing it that he thought there was no need.

Indeed, his tracking spells had certainly left its mark on her.  Hermione had transformed into Columba in her loo one afternoon and studied herself in the mirror.  Like all animagi there were characteristics about Columba that were very Hermione.  Columba, for instance, had golden eyes, which were not at all typical for doves.  The markings denoting the collar spanned her entire neck instead of just the back, which was also something Hermione had never seen before.  And on her chest were seven small dots in deep charcoal that matched the darker gray of her tail feathers.  Most would say her coloring was simply not pristine, but Hermione knew the truth: it was the Columba symbol – the very thing on her palm had manifested itself on her animagus form too.  Whatever he had done she felt sure he would always find her, bird or not.

Hermione wondered if a similar mark would appear when she finally managed Aquila.  She was a couple weeks into it and things were going rather well.  Since she had already managed one bird form, the second one was simpler in some respects.  But there were key differences too, such as the talons and size and general breadth and power of Aquila that meant Hermione still required practice.

The truly peculiar thing about adding a second animagus form was that Hermione was now able to feel the differences in characteristics from her first.

Columba was docile and loyal.  Hermione had read up on doves as she worked on her transformation and learned that they were actually rather good companion animals once they adjusted.  With some socialization they became comfortable with humans, even going so far as to bond to the ones they interacted with most frequently.  They were gentle creatures, though a bit skittish when meeting somebody new, and Hermione thought that some of Columba’s characteristics must have drawn out Hermione’s matching qualities as she was training.

Docile.  Accepting.  Trainable.  Bonded.

In many respects this was everything Draco had wanted from her.  It was precisely the way she behaved every time he told her she was sweet or called her one of the many pet names he liked to use.

Aquila, however, was the opposite from Columba in most ways.  She was an apex predator and therefore had the capacity to kill swiftly and violently.  Though eagles did not view humans as prey, Hermione sensed that Aquila was strong enough to kill an adult man if she wanted to.  After all, golden eagles had been known to attack fully grown deer and even caribou.  This meant she had no true fear of humans, though she didn’t care for them much either.  She was unsociable, as Hermione learned many raptors were.  She preferred to be alone, though if she ever found a mate she would likely be paired for life.  Just like the dove, Aquila was monogamous.  She was confident in her ability to defend her territory and would let no other eagle except her own mate into it.  She was strong and beautiful and had no natural enemies.  She chafed when caged and worked for Draco begrudgingly, though Hermione sensed that Aquila’s loyalties could be earned with a coequal relationship and a large time investment. 

Aquila was as different from Columba as a bird could be, but Hermione felt as akin to her as she did to the dove.  And in fact, Aquila drew out aspects of Hermione’s character that she felt had been lost a little bit ever since the Battle of Hogwarts: her bravery, her competency, her confidence.

Yes, as Hermione began to learn Aquila she found her confidence coming back.  It was like a jolt of that Veela magic she had missed.  When she mentioned it to Draco, he pointed out that Veela had a bit of the raptor in them too.  

Hermione wondered on occasion if Draco had been intentional about the order in which he asked her to learn her forms.  Had he always known that the dove was sweet and pliant and easier to manipulate?  Had he thought that connecting to the dove first might make her easier to control while they were still circling one another, growing ever closer, but not yet together?  

Did it even matter?

Her forms were a dichotomy, two halves of her.  She began to draw on both of them in equal measure.  And Draco, she was a bit relieved to learn, seemed to enjoy the Aquila side of her just as much as Columba.  He wrapped her up and cherished her when she was sweet and cooperative for him.  But when she showed some assertiveness then he became the one who melted.

He would give her almost anything like that.

How had she forgotten this?  How had she failed to remember those times she wheedled favors and information out of him using feminine charms and Veela magic that felt so similar to the assuredness that Aquila embodied?

Perhaps she could be both fierce and sweet.  Perhaps he could be both murderous and loving.  And maybe he had been intentional about drawing out her Columba first, but a dose of Aquila was all that was needed to bring them into better equilibrium with each other.

It was that bit of Aquila in her that she leaned on when she approached him a couple weeks after she met Aquila for the first time.  It was early October now, and the wizards would be going to the first hunt at Nott Castle the next day.  While the Death Eaters were occupied for the weekend, Narcissa was hosting their wives and daughters at the Manor.

It was an ideal opportunity for Hermione to spy and the wizards to get a feel for the hunts before bringing the witches with them.  But it also meant that it was probably time to let Draco in on one of her secrets — one that had been weighing on her.

She didn’t want to tell him without a trade, though.

She needed both of her animagi forms as she thought about how to approach him.  They wouldn’t be seeing each other for three days, which was longer than they had been apart for months.  She knew Draco wasn’t happy about it.  He never liked to be away from her for very long.  So the night before he was due to leave she took a little extra care to select the nightgown with the loosest neckline and sheerest fabric.  It was much like the others but it always made her feel a bit more exposed so she hadn’t worn it around him yet.  It was edged in pink lace, and Poppy found the matching ribbon and even applied a faint blush of pink to her cheeks.

Draco had told her he wouldn’t let her trade her body for the Order members, and that wasn’t precisely what she was going to do.  But Draco was going to be in Voldemort’s vicinity for three days.  There would be recreation and down time.  For once he wouldn’t be on a strict schedule filled with business and pandering.  She couldn’t let him go without letting him in on a few secrets.  She hoped that seducing him a little bit would be enough to get him to agree to a trade before she was forced to spill everything.

Be confident in your ability to do this like Aquila, and let him see you be sweet like Columba.  Use both.

He entered her bedroom with long joggers and no shirt.  Hermione had already dimmed the room, though she kept a few lamps on that he had commented always made her skin glow.  The things it did to his skin made her a bit lightheaded.  He was always pale, but it threw the planes of his body into sharp relief.  He was fit of course — daily training did wonders for his abdomen especially — but it was a lean kind of athleticism that reminded her of a predator.  His frame was large, his shoulders broad, but he wasn’t bulky.  And as always, the black tattoo on his arm did something to her that it really shouldn’t have.  

She shuddered and then blushed.  Perhaps she didn’t need Poppy’s help with that after all.

Draco, of course, caught her reaction and started to smirk before she let the gray and green blanket fall away and began to approach him.

The smirk turned into a wide-eyed stare as he saw what she was wearing.  Hermione swallowed hard and drew on Aquila to let him look.  He couldn’t see everything yet.  Just hints.  But it was enough to turn his eyes black as he watched.

Be Columba now.

“Draco,” she said, as she picked up the hem of the nightgown and began to twist it a little anxiously.  Truly, she was a bit nervous about all of this.  He always saw through her so clearly, and she couldn’t bugger up this chance to save somebody else.

His attention moved away from what she was wearing as he frowned at her behavior.  “What is it, little dove?”

“Draco, I want to tell you something before you go to Nott Castle… some information.  But I’m not supposed to.  It’s been worrying me for days.”

His eyes sharpened, and she bit her lip a little.  

“Let’s go to bed and talk about it, alright?”

She nodded, as he reached for her hand and led her over.  He didn’t climb under the covers, but leaned back against the headboard.   He maneuvered her so she was in his lap, facing him.

Bugger.

She was hoping he wouldn’t have a clear look at her face.  She thought this would be easier if she couldn’t see his piercing gaze that would surely command her to tell him without any trade at all.  

“Tell me everything Hermione,” he said.  

“I can’t!” she exclaimed.  “That’s the problem!  I want to — I really want to — but it was Harry’s mission before he died.  Harry, Ron, and I were sworn to absolute secrecy.  The rest of the Order doesn’t even know what we were doing."

This clearly piqued his interest, and he studied her intently.

“You said you can’t tell me.  Does that mean you’ve made an Unbreakable Vow?”

Hermione blinked in surprise.  “Of course not.  I’ve never promised anything through an Unbreakable Vow.  I’m not you.”

He quirked his lips in amusement.

“Alright, that’s very good news.  And I’m quite glad to hear that actually, I’d prefer you never ever make a Vow like that to anyone.  But that means that you can tell me.  You just don’t want to.”

“I just—”

She was getting agitated and wasn’t trying to hide it.  She should have known he would do this — turn it back on her — but she wanted that trade first.  She also wanted it to be his idea.  He was obviously saving that leverage for something else.  She suspected he had agreed to remove Arthur from his list so readily because he had mentally assigned two lives to receiving her Aquila symbol, and she had been too foolish to ask for it upfront.  She didn’t want to make a mistake like that again.

“I can’t believe you don’t already know!” she finally confessed.  This wasn’t exactly on topic, but it was the truth.  “You searched me right after I was caught while I was unconscious.  I know you did because I had a splitting headache when I woke up.  I was sure you must have found it, but eventually I realized you hadn’t, and now I almost wish you did so I wouldn’t have to break my word to tell you…”

She trailed off in frustration.

“Hermione,” he said with a touch of regret.  “I’m sorry I was too rough with you the first time I searched you.  I certainly didn’t intend to give you a headache.  I just had so much I had to arrange and very little time to do it, so I gave myself less than thirty minutes with you to find everything I needed to know.  I had fed a little intelligence to the Order before the battle so they would be inclined to trust me, but I finally had an opportunity to lock down a full pardon and had to take it before the Dark Lord requested to see you and Ginny.  I also had to alert those who would follow the Dark Lord if he won to give him more followers at the same time. I literally did not sleep that night, and there was no time for me to search you thoroughly before you woke up, so I had to prioritize.”

Hermione found herself deeply curious, despite herself.

“What could have been more important than learning about my mission?”

He gave her a fond smile.

“Come now, my darling, you surely know me well enough to guess.”

Hermione found herself staring around the room that was exactly to her tastes.

“It was all this, wasn’t it?” she said slowly.  “You learned about the things I liked.”

He gave her an approving smile.  “That was certainly part of it.  I had been preparing before I caught you, but I hardly ever saw you outside of Hogwarts.  Even with the house elves to help me, there was so much I didn’t know.  I wanted to make sure I had every single thing you needed to be comfortable and secure so our little nest would be perfect.  And I also needed to see how you felt about me.  I needed to know just how much ground I had to make up.”

Hermione could scarcely believe it, but then again, it was so like him.  

“And what did you learn?”

“You thought I was a prat, and I irritated you, but you weren’t afraid of me.  It was such a relief, and I hoped the things I would have to do to get you out wouldn’t change that.  In fact, you almost felt sorry for me.”

“I did,” she confessed.  “You looked so terrified that day at the Manor and again in the Room of Requirement with the fiendfyre.  I thought you were in over your head.”

“I wasn’t in over my head at all.  I was only afraid for you.”

She absorbed this for a moment.  “So what did You-Know-Who tell you about me?  I’m certain he knows something about my mission.”

Draco frowned.  “He just said that Dumbledore was working on something and may have given Potter a task before he died.  He didn’t think you or Weasley knew what it was, but he wanted confirmation of that.  He believed you two were just following him blindly.  That’s how many of his own followers behave so he expected it of Dumbledore and Potter too.  I know that might have been true for Weasley, but you would never have done that.”

“And you still weren’t curious enough to look?” asked Hermione in disbelief.

Draco shrugged.  “There were a small number of people in the Order who thought you three had a special mission.  The Weasleys did and Remus Lupin did too.  But most of them believed you three just went into hiding together to keep the others safe since Potter was such a target.  I’ll confess I was in that group because Potter was terrible at occlumency, so I didn't think he would have been given any special intelligence.  Besides, it would have been entirely in character for Potter to leave to draw attention toward him and away from the others.  I heard a rumor that you three broke into Gringotts before the Battle of Hogwarts, but I wasn’t in the room when the Dark Lord questioned the goblins about it, so I wasn’t sure if it was true.  And if it was true, I just assumed you three needed gold.  It wasn’t like Potter could just walk into his vault.  I thought the Dark Lord was just being paranoid when he asked me to search you, and I had to prioritize with the very limited time I had.”

Hermione slumped a little.  As she got to know Draco and began to trust him she really did wish he had just found out what she was up to so she wouldn’t have to break her promise.  But then again, now that she knew he was truly ignorant about it, she had some leverage.  She just had to play her cards correctly.

“It’s very frustrating, Draco,” she said again.  “I just don’t know.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Hermione.  I’m an exceptional occlumens, and I’m loyal to you above all others.  If this would help you in some way I need to know about it.”

Give him doe eyes.

She turned the full power of her pleading gaze on him, not bothering to conceal how conflicted she was.

“I know all that!  And that’s the only reason why I would even consider it, but Draco… I promised.  I promised Dumbledore and my dead best friends that I wouldn’t tell anybody else.  Not the Order, not anyone.”

Say it.  Offer it.  Let me have a life for telling you this.

Because she had to tell him.  She had gone in circles about it, but finally concluded that she really had no choice.  He was much better positioned than she was to gather the intelligence she needed, but he would never do it without the whole truth.

“So it’s important…” he said slowly, as though he was weighing something.

“Extremely,” she assured him.  “It’s… well, it’s one of the Order’s biggest secrets in a way.”

“And Dumbledore told you three and nobody else?  When none of you were occlumens?” 

She could hear the skepticism in his voice.

“Yes,” she said.  “Believe me, I wondered about that too, but eventually… I figured out why,” she added a bit bitterly.

“And you want to tell me but feel like you can’t…” he said to himself.  “And this is coming up now because…?”

“Because you’re about to spend three days at Nott Castle,” she said honestly.  “I need… we need… information.  It’s a perfect chance to keep your eyes and ears open if you know what you’re trying to discover.  But I just…” she made a frustrated noise.  “I promised!  Why didn’t Dumbledore tell you?  I loved Harry and Ron, but I did so much of it on my own.  Harry had some unique skills that were helpful too, but Ron just….” She trailed off, feeling guilty for expressing those thoughts that had plagued her for months in the tent.  She sighed.  “Let’s just say I think it would have been much easier if you were the third person who knew about it or perhaps Snape.  We really needed a Death Eater to help us with it.”

She raised her eyes to find him studying her.  She hoped he could see how important this was.

“Alright…” he said slowly.  “You want to tell me, but you will feel guilty about it.”

She nodded earnestly.  “Terribly.”

“Then let me take that guilt away from you, sweet girl.  If you tell me, I’ll take an Order member off my list.  You know that’s a good trade, and you will be saving one of their lives by telling me about it.”

She exhaled with relief, but tried not to let him see that he had played right into her hands.  She made a show of weighing his offer.

“I suppose… if you did that…”

He stroked her face a little.  “Tell me, Hermione.”

She exhaled.  “Alright.  In exchange for Snape.”

She felt the temperature drop in the room.  

“Why?” he asked harshly.

She gave him a disapproving look.  “Because out of all the others, the Order needs him the most.  And he’s your godfather.”

“He was interested in –”

“Annabelle, whom he now knows does not exist,” Hermione finished for him, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.  “Please, Draco.  I don’t want you to kill your own godfather.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he finally gave a curt nod.  “Fine.  Then tell me.”

She took a deep breath.  “What do you know about horcruxes?”

His eyes narrowed.  “They’re dark.  Very dark.  I read about them in one of those books you were carrying around, but…” 

His eyes started to widen, and Hermione nodded.

“Yes.  He made several.”

“Don’t tell me…”

“That’s what Harry, Ron, and I were doing all last year.  Hunting and destroying horcruxes.”

“And you managed it?”

“We found a few, yes, including inside of Gringotts.  We didn’t need gold, we needed the horcrux that was inside of Bellatrix’s vault.  We actually pulled it off, but the goblins nearly caught us on the way out, and it alerted him to what we were doing.  That’s why I’m sure he knew about the mission when he asked you to search me.  It’s just very lucky he underestimated my roll in the whole thing and outsourced the task to you instead of searching me himself.  We found most of the horcruxes, but there is at least one left.”

“The snake,” surmised Draco.  “That’s why you want to kill the snake.”

“Yes.  Since you’ve read about them, you know he can’t die until they are all gone.”

Draco sucked a breath through his teeth.

“That’s incredibly dangerous.”

“I know it is, and there aren’t many things that can kill a horcrux.  Luckily Nagini and You-Know-Who are both living beings so Avada Kedavra will work.  If the horcrux is an inanimate object it takes basilisk venom or fiendfyre.”

His eyes were boring into hers.  “That’s what you three were doing in the Room of Requirement.”

She nodded.  “It was another bit of luck that the horcrux we found in the room was destroyed by Crabbe’s fiendfyre.  It was terrifying, but… it worked out.”

Draco looked away and furrowed his brow.  “So you need me to get intelligence on the snake.”

“Yes, and also…” she trailed off, hesitating again.

“Also what?”

“We need to ensure he hasn’t made any more, either intentionally or unintentionally.”

He raised one eyebrow.  “How does one make an unintentional horcrux?”

“I think it can happen when one splits their soul too many times.  You know that Avada cracks it, and you must know that you can remove a part of it completely during the aftereffects.  That’s how a horcrux is made.  If you aren’t making horcruxes then your soul heals eventually… it’s just in a different shape than it once was.  But if you make horcruxes then you literally take a piece of the soul out.  It can never fully heal once you do that.  And he didn’t just make one, Draco.  He made six that he knew of.”

Draco went pale.  “You’re implying there were others he didn’t know about.”

“At least one,” said Hermione quietly.  “Harry was a horcrux.”

Draco physically jolted at this.

“I know,” she said, her eyes filling with tears again as she thought about it.  “Harry didn’t realize it, but I did.  I… kept the secret from him for months.  He had to die eventually.  I always knew that.  But he was supposed to be last.”

“The Dark Lord didn’t know?”

“I doubt it.  Would he have killed Harry if he did?”

“Fair point,” said Draco.  “He probably would have tried to turn Potter into his second-in-command.”

“Exactly,” said Hermione.  “So he couldn’t have known about it.  And it’s possible he hasn’t made any more.  I’m not sure how many times you can split your soul before it becomes too unstable.  We have some evidence that he always planned to make six because he thought a seven-part soul was strongest.  He thought he made six and kept the seventh inside of his body.  In reality he made at least seven, so his soul was split into eight.  I have no idea if he could keep going with it.  And perhaps he only made one unintentional horcrux because it happened the night he disappeared the first time when his spell backfired.  That may have fractured his soul in a different way and caused it to spin off and latch onto Harry.  I don’t know, it’s all very murky of course.  But we know the snake is one, and he’s aware that at least a few others were destroyed.  If he could replace them, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had tried.  This time though, I don’t think he will hide them.  He will keep them close by, possibly on his person.  He entrusted horcruxes to your father and Bellatrix and hid several others in remote locations that were all discovered and stolen.  He won’t make that mistake again.”

Draco leaned back and considered her.  “That’s why Dumbledore gave the task to you three, isn’t it?  Because Potter was one.”

Hermione nodded and looked down.  “I think so, yes.  He knew Harry would probably die in the attempt, but he had to.  And as long as he was alive he might as well be the one picking them off one by one because the mission was incredibly dangerous.  Ron and I were there to help him with his task and to continue on with it if he died too early.”

Hermione felt a shudder of anger pass through Draco.  

“I know,” she said.  “I have found it very hard to forgive Dumbledore for it.”

Draco sighed.  “Alright.  I’ll do what I can at Nott Castle to find the snake and see if I can discover whether he has any others.  Is there an identification spell?”

Hermione nodded.  “Yes, there’s a chapter about it in Secrets of the Darkest Arts.”

“I’ll study it before I leave in the morning,” he said.

“And there’s something else,” Hermione added.

Draco looked slightly overwhelmed.  “There’s more?”

Hermione nodded.  “Harry’s Invisibility Cloak.  You know the one that You-Know-Who was given right after Harry died?  We need it back.”

“And why is that?” asked Draco cautiously.

“Because… oh bugger, you’re going to think I’m mad… and honestly, it is mad, and it’s probably not true but…”

He sighed.  “Hermione, just tell me.”

She exhaled.  “Well let’s just say that it’s possible it is a Deathly Hallow.  As in the original Invisibility Cloak that was written about in the Tale of the Three Brothers.  It had been in Harry’s family for centuries, and those who believe the story think that it was the Peverell brothers who created the Hallows.  Harry was descended from them.   We are also fairly certain that You-Know-Who has the Elder Wand, which is supposedly the unbeatable wand from the story, and at some point Harry believed he had the Resurrection Stone too.  He thought it was the stone in a ring that was a former horcrux Dumbledore managed to destroy before he died.  Dumbledore left Harry a snitch in his will, and Harry thought the ring with the Resurrection Stone was inside of it, but he could never figure out how to open the snitch to be sure… so he just carried it around in his mokeskin pouch.  He was wearing it when he died.  I have no idea where it could be or if it even survived the battle because you said Harry’s body was burned.  But if You-Know-Who has two out of the three Deathly Hallows that’s very bad news.  If he ever figures out what they might be, then he might find the Stone too and then he could be…”

“Immortal a second way,” said Draco, who was very pale now.

“Yes,” said Hermione, “in theory.  At the very least he would be even harder to kill.  But I want to be clear that the Deathly Hallows are much woolier than the horcruxes.  We are certain about the horcruxes and really don’t have much evidence for the Hallows at all, except for some cryptic gifts from Dumbledore and legends.  I just think that it would be best if You-Know-Who does not learn what those artifacts might be, so we should steal the Cloak if possible.  If it is a Hallow, then we can’t risk him uniting them… and if it’s not, then it’s still dead useful, no pun intended.”

Draco exhaled and closed his eyes as he leaned back.  “Alright.  No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.  Is there anything else?  Any other ways the Dark Lord might be immortal that you haven’t told me about?”

“Erm, no.  Horcruxes and Hallows.  That’s all that I’m aware of.”

Draco opened his eyes and surveyed her face.  She was feeling inexplicably nervous.

“Well, at least now I understand you a little better…”

“Oh?” she asked in confusion.

“Yes, I’ve been wondering for weeks why you felt the need to kill that bloody snake.”

Hermione smiled a little.  “Well now you know.”

“Now I know… Merlin.”

He ran a hand along her hips.  “We should tell the others.”

Hermione sighed.  “You’re probably right.  Ginny and Luna know the snake has to die, but they don’t know why.”

“Well Theo and Blaise need to know why, since they will be at Nott Castle with me.  I can’t be everywhere at once, and when you include the grounds the estate is huge.  I’ll need them to help search."

“No, you’re right.  Fine.  You can tell them about it the next time you see them.”

He nodded as his hands skimmed her stomach.  “I’m not going to see you for three nights…” he murmured.

Hermione shook her head.  

“And this one is very pretty,” he added, tugging on the hem of her nightgown.

Hermione bit her lip.

Be like Aquila.  You can do this.

“Well I’ve been wondering something…”

“Oh?”

“Have you decided whether to take off the left side first or the right?”

Draco stilled as his eyes dropped to her neckline.

“Am I finally going to see them?” he asked.  He sounded a bit breathless.

“You’ve seen them before,” Hermione pointed out.  “That day with Cormac.”

He put a finger to her lips.  

“I didn’t,” he said.  

Hermione gave him a bewildered look.

He pressed his finger harder.  “I didn’t, my darling.  The only thing I could focus on was how hurt you were and how much I wanted him to hurt too.  I don’t remember what they look like, nor do Theo and Blaise.  We were all very distracted by what had just happened to you.”

Hermione became inexplicably nervous.  Of course she was pleased that none of the wizards had really looked at her like that.  But that also meant nobody had ever really seen them and…

“Anxious?” he asked, lowering his hand from her lips and tracing the edge of her neckline.

Hermione nodded and bit her lip.

“Give me that fear, Hermione.  Nobody but me will ever see them again.”

Hermione allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she felt him reach up and nudge both straps off at once.  Cold air hit her chest, and her heart started to race as she heard him inhale.

“Gods…” he muttered, and then she felt one thumb graze a nipple.  

She was totally exposed.  She was bare.  Just like that day when she had no choice.  This was a lot.  This was… 

“Draco?” she asked softly, an edge of panic in her voice.

He immediately reached for her and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

“Shhh you’re alright.  Let’s lie on the bed, and then we’ll try again.”

She swallowed and nodded, and he rolled her over so she was on her back, and he was hovering over her.  This felt better.  She was nestled into the quilt and pillows and him like this.  It wasn’t like being in the open air with nothing to protect her.  She started to breathe again.

“There,” he said, leaning down and giving her a kiss.  “You’re doing such a good job.  Now reach up and hold onto your pillow for me.  Ground yourself with it.”

How did he always know what she needed?  She had no idea, but she did as he said, and it worked.  She was connected to something like this, and her heart slowed. 

He leaned back to look at her chest, and this time she felt a bit more anchored while he did it.

“You’re perfect,” he declared.  “Lovely.”

Again she felt his hand start to brush her breasts the way she liked for just a moment, before moving further down to the nightgown that was crumpled beneath them.  

“Stay just the way you are.  Tell me if you need me to stop,” he said.

He gripped the fabric and tugged it down over her hips until she was nude except for her knickers.

Hermione’s eyes had been squeezed shut, but she opened them to find him sitting back on his knees and staring.  To her surprise, he wasn’t looking at her knickers or even her breasts.  He was zeroed in on her stomach.

He reached forward and touched the long purple mark that started above her navel and wrapped around her side.  It was thin and smooth, but Hermione knew it stood out against her skin.

“What is this?” he whispered.  His anger was palpable and thick.

“Dolohov,” said Hermione.

His eyes flicked to hers.  “He was always going to die.  But this means it will be slow.”

Hermione shuddered a little, but now his eyes were looking at the rest of her.  

“You are stunning,” he said simply.  “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He bent forward and cupped a breast.  It felt heavy and Hermione’s hips wriggled a bit.

“Are you getting excited?” he asked.

She licked her lips and nodded.

He smirked.  “Good.  With clothing gone there is more we can do.”

He settled himself on top of her and buried his face into her neck.

“I want you to stay just like this,” he murmured.  “Don’t do a single thing except hold onto your pillow okay?  Tug on it if you need to.  You’re going to come for me just the way you are, and it’s going to be so pretty.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

His mouth trailed hot down her neck, and Hermione sank into the pillow to allow herself to feel it.   She knew she liked this, but he had never made it lower than her collarbone before.  Tonight though, he didn’t stop, and before she knew it he was pressing kisses around her breasts.  The sensation was different than his hands, and Hermione arched into him as her fingers gripped her pillow.

She felt his hand creeping down her stomach at the same time, and he started playing with the hem of her knickers just as his mouth gently closed over one nipple.

Hermione gasped and then groaned as Draco’s hands slipped past her knickers and one finger slid smoothly inside of her.

“Draco…” she panted, and she clutched the pillow, squeezing it hard as that familiar pressure began to build.

“I’m obsessed,” he muttered.  “So fucking obsessed with you…”

She knew he was, and it was the only thing that made her brave enough to let him see her like this.  But now that he had she couldn’t believe she had waited this long.  His mouth and tongue were doing sinful things as he licked and sucked, and his fingers started pressing into her harder.

It didn’t trigger her like this.  It felt good.

She was moving her hips against his hands, trying so hard to just get it out.

“Just like that…” he said.  “Fuck my fingers.  Gods you’re so fucking wet.  I can’t wait until you let me eat you out.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open in shock.

“Not tonight, but soon.  Soon you’ll let me lick that delicious cunt won’t you?”

Hermione was shaking as her eyes fell closed again.  She had no answers for him, but as always his words seemed to make her lightheaded.  She was getting closer as his strokes became harder and her hips rolled.  And then he was touching that place she loved so much — the one that made her feel nothing but sensation as it pulsed through her.

“Come for me, my beautiful girl,” he said.  

She cried out and broke gently this time, suspended between the emotions she was feeling.  That she had gotten this far with him at all was extraordinary after everything she had been through.  And he was so patient and gentle, but only with her.  It might have been the thing she loved most about him — his attention to her needs and comfort whenever she was vulnerable like this.  She found herself becoming oddly emotional.

“Perfect,” he sighed with satisfaction.  “Just perfect.  Now open up for me.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open as if on command, and he placed his fingers gently inside.  She blinked in surprise to taste herself as she closed her lips around his fingers.  It reminded her of the sea — a bit musky and salty.  His eyes darkened while he watched.  

“See how good it tastes?  And soon you’ll let me take off those knickers and bury my face in it won’t you?”

Hermione found herself nodding, still caught in that haze as she came down from her own pleasure.

He removed his fingers and kissed her.  “Good girl.”

Hermione sighed and looked at him lazily.

“Draco… when do you want me to… you know.  With you.”

He stilled and looked at her carefully.  

“You want to touch me?”

She blushed a little.  “You’re very patient.  I just want you to feel good too.”

He smiled contentedly.  “Gods you’re sweet.  I don’t mind being patient, not at all.  And I do feel good when I make you feel good.  But if you want to touch me too, of course I’ll allow it.”

Hermione was nervous now, suddenly wondering if she was getting ahead of herself.

“Maybe you can show me?” she said hopefully.  “So I know…”

He smirked and rolled off of her, climbing to his feet.

“Stay just like that,” he said.  “Let me look at you.”

Hermione tried to find her confidence as she allowed herself to stay mostly nude under his gaze.  It was fixed on her.  She watched him swiftly push his trousers and pants down, revealing a part of the male anatomy she had only seen once before, when Cormac had hurt her.  Her eyes were huge as she took him in.  It seemed to jut aggressively from a thatch of hair.  The fact that it could just stand on its own was utterly baffling to her.  And as she watched, Draco dropped one hand to it with an ease that told her he had done this many times before.

She tore her eyes away and found him watching her, to gauge her reaction and to continue looking at her body as he started to move his hand up and down slowly.

“This is what I imagine whenever I do this…” he said, as he looked at each part of her.  “Your tits, your stomach, your arse bent over in front of me, your sweet cunt either open for me or hidden away in tiny knickers, getting soaked through… gorgeous curls and that fucking hair ribbon.  Gods, I stared at your ribbons for years in school.  They were so ridiculous, so pretty.  None of the other girls wore them like you did.  I always wanted to play with them.  They would taunt me, being just out of reach, and I used to get off whenever I imagined feeling them.  That’s when I knew it was over for me.  The thought of touching a fucking ribbon got me hard every single time.”

Hermione felt another shudder of want course through her as he told her these things.  Unconsciously she seemed to sink down into the bed a bit more.

“Good girl.  You’re doing so well.  Just relax and let me look at you for now.  You can always let me look at you…”

She relaxed a bit more, trying her best to become comfortable with the staring.

He’s always stared at you, Hermione.  Always.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he added, as he started to walk toward her very slowly.  His hand continued to move on himself, up and down.  

She had been relaxing as he said such lovely things to her, but as he approached her personal space, she felt a spike of anxiety.  It was ridiculous, she knew that, but his cock seemed so large, and it reminded her of that purple thing from Cormac’s pants and…

“Stop,” she said in a slightly strangled voice, but he already had.  Of course he had.  He always seemed to know as soon as they pushed too much.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said, his eyes laced with concern as he stroked.

Hermione swallowed hard and licked her lips.

“It’s… too big,” she said haltingly, looking at it warily.

He huffed a small laugh.  “The things you do to my ego.  But no, Hermione, it's not too big.”

“There’s no way that…” she closed her eyes and trailed off, feeling ill now.

“Hey, talk to me.  Do you want me to cover up?”

“No,” she said quickly.  “No that’s not it, it’s just…”

“It’s what?”

“Cormac’s didn’t fit.  And he tried over and over, and it really hurt.”

Draco dropped his hand and turned back to retrieve his underwear.

“You don’t have to!” she insisted.

He just shot her a stern look.  “Just for a bit while we talk about this.  Can I come closer now?”

She could still see his pants tented, but it wasn’t as intimidating like this.  She nodded, and Draco came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Hermione, the reason it didn’t fit was because Nita’s spell blocked it.  That’s the only reason.  If she hadn’t protected you, he would have breached you.  I’m certain he would have fit.”

“My head kept hitting the wall though, each time he tried.”

Hermione knew Draco was right of course.  She wasn’t making any sense at all, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.  It was hard to articulate why she felt sick at the thought of any man’s cock — even Draco’s — getting too close.

Draco looked to be in pain as he reached for her cheek.  “Hermione, if we ever get that far, it will be in a bed that’s soft and comfortable, and I will go slow and make sure you’re prepared first.  Your body is perfectly capable of pushing a baby out through that channel.  That means it can also stretch enough to fit a cock without any problem, I promise you that.  It may hurt a little the very first time since you’re a virgin, but it won’t be because things don’t fit properly or because I’m taking you against a rough dungeon wall and letting you get injured while I do it.  I would never do that to you.”

Hermione paused and tried to calm her fears before she blurted out anything else that was so senseless and ridiculous.  She knew she was being irrational, and everything she was saying was coming from her trauma.  But she still had to talk herself down, just like Draco did.

I’m safe with him.  He will never hurt me.  Be like Aquila and don’t be afraid.

“Alright.  I know you’re right, of course you are,” she said.

“Good.  Now give me your hand.  I want you to learn that cocks aren’t scary at all.  In fact, mine is probably going to embarrass me as soon as you touch it.  But please… tell me to stop if you need to.”

He gripped her hand and brought it to his abdomen.  She couldn’t help but enjoy the feeling of his skin under her hand as he guided her into his underwear.  He went very slow and didn’t take his underwear off, but when she didn’t tell him to stop he moved her hand toward that large thing and then told her to grip.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped the minute she wrapped her hand around him.  His eyes squeezed tight and he seemed to be grinding his teeth.

Her eyes widened in surprise that it was this easy as he showed her how to pump up and down.  

It was firm, but the skin was shockingly soft, and he actually whimpered and his eyes stayed closed as she continued to pump.  Something wet seemed to be leaking from the top.

“What’s that?” she asked as she dipped her thumb into it.

“It’s… fuck me… It’s precum… spread it around the tip and…”

She swirled it with her thumb, and he gave a strangled cry.

“Gods Hermione, I’m gonna… you need to move your hand if you don’t want to feel… I can’t stop, I…”

Hermione held her breath, and he jerked beneath her.  Something hot and wet spread across her hand as he groaned.

“Vanish it,” he gasped, and Hermione did so as she slowly released him and removed her hand.  He was staring at her like he had never seen her before.

“Come here,” he said, rolling on top of her and kissing her.  “That was… goddammit.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what to think.  “Was it okay then?”

He pulled back and looked at her like she was dense.

“Hermione, I have been wanking to thoughts of you nearly every single day for years.  Getting to do it when I could actually see you instead of just imagining you and then feeling your hands at the end?  Yes.  It was very very good.  I came way too quickly.”

Hermione blushed, but she was pleased.

“Surely you must know what you do to me by now,” he added.

“Sometimes, but it still surprises me.”

“It shouldn’t,” he insisted.  “You are my dream girl, and I mean that literally.  All of it is good.  Too good.  I’m still shocked you are actually here, and it’s not all just happening in my head.”

She relaxed at this and smiled a little.  “Alright, but I still want to practice.”

He huffed a laugh as he pulled the quilt back and covered them both with it.

“Sleep just like this, and then we can do some more practice in the morning before I have to leave.”

It was odd, sleeping almost in the nude but surprisingly nice once she was snuggled into Draco and the quilt.  His hand settled firmly against her ribcage, just under one breast, and he pulled her to him.

Columba and Aquila both seemed to smile down at her as she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Hermione woke up still mostly nude, with Draco cupping one breast and pressing his erection into her bum.

"Draco?" she asked blearily.

She cracked an eye open to find the room still quite dark and the sky streaked with pink as the sun was just coming up.  It was obviously very early in the morning.

"Shhh," he said.  "I know I should let you sleep, but I couldn't resist you like this.  I have to leave soon.  The Dark Lord wants me there for breakfast, and I needed to get my fill of you first.  You can nap as much as you want once I'm gone, sweet girl."

Hermione let her eyes flutter closed again and just sighed into him, not at all inclined to protest.  It was lovely, really, being tucked under the covers with him, as his skilled hands danced across her body.  He was right that she could nap later on if she needed it.  He made a sound of approval as he felt her relax into his touch, and it wasn't long before he was moving on top of her and pressing his lips against her breasts.  

She could barely see him, for he had pulled the quilt up along with him and made a dark cocoon around them both.  But his silver eyes glinted just enough that when he glanced up at her she could see them staring at her intently before his mouth lowered again, and he gave one nipple a nice long lick that made her arch.

"You're so lovely," he sighed as his hand began to creep down between her thighs.

"Draco..." she groaned, as he continued his attentions.

"Hmmm?" he asked, clearly very distracted by the things he was doing to her.

"Am I your boon now?"

He paused what he was doing, and he raised his head to peer at her.  The quilt slid off of his head just enough for her to see a small crease of concern between his eyes.

"Why would you ask me that, my darling?"

"I was just wondering," she said. 

Truthfully, it had been something that continued to weigh on her now and then.  She loved the way he made her feel, but she was still his prisoner, only let out to fly when he permitted it.  Her lack of freedom to come and go as she pleased still grated on her now and then.  She knew they were in a war, and she thought she could live with his rules until Voldemort was gone.  Much of it was for her safety, as well as the safety of him and her closest friends.  But she still wanted reassurance that he didn't view her the way the others viewed their boons while she cooperated with him on this.

He reached up and stroked her face.

"My boon is Amalie Beumont.  She is a fabrication we have to maintain when I bring you out around the others, that's all.  But you, Hermione Granger, are mine."

"So you're my boyfriend, then?" she asked shyly. 

His eyes gleamed, and he broke into a broad smile.

"You want me to be your boyfriend?" he teased.

"Well I've never had one, not really, so I'm not certain how we establish that, or..."

She trailed off and felt her face turn crimson, though she hoped that he couldn't tell in the low light.

"You can call me your boyfriend, your lover, your wizard, your provider, anything you want."

Hermione exhaled, some of her anxiety about her captivity receding.  "Alright."

Hermione stared at him, and he had an odd expression on his face.  His silver eyes had almost turned black as he looked back down at her breasts and rubbed a thumb across them.

“You like it when I show you what to do in bed.  You want me to teach you, to lead you."

He bent down and tugged on a nipple with his lips, as if to prove a point, and Hermione's breath stuttered as her eyes rolled back.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Good.  And that means that you can call me whatever you want.  I’ll answer to it as long as I can keep doing this,” he added, and once again she felt his hand creeping back down between her legs.

"Then tell me," she breathed.  "Tell me what I am to you, Draco."

She heard his breath catch, and then to her shock he cupped her firmly between the legs with one hand and closed his other hand gently around her throat.  It was so surprising her eyes flew open as she gasped.

"You're my whole world and my everything, Hermione.  And now we’re both going to come.”

The hand on her sex impatiently shoved her knickers aside so he could press down on her bud, more urgent and firmer than usual.  The hand around her throat migrated into her hair until he was gripping it, tugging on it, just a touch harder than necessary.  Hermione cried out and began to writhe as he moved from her clit to her cunt and sank a finger into her, crooking it up.  He began to pump and brought her right to the edge of it before stilling and pulling back, and she looked at him in dismay as he halted everything he was doing.

"Say you're mine," he demanded.

"I'm yours," she agreed, and he began to move his fingers again, as his leaned down to lick her breasts and blow on them with cool air.  The cold made her skin pebble and her nipples tighten, and she was just at the edge again when he stopped a second time. 

"Draco!" she protested.

"I'm not done yet," he said.  "Tell me you will always follow my rules in bed.  You'll let me touch you when and how I want.  You'll trust me to be careful and always make it perfect for you.  And you won't do anything to yourself without my permission."

"Yes….” she said, so desperate for the release he was denying her that she would agree to almost anything.  Besides, she already trusted him to do all of those things.  He was so attentive and cautious with her.  She knew she could turn this over to him, and he wouldn't damage her.

He flicked her clit, and it made her spasm.  

“Draco, please…”

"Better," he grunted.  “I like to hear you beg.”

He resumed what he was doing and brought her close for a third time.  Hermione was on the precipice of something she had never experienced before.  She was certain that her previous orgasms would pale in comparison to what he was about to give her.  Just a little more and...

He pulled back again, and she cried out in frustration.

"Please, please Draco... let me... I need..."

She was almost incoherent, as she opened her eyes to find him sitting up and straddling her, while he stared down at her again.  He licked his lips as his gaze flicked between her breasts and her mouth.  His underwear was tented.  She felt his hardness pressing gently against her, and she knew what this was doing to him.  Sure enough, he gripped her hand and guided it toward his erection, slipping it in the band of his underwear.

"Show me what a good girl you are first," he said.  "Show me what you've learned, little dove."

She was so sexually frustrated that the fear she had felt the night before didn't hit her in the same way.  Besides, he wasn't undressing.  She couldn't see his cock, not really.  She was stroking it, just like she had the previous night, and before long he was doubling over and whispering a string of curses as he tried desperately to hold back.  He palmed her breasts, rolling her nipples in his fingers.

"I want to spaff all over them," he suddenly said.

Hermione opened her mouth in surprise, but before she could say anything else, he moved her hand out of the way and took over pumping himself.  Just the very tip emerged from his underwear as he grunted, and that same hot and sticky stuff soon painted her breasts.

She was breathing hard, eyes wide as she stared up at him, and he looked down at her, his own eyes still dark.

"You've never been prettier," he said thoughtfully, as he dipped a finger into it and smeared it around her to cover both nipples before looking her in the eye.  "You're topless for me, a sweet ribbon fluttering in your hair, wearing the symbol of my ancestor around your neck and my cum on your tits.  This is how I've always imagined you — claimed by me and all mine."

Hermione was breathless as she listened to him.  He was right, she realized.  She was all his like this.  How had she gotten here?  She scarcely knew.  But now that she was presented to him like this she realized she didn't want to be anywhere else.  

"Open up, and then you'll get your reward."

"Alright,” she said, barely conscious of what she was saying this time.  She had never imagined something like this before, not once.  The moment her jaw dropped, Draco's irises practically disappeared as he raised his soiled fingers to her lips.

He traced them, and his breathing went shallow as he watched her intently.

"This is a hundred times better than that fucking cherry lipstick.  My cum glistening on your lips.  I’ve thought about it dozens of times.  Fuck me, I am never going to forget this."

She let him do it, her own need building again as he collected more before placing it on her tongue.

"Suck," he demanded, and Hermione closed her mouth around his fingers.  It tasted mild, though the texture was a little strange.  But it wasn't bad, and now she understood the whispers from other girls about swallowing.  It might not be pleasant, but it wasn't terrible either.

Draco wasn't even blinking as he watched, and when he finally removed his fingers he allowed that same hand to drift back down between her legs.

"Your reward now, yes?  For being my perfect girl."

Hermione felt herself warming at the praise.  She always felt a bit wrong-footed about sexual things, but this had been good.  She had obviously done exactly what he wanted.  She felt proud of herself for managing this without any panic.  Draco was pleased, and now she knew he would be generous to her.

"Please Draco," she said, “I want it…” and sure enough Draco groaned as he picked up his pace.

He was affected by it, and heaven help her but she was too.  He did not hold back from her this time, and it built quickly until she was groaning for it, wriggling, getting ever closer.

"I want to give you everything, Hermione.  Say you'll let me do it.  You'll accept it.  And then you'll stay here with me and be mine."

She scarcely heard the words he was saying to her now, but she cried out her agreement just as she broke.

"Fuck..." he whispered with that same reverence that reminded her of the first time she orgasmed for him.  "More, my darling..."

And sure enough, he didn't stop and then it didn't stop, and Hermione continued to float as wave after wave washed over her.  It was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

By the time it was done, she was trembling and boneless, and Draco slid down next to her, licking his fingers clean.  She felt his hardness press into her again.  Evidently he was ready for another round.  But to her surprise and slight relief he didn't press her for it.  Instead he nestled into her and laid his head on her pillow, breathing in the scent of them together.

"You're exceptional," he said.  "An absolute dream come true."

She turned her head and looked at him hazily, feeling a little shy again.  His spend was still on her chest, and it was starting to dry.

"So you're my boyfriend, then?"

He smiled broadly.  "Obviously I'm your boyfriend."

He raised his head to look at her chest one last time and seemed to shudder.

"And I'll admit, being your boyfriend has some fantastic perks," he added.

Hermione gave a small laugh.  "It's sticky."

"It's perfect," he retorted.  "I want you to stay just like this until after I leave.  My last image as I walk away is going to be you topless and coated."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his dramatics.  "It's only three days, Draco."

He turned serious.  "I know that.  But it's three days too long.  I don't want to go."

Hermione softened and reached up to give him a kiss.  "Fine.  Then I can be sticky for a little longer."

He relaxed into a smile.  "Good.  Now stay right there for a minute.  I need to get something."

Hermione watched curiously as he rolled out of bed and disappeared into his room, returning moments later with a medium-sized flat box.  He sat on the edge of the bed as he handed it to her, and Hermione pulled the sheet over her as she sat up.  Draco, of course, nudged it back down so he could look.

Hermione flushed a little, but she let him do it.  He had seen her now.  It still felt a bit exposed like this, but it wasn't as jarring as the night before.  Besides, she really was sticky.  Getting more of it on the sheets was not at all appealing, and Hermione made a mental note to ask Poppy to change them for her today.

“I was going to wait and give this to you once your Aquila transformation was complete, but I don’t want you to be without them while I’m gone.  It’s coming along well enough that I know you’ll be able to do it soon.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering what this could be.

“Don’t tell me it’s another necklace,” she said, touching her Columba pendant a bit possessively.  She wasn't keen on taking it off, even if it was for another gift he was giving her.  She wore it around the clock now, both for the protection it gave her and the meaning behind it. 

He smiled knowingly and nodded toward the box.  “It’s not a necklace.  But you should see for yourself.”

Hermione slowly unwrapped the package and found a wooden box, with the Malfoy family crest on it.  She looked at him questioningly, but he gestured for her to continue, and she slowly raised the lid to find a pair of matching daggers, beautifully wrought with gold inlaid in the hilt in a design that looked almost like folded wings.  The design was old, but the blades were pristine.

She looked at him with wide eyes, but he just smiled.  “I thought it was appropriate for Aquila.  They were made for an Aquila, after all... another one of my ancestors who lived up to her name, though this one happened to be a Malfoy and not a Black.  Her name actually referenced the standard for the Roman legions, not the constellation, though of course they were both eagles.  Family legend has it that she maimed and murdered several people with these.”

Hermione hesitated a little at this, but then reached out to touch them, and they seemed to glow just a bit.  She blinked in surprise. 

“They’re enchanted and goblin made,” he explained.  “They’ve been passed down for centuries, but they are women’s blades, and nobody has used them in at least a hundred years.  Now that you’ve touched them they will be keyed to your magic for life.  Nobody will be able to take them from you while they are on your person unless you hand them over willingly.  And the size should be perfect – you are rather petite.  They will perform better for you than the ones you’ve been practicing with.”

She could scarcely believe it.  Only Draco Malfoy would give his girlfriend antique fighting knives as a gift.  Then again, something about them called to her.  They were stunning in their craftsmanship, like small works of art.  And he was right that they would be the perfect size for her and incredibly useful since they were goblin made.  Hermione had studied up on goblin blades and armor after Harry inherited the Sword of Gryffindor from Dumbledore.  She knew they were very valuable and rather rare.  They never went dull or tarnished.  The Sword of Gryffindor was the only one she had ever seen in person, until now.

She grasped one of the daggers and pulled it out of the case, noting the size and balance and weight.  She palmed it, trying a few grips with it, and then looked up to find him watching her with satisfaction.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I love them,” she said.  “You’re absolutely right that they are fitting for Aquila.”

He grinned broadly and leaned down to kiss her.  “Good.  I must say, giving them to you like this... well, I'm pretty sure I would come all over you again if you put that knife to my throat right now."

Hermione huffed a small laugh.  "I think I have enough on me, thanks."

"Shame," he said, as he reached for the knife she was holding, and Hermione handed it to him.  She felt the magic thrum, as though testing her willingness to part with it, before it released into Draco's hand.  He palmed the knife, then gently pushed her back against the headboard before he trailed the flat edge of it down her body once more.

"This, right here, is a truly spectacular vision," he murmured, as he moved the sheet and quilt off of her so he could see everything clearly.  

"Show me how wet you are," he said, as the blade moved down her stomach, and he nudged the edge of her knickers with the point.

Hermione took a deep breath, focused on her confidence from Aquila, and then drew her knees up and allowed them to fall open in front of him.  She felt impossibly wet all over, as he slid the flat side of the knife gently over her mound.

"Someday I want to cut your clothes off," he murmured thoughtfully.  "My knives have already marked you, have't they?  You're branded.  You're mine.   I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this.  And the day I finally cut off your knickers to reveal that hot little cunt it's going to make you drenched for me, isn’t it?  You know I'll never hurt you.  Not even a scratch.  But you're a Gryffindor.  You're Aquila.  You enjoy the risk of being under my knife."

"Draco..." she groaned.  He was getting her going again, and she scarcely understood why this turned her on so much.  It should frighten her, but he had trained this fear out of her.  Feeling a dagger against her skin was no longer terrifying, not when Draco was the one holding it.

"Look at that..." he tsked.  "My greedy girl.  Your knickers are getting wet again, my darling."

"Please Draco..." she sighed.

Draco gave a dark chuckle and then pressed the flat edge firmly against her cunt.  She struggled to control her breathing, as she began to tremble just a bit.  Draco, however, seemed to sense she wasn't trembling with fear.  It was need.

"Soak it all up," he said, as he used the small dagger against the fabric to carefully rub the tiniest of circles into her wetness.  When he finally pulled the knife away, Hermione opened her eyes to find him staring between her legs, his head cocked as though studying his handiwork.

"This is so beautiful," he said with a contented sigh.  "Pretty satin knickers with that adorable little bow on top.  Light pink, to match the ribbon in your hair of course.  Poppy gives you matching underthings whenever possible.  I'm sure you've noticed.  She always makes sure your bows match your outfits.  And then she makes sure your bra and knickers match your bows whenever your ribbon color cooperates.  She informs me every time she does it.  That always gives me a hint about what you're wearing underneath."

Hermione never bothered with this herself, but she had noticed this happened rather frequently whenever Poppy laid out clothes for her.  Just like her ribbons, she had a seemingly endless supply of knickers and bras, all delicate and very feminine and in every shade the rainbow, though the colors were all quite pale.  Poppy matched everything more often than not, and the rare times she couldn’t manage it Hermione always wore the pastel version of her ribbon color.  It was true she had a few pieces of black and navy lingerie, but it was held separately.  She had never worn any of it, and she only opened that drawer to look at it again as she considered the best way to seduce Draco the night before.  Eventually she dismissed the lingerie because she felt it would make her intentions too obvious.  But she had spent real time examining the pieces and noted that even at his most debauched, Draco seemed to have a strong preference for whites and light pinks and baby blues.  The black, navy, and emerald green options were scant by comparison, and the red she had seen on her first day at the Manor was missing entirely.  

After everything she had learned about Draco Malfoy it no longer surprised her to learn that he had been intentional about matching her ribbons and her knickers from the beginning.  She took a deep breath as she watched him study her between her legs, and she made herself let him look.

He seems to love it.  He's not turned off by anything he sees.  Be like Aquila and let him look, Hermione.

"That section of fabric between your legs is a completely different color now, isn't it, darling girl?  You did such a good job soaking them through for me, and now it's a much darker pink than everything else.  Imagine what it would be like if my cum was inside of you too.  I think these knickers would hold it in pretty well, don't you?  Or do you think it would spill out and run down those lovely thighs instead?"

"Oh God..." she groaned, and she unconsciously pressed her hips toward him, in a plea to do something.

But Draco just smirked and shook his head.  "No can do, I'm afraid.  I know your little cunt is swollen and aching, but unfortunately there's no time.  I need to leave soon, and we must discuss the rules before I go."

"The rules?" she said in dismay.  That string in her belly was as taught as it had ever been.  She couldn't believe he was about to leave her hanging like this. 

"The rules," he said firmly, as he placed the knife back on her nightstand.  "I’ve kept the outer wards up around the wing, but I unwarded your door before you woke up this morning so that you can practice with your new knives in the training room and visit Ginny and Luna if you wish.  But since I took down that layer of wards, I want you to wear the knives at all times while I’m gone, okay?  Even while you are sleeping.  Nothing should happen, but it will make me feel better.”

Hermione struggled to focus on what he was saying.  That feeling of wetness over her entire body was awfully distracting, and he was still holding her knees apart and openly admiring her while speaking.  She needed friction, pressure, something.

“And the door to the patio…” she forced herself to say.

“It’s locked and warded, but before you woke up I unwarded the small window in the training room so that you can sneak out and watch Mother’s party.  Transform there first, and please keep it closed and locked when you are inside the Manor.  There’s no reason anybody should discover it, but it’s the weakest point.”

Hermione swallowed hard and nodded.  It was a good plan, or at least she thought it would be a good plan if she could focus on it properly.  The training room had a single window that was very narrow and several stories high.  It would be nearly impossible for a person to slip through it, unless they were an animagus like Hermione.

“If anything feels off at the party, abandon it.  I don’t want you doing anything dangerous.  And if anything happens and you need us, call Theo through your bond.”

“You think it will work that far?” she asked breathlessly, as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force her frustration back down.

“I’ll tell Theo to test it as soon as he gets there, but I don’t see why not.”

“Alright.”

“And Poppy can get you anything else you need and—”

She opened her eyes again and saw that he looked slightly manic now.  Something about it broke through her own haze, and she reached up to cover his mouth with her hand.  “Draco.  It will be fine.  I’ve been living here for months and nobody has attempted to break in a single time.  Ginny, Luna, and I will have three days to practice our targets and animagi forms, and I’ll sneak away for a few hours for the garden party.  That’s it.  Don’t worry.”

“I always worry,” he said under her hand.

She pulled it away and leaned forward to kiss him before pressing her center toward him again in the hopes he would take the hint and cut off her knickers like he had suggested.  God, but she was wonton like this. 

“I know you do,” she said against his lips.  “But we’ll be fine, and if the bond with Theo still works then I can summon him in a moment if there is an emergency.”

Unfortunately he did not take her hint, and he kissed her back gently before cupping both cheeks in his hands.  “Be sure that you do.  Merlin, I hate this…”

He kissed her again until she was dizzy before breaking away.  

“Wear the knives,” he said sternly.  “And if anybody gives you any trouble at the party, gut them.  I don’t care who it is.  I need to go, but I'll see you in three days, my darling, and then we will pick up where we left off.”

"Wait... please..." she said, one more time.

Draco, however, glanced down at her and then back up at her face.  His expression had turned shrewd, almost calculating, before he moved so quickly that Hermione gasped in surprise.  He was between her legs now, covering her center with his entire hand.  His erection was pressing into her stomach, straining the fabric of his underwear.  He was so hard that the large thing he was pressing into her abdomen was slightly painful as his face came within an inch of hers.

"You think this is easy for me?" he asked, as he massaged her knickers into her further, making her gasp.  "You think I want to leave you, ever, especially when you’re fucking panting for it?"

"Then why not—" she started, but he cut her off.

"Because now is not the time," he said.  "I have to be there within the next ten minutes, and I'm not even dressed yet.  But this is what you're going to do.  You're going to take a little time and imagine all the things I want to do to you.  You're going to think about my knife on your skin, shredding your underthings to make you naked for me until there is nothing left.  You're going to imagine my face between your thighs and my tongue so far inside of you I'm gagging on your cunt.  You're going to envision laying back and spreading your legs for me while I fuck you into the mattress.  And finally, you’re going to think about my cum running out of you, a fucking millennia's worth of Malfoy purity coating every intimate part, before I use my fingers to shove it back inside.  You’re going to think about all of it, and it’s going to scare you just a little bit, but then you’ll remember that I’m the one who gets to have your fear.  That means you’ll let me do it anyway, and once you trust me with it, you’ll come so hard you’ll see galaxies.  Imagine all of it my little dove, and once you feel so wet you want to combust, you're going to take your knickers off and tell Poppy to leave them in my nightstand at Nott Castle so I can examine them as soon as I'm able to break away from the Dark Lord.  But you will not touch yourself.  That's my pleasure, and it has to wait until I return." 

And with that missive Draco released her, ignoring Hermione's wide-eyed stare.  He took one last look at her bare breasts and open legs before he shuddered and turned to stride into his room. 

When his door shut, Hermione slumped against the headboard, still shaking as she imagined all the things he told her to think about.  To her consternation, she did become even more sodden, and now she was certain the sheets would need to be changed before she slept in this bed again. 

He was such an intense person, and every bit of it was focused on her when they were like this together.  Hermione struggled to control her breathing, as she slowly came down from the peak of her frustration.  She was still woefully unsatisfied, but that knot in her belly would loosen eventually.  She thought she might have a bath after she called for Poppy to take her knickers to Draco.

She blushed at the thought, but she knew she would do it.  Aquila gave her the confidence and Columba gave her the desire to please him.  Somehow she just knew he would hold them up tonight and stare at them because he couldn't stare at her.

After several long minutes, she finally vanished the mess on her chest with a wave of her hand and then rolled out of bed to dress.  She blushed as she hooked her fingers into the elastic of her ruined knickers and began to tug.  She was just pulling them down when she thought she heard the roar of a fire that told her Draco had left the Manor, or at least his wing of it.

Something about it made her pause, knickers around her knees, as she considered this curious sound.  Perhaps she found it so strange because she didn’t know there was a second floo connection in their warded wing.  She had never heard it activate in all the times Draco had visited Voldemort.  He must have floo'd directly from his bedroom because he was running behind schedule or perhaps he feared waking the others in the Manor.  And only then did she realize that she had never been curious about his bedroom in all the months she had lived there.  She had never been inside of it.  She had never looked through his window as a bird.  She had never even thought to ask him about it.

She straightened up, and her knickers fell to the floor in a damp heap, but Hermione wasn't thinking about them at all anymore.

She was thinking about Draco’s bedroom, until she wasn't.  She couldn't seem to hold onto the thought.  Her curiosity simply drained out her, like water from a sieve.

No, she wasn’t curious about Draco’s bedroom at all.

How very curious indeed.

******

Hermione’s bond with Theo did work all the way to Nott Castle, though it felt a bit like talking to each other at opposite ends of a cavernous room.  They had a short conversation where he confirmed that all three of them had arrived and were meeting Voldemort soon, and then Theo tried siphoning the anxiety that spiked in Hermione after he told her this.  It helped calm her down, though she was still a bit on edge.

After Hermione’s odd observation about Draco’s bedroom, she called Poppy to deliver the promised knickers and then turned to study the door connecting their rooms.  She tried to open it for the first time since she moved in, but it wouldn’t budge.  It had a small cat door that Crookshanks frequently used, but she was thwarted by it.  Even when she transformed into Columba and tried to fly through the cat door it didn’t work.  He had added an antianimagi ward to it.

He was actively keeping her out.  

His exterior door to the hallway was warded the same way.  Each time she touched one of the doors she felt her interest wane when she really focused on it – and this told her that her natural curiosity was being magically depleted.  It wasn’t a Notice-Me-Not, precisely, because she could still see both doors.  She knew where they were, and she could approach them and touch them and knock on them.  In other words, she could summon Draco whenever he was on the other side of them.  But the room behind those doors held no interest for her, and in that respect it had a similar effect as a Notice-Me-Not in that it was something her mind couldn’t seem to actively think about without significant effort.  She didn’t recognize the charm that caused this, but she took to calling it an Ignore Me charm in her mind.  That’s precisely what she had been doing for months, after all.

When she slipped out to investigate the wing by herself for the first time, she discovered that his upper study was also locked and warded and had the same Ignore Me charm placed on it.  But the training room was open, just as Draco had promised.  

Theo and Blaise had left both of their rooms open too, though Hermione knew they slept with Luna and Ginny at night, so there was no reason for them to keep those spaces locked and hidden away anymore.  Much like Draco’s and Hermione’s arrangement, each pair of bedrooms had a connecting door between them.  All four of her friends' rooms were approximately the same size – well proportioned and large, but not enormous like Hermione’s.  And none of them had the added parlor space that Hermione enjoyed.

The other two couples had moved in together in a more permanent way than Hermione and Draco had thus far.  Whereas Draco spent an ample amount of time in her room and slept there now, his clothes and other belongings still resided in that mysterious bedroom that Hermione had to force herself to be curious about.  For the others, their moves had been complete with all belongings consolidated into a single space.  The extra connecting bedroom then became free for whatever they wished.  

Blaise and Ginny’s extra room had been converted to a small parlor to mimic the space Hermione had.  She noticed it was filled with things from the Burrow that the wizards had collected, and it made Hermione almost nostalgic to see it.  Theo’s and Luna’s spare room looked much like a study and had extra shelves added for a miniature library.  The colors in all four rooms were precisely what Hermione would have expected when she first arrived: dark woods and light green wallpaper, along with silver fixtures and the occasional snake motif.  The rooms contained some personal touches to be sure, but nothing to the extent of Hermione’s room.  

Her blue, white, and gold room was clearly an anomaly in several different ways.

She casually asked Ginny and Luna if they had ever been into Draco’s bedroom, and both of them looked at her like she had three heads.

“No,” said Ginny.  “Why would I?”

Hermione shrugged.  “I was just wondering.  I thought Theo and Blaise had been in it before.”

Ginny and Luna agreed that the other wizards had been in it before, and this raised even more questions for Hermione.  While it was true that the wizards were his best friends, why hadn’t she been invited in too?

She mulled this over – as much as the magic would allow her to at any rate – while the first day slipped away.  Theo checked in on her a few more times and reported that Draco had managed a kill with one of his hawks that impressed Voldemort, and Blaise’s horsemanship was admired.  

All three of them had set the stage for the girls to arrive at a later hunt.  Draco let it be known he was training a golden eagle and hoped to have her ready to hunt soon, which apparently made many of the other Death Eaters jealous.  Theo mentioned he was training a new hunting dog, and Blaise announced he was breaking in a new horse that was an expert jumper.  Ginny blanched a bit when she heard this news (“Why the hell is he saying I’m a good jumper when I haven’t even finished the transformation yet?”).  Voldemort seemed gratified that they were excited to return with their new animals for a later weekend, and not for the first time Hermione considered just how absurd this was.  It was especially true when her initial suspicions that he would host hunts during the day and revels at night proved correct, as Theo reached out to her that evening.

There's a revel tonight.  There will probably be a couple challenges that will end in boons being redistributed, and we’ve heard a few prisoners will be given away for pleasure before they are tortured and killed at the end of the night. I suppose the prostitutes will be there too.  Tell Luna and Ginny that none of us are interested, and we just plan to gamble instead.

All three girls grimaced a bit when Hermione conveyed his message, but they trusted their wizards to behave themselves.  Sure enough, Theo chimed in again late that night with an update.

Cassius Warrington made the huge mistake of challenging Draco for you, and Draco nearly killed him and then took one of his hands for it in retaliation.  I don’t know what the fuck he was thinking, but you don’t have anything to worry about on that front ever again.  Blaise and I also engaged in a little prisoner torture to reinforce the message not to fuck with us either.  Please let Luna and Ginny know so they aren’t worried.  The only other notable thing that happened was Adrian Pucey lost his boon to Marcus Flint.  I doubt Pansy knows about it because she made him give up his last one.  Draco wants me to tell you he misses you and wishes you were here.     

That’s very violent, Theo.  

It had to be violent.   It kept you safe. 

I suppose you’re right.  I’ll admit I’m relieved he won.

There was never any question about that.  Warrington must have forgotten why Draco rose as high as he did.  He and the others won’t forget again.

So we’re all safe now?

Yes, all three of you are perfectly safe.  Is everything alright there?

Yes.  You can tell Draco I practiced with my new knives today, and I absolutely love them.  My aim has never been better.  I’m settled in for bed now and still wearing them like he asked.  Please thank him for winning the challenge today.  I don’t want to be given to anybody else.

A few seconds later Hermione felt her palms tingle, and she smiled to herself.  Draco had performed the tracking spell on her a few times that day, no doubt to make sure she was still alive and well within the wards of Malfoy Manor.  This time, though, she knew Theo had just given him her message, and he was simply telling her goodnight.

Hermione pushed the thought of Warrington’s missing hand out of her mind and tried to wonder about Draco’s bedroom before she fell asleep, but the thought left her head the moment it hit the pillow.

******

Draco had been in a state of sweet agony since seeing Hermione's tits for the first time — he checked his watch — exactly thirty-eight hours ago.  They were lovelier than he had ever imagined, her nipples a shade of pink just a touch darker than her lips.  In fact, that precise shade of pink was so utterly perfect that he had instructed Poppy to replace Hermione's nail polish with something that matched so that every time he saw her hands going forward he would think of her nipples too.  

Poppy was a valuable servant and was used to odd requests like this by now.  She did not question her master's instructions of course.  She also saw Hermione naked often enough that she assured Draco that she could find something suitable, and Miss Hermione's nails would be polished to Master's precise specifications by the time he returned from Nott Castle.

Draco reflexively touched the knickers in his pocket, his fingers quickly finding the gusset where her arousal had dried in a thick coat.  The moment he arrived in his room the previous day he found them in the nightstand, still very damp due to the quantity she had produced.  He studied every inch of them, and then came for the third time in two hours.

Because yes, obviously he had wanked himself to completion the moment he left her aching for release the day before.  She was so close to exploding for him that ten minutes would have been plenty of time to get them both off before getting dressed, but Draco wanted her needy and thinking of him so he hadn’t obliged.  He, of course, required that glorious wank in order to focus around the Dark Lord, but she had no such obligations so he decided she could sit in it while Draco handled matters at Nott Manor.  He set a personal record when he came in one minute and twenty-seven seconds as he recalled his knife on her cunt and his cum on her chest.  He even had time for a few gulps of tea before he had to leave.

By the time he was done with the Dark Lord and found her knickers in his nightstand, he was perfectly ready for round three.

That one also took very little time as he remembered all the things he had done to her.  At first he couldn't fucking believe she had gone along with it, but then he remembered she was absolutely perfect so of course she had gone along with it once she realized it was a fantasy of his.  She would do nearly anything for him, hadn't she proven that already?  She would kill for him, push the limits of her sexuality for him, and always forgive him...

Draco's stomach soured, and he forced that unwelcome thought away.  

No.  Stop it.  Everything will be fine.

The problem, of course, was that every day they got closer together, and Draco both loved it and dreaded it in equal measure.  He couldn't keep his secrets from her much longer.  The guilt was starting to eat him alive, because something told him she wouldn't be pleased when she learned about everything he had done for her.  But all of it was good, wasn't it?  Every single thing he had done would give her protection and security.  The Order had proven themselves to be utter shit when it came to taking care of Hermione, and Draco would never trust them to do it again.  It was his responsibilty, his privilege to fill that role for her, even if she wasn't aware of most of it.

She had said she would accept the things he could give her.  It was true, he had been edging her at the time, but she still said it, didn't she?  Then again, maybe she didn't know what she was saying.  Draco himself had almost blurted out all of his secrets while staring at his cum on her tits.

Fucking hell.

He grew harder as he remembered.  She let him claim her in nearly every way a man could claim a woman, and Draco was certain it was only a matter of time now before she gave him her virginity too.  Gods, but she was the most fuckable thing he had ever seen.  He made a mental note to have a quick wank before he finally fucked her or else he would risk blowing his load the moment he felt her tight passage close around him.

And she was so tight... so deliciously tight.  Thank Merlin she loved clitoral stimulation, because Draco typically got her off that way, with just gentle strokes inside of her to gauge how wet she was.  Sure, he would always press on her G-spot a little bit.  He had found it, and she really liked it.  But he made a point not to stretch her too much whenever he touched it.  She didn't need it to get off, and he just knew she would have the tightest little cunt he had ever plunged if he was careful with her until it was finally time.

He really needed to tell her everything before he finally fucked her, though.  It was rather important if he was going to get her cooperation with the full scope of his plan.  

His guilt spiked again, and he began to pace, rubbing on her knickers a bit harder to make himself calm down.  He had been doing this ever since he left her early the previous morning: oscillating between a painful erection as he remembered that image of her nested in their bed, topless, needy, and dripping and crippling anxiety as he thought about her reaction when he finally confessed everything.

But it will be fine.  Nothing about it is bad or harmful or even that objectionable.  It will just surprise her, that's all.  She will accept it.  She will understand why I did it without telling her about it first.  And she will be ready to know soon.  I'm her boyfriend, now.

Truthfully, Draco considered himself to be far more than a boyfriend, but he celebrated the milestone anyway because it was something she had named all on her own.  Hermione needed to take things slow, he had known that from the very beginning.  The fact that she had suggested naming the thing happening between them had given him an enormous boost of confidence.  It meant she was emotionally invested in him now.  Everything was going beautifully.  

But boyfriends and girlfriends could break up.  That was why Draco needed even more from her.  He wanted some sign that she viewed him as a permanent fixture in her life before he told her everything.  

Soon.  It will be soon.  We just have to get through the weekend first with no disasters.

The potential for disaster, unfortunately, felt heightened this weekend.  Perhaps that was why he was so on edge. 

It had nothing to do with Warrington or other, routine Death Eater business.  No, Draco had handled Warrington with an efficiency and brutality that seemed to stun the others.  Draco knew to expect challenges now and then.  The lower ranked Death Eaters were always vying for scraps, and Draco and friends were young and ranked ahead of most of the others.  Then again, the other Death Eaters knew that Draco was very possessive over his boon, and he was surprised that Warrington was stupid enough to challenge Draco for her.  Draco’s only explanation for it was that Warrington must have been so driven by jealousy and a desire to warm his limp prick that he forgot what Draco was capable of.  

Draco reminded him and everyone else who watched what happened to Death Eaters who threatened to take his Hermione away from him.  Draco took a hand and then castrated him for daring to try.  Theo assured him he did not mention that last bit to Hermione, of course.  His darling girl was too sweet to worry herself with details like that.

But Warrington would be fine.  Draco gave him the courtesy of not using a cursed knife, so his body parts could be magically grown back.  The Dark Lord preferred nothing permanent happening during the challenges.

The thing making Draco on edge was being away from her.  He didn't like any distance between them, especially not when she was about to undertake her first mission as an animagus.  He certainly didn't want her fluttering around the fucking gardens all alone, which would surely be ripe with gossip.  He wasn't exactly sure how it would fuck him over, but something told him that the garden party was a terrible idea.  He had been resistant to it, but he couldn't tell Hermione the reasons he didn't want her to be there.  He had backed himself into a corner with it and really had no choice but to let her attend.

And not only that, but now Draco had to look for that fucking snake and the invisibility cloak.  Merlin knew what the Dark Lord would do if he got even the slightest hint of what Draco and the others were up to.  Every time Draco thought about it he was torn between rage that Hermione had been given a suicide mission by Dumbledore and deep satisfaction that he had played her perfectly the night before because it meant he finally got to see her tits.

His darling girl was fairly manipulative when she wanted something, he had always known that.  Draco had watched her lie and manipulate others for years at school, and he admired her skills.  But Draco had studied Hermione intently since they were eleven years old, and that meant she was hopeless when it came to manipulating him.  

Of course he let her believe she was doing it anyway because he thought it was the cutest thing he had ever seen when she turned her big hazel eyes on him and pretended to bite her lip.  He immediately knew she was trying to seduce him to coax another name off his list.  Draco didn’t really care about her mission, other than the fact that she was clearly determined to continue on with it, even if she had to do it alone.  That would not be happening under Draco’s watch, so he was glad he knew about it now.  But the only reason he gave up Snape was because he had a small surplus of names, and he sensed she would reward him for it by finally letting him in a bit more.  

It was true he hadn’t banked on having to kill the fucking snake and steal from the Dark Lord as part of it, but he supposed he should have expected something like that.  Hermione was the most unique and impressive witch he had ever met.  It shouldn’t have surprised him that she wouldn’t give up her tits for something as mundane as Snape’s life.  No, he had to promise that he would hunt down the horcruxes and Hallows too before her nightgown came off.

It was certainly not ideal, but it did make her very cooperative.  Draco decided that the opportunity to nut all over her tits made their deal worth it, even if he was somewhat reluctant to fulfill his end of the bargain.

Draco and the others would have to look for both the snake and cloak now, and there was no question that it was risky.  They absolutely couldn't get caught or all three of them would die very painful deaths, and then the girls would be at risk of discovery.

At least Theo and Blaise had the same reaction that Draco did when he told them about it: utter horror and then resignation as they realized their witches would fucking insist that they help with this or else close their legs in retaliation.  It wasn't that Draco wanted the Dark Lord to be alive, but Draco was perfectly comfortable playing both sides so he was in no rush to hasten his demise.  With the Dark Lord in power, Draco had a blanket license to torture whenever he needed to let off some steam, and Hermione was forced to be in hiding under Draco's protection.  He quite liked both of those things, and once the Dark Lord died Draco knew the torture would have to end, and he worried that Hermione's stay with him would end too.

Especially if Pansy or Mother fucks me over at the garden party, and I’m forced to tell Hermione everything before I’m ready.

His stomach started churning again, and he began to pace faster than ever, rubbing her knickers for reassurance.

“Stop that, you’re driving me mad,” muttered Theo.  He was perched on a nearby bed, flipping through The Daily Prophet.  Draco knew that Theo was dragging his feet about the search for Nagini just as much as Draco was.  They had put it off for the past hour or more.

Draco glared at his best mate before glancing down at the threadbare rug and sighing.  Perhaps Theo was right: too much more of this, and he might wear a hole through it. 

The rooms at Nott Castle were sparse and poorly furnished, but he and his friends knew which ones to select.  They were smaller than most, but very private.  The room they were in had been Draco’s usual room while Tiberius was alive.  Theo had always been stationed in one of the larger chambers while he was the heir, but he moved into a smaller room on the first floor once the castle was turned over to the Dark Lord.  Blaise’s usual room was immediately next door to Theo’s.  But all three had a tendency to dwell in Draco’s room when they were here together.  It was an end chamber and was afforded more privacy that way.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” muttered Draco.  

“What was he supposed to do?” asked Blaise, who was lounging on a chair in the corner.  Blaise was also not eager to begin the search for Nagini and had opted to light a cigar instead.  He was blowing smoke rings as he considered the problem before them.  “The entire reason you made Hermione learn to be a garden bird was to get another spy.  You told her it was for garden parties.  Theo simply pointed out that you can’t turn around and ban her from garden parties now that her transformation is complete.  She would want to know why.”

“But she shouldn’t go to this one!” insisted Draco, throwing his hands in the air.  “Everyone will be there!  Everyone.”

“They all go to all of them mate, you know that,” pointed out Theo.  “If you didn’t want Hermione to be there, you should have stuck with a single animagus form.”

“You know why I needed her to learn two,” he pointed out.

Theo rolled his eyes.  “You could have just asked her to slice her palm open a second time.  There was no need to do it as part of an animagus ritual.”

Draco glared at him.  “You know I hated that part.  Besides, having a spy really is helpful.  It’s just…” he trailed off as he continued to pace and gripped his hair in his hands.

“It’s just that you’re afraid she will overhear something you don’t want her to know.”

“Obviously,” said Draco, spinning around and glaring at him again.  “I am so close to being able to tell her everything.  She’s into me now, I know she is.  She even asked me to be her boyfriend yesterday!  I just want to do it on my own time, that’s all.”

Theo sighed, and Blaise gave him a speculative look.

“What?” demanded Draco.  

“I know you two have been plotting something,” said Blaise, gesturing between them.  “I don’t want to know what it is, but I can guess.  And if it’s what I think it is, then you need to tell her soon, mate.”

A muscle in Draco’s jaw twitched.  It was true that he and Theo had not let Blaise in on the things Draco had been arranging for Hermione, but his friend was no fool.  He was familiar enough with ancient magic that Draco knew he would probably guess.  Mercifully, Blaise was naturally circumspect and wasn’t the type to push for things that weren’t his business.  Nor was he particularly bothered by secrets being kept from him.  Draco knew it was because Blaise was intelligent and observant enough to usually figure things out on his own without having to be told.

“I will.”

“I mean very soon,” prompted Blaise.  “Preferably after the garden party tomorrow when you get home.”

Draco paused his pacing.  “Why?” he asked suspiciously, as his stomach clenched again, and he fisted the knickers in his pocket.

It's too early for her to know.

Blaise shrugged.  “I’m going to tie with Ginny if the Dark Lord will allow it.  I plan to ask him before we leave tomorrow.  You know I’ve been softening him up.”

This news made Draco and Theo both stop what they were doing and look at Blaise with amazement. 

“You’re really going to…” started Draco.

“Yes,” said Blaise.  “If he will agree.  She’s Sacred Twenty-Eight, and he believes she’s turned.  I’ve risen high enough to ask, and Tracy Davis started making very obvious hints at the last fête.  You know her father is rather high up.  I want to head it off before the Dark Lord gets any bright ideas about matching us.”

“You think Ginny will agree?” asked Theo curiously.

A flash of anxiety crossed Blaise’s face, but he nodded.  “I think so.  She told me she loves me.  And you know we don’t have to do the rest of it right away.  We can wait a few years.”

They fell silent, and Draco gave himself the luxury of feeling desperately jealous for just a brief moment.  Blaise and even Theo were in a less precarious position than Draco was.  Neither of them had family members who objected to their witch.  Both of their witches were in love with them.  Draco wanted that too, more than anything, but it hadn’t been enough time.

She will fall in love with me soon.  She has to.  And Mother’s opinions don’t matter.

“Why does Draco need to tell Hermione then?  Won’t the Dark Lord be distracted by you and Ginny?” asked Theo.

Draco was pulled out of his ruminations by this question.

Blaise gave them both a piercing look.  

“Yes, for now.  But who do you think he will he focus on once mine is done?  I assume you will need time to bring Hermione on board once you tell her.”

“Fuck you’re right,” groaned Theo, and Draco felt another lurch of nerves before he forced himself to breathe and think about it rationally.

“Look,” he said, “let’s see how the Dark Lord reacts to Blaise.  And if I absolutely have to tell Hermione when we get back I will find a way to do it.  But if it's not critical… well I’d really prefer to wait until she’s in love with me.  I think she will be there soon, and that should help smooth things over if she's displeased.”

Both of his friends gave him sympathetic looks.

“Fair enough,” agreed Theo.  “I’ll tell her to stay away from the younger ones at the garden party tomorrow.”

“And there’s no guarantee they will be gossiping anyway,” said Blaise, in an effort to make Draco feel better.

At this Draco just snorted.  “Are you kidding me?  Pansy is going to be there.  Of course they will be gossiping.”

“We will keep her focused on the older witches,” insisted Theo.  “It will be fine.”

“Merlin I hope so,” muttered Draco, but somehow he just knew it wasn’t going to be fine.

He muttered the silent tracking spell and closed his eyes to find her.  Her precise location crystallized in his mind’s eye, and he knew she was in her room at the Manor.  

He breathed a sigh of relief, though he didn’t know why.  The party wasn’t until the next day.  He had nothing to worry about until then.

It will be fine.  It’s all going to be fine.  Theo will keep her away from the younger ones, and we might get real intelligence we need from the older witches.

Even if she didn’t stay with the older witches there was no reason to think the younger ones would be talking about him or the others.  It wasn’t like Draco and his friends were the center of the universe.  Pansy was engaged, after all.  Surely she would be talking about wedding plans and guest lists and other nonsense like that.

It will be fine.  It will be fine.  It will be fine.

Draco really wished he could believe it.

He gripped the knickers harder than ever and started to pace again.

******

The next day passed much like the first, though Theo reported that the three wizards had broken away for a time to search for Nagini.  They had not found her, but Theo said the property was so extensive they had not searched the whole thing just yet, and they would try to leave the group the following day to continue looking as well.

He did report that Voldemort had worn the same buckle on his cloak two days in a row, despite the fact that the cloak itself was different each day.  It was wrought in gold and shaped into a serpent.  They had not found a way to cast the detection spell on it without him noticing it, but Theo said that if he wore it for the third day in a row they would suspect he had created at least one more horcrux.  To their knowledge it was the only thing that had remained the same from one day to the next.

The invisibility cloak was nowhere to be found, but curiously Blaise had overheard Voldemort complaining about his wand to Bellatrix.  He seemed to feel it was still no better than his original yew and phoenix feather wand, and in fact he had put it away in some undisclosed location and had taken to using his old wand again.  This was a fascinating tidbit that sent Hermione’s mind into a bit of a spiral, because she had thought that Snape was the Elder Wand's master after killing Dumbledore.  Voldemort had tried to kill Snape in the Shrieking Shack, and that should have made the wand’s power transfer to him, or so she thought.  Then again, now that Harry was dead, Voldemort didn’t seem to find the wand as critical as it had once been.  It was surely the reason Voldemort didn't try to kill Snape a second time after the Battle of Hogwarts concluded.  It had served its purpose in killing Harry, even if its powers didn’t live up to the legend.

Once again Draco tracked Hermione a few times to make sure she was alright and then said goodnight with one lingering tingle to her palms.  It didn’t hurt, and it seemed to warm her from the inside.

The last day without Draco was Narcissa’s garden party, and Hermione transformed early in the morning to flit around and watch the elves set everything up.  She staked out several perches that were discreet – trees that had not yet lost their leaves and even a few bushes and shrubs with crevices where she would go unnoticed.  Her hearing and eyesight were both better as Columba than as Hermione, so she didn’t have to be terribly close to eavesdrop.  The gardens were charmed to be warm, so guests could enjoy all of the autumn colors without any of the chill, and Hermione was delighted to discover a couple of new bird feeders filled with seeds and dried berries that she was almost certain Draco had left out for her.

Draco seemed to be on edge because he located her more often that day.  Oddly enough, she could still feel it as Columba, though it was the pattern on her chest that tingled, and it wasn’t as strong when she was in that form.  She didn’t know if this was because Columba only had one marking while Hermione had two, or if it had something to do with feeling the spell through feathers.  Either way, it was fainter, though he did it so frequently she finally reached out to Theo in exasperation.

Tell Draco to bugger off please.  I’m just doing some reconnaissance in the gardens before everyone gets here.  I’m trying to find the best perches near the tables.

Sorry, but he’s worried and in a foul mood.  Please let him track you or the Dark Lord might notice he’s off his game today.

Hermione mentally huffed, but Theo's warning about Voldemort struck true, and she ceased objecting.  Hermione would not do anything to risk him.

By the time the party began he was being persistent, and Theo alerted Hermione to let her know that he and Draco were looking for the snake together so that she could give them real time updates.

Theo, that’s ridiculous.

Please, Hermione, he’s driving me mad.  Can you just play along for my sanity?

Hermione mentally sighed and flittered to a nearby tree while she watched Narcissa greet her guests.  She called out names as she heard Narcissa say them.

There’s a Grace, Violet, Imelda, Anne, Liz, both Greengrass sisters, Pansy, Milicent, Cassandra, Tracy Davis, Pamela…

On and on she recited names until she finally asked, Does Narcissa know I’m here?  She’s calling every single person by their first name.

No, she doesn’t know you’re an animagus, said Theo.  She just believes in a receiving line.

Of course she does.

Once the last guest arrived – which happened to be Nita – Theo gave her Draco’s orders.

Don’t worry about the younger ones.  They won’t have any good gossip, and Pansy reports anything they say back to Draco.  Stick to Violet Parkinson and Anne Rosier.  They’ve both been cold toward Narcissa recently, and they haven’t told her anything in ages.  

I don’t know, Theo, the ones our age look like they’re trying to break away from the others to talk about something.

Ignore them, please.  They aren’t the priority.  We will hear about it from Pansy.

Hermione had to admit she was suspicious, and she kept one eye on Astoria in particular as she flitted toward Violet and Anne.  

“...boons.  I can’t abide it.  I know the Dark Lord intends to use them as nothing more than breeders eventually, but the men’s heads are turning.  I don’t like it, Violet.”

“I told Frederick that if he brought his home I would curse his line to be girls forever.  He will never sire a boy who could claim the estate, not from me, not from anybody,” said a surprisingly young woman who looked very much like Pansy Parkinson.  Hermione wondered just how young she had been when Pansy was born.

Surely no older than seventeen or eighteen.  She doesn't even look forty yet.  

“At least Pansy has made her position clear with Marcus," Violet added.  "He actually gave his boon up for her.”

Anne nodded approvingly, and Hermione mentally snorted.

“When will the Dark Lord demand children?” asked Anne.  “Have you heard?  Because Evan’s boon is just a child herself.  It’s positively degrading…”

“Hopefully no time soon.  Many of them aren’t even purebloods.”

“Yes, but a few are.  Evan seems to think that some of the younger Death Eaters plan to ask the Dark Lord for permission to tie and then marry their boons.  They claim to have turned them.  Can you imagine?”

Hermione ruffled her feathers in some discomfort at this. 

“Surely he won’t agree," said Violet, who was frowning harder than ever.

“It’s like anything else, Violet,” said Anne knowingly.  “It all depends on the favor they are currying with him.”

“Well at least Pansy is properly engaged,” said Violet with some relief.  “Marcus is behaving himself, and Frederick and I are hopeful that this one will be a boy.  This pregnancy has been different from Pansy and her sisters."

She patted her abdomen, which Hermione only now saw was just a bit swollen, and Anne gave her an approving nod, while Hermione mentally rolled her eyes.

“At least my son recently wed,” added Anne with some relief.  “The Rosiers won’t have to suffer the indignity of a whore becoming his wife.”

The two women saw Narcissa approaching, and Hermione sank back into the leaves as she reached out to Theo.

Violet and Anne seem to think the boons are going to be used as breeders and that some of the younger Death Eaters want to marry their boons.  You don’t happen to know anything about that do you?

She could practically feel Theo grimacing in her head.  

We are aware of it and are handling it.

Who is getting married, Theo?

Blaise, if he’s lucky enough for both the Dark Lord and Ginny to agree.

Hermione blinked her little bird eyes in surprise and ruffled her feathers again.

Not you or Draco?

I told you we’re handling it.

I don’t know about this, Theo.

Look, don’t worry about it.  We already know that news so keep listening or move on.

I really think I should go listen to Pansy and Daphne.  They look like somebody died.

Don’t.  It’s not worth your time.

Violet and Anne apparently weren’t worth my time either based on what you’re saying.

Please, Hermione, just stay away from them.  It’s the older witches who have the gossip we can’t get from someone else.

Hermione shoved him out of her head at this, as a thought crossed her mind.

Were Theo and Draco trying to keep her away from the younger witches for some reason?  Was that why Draco was apparently so on edge he was actively monitoring her conversation with Theo?

She felt Theo knocking on her connection, and she opened it tentatively.

Don’t shut me out.

I was flying, Theo, you’re distracting me when I’m in the air.

Who are you near now?

Liz and Mildred.  They are the oldest, just like you wanted.

In reality, Hermione was fluttering toward the witches her age.

Good.  What are they talking about?

Right now?  Remedies for rheumatoid arthritis.  I’ll let you know if it turns interesting.

He fell silent as Hermione focused on the small group of younger Slytherin girls.  They were standing in a circle, all in dress robes of various autumn colors, set apart from the older women.  

“…sure you still want him?” said Pansy skeptically.  “He’s changed.”

“Has he really?” asked Daphne wryly.  “He’s never been a warm person, not even in bed — and let’s not forget he’s shagged several of us.  We all tried to make him care, and it never worked.  He’s always been a cold bastard.”

“The past doesn’t matter,” insisted Astoria.  “He’s the best for me, and Narcissa is in favor.  He will come around or we will force the issue.”

Draco.  They were talking about Draco.  Draco, who had evidently shagged multiple girls who were at the party.

Hermione knew his past shouldn't matter, but she still felt ill when she considered it.  She hated the thought of him with other girls, and it made her feel more self-conscious than ever.  Before that moment she had felt proud of herself for their last encounter together.  It had been exciting, enjoyable, and she didn't panic a single time, not even when he touched her down there with her knife.  But she was still so inexperienced.  What if she wasn't as good at sexual things as the other girls were?

But Daphne said he's always been cold to them.  He hasn't been cold to me since I arrived at the Manor.  Surely he wasn't pretending.

That seed of doubt was planted though, and Hermione's stomach twisted in knots as she began to worry.