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Chapter Text

Hermione stood on the hill, Harry and Ron in front of her. She needed time away from them; it was all too much, the locket, the Horcruxes, the war. Hermione let out a sigh, she felt shame that a part of her craved the warmth of Hogwarts, the cozy fires and blankets, the books. Nowadays, the only books she read were about Horcruxes. After they lost the battle of Hogwarts, she, Harry and Ron fled; her main job was to keep him safe and find a way to kill Voldemort. It had been so long since she felt comfort, almost two years since the Death eaters had come for Harry when the love spell was lifted, Hermione had been seventeen then, she was Nineteen now.

 She could see the two boys setting up their tent and starting a fire. She had told them no magic, and they had no idea what Voldemort could be using to try and track them. She slowly began to stumble down the hill towards them—the full day of walking caught up to her. Hermione saw Harry gather up twigs and branches, placing them in a log cabin-like structure. Ron raised his wand, and Hermione panicked. 

“No!” she screamed, running towards them. Her footing was unstable, she slipped and fell, tumbling down the hill, her eyes wide with horror as Ron cast a spell. 

“Incendio!” A burst of blue flame left the wand, the sticks caught one fire easily, the dead leaves and twigs shrivelled up, and the scent of smoke filled the air. Hermione stood up on her shaky legs. She knew what she had to do. 

“Ron, your wand!” she screamed, running towards him. She knew she only had a few seconds. She tackled her friend to the ground, whipping his wand out of his hands. Pushing away from him, she looked for Harry. “Run! Harry, Ron, Run!” they didn’t move, “Hide!” she screamed again, panic clawing up her throat, she could hardly think, could hardly move, all she knew was the fear coursing its way through her system. “Acio invisibility cloak,” the cloak flew through the air. She turned to Harry, “Petrificus Totalus!” She cast the body bind spell she knew well, the one she had used on Nevill in their first year at Hogwarts. She turned to Ron and bound him as well. With some strength granted to her through her desperation, she moved the two wizards together and covered them with the cloak. Then she ran as far away from them as she could. Casting as many inane spells as possible, she knew the Death Eaters would be tracking her and she hoped to drive them away from Harry. She waited for the telltale snap made by apparating, but nothing came. Maybe she was wrong, maybe they weren’t tracking their magic and wands. She let out a deep breath, maybe everything was okay. 

Everything was not okay. Hermione forgot that Death Eaters could silently apparate. Dread crept its way into her gut as three hooded figures appeared around her. She didn’t have time to utter a scream before they stunned her. Ron’s wand slipped out of her fingers, landing on the ground. 

“Should we kill her?” one of the Death Eaters asked. 

“No, this is the Mudblood, the golden girl, the Dark lord will want her.” They approached her, and she could do nothing but watch. “The other must have abandoned her when they realized how useless she was.” he gripped her face in his hands, tilting it up. His hands were clad in cold black leather. “It’s unfortunate, such a pretty face for such filth.” 

Another of the Death eaters laughed, someone Hermione couldn’t see, a woman, “You can’t say that,” she clucked, “this Muddblood is the antithesis of the perfection of pureblooded women, her freckled face and rats nest hair are nothing compared to the flawlessness of clean pure blood,” she walked up to Hermione and grabbed her hair pulling it hard, “You cannot tell me that the ‘Brightest Witch’ of her age doesn’t know what a hairbrush is,” she sneered. 

“Now, now,” someone else said, laughing, “it looks like she's been living like the filth she is, would you expect someone like her to take care of her appearance?” They all laughed. 

“Enough, we need to take her to the dark lord, she may know where Potter is and what he’s planning.” 

Hermione felt as if someone had tied a blindfold over her eyes, and gripped her arm, preparing for a side-along apparition. She felt her feet fall out from under her, and her body swoop, and they traced across the county. Her knees hit the floor with a thud. Her hands were now tied behind her back. Someone was gripping her head, pushing it down. She struggled against her bindings. 

A snake-like voice slithered around her, “What have you found for me?” the Dark lord asked. 

“Hermione Granger, My Lord, Harry Potter’s Mudblood,” 

“Does she know where Potter is?” 

“No, My Lord, we’ve tried everything on her, the Cruciatus, she resists the Imperius, and she faints during torture,” 

“What about Veritaserum?” the dark lord asked, moving closer to her. 

She felt the Death Eater Holding her shake his head, “She refuses to eat or drink, and we don’t have much of it, most of it was destroyed.” 

“Excuses for incompetence?” the dark lord said, his cold hand grabbing Hermione's head. He was a Legilimens. Panic and fear flooded Hermione. Lupin had briefly taught all three of them how to Occlude, but she doubted it was enough to keep a Legilimens like Voldemort out of her mind. She felt him enter her mind, like a snake, he slithered through her defences, entering her thoughts. Her psyche swam as she tried to use her feeble Occlemency to block him. The books in her mind were locked behind chains trapped on bookshelves. Voldemort pushed hard, his bony hand wrapping around the chains, pulling. He was feral, he tugged against the wood of the shelves, the wood split and splintered as he madly searched through the books of her mind. She forced memories he would hate into his hands, muggle things, her watching TV, her cooking on an electric stove. 

She needed him out.

She wanted him out. More than anything. She let out a groan as he destroyed another shelf, the stability of her mind fraying. Any more of this and she thought she might go insane. She was going insane. She let out a blood-curdling scream, she threw her head back and arched her spine as every book in her head snapped shut. The force of it all driving Voldemort out of her mind. He let out a cry as he stumbled backwards. 

“Get her out of my sight,” he hissed. Hermione liked to imagine he was clawing at his head in agony. 

“Where?” asked the Death Eater holding her. 

“Anywhere! The Labyrinth where she’ll rot and die!” he screamed, his voice raw. She felt herself being dragged, and she briefly wondered if she had maybe traded a bad fate for a worse one. No, she thought, Harry and Ron were safe; she told herself, our mission is safe. Her comforting thoughts were interrupted as she was thrown to the ground, her breath wooshing out of her. 

“Should we untie her?” someone asked. 

“No! The Muddblood deserves to suffer,” someone else said, kicking her sharply in the ribs. She coughed up something that tasted like blood. 

“Save her for the monsters,” they snickered, “although she’s not much of a meal.” That was true, after two years on the run, Hermione had drastically lost weight. 

“She’s something fresh,” she heard someone mutter as keys clanged together. The sound of stone on metal filled the room. “Let us get her in,” she felt herself lifted and placed onto her very wobbly legs. They jeered at her as she was led into the chamber they had opened. Still blindfolded and bound, there was very little she could do. With one final push, she landed on her rear as they closed the large door, leaving her alone and confused.

Chapter Text

Her hands were raw from rubbing against the rope binding them, the rope she was trying to fray. She desperately moved the binding against a jagged rock, praying that they split. Her breathing had become panicked; she didn’t know where she was, blindfolded and bound, she was at everyone's mercy. Maybe if she… she brought her knees up to her face, trying to push away the cloth held there. It gave way after a few attempts. 

The landscape was dark and unfamiliar, cavernous walls arched above her, and the only source of light were the two balls of light chained to the wall, near the end of the tunnel. She looked for the doors that she had been pushed through, but nothing, only solid, rough stone. And, she paused, recoiling, was that a dead body? She gagged, feeling squeamish. Maybe they had something she could use to untie herself? Hope filled her at the prospect, and she moved toward them in a half-crawl-half-fail. 

It took a painfully long time. She was sure she was covered in an obscene amount of grime. Eventually, she knelt over the body, searching for anything, a knife. A small part of her was filled with a glimmering speck of hope. She shifted forward, attempting to run her bound hands over their deflated cloak. She lost her balance, toppling forward. She landed on the man with an oomph. He let out a groan. She froze with fear. He was alive. She assessed him with a thorough eye. He was barely alive. The faint smell of blood surrounded him, and his chest rose in small, desperate breaths. A black mask, not too different from what the Death Eaters wore, covered his face. 

“Hey,” Hermione said, nudging him. “If you unbind me, I can use your wand to heal you,” she said, moving her hands so he could see them. “Please,” 

“Turn…” he managed to croak out. Holding out a bloody knife. 

“You shouldn’t speak, save your breath.” She turned around, holding out her hands. She felt a leather-clad finger run along where the rope met her skin, pulling it away. He sliced. Hermione felt the rope give and with her free hands, she untied the ropes at her ankles standing up to asses the injured man in front of her. “Where is your wand?” she asked as she rummaged through his robes. He didn’t respond. That didn’t matter because she found his wand, holstered in a harness. 

She cast a quick diagnostic spell. He had some outer wounds, but they were minor; what was killing him was a type of poison wreaking havoc on his system. She needed to expel the poison from his body; she could worry about his outer lesions later. Waving that wand, praying that it would work for her, she muttered a quick, “Reparifors.” She watched as the poison left his system. She forced his mouth and nose open using them to expel the poison from his body. Using his wand, she directed it towards the craggy wall. Without healing potions and other healing supplies, Hermione was desperate, casting any healing spells she knew of. “Vulnera Sanentur,” she whispered, hoping it would heal some of his cuts. Harry had told her about that spell after he had used the Sectumsempra curse on Malfoy. She cast another spell to heal broken bones, and in the hope of reviving him, she cast a stamina charm. His breath returned with strength, and he let out a bleary groan. His eyes fluttered open, and she found herself entranced by them. The strangely pale irises were familiar in a comforting way, and the desolate landscape around her was so foreign to her that any type of familiarity was soothing. His eyes widened as he registered who it was that had saved him. 

“Granger..?” he asked as he pushed himself up, into a squat. He reached forward, his hand as open as his eyes were in wonder. 

Hermione pushed herself back, “how-how do you know who I am?” she demanded, raising his wand in a feeble attempt to defend herself. 

“As if I could forget you,” his voice was soft, deceptively so, something in Hermione knew that she should run, that that voice was hard and brittle and cruel. She stood up, and he mirrored her movements. He held his hands low, away from his body. His hood slipped back, and a smooth lock of platinum hair brushed the forehead of his mask.

“Malfoy,” she let out a shrill whisper, then she turned and bolted. Her legs burned as she conquered the rough floor of the cave. She heard an exasperated sigh from Malfoy. 

“Now let's not do that,” he raised his voice, “I have a second wand, Granger, either stop of your own accord or I will stop you.” 

Did he mean the killing curse? That made her stop. “Don’t kill me,” she begged, her voice only a whisper. 

He paused, “I would never hurt you,” he told her. he kept his hands where they were, showing her that he wouldn't lay a hand on her. "Can I take my mask off?" 

She nodded. He reached up to his face, pulling the opaque black shell off his face. Even though she knew it was him, seeing his face still sent a shock through her. His sharp nose and chilled jaw, his icy expression. And his hair, slightly longer than it was in school, still slicked back, the strand that gave him away grazed the bridge of his nose. 

"Hi?" she said softly. "What are you doing here?" she sniffed, tears welling up in her eyes, the emotion of her past few… she paused, days? Had it been days since she was snatched away from Harry and Ron? She let out a gasp. Then a sob. 

Malfoy watched her eerily, "Do you want me to stay over here?" he asked. She nodded, folding in on herself, her tears coming out in large sobs. Each cry was filled with pain and sadness. He had to look away; her wails made him flinch. “Hermione,” he began. 

“Leave me alone…” she cried into her palms. 

“I would if I could, but it’s dangerous here, come with me somewhere safe, please,” she didn’t protest as he lightly guided her, still sobbing, through the maze of caves. 

“Why are you helping me?” she sobbed. She could see Malfoy through her bleary, tear-filled eyes. He let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Granger,” he said grabbing her shoulders, “I am a Malfoy, we do not owe anyone anything, and yet you saved my life, I now have a life debt,” he waved his hand gesturing to their proximity to each other, “I am eliminating that debt as soon a possible,” he looked straight into Hermione eyes, “now I am taking you somewhere safe, i need you to pull it together until we get there, and,” he let out a deep breath, “you can cry as much as you want when we arrive, understand?” she nodded slowly sniffling. “Good,” Malfoy grabbed her hand and quickly pulled her along after him. He began running, and she tried to follow him, holding back her cries of pain that originated in her leg. She let a small whimper escape. She clapped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed. She looked away when Malfoy turned to her. 

“Is everything alright?” She nodded. He reached forward, gripping her chin. “Don’t lie,” 

“My leg might be broken,” she whispered. 

He raked a hand through his hair, disheveling it. Hermione looked at the walls, which were smeared with dirt and blood. There were large gouge marks in the ceiling. She wondered what monster lived in here. She could see broken, tarnished pieces of Death Eater masks, and a deformed skull caught her eye. Was it a Werewolf? 

“What type of creatures live down here?” she muttered, drifting away from Malfoy, deep in thought. A large corps of a few metres away pulled her to it. From where she stood, it appeared to be a large cat, its tail strangely deformed. “Is that a Manticore?” she said, bewitched, “I’ve never seen one before. I wonder what killed it, surely not the Death Eaters?” 

Now beside her, Malfoy sat at the Manticore with her, “Remember, Granger, if something this dangerous was killed that easily, something much worse lives down here,” 

She looked up at him, and he was much taller than she remembered. “We should go,” she affirmed with a nod. 

“Up you go,” Malfoy said with a grunt, lifting her into his arms bridal style. “Before you protest, we don’t know how hurt you are. This is best.” 

Hermione felt him adjust her weight so that he was carrying her with one arm. He pulled out a second wand with his other hand, “Acio Broom,”  he handed her his second wand, “Hold this,” he used his other hand to catch the broomstick that was currently flying though the air at a frightening speed towards Hermione–it was like a scene from her nightmares because she did have nightmares about broomsticks and flying, it had been her worst subject at Hogwarts. 

“Oh no, no, no, I don’t care what's happening, I am not getting on that broomstick!” 

Malfoy chuckled, “You don’t have much of a choice, and don’t worry, it’ll be quick.” Hermione simply groaned as Malfoy stepped onto the broom.

“This is the worst day ever,” she muttered, her face pressed into his robes. “I hate flying,” and with that, Malfoy took off, launching Hermione's stomach into the air. 

~~~

Draco Malfoy clung to the witch in front of him, a new fire sparking in his chest. Hermione was in shock; he could tell from her babbling about the manticore, her mood swings, and the fact that it was probably the worst day of her life. 

“Almost there,” he said, flying to one of the entry points of the Labyrinth. 

The caves had been in the Malfoy family for the length of their lineage. Along with the caves came the ancient House of Malfoy, which the Labyrinth was built to protect, and the urge to guard the Labyrinth and what it protects was built into all Malfoy heirs. When the Dark Lord had discovered the tunnels, he triggered whatever it was in Draco that made him feel the intense need to protect his ancient home. Lucius had offered him on a platter to the Dark Lord the moment his other abilities became known. Lucius had promised the Dark Lord a weapon that could win him the war, something that could easily be controlled. Draco had rebelled against the idea; he had only become a Death Eater because Lucius forced him. The only person who had ever truly cared for him, one of the only people Draco had ever cared for; his mother was distraught to learn what her son was planning to agree to, and she begged him not to. 

“It will be the end of you, and that would destroy me!” she had told him. 

Draco had been the bravest he had ever been when he went to the Dark Lord and told him; “No, I will not serve you as your maker of destruction, I will do what is in my blood and guard the Labyrinth, any creature that enters it with malice in their heart shall fall victim to my talons,” he had been tortured after he said that. His skin had blistered and burned, it had felt like he was being torn limb from limb, but his resolve had broken; nothing like the woman in his arms. And so he made a deal with the devil that was Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, could send his enemies into the Labyrinth, and Draco would make sure they died. In exchange, he would not be used as a weapon of mass destruction, and his mother could live with him. They arrived at the entrance point to Malfoy Castle. 

“Woah, these are some strong wards,” Hermione observed. “Stronger than Hogwarts even,” 

“They guard the Most Ancient and Noble of Houses,” 

Hermione looked up at him, confused, “You’re not of House Black? Aren’t they the most Noble and ancient house?” 

Draco gritted his teeth together, “They lie, the Malfoys are the true holders of the title, and I am of House Black.” 

Hermione giggled. Oh, Merlin, she was hysterical, they were past the point of her simply being shocked, “What are you talking about, silly, you’re a Malfoy,” 

“My mother is Narcissa Black,” he carried her through the door that only opened for him, into a large open courtyard, the sun streamed down onto the smooth stones, and a small waterfall fell into a small fountain in the center of the courtyard. 

“Does that mean you're related to Harry?”

He gave her a strange look, “No, the Blacks and the Potters are not related.” he was eager for Hermione to return to her normal self, seeing her like this disheartened him. He remembered the spitfire she used to be. 

“But Harry inherited when Sirius died?” 

That caused him to pause. “Harry Potter inherited the Black's fortune?” Hermione nodded sagely. “That was supposed to be mine!” 

“Oh dear, poor you,’ she reached out and patted the top of his head. He took the moment to finally look at her. She was wearing Muggle clothes, a jumper and some sort of stiff pants, and she was filthy. Blood and dirt covered her body. 

“Flopsy!” he called out, one of the castle's house elves appearing.

“Yes, Master Draco?” she squeaked. 

“Would you please run a bath for Miss Granger? In the same room that Mopsy will prepare,” the little elf nodded vigorously, her large ears flopping up and down. 

“Topsy!” he called as Folpsy disappeared. 

“Yes, Master Draco,” 

“If you could find some clothes for Miss Granger, please, if you can't find anything better than my or my mother's clothes would work,” the elf squeaked excitedly before she popped away.

“Mopsy,” An even smaller elf with even larger ears, appeared. “Please prepare a room for Miss Granger.” 

“Does the one beside Master Draco’s room work?” he nodded. The elf nodded and hurried off. He looked down at Hermione to see her giddy. 

“Why did you send them away? They were so cute, I love them.” 

“Okay,” he pressed his lips together, “let's get you cleaned up.” he took her through the halls of the castle, and she peered at everything. “Sit down, Granger, I can show you everything when you’re feeling better.” 

“I feel fine,” 

“You’re in shock, you’re not fine, you might have a broken leg, please relax.” 

He found the castle to be more tasteful than the manor. He loved his mother very much; however, when she was decorating the manor, she leaned too far into his father's vision and the Malfoy colours. The Manor had too many dark greens and blacks, the castle was lighter with more pale colours like mint green and Ivy patterned wallpaper that lined the hallway they currently walked in. 

Draco deposited Hermione in the room, “This is where you’ll be staying, there is a bathroom with a nice warm bath in it, and some clean clothes for you, let me know if you need anything, I’ll be next door.” She didn’t say anything. She was finally registering what had happened. “I’ll have Flopsy bring you some food.”

Chapter Text

Hermione sat in the bath, staring at the soapy water that surrounded her. Curled into a small ball she was half submerged. She was shivering, the water had long gone cold. Her shoulders felt heavy, she was struggling to breathe. It was time to get out she decided, holding herself out as she exited the slippery tub. The room was dry and warm, it must have been magic that heated the castle. She still couldn’t believe that Malfoy had a castle. Questions began to fill her brain ebbing into the pools of worry. Was it just him here? Where was his mother? His father? The tunnel in Malfoy manor had led here, how? She wrapped herself in a towel, the terrycloth changing to fit her body as she wrapped it around herself. She let out a gasp of amazement as she found herself in a large fluffy robe. In fascination, she ran her hands over the soft material that draped it’s self over her hips. The magic in this place was strong she could feel it thrumming in her bones. Hermione looked around the bathroom, finally taking in where she was. Her originally shock-clouded eyes had glazed over the marble floor and gold-leafed mirror frame. Whatever level of gaudy in-your-face wealth the Malfoy manor had been the Castle was so much worse. 

A loud Pop filled the room and Hermione flinched as she found herself looking at a house elf. Dressed in a silk pillowcase, a lace doily tied on her head like a bonnet, the house elf stared up at Hermione with the biggest eyes. 

“Hello Missus, I is Mopsy, Master Draco has said to take you into your room, will you is come with me?” 

Hermione tried not to be bothered by the house elf, her large eyes and droopy ears made her so endearing, however, all Hermione could see was Dobby, a little elf who only wanted his freedom, and one who was dead. This hadn’t been the first time that she had been snatched and taken to Malfoy Manor. Easter 1998. She rubbed in her inner arm subconsciously, the word that had been carved there inched for her attention. 

“Missus?” the elf–Mopsy—asked again. “You is Alright?” Mopsy reached out a hand as if to touch Hermione. 

Hermione nodded, “I’m fine,” she said, but it was little more than a whisper. “Lead the way,”

Mopsy pushed open the bathroom door and led Hermione into an opulent room, with high vaulted ceilings, large open windows and a summer breeze rolling through them which was strange considering that–she paused, what season was it? Did she even know? Everything since Bill and Fleur's wedding had been dull and grey. She had been too busy to stop and feel the breeze. 

“Master Draco told the elves to get Missus clothes, we is find these.” she waved her little hands in excitement towards a heap of shapeless clothes, “but they is very old, but Master Draco is very smart and he says we use our magic to fixes it,” 

“It’s very kind of you to help me,” Hermione looked down at the elf who was now wiggling her ears with excitement. 

“We also have food for you Missus,” Mopsy gestured to a tray of steaming food. Hermione moved towards it, her stomach growling, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything. A bowl of broth, a piece of bread heavily buttered, a pot of tea. All food would be easy on her stomach. 

“I didn’t realize elves could use their magic like that,” 

“Yes we can,” the little elf said enthusiastically. “Would Missus like to wear?” 

“You can choose,” Hermione told her. 

Mopsy’s eyes lit up, “really?” Hermione nodded. She let out a little squeal, her ears flopping up and down as she jumped excitedly. “We is taking your measurements so we can make proper clothes for Missus!” she cried before burrowing into the pile of clothes. 

Hermione stood there awkwardly waiting as Mopsy dug through the ancient clothes. “This is nice for Missus,” she said, pulling out a simple grey dress, “not too old,” she threw the dress to Hermione and made a show of covering her eyes as Hermione changed into the dress. It did not fit at all, it was far too tight in the bust and had next to no room accommodating her chest. 

“Oh dear,” said Mopsy, snapping her fingers the fabric of the dress shifted until it fit her like a glove. “There, now Missus is beautiful!” 

Hermione ran her hands over her hips, feeling the silky material of the dress. Twisting she looked in the mirror, what had seemed to be an unappealing dress had been transformed into a flattering gown. Wide straps covered her shoulders supporting the bodice of the dress the silky silver fabric that covered her shoulders and chest fit tightly and reached her waist, turning into a deep satin green so dark it was almost black.

She let out a contemplative noise as her moth typed up into a smirk, “did you put me in Slytherin colour on purpose?” she asked the little elf.

Mopsy shook her head as she insisted, “No missus!”

Hermione bent down, “I was only joking,” she said softly, a pang of sympathy resonating in her heart at the little elf before the war Hermione had been invested in freeing the house elves, but nowadays she had spent so much time worrying about her and the boys that she hadn’t paid it any thought. Her heart felt heavy at the thought of Malfoy terrorizing these poor elves. “Thank you very much,” she said, pulling the small creature into her arms. She let Mopsy go, who was now squealing with joy. 

“Could you please tell me where I can find Malfoy?”

“Missus means Master Draco?” the elf paused, “Or Mistress Narcissa?” 

“Draco,” Hermione said, pressing her lips together, his name tasted odd in her mouth and she had to pause and think, had she said it before? Or had he always been Malfoy to her? She shook her head, dispelling such thoughts. 

The elf let out a squeak, “Ah! Master Draco is in his office, does Missus want Mopsy to fetch him?”

Hermione shook her head,” No, I’d like to go find him myself, may I do that?” 

The elf nodded, “he is down the halls,” 

Hermione murmured a thanks before slipping out of the room in into the hallway. Her bare feet carried her down the threadbare floor runner that covered the rich hardwood floor. She moved toward the only room that showed signs of life, a large intricate door detailing dragons, and the Malfoy crest. It was slightly ajar, with a low glow of light escaping from underneath it. She reached for the door, wondering if she should knock before she opened it. She decided giant it, her finger wrapping around the golden door knob as she stepped into the room.

A dishevelled-looking Malfoy stood up in surprise as she entered. He had clearly bathed since he had brought her back, his platinum hair still slightly damp and tousled. His robes were tossed over a chaise, a blazer lay on top of it and his tie was haphazardly strewn across his desk. His waistcoat was undone completely, hanging off his shoulders, and his black dress shirt was half undone, revealing the hard planes of his chest and a tantalizing view of defined abs. 

“Granger!” he said, surprised. “I didn’t expect you,”

“Malfoy,” she acknowledged, her hands curling into fists behind her, she knew he would hate what she was going to ask. “We need to talk,”

Chapter Text

He straightened. “Of course, please sit." He gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Hermione tentatively pulled out a chair. She perched on the edge of it, watching Malfoy, who was leaning on the desk. His fingers interlocked as he watched her over them. 

Hermione bowed her head, “Malfoy."

He raised his eyebrow, “Call me Draco, please."

“Malfoy, I shouldn’t, I’m not that familiar with you." she shook her head, no, she shouldn’t call him Draco, he had saved her, and yes she was grateful, however, she needed to maintain her principles. 

A small frown marred his lips. “But I wish to call you Hermione, may I do that?” 

She sucked in a breath, her cheeks going pink, “I supposed so." 

He smiled, “then Hermione, you should call me Draco.” 

“Oh, no, I don’t think it’s my place…” 

“I insist." 

She sucked in a breath, she supposed she should do as he asked, he was her host, and he had saved her. She should try and placate him. After all, she was going to ask something of him. “Alright, Draco”

He smiled, revealing each of his perfectly symmetrical, white teeth. His teeth had always been that way. Hermione had always lamented the fact that if he had met her parents, they would have been very impressed. It looked as though he had never eaten a single sweet. Dentists like that sort of thing. “Good." He leaned back. Now, Hermione, how may I help you?” 

She sucked in a breath, “Well, Draco…” he raised his brows. “I was wondering when–actually if– you were going to let me go." 

He frowned at that. “Why?” 

She looked up at him, making eye contact with his striking silver eyes. “Pardon?”

“Do you wish to go? Are the accommodations not to your liking? Do you think yourself better of them? Is my presence really too much that it’s driving you to your death?” he stood up, and rounding the desk leaned into her space. “So Granger, which is it." 

She opened her mouth, “I don’t-” she shook her head, “I don’t want to impose." 

“Don’t worry Hermione." The way he said her name made her shiver, it was like a caress, gentle and soft as if he had said it countless times before, “You could never impose." he cleared his throat, “Unfortunately I will not be letting you go." 

Her mouth popped open, “What, no why?”

Malfoy stood up. His shirt billowed behind him as he rounded the desk. Hermione stiffened as he pulled her chair back. Stepping in front of her, he leaned against the desk. “Because Hermione, " he said, reaching out, his fingers barely grazing her cheek. She flinched, and he scoffed, looking away. “I owe you a life debt, and the Malfoys.” He looked back at her, his fingers stroking the side of her face. He gripped her chin. “Take that very seriously.”

 His eyes met hers and Hermione felt herself combust. She didn't move, she couldn’t. Draco Malfoy was standing before her, almost between her legs. His hands had stroked her face oh so tenderly. 

“So Hermione, I will not let you leave, because I know that if you leave you will go back to your precious Harry Potter, and that,” his thumb stroked the side of her jaw, “will get you killed,” 

Hermione hadn't thought life debts were real, they seemed too fantastical, too magical. Yes, she was a Witch, the brighter Witch of her age, and she knew magic, some magic even Pure blooded adults didn’t know. She looked at Malfoy, he could be lying, what did a life debt even entail? Did this mean he had to repay her? Keeping her captive was not the way to do that. Malfoy stepped even closer to her, his hand still holding her chin. 

“Oh, What are you doing?” 

“Hold on,” 

She opened her mouth to say something but the floor was pulled out from under her. She screamed her hands clawing for purchase, she grabbed onto something, pulling herself tight against it. The falling stopped. She opened her eyes to find herself in an internally different room. Her eyes widened as she realized where they were. A library! Joy filled her, or it did until she realized what she had grabbed onto. Her face? The side of it was pressed firmly into Malfoys lower abbs. The had that had been on her chin? Holding the other side of her head and gently stroking her hair. Her arms? Wrapped around his thighs, her hands dangerously closer to his ass. With a yell of surprise, she pushed him away, detangling their limbs. 

“You apparated us!” she turned to him, her tone accusatory. “With no warning!” 

He shrugged, “I thought you’d be excited to see the library,” he waved his arm, gesturing to the shelves upon shelves of books. “You can research how to end the life debt if you want, I haven’t seem to have found anything,”  

She nodded, her eyes on the tall shelves of books, there must have been millions of them. It was so much larger than the Hogwarts library. 

“It’s a magical room,” he puffed out his chest, “they are very rare and hard to make,” he waved up to the vaulted ceilings, “this one has an extension charm, and…” he cleared his throat, then with a firm voice he said, “bring me a book on life debts,” he held out his hand and waited. A loud pop filled the room and a book appeared on his hand. “In true Malfoy excellence, it is the best of its kind.” 

Hermione scoffed, her hands itching to snatch the book from Malfoy. 

“I’ll leave you to it I suppose, find a way to rid us of this bothersome bond,” 

She levelled him with a glare, “Believe me no one wants that more than me,” 

~~~

As Draco left the library, he couldn’t help but smirk. He returned to his office, remembering the way Granger—no, the way Hermione had clasped his legs, holding on to them as if they were her lifeline. He sat down, tilted his head back, and groaned. The burst of pride he had felt at the admiration in her eyes when she saw his library had him preening. 

He closed his eyes. As a Legilimens, his mind was in impeccable order. He could sense everyone near him, his mother, a floor above. His mind drifted around hers, not wanting to breach her privacy by entering her thoughts. Narcissa had quiet thoughts. They were organized and protected–they had to be that way. Raising a nosey Legilimens was hard. All he could hear was her thinking about dinner, and her plans to have a big ‘family dinner’, with herself, Draco, and their new guest. He smiled a the thought. However, as interesting as his mother was he wasn’t looking to eavesdrop on her thoughts. He rummaged through his mind, finding a deep gold thread, giving it a tug he followed it to Hermione. 

She sat, lounging in a chaise, a book propped on her lap, blankets and pillows surrounded her. Her thoughts were loud and surprisingly cluttered. Draco would have thought that someone like her, a good, prim, and proper, girl, would have organized thoughts. But no, her mind was a cluttered mess, always on, always thinking, he hadn’t realized just how smart she was. He tugged at the bond, watching to see if she did anything. She kept reading, only stopping to scratch her neck. He tugged again, harder this time. Still nothing. He ground his teeth, frustrated. He drifted further into her thoughts, using them as a substitute for Hermione's lack of reaction to the bond. Her surface-level thoughts were about the book, the life debt, and how she was going to get rid of it. Draco suppressed a smirk at that, pushing past the surface-level thought he found her recent memories, the one of her being snatched, the useless Weasly. Her sacrifice, so selfless his Hermione, they would have to work on that. 

Pulling out his stationary he made note of the Death Eaters that took her. 

He pushed further, her thoughts lamented the lack of muggle products for her skin and hair, odd liquids and creams. He made another note to get one of the elves to ask her about it. He kept pushing, his thoughts changed like tides and he pushed until he found something he liked. Her memory of walking into his office, of seeing him in his rumpled state, he felt her flush in embarrassment and he preened. He watched as she noted his chest, his abbs. He threw his head back groaning. She hadn't even thought of anything to elicit and he could feel his cock stirring He wanted to push forwards, and he could feel more memories, he salivated at the thought of them, at the idea of knowing what Hermione Granger thought of him. But no, if he wanted this to work out he had to do it the normal way, he had to do it on her terms.

Chapter Text

It was around 5 p.m. when a small elf appeared before Hermione. Surprised, she let out a cry and startled, the elf let out its yell. 

“Flopsy is sorry Miss!” the elf wailed, shaking her head vigorously 

“Oh, no, no, it’s okay.” she closed the book and helped it up, “I was just engrossed in my reading!” she looked down at Flopsy who stared at her with big brown eyes. “What do you need my friend,” 

“Master Draco want to know if Miss needs anything?” 

“Oh.” Hermione paused, stunned. Draco wanted to know if she, Hermione Granger, needed anything. She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking the clumpy curls were separated and frizzy. Her skin was dry, and her lips were chapped. She looked down at herself, at the magically tailored, ill-fitting dress. “I’m good, thank you. " She couldn’t expect anything from Malfoy; she didn’t want to increase her debt to him. 

“That's a lie and we both know it.” Hermioneshriekedd again, turning she came face to face with Draco. He stood behind the chaise where she had been sitting. He was fully dressed, ebony shirt, pants, waistcoat, and blazer. His robes wrapped around him, caressing his shoulders as they were left open, exposing his dark ensemble. 

“Malfoy!” 

He shook his head, "Try again,” her silver eyes glimmer with mirth.

She pressed her lips together, “Draco,” she looked away, she could still see him preen at her use of his name. 

“Good,” he stepped toward her, walking around further until he had an unobstructed path towards her. “I know you won’t tell me where your friends are hiding, or what secrets you know about the dark lord, but that'skay, I don’t want to know that.” he moved closer, now if she reached out the tips of her fingers would grave his chest. “What I do want to know is what muggle shampoo you use.” he reached forward and stroked a lock of her hair. “I remember at Hogwarts your hair was these perfect little ringlets, don’t you want that?” she didn’t say anything and he sighed, “Hermione, can’t you see, I just want you to be comfortable,”

“If you wanted me to be comfortable you would let me leave!” 

He shook his head, “No, we already talked about this, I can’t let you go,” he moved even closer, reaching out to stroke the side of her face again. “Look-” he let out a cry of surprise. “Fuck!” he whipped his wand out from one of his robes pockets, “Acio Mask!” a chaotic clatter filled the air as what he had summoned found its way to them. He caught the black, onyx-like mask, and pulled it over his head. “I’ll be back,” he whispered before he silently disaperated. 

Hermione reached out, touching the air where he had been standing. He could silently aperate as all death eaters could. He was a death eater. She could, wouldn’t forget that, no matter how much tried to woo her with giant ornate libraries or offers to provide for her. 

~~~

 Draco's feet slammed into the hard tile of Malfoy Manor as he disaperated. He dropped to his knees, his head down. Calm footsteps approached him, slow and confident. Draco could feel his heart rate increase, he kept his breaths calm and short. He clenched his hands, rubbing his thumb over the hilt of his wand. 

“My lord,” he said, as the footsteps stopped in front of him. 

“Did I give you permission to speak?” The Dark Lord hissed. Draco shook his head. “Right boy,” Voldemort reached down, the palm of his hand pressing against his forehead he pushed his head up. “Oh, Dragon,” he sighed, his wand trailing down Draco's mask. When he reached Draco's chin he dipped the wand, it digging into Draco's neck. “It fortunate you hid that mother of yours away, I know if I had her here I’d get you to do just about anything,” his other, cold, smooth hand wrapped itself around Draco's neck and squeezed slightly. “What a waste,” his hand left Draco’s neck, Draco sucked in a deep breath, and The Dark Lord simply laughed, Aa Dragon Animagus.” He gripped Draco’s hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to look up. “You could wipe out cities.”

“You took a vow to my father,” he rasped. 

“Lucius is dead,” 

Draco shook his head, “It was a Dark Vow, it works differently, his death does not void it,” 

The Dark Lord yanked harder on his hair, causing tears to well up in his eyes, “how dare you speak back to me, your lack of service is a privilege I allow because you are of use to me, your home is my headquarters, your familial catacombs my slaughter ground, and you, Dragon, are my executioner.” He let go of Draco, whose head flopped down. “Did you get the Granger girl? I hope the mudblood didn’t give you indigestion!” he let out a laugh. 

Draco bit his tongue. He knew that if he smiled his teeth would be crismon triangles, and his breath would smell of iron. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, My Lord?” 

“Yes, we were so close to stopping Potter, the Mudblood was the one who hid them away, go to Hogwarts and speak to Severus, some of the ofPotters'ss friends still attend, see if they know where he’s hiding,” Draco nodded, he had planned to go to Hogwarts anyways. “Make sure you tell the Gryfindors that their Golden Girl is dead,” then with that the Dark Lord disaperated. 

It felt like a rock was sinking in his stomach like he couldn’t breathe. The idea of his–no not his–Hermione dead made him sick. Her wide intelligent eyes were no longer filled with light. He sighed, standing up, he wanted to disappear, to go back to the Malfoy castle hidden in the Labyrinth, the Dark Lord had no idea it existed, it was protected by a great ancient magic, magic that even the Dark Lord could not compete with. 

Hundreds, if not thousands of years ago the Malfoy Family built their Ancestral home. They hid it from the rest of the world, using strong glamors, blood magic, and the dark arts. However, as the muggle world evolved the Wizarding world did as well, and by the time the statute of secrecy had been passed the Malfoy’s no longer lived in the Castle and it was all but a forgotten memory. Until of course, the Dark Lord began inhabiting the Mannor and he discovered the Anchenit unopened door that led to the Labyrinth that protected the Castle. This awoke the Blood magic and… 

Draco shook the thought away, he was too busy to think about that. What he needed to do was go back to the Castle, find Hermione, woo her with wine and dinner and then the two of them would live happily ever after. He scoffed at the fantasy and brushed himself off. He had work to do. 

Chapter Text

Snape didn’t blink an eye when he opened his office door to find Draco sprawled across his desk and chair. He did, however, glare at the boots that Draco had propped on his hardwood desk. The young blond man had his arms crossed behind him, supporting his lolling head.

“Mister Malfoy, what do I owe this pleasure?” Severus drawled disdainfully. His eyes darkened as his gaze perused Draco, assessing him for any injury.

“Severus, my friend,” Draco dropped his feet from the desk and sat up, his shoulders going rigid. 

Snape held up his hand, leaving Draco gaping, his mouth half open, “I am not your friend.” 

“Headmaster then?” 

Snape simply sneered and shook his head, “Go on,” 

“I’m here on business of the Dark Lord, please send all of Potter's friends somewhere so I may interrogate them.” He stood up and clasped his hands. “Actually, the Dark Lord has an announcement,”

“I wasn’t aware you were playing Death Eater now, Draco. Have you finally become bored of acting as a glorified guard dog?” 

Draco gritted his teeth, “I do what I must,” he knew Severus was baiting him, irritating him, and testing his mental walls; he could feel someone pushing against the obsidian gates of his mind. He felt the familiar dark green, worn leather, and strongly brewed tea presence of Snape prodding around his mind. Draco looked at Snape, his grey eyes meeting Snape's own Black-Brown eyes. His head tilted slightly, and Draco opened the gates. Snapes' voice flooded his mind. 

I know you’re lying, Draco. The Dark Lord was speaking about your lack of participation and was quite upset about it. Why are you really here?

I’m not lying, he wasn’t, not really, the Dark Lord is pushing for me to do more, the involvement being here. 

Why, what about the oath? 

Draco shrugged; he’s trying to find ways around it. 

Fuck. 

Yeah. Draco agreed, fuck. He felt the presence leave his mind and he quickly resealed his gates, locking everyone out.

Snape looked down his hooked nose. “Lunch Hour is in a quarter of an hour, can you wait?”

Draco bopped his head, “While we wait, how about I take a look at the Golden Trios rooms? You’ve kept them the same, haven't you?”  

“You shouldn’t find a hair out of place,” 

“Good, good.” 

Draco couldn’t have cared less about Potter and Weasley's room, Hermione’s, however… he smiled. She wouldn’t tell him what she needed? No worries; he would find out what she liked. 

Hermione's dorm was simple, with the same covered beds that had been in the Slytherin dorms; however, they had red curtains that made him feel sick, as opposed to the dark, luxurious green of the Slytherin dorms. He was easily able to spot Hermione’s bed. The large familiar trunk and the stack of books on top of it were a dead giveaway. She had run away the summer prior to seventh year, and so some of her things would have been taken home with her. 

Her bedsheets were the standard white Hogwarts bedsheets, and her duvet was a floral-patterned pastel. Some of the other girls had silly little pillows decorating their beds, hers had only a small heart-shaped pillow that he quickly snatched up and stuffed into his extended pocket. His fingers ran against the worn fabric of her duvet, it was soft and well-loved. Perhaps she had had it since she was a child. Carefully, he folded it up and placed it in his pocket. He resisted the urge to press his face into the soft fabric to see if it smelled like her. Once the blanket was safely tucked away, he bent down, examining the trunk at the foot of her bed. He muttered a quick unlocking spell, waving his wand lazily. The lock gave way far too easily. He lifted the heavy wooden lid and examined the contents of the trunk. There were books, so many books, he picked one up, leafing through the pages, he smiled, it was a standard Hogwarts book, the fifth year charms book, he was familiar with it, having a copy of his own. This copy, though, it entranced him, elegantly annotated with Hermione's curvy script, both in ink and pencil, as well as some odd coloured smudges, which he presumed them Muggle inventions. Leaflets of paper were wedged between sections, and odd coloured tabs popped out at every angle. He riffled through the page, breathing in the smell of old paper, Hermione’s shampoo, and the body spray she wore in Fifth Year. He placed the book back down, his fingers running against the embossed cover. He rummaged further though the trunk, and there was a large upholstered pocket filled with quills and hair brushes. He grabbed everything that was tucked into the pocket and slid them away. He grabbed a few more things, odd bottles, and containers covered in strange words and tucked them away. Rolling back on his heels, he stood, brushing off his robes, he left the room. 

“Read,y Severus?” he asked, finding the man leaning against the dark grey brick. Snape said nothing, only motioning at Draco for him to lead the way. Draco moved quickly, the heels of his polished black loafers clacking against the floor as his long, luxurious cloak skimmed the ancient stone floors. 

“What does the Dark Lord have you saying?” Snapes ' voice was low, dull, and most definitely not filled with the intrigue he was feeling. 

“It’s quite important, honestly, I’m shocked by it myself, tell me, which of Potter's friends are still here?” 

“The youngest Weasleys, Lovegood, and of course, some of the Senior Gryffindors, it was a shame they failed half their classes last year, Defence against the Dark Arts especially, poor Longbottom did miserably.” 

Draco shook his head, “Such a shame.” 

“Now, Draco, the announcement?” Snape quirked a brow. 

“It’s a good one, Hermione Granger is dead, Potter and Weasly are on the run themselves, and without their beloved, Golden Girl, their bound to mess up and fail.” He smiled; nothing would please him more than Potter's downfall.

Snape didn’t say anything for a long moment, deep in thought, “And you are pleased?” 

Draco scoffed, “Positively gleeful, honestly, I couldn't stomach the thought of her dirtying and wizard blood, be it Weasly’s or Potter’s,” he sneered, “Or both.” He suppressed a grimace, while that was something he would have once said, it felt like a lifeless performative statement now, and did nothing to reflect the beautiful, broken girl living in his castle. 

“Is that so?” Snape drawled. 

“Yes,” Draco bit out tersely, “Now please, let’s get this done, I have places to be.” 

The great hall hadn’t changed in its appearance, but it had changed in atmosphere. The constant, incessant babbling was replaced with whispers that had an undercurrent of fear. And the houses were even more divided than the norm, the Slytherins sitting tall and proud. Snape led him across the raised platform where the teachers ate, to a prominent lectern. 

“Silence!” he commanded, his voice magically amplified. Everyone stopped, even the Slytherins looked queasy, as the Carrows moved the flank, Snape. “Lord Malfoy is here to deliver a message on behalf of the dark lord. Your attention is needed.” 

Draco paused. Looking around for his father, before he realized that the Lord Malfoy Snape was talking about him. He sighed, shaking his head. How could he forget? That was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. He moved before the lectern. He was tall, but standing on this raised platform, above many of his peers, he felt like a giant. 

“Could I please have your attention?” he paused, giving the students time to turn and look at him. “ Hermione Granger is dead.” Somehow, that hall became even quieter, a supernatural hush enveloping the sea of minds before him. “Harry Potter and Ron Weasley are on the run, we are fast approaching, if you have any more information about them, and where they may be, we suggest you come forward now.” He cleared his throat, “While the opportunity for forgiveness remains, thank you, that is all.” He stepped back, watching as the pandemonium started. Ginny Weasley began sobbing, her vibrant red hair was flat and dull. Someone got up and started yelling at him, drawing their wand to fire curses. He squinted. Was that Longbottom? Yeah, it was interesting. He found as students clutched eachother, the reaction was far more emotional than he had expected. He had seen many of the students who were now crying her Hermione’s supposed death, mocking her in the halls years earlier, calling her names, and ignoring her; he had to wonder, were they crying for Hermione, or themselves?