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Empire of Ants	By : crzydiamond Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 9533 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to the franchise. No money is being made from this story

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It'd been five months since Hermione returned from the dead.

Five long months.

So much had happened.

After she collapsed, everyone was immediately notified and the house instantly became bustling with people. Everyone wanted to see her...most because they were her loved ones, but the newer members wanted to see what it looked like...what two months of Deatheater torture did to a person.

The healing process had been extremely painful. She was unconscious for a week from the blood loss. According to the healer she had nearly every injury under the sun. All were able to be healed except for some of the wounds on her back that caused her chronic pain- they were completely unresponsive to magic so they had to be sown up the muggle way. And they were still slowly healing and gave Hermione a lot of trouble.

Rabastan Lestrange also left a permanent mark on her. She remembered when it happened, that he'd first cursed the knife he had used. Then with disgusting delight, he carved a crude replica of the dark mark onto the fleshy inside of Hermione's forearm. The wounds healed but the scars never would.

The biggest change for her though was her voice. Her screaming induced by the routine use of the cruciatus curse had severely damaged her vocal cords. Luckily, Madame Pomfrey was able to slowly heal her, a process she was still going through. But until she was completely healed, Hermione was forced to speak primarily in a low soft voice.

Hermione had night terrors. That was probably an understatement. Each night she awoke screaming her throat raw, clawing at her own skin. The first time it happened, the whole Headquarters was awakened. Harry had to slap her across the face in order to draw her out of her dream and stop her from trying to dig her own eyes out.

They said it didn't matter- they didn't care that they were constantly awoken by her screaming. Even Dreamless Droughts didn't work on her- no one seemed to figure out why. Some things just wouldn't be forgotten. Most times Harry or Ron ended up rocking her back to sleep, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as she sobbed herself dry.

She gradually began to silence her room at night to give everyone the impression that her night terrors were lessening. Eventually, they all assumed that they'd stopped and Hermione would never tell them that she woke up terrified and alone every night, screaming in her own silent prison. She was already a burden and she couldn't add any more weight.

Five months later and everyone kept saying how far she'd come. She almost looked like her old self- she'd put back on weight thanks to Mrs. Weasley's cooking and was close to a healthy size. Mrs. Weasley had also lovingly combed out Hermione's hair while she was unconscious, conditioning her locks until they slightly resembled the bushy mass from before. But Hermione was still pale with slight bluish bruises under her eyes- most people thought it was because she spent too much time reading. She'd never admit that she never got any sleep because of her nightmares.

Because of the wounds on her back that refused to heal, Hermione couldn't participate in battles or raids. Harry and Ron forbade it anyway for fear that something would happen to her. So she put her brain to use and became the mastermind behind the Order- she researched spells and curses to use in battle, taught them to the members, organized the raids and began to design new battle gear based off of muggle technology. She learned the art of healing from Madame Pomfrey to aid the injured when they were brought back to Headquarters.

But these were all empty accomplishments. In reality, nothing had changed. Not for her.

She still woke up every night, screaming, terrified and alone.

Just as she had when she was captured.

But five months after she returned, everything changed. Forever.

_______________________________________________________________

“Hermione?”

She looked up from her book she was reading beside the fire. It was Ron, smiling down at her warmly. She couldn't help but smile back at him. His presence felt like something comforting wrapping around her. She couldn't help but feel safe when he was there.

He sat down beside her and she immediately noticed his eyes on the couch on the other side of the room. Harry and Ginny were cuddled on it, whispering into each other's ears.

Ron scowled. “If he wasn't Harry, I'd hurt him.”

“You're happy to see him happy. And Ginny too,” Hermione pointed out with an amused grin, looking back down at her book.

“As usual, you're right,” he sighed reluctantly, relaxing into his seat. He noticed the book in her hands and read the title aloud. “The History of Tai Chi. What's Tai Chi?”

“An ancient form of martial arts,” Hermione explained. “I was thinking we should start to include physical training. To build stamina. And then some combat, in case you're ever without your wand, it'd still be possible to survive.”

“You should talk to Tonks about it. You know she's always wanted to start training for physical combat.”

She half nodded, flipping another page. For the first time in her life, she wasn't really reading. More like scanning. Just enough to keep her mind occupied from the memories that seemed to constantly swarm her vision.

Ron placed a hand on her arm. “You alright Hermione?”

“Of course I'm alright. You know me, I'm always reading.” She felt his blue eyes on her face and she turned away to hide her pained expression.

In the time she'd been gone, Ron had grown unusually perceptive. He could read people easily now, it was almost uncanny. So Hermione knew that he knew she was lying through her teeth. But he never pushed her into telling him the truth...never wanted to push her away.

“Hermione I...” he trailed off, taking her small hand in his large one. Ron couldn't seem to say what he wanted and instead gave her a small squeeze. “I'm gonna go get something to eat. Want something?”

“Hot chocolate,” Hermione said with a small smile.

Ron smiled back and got off the couch, glaring at Harry and Ginny as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. There was a sudden banging on the door- Ron froze, his body tense before slowly turning towards the door. Everyone looked up, watching cautiously. It was far too late for someone to be arriving. It meant someone was injured or....

There was the sound of the door being opened but no words from Ron. After a moment, Hermione, Ginny and Harry shared worried glances before she got up, her wand drawn.

“Ron?” she said, approaching the hallway. “Who is it?”

His tall frame was standing motionless in the doorway and he turned his head to glance back at her. She recoiled when she saw the hard, cold look in his eyes.

“Ron?” she repeated, stepping up behind him.

“Hermione get back,” the redhead murmured, trying to block her view of the doorway.

She rolled her eyes and managed to jostle past him. “Who is-”

Her wand fell from her hand which rose to cover her mouth.

Really, by now, she should've been used to such ridiculous occurrences. But it seemed she never would.

Lying in a large puddle of blood, was Draco Malfoy, pale and motionless and seemingly dead. The only indication that he was still living was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. His silver hair lay in a halo around his head, stained a dark pink.

“Oh Merlin,” Hermione gasped. She never thought she'd ever see him again. Let alone dying on the front steps of Grimmauld Place.

Ron stood still for another moment before slamming the door shut.

Hermione stared up at him in utter shock. “Ron! What're you doing?”

He ignored her, walking back to the drawing room.

“Ron!” Frustrated, she turned the knob, trying to get to Malfoy outside.

When he heard her open the door again, he stalked back over and forced it closed. She'd never seen him so angry.

“Leave it,” Ron ordered.

“No!” Hermione protested. “I'm not leaving him to die!”

“Whats going on?” came Harry's worried voice. He appeared in the hallway a second later and approached his two arguing friends. “What's wrong?”

“Draco bloody Malfoy is on the front step!” Ron seethed through clenched teeth. “And Hermione wants to bring him in here!”

Harry blinked, overwhelmed by the overload of ridiculous information. “What?”

Ron jerked the door open, revealing Draco still lying deadly still on the steps.

“We can't leave him to die,” she argued, shaking her head vehemently. “He's obviously been tortured by Voldemort-”

“I don't give two shits,” Ron snapped. “He chose to follow him and now he's paying for it. Not our bloody problem.”

“Ron-”

He spun on her, his usually smiling face twisted in anger. “I'm not endangering anyone in this house again! Especially not you!”

She turned her head to look at the wall with her arms folded across her chest, blinking away tears.

His expression immediately softened and he ran a hand over his face. “Don't cry Hermione. You know I can't stand it when you cry.”

“You don't understand Ron,” Hermione finally said hoarsely. “We have to save him.”

“We don't owe fucking Draco Malfoy a thing!” Ron said with exasperation. His resolve was beginning to break, watching her get so upset.

“She does.”

The three of them stared at each other for a moment, wondering which one of them just spoke. It didn't take long for them to realize it was Draco.

Hermione sighed, kneeling beside him. “Malfoy,” she said, almost sadly.

He cracked open his eyes, painted an eerie silver in the moonlight. “You owe me.”

She bowed her head, biting her lip. “I know.”

“What is he talking about?” said Harry as Hermione stood back up.

“She didn't bother to tell you?” Draco said almost mockingly between slow labored breaths. His voice was strained and low. “Didn't you ever wonder how your precious mudblood escaped?”

“Say that word again and I'll finish the job for Voldemort!” Ron spat venomously.

“Ron.” Hermione placed a restraining hand on his arm. “He's right.”

The both of them stared at her blankly, obviously needing more of an explanation. Hermione opened her mouth to speak but the dying blonde beat her to it.

“I saved her life Weasel.”

The silence was deafening.

Draco's lips were twisted into a pained smirk.

“I guess you owe me much more than you thought. ”

________________________________________________________________

“We can't take the risk,” grunted Alastor Moody the next morning.

The entire Order was piled into the kitchen, looking weary and haggard. Moody was limping back and forth, his magical eye rolling around wildly in his head.

“I agree,” Lupin said softly. “He's too much of a liability-”

McGonagall interrupted. “If we turn him away, the boy will surely be killed.”

“This is war,” Moody replied gruffly. “People die, Minerva. One less Deatheater for us to deal with in the end.”

The older woman shook her head, sighing in resignation. Mrs. Weasley placed a hand on her shoulder and looked at her husband for support.

“Surely we can take him in? One more mouth to feed won't break the camel's back.”

“Mum!” Ron snapped. “This isn't just a stray from the street! Its bloody Malfoy for Merlin's sake!”

“Language,” his mother chided sternly.

Ginny spoke up, holding Hermione's hand across Harry's lap beneath the table. “I think we should let Hermione decide. She was the one who took care of him the entire night.”

She didn't know if she should thank Ginny or curse her as seventy pair of eyes turned to stare at her. The logic behind throwing Malfoy back to the wolves was sound- he was a Deatheater and a huge liability if the Order didn't play their cards right. An overwhelming majority of the Order seemed to want to kick Malfoy back on the street to fend for himself.

“I think...” Hermione paused, trying to get the words right in her head. “It'd be cruel to just toss him out to get killed.”

Ron's large fist slammed onto the table top, knocking over glasses of chilled pumpkin juice. “You don't owe him anything Hermione! You were tortured in that bastard's basement!”

“Ron, that is enough!” snapped Arthur, glaring at his son from across the table. “You know better than to bring that up-”

She took a deep breath and held up a hand to interrupt Mr. Weasley's sentence. “I understand. But he saved my life. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

“Hermione of course it does,” Lupin said kindly. “But one good deed does not erase his past.”

“He <i>chose</i> to save me. He could've let me die.” Her low voice was quickly drowned out by protests.

“And how do we know that wasn't some part of a larger plan?” Moody pointed out loudly. “Saving you to seek mercy from us? When it could just be a plan to breach our defenses!”

Others were murmuring in agreement and the sound grew to a deafening din that sounded like a drone of bees.

“No!” Her voice which was usually a soft, almost pleading tone grew to a angered yell that pierced through the heated arguing.

Everyone froze, shocked at Hermione's sudden outburst. A fire reminiscent of her temper from Hogwarts was present in her eyes and her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

“He owed me a life debt! So he decided to save me! It had nothing to do with the ridiculous notion of breaching our defenses!”

Moody argued back, his face red with indignation. “So thats it then! He owed you! And now the debt is done. There's nothing left for you to do Miss Granger!”

“Alastor!” McGonagall said. “You know that isn't how a life debt works!”

The aged Auror went silent, lips thin and pursed. Ron glanced at Hermione and then back at their former head of house. “What exactly does that mean?”

McGonagall took of her glasses, squeezing the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Mr. Malfoy did owe Miss Granger a life debt- but it was up to her to use it and require something of him to break it. He didn't have to save her life unless she specifically told him to. He very well could've left her to die. But by saving her life, without her asking for it, he invoked a second life debt. And so Miss Granger now owes her existence to him.”

“I owe him my life,” Hermione said quickly before anyone could interrupt. “And I can't sit here and condemn him to death.”

Remus looked at her sadly, leaning back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “Hermione, its still not a good idea...”

“We can take him under oath,” she suggested. “Force his loyalty. And use all that he knows to our advantage. He could very well have invaluable information that we'd be without otherwise. Information that could make winning this war just a little easier.”

There was silence again and Hermione could tell that her logic was appealing to a large number of the Order.

“I think Hermione's got a point.” It was obvious it was painful for Harry to admit but he did anyway, smiling weakly at Hermione.

“I don't like it,” Moody protested stubbornly.

“You may not like it Alastor,” McGongall said irately. “But you're going to have to live with it.”

______________________________________________________________________

Draco awoke a day and half after the decision was made to take him in. He still was going to be questioned under Veritaserum and taken under oath, but seeing as he was so weak, Hermione had to nurse him back to health first.

When he opened his eyes again, night had fallen and Hermione was curled up in a chair by the fireplace, reading. There were no extra bedrooms...well no one was willing to share a room with Malfoy. So he was resigned to staying on the couch in one of the drawing rooms on the lower level.

“What was the verdict?”

His voice startled Hermione who was completely immersed in her book. He was laying on his back, eyes open, staring at the dark ceiling.

“To take you in,” she answered softly, getting up to stand beside the couch. “How do you feel?”

“Like I was just tortured,” Draco replied dryly without any humor.

“Can you sit up?”

He cast a dark look in her direction but gritted his teeth and managed to right himself into a sitting position. He felt strangely dissociated from himself as he looked down at his body- his entire chest was wrapped in bandages and his arm was in a sling. His legs were visible underneath a thick blanket, his feet hanging a good foot off the end of the couch- but he couldn't feel anything. For a panicked second, he thought perhaps he was crippled.

“Its a numbing potion,” came the explanation when she saw him staring down at his legs. “ One of your legs was hit with a splitting hex. Believe me when I say you don't want to feel how that goes when it heals.”

“What was the damage?” Draco asked uninterestedly to fill the silence as Hermione began to unwind his bandages.

He felt her hands pause and then start again. “Four broken ribs. Split right leg. Internal bleeding. Left arm broken in several places.” Her voice wavered before she continued. “Lacerations on the chest and back. Multiple stab wounds. Broken nose. Some sort of puncture wound that went straight through your chest and exited out your back. Second degree burns.”

The bandages fell away and he looked down. His chest was a swollen mass of mottled bruises, his original skin color completely absent beneath black and blue. He could also see some stitching spanning the expanse of his lower abdomen.

“Whats that?” Draco asked. She looked around his shoulder.

“Someone sliced open your stomach. Presumably to disembowel you.”

They fell back into uneasy silence. Hermione was silently blinking back tears as she surveyed his back which was by far, the worst of his injuries. There wasn't an inch of skin spared from the long, red, weeping gashes of split flesh. Some of the smaller lacerations were healed magically but she knew from experience that most would have to heal naturally. She wasn't crying because he'd been tortured- looking at him brought back fresh, painful memories of her own torture.

“It seems you were finally good for something,” Draco said. He paused. “Does this mean I owe you another life debt?” She could hear the irritation in his voice.

“No. You asked me to save you Malfoy. So the debt was considered fulfilled.”

He sighed heavily, groaning when the gashes on his back expanded with his inhalation.“Finally I'm free of you.”

Hermione didn't bother to answer, cleansing the raw wounds with her wand. She felt his eyes scrutinizing her when she picked up a curved needle and thread.

“What're you doing Granger?”

“The wounds on your back won't heal magically- I have to stitch them up the muggle way and let them heal naturally.”

“The muggle way?” Draco grunted incredulously, still staring at the needle and thread. “Fucking barbaric.”

“If you prefer me to leave them as they are, then feel free to say so,” Hermione said without any anger. She'd prepared herself for his antics before he awoke and was too tired to argue.

“Get me a shot of firewhiskey.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his demand but he couldn't very well get up and retrieve it himself. So she went to the liquor cabinet pulling out one of the many bottles of firewhiskey the Order invested in- alcohol was often used to forget the events of battle.

She pushed the entire bottle in his hand, watching him carefully as he took deep gulps of the liquid. He flinched slightly as it burned his throat, but the feeling of numbness was immediate and his body relaxed.

“Go on Granger. The sooner you're gone the better.”

“I can leave now if you want Malfoy,” Hermione said irately with a wearied sigh. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way- the easy way meaning you keep your vitriolic comments to yourself while I do my job. Or we can do it the hard way which will include a lot of pain on your part.”

After a moment of quiet, he chuckled darkly, a sound that resonated ominously throughout the room. “Glad to see you still have that acidic tongue Granger.” He took another gulp of firewhiskey. “I was beginning to wonder if the torture had made you soft.”

He heard the soft whine of the thread passing through the needle and then the prick and burn of the first stitch. He grunted in pain and took another shot.

“What happened Malfoy?” she asked.

“None of your damn business.” Draco flinched as she pulled the next stitch particularly tight.

“You're going to be interrogated anyway. Once you get a little better.”

Minutes passed and she was almost done with the first wound. She saw his coiled muscles relax and tense again as she began the next one.

“Did they find out that it was you?”

Draco was silent, staring ahead into nothingness. “No.”

“He just...tortured you for fun?”

“Granger its not something I particularly want to discuss right now,” he said though gritted teeth, trying his best to be civil to avoid unneeded pain.

“I worried a little you know,” she continued nonchalantly. “Not very much, considering its you, but I felt guilty. Wondering if you'd been found out.”

“Your ability to be an emotional philanthropist astounds me,” Draco sneered. “But to assuage your guilt, it wasn't you. It had nothing to do with you at all. So save me the speech.”

“How did you know this place?”

“Your portkey. I remembered the address. I figured it was the best chance I had- better than waiting to be killed. Of course it was convenient when I realized that you owed me a life debt.”

Hermione glanced around his shoulder and saw the bottle was half gone. At this rate, Malfoy was going to be smashed to bits before she was even halfway through. She pulled it from his slack grip and returned it to the cabinet, ignoring his black glare.

“Are you willing to do what they're going to ask?”

“I don't have much of a choice, now do I?” he snapped. He was fed up with her questions, knowing he was going to be forced to answer so many more in the next couple of days.

Silence enveloped them again but Hermione barely noticed- she was too busy wondering what Malfoy had been tortured for. And how these events were going to play out. It was strange seeing him with his dark mark, sitting on Sirius' couch with her stitching up his back. Draco Malfoy, of all people...

“I'm done,” Hermione told him almost an hour later. All of the wounds were closed by her neat, tiny stitches- he looked like some sort of morbid rag doll.

She rewound the bandages after covering his back in a salve. She went to help him lie down but he ignored her hand and fell back heavily, still numbed from the firewhiskey.

“Its going to take a long time for you to heal Malfoy,” Hermione said, cleaning up the supplies.

“I figured.” His arm was thrown over his face and his voice was slightly muffled. “I guess you would know better than anyone, wouldn't you?”

She stiffened, not knowing if he was taking a stab at her of her or being serious- considering it was Malfoy, it was more than likely the former.

“I'm not going to presume I know what happened to you,” she said. “Don't presume you know what happened to me Malfoy. Though I suppose you do, considering I was tortured in your house.”

Her last sentence sounded bitter, even to her ears and she wished immediately that she could take it back. Not to spare his feelings, but to spare hers.

Draco was silent and she thought he'd fallen asleep. She could barely hear him breathing. But then he spoke, startling her again for the second time that night.

“I didn't know Granger.” He shifted, turning to look at the fireplace. “I don't owe you anything but I didn't know.”

The confession startled her for some reason. She spent time inside her cell and outside it wondering if Draco had known- if he was really that much of a monster. It didn't take long to conclude that he was but after he saved her life, she wasn't so sure.

“It doesn't matter,” Hermione responded cooly, shaking away her wandering thoughts. “You don't care either way.”

“You're right. I don't.”

She sighed, not knowing if she was angry with him or herself.

The lights extinguished as she left the room, leaving Draco Malfoy staring at the flames in darkness. She felt a lot like him in that moment, or more so, she felt like him, five months ago. Being stitched back together, waiting for the questions to come the next morning.

But it couldn't be helped.

Hermione returned to her room, settling into her bed to prepare herself for her inevitable awakening a few hours later. Even as she drifted off, she couldn't keep her mind off of Malfoy and the string of events that had brought all of them to this point.

She sighed, staring through her window at the moon high and bright in the sky

Only time would tell the future.
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Empire of Ants