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Claiming Hermione	By : ilke Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 116523 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 10
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 31
- 32
Harry. Potter. Was going. To. Die.

Bastard.

There was a thick roaring just inside Draco’s skull, hard, pounding water rushing past his ears. Draco braced himself against the pull of the Veritaserum. He held his body tight and very still. So still that the involuntary quick, small thump of his pulse in his neck was the only movement visible. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Every inch of his body was armored with determination. He wouldn’t give Potter this. Couldn’t give Potter this.

Four full seconds ticked by.

Potter’s smirking mouth twitched as he watched Draco fight to keep his secrets to himself. He fought the compulsion to not drive his fist into Potter’s smug face.

Potter leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. “Relax, Malfoy. Veritaserum only works when asked a direct question. Your secrets are yours to keep.”

Another four seconds. Un. Fucking. Believable. Bastard.

“You suck, Potter.”

**************************************************

Draco sulked until the door opened again and Mr. Weasley came in, followed by Dumbledore. Mr. Weasley’s expression was closed, though not unkind, and Draco hated that he couldn’t read it. And Dumbledore, well, Draco imagined that the old man’s eyes would glitter with mirth even as he was about to cast an Unforgivable.

Dumbledore stopped in front of the seat Draco occupied and smiled down at him. Heart hammering in his chest, and hope soaring up through his gut, Draco stood.

“Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Draco.” Dumbledore grasped Draco’s hand warmly and shook it.

An enormous wave of heat rushed up Draco’s neck and face, leaving him off-balance and his cheeks prickling, strangely self-conscious of Potter’s presence beside him.

Later, he wouldn’t be able to say how he’d responded, if he’d managed to maintain his composure or melted into the ground. All he would remember was the swollen feeling in his head and behind his eyes. A feeling of both suffocating underwater and gasping in that first breath of air after breaking the surface.

“Thank you, Sir,” he said politely, as if one of the most important things to ever happen to him hadn’t just occurred. He looked into the wrinkled face of his headmaster, glowing with a fatherly kind of pride that made Draco feel flushed around his ears.

Potter moved towards the door and the motion drew Draco’s eye. The git smirked at him (again!) just before heading out of the room.

Arthur Weasley welcomed him also, professionally, and perhaps a little warily. He’d enlarged one of the small tables in the room and moved it closer to the bright window, transfiguring the large squashy chairs into table chairs instead. Moody and Lupin returned a moment later, followed by the ugly house elf with a large tray of sandwiches and bowls of the steaming stew he’d eaten earlier. The smell of the food, delicious as it was, just made him feel queasy.

Dumbledore clapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to sit down. The others were all taking spots at the table and helping themselves to the lunch provided.

“Now the hard work, Malfoy.” Moody’s overlarge eye swiveled around wildly before seemingly gluing itself in position to stare directly at Draco. Queasy, yes.

“Never met anyone so eager to tell the truth,” he quipped. Draco groaned internally. If Moody knew how to smile, it probably looked something like the maniacal contortion of teeth and lips and scarred cheeks that was suddenly twisting his face. “Severus should be here shortly with extra Emoveoserum to counteract the Veritaserum.”

Severus? Severus Snape? How many people could be named Severus? It couldn’t be…

As if he were able to read Draco’s mind, Dumbledore answered, “Yes, Draco. Your Head of House is in the Order also.”

“As soon as the serum takes effect, we’ll find out what you know,” Moody continued. “Probably have some useful information in that blond head of yours, considering your particular <i>connections. </i>” Right. His father. But before Draco could feel too uncomfortable, the door slammed open again, and Snape scowled his way to the table. He unceremoniously plonked a vial down on the wood in front of Draco.

Snape raised an admonishing eyebrow at him making Draco feel about an inch big. Slytherins are masters of expression. Snape’s was clearly saying, “Really, Draco. The whole vial? In the future, do try to think before you act. People will begin to think you’re a bloody Gryffindor. And this place is quite overrun with them as it is.” Draco may have added the last part in his head, but it probably wasn’t far off the mark.

This time Draco waited for instructions. He wasn’t prone to repeating mistakes.

“You’ll need to take the whole thing. It won’t be pleasant.” Draco was pretty sure that Snape was relishing just how unpleasant it would be – probably thought it would help drive the lesson home. Snape watched intently as he swallowed the entire vial of horrible sour liquid. When Lupin conjured a glass of pumpkin juice for him, Snape looked decidedly disappointed.

Potter returned then and took the seat next to Draco, immediately reaching for a sandwich and ignoring Snape’s presence.

His fun spoiled and his least favorite pupil present, Snape left the room, leaving Draco under the weight of five pairs of eyes.

“Right then, Draco, is it true your father bought your way onto the Slytherin Quidditch team in your second year?” Moody asked suddenly.

“Excuse me?” Draco spluttered.

“Looks like the antidote has taken effect.”

Oh. Draco took a deep breath and let it out loudly.

“Let’s get down to business, then. You know that the Ministry searched Malfoy Manor in September…” Mr. Weasley began. The reminder was a solid blow to his gut. The images of his mother that had haunted him for the last four months swam before his eyes and he stiffened. Mr. Weasley must have noticed because his expression immediately softened and he continued more warmly.

“We’d like you to tell us about Malfoy Manor. Ancestral homes often have layers upon layers of history, charms, enchantments, curses. I’m sure there are things the Ministry missed.”

They were all looking eagerly at him. At his hesitation, Arthur added, “None of the information you give us will be shared with the Ministry. It’s strictly Order knowledge.”

Draco nodded. Yes. He’d said yes. Yes, he was dedicated to bringing down that power hungry madman who’d stolen his family from him. And for reasons he couldn’t fathom, these people – these four Gryffindors and a paranoid ex-Auror – had been very careful not to ask him anything about his home, his father, Gryffindors, Death Eaters, anything while under the effects of the Veritaserum. He wouldn’t hold anything back. He sat up and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, and began.

For a solid two hours he detailed every nook and cranny of Malfoy Manor, and there were many. More than the Ministry could have imagined. Ancient family spells that hid secrets in plain sight. The library was stocked with what was thought to be the largest collection of Dark Arts books in existence. There were secret rooms with horrific pasts. Secret rooms stashed with illegal instruments. Hidden laboratories for ‘experimenting’. Lucius Malfoy would be shocked to know that Draco even knew about many of them. But Draco had been a curious and thorough boy, and his father had left him alone too often. The legends of the Great and Mighty Malfoy Name he had been fed as a child, had him devouring every family text he could find. There were worlds of secrets in hidden in Malfoy Manor. He spilled them all.

They took a break around three o’clock and Draco followed Potter around the rest of the Black House. He only had vague memories of it as a child. Bits and pieces. The curtains in the library. Dark green marble with gold veins surrounding a fireplace. A tiny painting in a plain frame, tucked into a dark corner, of an old man with stark white hair and a ruffled sapphire blue high collar, smiling in a way that looked obscene among the other dour, lifeless Black portraits. What he didn’t remember was that Grimmauld Place had a back yard.

He and Potter stood on the icy stairs looking over the small brick-enclosed yard. Even buried under a thick quilt of snow, a yard seemed like an entirely too optimistic space for the Blacks. Maybe they buried their dead back here.

It was one of those overcast winter days when the sky and snow and everything in between were the same hard, dull grey. It was the kind of miserable and dreary day that drove out thoughts of cozy fires and thick socks, leaving nothing but grey and cold and grey.

A voice called Potter’s name from inside and he left Draco standing alone on the porch watching his breath billow out and disappear in the biting air.

When they returned to the sitting room it was for more of the same. Draco catalogued every person he could remember ever visiting the Manor. Everyone from the Arborist and family physician to people he knew for sure were Death Eaters. His father had been fairly careful not to conduct “business” out in the open, but Draco had done his best to eavesdrop as often as possible, as any child would. And Draco was clever, even as a young child, so he’d done a damn good job of it. He’d named so many people he began to lose track of who he’d mentioned. When Draco had started to repeat too many names, he thought about the one person he hadn’t mentioned and hesitated.

“Anyone else?” the Headmaster asked.

Draco’s foot bounced under the table. He just wasn’t sure… The Headmaster gave him a pointed look. “Well, yes… Professor Snape, actually. Frequently.”

“Ah, yes, Severus,” Dumbledore said knowingly. Draco wasn’t sure what to make of it. Nobody seemed alarmed by the idea that their Order member was a regular guest at the home of a known Death Eater. Lupin didn’t even write it down with the other names.

“A friend of your father’s, wasn’t he?” Dumbledore added.

“My mother’s, actually. Though, I think he started out as father’s friend.”

Dumbledore’s gaze looked far away for a moment and he mumbled, “Yes, yes, of course…” but didn’t add anything further.

The lack of surprise or explanation spoke volumes and the truth hit Draco all at once as his opinion of Severus Snape skyrocketed. He was a spy.

**************************************************

They spent another hour further emptying Draco of everything he knew about his father’s business affairs: everything to do with the Ministry, and even with his mother, though not as in-depth. Draco racked his brain to remember as much as he could, sure that at any moment someone was going to pop back in the room and announce, “So sorry. We made a mistake. Actually, your pinky moved when you first answered, and I’m afraid we can’t accept you into the Order after all. We’ll just Obliviate you now and send you back to the dungeons.” He was, quite literally, sitting on the edge of his seat.

But it never happened. Stomachs growled loudly (though, thankfully, not his, this time) and it was generally agreed that Draco had given them more than enough valuable information to get started with. Moody grumbled as he stood and stumped off to a hidey-hole somewhere and Lupin begged off dinner with the group with a guilty look and hurried out the door, shaking Draco’s hand quickly on his way out.

Potter gave Draco another one of those long appraising looks that made him feel like he would start squirming at any moment, but was interrupted by Mr. Weasely. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, Draco. I’m sure Molly has made quite a feast this evening.”

Before Draco could really panic - and before Potter could keel over in laughter - Dumbledore answered for him, “I imagine Mr. Malfoy could do with a little time to himself after this long day. And, if I’m not mistaken, there’s still Peeves to contend with. The Hogwarts house elves would be very grateful indeed if he was straightened out before the students come back tomorrow. The students cause quite enough mayhem all by themselves.”

Draco took the out. “Certainly, Professor.” With that he stood up, thanked Mr. Weasley for the invitation, wondering if he should shake his hand or not. Mr. Weasley smiled warmly at him and held out his own hand, solving the dilemma.

“Any time, Draco. Thank you for your openness today. You had the freedom to share as much as you saw fit, and the information you’ve given us will be of immense value. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that you surprised us all.”

His blue eyes twinkled in a decidedly Dumbledorian fashion and he added, “I have a feeling we will be even more surprised when we get a chance to learn about your skills. I hear you’re lightning fast and rather formidable on a broom as well as with a wand.”

Now Draco did blush and out of the corner of his eye, saw Potter picking determinedly at his sleeve. “Thank you, Sir.”

**************************************************

Hermione’s knee bounced uncontrollably under the large table in the library. Seaweed, Sea grass, Sea cucumbers. Four books lay open around her, turned to pages of sea creatures and ocean geography, and a large map of the Pacific Ocean, circa 1512, lay rolled out over it all. Even the largest body of water on earth couldn’t drown out the itchy feeling that crawled through her insides.

She popped up for the umpteenth time and went back to the bookcase, running her fingers up and down dusty old leather spines, embossed with titles she wasn’t really reading, by authors she couldn’t bring herself to care about. Behind her Ron let out another loud huff, presumably at his sister who was soundly beating him in The Longest Chess Game In History. Though Hermione suspected, the string of huffs were really directed at her.

She pulled a medium sized book with a red cover down and opened it to a random page. Draco was in the room just across the hall. It seemed to Hermione that she could feel the weight of him, and the distance, as a tangible thing. She imagined him sitting stiffly at a table, hands clasped in front of him as if to say, “You see, here are my hands, I’m hiding nothing.” But also, “I will give you only this much. The rest is mine.”

She shifted restlessly and turned a page in an imitation of reading and Ron huffed again. Hermione’s finger trailed slowly down the page as her mind swam with the possibilities of what was happening across the hall. It did occur to her that he could be telling the Order (and, oh God, Harry) about them. But, her concern over that faded as she imagined the agony that Draco must be going through. He was openly defying everyone who had ever loved him, and baring himself to people he believed hated him. And, she knew, Draco would hold nothing back, keep nothing for himself if he thought it would help them. Even if it terrified him to be so open and vulnerable. She was glad she wasn’t in there. It would be worse.

Hermione stood at the bookcase, her finger stalled on the page of the forgotten book in her hand, as a memory filled her vision. She heard the crush of fallen leaves under her feet, months ago now, on a sunny day in the Forbidden Forest, suddenly still. And she remembered the contrast of black against the sun-dappled trees. And the sound, the terrible sound - as she stepped though the boundary of a silencing spell – the terrible, all-consuming sound of heartache. Her stomach clenched around the heavy stone in her gut.

The restlessness returned tenfold and she snapped the red book shut to pull out another. And another. Her agitation and desperation to do something, anything, to make this better for Draco was becoming a frantic energy inside her. Wild ideas flew through her head. She began to imagine ways she could do this in his stead (a form of Polyjuice?) or maybe through modified Legilemency, or, damn, if she could just figure out where Gryffindorness came from, she could cut some out of her…

The swooshing sound of the door opening across the hall turned everyone’s head. A moment later, the soft click of it closing followed, and the library door opened. Remus Lupin peeked his sandy blonde head in.

“Hello, you three. Just wanted to let you know that we’re all finished. I think it went very well. Draco Malfoy is going to be quite valuable, eh? Alright, I’m off.”

“Wait up, Remus, I’ll go down with you,” Ginny said as she followed him out, leaving the door open behind her and leaving Hermione staring with her mouth open at the closed door across the hall. Ron huffed again, making the object of his annoyance clear, but Hermione’s attention was elsewhere.

**************************************************

Stepping into the hallway, Draco turned to find a head of large honey brown curls right in front of him. Her wide eyes connected with his and Draco got the impression she was trying to convey some message through her eyes alone. There was hope there, he thought, but something else too. Uncertainty, maybe. Potter nudged around him and scampered down the stairs, no doubt following the smell of food, and Hermione and Draco both quickly looked away from each other. When Potter was gone, Draco looked back to find a small, shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. And her cheeks seemed to have gone slightly pink like she’d just remembered what they’d done the night before.

A moment later, the Weasel stepped around Granger and barreled his way between them, eyes narrowed at Draco with a hateful glare and clipping Draco’s shoulder hard on his way past. It was on the tip of his tongue to disparage the overgrown ape’s manners, when Mr. Weasley appeared over Draco’s shoulder, followed by the Headmaster. Draco stepped to the side to let them pass.

“Hermione, you’ll stay for dinner, won’t you? Ginny has been missing you terribly, and we’d all love to hear what you’ve been up to.” Draco blushed for the second time in as many minutes, grateful that the attention was on the Head Girl.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied brightly, hesitating for moment before following Mr. Weasley down the stairs.

Dumbledore clapped a hand onto Draco’s shoulder and offered to show him to a quieter (less Weasleyesque) floo in a third floor room.

**************************************************

The winter light was softly dying when he returned to Hogwarts. Drifting in through his charmed window, it cast his room in a quiet grey haze, a touch of dusky pink at the edges. Draco stood in the middle of his room and exhaled, long and slow. The four poster, the large desk, the leather couch, even his favorite arm chair… all seemed diminished somehow. Familiar, comforting, but smaller. After all the movement and business of Grimmauld Place, the silence and stillness of his room was a welcome relief. Draco sunk into his work chair and lay his cheek down on the cool surface of the old wood desk.

He was exhausted. Used up. The will to move or think seeped out of his body with his breath, fled out over the wood and dissipated. The movement of stomach, in and out with his breath, pressed into his arms hanging limply in his lap, and retreated. Press, retreat. He closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if he’d drifted off, but when he opened his eyes again, the grey twilight was still crawling slowly into darkness. He looked out the sideways window, with his head still resting on the desk, watching it fade. His body still felt heavy and drained, and he felt too tired to actually sleep. Without removing his cheek from the cool desk, his hand lazily drifted to the side drawer and pulled out a small sheaf of elegant, embossed parchment. Draco lifted his head off the desk surface, feeling his skin pull off with a reluctant thwick. Perhaps he had fallen asleep after all.

He placed the parchment in front of him and a quill next to it and stared at it for a long moment with his hands in his lap, before picking up the quill.

Dear Mum,

I joined the Order of the Phoenix today.

His quill stopped, but his heart throbbed with a hard, dull, horrible ache. After a few minutes, he added:

I miss you.

Emptiness engulfed him.

For some time, Draco stared at the parchment, letting the words blur under his unfocused gaze. At last, he stood up, abandoned the letter and made his way to his bathroom. The cool room was dark with only the barest touch of the dusky light making its way around the door. Draco needed the dark. Needed the approximation of sleep, of night, needed to rest. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and started the large tub filling. The rushing sound of the water brought back bits of the day. The pounding in his head when he thought he’d have to confess his feeling for the Head Girl. His agitation as he spilled his family secrets. The sudden swoosh of his courage, from his stomach down through the floor, when he was faced with the tapestry. And his father’s face, accusing in needlepoint.

He disrobed slowly, letting everything pile up in a black heap at the side of the tub. When the tub was full, he stepped in.

Inch by inch, the warm water slowly swallowed him. Inching up his strong calves, over his knees, over the long length of his naked thighs, swallowing his soft cock, fingertips, up, up his arms and his stomach. The black surface swelled and rippled with thin, slowly undulating lines of the faint pink-grey dusk that had snuck in. Draco bent his knees and the warm water continued to fill in around him. Now his chest and his broad back, now his shoulders, his hard collarbone, now filling in around his neck. He closed his eyes then and didn’t stop, letting the water surround him fully. Now his chin and the back of his head, now his mouth, now his ears, now over his closed eyes, now his pale bright hair floating in waves around his head like a halo. Down, down, until the warm water had closed in over him and taken him deep into its thick, dark silence. Down. Down. Where there was no more talking, no more thinking, where his body wasn’t heavy with guilt, indecision, or love.

----

*waves* I know you thought this was abandoned, but I promise you, this story has been on my mind for the ENTIRE (almost) two years since we last saw each other. More to come. Really. I do hope you enjoyed this despite the lack of sexy times - more of that to come too. Please let me know what you thought. :)

xoxo - ilke
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