Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

In the Dungeons	By : amidtheflowers Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 9386 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its respective characters belong to J.K. Rowling. This plot line, however, belongs to me. No money or profit are made from writing this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
Chapter Four

The first tendrils of sunlight were seeping faintly through the white curtains, casting soft light on the walls of the living room. The air was pleasantly warm, the ground soft. The realization that he was utterly at peace was what forced Draco's eyes open.

The first thing he realized was that he was not at Malfoy Manor. Where his house's walls were blackened with ancient, majestic architecture, this one was simple and quaint with white walls and pliant furniture. His eyes roved his surroundings and he sat up quickly. Draco was sitting on a dark sofa, and a coffee table was a foot away. He noticed with bemusement that a quilted blanket had been draped on him, but now fell to his lap. He shrugged it off.

Opposite him was a black, rectangular box mounted on the wall, and below it a small shelf filled small rectangular cases. Furrowing his eyes in confusion, he stood up and carefully walked towards the wall, curiosity etched on his face. The front of the large black rectangle was glossy, and he could see his reflection through it. A black mirror? What use was that? His eyes narrowed at a row of small circles jutting from the surface edge of the black mirror. His index finger traced over it curiously.

He pushed a button down.

Immediately Draco stumbled backwards and cursed as his calf hit the coffee table. The box had erupted with life and was flashing moving images of people and loud sounds of their voices were filling the living room. Frantically he rushed back and pushed down on the circles, trying to end what he started, but the images merely changed every time he clicked one.

On instinct he reached into his pocket and whipped out his wand, pointing it angrily at the rectangle on the wall.

"Wait!"

Draco blinked when the sounds and images stopped, and the box was silent once more. He turned around to see Hermione standing with her arm pointed towards the box with her wand too.

No, not a wand. Something else. Something thicker with more little buttons it. Something definitively muggle.

"What," Draco said through his teeth, "is that?"

Hermione carefully put the device on the coffee table, not breaking eye contact with Draco.

"It's a television."

"…A what?"

"A television. A form of muggle entertainment." She gazed at him for a moment before sighing exasperatedly. "Can you put your wand down now? It's not going to eat you. And I really don't want to explain to my mother why a boy decided to stupefy the TV."

Draco frowned but complied, lowering his wand and putting it back in his pocket. Suddenly he felt awkward as he watched her breathe in relief, a hand running through her messy brown locks. His eyes flickered over her, and his thoughts reflected on last night.

He had only opened the door to return her glove. It was stupid, really. He hadn't even expected the door to open. Much to his surprise, he found Hermione Granger huddled on the floor crying silently, as if the very air she breathed was poisonous.

The next thing he knew, he was crouched beside her and holding her tight against his body, trying make the tears stop running down her broken face.

He hadn't been thinking. He was no longer Draco Malfoy at that moment, and she was not Hermione Granger. Something in him fractured at the somber sight, and his body had moved on its own.

He remembered the shudders that ran through her body as the tears ceased to run. He remembered her pulling back a bit, silent, and staring at him with a mixture of pain, gratitude, and utter confusion. He remembered lifting his fingers to her cheeks and brushing away a stray tear.

He also remembered how not a single word had passed between them after Hermione's outburst that she had unintentionally killed her father. He didn't understand how that was possible and how much of that was true, but the fact that it had worked Hermione into a complete meltdown meant that something serious had happened in regards to her father.

Draco could feel his neck turning pink as he recalled how she had leaned into his chest and fallen asleep, tired from her day and from the excessive crying. After a while his legs had gone numb from sitting in the same position, so he gingerly lifted Granger in his arms and trudged upstairs. He wasn't sure which room was hers, and it was by chance that the one he'd decided on had an owl cage and a Hogwarts trunk inside. Carefully he placed her on the bed and retreated.

His first thought had been to Apparate back home, but the moment he began to try he felt his mind swirling. Clearly the copious amounts of wine he'd ingested was still doing fuzzy things to his head. Then he remembered he wasn't allowed to do magic anyway, and he was not looking forward to stumbling around drunkenly back to Malfoy Manor only to end up in snogging distance with a dementor. Grudgingly he'd taken a post on the living room couch, and was dead to the world within minutes.

Draco's eyes wandered back to the couch where the quilt lay forgotten. Hermione must have draped it over him sometime during the night.

He cleared his throat. "Erm. Thanks for the blanket."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? Oh…no problem."

He shifted awkwardly. Hermione rubbed her arm nervously, similar to when she'd come down the grand staircase to meet him for Slughorn's Christmas party. Tensioned silence filled the air.

"Look, Granger," Draco finally broke the silence. "Even though last night I—we—ah…" his words faltered as he saw the surprised look on her face again.

Pull yourself together! his mind barked. You're Draco bloody Malfoy; you do not stutter!

"Right, right," he agreed quietly with his mind, earning him an arched eyebrow from Hermione. He cleared his throat again, locking his gaze on her firmly. "Even though what happened yesterday…just…don't expect anything from me."

She looked at him softly, contemplatively, before quietly replying, "I don't."

He stared at her, and she stared right back.

"Right then," he said gruffly. "See you at Hogwarts."

He turned to leave when she said suddenly, "Wait!" He glanced at her, and he saw a moment of panic on her face before she quickly schooled her face in an indifferent mask. "I'm sure you're still slightly hungover from last night. And I didn't get to properly…thank you," she seemed to force the last bit out, and a grimace was on her face. "Let me at least make you breakfast." He gave her a deadpanned look. "Tea?"

"Coffee would be nice," he found himself saying, and his eyes widened. She didn't notice and a small smile flitted across her face before she became serious and said, rather sternly, "Well, follow me, then."

He found himself silently cursing as he obeyed, following her as she marched down the hall and disappeared into a large open room. He entered and saw a kitchen just like any other, but with many differences that marked it as a muggle kitchen.

He sat stiffly on a barstool, hands folded delicately on the counter. He watched her as she bustled around the kitchen, putting a saucepan on a black surface. She turned a knob and blue flames erupted beneath it automatically. Draco couldn't help but be interested at the muggle way of life that Hermione had grown up with. It certainly was…different.

He looked outside and noticed snow was falling. He smirked. Snow on Christmas. How sentimental.

A thought struck him. "It's warm," he blurted, and Hermione poured water into the pan.

"I hope your observational skills weren't a factor to your sorting into Slytherin."

He rolled his eyes. "It's snowing outside. But it's warm in here. How are you doing that without magic?"

Hermione could have laughed at the genuinely perplexed expression on Malfoy's face. Suppressing a grin, she answered, "It's called central heating. The heat comes from the vents all around the house."

He didn't seem to believe her as he snorted and shook his head. Hermione's eye twitched. Dumping the coffee mix inside the pan, she stalked over beside Draco and crooked her finger. "Get up."

He gazed at her coolly and did not move. She felt her patience running out. "Get up, Malfoy, and see how muggles warm themselves. Surely your pureblooded self can handle that much?"

He smirked and slid off the stool, following Granger's orders once again. She didn't walk far, and she suddenly looked up at the ceiling. His eyes followed the path of her gaze and he stared at a vent.

"Exhibit A," she announced, and reached up, just a few inches from the vent, and stretched her fingers. "Heat."

Draco refused to follow suit, even after Hermione encouraged it, and felt even more foolish when she forcibly lifted his arm and pushed it in front of the vent. He felt the hot air push out from the vent and onto his fingers, and a pleasant warmth reached down his arm.

He lowered his arm and gaze at her, unfazed. "Nothing I haven't seen before. Hogwarts has these all around the school."

"Yes, but those are fueled by magic," she emphasized, and then turned around to continue walking, and he figured he was supposed to follow after her. With reluctance he paused in front of two metal doors, and Hermione pulled on the knobs that opened them. Revealed was a massive cylinder that was making an incredible amount of noise, a soft orange glow emanating from the bottom.

"Exhibit B," she continued, "heater."

"Fascinating," he drawled, but couldn't help but wonder how the burner was functioning without the slightest bit of magical aid. He didn't press on, knowing full well that Hermione was capable of going on long rampaging lectures about any subject known to man.

The walked back into the kitchen, and Hermione quickly turned the knob on the stove and the blue flames disappeared. She opened a cabinet and took out a mug, then turned the faucet to wash it briskly before pouring the contents in the saucepan into the cup.

Everything she did was flawless, even if it was wandless.

Mudblood, he heard the high whisper of Bellatrix. He frowned, trying to push the angry thought away.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked as she placed the mug of coffee before him. He nodded stiffly. "Are you sure? You just seem—"

"I'm fine," he snapped, fuming as he stared into the coffee mug.

Hermione scowled. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. It's not like I care, anyway."

Draco watched as she angrily poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter, refusing to look at him.

A few minutes passed in silence, and Hermione finally raised her eyes to watch Draco Malfoy. Part of her was reeling that he was sitting here, in her kitchen, drinking coffee. There were so many elements to how wrong that sounded, she nearly laughed. There he was, still in the robes he was last night in the bar. In a strange twist in events, Draco Malfoy had not only fended off a drunk man from Hermione at the Leaky Cauldron, but he had walked her home, returned a forgotten glove, comforted her when she broke down in sobs, and laid her in her bed when she'd accidentally fallen asleep on him.

On top of that, he had stayed the night in her living room.

It puzzled her, because she hadn't expected him to be there, sleeping on her sofa when she'd trudged down the stairs to pour herself a glass of water. Her throat had been painfully dry, and the jolt of shock that ran through her nerve-endings made her pause as she stared at the sleeping form that was Malfoy.

She couldn't say that he looked innocent asleep, because truthfully his expression scared the living daylights out of her. His expression was hard, his brows furrowed in discontentment as he breathed evenly. He appeared stiff, uncomfortable, even. Hermione's feet moved on their own accord as she brought from her room a spare quilted blanket, and draped it softly on him and bringing it up to his chin. Her fingers lightly grazed a pale cheek, where remnants of the attack that scarred his flesh still ghosted on his porcelain skin.

She looked at him now, and saw the fresh wounds from last night still on his cheek. What had caused them? Who had hurt him, Draco Malfoy, the most smug and pampered boy on the planet, and gotten away with it?

Draco caught her staring and growled unceremoniously, "What?"

Hermione jumped. "N-nothing." He continued to glare at her suspiciously and she sighed exasperatedly. "Nothing, okay? Are you done with your coffee?"

His jaw tightened and he nodded stiffly, pushing the empty mug away. Hermione glanced at him again when she reached for it, and asked tentatively, "Are you ever going to tell me what happened to your cheek?"

Draco's grey eyes hardened. "Are you ever going to tell me how exactly you 'killed' your father?"

Hermione's throat constricted at his harsh words, and her eyes went cold. "Fuck you."

Draco's eyes widened. He hit a soft spot, one he knew he shouldn't have and instantly regretted his words. "Granger, I—"

"Get out of my house."

The ice in her words made him freeze. Before he could think, he found the words tumbling from his lips, "I'm sorry."

Hermione made no notion of acknowledgement, merely staring at him with the same icy coldness. Draco felt incredibly stupid for bringing last night up the way he did. For fuck's sake, she had lost her father yesterday. And from Granger's troubled words, there was some serious drama concerning his death.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A thought vaguely crossed his mind, wondering why he cared so much about hurting Hermione's feelings, and his automatic response was that he didn't, but as he continued to stare at the hollow depths of her irises, he found a pang crossing his heart, and before he could stop himself he stood up from the barstool and maneuvered around the counter to where Hermione was standing just a foot away. Silently he took the mug from her grasp, surprising her as her eyes widened and her small fingers fell away from the cup.

He nearly smiled at her startled expression but kept his face blank as he approached the sink. He turned the faucet and began washing the mug carefully, taking dish soap in his hands and cleaning the ceramic surfaces. He thought he heard a small gasp in her direction, but chose to ignore it.

Hermione had to be dreaming. Draco Malfoy was washing dishes? Did the universe suddenly tear in half?

She smiled incredulously as she watched him squeeze dish soap on his fingers and began manually cleaning the cup. No longer able to contain herself, she walked over to him and stood beside him. "You know, it's a lot easier washing with a sponge."

She reached behind the sink and took one out of the basket, handing it to him. He raised a brow and answered, "Why thank you, Granger. I'd never have known the magical prowess of such an object."

"Good thing I'm here then to tell you," she bantered lightly, and she saw the corners of Draco's lips quirk upwards, but it was short-lived as he pulled up his stoic exterior and refocused himself onto the cup in his hands.

He finished quickly, wiping the water off with a dish towel, then setting it face down in the dish rack. Hermione could say she was impressed, but it really didn't take a brain surgeon to know how to clean something. It only shocked her because, knowing Malfoy and his family, the idea of doing such demeaning tasks would have caused a stroke through their pureblooded little hearts. With a grimace she recalled how Dobby used to serve them, and she shivered at the thought of all the other house-elves that slaved over the Malfoys day-in and day-out.

He stared at her now, and she knew his actions were his own bizarre form of an apology. Which, to Hermione's dismay, she accepted without qualms. She figured the scars on his cheek were a sensitive subject, and she did remember him confessing that he'd seen somebody die last night as well. She pondered over what could have happened to him. What sent him in a drinking frenzy every night? What was causing him such misery?

Instantly she recalled his words. My father's in prison and my mother's gone missing. There's nothing waiting for me at home.

His father had been in Azkaban since summer, so that couldn't have been what was disturbing him so.

My mother's gone missing.

Her gaze flickered at Draco's, searching for something hidden in his eyes, something she was sure she'd seen last night. But his face was neutral, carefully concealing any kind of emotion or thought that might be plaguing his mind at the moment.

"Malfoy," she began, and his eyes snapped to hers. "I'm going to Diagon Alley today."

He continued to stare at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. She suppressed a sigh of exasperation. She'd hoped he would get the hint.

"Come with me."

It wasn't a question, more like a statement as she stared at Draco expectantly. He wasn't sure he'd heard her right, so he repeated, "You want me to go with you to Diagon Alley. Me."

"Is there any other smarmy Slytherin in the room I could be talking of?" she said sarcastically. He scowled.

"And if I don't want to?"

"Well then, I'll have to ask you to leave because I'm going right now, and I don't entirely trust you staying in my house with too many confusing Muggle devices to entertain yourself with."

He smirked at that, and shook his head. He stretched a bit and stared at her. "Well then, let's not wait for the grass to grow."

Hermione scowled and strode out of the kitchen and up to her room, changing quickly into a pair of jeans and boots with a warm sweater and a light brown button-down coat. She was putting on her scarf and hat when she found Draco leaning against the door lazily, his warm cloak wrapped tightly around him.

She wanted to yell at him for looking absolutely flawless in a minute's time when it took her a good fifteen just to manage the rushed appearance she was sporting. Perhaps, she admitted with grudging admiration, it was the natural aristocratic elegance all the Malfoys seemed to possess. They all had the sleek blonde hair and pale skin that contrasted sharply with the dark color of their robes, the delicate appearance of their bone structure and persona. He could be wearing a pillow case and still look flawless.

No wonder he's always so full of himself, Hermione mused gloweringly. One look in the mirror and he'll be smiling for days.

They headed out the door and snow was still falling softly on the ground. Hermione glanced at the long road they'd need to walk to reach Diagon Alley, and dreaded it. With some satisfaction she noticed the roads had already been cleared and salted, and it was with that conviction that she began not walking to the sidewalk, but to the driveway.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked, following hot on her heels. He seemed confused so she cleared it up for him. "Why, to Diagon Alley, of course." Hermione gave a mischievous smile before reaching in her purse and retrieving a set of keys, and clicked a button. Her garage door opened and revealed a sleek black car, one that was to be her own for when she officially received her driver's license. Luckily she had her permit, and she prayed no police car decided to pull her over.

She walked over to the driver's side of the car and opened the door. She noticed Malfoy was not moving from the entrance of the garage. "Get in."

"No."

Hermione scowled. "Malfoy, it's just a car."

"I don't care. I'm not sitting in that death machine."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing? Draco Malfoy actually afraid of a car?"

"There are no anti-accident charms nor indestructible enchantments on that thing, and I sure as hell don't trust your driving. So no, I don't think I'll get in."

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine, then. Have a nice walk."

Hermione sat inside and closed the door. Putting the key in ignition, she started it and put the gear in reverse, easing out slowly from the driveway and sliding out onto the street. She paused, watching as Malfoy stood stark still with a murderous expression on his face. She noticed he was shivering too, and his hands were jammed in the pockets of his robes.

She quirked her brow and tilted her head, waiting. Finally, after many long seconds, Draco strode angrily to the car and swung open the door. Slamming it shut, he glared at her. "If I die," he growled with a thunderous expression, "my fatherwill hear about it."

"I'm sure he will," she said dryly and began driving on the icy roads. "Seatbelt."

The odd pair arrived at the Leaky Cauldron in a matter of minutes. Draco had cursed nonstop throughout the car ride, muttering things close to 'stupid muggle contraptions' and 'die' several times under his breath. Hermione paid no need and happily parked the car, not waiting for him to catch up with her.

"Why do you need to go to this bloody place anyway?" Draco said irritatedly, falling in step with her.

"I have a few things I need to return," she replied evasively. They stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and Hermione was walking to the back entrance when she noticed he was no longer following her. Turning around, she found him leaning against the bar area and buying himself a drink.

"I didn't bring you hear so you can booze it up, Malfoy!" she said indignantly. "Don't you already have crippling hangover from last night?"

"What hangover?" he replied innocently, a sneer curling around his lips. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger. You didn't expect me to follow you around all over the bloody village, did you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," she muttered under her breath. "Don't get too hammered. I don't particularly want you returned to your home singing 'Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds' to your dear fellow relatives."

Malfoy smirked and turned away as a drink was handed to him. She shook her head. Honestly, if he didn't control this inane drinking problem, he will end up with a failing liver within the next few days. And why on earth did this bar serve minors so readily?

Perhaps because of the fact that he was a Malfoy.

Shrugging, Hermione exited into the back and tapped the bricks on the wall, and they parted into an archway once more.

She walked slowly around until she came up to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary. A wave of emotion hit her and she felt her mind slowly slipping back into despair. Fighting off the sudden feelings, she clenched her jaw and stepped inside.

The room was still dimly lit as it always was. She felt a rush of warmth once she closed the door, leaving the bone-chilling cold outside. Removing her gloves and stuffing them in her pockets, she maneuvered to the front counter immediately.

The same apathetic boy was leaning lazily against the counter, his head propped up by his arm against the countertop. At Hermione's presence he opened a bleary eye.

"Fancy seeing you again so soon," he murmured, straightening so he could fight off the sleep that seemed to hover over his eyelids.

"I'm just here to return some things," she answered evenly, and retrieved a few unopened bottles from her purse and placed them delicately on the counter. The boy raised a brow and waved his wand, and the bottles shivered a bit before growing still once more. "Seems you haven't tampered with them," he affirmed, and flicked his wand again and sent them back to the shelves around the store. "Your change."

A small lump of gold was sitting before her and she put them in her money pouch. "Thank you."

As she turned to leave, the boy said suddenly, "Did the potion not work?"

Hermione turned her head slightly. "Excuse me?"

"The potion for the bloke you were trying to heal. I know my way around my potions ingredients, miss," the boy said easily. "You were healing some serious injuries."

Hermione thought back to the vacant look on her father's face before she had left the hospital. Narrowing her eyes, she replied coldly, "It failed me."

Without another word she turned on her heel and marched out the door.

It took a few moments for her to gain composure over herself, but she was finding it increasingly difficult to control her emotions. It was only yesterday that her father was pronounced dead. And here she was, traipsing around Diagon Alley when she should have been by her mother's side, the last remaining member of her immediate family.

Her eyes wandered over to a dark corridor to the left of the apothecary, and knew it to be the entrance of Knockturn Alley. Slowly, as if her feet were moving on their own accord, she descended down the steps and disappeared into the less than reputable alley.

xxx

Draco knew the moment he pressed the intoxicating liquid to his lips that he would regret it.

Like a dam splitting open, a floodgate of memories poured into his mind and made him tremble. The grip on the glass was dangerously close to shattering it, but he didn't care.

Last night's run-in with Granger had clouded his thoughts from what had been troubling him the past week. Now remembered his mother, and how he knew Voldemort was keeping her from him. He remembered the burning tattoo that hovered just beneath the skin of his forearm, and the task he was expected to go through with, one he knew he would never be able to complete. He remembered that he was stuck in this mess with zero contact with his parents for solace. Bellatrix Lestrange was stationed at his house, and she had tortured and murdered a muggleborn girl in his parlor right in front of him.

Bile rose in his throat and he grimaced. He recalled how the life dimmed from the girl's eyes, how she became suddenly still and unresponsive. He watched an innocent witch die, and he did nothing.

Coward, his mind whispered. You are shame to the human race.

Hermione reappeared inside the Leaky Cauldron looking dreadful. She looked as if she'd just seen a boggart, but he noticed something different, something that he saw only a flicker of when he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron last night, before Granger had decided to sit next to him. It was when the stranger had been sitting with her, trying to chat her up. Her eyes held the same lifeless expression. Draco shuddered inwardly.

She walked over to him gracefully. "I'm finished," she announced softly.

He stared up at her. Looking away he murmured, "Go on. I'll find my way back home alright."

She stared at him with a hint of surprise and then nodded, walking away towards the exit. He heard the door open, a small bell chiming, and then heard it close tightly.

I don't need her, he thought silently. Though the more times he said it, the less conviction he felt.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the palm of his hand. Through his eyelids he sensed a shift in light, and the air moved around him. Somebody had taken a seat next to him, but he ignored it. He knew better than to look up. Knowing his short temper and lack of patience, Draco would probably end up saying a few things he'd regret, and the situation would escalate to unfortunate heights. For his own sake, he kept his eyes squeezed shut.

"Lovely day, today," the man beside him wheezed throatily. Draco nodded vaguely and took another sip of his firewhiskey, showing every indication that he was not up to having a conversation with the stranger.

"You know," the man continued in a gravelly voice, "you look familiar."

For fuck's sake, Draco sighed inwardly and decided his happy hour at the Leaky Cauldron was coming to an abrupt close.

"That's right!" the man said gleefully. "You're Lucius Malfoy's boy. Tell me, how is he in Azkaban? Hope a dementor didn't decide to snog him. Then again, Narcissa will finally have the chance to be with a more…eligible wizard."

The glass broke in Draco's hand and he whipped out his wand automatically, growling at the wizard beside him as he pointed it at the offender's heart. He froze when he saw who it was.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Draco hissed. The man sneered smugly.

"I've come to collect you," he replied innocently, and Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I doubt that. Why are you following me?"

The man's gaze grew cold. "I'm not here because I want to be," he replied icily, his lips curling in faint disgust. "Bella sent for you, knowing that you can't 'do magic outside school' yet…good God, you really must have pissed the bitch off." His eyes flickered to Draco's cheek for a split second.

"Fuck off," Draco retorted. "Why does she want?"

A smile began spreading on the man's face. "Meeting number two is about to begin. Knowing you can't apparate when the Dark Mark begins to burn, I came here to bring you."

Draco could feel his insides melting as dread filled him instantly. Why the hell did they need another fucking meeting? Wasn't the first one enough? Why was the Dark Lord bothering himself with the Death Eaters' presence this frequently?

Sighing, Draco emptied his glass and stood, finally lowering his wand. He stood up and brushed the imaginary lint from his cloak. "Let's not waste time, then, Scabior."

They walked outside and the snow had picked up speed, falling down harshly as the wind whipped it in the air. Draco drew his cloak closer to himself and put up his hood.

"Who was that girl you were talking to?" he said suddenly, and Draco froze. Scabior looked at him inquiringly, though he could see darker thoughts in his eyes.

Schooling his face in a blank expression, Draco replied, "How the fuck would I know? You know how girls are around me." To prove his point, Draco began to smirk.

Scabior eyed him for a moment before turning away and smirking himself. "Well, next time before you turn someone down, send her to me. From what I saw she looked fucking hot."

Draco fingers tightened their grip on his cloak, jaw clenching. "You didn't see her face," Draco responded in a bored tone. "I've seen trolls with better looks."

Scabior barked out a laugh and held out his arm, which Draco took unwillingly. "Have fun finding yourself a female," he said with amusement. Draco's eyes darkened and began to reply when the air escaped him as they disapparated.

xxx

"How has she been feeling?" Hermione asked softly. The nurse smiled.

"She's been quite well, dear. Her vitals have stabilized. We expect she'll be waking soon." The nurse gave an encouraging smile and left the room.

Hermione watched her leave and turned back to the still form of her mother on the hospital bed. Hermione's hand was in hers, her thumb stroking the back of her hand lightly.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, staring imploringly at her mother's face. She looked almost serene, and the worst of the bruising seemed to have disappeared. The potion Hermione had administered was showing results. "I want you to get better. I want you to wake up and hold me and make everything better…" She shuddered as her breathing became uneven.

"But at the same time…I'm sorry…I don't know if I want you to wake up at all." Tears unknowingly slid down her cheeks. "I can't handle you waking up and finding your husband is dead. I can't handle you having the doubt that maybe I…maybe I really did kill him. I don't want you to hate me. Please don't hate me." Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the tears to stop. They ceased, and after taking another shuddering breath, she gazed at her sleeping mother once more.

Hermione's pale hand brushed against her cheek and she stepped away. "Happy Christmas," she muttered softly. Her eyes flickered to the clock on the wall and saw it was time to leave. "I'll be back soon."

Turning away, she strode out of the hospital without looking back.

xxx

"What the hell happened to you, mate?" Blaise's deep voice said, and Draco cringed at the level of his voice.

"You really shouldn't ask questions that you don't want an answer to," Draco muttered, gingerly wiping blood from his lip. "And I thought I told everyone that I didn't want guests over for Christmas this year."

Blaise smirked. "As if that would keep me away. Even if certain dark wizards are stationed at your home." Draco's eyes sharpened but Blaise continued to smirk. "Stop looking so bloody surprised, Malfoy. I saw a glimpse of Rookwood when your house-elf let me in."

"And that wasn't indication enough to leave immediately?" snapped Draco irritatedly. Blaise merely fixed him with a cool stare.

"Not really, no."

"Aren't you the brave one," Draco muttered sarcastically. "I think the Sorting hat got you wrong. You're more a Gryffindor."

"Ouch," Blaise feigned hurt, before smiling. "You might have scared off Pansy, and Crabbe and Goyle don't have brains enough to put up a fight, but you were thick to think I'd run off so easy."

"And what a good friend you are, then," Draco hissed, before wincing as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. One of his cuts was bleeding again.

"You really should get that fixed," noted Blaise.

"Good idea. Let me go call Aunt Bella. I'm sure she'd be thrilled to cure these for me," Draco bit out. "Maybe she'll give a lollipop afterwards."

"No need to be such a prat, Draco," snapped Blaise.

"What were you expecting, Blaise? A fucking unicorn and marshmallows?" Draco closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "I'm sorry. I have a lot on my mind."

"Clearly," said Blaise. Silence passed over them. "I don't know what happened to you, Draco, but you really should get someone to look at those wounds." He opened the door and began to walk out but paused, deciding to leave him with a parting word. "There's always a choice, Draco. It's up to you to decide what you want to do with yourself. I'll see at Hogwarts."

The door closed firmly behind him and Draco let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, staring at his reflection with disdain. He stared into his silvery eyes, seeing nothing inside of them that he liked.

"Lola," he called softly. A loud crack echoed against the tiled walls of the bathroom and a small house-elf appeared.

"How can I serve you, Master?" she squeaked, bowing deeply.

"I need you to fix some of my wounds," he said, and she bowed again before jumping towards him. Elf magic was vastly different from wizard magic, and he felt sharp pinpricks around his sides and face where he knew he had been hurt. Immediately the burning sensation turned icy, and he knew he had been mostly healed.

"Thanks," he muttered, gingerly touching his face again as he stared into his reflection once more. The house-elf's eyes widened comically. She began to splutter endlessly when he spoke again quickly.

"I need something else," he interrupted her massive compliments.

"Anything, Master."

He gazed at the mirror again. "I need you to apparate me somewhere. I'd walk but I'd rather do this a bit more discreetly. And…" he lowered his voice as he spoke to Lola, and had anyone seen him at that moment they would not have believed that Draco Malfoy was capable of blushing, even if it was the slightest of tinges across his cheeks.

The little elf bobbed her head repeatedly and disapparated briefly before returning with a basket, holding it out for him to grasp.

She held out her small hand. He took it and murmured where he wanted to go, and with a deafening crack they disappeared.

The snow was drifting lazily now. The street on which he was standing had fluorescent lights hanging from the roofs of houses, and decorations placed intricately on the front lawns. He took a shaky breath as he saw the house in front of him had none of that sort.

"Lola," said Draco in a commanding tone. "I want you to go back to Malfoy Manor and continue what you were doing before I summoned you. If anybody asks, you were cleaning the basement in the time that I required your help. You do not know where I am. You have not seen me all day. As your master, you are obliged to follow my orders first, so if Bellatrix or anybody else asks, that is what you say." She nodded her head fervently. He sighed. "Good. I want you back here at midnight so you can apparate me back home."

"As you wish, Master Draco," Lola bowed deeply, then disapparated.

Once he was alone on the sidewalk, Draco suddenly felt very unsure of himself. He really should have thought this through more.

But curse him, it was Christmas. And if he couldn't have his mother's company, and if he was too much of a prick to accept Blaise's company, then he'd do the seemingly next best option.

Doubt and confusion clouding his mind, Draco began to walk up towards a quaint house and walked up the steps. The sun was gone by now, and the street lamps flickered on softly.

Clearing his throat a little, he knocked on the door three times.

He was met with one of the most dreadful silences he'd ever experienced. In the ten seconds that had passed his mind went berserk, thinking of every horrible thing that could happen how everything could turn into a massive disaster and he would be stuck walking home without Lola because he ordered her to return at midnight and—

At that precise moment he heard a click and the door swung open. Surprised brown eyes met his grey ones.

"Erm," he said lamely. "Happy Christmas." Hermione stared at him blankly. He coughed and held out the basket in his hand. "I brought food."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. Draco shifted uncomfortably before snapping, "Well are you going to let me in?"

"Y-yes," she replied quickly when she saw a fleeting look of rejecting cross over his eyes. The look disappeared immediately at her words, and he smirked a little. She moved to the side to let him enter, and closed the door softly behind him and set the lock.

She watched as he shrugged out of his cloak and set it carefully on the coat rack. He was still holding the basket as he walking to the kitchen as if he'd done it a million times before. Slowly she trailed behind him, shock still etched on her face.

Draco was busy taking the contents of the basket out onto the counter as she watched him in disbelief.

"Er, Malfoy…" she started and his head snapped up. "What exactly are you doing here?"

"What does it look like, Granger?" he said irritatedly.

"I don't really know," she admitted.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and sighed deeply. "Look, I'd really appreciate it if we didn't question this. Just…go with it, okay?"

"As much as I'd like to say yes, I don't think I can," Hermione responded with a quirk of her brow. "I mean, it's not as if we're best mates, Malfoy. I can't help but be caught a little off guard when you show up at my doorstep with a basket of food for dinner."

He scowled. "I was here this morning, wasn't I?"

She frowned. "Yes, up until you decided to ditch me to play beer pong at the Leaky Cauldron."

He waved her comment off as if it were unimportant. "Details," he muttered. Taking a moment to gain composure again, he glanced up at her expectant face. "I just thought…considering your circumstances and mine…that it'd be nice not to spend Christmas alone."

Her eyebrows shot in the air again. Hermione was floored. He wanted to…spend time with her?

"But you hate me," she blurted. Malfoy smirked.

"Not a very original argument, Granger," he replied, and she remembered back in the girls' bathroom when she had said the same thing, right before they kissed.

A tinge of red graced her cheeks and Draco's smirk widened as if he knew exactly what she was thinking about. "Let bygones be bygones, Granger. It's Christmas. I think we can forget our undying hatred for each other for just one night, no?"

Letting his words sink into her, she reluctantly nodded. "Alright," she answered softly.

He nodded in affirmation and resumed his task of taking food out of the basket. She walked over to the stove and checked the several pans she had on it. Draco eventually finished with his basket and turned to gaze at her. "You were making all this food for yourself?" he said with a hint of amusement.

She shrugged. "Well, I thought I'd just cook it all anyway. I was supposed to have dinner with my parents but…well, I guess once Mum wakes up, we'll eat the leftovers together. But I doubt any of this food will be finished."

He grimaced as he remembered what had happened to her these past few days. Clearing his throat to break the uncomfortable tension, and more importantly to bring Hermione back from whatever sad memories that had begun to spill into her mind, he spoke up. "Well, good thing I'm here now. I don't think you know what happens to me at the Hogwarts feasts, do you?"

She surprised him by chuckling. "I've caught glimpses here and there. You're almost as bad as Ron. Except, well, more dignified."

Malfoy sneered and lifted his chin haughtily in the air. "Of course I am. Don't forget, Granger, but around these parts I'm considered royalty. Table etiquette is in my genes."

Hermione snorted and shook her head, stirring something in one of the pans with a wooden spoon. "Right."

He eventually walked beside her and, with her strict instructions, began helping her make some of the dinner she had planned out. Several times he found his face scrunched in disgust as he murmured something about 'beneath his standards' as he peeled the skin off of a chicken leg, before dumping it unceremoniously in a vat with the others. Hermione found herself having to suppress her outbursts of laughter several times. It was extremely amusing seeing Draco's attempt at cooking the muggle way—no, his attempt at cooking in general. She thought of all the house-elves that must be keeling over in horror at the thought of Draco getting his delicate little hands dirtied by the common workings inside of a kitchen.

An hour later the food was all prepared, and Hermione told Draco to go back into the living room with the various pots of food. She didn't really like the idea of sitting in silence in the dining room, and the informal atmosphere of the living room was much more inviting. Plus, she had a secret wish to see his reaction once she turned on the television again.

She entered the living room with a jug of tea and two plates. Draco was already lounging comfortably on the sofa. She passed him a plate and a few utensils, and the two began piling their plates with roasted chicken and spiced rice and mashed potatoes. Draco had brought garlic bread and a few pies, which were situated at the right end of the coffee table. She grabbed a roll of bread and settle against the sofa comfortably. She reached to the side and pulled a small handle that released a footrest on the sofa. Stretching wide, she was now almost lying on the sofa. Draco raised a brow.

"Lift the lever on the side of the sofa," she told him, and he did the same. The bottom end of the sofa was released and they were reclined comfortably next to each other. Hermione grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned it on. It started loudly and Draco jumped.

"Bugger, not this again," he grimaced, but Hermione merely smiled mischievously. "Oh, hush. This is actually pretty entertaining."

"About as much as a doxy bite," he muttered under his breath. He watched her click several buttons on the remote repeatedly before settling on something.

He stared in confusion as he watched little people move around on the screen. "And what is this called?" he asked her.

"Jurassic Park," she replied, taking a bite of chicken. He muttered incoherently and began to eat as well. To his surprise Hermione was a very good cook, and he found himself finishing everything off his plate and dumping a second helping onto it. He almost complimented her cooking but refrained when he saw the smug, knowing look on her face. No need to give an ego boost where it wasn't necessary.

After forty or so minutes Draco finally broke the silence. "They're all idiots," he snapped, staring at the screen in indignation. Hermione furrowed her brow.

"Why do you say that?"

"You can't—dinosaur DNA in mosquitoes? Why the fuck would you want to bring back an exstinct species that could grind these muggles into mince meat?"

"It's a movie, Draco, not real life," she answered calmly. "And if you were paying any attention you'd remember that this is atheme park they're building. They thought they could control an extinct ecosystem."

"My arse," he muttered darkly. "Tossers. The only person in this mover that has a brain is the bloke with the black glasses."

"Movie, Draco, not mover."

"Pff."

Hermione ignored his snarky remarks, only because she found them so hilarious. Eventually he grew very serious, and watched in earnest when the T-Rex broke out of the fence and ate the lawyer.

Never in a million years did she dream that she would be eating a Christmas dinner and watching television with Malfoy. Ather house, no less! Nor, she thought with reluctant admission, did she think it would be this fun. Draco was positively enjoying himself, even though he put up the sardonic façade nearly every second he was with her. When he was around, she briefly forgot about her father, and her mother that was still in the hospital.

She did wonder what had made him think of her enough to come over to her house. With food, as well. He had gone out of his way to spend Christmas with her. And she had noticed that there were some new bruises on his pale face, though there were very faint and barely noticeable.

What had happened to him?

"Malfoy," she said softly, and he turned his head to look at her. "What happened?" She gazed along the sides of his face, and he understood what she was referring to.

"Nothing to worry your pretty little head about."

Hermione nearly blanched at the choice of word 'pretty', but ignored it. "Come on. I told you about me. It's only fair."

"I didn't ask for you to tell me, Granger," he ground out, irritation heightening on his face. "You did that all on your own. I owe you nothing."

"Why do you keep dodging the question? Why is it so hard for you to open up to others?" cried Hermione. The movie flickering on the television was long forgotten as the pair grew angrier by the minute.

"And what makes you think I want to open up to you?" he spat. She could hear the old hatred return in his voice and in his gaze, one she was very familiar with.

Hermione's gaze darkened. "Right," she said coldly, "why on earth would you want to tell a snarky little mudblood know-it-all anything, right? Is that why you came here, Malfoy? What happened to your other friends? Too ashamed to let little Draco into their house, especially after his father was sent very publicly to Azkaban? Must be tough."

"You don't know a thing about me, Granger!" he shouted. "Stop acting like you do!"

"I would if you would just talk to me!" she yelled back.

"I don't need you!" Draco's voice boomed loudly. "I fucking hate you!"

Hermione sprang up from her seat and raised her arm to the front door. "Get out of my house."

"With pleasure," Draco sneered and stood towering over her. "Have fun cleaning all this shit off the plates, Granger. That's the only thing you're good for. Cleaning muck up."

A loud smack echoed in the air and Draco's head was turned to the side. A red haze started to form on his already bruised cheek. He turned his head back to gaze at her murderously. "You will pay for that."

"Oh will I?" she laughed sarcastically. "But isn't this what you're used to, Draco? People pushing you around?" She demonstrated her words with a hard shove against his chest and he stumbled one step back. Fire flared in his eyes.

"I'm warning you," his voice went dangerously low, and she saw no hint of emotion in his eyes.

"Oh, boy, Draco Malfoy is warning me. I am so scared," she pushed him again, "of what might happen," another push, "to poor little me," she pushed him roughly and gasped when he grabbed her arms and shoved her back. She stumbled backwards clumsily.

"I'm glad you see my sentiment," he growled, approaching her. Fear gripped her as she saw the dark look flit over his eyes. "Because you should be very, very scared."

"Oh no, what are you going to do? Hex me? Torture me? So very frightening," she spat as he loomed over her. She had to tilt her neck to keep in contact with his eyes.

"What ever happened to your father, Hermione?" he asked innocently. She froze. "I recall you confessing something very shocking to me while you cried pathetically all over my shoulder. What was it?" He tapped his chin in thought. " 'It was my father,'" he mimicked in a high, desperate voice. " 'It's my fault he's dead. I want him back!'" His face settled into a sneer. "Oh my, we are in trouble, aren't we?"

"Shut up," she glared up at him, her throat tightening.

"But how could I? You killed your own father, Hermione? How does that make you feel? Watching the life go out of your dad's eyes, never taking another breath again. My father may be in prison, but at least he's alive. You're just a murderer."

"SHUT UP!" she screamed and punched his chest in earnest, pushing and shoving, doing anything to harm him. He caught her wrists easily and stilled her angry movements.

"Oh dear, looks like I've struck a nerve," he mocked.

"At least I'm not Voldemort's butt boy," she hissed, noting in satisfaction that his face hardened. "I wonder why daddy dearest went to Azkaban in the first place, huh? Oh, but Drakey-poo wouldn't know, he was too busy wiping Umbridge's shoes."

"You don't know anything!" he screamed and pushed her roughly, her back colliding against the wall. Her wrists were still trapped in his hands and he pinned them to the sides of her head. "You weren't born into this! You don't know what it's like!"

"At least I have a mind of my own!" she shouted back. "I don't follow orders like some sick puppy!"

"You think I want any of this?" he whispered harshly. "You think I want this fucking tattoo," he briefly released her to lift up the sleeve of his left arm, and a snake was faintly slithering out of a skull. Her eyes widened in shock and she grew still. He roughly pushed the sleeve back down and glowered at her. "Tell me, what would you do when they take your mum away? Tell me how you would save her." Hermione watched him in shock. "Nothing?" he said bitterly, and she remained silent. "It's never easy. It's not going to get easy. But at least I haven't given up."

Draco leaned away from her slightly, scowling down at her. "I have lost everything I have ever loved. The only person I have ever loved. I don't care what I have to do to get her back. I don't care how many bruises I'm given, or how many times I have to look in the eye of the man who is tearing apart this world. If it means I can have my mother back, I'll take my chances of being Voldemort's butt boy."

Silence echoed loudly between them as they fought to catch their breath. Hermione watched as Draco ran a hand through his hair and gripped it tightly, torturously. She saw his shoulders sag as if a weight had been lifted off of her as he took a ragged breath. When he lifted his eyes to meet hers, she saw the stormy silvery gaze that filled her with an unknown emotion that she had never experienced before. Something in his eyes shattered, something that left him looking vulnerable and lost and yet determined all the same. He looked like a boy who had to grow up too fast, much like she knew Harry had to.

That same desperation. That same melancholic agony. That same glimmer of hope.

Before she could think rationally, Hermione took a step toward him. Draco's eyes snapped to hers, watching her guardedly, and then widened in surprise as she lifted shaking hands to his face. She touched the soft, delicate skin, fingers trailing lightly over him, leaving a burning sensation down his cheeks. Then, before either of them could protest, she tilted his head down and rose on her tiptoes, pressing her lips gently against his.

All rational thought flew out of his mind as he felt Hermione kissing him ever so softly. He had kissed her before, but those had been rough, passionate, angry kisses. Coming from her, this was completely unexpected, especially after all the hateful words he had thrown at her. Vaguely the back of his mind registered that he should be disgusted and should pull away immediately, but instead he closed his eyes.

It did not last long and a few seconds later she pulled away from him, gazing deeply into his eyes. Draco didn't know what to do or what to say. She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, gently comforting him by embracing him. Slowly she felt his own arms wrap around her waist and he pulled her to him, burying his nose into her hair, breathing in deeply the scent of lilac.

He didn't know how long they stood like that, or why they continued to when both of them had gotten off the adrenaline rush.

She pulled away slightly and looked at him with concern written in her gaze. "Draco, I—"

A sharp crack interrupted her words as a small house-elf appeared before them.

"Lola has come at twelve o'clock, exactly as Master commanded," the tiny creature bowed. Draco stepped away from Hermione, his arms falling to his sides as he glanced at the clock. Exactly twelve o'clock.

"Good job, Lola," he said softly. Hermione was now staring at him in mild surprise but remained silent. He walked over to the little elf and grasped her hand. He looked back at Hermione.

"I'll see you later," he said quietly, so softly that she almost didn't hear him. She nodded and he looked down at the house-elf.

"Let's go."

Hermione watched them disappear in the blink of an eye, leaving her alone in the living room.

So much had transpired so quickly. She never knew…never knew how it had been for him…

Her mind wandered back to when he had pulled his sleeve up to reveal the Dark Mark on his porcelain skin. It only seemed to register now.

Draco was a Death Eater.

Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater.

She bounded up the staircase and went into her room, taking out a quill and parchment and began scribbling furiously to Harry. She read it a few times and shakily sealed it closed.

But before she reached her owl to tie the letter to its leg, she paused.

Draco may have the mark, but did that really warrant him as a Death Eater?

As she recalled her evening with him, and all the things he had unwittingly confessed to her, she dared not move. The owl was glaring at her and retreated its leg in frustration. Hermione took a step back, and slowly walked into the bathroom.

Taking a lighter out of the cabinet, she brought the flame close to the letter. It began to burn, the parchment enveloped into black, charred paper. She dropped it in the trash bin once it was too hot to keep holding, the flames threatening to lick her fingers.

The letter destroyed, Hermione brushed her teeth and retreated back into the living room, clearing the coffee table and washed each plate and pan rigorously. Shutting off the T.V. and the lights, Hermione retreated into her bedroom and pulled the covers over her, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Hope you're enjoying this story! Will update as soon as I can.
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

In the Dungeons