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Beauty and the Beast	By : Nocturne Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 14407 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling. I do not own the Harry Potter fandom, nor do I make any money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Hermione breathed in and out, slowly, descending down the Grand Staircase at Malfoy Manor. She had parted ways with her own clothes, and instead wore the emerald green dress. It was backless, clung to her waist and flowed down in lush waves. She had never worn something so luxurious, not since Bill and Fleur’s wedding.
That had been ages ago. She was only a girl. She had the world at her fingertips. Things had changed so much since then.
Hermione peered back and noticed Minnie had disappeared. No matter. She already knew where to go. She had been there before. The memory of it prickled her heart, as she continued down the staircase. So many images were flashing through her mind. She barely noticed who was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.
He was incredibly tall, wore a set of hooded, black dress robes matched with black gloves and a mask. It was silver and resembled that of the Phantom in Gaston Leroux’s novel. She couldn’t see a single inch of his skin, and wondered to herself if this was truly the Mutant. He bore no similarities to the beast that had attacked Nott. Then again, that beast hadn’t been covered from head to toe.
Nevertheless, he regarded her with a polite bow of the head and held out his arm. Hermione reluctantly accepted and felt a set of chills crawl the length of her spine as they proceeded for the Dining Room.
They walked in silence.
She could hear that same pitter-patter of footsteps and noticed Minnie trailing behind with a large smile on her face. It was quite alarming, given the situation.
“Have a seat,” spoke the Mutant. “Your feast awaits.”
Hermione obeyed, positioning herself across the table from her host and watching as he walked with the slightest limp. He was hurt. Before the young woman could delve further into the mystery, Minnie and set of three other house-elves rushed into the room with silver platters. In a row, they took the lids off to reveal culinary masterpieces.
Her stomach growled a bit, but she knew better than to accept food from a stranger. Instead she casually poked at her plate, which Minnie had set, and swirled her glass of wine without actually ingesting anything.
“You aren’t eating,” he detected, having cleaned the extra rare steak from his plate. “Would you prefer something else?”
“Erm…” Hermione hadn’t prepared for this. “I…I’m not very hungry.”
“Eat,” he ordered, halfway through his second steak. “You will need your strength.”
She had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. Hermione glanced to Minnie, who offered her a gentle nod, and caved. It was true. She was famished. Nott had insisted they not stop for a bite, which left her stomach completely empty. The young woman took a few hesitant bites of salad, feeling her insides warm up at the taste of real food.
Around ten minutes later, her plate was also clean. The Mutant finished off six steaks, deciding he, too, was full.
“That – That was nice,” she regarded, unsure of what to say.
“We’re not done.”
Hermione arched an eyebrow. “I…I was under the impression I could go home after supper.”
“You were wrong,” he said coolly. “I have other plans for you.”
She set down her utensils. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have other plans for you,” he repeated.
Hermione dabbed at her lips with the napkin before getting up. “That’s too bad, because I’m leaving.”
“You will stay!” he demanded, slamming his fist on the table. “Sit down!”
Hermione huffed, feeling her patience wear thin. She had been tricked. “No! You promised I could leave after supper. You promised!”
The Mutant shot up from his chair, sending it flying against the back wall, into a thousand pieces. He rushed to her before she could flee, and grabbed her by both shoulders. “Listen to me, girl. I am not your friend. I am not your ally. I am not here to save you.” He brought his mouth close to her left ear. “You are mine.”
The former Head Girl felt fear rush to the tip of her throat and around her eyes. She had only felt this afraid once in her life and she would be damned if it happened again. Hermione shoved him off and slashed him across the neck with her butter knife before racing out of the Dining Room and straight for the doors.
There was an earth-shattering growl behind her, but she had no time to look back. Hermione grabbed both handles and used every bit of strength she had to open the doors. They didn’t budge.
“Master, please!” begged Minnie, her tiny footsteps echoing after his rumbling stomps. “Be calm, Master! Be calm!”
Hermione sunk low to the floor, feeling her entire body shake as she listened to the impossibly loud ruckus. It was a mixture of growls, shouts, and smashing. It sounded as though the entire Manor was being torn to pieces floor by floor. She couldn’t take it. She just couldn’t.
Tears fell from her eyes, and Hermione hurriedly wiped them away, fear striking as she worried for Minnie’s safety.
It had been a long time since her SPEW days, but she still held those beliefs close to her heart. In addition to that, house-elves could teleport. Minnie would help her. Minnie had to help her.
Hermione gathered the skirt to her dress and gasped for a moment, noticing the broken banisters on the staircase and the smashed flooring. Perhaps he was the same Mutant.
The young woman followed the tracks, into a wing of the Manor she had never visited, and found the corridors growing darker and darker. The only light came from a few torches on the walls. She took hold of one and illuminated the path ahead, shocked to find portraits of the Malfoy family still in tact.
It was a sad thing, what happened to them. She had heard about it shortly after writing her NEWT exams, to make up for lost time during what was supposed to be their Seventh Year at Hogwarts. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were war criminals. They had been sent straight to Azkaban, under high security – a kind fate compared to that of their one and only son. Hermione didn’t know why, but her heart sank at the memory of what happened to Draco Malfoy.
He had fled, far and wide, in an attempt to avoid the Aurors. For a long time they couldn’t find him but one day the news came. Draco had been found in Moscow, under the alias of a Muggle man and brought to justice by illegal means. He’d been killed – tortured and killed – by a pair of unnamed and unpunished Aurors.
Hermione couldn’t help thinking about that one time he’d saved her from the Death Eaters, wondering if there was anything she could have said right then to warn him of his fate. It had been the last time she’d properly spoken to the boy.
And, now, so many years later, she was in his home as a prisoner.
The brunette brought her sprint to a slow walk and noticed the broken flooring continued through a door at the end of the corridor. It was the largest of any doors she had seen in the last twenty minutes, and one of the silver handles had been broken off.
Against her best judgment, Hermione opened the door and found a bedroom. It was decorated similar to the one she’d woken up in, but five times as large. She gasped at the sight of blood, and wondered if it belonged to Minnie but neither saw nor heard any sign of the house-elf. There were, however, clothes scattered across the floor. It was his shoes, and his gloves, and his mask and his dress robes. They’d been torn to pieces, practically shredded.
She knelt down and retrieved a bit of fabric. It felt soft against her skin, but Hermione released it the moment she noticed something across the room. It was a stone, sink-like structure with an overhead glass compartment filled with tiny bottles of liquid.
Hermione had seen one of those before, in Dumbledore’s office. It was a pensieve.
She felt her body move in the direction of the pensieve, until her head hovered over it. It was a bad idea – a bad, bad idea – but the young woman saw no other way.
She went for it.
A tendril of fear locked around Draco’s throat, muffling his shouts. There was no doubt in his mind the entirety of Moscow would have heard him had the Aurors not charmed his flat. He kicked and shoved and did everything he could to avoid them, but he’d been left wandless and unprepared for the assault.
“You fucking scum!” shouted the taller one, kicking him in the gut. “We ought to kill you right here, right now!”
Draco spat on his shoes, surprised he had any saliva left after the way they’d beaten it out of him. He had little skill when it came to brawling. That had been his mistake – one of many.
“If it weren’t for Potter and his bloody righteousness, I would have your head hanging in the Ministry,” threatened the Auror, kneeling low. “Front and centre.
He pointed his wand at Draco’s neck and narrowed his eyes with contempt.
“Easy there,” voiced the second Auror, significantly less rowdy yet all the more intimidating.
Draco had his back to that one, but he doubted he’d recognize him. The youngest Malfoy had spent too much time on the other side to know every Auror by face and name.
“No need for empty threats,” he said calmly. “We will bring to justice.”
“No. No. I want to kill him.”
“You will do no such thing, Thatcher.”
Thatcher, the taller Auror, groaned with frustration. He was a burly man, built like a wrestler with robes that barely fit. He reminded Draco of his former allies – Crabbe and Goyle – but had no such loyalty for him.
“He is scum. He served the Dark Lord. Those damned Death Eaters broke out once, what’s saying they won’t do it again?” asked Thatcher, making a shockingly valid point.
His ally remained composed. “I’m glad you bring that up,” he began. “Tell me, have you heard of what happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom?”
Thatcher nodded, unable to draw a conclusion. “What of it?”
“They survived, but remained…less.”
Draco felt nerves building up in his stomach. He knew what was coming, and could already feel pain prickling at his tendons.
“Are you implying we use the Cruciatus Curse?” Thatcher asked, hungrily.
“Not quite,” answered the second Auror. “There is another curse, equally unforgivable, but virtually unknown to the general public.”
“What does it do?” asked Thatcher, looking like a dog with his tail between his legs.
“The Cruciatus Curse impacts ones mental health,” he explained. “But this other curse impacts something else, something our precious Draco Malfoy would be forced to live with for eternity – sanity in tact. After all, we want him to know the error of his ways, and remember it every day of his life – wear it like a mask, if you will.”
He pointed his wand at Draco’s back, whilst the young man choked out a few inaudible words, trying desperately to convince them to reconsider, but his efforts proved useless. A surge of energy jabbed at his spine and branched out to every inch of his body. He didn’t know what hurt more – the pain or the idea of eternity.
His muscles and bones twisted and turned, practically contorting, until he realized that’s exactly what they were doing. The young man got one glance of his hands and noticed they’d been transformed to claws. He was horrified. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew it was forever.
Another surge hit him in the chest – Thatcher’s wand. The pain was unbearable. He stopped shouting, wondering if perhaps the torture was over, but it wasn’t. His shouts had turned into growls and his body began to morph. Every bone broke and reformed, creating a completely new structure and stretching his skin to the point that he thought he would burst.
Draco huffed and puffed for air, until finally it was over. He’d been left alone. The Aurors were gone. It was only he. Without any idea what had happened, the young man released a low wail and immediately pursed his lips when they emitted the sound of a wounded animal, as opposed to a man.
He stumbled away from the window and felt a piece of glass. Draco took hold of it with his newly formed claw and laid eyes on his reflection, a reflection of the beast within.
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Beauty and the Beast