Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

His Relinquishment	By : lexiatel Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 70413 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Jk Rowling, I do not make any profit in writing this story what so ever. I am just having some fun.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Hermione woke up, lightly rubbing at the ache at the back of her head. It took her a moment to remember why it hurt so much.
Malfoy, she thought bitterly, gritting her teeth at the memory of his atrocious behavior to her. He had yanked at her hair, making that particular area (and one other) of her head remarkably sore with pain. It was a wonder that she wasn't bald in those places, with as rough as he had been.
She immediately forgot about him though, hearing voices. The ones (in which she had just now came into realization) that had awoken her from her slumber. The voices were hushed, muffled by a wall. She sat up and looked confusingly around.
Hermione was in a bed, tightly covered with several mismatched, worn out looking blankets. The room she was in was a tiny one. A closet was more of a fitting description of it. She didn't think a second bed would fit into the room, no matter how much one tried.
At the foot of the bed was a telly stand with a telly on it. Beneath it was a VCR. Above the telly was a shelf of VHSs that were stacked up all the way up to the ceiling.
Off to the immediate right of her was a tall dresser. Hermione's eyes went straight to a photo that was propped up on it, needing to get a sense of the people she was likely about to come face to face with. It was a picture of a shirtless, bulky man with a large tattoo of a dragon on his left shoulder. The dark hair on his head was standing up in every which direction, looking much like black flames of fire. He had thick eyebrows, a scruffy, thin beard, and a matching mustache. He wasn't smiling, but his shining, friendly deep-chocolate eyes gave away that he was amused at the time that the photo had been taken. He was an awfully good looking man, appearing just a bit older than Hermione by possibly five or six years.
On the other side of the bed was a night table with a short lamp and a box of tissues. The room was bare and tidy besides that.
She flipped the blankets off her and got off the bed, curious about the voices, but slightly wary of where she was and who these people were. After her recent past, she wasn't sure what was going on. The last she remembered was using every ounce of energy to put a body of water between her and Malfoy. It had drained her completely. She couldn't even remember the terrain she had landed on.
She must had fainted as soon as the spell dropped her.
Hermione felt her body for any sign of splinching, but besides her cut lip, from where Malfoy had smacked her, and the two sores on her head, she was otherwise fine.
She stood by the door, gathering up her nerve to open it, hand hovering just above the handle. Were they Muggles or Wizards?
Wait...
Where was Malfoy's wand? By her previous body patting, she knew it wasn't on her. She swallowed hard. They had taken the wand from her.
But looking back at the photo on the dresser, she couldn't believe the man in it was an unfriendly one. He just didn't have that look to him. She had come across very evil people since the war had started. Hermione had learned many things from the war. One of them was she had this incredible talent of reading people at just the slightest glance of them, knowing if they could be trusted or not. It was that, or it was possible that terrible people had a certain look to them. Either way, the man in the photo didn't have that sort of look to him. She had never met him before, but those kind, beautiful eyes were not of a man who would purposely hurt a person just for their amusement and/or gain.
But was that the picture of one of the people in this same structure that she was also in? Or was it of a family member? A friend?
She took a deep breath.
There was only one way to find out. Who ever they were, they couldn't be worse than the monsters back at the place she used to call her homeland.
The door creaked open, making her wince and pause to listen. Her pulse picked up as the voices instantly stopped talking. Hermione didn't step out of the room, waiting to see what was going to happen next. She had nowhere to go, stationed at the dead end of a hallway that had two other doors before it opened out into a living room. The bedroom she was in had no window, so all she would be able to do was barricade herself in the room should anyone pose a threat.
And a defensive front only ever lasted so long. Another thing the war had taught her.
She was a sitting duck, but her mind argued with her that if they had intended any harm on her, it was most likely that they would have done it already.
Malfoy hadn't even waited a minute before he had harmed her back at the Ministry— but of course, Hermione reasoned with herself, she had attacked him first. He was a murderer though. He murdered Dumbledore. And many others. The list of people who had fallen victim to him was a long one. And she refused to be placed on it.
Why had he gone after her anyway? She wasn't worth anything to him. Not in his eyes. So why would he even bother with a Mudblood 'slave'? One that he honestly had no use for. One that he absolutely hated with a passion.
Well, she hated him too, so fair was fair. The man was an evil, power seeking, psycho, and so were all his friends.
"Heya!"
Hermione jumped a mile. Her mind had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she failed to notice the large body at the opposite end of the hall way. She exhaled in relief. The same man who was in the photo had greeted her. And he was much more good looking in real life. His skinned wasn't so sun kissed (because of the winter weather, Hermione guessed), but the overly wide smile stretched across the lower half of his face nearly made her knees give out.
"Hi," she responded quietly, giving him her own smile.
"'Bout time you woke up..." His eyes fell down to her left hand, making Hermione's eyes follow his.
The ring...!
Was that how Malfoy had found her?!
"My name's Kota," the handsome man continued. His voice sounded far away though. Hermione barely heard him. Her breathing had picked up. Panic struck her hard. If that was how Malfoy had found her, she really couldn't get away! She pulled at the ring, knowing that she couldn't take it off, but she just had to. She had to! He'd come back! What then?! What did he want with her?! Why did he care that she was gone?! He vowed revenge, and if he managed to capture her, he'd definitely get it!
"Hey, hey, hey!" Kota's voice suddenly was saying. He was near her now, patting her shoulder. Mucus had filled her nose, draining into her mouth. She choked on it, sobbing uncontrollably. Her face felt hot with tears. She sucked the nasty, thick nasal fluid down her throat. She needed to breathe slow, she couldn't lose it completely. Not in front of this man.
"Settle down. It's alright," he said coaxingly. "You're safe. He'll never hurt you again."
She looked up at him, studying him. "How do you—"
"The fat lip..." he cut her off, explaining his knowing. "Is it stuck?" Kota pointed to the ring. "Let me see if I can help get it off." He leaned away from her for a split second, digging into one of the many pockets of the pants he was wearing. He brought up a wand.
So he was a wizard!
"You can't," Hermione regrettably informed him as he attempted to remove the ring with a spell that only made her finger feel like it had been dipped in warm liquid cooking oil. Her eyes unfocused as her mind went into deep thought. The simple, silver ring lingered in her blurry vision.
There was really no escape, was there? Malfoy had broken through her protective wards back in Australia, obviously able to somehow know she had been there.
But Zabini had too. That night of the fire. How had Zabini found her to begin with?
Zabini had been with Malfoy the last time she had seen him... Maybe it wasn't Malfoy who had broken through her wards. Perhaps it was Zabini. He may have been some sort of ward buster.
If that was the case, she really had no chance... She'd be world hopping for the rest of her life, always looking over her shoulder, wondering if Malfoy was right behind her or not.
"Is it spelled on?" Kota was asking. He looked at her, his face telling her that he didn't like where this topic was going. "We Americans don't perform such marriage bonds—"
"MARRIAGE?!" Hermione shrieked. "This is not a wedding ring!" Good God! Her face flushed with embarrassment at the mere subject of it. Then she laughed. "Married to Malfoy?! Ha! No," she said the last word firmly, regaining her posture. "I don't really know what this ring is, but it's not a wedding ring— for sure!"
Kota's face lightened some. He smiled. "Good. You are still Miss Granger then?"
"You know my name?" She gaped at him. If it wasn't for his accent, she'd think she was still in Britain. How far had her infamy traveled?
"Yeah, you were all over the WizardNet a couple years ago. The most wanted witch of Britain."
"WizardNet?"
Kota grinned and turned around, looking back. "Come on!" He waved for her to follow him. "I'll tell ya all about it while we eat. Louella has cooked us up all a pile of biscuits and gravy!"
Louella, as it turned out, was Kota's lifelong friend. Both were Muggleborns, and had grew up in the same neighborhood, and even gone to the same school together. She was a tiny woman with thick glasses. She had dark blue eyes, and very long, loose brunette hair.
Apparently, there were many more Muggleborns they were friends with, as Kota had formed a group in school called "United Muggleborns Club", after learning about the blood type segregation of his wizardry school when he had first started attending it. It was not too different than what had gone on at Hogwarts, except there were no houses in their school that separated them. Only blood types. Their prejudice had not lead to a war though. Unlike what had happened in Britain.
The American wizards were all bitter toward any other blood besides their own type. Even when Hermione explained that she had met some very nice Purebloods. She quickly changed the subject when they started in on how well 'her' people got along, ending up in the war. The Muggleborns losing.
Hermione wanted to know how they knew of her. So, she asked them about that.
Louella gave her an adoring smile. She had told Hermione earlier that she was a big fan of hers, commenting on her bravery and smarts in evading Lord Voldemort— the Americans did not seem to fear saying his name. They took it an act of defiance, and Hermione guessed that they said it as often as they could.
Harry had been the same way.
Hermione blinked back tears, taking a sip of the horrid tasting tea that had been given to her, after Louella mentioned that she knew how much the British loved their tea. It tasted like dirt, and was gritty, but she politely drank it anyway. It was better than nothing. After all, she had had the misfortune to know this single-handedly.
She listened, only half interested as Louella and Kota explained what the WizardsNet was: a website on the Muggle Internet for reporting news of the magical world.
"It started in '96," Kota explained. "Was just a one page media source at the time. It was founded by a No-Maj mother— that's what we call Muggles here— of a half-blood son that had been a transfer student at Durmstrang. She wanted everyone to know what was going on there, warning what was possibly to come here—what was to come everywhere. Naturally, we geared up and began practicing more advanced spells, preparing to battle, keeping close track of the news. Some even relocated there, acting as reporters. The website grew very popular shortly."
Hermione hadn't owned a Muggle computer to had known any of this, having been too busy doing exactly what most of the wizards in America had been doing: preparing for war.
"War never came here though," Kota told Hermione. "Our President set up some sort of negotiation with your new leader as soon as it was declared that he had won. I'm not all too sure what it was, it was never said, but President Mizzdole has our best interest at heart. I trust him completely. He did the right thing. Lord Voldemort is a merciless bastard."
Hermione pressed her lips together, agreeing with him, but not saying so.
*/*
"My Lord, you've an owl from Mizzdole," His servant informed him. Lord Voldemort never really much liked owls, but that was perfectly alright. He had a servant who managed an owlery, and He made good use of it.
He wondered what the American President of Magical People of the United States of America would want. It better be important. Lord Voldemort wasn't one to like chitchat, and so far, Mizzdole had taken His threat seriously. If the man buggered up, he'd take over that country too.
Coward bastard, that Mizzdole wizard was. More concerned with how his people would view him than anything else.
Unlike the American Muggles, the American Wizards did not get excited over participating in a war. They would rather not get involved. They knew they would lose though. Their president also knew they would lose.
And if Lord Voldemort had known ahead of time about the issue He would have with His Pureblood witches, He would have negotiated for a few American ones. Maybe He could still do that and breed them with some half-bloods.
That thought left his mind as he read the letter. A grin split his face in half. Often enough, His Muggleborns had tried escaping to America, part of the deal Lord Voldemort had made with Mizzdole was to be notified immediately when this was brought to the American Wizard Government.
That's how He had a lot of them in custody, thanks to that American coward. His people would flip their lids if they had known such a thing.
Lord Voldemort traced His Dark Mark on his forearm. The air sucked from his lungs, and he felt like He was being squished into a tiny box. The pain didn't phase him a bit. He landed near three bodies, all of them instantly started quivering in His presence.
He gave him no warning. He was quite upset to have been interrupted, to have been alerted by Mizzdole where Draco's Mudblood wife was, and frankly, He was angry that His servant had not thoroughly listened to Him, knowing that the man's arrogance was the reason that Mudblood had even escaped in the first place.
He didn't allow His son to scream for too long, unwilling to damage him. He was precious. He was His. His best mating male. His best Pureblood. But little, haughty Draco still needed to learn things. Most importantly, how to handle his wife. She was special. She had opened His eyes. That tiny, fragile, magnificent Mudblood had mildly changed his views on one simple thing.
Love.
It wasn't as useless as He had first thought. Perhaps useless for Him, but maybe not so much for His servants. He had seen love work a few times over, but never like she had shown Him.
With what He witnessed that she could do for a Mudblood boy that she was not even connected by blood with, He wondered what powers she could possess when it came to her own children. Her own blood.
He hated that a Mudblood had so much magical power. But He couldn't deny it. He also knew that it was only because of love. For whatever foolish reason she had, that Mudblood loved that useless, little nit.
Her children would be greatly protected. His future children would be protected for as long as she was around.
Lord Voldemort didn't have to like it, but she was important, and little Draco needed to understand this. He just knew that telling him was pointless. The pompous arse would have to learn it on his own.
There's nothing wrong with a little nudge though, He thought, sending the feeling of spikes being nailed into the blond wizard's flesh a second time. Draco screamed highly, sounding much like a woman. Lord Voldemort almost smiled. He did like a good torture session.
He needed to be careful with His most faithful servant of breeding age though. His children were going to be incredible.
And while Draco did very much hate His gift to him, Lord Voldemort knew he would do whatever it took to get the Mudblood back. In time, Draco would learn to appreciate his wife, because her children, Draco's heirs, will be the most grand of them all. And He couldn't wait. They would help Him. They would all help Him.
Eventually, He was going to rule the entire world. And now that He was immortal, He had all the time in the world to make it happen.
"Your wife is in America," Lord Voldemort supplied the panting Draco. The wizard lay there at the ground of His feet, with his eyes shut. He had no doubt that His servant did this so He would not have to see the cold glare of him for what He had done to him. "State of Kansas. Wamego. Apparition Point US KS21546. I want you both back at my lair no later than three days from now. I best not have to meet either of you before then."
He left them then, but not before giving Blaise's wife a sinister smile. He had just a mere feeling that the Zabini heir was growing inside her at this very moment.
It was all falling into place, but what Lord Voldemort really was anxious for was the Malfoy heir. That child would greatly secure the future.
Not that He was going to fail. No, with or without a Malfoy heir, He would succeed. But just one Malfoy heir would quicken His take over. And anymore than that, would be a bonus.
*/*
Draco shook violently, his nerves were still all wonky from the Dark Lord's crucio. Blaise had given him some potions to help, but they were useless. It usually took nearly two days to recover from The Dark Lord's torture spells.
And he didn't have that kind of time. Draco had no choice though. He would have to dig deeper for any sort of energy in him.
If he wanted to live, that was.
He was almost reconsidering how much his life was worth living. His parents were gone, and he was married to an insufferable, Mudblood bitch. Really, was he doomed to have a shitty life? It certainly looked that way.
They made the apparition, Draco threw up upon landing. His head was pounding. He felt dirty. His body trembled in weakness. He kept going though. He had no choice.
She would pay, his mind repeated. It was the only thing that kept him going. He'd make her scream, he'd make her beg, and in the end, she was going to worship him.
If he was stuck with her, she would be stuck with him. He would teach her. And she was going to be made to enjoy it.
"Mr. Malfoy, right?" A wizard greeted him at the building they had arrived just outside of. He stood straight, and spoke with importance, as if he was Mizzdole's main body guard— which he wasn't. The man only wished was. "President Mizzdole has said to expect you. You are here to fetch your fugitive?"
"Yes, where is she?!" Draco demanded, gripping his wand. His anger fueled him. If he hadn't been so livid, he probably would not had been able to apparate several thousands miles across the ocean.
"We are sending someone to retrieve her now—"
"No, you tell me where she is! I demand of you!" Draco raised his wand, pointing it to the man's neck. Blaise followed his lead, and gestured for Bernice to do the same.
The man cleared his throat uneasily. "Alright, I will, just lower your wand, please, sir!"
"Not until you show me where my Mudblood is," Draco growled threateningly.

Review Responses: Thanks for coming back and reviewing this story after the glitches were fixed. You guys are awesome! :)
Tassana_Burrfoot: Draco has never shown her that he could be a decent man 'given the chance'. He's killed people. He's beat her up, called her names, considers her lower than dirt. To her, quality of life matters. But... I think she's realizing her predicament. It doesn't mean she'll comply though. She's stubborn.
LMazzella: Maybe not actual love. If they pull their heads together though, they might come to some sort of agreement. It's not just Hermione that's been forced into this. She is the one most affected by the order, but Draco obviously doesn't want this either.
Jen: Ah, he'll probably come to his senses... Or... a new emotion will take over him.
Refictionista: Hope this was soon enough for ya!
- 7
- 8
- 9
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

His Relinquishment