Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Sleeping Beauty	By : Nocturne Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 4307 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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
- 1-Sleeping Beauty
- 1
Draco closed his eyes, hearing his mother’s parting words ricochet within the walls of his subconscious mind.
You cannot surrender to the fear, my love. You are strong. You are clever. You will fight for your life using whatever means necessary, and I will return to you when the time is right.
It had been months since that night, since the night Lucius and Narcissa had been forced to answer for their treason against the Dark Lord. They had barricaded themselves in the Manor, causing a diversion to provide their son with enough time to escape. He had just barely brushed his fingers over the emergency Port Key, when suddenly he heard the bloodcurdling screams of his parents’ demise echo from the lower levels.
Draco knew, even then, that he would never see them again, but the promise in mother’s voice was the only thing that kept him going. He closed his eyes tighter, placing a blockade over the rush of emotion that clouded his vision. There was no room for tears.
Potter wouldn’t have cried.
It was telling, the amount of times Draco thought of his old rival. He could still remember the way each fleck in Potter’s emerald green eyes died out as the Killing Curse made contact with his chest. The memory of it sent a surge of unfamiliar sentiment through his consciousness. He had always assumed Potter would turn up victorious in the final showdown, but that was the naivety of ones adolescent mind. It was either kill or be killed and – ironic as it was – The Boy Who Lived had met with the latter.
Draco could only imagine what that meant for the young woman resting not four feet away from him.
~*~
The journey to Tuscany had taken longer than Draco would have liked, but that was the price of traveling via public transport. His whereabouts had been kept secret for the past three months. There were Death Eaters assigned with just the task of searching for him, and bringing his head to the Dark Lord. The bounty was high, and it was all down to one thing – the only thing his parents had entrusted him with before paying the price of treason.
Draco strolled into the countryside villa with a bag of groceries from the nearby market. Before the past few months, he had never touched an ingredient that hadn’t already been prepared into a gourmet meal. It was a bit of an adjustment – having to cook, clean and take proper care of himself without his mother and father’s help – but he had no choice.
This world wasn’t similar to the one in which he had been raised. There was no room for error, which meant he had to be ready to leave his hideaway within a moment’s notice. Thankfully, there had not yet been any such complications. He figured the Death Eaters were still following the false trail he had left through the Netherlands, but it wouldn’t take long for them to catch wind of his current location. He was posing as an American author of Muggle literature, using the lush lands of central Italy for inspiration in his latest piece.
Somewhere deep, deep down, Draco had always wanted to write, but his obligations as heir to the Malfoy dynasty had always thwarted such hopes and dreams. He used his time in hiding to do some real method acting, and went so far as to writing several chapters of a memoir. It was untitled, thus far, but provided him with more comfort than was comprehensible. It was his only outlet. He occasionally spoke to the townspeople, but even then it was small talk in the marketplace or on his way back to the villa.
He couldn’t remember a time in his life in which he had been left completely and totally alone – not like this.
Resigned to his fate, Draco poured himself half a glass of vino – sangiovese, to be exact – and took a seat on the deck. The villa had a gorgeous view of the marketplace, cradled by greens and country roads. Malfoy Manor had been enormous and filled with costly, stylish décor but the surrounding land was nothing in comparison to the sight before him. He took a sip of wine and savoured each and every flavour. It became customary for him to have a drink before and after dinner, and almost every other meal. Sometimes it was two drinks. Sometimes four.
The young wizard figured it was bad judgment to obscure his senses with alcohol, but the loneliness was beginning to chip away at his once rock solid conviction. He was playing the waiting game, and Draco Malfoy was notoriously known for his impatience. He had never waited for a thing in his life – besides Hermione Granger.
His attention shifted to the interior of the villa. It had two bedrooms – one master and one guest. He took up residence in the guest bedroom, and saved the larger, ornately decorated master bedroom for a young woman who held all the answers. Draco set down his stemware, now empty, and proceeded to the room in question. The shutters were closed, allowing only tiny slivers of sunlight to illuminate the petite, unconscious figure resting atop the four-post bed.
She had rendered herself unconscious shortly after the Dark Lord defeated Harry Potter. Lucius had found the girl, in her childhood bedroom with no parents in sight. Draco figured she had coaxed them into leaving with the help of magic, and wished he had done the same for his, but it was too late for that. His father had brought the girl back to the Manor, with the original intention of handing her to the Dark Lord as payment for their treason, but he later changed his mind…upon Narcissa’s request.
So long as the Dark Lord lives, there will only be more death and destruction…
Draco closed his eyes, feeling the words tear a hole through his heart. He knew what had to be done, and although it would be immensely difficult, it was the only way. He couldn’t live with his mistakes any longer. He had to put an end to the Dark Lord’s madness, and protecting Hermione Granger was the first step in doing that.
He inhaled, catching scent of lavender with notes of honey and almond and some mint. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. But there was no use in willing her awake. There was some strong magic at play, and his job was not only to protect her, but wake her from the slumber in which she had cleverly used as a shield.
There was pain in his hands, and it was only then that Draco realized he had balled them into fists. He took several deep, calming breaths and opened his eyes. She was still there, unconscious as ever, with her hair falling to her sides in wild, chocolate brown spirals and in a set of comfortable, functional Muggle clothes. To that very day, he had never touched her, using only magic to lift her and wash her and nourish her. Part of him wondered the true intention behind her self-induced slumber. Had she done it as a way to keep her secrets hidden, or as a way to numb the pain of so much loss?
It kept him up for hours, just thinking of what could have possibly crossed Granger’s mind during those final moments.
Draco sat on the chair adjacent to her bed and watched as her chest rose and fell, in a slow, borderline hypnotizing fashion. He had spent so much time loathing this girl and everything for which she stood, and it was now his duty to defend her when the time was right. It was all so…strange. He sometimes wondered what would have happened, had he not treated the Golden Trio with such malice.
He did, in fact, play a pivotal role in the Second Wizarding War. It had been him to permit the Death Eaters entrance into Hogwarts in his sixth year. It had been him assigned with the task of killing Albus Dumbledore. It had been him to take the Dark Mark and wield it in whichever way necessary. But what the public didn’t know was that none of that had been his choice or even the choice of his parents.
It was either join Voldemort or be killed.
There was a sharp pain in his chest at the memory of his initiation. It was a short ceremony, with only the Dark Lord and his Aunt Bellatrix, but nothing had hurt him more than waking up everyday knowing Voldemort’s mark was permanently etched into his skin.
Draco didn’t dare look upon his left forearm. The mere sight of it brought anguish, and with anguish, or any strong emotion, his spirit weakened. He merely sat there, watching and waiting for any sort of sign or hint. It wasn’t a matter of cleverness. It was a matter of retracing the steps of the labyrinth that was Hermione Granger’s mind, and even he hadn’t the ability to do that. She may have been Muggle-born, but Granger was damn near the smartest witch he had ever known, and would never let know.
He rubbed the fatigue from his face and decided it was time to get a start on dinner. The food wouldn’t cook itself, and the rate in which his stomach had been roaring and rumbling with hunger was beginning to drive him insane. Draco stood from his chair and proceeded to the door. He clasped the brass handle and threw one glance of his shoulder to check if Granger was still in one piece. It made him feel old, like some sort of parent checking up on their newborn child every five seconds, but it was his only way of knowing she was all right.
Resigned to his own fate, the young man twisted the doorknob open and just barely stepped foot in the corridor, when suddenly the front door to the villa slammed open.
- 1
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Sleeping Beauty