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Nothing Else Matters	By : goldhorse Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 8656 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. I just like playing with her toys. I make no money writing this. You can ask my bank account!

Chapter List
- 1-Nothing Else Matters
- 1
AN: So I was reading through one of my stories, The Pianist, for some inspiration for my unfinished ones, and I started playing the songs. Big Mistake. Or maybe not. I got some inspiration, but it was for a new oneshot. So, Here you go.

She sat in her quarters and waited for the night fall. It was the only time she could be at peace. The war had ended nearly a year ago but the happy ending the light hoped for was not to be. Harry was killed by Voldemort and the world changed. She supposed she should count herself lucky. She wasn’t in Azkaban or a dungeon somewhere being tortured for fun and games. But those who thought they knew her considered her new life to be a grueling punishment.
She was a slave, a pawn awarded to a high ranking officer in the new world order. Well, it would be a world order soon. Voldemort had just started planning to take over America after Europe was such a success. Muggleborns were now placed into one of three classifications. Strong males were tortured or sterilized and placed within the Death Eater ranks for training fodder. Females were sold as pleasure slaves and house maids. Children were killed. It was bad enough dealing with the filth that had purpose but children were worthless. She wondered when they would realize that killing the children meant they would have no future slaves.
She’d watched helplessly as the Death Eaters had slowly killed or ran the muggles off the continent. Europe, as far as the muggles were concerned, was suffering from a version of the black plague that no one wanted to tackle. Troops sent as aid were never heard from again. Those who managed to escape refused to speak about their time abroad.
She ran her fingers over the magical cloth that separated her from the rest of the slaves. They believed it to be her punishment. After all, the Master had a special distaste for her. She’d often disappear for days or even weeks when he went on a tear. The Master’s favorite thing to do was drag her away to places unspoken and make her pay for every sin she’d ever committed. It wasn’t like she could fight back. She’d been stripped of her wand and made to wear a magical collar that blocked even the wildest of magic.
She smiled and turned to gather her kit. She needed to tend to her appearance. The Master had left her in her for a week this time to heal her wounds. Her face would still probably be puffy. If he’d been lenient, it might even be turning from a deep purple to green. A bandage or two would be needed to keep the gash in her cheek from getting infected. And there was one other thing she’d need to make sure of….
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He made his rounds as deliberately on time as he could manage. Even a second out of place and they’d turn on him. He’d seen it happen numerous times. One didn’t shirk their responsibilities after they’d realized how wrong they’d been. That was a one way ticket to the veil and he had no wish to see beyond it. He had plans and he was going to stick to them. But there must be a disturbance today, a reason to be angry, a reason to punish.
He marched up the walkway to meet with Weasley. The youngest male had been the only one to survive the war. The others went down in stands of courage that might have brought Dumbledore to tears, but Weaselbee hadn’t. He’d been too shocked to see Potter lying limply in Hagrid’s arms to do anything but fall to his knees in horror. And now he was part of the machine, slogging his way through doctrines and decrees. He was lucky to be alive, his pure blood the only thing keeping him out of the dungeons. Too much blood had been spilled and the red headed git was needed to produce the next generation. He was still a blood traitor though, and as such, he needed monitoring.
He thought he handled himself well as Weasley glared at him and inquired about his slave. He smirked and recounted their last session, how well she’d fought before he’d ultimately broken her. It wouldn’t be much longer now and she’d suck his cock without hesitation or care. She would be completely his. This news unhinged the weasel, nearly making him break protocol, but he held back at the last moment. Surviving really had become more important than the Gryffindor doctrine of bravery and courage.
After successfully rattling the weasel, he checked his watch and decided that it was a good time to start preparing for a punishment for his slave. He hated leaving her so long between punishments but any shorter of a period after his month long absence and the others would start talking. He couldn’t afford the suspicions, not so close to time…
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She held her breath as she heard the Master enter the manor. He was especially loud and foul mouthed this afternoon. He must have had an extremely unsatisfying day. After all, he was in charge of hauling in defectors, those who were caught falling for their slaves or worse… trying to help them escape. He’d come for her on the days when he’d find someone, railing about her dirty blood and how it was infecting the pure bloods.
He always said he should have killed her but he was forbidden. The job description came with the most tempting slave of them all. After all, who could resist falling for the best friend of the boy-who-died? He had to keep her to prove that he was above being tempted. He was the law and he’d bloody well better uphold it. His favorite punishment was to drag her along and watch as dozens of muggleborns were rooted out and sent to the revels, the ultimate punishment for defectors.
She could hear other slaves in the house scampering to meet his demands. He wanted his clothing packed, his broom ready, and his carriage at the front door in five minutes. And if he caught one of them using the house elves, he’d send them to the revels. He meant it to. They’d all been witness to various slaves being dragged from their beds in the middle of the night, kicking and screaming as they swore their innocence for some minor infraction.
She couldn’t stop the trembling as her magical drapes were jerked back. She made sure to keep her robe closed tightly. The least little flash of skin and he wouldn’t wait. He’d take her in front of everyone. He’d done it before, laughing and licking tears from her face. Then he’d kick her in the ribs and spit on her before spilling his seed over her tattered robes. She wasn’t good enough to deserve his pure blood seed. She was a warm and wet hole and nothing more.
Today he stormed over and took her wrist, jerking her out of the room and down the stairs. It took a bit of maneuvering to get down the stairs as her robe kept tripping her up. She wasn’t allowed clothes that fit and he was so much taller than her that it was difficult to match his stride. The other slaves averted their eyes as they quickly stowed their Master’s things in the carriage. She didn’t have luggage. She wasn’t worth luggage. She’d be lucky to return with clothes… or at all. They all had bets as to when she’d breathe her last. She was his favorite punching bag and despite being the strongest and smartest witch of the age, even she had a breaking point. And their Master was the perfect person to find it.
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He shoved his best slave in the carriage and barked orders to the others. They were to clean the entire house from top to bottom. One speck of blood or evidence of a revel and they’d be the next wave of entertainment. The elves would monitor their progress and report back to him. He’d be going to Italy for negotiations and would return in two months. The slaves didn’t rejoice at his absence. Death Eaters would come to check on them from time to time. It was better with their Master in some ways. At least he took out his physical anger on his favorite toy instead of them.
He was thankful that their carriage was driven by a trained thestral and not a Ministry official. He could relax just a little. Having to keep the mask in place was a chore, as was watching his words and monitoring his actions. He smirked, pleased with his clever scheme and how well it had worked. The last batch of defectors had come from Italy who was run by a very soft Death Eater by the name of Marco DeLuca. The two months would be spent overhauling their mudblood assimilation plan.
His slave was silent for a very long time. She’d learned her lesson long ago. She was to keep her mouth shut unless spoken to and even then, she was to keep her mouth shut. It had been a hard learned lesson, too. He was surprised she had any teeth left after he’d gotten through with her but the sassy mudblood couldn’t quell the burning desire to fight back. She’d argue with a door if disagreed with her.
He couldn’t believe they’d given her to him so easily. The again, he’d blazed his way up the ranks, surpassing even his father and Snape. His loyalty was unswerving and flawless. His orders were carried out without a hitch and not one mudblood managed to escape him once he got them into his grasp. He was one of Voldemort’s closest confidants and cohorts. In fact, it was his idea to begin invading America. They had more than enough soldiers to carry it out, especially since they’d started enslaving the mudbloods. They couldn’t lose.
He grinned then. He had one more accomplishment to add to his spotless record. And the world would never be the same.
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She drank in the countryside as it zipped by. They normally traveled by portkey or apparition. Sometimes they were close enough to floo. But this, this was a rare treat. She hadn’t gotten to take in the world since Voldemort had taken over. In truth, it looked just as beautiful as she remembered it. Trees lined the road and there was a little creek just beyond the hill. She could see unicorns prancing about and playing in the sunlight and if she squinted, she could just make out a few fairies.
The carriage hit a bump and she winced, her hand automatically going to her stomach in pain. She stiffened and immediately pulled it away. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see that. Her Master might have worked himself to a position beyond reproach, but there were still ways to monitor him. The carriage was a gift from Voldemort, who agreed that sightseeing was an appropriate way to extend a mission. After all, it allowed his number one confidant to lay eyes on possible defectors and stop at strategic checkpoints to assess how the new world order was holding up.
It seemed to take forever for the sun to dip below the horizon. They’d been traveling for hours but their late start meant that they’d have to stop for nightfall. New world order or not, it was much too dangerous to travel in the dark. There were still rouge bands of creatures out there that fought in Harry’s name. Centaurs had taken the lead, trying desperately to save their homeland forests that were being encroached upon, but their numbers were dwindling.
Finally, the carriage slowed to a halt, pulling into a little hovel that looked as though it should have been condemned in Merlin’s time. Her Master got out and grabbed his bag, not bothering to help her down. It was expected. If she didn’t get out soon, he’d throw her out. So she quickly shimmied down, holding her breath against the pain it caused. Then she obediently followed him to the house, shivering as the thestral disappeared and left them utterly alone.
As soon as the door to the hovel shut, wards twenty layers deep went up, blocking out even the strongest spying charms Voldemort could conjure. It would leave them virtually undetectable to the resistance. After all, someone as prestigious as Voldemort’s right hand man wouldn’t hide out in a shack. As soon as the wards completely clicked in place, she was turned and forced against the door. The cold grey eyes of her Master bored into her and she held her breath.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
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He breathed out his own sigh of relief when she slumped against him and nodded. He’d been terrified for her the entire week. Even under heavy wards and threats, it was still dangerous for a muggleborn slave. It was especially dangerous for her. She was the most wanted member of the light there was, far more valuable than Weasley. But she knew this when they started this journey in their sixth year.
“Have you been taking care of yourself?” he asked.
She laughed then and looked up at him. “You know I have.”
He grinned and then eyed her robe. “Let’s see then.”
She blushed and disrobed, hesitantly modeling her changing body for him. He fell to his knees, eyes zeroing in on his precious little secret. Her stomach was swollen with his child, their child, their son. They hadn’t planned on this. In fact, this was the very last thing they had wanted. No child should have to grow up in a world that was so messed up but they’d not counted on their own magic negating their careful preparations. Bonds would not be swayed in their purpose, even accidental ones.
“How is he?” he whispered, leaning down to caress and kiss the protruding abdomen.
“Extremely active,” she said, her voice a little faint. “It won’t be long now. I’ve been monitoring him the best I can but I can only cast so much.”
He nodded and stood to remove her collar. He’d modified it himself, embedding pieces of her broken wand inside it to allow her some use of magic without detection. But she was so powerful that a great burst could set off the sensory wards that were now surrounding all of Europe. The further along she got in her pregnancy, the less magic she would allow herself to use as the baby’s magic was almost overpowering at times. He still wasn’t sure how they’d managed to keep it a secret.
“Cast them now,” he commanded.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “I… I’m afraid it will take the wards down.”
He sighed and nodded, extending his arm to help her over to the bed. The inside of the useless pile of straw was actually quite nice. It was modestly furnished and contained a bedroom, bath, and a small kitchen. It was a far cry from the manor, but it felt more like a home than anywhere else. Once she was settled in the comfortably bed, he helped her lie and drew his wand, casting the monitoring charms that would allow him to gage his son’s health.
“He’s perfect,” he breathed, watching as the ultrasound spell projected a picture of their perfect little child sucking his thumb.
Tears streamed down her cheeks and she watched with him. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
He nodded and sat down beside her. “We have no choice. The only reason I let you go along with this hair brained idea in the first place is because you made me take the blasted vow. But I’ll not risk my son and my son will need his mother.”
“But-“
“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.
She blinked several times, clearing her eyes and nodded. “Always and forever.”
“Then trust me when I say that the worst is yet to come. We’re not ready to move yet.”
“But when?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Not for a year or two yet. He’s not strong enough.”
She lay back on the bed and let the tears come. He felt horrible for doing this. His heart broke at the mere thought of not seeing her face every day, heavily glamoured though it always was. She was more than his favorite toy. She was the love of his life. She’d saved his life. He couldn’t allow her to give hers.
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She let memories of the past consume her in her grief. No one could have ever predicted what would have happened when she’d found him in that bathroom, distraught and in pain from the constant attacks via the mark on this arm. But for some reason, instead of hexing each other, they’d merely stared. Eventually, she’d felt the need to comfort him. He’d always been a prat but it was obvious that this was much bigger than some stupid childhood rivalry.
She’d given him the most precious gift she could that night, herself. And in exchange, he’d pledged his unswerving loyalty to the light. He’d taken an unbreakable vow because trust was not to be had back then. Over the year, he’d proven himself. He’d carried out his task for Voldemort flawlessly, though sacrifices had to be made. Dumbledore was dying anyway. There was no saving him. Merlin knew Snape tried hard enough but in the end, it was best to end the suffering before Voldemort’s followers could. So she’d watched as the man she’d fallen in love with felled the Headmaster. No one but her saw the absolutely horror in his eyes, the disgust and grief of taking a life.
She’d gone on the run with Harry and Ron, just as planned. They’d found the Horcruxes and destroyed them. The boys never saw her sneaking off with her lover during her watches. They didn’t see the owls bearing news and information, the tips and gifts that kept them going. They didn’t see the change in their childhood bully, how his view had changed. To them, he was a murdering Death Eater, nothing more. Only she saw him for what he truly was, a hero.
But in all their preparation, they’d made a mistake. There was still one Horcrux out there. Nevil gave his life to slay Nagini but she wasn’t the last. There was another, one they’d missed. Harry had been slayed before they’d had a chance to destroy it and since it still remained, the killing blow was final. At least, they thought it was. Her lover had discovered it when he went to string Harry’s body up in the Ministry. It was faint, the beating heart, but it was there. So he’d transfigured a dead dear to look like Harry, subtly weaving spells to make it decay as a body would, and whisked the savoir off to America to heal.
It had taken them until last month to find the blasted horcrux, the lost diadum of Ravenclaw. Hogwarts was a shambles after the war, but the Room of Requirement still stood. She thanked the Gods that the school had been condemned. There was no way they would have come across it otherwise and the punishment trips were starting to get a bit sketchy in that they were so predictable. What no one saw was the piles and piles of books in her quarters, stacked ceiling to floor as she searched for any clue she could find. There were also hundreds of maps and correspondence from those on the light who were deep underground still fighting.
Even Ron was doing his part. The trips to wind him up were a perfect way to pass on information. The red head was a brilliant strategist and had gotten them out of more than one scrape. It had taken them a while to convince him that they were still fighting, but he was more than happy to help. And since her lover didn’t trust him at all, a few eavesdropping charms didn’t hurt either.
But now she was nine months pregnant, due anytime, and her work couldn’t continue. The horcrux was gone and Harry was finally on the mend. The tears she shed now weren’t for the past. They were for the future. She couldn’t imagine not being able to see those grey eyes shining down on her as he made love to her long and slow the entire night. Her hands would ache without the feeling of silky soft hair and rigid muscles. But he was right. Their son needed her. Her work was finished. They couldn’t risk Voldemort changing his mind and allowing someone else to take her or worse…finding their son.
But he’d still be there, a year from now, carrying on day in and day out in his own personal hell. And she wouldn’t be there to comfort him. She couldn’t hold him as he wept for the lives he’d condemned, the ones he couldn’t save. He was extremely good at exchanging prisoners for golems but he couldn’t save everyone. He was only one man. Her stomach twisted at the thought of him being married off to a pure blood to produce the next generation. He’d only escaped so far under the pretense that a family would slow him down. But with things settling, he couldn’t hold off forever.
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He sighed and lay beside her, allowing her grief to flood the sheets. She rarely got a chance to break down. These past nine months had been exceptionally hard for her. Being pregnant on top of afraid for her life and searching endlessly for the missing horcrux had taken its toll. He could see it in her beautiful face.
Some of the damage was his own doing. He hadn’t been able to spare her the pain of her training. He’d pulled as many blows as he could, but there was just no faking slavery spells. And the back talking… he remembered vomiting all night long as she struggled desperately to regrow her teeth. He’d mended more broken bones and bruises than one person should ever have to endure. And the night he’d taken her in front of the entire manor would haunt him eternally.
In some ways, it was better for her if they parted now and never saw each other again. He was a worthless wretch. What kind of a man did those unspeakable things to a woman and deserved to call himself good? What kind of man condemned innocent people to the same and worse on a daily basis? No, she’d be better off without him.
“I ought to hex you,” she growled.
He frowned and turned to look down at her. She was scowling so fiercely that he was a little afraid that she’d seen through him. But she sat up and grabbed his face instead, though she was much slower than she ever had been.
“Don’t you dare pull away from me,” she gasped, fresh tears flowing down her face. “I can feel it, you now. You want to abandon me.”
He couldn’t stay the tears any longer. “You need to get away from me. I’m dangerous.”
She shook her head. “I knew what would happen. I took that risk freely and willingly. This is our life now. You’ve only done what you had to.”
“Beat you?” he cried out. “Rape you?”
She smirked through her tears. “Can’t rape the willing.”
He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers. “I hate myself.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But I love you, Draco. And no matter how far apart we are, I’ll never stop.”
He pressed a kiss to her nose. “I love you more than life itself, Hermione. If you wanted to run, I’d run with you.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But we started this game. We have to finish it.”
“I hate this game.”
“Agreed. But we know the rules. We trust in each other. We play the games. We love each other. Nothing else matters.”
“But the bruises-“ he said only to be stopped when she put her hand over his mouth.
“Don’t matter. It doesn’t matter what others say or do or think. We know the truth. Nothing else matters.”
He stared deep into her caramel eyes and nodded. She was right. He pushed her gently back toward the bed and started worshiping her exposed body. It didn’t matter how many times they’d been together. Every time was exciting as the first. Every gasp and moan was balm to his battered soul. And when he finally slid inside her welcoming channel, he felt like he was home.
He’d do what he had set out to do. He’d play the games. He’d trust that she’d wait for him. He’d fend off attempts by Voldemort to marry him off to some cheap tart. He’d be there when his son was born. He’d see to it that they were both safe. He’d visit every chance he got. And in the end, he’d stand and watch with glee as Potter finally killed the bastard. He’d marry his witch and they would raise his son and any others in a world of peace and love.
Nothing else mattered.

AN: In case you didn't catch it, the inspiration for this story was Nothing Else Matters by Metallica. I forced myself to post it before I could critize so the spelling is probably okay but I won't vouch for the grammar. Drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing. I'm hoping the writer's block is gone and I can finish my other two fics with no problems. After all, I got this sucker banged out in two hours. :) Until the next one... love you guys!
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