Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ War of the Wizarding World ❯ Chapter 4

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

*****

It was a long time before Draco was positioned over her, ready to finally consummate their love in the most intimate way. Hours of foreplay and exploration had passed- it was nearly dawn- and he still wasn't sure she was ready for this- he just couldn't stand it if he hurt her.

"Are you SURE?" he asked, for what had to be the hundredth time that night.

"Yes!" she cried, nearly sobbing with desire. "I want- I need- I don't KNOW what I need, but I know you can give it to me- Draco, please! I'm ready."

He lowered his head so that their noses were nearly touching. "You say the word and I'll stop. You know that, right?" She nodded. "Okay then- if you're sure- tell me something. When you're about to go swimming on a hot day, and you know the water will be cold- so cold it may be a shock at first, but will feel nice once you get used to it- do you ease in slowly, or do you jump?"

She stared up at him for a moment, puzzlement written all over her face, clearly not comprehending the implications of his question. That was all right. He didn't need her to understand per se; he only needed her answer, to tell him how to proceed.

"I- I'm a Gryffindor," she whispered, with a sudden, almost defiant tilt to her chin. "I jump."

That was all he needed to know. A smile touched his lips for just a fraction of a second; then he kissed her deeply and, at the same time, plunged into her, filling her completely with one swift thrust.

Her body jerked beneath his and she gave a startled cry; a cry that traveled directly from her mouth into his and was lost. And Draco found himself suddenly and inextricably caught between pleasure such as he had never known (none of the other girls he had dallied with over the years had felt like this- she must truly be a goddess, he thought fleetingly; no ordinary woman could feel this good) and a stabbing, blinding pang of guilt, for he must be hurting her, he must be- her entire body was stiff and trembling, back arched, hands clenched into fists and pushing against his shoulders.

Ah God, it felt so good; he didn't want to stop.

But he had to. He had to.

He broke the kiss and looked down at her. Her head was thrown back, her face scrunched up; eyes shut, jaw tight and breath coming in shallow bursts through clenched teeth.

"Hey," he whispered, hearing his voice break, his heart right along with it, at the thought that he had caused her pain, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love, I'm so sorry I hurt you. I'm gonna pull out now, okay? It'll be over in a second- just hang on.....hang on." And slowly, so as not to cause her more pain, he started to withdraw.

And then she did something that absolutely floored him; flinging her arms about him, she held on tight and, still through clenched teeth, cried out, "No! Don't- Draco, don't go."

He stopped instantly and stared down at her in amazement. "Hermione- I'm hurting you."

She opened her eyes and he could see tears standing in them, but she shook her head. "No. Just give- give me a minute." She let her eyes fall shut again, her warm, sweet breath bursting against his face in shallow, rapid pants, and then gave a tiny thrust upwards with her hips; a tentative, exploratory movement. Draco, who had managed to withdraw about halfway, found himself suddenly buried fully within her again.

They both gasped. Then a groan was wrenched from Draco, who was now in the throes of pleasure so intense it was very nearly pain. "Hermione," he ground out, his face just as strained as hers, "you are making it very difficult for me to stop."

"Don't.....want you to stop. Just- just in shock. Like you said. I un- understand now. I just.....have to get used to it. You s-said....it'll feel nice.......once I'm used to it. Right?"

"Yes," Draco said in a tight voice, as he fought to maintain his self control, because at this point he was very close to being unable to stop even if she should beg him to. "Yes, but- God, Hermione, I can't stand hurting you like this!"

"Doesn't hurt.....too bad," she whispered, but, belying her words, the tears in her eyes spilled over, trickling down her face.

It was as if each tear were a bucket of ice water that had been thrown over him. "That's it," he said decidedly, and tensed to withdraw again, but before he could, she had wrapped both her legs around him too.

"Oh God," he cried, "SHIT, Hermione!"

"It's okay," she said, her eyes locking onto his. "I just....feel.....really, really full, that's all." She wriggled deliciously beneath him, causing him to groan yet again, and he saw the faintest hint of a smile touch her lips; probably, he thought, as it began to dawn on her just how much power she had over him in this situation. He hadn't cried out when Potter had stabbed him; hadn't made a sound under Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse; but she could reduce him to moaning like bloody Myrtle with the smallest motion in bed.

It's all over, he thought, as he smiled back ruefully. She bloody well owns me now. (As if she didn't before, whispered a corner of his mind.)

"It feels like we're one person," she breathed, and he saw that the pain in her eyes was slowly diminishing, to be replaced by an almost childlike wonderment.

Even now, she's so innocent, he thought- so wholesome, so pure- so damn far out of my league! I don't deserve to even be here; I don't deserve to the one who's joined to this amazing creature- but I'll take it; by God, I'll take it and be grateful.

"We are one person," he replied; "for right now, we are." And he bent his head and kissed her again, staying perfectly still, letting her adjust.

A long moment later, she broke the kiss and grinned up at him roguishly. "It doesn't hurt anymore," she whispered, gyrating her hips gently, causing his breath to catch in his throat; "now you can show me the pleasant part."

And he did.

*****

They slept far into the morning and awoke naked under the scarlet sheets, still tangled in one another's embrace. It was Draco who woke first and, gathering Hermione even closer to him, kissed her lightly on the forehead, then the tip of her nose.

Her dark eyes blinked open slowly, and she smiled sleepily, then nuzzled her head into the hollow at the base of his throat.

"Hey, bookworm," he said, his voice husky with sleep, "how you feeling?" His brow suddenly creased with concern and he added, "was it really all right? I didn't hurt you too bad?"

She shook her head against his chest, then, pulling back a little so as to look him in the eye, said, "it was amazing. I can't believe I was so scared of something so wonderful." Reaching up, she traced his sharp facial features with her hand, then ran it through his silky hair. "Thank you for showing me," she whispered, then- "I love you."

Instead of answering, he caught her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, holding her against him as though he never intended to let her go. It was only an urgent need to breathe that compelled him to finally break the kiss. Grinning down at her, he murmured, "you know you're mine forever now, don't you? My brown eyed girl."

And was puzzled when she burst into laughter.

"What's funny, Granger?" he asked, his brows knitting into a frown. He had never much liked being laughed at when he wasn't specifically going out of his way to be funny. And he hadn't intended his remark to be funny at all, seeing as it was, for all its loving tenderness, basically a declaration of ownership.

So her amusement chafed him.

Still chuckling, she explained, "it's just that it's an old Muggle song- Brown Eyed Girl. You wouldn't have known, of course. And it just seemed funny, those words coming from you, given your innate dislike of all things Muggle."

"Well," Draco said, his expression softening, "not ALL things Muggle. I like THIS brown eyed girl just fine. So, are you going to sing it for me?"

She shook her head. "I don't know all the words. And I wouldn't even if I did. Singing isn't my strong suit- I should think you would know that by now! I'm honestly surprised the unicorns never ran away from my singing voice; Ron once told me I sounded like a scalded cat...in heat."

"Remind me to sucker punch Weasley for that tomorrow," Draco said thoughtfully. Then a wicked gleam came into his eyes. "Well, if you're not going to sing me the song, Granger," he drawled, "you'd better be prepared to put your mouth to a different use!"

He captured her lips in another demanding kiss; one which led, inevitably, to other things.

They didn't leave her room until dinner time, and then it was only their voracious hunger, born of an afternoon of wildly energetic lovemaking, that drove them out.

*****

The next morning at breakfast, if the head boy and girl seemed once again unusually subdued, it was not this time the result of nightmares, but of a lack of sleep on both their parts, brought on, far more pleasantly, by their continued exploration of one another's bodies throughout the night. And if Harry and Ron seemed rather surly and out of sorts, that was only because their repeated knocks at Hermione's door had gone unanswered and they had been unable, therefore, to procure her assistance with their homework.

Though they made a point of grumbling about it, there were no truly hard feelings, especially once Hermione explained regretfully that she had placed a silencing spell at her door in order to catch up on lost sleep from the weekend, and as a way of making amends, promised to proof read their assignments before class.

Harry, catching the faint blush that tinged Hermione's face as she explained, and the even fainter ghost of a smirk that flitted across Draco's face at her words, suddenly found himself nursing a pretty strong suspicion about what had really been going on- and found, somewhat to his own surprise, that he was happy for her. True, he felt a faint twinge of envy born of his earlier feelings for Hermione, but he had long since resigned himself to her relationship with Draco, and had to admit that Malfoy's intentions toward his cherished friend seemed honorable, and that they made a well-matched couple. So yes, if Malfoy had finally succeeded in showing her that sex was not an act she need live in mortal fear of- (and judging from the glow of happiness and contentment that surrounded her this morning like an aura, he had, and how-) Harry was indeed happy for his friend.

Ron, on the other hand, who had never been quite as observant as Harry, sensed nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. Thank God. He would NOT have taken Harry's altruistic view of the situation.

So it was that the next few weeks passed for Draco and Hermione in a state of sheer bliss. The weather grew warmer, the Easter holidays approached, and two less dedicated students would surely have found their studies suffering, so wrapped up were they in each other and the newfound sensual aspect of their relationship. But they were not head boy and girl, and the top students in the school, for nothing; they remained dedicated to their schoolwork and other responsibilities, and somehow found time to get all their homework done, study for their upcoming NEWT exams, and fulfill their obligations as role models to the student body, in addition to partaking, at every opportunity, of pleasures of the flesh.

Though they found themselves needing to get by with significantly less sleep than they had previously been used to.

Life was good, and as they looked forward to the Easter holidays, during which the school would be all but deserted, and planned happily for daily lunches in Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron followed by golden afternoons secluded in Hermione's bedroom, they never guessed that events would soon take a disasterous turn.

For Lucius Malfoy's carefully formulated plan for capturing his errant son was finally ready to be put into action. Stage One would go into effect over the Easter break, when the school was nearly empty, with the assistance of some of Draco's former housemates, who had been specially hand-picked by the elder Malfoy for the job, and had remained at school over the holiday for just this purpose. He had given them explicit instructions on exactly what to do and how to do it; now all that remained was for them to carry those instructions out and Lucius was confident that a chain of events would be set into motion that would ultimately result in his son being home- and shortly thereafter dead- before the school year was out.

*****

It happened on the last day of Easter break.

It was sunset as the "Gryffindor Four" approached the castle. They had just spent the entire afternoon in Hogsmeade; an idyllic end to what had been an idyllic holiday for all of them. The following day the student body would be returning to Hogwarts, the final term would begin, and for the seventh-years, their studies and preparations for the NEWTS would reach a fever pitch. There would be no more visits to the wizarding village until the exams were over, so Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione had made the most of their time in the charming little town over the past several days.

Now, however, that their last visit was over with and they faced the prospect of classes resuming, Hermione was, true to her nature, beginning to fret about her studies, and decided that a visit to the library was in order. The three males, however, declined to accompany her, wishing instead to put their last evening of freedom to good use playing wizard chess in the common room. Harry and Ron had easily come to include Draco in their frequent chess marathons, and Draco, for his part, with his highly competitive, and not a little mischievous, nature, thoroughly enjoyed first watching the two old friends play each other (while giving them both intentionally disastrous advice), and then playing the winner. It was all the better for him if it was Harry who won against Ron and then played him; he enjoyed playing Harry because, just as when they had been opposing seekers in the game of Quidditch, they were evenly matched and tended to have similar strategies. This made for extremely interesting and challenging chess games. Then there was the fact that when Draco played Harry, it meant that Harry had beaten Ron, who, in Draco's opinion, sulked on these occasions like a spoilt child, giving Draco immense pleasure in further taunting and goading him. He still got a thrill out of causing Ron's face to turn a brighter shade of red than his hair. Yes, all in all, Draco was anticipating a very pleasant evening.

So it was that the four of them parted ways at the top of the marble stairs; Harry, Ron and Draco heading up to Gryffindor Tower, and Hermione turning off toward the library.

And it was then that things went terribly wrong.

Or, as far as Lucius Malfoy would have been concerned, perfectly right.

*****

Mere seconds after Hermione had disappeared from sight, just as Draco was opening his mouth to begin his traditional pre-game taunting of Ron, the three boys were brought up short by a startled cry, followed immediately by sounds of a struggle, from around a bend in the corridor, in the direction of the library.

Harry, Ron and Draco stopped in their tracks, frozen for just a fraction of a second in absolute horror. For Ron and Harry, there was a cold, sick sense of déjà vu as the three boys whirled and began to race toward the sounds. For Draco there was no conscious thought at all; just a driving desire to hurt, maim, kill, as they rounded the corner and an awful sight met their eyes.

Blaise Zabini, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle (who had taken to following him around after Draco's resorting into Gryfindor), was holding a stuggling Hermione pinned to the wall by her throat. It appeared, at first glance, to be a ghastly reenactment of the attack by Voldemort a year before (though that was impossible; Blaise didn't know about the nature of that attack- how could he?), with the only major difference being that Blaise was using both hands to hold her and still having trouble; he lacked Voldemort's almost superhuman strength, and Hermione was fighting like a wildcat. Even as the three enraged Gryffindors tore toward her, though, her struggles were weakening due to lack of breath.

Still, she managed to land a pretty good kick to a rather sensitive part of Blaise's anatomy, as "her boys" closed the distance that separated them from her at a dead run.

*****

"GET YOUR BLOODY HANDS OFF HER, ZABINI!"

Draco was a silver-haired blur as he launched himself at his former dorm- mate. He moved far too fast for the dimwitted Crabbe and Goyle to react in time; even Blaise had only just begun to turn and reach for his wand when Draco crashed into him full force, slamming him against the wall, fists beginning to fly.

Hermione, released at last, sucked in a great, ragged breath and slid down the wall, coughing weakly, hands at her throat. Hitting the floor, she pulled her knees tightly up to her body and dropped her face onto them, seemingly oblivious to Draco and Blaise battling inches from her.

Chaos ensued.

Ron and Harry, quite as beside themselves as Draco, attacked Crabbe and Goyle viciously without pausing to consider the consequences- which, as it turned out, were considerably worse for the Slytherins, who had been caught completely off guard by the suddenness and severity of the attack. Though Harry and Ron were smaller, they were quicker and were both possessed of a fierce, wiry strength that more than compensated for Crabbe and Goyle's slow, heavy swings. Besides which, they, like Draco, were currently in the throes of a complete berserker rage. The big, dull Slytherin thugs hardly knew what hit them.

Altogether, the fracas lasted a good seven or eight minutes, and ended with all three Slytherins flat on the floor. Draco might quite possibly have beaten Blaise to death, had not Harry and Ron, once they had dispatched of Crabbe and Goyle, dragged him away, still swinging madly.

"LEAVE HIM!" Harry shouted, yanking him backwards off Blaise, whom he had been straddling and punching repeatedly in the face. "Malfoy- for God's sake- we gotta get outta here! MALFOY!" he shook him hard as Draco continued to strain toward the groaning Zabini. "Do you wanna get expelled? Is that what you're after? I don't think Hermione could take that right now!" Draco went abruptly still at Hermione's name. His eyes leaving Blaise's huddled form for the first time, he looked first at Harry, whose nose was bleeding profusely, then over to where Ron, sporting the beginnings of a spectacular black eye, was handing Hermione back her wand (which had been tossed aside by Blaise as she had reached for it when he had first ambushed her) and gathering her into his arms, preparing to flee with her back to Gryffindor Tower before Filch or any teacher should arrive on the scene.

Hermione appeared to be in a state of deep shock. Her eyes were open, but glazed and unseeing. When Ron murmured to her to put her arms around his neck, she obeyed silently and mechanically. Ron glanced over at Harry and Draco, where they knelt on the floor. "I'm getting her the hell out of here," he said. "You coming?" Without waiting for a reply, he sprinted off down the corridor, Hermione clasped firmly to his chest.

Harry stood and pulled Draco up after him. Both boys wiped blood from their faces- Draco had a bloody nose to rival Harry's, and a split lip besides. Still, he was loathe to go; staring down at Blaise, his rage and hatred were burning nearly out of control. Harry gripped him hard by the arm and attempted to pull him away. Finally, after settling for one more vicious parting kick, he turned, spat a mouthful of blood on the floor, and followed Harry at a fast jog toward Gryffindor Tower, leaving the Slytherins to lick their wounds.

*****

Crabbe and Goyle clambered slowly to their feet, then helped the wincing, bloodied Blaise up as well. As soon as Blaise had steadied himself, using the wall for support, they both began talking at once, cracking their knuckles and glowering about threateningly, now that the danger was gone.

"Next time things will be different-"

"When we tell professor Snape what they did, he'll-"

"SHUT UP!" Blaise snapped. As the two oafs stared at him in open-mouthed surprise, he continued in a low, dangerous voice; "you listen to me and you listen good. There's not going to be a next time, and we tell no one about this- NO ONE, except for the one that hired us, you understand?"

Crabbe and Goyle nodded dumbly.

"He said that we would be generously compensated for any injuries we sustained as a result of putting his plan into action," Blaise continued, "so as far as I'm concerned-" he paused and spat out a tooth- "this setup was a complete success. We'll get hefty bonuses, and it looks like Lucius Malfoy will get exactly the information he was hoping for." He nodded grimly and added, more to himself than the others, "yes, I believe Mr. Malfoy was hoping Draco would react just like that- why, I don't know, and it's not our business to know, as long as we get our galleons."

He turned and started heading slowly, limping, back toward the dungeons. A moment later he looked back over his shoulder to see Crabbe and Goyle still standing immobile, staring at him stupidly. "Well, are you two idiots coming?" he barked in irritation. "We have to floo Mr. Malfoy and tell him what happened, or don't you want to get paid?"

Their piggy little eyes brightening at the words "get paid", Crabbe and Goyle broke into a trot, following Blaise toward the Slytherin common room, its fireplace, and a floo conference with Lucius Malfoy.

*****

When Harry and Draco stumbled through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, it was to find that Ron had deposited Hermione in one of the overstuffed armchairs and was now pacing tightly back and forth before the fireplace, both fists clenched in his hair, which appeared molten in the light of the flames. He was muttering furiously to himself, and just as Harry and Draco entered, he kicked over an unoccupied chair with a cry of rage.

If anything about the situation could be considered fortunate, it was that the room was otherwise completely empty, owing to its being the last day of the Easter holidays.

Harry crossed to Ron, and Draco to Hermione. Kneeling in front of the chair where she sat huddled, staring blankly into the fire, Draco took her gently but firmly by the upper arms, turning her fully toward him. Her eyes remained distant, her face expressionless. She was trembling from head to toe. Without a word, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head this way and that, inspecting the bruises that were beginning to show on her throat. Then, with a rare tenderness, he placed the tip of his wand against them and murmured a healing spell, causing the barely formed marks to fade away again. Still without speaking, he folded her into his arms and settled himself in the chair, with her crosswise in his lap. With a deep, shuddery sigh, she let her head fall onto his shoulder, and he commenced stroking her hair.

Harry, meanwhile, placed himself directly in front of Ron in order to stop his increasingly agitated pacing. Being forced to halt abruptly, Ron looked for a moment as though he was actually considering taking a swing at Harry, but then apparently thought better of it and simply stood there, staring at his best friend, panting, jaw clenched, his hands now fisted at his sides and his blue-black eyes sparkling with unshed tears of anger.

Pulling out his wand, Harry healed Ron's eye the same way Draco had healed Hermione's bruises, then, clasping the redhead's shoulder, said simply, "let's fly." Ron hesitated a moment, shot a glance over at Draco cradling Hermione in the armchair, then gave a single, terse nod. Without further discussion, the two boys retrieved their broomsticks from their dorm and headed down to the quidditch field to give Draco and Hermione some privacy, and attempt to calm themselves through flight.

*****

"So you mean to tell me that my son did all that to you?" asked Lucius Malfoy's head dryly from its place in the flames.

"Yes," Blaise answered, with as much dignity as he could muster.

Lucius was silent for a moment, looking Blaise over appraisingly. Draco had clearly done a number on him. "Did you even try to defend yourself?"

"Yes," said Blaise resentfully; "he was like a maniac."

"I see," said Lucius, looking suddenly very smug. "So you would say he truly does appear to- er-" his face twisted into an expression of intense distaste- "love the mudblood?"

"He's crazy in love," said Blaise flatly; "he'd do anything for her, like I tried to tell you before this whole pointless exercise-"

"Silence," snapped Lucius; "I will decide what's pointless and what's not. You will be a good boy and do as you're told, and get paid accordingly. That's how this little arrangement works." Blaise glowered, but said nothing. The smug expression returned to Lucius' face. "So," he mused, "he would do anything for her. I had suspected as much, but I wanted absolute proof before proceeding any further, and now I have it." He lapsed into thought for a long moment as Blaise fidgeted. When next Lucius spoke, his voice was brisk. "An owl will be arriving within twenty-four hours, bearing payment for you and your- er- assistants. I trust that you will dispense the funds fairly amongst the three of you?"

"Oh yes," said Blaise, with a sneer that made Lucius nod his head appreciatively.

"Good. Then it's time to discuss stage two of our little plan. I believe your two friends have served their purpose; your next assignment is a one- man job." Lucius paused as Blaise dismissed Crabbe and Goyle with an imperious flick of his hand. "This stage will require stealth and cunning; I will need you to infiltrate Gryffindor Tower. You see, I must have the exact coordinates within the castle of the mudblood's bedroom; coordinates precise enough to allow me to arrive there by portkey. A second owl will be dispatched to you, bearing an invisibility cloak. If you succeed at this mission, you will be allowed to keep the cloak, in addition to a generous monetary payment."

Blaise's eyes lit up. "Tell me exactly what to do."

*****

Though they started at the quidditch pitch, Ron and Harry were soon ranging all over the Hogwarts grounds on their broomsticks. Harry had never seen Ron fly like this before. He flew silently and with furious speed and recklessness; spirals and barrel-rolls and near-vertical dives. He flew like a person who cares nothing for the consequences of his actions. He flew, Harry thought, as a sick, gnawing fear for his friend was born in the pit of his stomach, almost like someone with a death wish.

*****

For well over an hour Draco sat in front of the fire with Hermione cradled in his arms, before standing and carrying her, still silent and unresisting, to her bed. He had intended to tuck her in and return to his own room, because he had some heavy thinking to do, but when he attempted to disengage himself from her, she caught hold of his sweater and wouldn't let go. Still not looking directly at him, still not saying a word, she clung to him for dear life. Feeling as though his heart would break, especially considering the topic which was currently occupying his thoughts, Draco settled himself beside her, nestling her head in the crook of his arm.

Her fingers still caught in the folds of his sweater, she finally drifted into a restless sleep, but Draco lay awake all night, contemplating the action he knew he would have to take, and take soon. From the moment he had come upon Blaise pinning her to the wall, he had known what he must do. Clearly Hermione was in danger because of her association with him; the Slytherins had apparently decided to give up on trying to hurt him directly and had found, instead, a new target for their anger and hatred; her. And it ripped him apart; seeing her in harm's way just killed him. He would rather be beaten to a bloody pulp by every overgrown thug in Slytherin House- beaten to within an inch of his life- than see them touch one single precious hair on Hermione's head.

But it wouldn't stop here. Having found his weakness, having discovered how to wound him to the core, they were sure to continue exploiting it by hurting her every chance they got. He couldn't let that happen. There was no way in hell he was going to let that happen. No way.

Nor was that all- an even deeper fear was nagging at him. The WAY in which Blaise had pinned her against the wall- the position he had been in when Draco, Harry and Ron had rounded the corner and first set eyes on him- could it possibly be coincidence that it was an almost perfect reenactment of Voldemort's attack on her last year? If so, then it was a pretty fucking big coincidence. Draco hadn't witnessed that first attack himself, but he had heard it described and besides, one glance at Harry and Ron's faces in that instant- the sheer horror in their expressions- had been all the proof he needed; they had been looking into the past, all right; looking at Voldemort about to rape Hermione before their eyes.

Except that this time there had been no invisible barrier to hold them back.

Draco allowed himself the fleeting luxury of a grim smile. Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle had paid, all right. But that was beside the point. He couldn't allow himself to get sidetracked; no matter how painful it was, he had to think this situation all the way through. And it WAS painful, because he already knew what conclusion his thoughts would inevitably lead him to. His decision had already been made, and sticking to it would be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do. But returning to the coincidence issue-

Draco had never been a big believer in coincidence. He was one of those who adhered to the philosophy that if it looks like shit and smells like shit, it's probably shit. And this looked and smelled to him like a setup. Like Zabini had been deliberately trying to push his buttons by recreating the exact circumstances of the rape. There was only one problem with this theory; Zabini didn't- couldn't- know about the rape. Could he? No one at Hogwarts knew about it except for Draco, Harry, Ron and the faculty- certainly no one who would wish to use the information to hurt Hermione. But there was one person Draco knew of who was aware of the rape and WAS cruel enough to use that knowledge against Hermione- against them all. His father.

Draco could only assume that Voldemort had told Lucius, his right-hand man, about it during the week or so that had elapsed between the time of the attack and the fateful day on which he and Hermione, Harry and Ron had surprised the Dark Lord in his lair and worked together, for the first time, to overcome him. To kill him. The day on which he, Draco, had nearly died as well. When Lucius had made an unwelcome appearance in Draco's hospital room the following night, he had taunted them all by referring to Hermione as Voldemort's "little fuck toy", causing Draco to drop his wand and attack him physically.

So Lucius knew the true nature of Voldemort's attack on Hermione, and was one of only a handful of people who did. The only one out of that handful who would use the knowledge in a malicious way. Oh hell yes, he would. Absolutely.

But the thing Draco couldn't figure out was, to what purpose? He certainly would not put it past his father to hire one of his former housemates to stage the rape (and Blaise would be the ideal choice; he was intelligent, cunning, ruthlessly ambitious, and his absolute loyalty could be bought for the right price), but Lucius did nothing without good reason. Especially now that he seemed to be in the early stages of rising to power as a new Dark Lord, he was treading very, very carefully. If he were to go to this much trouble and expense (for Blaise's loyalty wouldn't come cheap; Draco was sure of that), it would have to be for a damn good reason; a reason even more compelling than simply causing torment for his now-hated son and the girl who had, in Lucius' opinion, "corrupted" him. So if he was in fact behind this, then the question was, simply put, why?

Draco could not, try as he might, come up with a suitable answer to this question. He shook his head in frustration. The sky outside was lightening- his thoughts had been chasing themselves in circles all night and he still hadn't come up with a satisfactory explanation for his father's motive- if indeed Lucius were responsible for this at all. He supposed that there remained the possibility, however remote, that Zabini had been acting independently and that any resemblance to last year's attack HAD just been coincidental. He would almost rather believe that- it would be the lesser of two evils.

Because if Lucius WAS behind this, it meant that something bad was afoot. Something very, very bad.

Draco sighed as Hermione stirred in her sleep, throwing a leg over him. In the end, the motive behind the attack was a moot point, really. Even the party ultimately responsible for it was a moot point; whether Zabini had been acting on his own or under someone else's orders, the end result was the same. The fact that the attack had occurred at all meant that Draco had to take action to protect Hermione, and there was only one thing he could think of doing that he was certain would convince the Slytherins to leave her alone.

Ah God, he didn't want to do it.

But he had to.

Her safety was more important than his own happiness. As long as he knew she was out of harm's way, he could stand anything. Even a life without her in it.

Maybe if he told himself that enough times, it would make it true.

I can't do it today, he thought, his eyes going to the bay window beside the bed, through which beautiful, rosy dawn light was now streaming. Not this soon, I- I'm just not ready. Not today.

He pulled Hermione closer to him. One week, he thought with grim resolve; I'll give myself one week- seven days- then I'm going through with it.

He would do what he had to do to ensure that she could live her life free of this kind of fear and harassment. Even though it would mean destroying his own life in the process.

Because what he had to do was remove himself from her life so suddenly, completely and violently that the Slytherins would be left with the impression that harming her would have no effect whatsoever on him. He had to make it look as though he hated her.

And he had to make her genuinely hate him.

Then they would leave her alone.

It was the only way.

The students who came pouring back into the school after the holiday noticed a change in the dynamic of the foursome, but it wasn't so drastic a difference as to cause much comment- at least, not at first. All four seemed quieter than usual; Hermione in particular barely said a word either in class or out of it, which was somewhat surprising after she had seemed to be coming out of her shell shortly before Easter, but which was, on the other hand, perfectly typical of her behavior for months beforehand, and so caused a few raised eyebrows, but no real concern.

Harry and Ron never let her out of their sight from the time they left Gryffindor Tower for breakfast in the mornings until they returned to it after dinner; no matter where she was in the school or on the grounds, they could be seen on either side of her; a pair of grim-eyed guardians with their hands always hovering close to their wands. Again, it was just the sort of super-protective behavior that they had displayed for months; it had been easing off before the holiday, but was now back in full force.

Draco's actions, however, caused the most amount of puzzlement to those Gryffindors who were observant enough to notice the difference in his behavior toward Hermione when inside Gryffindor Tower as opposed to when he was out in the school at large. Inside the Tower, he was never more than arm's length away from her; he was like a silver-haired shadow that seemed unable to bear being parted from her even for a moment.

He maintained near-constant physical contact with her. Sometimes it was an arm slung about her shoulders or lightly circling her waist; at other times, his hands lost in her thick, unruly hair, idly twirling dark curls about his fingers; or their legs pressed together as they sat smushed into a single armchair near the fire, doing their homework side-by-side on a small table they had drawn over to themselves with a summoning charm; Hermione writing right-handed, Draco left, in perfect harmony.

During these times, he was, in fact, desperately drinking in everything about her; each expression and gesture; the feel of her soft skin against his; her cloud of dark hair; her ink-stained fingers entwined with his own when they weren't engaged in turning out yard-long scrolls of homework in her small, tidy handwriting; her brow furrowed and lips pursed in concentration as she sat before the fire with a venerable old book spread open on her lap, Crookshanks curled contentedly at her feet.

And oh, at night- they spent every single night together, making love until they exhausted themselves and fell into oblivion, wrapped in one another's arms, and Draco noticed that not once did Hermione take her dreamless sleep potion- but nor did she have a single nightmare. His presence in her bed every night, all night, seemed enough to keep the bad dreams at bay.

He was experiencing her to the fullest extent possible, and was mentally filing the experiences away to be his sustenance once he had gone through with his plan of removing her from his life forever.

All within the safe, sheltered confines of Gryffindor Tower.

Outside the Tower, though, in the rest of the school- he was like a different person. Under the gaze of the other houses, he was already beginning to distance himself from Hermione; already practicing for the day he knew was coming soon, even if no one else did; the day when he and Hermione would no longer be a couple.

He rarely walked through the halls with her anymore, content that she was safe under Harry and Ron's constant vigilance. He no longer sat next to her in class or at meals, nor could the two of them be seen sitting side by side in the library, heads close together, poring over a single book, as had been so common in months gone by. He barely spoke to her and when he did, his tone was curt and businesslike.

As for Hermione, she appeared more or less oblivious to the coolness he displayed towards her when out and about in the school, as she spent most of her time outside Gryffindor Tower silent and apparently preoccupied, with her head bowed and eyes downcast, being shepherded from class to class by Ron and Harry. She didn't look up often enough, it seemed, to take much note of Draco's absence from her side.

It was, overall, a very disconcerting situation for the rest of the Hogwarts population to witness. The Gryffindors, who knew how affectionate Draco remained in private, were increasingly perplexed as more of them began to notice his aloofness towards Hermione when in the school's public areas. The members of the three other houses, who of course were unaware of what went on in Gryffindor Tower in the evenings, began to buzz with rumors that all was not well with the school's most celebrated couple. Many of them maintained that something horrible must have happened over the holiday that was slowly poisoning the relationship. This was, of course, absolutely true- but most of the rumor-mongers were envisioning a horrific lovers' spat; no one knew the truth, or came anywhere close to guessing, except for the Gryffindor Four themselves and three smug and well-paid Slytherins who weren't talking.

Thus, the week Draco had appointed himself passed in an odd sort of duality.

*****

Draco awoke on the dreaded morning tangled together with Hermione in a jumble of limbs and blankets, with the feeling that his insides had been ripped out and replaced by hot lead. A dull sense of horror at what he knew he must do was beating behind his temples, but his resolve had not faltered over the past week; if anything it had strengthened.

He had to protect Hermione; he would not let the Slytherins hurt her again. By the end of the day, considering how quickly gossip traveled through Hogwarts, the Slytherins would be under the very strong impression that hurting Hermione to get at Draco would be a waste of time and effort. Because the entire school- Hermione included- would be under the impression that he wouldn't care in the least.

By the end of the day, his life would be, essentially, over; everything that had come to matter to him over the past year- not only Hermione's love, but also Harry and Ron's friendship and the close-knit camaraderie of the Gryffindors in general- would be lost to him. They would all hate him for what he was about to do. He would be a pariah once more. But Hermione would be safe, and that was all that mattered.

He would endure whatever he needed to endure in order to ensure her safety. It never occurred to him, even for a second, that what he was planning to do to her might be far more cruel than any torment the Slytherins could devise; he wasn't thinking that way. He was only thinking in terms of saving Hermione from physical harm. Being, as he was, the product of a loveless upbringing, he didn't- he couldn't- even after dating her for a year- fathom the fact that Hermione might actually love him as wholly and fiercely as he loved her, and that she would therefore suffer as much as he would for his actions that day- more, in fact, because at least he had given himself time to come to terms with what he was about to do, whereas she would be completely blindsided.

No, all he possessed was a vague notion that she was going to be upset for a while, and an understanding that her initial reaction would likely take one of two forms; anger or depression.

He had already worked out exactly what to say and do in order to, hopefully, achieve his desired effect; he didn't want Hermione to end this day beaten-down, miserable and depressed; that could potentially make her even more of a target to the Slytherins- they preyed on just that sort of weakness. No, he wanted her to end this day royally pissed off. He wanted her to hate him as much as he was going to make her believe he hated her. He had seen her in a rage before, and she was formidable. If he could get her good and mad, she would be nobody's victim. Now all that remained was to watch and wait for the perfect time to do it; in order for his plan to be effective, after all, there would need to be plenty of witnesses so that word of mouth would reach the Slytherins quickly.

Hermione was still sleeping peacefully in his arms; her breathing deep and even. He snuggled closer to her, burying his face in her soft, sweet- scented hair. "I love you so much, bookworm," he whispered, "and I always will. No matter what I say or do, I always will."

*****

He stood outside the library door, preparing himself. It was nearly showtime. Hermione was inside, studying over lunch, and so were half the seventh year students at Hogwarts; now that Easter Break was over, the NEWTs were fast approaching, after all. It was the perfect time to put his plan into action; the perfect time to violently and irreversibly push the only person he truly loved out of his life forever.

It has to be done. Better to have her hate me than to have her hurt or..... or dead.

That thought steeled him. Game face, he told himself; time to put your game face on. That cold Slytherin sneer- you wore it for six years; surely it shouldn't be too hard to conjure up again now. You'd better, and quick, because you're on in five...four...three...

With a flick of his wand, he turned a portion of the blank stone wall outside the library into a mirror, checked his appearance- cool as ice, even his eyes, belying no hint of the fact that he knew damn well when he exited the library some ten minutes later it would be as a broken man- ran a hand through his pale hair, then vanished the mirror and-

Strode purposefully through the door.

He spotted her almost at once, nearly hidden behind a stack of massive old books, but easily within sight and earshot of at least two dozen other seventh years of all Houses.

Good.

Plastering the sneer that had been his trademark for so long onto his face, he advanced on her. "Granger," he drawled, reaching her- too late for second thoughts now; he was past the point of no return- "we need to talk."

*****

Slamming his bedroom door shut behind him, Draco collapsed back against it, pausing just long enough to mutter an advanced locking spell- a spell that no simple "Alohomora" would be able to remove- before dropping his wand to the floor and raising his hands to cover his face, stifling an agonized groan.

His pain was at least partly physical- he DID hurt; Hermione had seen to that- but the physical ache in his groin, where she had kneed him, hard, paled in comparison to the ache in his heart. He had done it, and done it well. She would hate him passionately now, and that would ensure her safety, from the Slytherins, from his father- from anyone who might think to hurt her as a means of hurting him. But that thought provided scant comfort for him right now when he had just lost- through his own decision, his own actions- the one person who had made his life truly worth living.

With his back to the door, he slid slowly down to a sitting position on the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest as he went over in his mind what had just transpired in the library. The things- the God-awful things he had said to her, the emotions that had run across her face; shock, incredulity, hurt, betrayal, and finally, rage- the emotion he had set about to create in her.

He could hear the whole thing begin to replay in his head.

"Granger," he had drawled, "we need to talk."

She had glanced up from her book then, a welcoming smile beginning to curve her lips- she did not, as yet, realize that anything was amiss; they often called each other by their last names, after all, in a gentle, teasing manner. Little did she imagine then that this conversation would be anything but gentle.

"Draco," she said, "I've been hoping you'd turn up. There's a difficult problem on page 542 that I thought you could.....help......" her brow furrowed at the cold, smirking expression on his face. "Draco- is something wrong?"

And then- oh God, and then-

No. He shook his head, just one time, back and forth, hard. He couldn't relive the confrontation just now. He couldn't stand to.

Groping beside him on the floor, he picked up his wand and pointed it at his nightstand. "Accio," he said, and the little drawer opened, allowing a small object to shoot out and fly across the room into his outstretched hand.

It was the item he had secretly bought in Hogsmeade the afternoon before his and Hermione's last visit to the unicorns; the afternoon before the night when they had first made love.

It was, he had thought at the time, the most important gift he would ever buy her, and he had planned to present it to her on their graduation day.

It was a tiny, black velvet jewelry box.

He popped it open with his thumb and stared at the sparkling object nestled within, watching it double, then triple before his blurring eyes. He blinked hard against the impending tears, but to no avail. First one, and then another streaked down his face.

"Hermione," he said hoarsely.

Then he snapped the box shut, hurled it savagely against the opposite wall, dropped his head onto his knees, and sobbed.

*****

In the library, shocked silence reigned.

After Draco had exited, the seventh year students from the other Houses had quickly made themselves scarce, most of them feeling an intense discomfort at being confronted by this purely Gryffindor drama, coupled with an equally intense desire to find their friends and housemates and begin spreading the tale of how the Head Boy had just dumped the Head Girl in the most unimaginably cruel way possible. While the majority of them left the library feeling outraged or incredulous at Draco's behavior, Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherins who had witnessed the scene were hard put to contain their glee.

In a matter of moments, only Hermione and the other seventh-year Gryffindors were left. Hermione, who had been standing tall when first Draco, then the other students, had filed out, abruptly sat down hard on the floor, leaning back against one of the legs of the table she had been working on. This spurred the other Gryffindors present, Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, and Neville Longbottom, who had all been frozen in disbelieving shock, into immediate action

Neville reached her first, scrambling around the table and dropping into a squat beside her. He looked angrier than anyone at Hogwarts had ever seen him look in seven years, but Hermione was past noticing at this point. She was staring straight ahead, into the middle distance; her eyes were dry but she wore an expression of deep, uncomprehending shock which was far more alarming than tears would have been.

"He's not going to get away with this," Neville was saying, his fists clenched, color high. "There's just no way we're gonna let this go- no bloody way! You just say the word Hermione- I know I speak for Dean and Seamus too- we'll rip that bastard a new-"

"Neville!" It was Lavender. Following him around the table, she and Parvati had arrived to kneel at Hermione's side. "Hush. She doesn't need this right now. There's a time and place for everything- and Malfoy WILL get his- but right now- right now......" she trailed off, looking at Hermione, who was still staring fixedly at nothing, seeming completely oblivious to anything that was going on around her.

"Hermione," Lavender said quietly, gently grasping the unresponsive girl's shoulders in an attempt to provoke a reaction. Hermione turned her head slowly toward Lavender, but her eyes remained unfocused. This was really worrying; Lavender had survived her share of heartbreaks, and had helped both of the Patil twins, plus Hanna Abbot and Susan Bones, recover from some fairly nasty breakups as well- on one very odd occasion, she had even offered comfort to a crying Millicent Bulstrode, who'd been devastated by a split with Gregory Goyle- but she had never seen anything like this before; never seen anything like Draco's abhorrent behavior OR Hermione's resultant state of near catatonia.

"Hermione," she said again, falteringly. Then, "are you okay?"

Very slowly, without making a sound, Hermione shook her head.

"Do you want Harry and Ron?"

Hermione nodded. Barely, but she nodded.

"Do you know where they are?"

Another nod.

"You have to tell me, love. I don't know."

A single word, which Lavender had to lean in close in order to catch; "Hagrid."

"Neville," said Lavender, her eyes never leaving Hermione's face, "go and get Harry and Ron from Hagrid's house, please. Right now."

Neville didn't need telling twice. When he was gone, Lavender settled down next to Hermione, folding herself gracefully into a sitting position, leaning her back against the same thick table leg that Hermione was using as a support and throwing an arm over the silent girl's shoulder, giving her a sisterly squeeze. Parvati sat down on Hermione's other side, the pair of friends sandwiching the bereft girl securely between them.

"You will get over this, you know," Lavender said after a long silence. No reply. "I know you probably don't believe me right now but- you will. We may not be the best of friends, but I was your roommate for six years, and I know what a strong person you are. You've weathered other storms. You'll weather this one." She gave Hermione another squeeze.

"Men can be such scum, can't they?" she added after a moment's thought.

Hermione continued to stare into space.

After that, the three girls sat in silence until pounding footsteps in the hall heralded the return of Neville, with Harry and Ron in tow.

As Neville hovered uncertainly in the background, Ron and Harry dropped to their knees beside Hermione. Neither of them spoke at all; they had been briefed by Neville on the way, and their anger seemed beyond words. Ron first studied her intently, as if checking for signs of physical injury, then, slipping a hand under her chin, tilted her face toward his; her eyes dark with despair, his with rage.

After a long moment, her far away eyes appeared to focus on him. "Ron," she said, in a dazed voice. That was all.

In a very quiet, very clear voice, Ron said, "I am going to kill him."

Then he got up and stalked out of the library, punching the wall beside the door as he went.

Without a word, Harry gathered Hermione into his arms, holding her to him fiercely, rocking her.

Neville, Parvati and Lavender took this as their cue to leave.

*****

About half an hour later, Harry and Hermione could be seen returning to Gryffindor Tower, walking slowly, Harry's arm slung protectively about her shoulders. Hermione had the blank look of a sleepwalker about her.

Ron spent the entire afternoon and evening railing at Draco through his locked door, trying every combination he could think of, of magic and brute force, to gain entrance into the head boy's room. Fortunately for Draco, the advanced locking spell he had placed on his door had been very competently performed, and Ron was unsuccessful. Had the volatile redhead managed to get into the room in his present state of mind- well, it would have been bad. He kept hearing over and over in his mind Neville's voice reporting, horrified, the things Draco had said loud enough for the whole library to hear- you were nothing but a good fuck, Granger! That Draco should have stolen from him the girl he had loved since first year, and then treated her like this- it was maddening. It kept him in a state of constant frenzy until Harry came and dragged him away, struggling and cursing, near ten at night.

*****

Dean, Neville and Seamus did not complain when Hermione spent that night, and indeed the next several nights, in the seventh year boys' dorm. She took Harry's bed, and Harry in turn bunked with Ron. (Harry had thought this prudent, anyway, to keep Ron from sneaking out in the middle of the night and resuming his siege on Draco's room.) She simply couldn't face her suddenly too-large room, the now cold and empty bed that she had shared with Draco for just a few golden weeks, the bed in which he had told her she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, that she was his forever; his brown-eyed girl. And she had believed him; God, she had believed him with all her heart. She had thought they were making love in that bed when really- really-

".....Nothing but a good fuck, Granger-"she heard again that cold, sneering voice in her mind- "you were a challenge and I love a challenge, but now the novelty's worn off, what can I say? I promised you that when I got sick of you you'd be the first to know, and I'm keeping my promise. Never let it be said that I'm not a man of my word."

And then, when she had protested, deep in shock, before the anger had had a chance to set in, asking how he could say that, how he could do this, when she knew he loved her, she KNEW it- then had come the worst part; the expression on his face as he had shaken his head, tutting her condescendingly. "And you're the brightest girl in this school," he had drawled; "THINK, mudblood; just think back a minute. Have I ever actually told you I loved you? Even once? 'Hermione, I love you'- have I ever once said those words to you? HAVE I?" And as her mind had raced, frantically, back over all the months of their relationship, she had been forced to concede that he never had- he had said some things that she had taken (erroneously, as was now obvious) to be declarations of love, but he had never said those four words together- Hermione, I love you- not once.

"No," she had been forced to whisper, stricken.

And he had smiled. No, not smiled; smirked. "No," he had echoed, mockingly; "that's right, Granger; no. Because it would have been a lie, and whatever else I may be, I am not a liar and you know it. So I would strongly suggest-" his smirk had broadened- "that the next time around, you wait until you hear those three all-important little words before you go and spread your l- OOPH!"

He had broken off, doubled over in pain, for at that moment her anger had risen suddenly and swiftly; a crimson wave, overpowering her, and she had driven her knee with all the force she could muster into his groin. But by the time he had straightened up, glaring daggers at her out of his pale eyes, and then made his exit from the library, the wave of rage had passed, leaving her drained and despairing in its wake.

*****

During the day, now, Hermione took great care to maintain her composure; in the Great Hall at mealtimes, in the corridors, in the classrooms, flanked at all times by Harry and Ron and surrounded by loyal Gryffindors who had rallied to her side in her time of need, she kept an air of aloof calm about her. When she and Draco crossed paths, she looked through him as though he wasn't there. She appeared strong, resilient, and poised, giving no satisfaction to the Slytherins who watched her so eagerly for signs of weakness that could be exploited, refusing to rise to the bait of their taunts. In the dungeons one day as the Gryffindors and Slytherins waited together for admittance to the potions lab, when Pansy asked Hermione how it felt to be cast off by her boyfriend like so much mudblood trash, it was, surprisingly enough, Parvati who stepped forward and slapped the smirking Slytherenne right across the face. Then, to the further astonishment of everyone present, Snape, who had stepped out of his classroom just in time to witness the confrontation, docked ten points from Gryffindor for Parvati's actions- and ten points from Slytherin for Pansy's remark!

That Snape should have deducted points evenly from Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses was a first. That was enough to knock the wind out of the Slytherins' sails for a good long time, once their total, uncomprehending shock wore off.

Hermione even single-handedly prevented the seventh-year Gryffindor boys from forming a posse and going after Draco to administer their own brand of justice for his treatment of her, telling them firmly that she did not want violence and that he wasn't worth the effort. She made Harry and Ron, in particular, promise that they would defer to her wishes in this matter and leave Draco alone. Every time they saw Draco in the corridors, she laid a restraining hand on Ron's arm.

Yes, in front of the school- even in front of her friends- she seemed entirely calm and collected. It was only late at night, in Harry's bed, with the curtains drawn closed for privacy, that she allowed herself to give in to her despair.

Every night, with the covers pulled up over her head and her face buried in a pillow to stifle the sound, she sobbed.

*****

As for Draco, he kept himself to himself, being, as he was, currently the most despised person in the school. The Gryffindors, of course, who had once welcomed him with such friendly ease into their midst, now hated him with a fiery passion; more than one of them (chiefly Ron) would have dearly liked to rip him apart bare handed.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs loathed him; their hatred was not of the personal nature that the Gryffindors' was, but rather stemmed from a bitter disillusionment, and disgust that they had actually bought into the fairytale romance and had believed wholeheartedly that the one-time Slytherin bad boy had turned good.

The Slytherins, though they absolutely reveled in the breakup, and more specifically, the manner in which it had occurred, still considered Draco a filthy traitor both for having been instrumental in the death of Voldemort and for his defection, shortly thereafter, to Gryffindor House, and would never accept him back into their fold.

Even the teachers were hard-pressed not to let their anger at his treatment of the school's star student show. In fact, some of them did let it show very clearly indeed. Though most of the faculty had simply turned somewhat cool and aloof toward the head boy, Hagrid and Professor McGonagall were downright hostile. Snape alone reserved judgment, studying Draco with puzzled, dark eyes, suspecting that there was more- much more- to the situation than met the eye. Knowing the boy as well as he did, Snape was sure of two things; first, that Draco absolutely had loved Hermione, with a burning love that couldn't just be switched off, and so therefore he most likely loved her still; and second, that he must have reasons, and very compelling ones, for acting in this manner. He did not broach the subject with Draco, however, knowing that if the boy ever wanted to talk about it he would seek him out, and that no amount of effort on his part, short of administering veritaserum, would compel Draco to confide in him unless and until he felt ready to do so.

Snape sincerely hoped that Draco would decide to do so, and soon, for it was clear to him, though to no one else, that the boy was suffering. No one else was able to- or particularly even wanted to - look past his cold, sneering façade- but Snape, who knew and loved Draco as if he were his own son, could see the pain in those ice blue eyes.

So Draco was shunned by one and all, but if the truth were to be known, this fact really barely registered with him, so deeply was he sunk into his own personal hell- for it was not the loss of his popularity that had mired him in this pit of despair, but rather the loss of the only person whose opinion of him he had actually valued, and who now had far more personal and compelling reasons to hate him than did the rest of the school, due to his atrocious treatment of her.

Every time their paths crossed in class, in the halls, or the common room, he drank in the sight of her with the desperate thirst of a man lost in a desert who spies a beautiful, yet unattainable, mirage. Even so, he watched her surreptitiously, only out of the corners of his pale eyes, never letting on, to her or anyone else- never allowing the faintest crack to appear in his icy façade.

To all outward appearances, Draco Malfoy showed no remorse whatsoever for having wronged Hermione Granger so grievously, nor did he show even the faintest interest in her any longer. No one knew, or even guessed, the extent of the agonies he suffered. For he suffered in silence, as was his way.

If he had any small consolation, it was only that Hermione had reacted to his attack just as he had hoped she would; she held her head high and on the rare occasions when their eyes met, hers were just as guardedly cool as his own. The Slytherins soon gave up taunting her about the breakup, because she did not present herself as an easy target. Her calm aloofness and absolute refusal to be baited by them caused them to quickly lose interest.

And his father (if indeed he had been behind Blaise's attack on Hermione, as Draco suspected he had been) would lose interest as well, as soon as word reached him, as Draco was confident it would, about the breakup and the fact that he and Hermione no longer shared any feelings for each other whatsoever save a deep and mutual loathing. Oh yes, his father would hear, all right; there was not a doubt in Draco's mind that at least one of his former housemates was on his father's payroll as an informant; probably Blaise, but if not him, someone else. Some Slytherin or other would be, even now, preparing to make a very interesting report indeed to Lucius Malfoy concerning the abrupt and violent termination of his son's relationship with Hermione Granger.

And Lucius, after his initial disappointment, would have to give up on Hermione and set his mind to finding new ways of tormenting his son.

Draco would endure any pain he had to, just so long as he could sleep at night knowing she was safe- safe from the Slytherins, safe from his father. And now he could. His actions had seen to that.

Or so he thought.

How terribly, terribly wrong he was.

Blaise turned away from the fireplace, shaking his head in puzzlement. The Slytherin common room was deserted, it being the middle of the night; the fire was burning low, casting long, flickering shadows across the room, and Blaise had just concluded yet another floo conference with Lucius Malfoy. His employer must be mental, he thought- not that it mattered much to him, as long as Lucius was inclined to keep paying him. Just so long as those sleek Malfoy owls kept arriving with little sacks of galleons tied to their legs, Lucius could be just as mental as he liked.

And it wasn't as though Blaise was complaining; tonight, at any rate, he had been very pleasantly surprised by Lucius' reaction to his news; news he had been putting off delivering because he had considered it disastrous, and had been extremely apprehensive about his employer's reaction to it. He had waited, in fact, a good two weeks since the breakup to make this report, hoping against hope that the situation would somehow remedy itself; that Draco and the mudblood would somehow find it within themselves to kiss and make up before he was compelled to tell his employer that all their carefully laid plans had come to naught; that attempting to capture Draco using Hermione as bait would be a futile exercise, since the school's former golden couple now appeared to hate each other with a passion. Draco would never come after the mudblood, because she no longer meant anything to him.

And yet-

When he had told Lucius this, his employer had seemed absurdly pleased by the news.

A slow, maniacal grin had spread across the face that Blaise had expected to contort with rage. Lucius had asked eagerly for details of the breakup; who had taken the initiative? And when Blaise had recounted that it had been Draco who had broken it off, and in a cruel and publicly humiliating manner no less, and that it looked as though reconciliation was out of the question, Lucius had laughed outright. The expression on his face, bizarre under the circumstances, had been one of mingled triumph and glee.

He had then informed an astonished Blaise that, knowing his son as he did, he was confident that Draco, through these actions, had just proved- unintentionally, of course- how very much he DID care for the mudblood. He had perceived Blaise's attack on her as a very serious threat, and a threat somehow connected to himself; he had been correct on both counts- and so he had severed ties with her in an attempt to remove her from harm's way. It was the exact reaction Lucius had been hoping for; he would have been disappointed with any other.

He had then informed Blaise that the way he saw it, the final stage of the plan was ready to be enacted, and would be put into motion the following night. He didn't anticipate needing Blaise's assistance with this portion of the plan, but nonetheless an owl would be dispatched immediately bearing a generous sum of galleons, should Blaise agree to keep himself alert throughout the night in question, just in case he should be called upon to act.

Blaise had of course agreed instantly. The only thing better than being paid by Lucius Malfoy was being paid by Lucius Malfoy for doing nothing! So tomorrow night instead of sleeping he would sit awake in the common room, studying by the fire. He didn't mind this one bit; Blaise was one of those people who posses the rare and enviable ability to thrive on very little sleep, and anyway, he had a lot of preparation to do for his NEWTs. He might just as likely have sat the night up studying anyway; now he would be some two hundred galleons the richer for it.

That was just fine with him.

So after going over with Lucius, one final time, the coordinates for the portkey that would transport its creator directly into the head girl's bedroom- coordinates he had obtained with the use of his new invisibility cloak one night as Hermione had cried herself to sleep in Harry's bed- Blaise had been released from the conference by his employer, feeling better than he had in two weeks. As he headed off toward his dorm, relief swept over him at the knowledge that the information he had been so afraid to impart had, in fact, been just what Lucius had been hoping to hear. This was followed by a feeling of immense sarisfaction; both the traitor and the uppity mudblood bitch were about to get their just desserts, and he, Blaise, had the satisfaction of knowing that he had helped to bring it about.

Not only that, but he had been paid handsomely to do it!

Yes, life was good.

*****

Heart pounding in his ears, Draco sat straight up in bed, his left hand shooting out reflexively to grab his wand off the nightstand. It was pitch- black; the very dead of night, and he had no idea what had awakened him. Something was wrong, though. He could feel it; he KNEW it. Something was very, very wrong.

"Lumos," he whispered, then held his softly glowing wand aloft and quickly scanned his bedroom, looking for anything out of the ordinary; any clue to his sudden awakening. But all was as it should be.

It must have been Hermione, he decided a moment later; nightmares again. It was far from the first time since their breakup that he had been awakened by her cries; it had happened several times, in fact, since she had moved out of the boys' dormitory and back into her own room a little over a week earlier. (Indeed, it had been the return of the nightmares that had caused her to finally leave Ron and Harry's dorm, though of course Draco didn't know this. Apparently with the new stress that had been added to her life, even the strengthened sleep potion she had been taking had lost its potency; she had been horrified the night she'd awakened Harry and Ron, plus every other occupant of the room, with her frantic screams. She had managed to convince them, as she had clung trembling to Ron while Harry had rubbed her back soothingly, that it was a one-time, stress-induced occurrence, and had moved back into her own room the following day.)

It ripped Draco up inside that he could no longer go to her, hold her, comfort her. A couple of times he had actually gotten as far as her bedroom door before forcing himself to turn around and go back to bed, trying desperately to ignore the sound of her heart-wrenching sobs. He wished she would tell Potter and Weasley what was happening to her at night, so that one or both of them could be on alert to offer her the comfort he no longer could; but so far she had said nothing to them, as evidenced by the fact that they did not come. No one came anymore when she cried out in the night; she was left alone to sob herself back to sleep, or to lie awake until morning.

Telling Potter and Weasley himself was out of the question, of course; he could barely be in the same room as the two of them without fearing for his life; actually approaching them and broaching the subject of Hermione would be suicide.

He sighed and raked his right hand through his sleep-tousled hair, still gripping his wand tightly with his left. Nightmares again, that's all it was- and not a damn thing he could do about it. Best just to try to go back to sleep. But then why did he still have this sick sense of foreboding down in his gut? Why wasn't it going away? It was not rational; it was deep and ingrained; an instinctual red alert that was blaring, DANGER- DANGER- DANGER!

And then he heard it; a sound, coming from Hermione's room, all right, but it was not one of her panicked, nightmare-induced screams. This sound was, in its implications, much, much worse. A dull, heavy thud, as of a trunk or large piece of furniture being overturned, followed by a voice- a male voice- low and menacing and chillingly familiar.

"It can't be," Draco said, not realizing, in his intense horror, that he had actually spoken aloud. His throat felt suddenly very dry and tight. "No. It can't be. No. No."

In one fluid movement he had thrown off the covers and was out of bed and sprinting for the door. He burst through it, crossed the hallway that separated his room from Hermione's at a dead run, and flung himself at her door; his right hand going to the knob as he slammed his shoulder into the stout wood. The door shuddered violently in its frame, but it held. Moreover, the knob promptly burned his hand, causing him to jerk it back with a cry. From within the room, he heard a burst of low, vicious laughter. There was no longer any doubt in his mind as to whose voice that was.

He had known from the first time he'd heard it, really; he just hadn't wanted to believe.

His father was in there with Hermione.

Panic swept over him.

"Fuck!" he shouted, in mingled fear and frustration. He backed up and threw himself at the door again, thudding into it with all his weight behind his shoulder, but again it held. It shouldn't have been able to withstand two such assaults, and it sure as hell shouldn't have burned him; it had been enchanted.

"FUCK!" he cried again. "HERMIONE!!" More evil laughter from within, but not a sound from Hermione. Why wasn't she calling out to him? Was she unconscious? Worse? Oh, God.....

Get a hold of yourself, his mind screamed. Brute force isn't gonna do jack shit in this situation, so you need to think clearly! He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep, steadying breath. Right then. Okay. Can't break the door down- gotta- gotta fight magic with magic.

"Alohomora," he said in a cracked voice, placing the tip of his wand against the red-hot door handle. Nothing happened. "No," he whispered, "ALOHOMORA!" as tears of frustration sprang to his eyes. Nothing. He racked his brain, then shouted "Reducto!" in an attempt to magically blast the door out of his way. Still nothing. Losing his fragile control, he kicked savagely at the door. "Hermione!"

From within the room, he heard two voices- one male, one female- shout two different spells at the same time; this was followed by another crash, this time as of glass breaking, and a cry from Hermione that could have been fear, or pain. Or both.

Well, at least now he knew she was alive and conscious, but still- this was So. Fucking. Not. Good. And why the hell wasn't she answering him? If he could hear her, then surely she could hear him too.

"Bloody, bloody hell," Draco swore frantically. He HAD to see what was going on. Even if it was going to take him a minute to figure out what to do about the door, still he needed to SEE-

"Transparo!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the center of the door. And then, quite suddenly, he could see. Straight through the door and into the room beyond. The heavy wooden door now had the appearance of thick brown glass, with wood-grain patterns still running through it. The room on the other side of it appeared distorted, but pressing his face against the surface of the newly transparent door, he could see well enough to tell what was happening.

Lucius and Hermione were facing each other across her bed, wands trained on one another. At the foot of the bed, her trunk was overturned, spilling its contents out across the floor- the heavy thud he had heard from his bedroom. Lucius was standing at ease; completely unruffled in his crisp black robes, not a hair out of place, a smirk playing about his lips as he held his wand steadily, almost carelessly, pointed at Hermione. Hermione was a different story. She was positioned in a half crouch, looking for all the world like a trapped animal, eyes wide and chest heaving as she literally panted with fear. Behind her, the curtains of her large bay window were billowing inwards; he realized that the window was broken- the sound of shattering glass he had heard. Her dark hair was blowing wildly about her head, buffeted by the wind, and Draco was fleetingly surprised to see that she was wearing a badly rumpled school uniform. He realized with a sudden pang that she must have been sleeping in it and wondered if she had done that often since the breakup.

"Stupefy," Lucius drawled in a bored voice, as Draco looked on helplessly.

"Protego!" Hermione cried a fraction of a second later, deflecting the jet of red light from her assailant's wand.

"HERMIONE!" Draco cried, slamming the flats of both hands against the door, wincing as his burned hand exploded with pain.

Her head jerked toward him, her eyes widening still further with the shock of suddenly seeing him there, through the transparent door. Their gazes locked for a heartbeat, and then her eyes narrowed, blazing suddenly with a fierce light of defiance, and he realized then that she had heard him calling to her all along, and had made a very deliberate decision not to answer him. Her expression in that split second told him that even now, in this desperate situation, she wanted no part of him.

And- he couldn't help it- it stung. Of all the times, he thought, to be so bloody fucking stubborn- here I was thinking she could be DEAD-

And then catastrophe struck, in the form of Lucius taking advantage of her momentary distraction. Just as she was beginning to turn back to face him, he shouted, "Accio!" catching her completely off-guard and causing her wand to fly from her hand into his.

There was a pause as a triumphant smile twisted Lucius' thin lips- then things happened very fast. Now pointing both wands at Hermione, he said "Stupefy" again in a lazy sort of voice, clearly convinced of his victory. In the same instant, though, Hermione dove out of the way, causing the jets of light from the wands to fly right out the open window. She hit the floor, rolled, scrambled to her feet, and without a second's hesitation raced straight toward the door, and Draco.

"NO!" he yelled frantically; "don't touch the-" but it was too late. Her hand closed around the doorknob for just a fraction of a second; then she yanked it back with a cry. She stumbled backward from the door, bent momentarily double from the pain in her burned right hand, which she was clasping with her left. She raised her head and stared at him; her eyes huge and dark in a pale face surrounded by tangled, windswept hair, and there was no more defiance in them; only a sort of blank, uncomprehending shock that broke his heart into a thousand tiny pieces.

And then Lucius' arms wrapped around her from behind like a vice; pinning her own arms tightly against her body and effectively immobilizing her, and he was grinning at Draco over her shoulder; a cold, malicious, gloating sort of grin.

"Why, thank you, son," Lucius drawled out; "if you hadn't distracted the little mudblood for me, I don't think I could have caught her."

As Draco watched, stricken to the core by his father's mocking words, Lucius very slowly and deliberately raised both the wands he held until the tips hovered a bare inch from Hermione's temple. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and when she opened them again a second later, staring once more directly at Draco, he saw they now held dull resignation; her eyes said that she fully expected to die right then, right there.

Her breath was coming in shallow, rapid bursts, her whole body tense as she braced herself for the killing curse that Draco could tell she was expecting. A single fat tear spilled down her cheek. Behind her, Lucius' grin widened still further as he watched his son standing pressed against the door, trembling from head to foot with barely controlled panic, anguish written all over his normally guarded face.

"So," Lucius said conversationally, "so. Here we are. Did you honestly think you could reject your family and everything we raised you to stand for, to BE, and never suffer any consequences? Did you, Draco?" He shook his head slowly in mock woe. "Tsk, tsk, son. I knew you were a fool when you betrayed our cause- when you betrayed ME- but I didn't think you were that big of a fool. It appears I was mistaken."

Draco, jaw clenched, made no reply. He merely balled his hands into fists, ignoring the fresh burst of agony in his burned hand.

Lucius, who had apparently been hoping for a verbal response, frowned. When next he spoke, his voice was brisk; businesslike. His eyes were cold and hard. "Well, Draco, if you have any parting words for your little mudblood girlfriend, I suggest you speak them now."

Draco attempted to speak, found he could not, due to a severely constricted throat, swallowed convulsively, and tried again. His voice, when it came, was a hoarse whisper, and though his eyes remained locked on Hermione's, his words were addressed to Lucius.

"Father......don't."

Lucius' maniacal grin reappeared. Quite suddenly, he jammed the tips of the two wands hard into Hermione's temple, causing her to tilt her head to the side with a jerk and a gasp. She bit her lip hard.

"NO!" Draco shouted, pounding both fists on the door.

"Oh yes," Lucius hissed, and then, "Stupefy!"

There was a brief flash of red light and Hermione went limp in his arms, her head falling forward, hair spilling across her face.

On the other side of the door, Draco sagged as well, leaning his forehead against the translucent wood as a wave of overwhelming relief swept over him. He let his own eyes fall momentarily shut, drawing in a deep, ragged breath. He hadn't been expecting his father to stun Hermione. He had been expecting him to- to-

"Why, Draco," Lucius said, his voice tauntingly gentle- Draco's eyes snapped open once again and he stared unblinkingly at his father- "you didn't actually think I would kill her, did you? I assure you, she is worth much more to me alive than dead- at the moment. You see, I fully expect her to accomplish a task that I myself cannot; she's going to bring you home. Miss Granger and I will be catching a portkey back to the manor very shortly, and then, of course, you will be following us. Won't you, boy?"

Again he paused, waiting for a reply; again he got none. His lips thinned into a hard line, suggesting that Draco was definitely trying his patience. "You WILL come home, Draco, if you want to see the mudblood again. I understand that you may have to find a way around that wily old bastard Dumbledore; he will surely try to prevent you- so I will give you three days, which I think is most generous. You have my word that if you come to the manor within three days, you will find her alive. I cannot, however, promise that she will be unharmed. The longer you delay, the worse her condition will be when you arrive, so I would recommend you come as quickly as you can. Delay past three days-" he wound his hand through Hermione's thick hair and jerked her head back up so that it rested against his shoulder, then drew the tip of his wand slowly across her throat. "Do I make myself clear?"

A sudden, powerful surge of bright, hot rage engulfed Draco, but with a conscious effort he suppressed it in the next instant, out of fear for Hermione's safety. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat and dead.

"You don't have to take her. Lay her back on the bed, open the door, and I'll come with you right now."

"You've no idea how I wish it were that simple, Draco," Lucius said, the regret in his voice too highly pronounced to be entirely believable, "but unfortunately, that would be quite impossible. You see, Dumbledore has you carrying a charm that would render me Stupefied if I were to set foot in the same room as you within this castle. So it is your beloved headmaster's fault that I must take the girl instead of you. I trust you'll take that up with him after I've gone. Speaking of which-" he reached into a pocket of his robes and drew out a small, ornately crafted hand-held mirror- Draco recognized his father's favorite foe glass- "the man in question is nearly here." Sure enough, Draco could hear the pounding of footsteps approaching rapidly.

Lucius slipped the foe glass back into his pocket, and when his hand reemerged he was holding something else; a small silver shoehorn which Draco knew was one of Malfoy Manor's many return portkeys, guaranteed to whisk its bearer back to the front gates of the manor from anywhere in the world at a word. He laid one end of it against Hermione's pale cheek- it needed to be touching her too, after all, in order to transport her along with him.

"You want her back, you know where to find her. As a gesture of good faith, I won't even cast her into the dungeon. I think I'll put her in your old bedroom- that's a quaint touch, don't you agree? I'll be expecting you, son- remember, three days."

"No!" Draco shouted, panic rising in him like a tide. He backed away from the door and hurled himself at it again- knowing rationally that it was no use- not caring- he couldn't just stand there and do nothing as his father vanished with the only person in the world he loved more than his own life, he had to TRY-

"Activate," Lucius said softly. There was a brief flash of blue light and then he and Hermione were gone. In the same instant Draco hit the door, which burst inward, spilling him into the now empty room. He stumbled and fell to his knees in the place where Hermione had been a fraction of a second before.

"No," he whispered despairingly, raising his hands to cover his face as Dumbledore, accompanied by McGonagall and Snape, raced into the room behind him. "Oh God, Hermione, no. Oh no."

Feeling a comforting hand clasp his shoulder from behind, Draco snarled and jerked away, whirling about and regaining his feet in one startlingly fast motion. He leapt backward and then stood breathing hard, fists clenched, pale hair spilling forward as he surveyed the three adults before him with slitted, feral eyes.

He looked from Snape, whose hand it had been, to McGonagall, who appeared paralyzed by horror, only her eyes moving as she stared about the room, and finally to Dumbledore, who was looking very grave indeed.

Draco's narrowed eyes kindled with rage.

"He didn't want her," he spat out; "he came for me, he wanted ME! And I'd have gone with him in a heartbeat to protect her- but no, he couldn't have me, could he? He couldn't have me even though I OFFERED to go with him so he took her and it's all YOUR BLOODY FUCKING FAULT!"

"Draco-" Dumbledore began, but Draco was in no mood to be placated.

"No!" he cried, his voice cracking with despair; "No! I won't listen- I don't want to hear- I hate you- I HATE YOU!" and he ran for the door, shoving Snape violently aside when he attempted to restrain him.

He ran without any conscious thought whatsoever as to where he was going, but his feet led him surely down his and Hermione's short private hallway, through the common room where the fire had burnt down to embers, up the spiral staircase that led to all the boys' dormitories, and through the door of the seventh-year dorm, slamming it open so hard that it crashed back against the wall with an almighty bang.

Without consciously realizing what he was doing, he sought aid from the one source he trusted in light of what he saw as Dumbledore's treachery- the two people he knew would be as determined to recover Hermione as he was; Harry and Ron.

"Potter! Weasley!" he shouted hoarsely, "Up! Get the fuck up NOW!"

Harry and Ron didn't need telling twice. Both were out of bed in a matter of seconds, and flung themselves on Draco, fists flying. Awakened from a sound sleep to find Draco yelling in their room, they were disoriented, alarmed, and completely lacking in the inhibitions that governed their behavior during the day. As a result they immediately fell to doing what they had both longed to do for weeks; beating the crap out of Draco.

For his part, Draco made no attempt to defend himself or to resist in any way. He actually welcomed the pain; he felt he deserved it, for one thing- he had failed to protect the girl he loved and if his father had his way, she would end up paying for that failure with her life. For another thing, he was simply so deeply distraught that he half hoped they would beat him senseless- it would be a good way to stop the images that were now running incessantly through his mind; horrendous images of the things his father might be doing to Hermione at that very moment.

Yes, Draco would surely have welcomed oblivion.

However, it was not to be.

McGonagall and Snape burst through the door at that moment, firing off impedimenta charms to halt the fight, and pulling the boys apart.

"Potter! Weasley!" Professor McGonagall snapped, tight-lipped, as Snape glared at them, "this is appalling. Matters are serious enough already; I will not have you compounding them by- by- brawling!"

Harry immediately went very, very still. Years of being the central figure in the fight against Voldemort had taught him to recognize instantly when a situation was bad- and judging from the actions and expressions of all those who had come bursting into his room, he was facing a very bad situation indeed. He looked from Draco to McGonagall to Snape to Dumbledore, who had just appeared in the doorway, and realized who was missing. His heart plummeted.

"Hermione," he said.

Ron, who had also been taking in Dumbledore's arrival, a puzzled expression on his face, now turned on Draco once again, his dark blue eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You miserable, slimy bastard," he hissed, "What have you done?" And he attempted to launch himself at Draco again, only to be brought up short by Snape, who placed himself swiftly between the two boys. "ENOUGH!" he roared, glaring daggers at Ron. As always, he would protect the boy he loved as a son.

"And you," he added, as his baleful glare swept the room, fixing Dean, Seamus, and Neville in turn- they were, of course, all awake and watching the proceedings with acute interest- "go back to sleep."

(As if that would be possible.)

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, Mister Malfoy, you will follow me to my office, please. A very grave situation has arisen, the details of which, Harry and Ron, you will be apprised of once there. We have much to discuss.

A despairing glance passed between Harry and Ron. Please don't let her be dead, they each were praying silently; anything- anything but that. Just please God, don't let her be dead.

Without further discussion, they, along with Draco, Snape and McGonagall, followed the headmaster from the room.

*****

Lucius arrived, with Hermione still clasped to his chest, just outside the front gate of Malfoy Manor. In the distance he could see the ancient gray stone manor house, sitting impressively upon a small rise, set well back from the gate before which he stood. No portkey could carry him closer to the house than he was right now, nor could he apparate to any point inside these grounds. The manor was protected in much the same way Hogwarts castle was- better protected in fact, since portkeys could be used within the Hogwarts grounds, but not within the grounds of his home.

He began to walk up the long drive to the manor, floating Hermione's limp form before him at wandpoint. Reaching the house, he commanded the trembling, prostrating house elf that met him at the front door to find his wife and request that she join him in Draco's bedroom. As the elf scurried off in frantic haste to do his bidding, he levitated Hermione up the stairs to the second floor, down a long hallway, around a corner and into Draco's wing.

He passed Draco's recreation room, Draco's library, two lavish guest suites that had always been reserved exclusively for the use of Draco's friends- usually Crabbe and Goyle, though he remembered that the Parkinson girl had occupied one of them for the entire summer following Draco's fourth year at Hogwarts, sending Narcissa into transports of delight (no one could tell this, of course, but he himself, who knew his wife so well- to all others, including Draco, she had merely seemed slightly less aloof than usual); Pansy Parkinson was neither the prettiest nor the brightest girl their son had displayed an interest in, but her pedigree was impeccable; it had been a very desirable match. The following year, when Draco had broken up with Pansy, neither he nor Narcissa had been unduly worried- boys will be boys, they had thought; he was just sowing his wild oats, they had thought. Draco had always been, overall, a sensible boy and a dutiful son. He would get it out of his system, realize the sense of the match with Parkinson, and reclaim her before leaving Hogwarts; they had been sure of it. Narcissa had even been in the early stages of planning the wedding, to take place out in the rose garden, the summer after Draco's seventh year. Then this- this mudblood filth had come along and ripped their family apart; had taken that dutiful boy and turned him into a traitor. There would be no wedding now; now his son had to die.

He finally reached the largest and grandest room in the wing; Draco's bedroom, easily spanning a thousand square feet. Situated as it was at the end of the wing, three of its gray stone walls boasted magnificent floor-to- ceiling leaded glass windows, hung with heavy green velvet drapes. Placed at intervals between the windows were a massive wardrobe of ancient, dark wood, two bookcases crammed with books- Draco's absolute favorites, the ones he couldn't be bothered to walk down the hall to his library for- a writing desk, and a glass door leading out to a wide stone balcony overlooking the swimming pool. (Draco had used to dive off that balcony directly into the pool- he'd been six years old the first time he'd tried it; frightened his mother nearly to death. The house elf that had been charged with looking after him that day had been given clothes. After being beaten to within an inch of her miserable little life, of course.) On the last wall, the only one that didn't have windows, the same wall in which the door was situated, were two splendid green marble fireplaces flanking a massive wrought iron canopy bed, which was hung with dark green silk curtains.

It was at the foot of this bed that Lucius dropped Hermione, and with a flick of his wand caused a heavy leather collar to appear around her neck, attached to a chain which he anchored to the nearest bedpost. The chain was several feet long- long enough to allow her plenty of movement, but just short enough to prevent her from reaching either the bedroom door or that balcony door. Couldn't have her taking a page out of Draco's book, diving into the swimming pool and then running off into the night. Couldn't have that at all.

At just that moment, Narcissa swept regally into the room and stared down her long, aristocratic nose at the girl lying in an ungainly heap on the floor.

"So this is the little Gryffindor tramp, is it?" she asked coldly, nudging Hermione's inert form with her foot. "This is the girl who stole our son?"

"The very same."

Narcissa looked hard at him, distaste written plainly on her face. "Lucius, dear- are you SURE you got the right one?"

"Judging by Draco's reaction, quite sure, my love," Lucius drawled.

"Ugh." Narcissa's eyes returned to Hermione. "I never would have thought that a child of ours would display such appallingly poor taste. I might have understood if she was a beauty, but to betray us for this- this-" she seemed incapable of finding a word strong enough to adequately convey her disgust. "I mean, good Lord, will you look at her HAIR!"

She glanced back at her husband, but if she had been expecting him to agree with her, she was disappointed. He too was looking down at Hermione, but there was no disgust evident in his face, just a cool sort of appraisal. She almost felt a moment's pity for the girl- almost- because she knew that Lucius was speculating on the best ways in which to torment the child...and pleasure himself in the process.

She sighed. Lucius was going to put the mudblood through her paces, all right- she was quite sure of that. So why bother fighting the inevitable? And after all, it wasn't as though she didn't have quite a few little playthings of her own.

"Break her, darling," she murmured, laying a hand on her husband's arm. "For what she did to our family, to our son- break her. You have my full permission to use whatever means necessary." And she stalked out of the room without a backward glance.

*****

Lucius stared after his departing wife with something akin to reverence. That was one hell of a woman he had married- his perfect match, his life mate. What man could ask for more? She had just as much as ordered him to have his way with the pretty little schoolgirl (for he did consider her pretty- not beautiful, like his wife, but pretty enough for a mudblood) who lay sprawled on his son's bedroom floor- and he intended to obey her. Oh, yes. A smile twisted his thin lips. God, how he loved his wife.

He really should go and tell her so, before getting down the business of torturing the mudblood into insanity.

But first-

Narcissa's comment about Hermione's hair had given him an idea. He walked into the bathroom that adjoined Draco's bedroom, returning a moment later with a hairbrush in his hand. Caught between the bristles of the brush were dozens of silky, baby-fine strands of silver hair; Draco's hair. He stared for a moment between the brush and Hermione, his eyes glittering. Oh, this was going to be such fun.

Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, locking the door securely behind him. He had a date with his wife, followed by a visit to his potions lab........and then he had a date with Hermione- a date that would last for three days.