Partners - Chapter 6 - The deal
Title: Partners
Author: leopion
Beta: Lolabri, S. A. Blossom, olgameisterfunk, and terrayn
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Genres: Romance, Humour, Mystery.
Spoilers: DH minus epilogue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim the Harry Potter series, which belongs to the fabulous J. K. Rowling.
Summary: An unexpected proposal shook Hermione to her core. Reeling, she staggered through the night and found herself in Malfoy's dungeons. Hermione thought it was the end, but it was really just the beginning...
(Written by Darkwinter999 from ff.net)
AN: This fic was inspired by marmaladefever’s Eight and Eighth. Therefore, I want to thank her for the great fic and for giving me permission to use some of her ideas from it.
Please complain if you see anything wrong with the coding. I'll fix it once I recover from my temporary lack of brain cells :P
Partners - Chapter 6 - The deal
by Leopion
Voldemort pointed his wand at Draco’s left arm and hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Morsmordre!’
From the tip of the wand, black curves began to spread on the lily-white skin, forming the figure of a skull with a snake sticking out from its mouth. The Dark Lord did not remove his wand. After a second or so, the newly formed Dark Mark started to glow. Draco could feel it burning more and more fiercely as the colour changed from black to blood red. Then the Mark suddenly cooled off, the burning replaced by what felt like millions of stitches thrusting through his flesh. He bit his lips, trying not to cry out in agony, but as the stitches drove deeper, the pain seemed to consume him. Draco collapsed, unconscious.
A slim figure tore away from the circle of black-clad forms, hurrying towards the newest Death Eater.
‘Stay where you are, Narcissa!’ hissed Voldemort, then he turned to Draco’s unconscious form. ‘Ennervate!’
Draco stirred, more and more aware of his current situation as he regained consciousness. He had collapsed in the middle of his initiation ceremony. It was the first and only time this had ever happened in a Death Eater’s initiation.
The pain in his left arm did not cease. His hands trembled as he attempted to bring himself back to a kneeling position before the Dark Lord. The whole room remained dead silent. Draco slowly looked up at Voldemort, fear overpowering him. To his relief, the Dark Lord didn’t appear to be angry. Then again, it was nearly impossible to distinguish the emotions on that monstrous, snake-like face. It curled up in an expression that somewhat resembled a satisfied smirk.
‘Now, I will set you an assignment, Draco,’ said Voldemort in a silky yet authoritative tone. ‘Can you kill Albus Dumbledore?’
Several mouths gasped; Narcissa let out a small wail and rushed forwards, clinging to the fringe of Voldemort’s robes.
‘No, my Lord. He’s only a child. I’m begging you... Please... Please... Punish me instead...’
‘SILENCE!’ hissed Voldemort. And silence there was, only punctuated by Narcissa’s occasional sobs. The Dark Lord returned his gaze to Draco; his bloody slits seemed to pierce into the latter’s soul.
‘What do you say, Draco?’ he asked.
‘It is an honour, My Lord,’ replied Draco, trying the best he could to conceal the fear in his voice.
The Dark Lord said in his usual high, clear voice, ‘You’re dismissed. All of you, except Draco. I’d like to have a quick word with him.’
When all of the other Death Eaters had fled the room, Voldemort leaned closer to Draco and whispered, ‘Should you fail, young Malfoy, I can already see three long, painful deaths awaiting. And maybe I will spare your life for a while,’ he paused before saying the last few words with such malice that it made Draco shiver, ‘to make you watch.’
Draco walked out of the throne room, feeling relieved that he did not have to confront the Dark Lord any longer. Nevertheless, somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice told him that he had just signed his own death sentence.
***
Draco woke up and found himself sprawled on his four-poster bed, the sheet tangled in his legs. He could still feel the burden on his chest as though he had just escaped from the darkened room, his breath still laboured and his left arm smouldering as though someone was pressing white-hot iron onto it. Since the weird incident in Azkaban, his Mark had burned several times, but they were just fleeting shots of pain. The symptom became so regular that he had come to accept that he would have to live with it for the rest of his life, surmising that somehow a small amount of magic still remained after Voldemort’s death. After all, some things could never be erased.
But these dreams he hadn’t had in months; they had stopped haunting him in his sleep after the fall. In fact, he barely slept after that, for his initial relief was mercilessly crushed by the sentence of his parents. Draco had to ask himself if they were really what he thought them-dreams-or were they? Everything was too real, yet it couldn’t be happening twice, in that exact same way. He lay there, pondering for what seemed like an eternity but might have as well been just hours before sleep finally captured him in its somnolent embrace.
***
Upon setting foot inside the Ballroom of Malfoy Manor, one would immediately experience the ambience of the splendorous feudal days with dancers in fancy gowns and luxury dress robes gliding gracefully across the mirror-like marble floor. Hermione Granger was currently moving around the exact same room, doing anything but dancing. She was pacing to be precise, which she seemed to be doing a lot lately, thanks to Draco Malfoy.
She fumed. What did he think he was doing? He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. He might have forgotten the lesson. No, that wasn’t at all possible unless he had the memory of a goldfish. She gave him the schedule only yesterday evening, and she told him that they had a lesson tomorrow morning. That he’d awoken late was improbable. Since he nearly always had breakfast before she did, getting up on time should not be a problem. She didn’t see him come down to breakfast this morning, though. But he could have finished his meal even before she went to the dining room. The only conclusion she could draw was that he would come late or worse, wouldn’t come at all on purpose.
Forty minutes late. Maybe he wouldn’t show up after all. Too bad she had promised not to enter the West Wing; otherwise she would find him and curse him into oblivion. Well, maybe not, since she still needed him to continue the lesson. What she couldn’t understand, however, was why Malfoy would let pass an ideal opportunity to hex her freely. Sure they would be hexing each other for the purpose of practising defensive magic, but wouldn’t it be a perfect excuse?
One hour late. Hermione’s patience eventually snapped. She decided to go to the library. Hypocrite, you may say, but finding a good ancient book to read was certainly better than waiting for a bastard who would never show up. But well, the bastard did show up in the library, or rather she showed up in the library where the bastard was currently flipping through a book in the most relaxed manner possible.
‘Malfoy! What the heck are you doing? We have a class at eight, remember?’
‘Relax, Granger! Ever heard of skipping class before?’
‘Skipping class? How can you skip a class when there are only two people in it?’
‘I just did, didn’t I?’ he asked with a smirk that drove Hermione completely frustrated.
‘This is going to be a whole year, not just a few days. Can’t you just give me a break?’
‘I am trying to give you a break from having to bear the sight of me,’ he replied, rolling his eyes then continued, ‘Listen here, Granger! We both can’t stand each other, so why don’t we just leave the other alone? Just give me my wand, I’ll do fine on my own and so will you.’
Now it was Hermione’s turn to roll eyes. ‘You seem to have forgotten the most important part, Malfoy. I have to supervise your wand use.’
‘But no one would supervise your supervision. Why the hell do you need to bother?’
‘Even supposing that were true, how do I know you won’t do anything to harm me?’ she countered.
‘Granger, Granger,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m not stupid. If I do something to you, the Ministry will find out one way or another; and I’ll be off to Azkaban for good. Even living with you for good is still a better option.’
Hermione was slightly convinced, but-
‘You get the freedom to use your wand, then what do I get?’
‘Tell you what-you give me my wand, I’ll rearrange this library so that you can reach the books you need.’
To Hermione, books were always a powerful incentive. She agreed, but not until they had recorded a proper deal (with quite a few precautionary terms she’d managed to add through negotiation), and signed it with their wands. Hermione was well aware that she was dealing with Malfoy, not some innocent fluffy bunny.
***
Malfoy was right. Not having lessons with him made Hermione’s life considerably easier. However, since the library issue was resolved, she had discovered that Malfoy spent a lot of his time in the library, which meant they bumped into each other quite often. So often that Hermione had once considered making a schedule so as not to see him (Only last week, she had to make a schedule to do otherwise.). Their encounters in the library weren’t exactly that infuriating. Actually, they were doing fine with only some occasional insults, quarrels and telling each other to sod off. Oddly enough, they had somehow taken it in turns to start the fight.
That particular morning, it seemed to be Hermione’s turn as she snorted at the book Malfoy was reading. She didn’t mean to, but it bore an incredibly nasty appearance that startled her. On the stained cover (Was that dried blood?) were large Gothic letters: The Arts of Torturing.
‘Malfoy, that book is illegal!’ she stated with disgust.
‘No, it’s not,’ he protested. ‘It just happens to contain a few illegal curses. That’s it.’
‘See! Even you admit that it’s illegal. And don’t you do illegal things while I’m here!’
‘I’m not doing anything illegal. Just reading a book…’
‘-which is illegal,’ added Hermione.
At that, Malfoy pretended to gasp, his eyes wide. ‘If reading is illegal, who are you, Granger, the greatest villain of all time?’
‘Oh, shut it, Malfoy! I’m being serious here,’ said Hermione, her hands on her hips. ‘You very well know that I used the clause ‘which is illegal’ to refer to ‘a book’, not the whole-’
‘Don’t think I ever need a grammar lecture from a Mudblood,’ snapped Malfoy.
Hermione’s blood boiled up at the very word. Stupid racist prat.
‘Tomorrow, after visiting my friends, I’ll report it to the Ministry that you keep illegal Dark Arts books,’ she said sternly.
Instead of getting angry or even worrying, Malfoy simply yawned.
‘I’d like to see you try. Besides, it’s only illegal when you use the curse on someone, and are seen doing so, and the witness is still able to report it to the Ministry. The chance is pretty slim, you know.’
‘We’ll see if you can get away with it.’
‘Just wait and see!’
Malfoy smirked, twirling his wand; and Hermione got the feeling that she was wrong to make a deal with him, very, very wrong.
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Author: leopion
Beta: Lolabri, S. A. Blossom, olgameisterfunk, and terrayn
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger
Genres: Romance, Humour, Mystery.
Spoilers: DH minus epilogue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim the Harry Potter series, which belongs to the fabulous J. K. Rowling.
Summary: An unexpected proposal shook Hermione to her core. Reeling, she staggered through the night and found herself in Malfoy's dungeons. Hermione thought it was the end, but it was really just the beginning...
(Written by Darkwinter999 from ff.net)
AN: This fic was inspired by marmaladefever’s Eight and Eighth. Therefore, I want to thank her for the great fic and for giving me permission to use some of her ideas from it.
Please complain if you see anything wrong with the coding. I'll fix it once I recover from my temporary lack of brain cells :P
Partners - Chapter 6 - The deal
by Leopion
Voldemort pointed his wand at Draco’s left arm and hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Morsmordre!’
From the tip of the wand, black curves began to spread on the lily-white skin, forming the figure of a skull with a snake sticking out from its mouth. The Dark Lord did not remove his wand. After a second or so, the newly formed Dark Mark started to glow. Draco could feel it burning more and more fiercely as the colour changed from black to blood red. Then the Mark suddenly cooled off, the burning replaced by what felt like millions of stitches thrusting through his flesh. He bit his lips, trying not to cry out in agony, but as the stitches drove deeper, the pain seemed to consume him. Draco collapsed, unconscious.
A slim figure tore away from the circle of black-clad forms, hurrying towards the newest Death Eater.
‘Stay where you are, Narcissa!’ hissed Voldemort, then he turned to Draco’s unconscious form. ‘Ennervate!’
Draco stirred, more and more aware of his current situation as he regained consciousness. He had collapsed in the middle of his initiation ceremony. It was the first and only time this had ever happened in a Death Eater’s initiation.
The pain in his left arm did not cease. His hands trembled as he attempted to bring himself back to a kneeling position before the Dark Lord. The whole room remained dead silent. Draco slowly looked up at Voldemort, fear overpowering him. To his relief, the Dark Lord didn’t appear to be angry. Then again, it was nearly impossible to distinguish the emotions on that monstrous, snake-like face. It curled up in an expression that somewhat resembled a satisfied smirk.
‘Now, I will set you an assignment, Draco,’ said Voldemort in a silky yet authoritative tone. ‘Can you kill Albus Dumbledore?’
Several mouths gasped; Narcissa let out a small wail and rushed forwards, clinging to the fringe of Voldemort’s robes.
‘No, my Lord. He’s only a child. I’m begging you... Please... Please... Punish me instead...’
‘SILENCE!’ hissed Voldemort. And silence there was, only punctuated by Narcissa’s occasional sobs. The Dark Lord returned his gaze to Draco; his bloody slits seemed to pierce into the latter’s soul.
‘What do you say, Draco?’ he asked.
‘It is an honour, My Lord,’ replied Draco, trying the best he could to conceal the fear in his voice.
The Dark Lord said in his usual high, clear voice, ‘You’re dismissed. All of you, except Draco. I’d like to have a quick word with him.’
When all of the other Death Eaters had fled the room, Voldemort leaned closer to Draco and whispered, ‘Should you fail, young Malfoy, I can already see three long, painful deaths awaiting. And maybe I will spare your life for a while,’ he paused before saying the last few words with such malice that it made Draco shiver, ‘to make you watch.’
Draco walked out of the throne room, feeling relieved that he did not have to confront the Dark Lord any longer. Nevertheless, somewhere in the back of his mind, a tiny voice told him that he had just signed his own death sentence.
***
Draco woke up and found himself sprawled on his four-poster bed, the sheet tangled in his legs. He could still feel the burden on his chest as though he had just escaped from the darkened room, his breath still laboured and his left arm smouldering as though someone was pressing white-hot iron onto it. Since the weird incident in Azkaban, his Mark had burned several times, but they were just fleeting shots of pain. The symptom became so regular that he had come to accept that he would have to live with it for the rest of his life, surmising that somehow a small amount of magic still remained after Voldemort’s death. After all, some things could never be erased.
But these dreams he hadn’t had in months; they had stopped haunting him in his sleep after the fall. In fact, he barely slept after that, for his initial relief was mercilessly crushed by the sentence of his parents. Draco had to ask himself if they were really what he thought them-dreams-or were they? Everything was too real, yet it couldn’t be happening twice, in that exact same way. He lay there, pondering for what seemed like an eternity but might have as well been just hours before sleep finally captured him in its somnolent embrace.
***
Upon setting foot inside the Ballroom of Malfoy Manor, one would immediately experience the ambience of the splendorous feudal days with dancers in fancy gowns and luxury dress robes gliding gracefully across the mirror-like marble floor. Hermione Granger was currently moving around the exact same room, doing anything but dancing. She was pacing to be precise, which she seemed to be doing a lot lately, thanks to Draco Malfoy.
She fumed. What did he think he was doing? He was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. He might have forgotten the lesson. No, that wasn’t at all possible unless he had the memory of a goldfish. She gave him the schedule only yesterday evening, and she told him that they had a lesson tomorrow morning. That he’d awoken late was improbable. Since he nearly always had breakfast before she did, getting up on time should not be a problem. She didn’t see him come down to breakfast this morning, though. But he could have finished his meal even before she went to the dining room. The only conclusion she could draw was that he would come late or worse, wouldn’t come at all on purpose.
Forty minutes late. Maybe he wouldn’t show up after all. Too bad she had promised not to enter the West Wing; otherwise she would find him and curse him into oblivion. Well, maybe not, since she still needed him to continue the lesson. What she couldn’t understand, however, was why Malfoy would let pass an ideal opportunity to hex her freely. Sure they would be hexing each other for the purpose of practising defensive magic, but wouldn’t it be a perfect excuse?
One hour late. Hermione’s patience eventually snapped. She decided to go to the library. Hypocrite, you may say, but finding a good ancient book to read was certainly better than waiting for a bastard who would never show up. But well, the bastard did show up in the library, or rather she showed up in the library where the bastard was currently flipping through a book in the most relaxed manner possible.
‘Malfoy! What the heck are you doing? We have a class at eight, remember?’
‘Relax, Granger! Ever heard of skipping class before?’
‘Skipping class? How can you skip a class when there are only two people in it?’
‘I just did, didn’t I?’ he asked with a smirk that drove Hermione completely frustrated.
‘This is going to be a whole year, not just a few days. Can’t you just give me a break?’
‘I am trying to give you a break from having to bear the sight of me,’ he replied, rolling his eyes then continued, ‘Listen here, Granger! We both can’t stand each other, so why don’t we just leave the other alone? Just give me my wand, I’ll do fine on my own and so will you.’
Now it was Hermione’s turn to roll eyes. ‘You seem to have forgotten the most important part, Malfoy. I have to supervise your wand use.’
‘But no one would supervise your supervision. Why the hell do you need to bother?’
‘Even supposing that were true, how do I know you won’t do anything to harm me?’ she countered.
‘Granger, Granger,’ he said impatiently. ‘I’m not stupid. If I do something to you, the Ministry will find out one way or another; and I’ll be off to Azkaban for good. Even living with you for good is still a better option.’
Hermione was slightly convinced, but-
‘You get the freedom to use your wand, then what do I get?’
‘Tell you what-you give me my wand, I’ll rearrange this library so that you can reach the books you need.’
To Hermione, books were always a powerful incentive. She agreed, but not until they had recorded a proper deal (with quite a few precautionary terms she’d managed to add through negotiation), and signed it with their wands. Hermione was well aware that she was dealing with Malfoy, not some innocent fluffy bunny.
***
Malfoy was right. Not having lessons with him made Hermione’s life considerably easier. However, since the library issue was resolved, she had discovered that Malfoy spent a lot of his time in the library, which meant they bumped into each other quite often. So often that Hermione had once considered making a schedule so as not to see him (Only last week, she had to make a schedule to do otherwise.). Their encounters in the library weren’t exactly that infuriating. Actually, they were doing fine with only some occasional insults, quarrels and telling each other to sod off. Oddly enough, they had somehow taken it in turns to start the fight.
That particular morning, it seemed to be Hermione’s turn as she snorted at the book Malfoy was reading. She didn’t mean to, but it bore an incredibly nasty appearance that startled her. On the stained cover (Was that dried blood?) were large Gothic letters: The Arts of Torturing.
‘Malfoy, that book is illegal!’ she stated with disgust.
‘No, it’s not,’ he protested. ‘It just happens to contain a few illegal curses. That’s it.’
‘See! Even you admit that it’s illegal. And don’t you do illegal things while I’m here!’
‘I’m not doing anything illegal. Just reading a book…’
‘-which is illegal,’ added Hermione.
At that, Malfoy pretended to gasp, his eyes wide. ‘If reading is illegal, who are you, Granger, the greatest villain of all time?’
‘Oh, shut it, Malfoy! I’m being serious here,’ said Hermione, her hands on her hips. ‘You very well know that I used the clause ‘which is illegal’ to refer to ‘a book’, not the whole-’
‘Don’t think I ever need a grammar lecture from a Mudblood,’ snapped Malfoy.
Hermione’s blood boiled up at the very word. Stupid racist prat.
‘Tomorrow, after visiting my friends, I’ll report it to the Ministry that you keep illegal Dark Arts books,’ she said sternly.
Instead of getting angry or even worrying, Malfoy simply yawned.
‘I’d like to see you try. Besides, it’s only illegal when you use the curse on someone, and are seen doing so, and the witness is still able to report it to the Ministry. The chance is pretty slim, you know.’
‘We’ll see if you can get away with it.’
‘Just wait and see!’
Malfoy smirked, twirling his wand; and Hermione got the feeling that she was wrong to make a deal with him, very, very wrong.
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