Red Passion - HP - Draco/Hermione - 10/31
Title: Red Passion
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: Mature (R)
Links: Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9
Summary: Post HBP. A vampire saves Draco from death and introduces him to a dark world. With Hermione Granger on the menu, can Draco save his enemy and his own soul? Eventual DM/HG.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Written for profitless entertainment.
Warning: Blood, violence, and eventually scenes of a sexual nature.
Author's Note: Story goes AU after the events of Half Blood Prince.
Wordcount for Total Story: ~65,900 words (varied by chapter)
Chapter 10
Where the hell did she go?
Draco glared at the room, as if it had somehow greatly offended him. But it was just a room, empty and alone as the one he had left upstairs.
"Granger?" he asked, glancing behind the door before staring idly, his head peeking through the open doorway.
The bed caught his eye, and he raised a brow at the flesh-pink nightgown draped over its elegant foot-was that not the same gown that Granger had been wearing a few minutes ago? It was not the clothing, though, that disturbed him; it was the perfectly made bed sitting center, cover smoothed out to fit neat, folded corners.
The morning was still young, and Draco somehow doubted that Madam Hart had stopped to tidy up the room at such an early hour. Had Granger even slept in her bed? If not there, then where? he wondered.
For reasons unbeknownst to him, he clenched his hands into hard fists, nails digging into flesh. Perhaps Darien had given the witch different quarters. Perhaps the vampire had given her his bed. Draco wasn't sure why this thought bothered him. He had already seen her defenses fail at the pull of Darien's powerful will, but, that time at least, Darien had seduced her for Draco's benefit, to teach him a lesson. Or, at least, that was Draco had believed.
He wasn't sure why he cared. It didn't matter where she slept.
No, scratch that-it mattered greatly. If Darien was paying that much attention to her, than Draco could all but kiss any chance of using the witch as a means to escape the manor goodbye. If she was that far into the vampire's thrall, she would probably be of no real use to him. Not that he certain she'd be of use to him in her normal state.
Perhaps his worries were unfounded. After all, she may not have slept for another reason. She might have been telling the truth earlier-she may very well have stayed up all evening, waiting to see if he was alright.
"I did save her bloody life," he rationalized, "not that I'm talking to her about that. Unless, by chance, I can use it against her." Draco smirked. It wasn't the worst idea he'd had so far. In fact, it was a far cry from his current system of back-talking the vampire while simultaneously obeying his master's every beck and call.
"Master Dragon?"
The wizard quickly turned, almost falling against the doorframe in his haste. Madam Hart stood behind him, another covered breakfast platter and pitcher in her willowy, blue-veined arms.
"Down so soon?" she asked, a smile dancing in her clear eyes.
Draco's face flushed. She had heard him, talking to himself. Of course, the wizard wasn't really sure if that was the reason for the humor on the old woman's face.
"You're feeling better, I presume." It was not a question. The old woman nodded, nevertheless, acting as if she had received an answered. "Perhaps you could eat a bite of breakfast with your little friend then?"
"We're not friends..." his mouth closed, catching the bait the muggle had strung. "You know where Granger is?"
"Why of course! I thought you knew-she's in the library again."
"Library?"
"Oh, yes, you weren't around for that..." Hart's thin lips curved, her eyes darting in reflection. "The young miss was in a dreadful state last night. The Master had me direct her to the library to keep her occupied. If I may say, she has quite the love for the written word, that one does."
"How bloody typical is that?" Draco muttered, wearing the ghost of sneer. "Bloating that overstuffed brain of hers while others are off suffering."
Madam Hart release a girlish giggle that stretched her wrinkles across her face. "Am I to understand that the young miss will be staying on with us then? It is, after all, a decision the Master has left up to you, even after Master Sanguini's telling performance last night."
Staying on with us. Draco swallowed hard.
The old woman used the phrase so casually, knowing that if he were to resist the idea, that it would mean Granger's life. Draco didn't like the way this muggle played with him, the way her grin held a certain threat. But what truly made his skin crawl was the little nod at the end of her smile, the one that assured him that the threat was not really directed toward the witch. It was his life on the line, Draco was certain, and Madam Hart knew as much, and more.
"Why don't you take her breakfast, Master Dragon?" Hart held out the tray. "A meal before you meet with the master will do you good-you'll find the girl at the end of the hall."
"Wait-what? Meet with Darien?"
"Will call when he's ready for you," the woman finished.
"But it's day out."
"The Master will call you when he's ready for you," Hart repeated.
Draco took the tray from her, recoiling at the feel of her damp, paper skin touching his hands. Hart released her grin slightly, promptly turning on her heel, her wandering fingers adjusting the back of her apron. She was humming as she walked, and Draco could still hear that mocking music when he stomped off down the corridor, juice spilling over a curved rim onto his sleeve when he came to a quick stop in front of tall double doors.
The wizard had seen the doors earlier. For some reason, he had assumed that they held the basement stairs, that they led to Darien's chambers. Obviously, he was wrong.
He kicked his bare foot at the door, refusing to sit down his load and turn the handle. The sound was muffled, and he was posed to deliver a second blow when one door cracked open.
"Will you take this bloody thing?" Draco spat at Hermione's confused face.
Hermione wrinkled her brow in surprise, closing the book in her hands and tucking it under one arm as she lifted the tray from Draco's hands. "Thanks," she murmured, softly, stepping back out of the door so that the wizard could enter.
"Well, I was planning breakfast in bed...Oh, please, Granger-that old hag made me bring that, completely ignoring my injuries, of course. No courtesy at all," Draco rambled, shoving past her as he wiped the sticky remains of orange juice onto the closest chair. He gave the grand room a once over, taking in the long, shelf-lined walls, a thousand worn spines as their decoration. "This is the library then? A bit small."
"Small?" Hermione sat the meal onto a decorative table, her mouth open as if to counter his statement. The library was at least a fifth the size of Hogwarts', and all this was just for one vampire. She seemed to let his haughty statement go with a shake of her head. "What are you doing out of bed, Malfoy? You're supposed to be recovering."
"Why did he let you in here, anyhow?" Draco mused, ignoring her. He stepped forward, gently lowering himself into a soft, wide-backed mahogany chair, enjoying the smooth touch of fine leather. Darien had some semblance of taste, Draco had to admit.
"You didn't answer me, Malfoy."
"It really doesn't make sense," he continued, relaxing back. "He could have just had that insane old bird lock you back up for the night. Instead, you're wondering about as if this is some sort of shabby inn."
"Perhaps he rewards civility," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms.
Still pissed about that 'fucking mudblood heroine' bit, I see.
Draco frowned. "I had a question for you," he began.
"And you've never seen the library? How long have you been here, anyhow?" Hermione interrupted.
"Could we keep on track here, Granger."
"You're the one who--"
"Anyhow," Draco drawled, "upstairs you mentioned something about vampire victims suffering adverse effects. Exactly how much you do know about vampires, Granger?"
The witch raised a brow, plopping down onto a stool. "There's what I learned in school-what you should have learned. I did a bit of outside study in fifth-year, ironically after Sanguini's visit." The floor at her feet was stacked with books, some of which were open, their places marked. She glanced down at them in acknowledgment of their contents. "So, you're here to what, quiz me? I thought you were content with being a vampire's plaything."
Draco leaned forward. "If I'm his plaything, then why are you the one exploring his library?" He released a bitter huff at her indignant expression. "That's what I thought," he added.
"Reading his book collection does not place my life at risk-that's a completely different matter!" she snapped. "And I'll have you know that I've been gathering valuable information."
Being in this house puts your life at risk, stupid.
"Yes, I'm sure Darien led you to the treasure trove that would spell his destruction-I doubt any of these books would be of any use to you, especially since he gave you permission to read them. It wouldn't make much sense for him to lead the cow to the hole in the fence, now would it?"
"I'll disregard that analogy because of your current physical state-but you are an idiot, Malfoy! Of course Darien didn't give me the How to Kill a Vampire handbook, but he's allowing me to read these other works because he believes I won't be able to use the information within them. Actually, I expect he wants me to share some of these books with you."
"What do mean?"
Hermione picked a thick volume up off of the floor. "You were asking about vampire victims. There are stories in this book, about victims...The vampire can choose how a mortal serves them, whether as a simple day keeper or as some mindless creature."
"I somehow doubt he's in need of some gentleman's gentleman, though a house elf might do him some good."
"Malfoy, you're bound to him." Hermione's voice was tight, as if it was having a hard time making it to her mouth. "Do you even know what that means?"
Draco didn't like where this was going. "More than you, I venture."
"I don't think you know everything."
He expected her to continue. She didn't.
Hermione slumped forward, staring numbly at him. Draco didn't like the look in her eyes. He'd seen it in his mother's, when she'd found that he was being asked to take the Dark Mark. He didn't know how the witch in front of him was able to duplicate it so well.
"Well?"
"You're his, Draco," she said softly.
"I knew that much."
"You're his until he dies, or you do...Magic can't break what holds you."
Draco wasn't surprised. This is what Darien had implied. Yet it felt so very different, hearing it from Hermione's mouth, from another source. He suddenly felt bare, as if she knew that he had some sort of disgusting illness.
"Dragon..."
He stood up on weak knees. "You're breakfast is getting cold, Granger."
"Malfoy? What's wrong?"
Draco didn't answer, instead walking toward the doors.
"Come to me, Dragon."
He knew Granger hadn't heard that the voice. After all, it was his master calling, not hers.
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