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“What a… precarious situation you’ve found yourself in, Granger.”
Hermione’s head snapped toward the stranger’s voice and watched in disbelief as Draco Malfoy strolled into her dungeon, toying with a set of keys in his hands. She caught glimpses of his face as he passed the dimly lit candles that hung in intervals against the wall. His blonde hair, almost white in its hue, was groomed and neat, his suit so immaculate it looked wrong within the filth of this prison, so black that he resembled a shadow more than a man. He wore an expression that Hermione couldn’t quite place.
She looked around for the guards, who were meant to be watching her, but they were gone from their usual post. Now that she thought about it, it’d been a while since she’d heard the stomp of their boots on the stone floor.
It didn’t take Draco long before he reached the bars of her cell. He peered down at where Hermione sat on the floor, her shackles clinging miserably at her sides.
She tried to remember how long she’d been held captive - at first, she’d been counting her days locked down here, but she’d lost interest after the tenth day. That must’ve been at least three days ago she stopped etching marks into the wall.
She was suddenly very aware of how she must look to him. Dirt and grime was visible on every inch of her exposed skin. The clothes they’d given her - made of a rough material and hardly covered her modestly - were also caked in dirt.
She tried not to let him see her weakness. She sat up straighter, using the wall to keep her from slumping over. She knew her face must be gaunt from her hunger, but her meals, which appeared magically twice a day, were table scraps at best and did little to stave her appetite. She became stoic as Malfoy looked down at her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her desperation.
“What do you want,” she nearly spat at him. Hatred coursed through her at the sight of him so close.
He clicked his tongue at her. “Now, now. That’s no way to speak to your rescuer.”
Her ‘rescuer’ was a war criminal - a sympathizer to a powerful wizard, responsible for the deaths of hundreds, possibly thousands. If it were her dying wish, she only wanted some power back in her feeble bones to maul whatever part of him she could reach.
With the key in his hands, Draco unlocked her cell door and walked in, pulling it back behind him with a *click*. The power dynamic wasn’t lost on her - she sat, half clothed and freezing on the ground while he stood tall above her, with the literal keys to her freedom now jingling in his pocket.
He knelt in front of her and all she could do was pull against her chains in a futile attempt to free herself from his pitying gaze.
“Your taunting is cruel, Malfoy,” she said through clenched teeth. It was useless to point out his cruelty, though. He knew who he was. “Here to finish the job yourself?”
She could see his face more clearly, now that he was mere inches away from her. His grey eyes were a pool of ice, as cold as his heart.
“You jump to conclusions too freely,” Draco tutted. “I’m only here to make you an offer.” He contemplated something for a moment before adding, “Or rather, a request in exchange for your freedom.”
It’d been days since she had allowed herself to hope for freedom. Her thoughts had flitted between recaps of the war and thoughts about the remaining members of the Order. She mourned silently in her cell for all of those she was certain had been lost, and she mourned the ones that they’d undoubtedly lost since her incarceration. She wondered if there’d be anyone left to mourn for her when she was gone.
Her fight instinct wanted to yell at him to go to hell, to kick and scream and show that she was still fighting for her cause. But her empty stomach and her weakened body and the aches in her wrists begged her to follow any opportunity that could save her from her impending death.
So, hands clenched within her chains, she asked, “What is it you want from me?”
She saw his expression relax, as if he’d been deeply concerned she would turn down his offer. She wondered what the repercussions would be for him if she were to deny his help.
“I’m glad to see you so - amiable, given the circumstances,” he purred, in that same pretentious voice he’d had since they were first years. “My offer is a simple one - I will aide you in your escape from your imprisonment, affording you refuge in my chateau outside of Paris in exchange for your...help.”
She kept her eyes locked on his as she tried to push for more information. “That’s a - very vague offer. You expect me to agree without more information than that?” Her voice grew more hoarse every time she spoke.
“If you want to stay alive, you will.” His dark voice sent chills through her body. He sighed, as if this conversation were causing him strife. His hand snaked around to grip the back of his neck - a sign of stress. “I can’t divulge all of my secrets, Granger. In due time, you’ll come to understand your use to me. For now, you have a choice to make: either you come live in my chateau - far away from those trying to kill you - or you stay in this cell.”
“You’re not included in the list of those who are trying to kill me?”
“I don’t wish death on you anymore,” he said. She tried to find the same hatred in his eyes like what she felt for him. She saw his determination, possible desperation, but any malice he felt for her was buried by his need for her help.
She thought over his offer and the lack of details he’d provided. What use she could be to him was a mystery to her. Did he require information from an ex-member of the Order? Was she meant to switch sides and aide Voldemort somehow?
Her mind wandered into darker, more sinister reasons he could want to keep her imprisoned in one of his homes, but she didn’t linger on those thoughts. If she had, she’d have chosen to die in this cell instead.
When she didn’t respond quickly, his coaxing continued.
“Consider your options here - you can have freedom with me, tucked away safely in the French countryside. Or,” he said, standing to pace slowly in front of her, “or, you can wait for someone else to come and rescue you. Weasley, possibly, if he ever makes it out of Azkaban.”
Her heart gleamed at the thought that Ron was still alive. She wondered how long he had left.
There were two things that Hermione was certain of:
First, Draco was not bluffing - he’d made his offer and, though vague in his details, he seemed serious about it.
Second, she would die down here if she didn’t accept his proposal.
The seconds felt like minutes as she battled between her will to live and her loathing of the man here to rescue her.
She considered the possibility that his offer was a ploy for something more sinister. But regardless of whether she turned down his help, or whether she accepted it and he had murderous intentions - both options led to the same bitter end. What did she have to lose?
“So, Granger? Do we have a deal? Or should I leave you to enjoy the rest of the time you have in peace?”
As she watched him walk back to the doors of her cell, she knew she would do it, come what may.
“Wait,” she called to his back. He turned, an eyebrow lifted in anticipation. “I’ll do it,” she breathed.
Draco said nothing, but walked toward her and knelt again so that his face was so close, she could feel his warm breath on her cold skin. He grabbed one of her arms and she lashed out in response.
“Stop struggling,” Draco commanded, his grip on her arm tightening. “The faster you let me do this, the faster I can get us out of here.”
He took his key and softly inserted it into the lock of her cuff. After a quick turn, the metal fell to floor and she felt the blood rushing back into her frozen fingers, regaining some of the warmth they’d lost a while ago. Draco dropped that hand and did the same to her left. When he was finished, he stood again.
“Why are you saving me?” she asked as she rubbed the sore spots where her cuffs had dug into her skin.
“Let’s just say I’m feeling a bit rebellious tonight,” he said, and Hermione suddenly realized this was the expression he wore as he’d entered the dungeon - rebellion. Whatever he was doing, it was known by only a handful of people.
She looked down the hall at where the guards usually took watch. “They’ll know I’m gone,” she said. “When they see the cell empty, they’ll search for me.”
“The guards related to your imprisonment have all been - heavily compensated for their discretion and compliance. In a few days time, the story will make headlines about your death down here. Everyone will mourn their lost hero, but no one will question whether you’re still alive.”
A sound from the dungeon entrance made Hermione jump, but Draco maintained his cool demeanor. He must’ve been expecting this visitor.
“Crabbe here will act as our Bonder. A witness to our - agreement.”
As if summoned, Crabbe entered the cell and came to stand in front of them. She didn’t have time to consider Crabbe’s role in Draco’s plan - realization waved through Hermione in a crash, stealing the breath from her lungs. This was how Malfoy planned to ensure she held up her side of the bargain.
An Unbreakable Vow.
“Are you able to stand?” he asked, his hand outstretched in front of him - an extension of help.
Knowing she couldn’t stand without assistance, she grasped his hand and felt the other grip under her arm, helping her to her feet.
She knew how to perform this spell only by what she’d read in textbooks. So when Malfoy grabbed her forearm in his right hand, she did the same, as Crabbe stood between them, wand in hand, issuing the silent incantation.
Silver strands of light - the same color of Malfoy’s eyes - crept from his wand and laced around their hands. Malfoy began to speak the terms of their Vow.
“Do you swear to live in my chateau in exchange for your freedom from imprisonment in this cell?”
She swallowed, a sudden ringing sound piercing her ears. “I swear,” she said in a whisper. She was sure the pounding of her heart could be heard by everyone in the room.
“Do you swear to continue to stay in my chateau until I have deemed the need for your presence.. satisfied? With the knowledge that your attempted escape will result in a break of this contract and your subsequent death?”
This nearly caused Hermione to drop her hand. “So you’re not saving me - you’re keeping me as your own personal prisoner!”
“I don’t pretend to be a savior, Granger. Perhaps… just a smart negotiator?”
She felt like she might faint, had Malfoy’s grasp on her arm not kept her upright. Draco grew impatient as Hermione fought to think of some way, any way, out of this.
“Answer my question. Do you swear it?”
Her pause before this answer was longer than the last. She had to make her lips utter the words.
“I swear,” she said again, though the tremor in her voice gave away her trepidation. She hadn’t just been saved from imprisonment. She had just agreed to be Malfoy's prisoner, instead.
She watched in fear as flames wrapped around their grasp, weaving and blazing in a mesmerizing dance. She felt the flames lick at her hand as they wound around and around until, finally, they extinguished themselves.
She removed her hand from his, examining it for any damage done and noticed a small scar near her wrist. It wasn’t flesh colored, but rather resembled the black of smoke, as if those flames had burned her skin and left charcoal remains. She looked over to see that Draco’s hand possessed the same identical scar, visible until he covered it with a pair of gloves from his pocket.
A second noise outside of the dungeon caused all three of them to look over towards the prison doors. Crabbe ran out of the cell first, leaving the door open behind him. She could run out, but she was more afraid of what Crabbe was running towards than she was of this cell.
Draco turned back to Hermione, his face looking panicked - clearly whatever was happening was not a part of this plan that he’d fabricated. He grabbed her arms, gripping them like the next words that came out of his mouth would be the key to survival. He spoke hurriedly.
“Listen to me - you are to run to the end of this hallway as quickly as you can. Do not stop until you reach the dead end.” He looked back over his shoulder briefly before continuing his instructions. “You should find a Portkey that will take you back to my chateau. My house-elves are expecting you - they will tend to you from there.”
She knew she was stupid not to have asked more questions, but it was too late now. She could hear the changing of the guards outside the dungeon doors.
“How do I know that I can trust you?” she asked.
“The only way to find out is by trusting me, Granger, now go.” Draco took off in the same direction Crabbe had run, supposedly to take care of the unexpected guard, but Hermione didn't turn back to look. She hoped this new guard was also an ally.
In her weakened state, her legs wobbled without Malfoy to balance her. Regardless, her immense desire to get out of this dungeon allowed her to move her shaky limbs, step by step, towards the end of the long hall.
Just as she thought she might give in to exhaustion and her limbs were screaming in protest, Hermione finally reached a dead end and a crumpled sheet of parchment lying on the ground. Hoping that Malfoy had been telling the truth, she touched the paper Portkey and felt her feet leave the cold prison floor, her body being pulled upward and away from her shackles and her ‘rescuer’.
Away from one prison and onto the next.