Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy was sitting alone and afraid in the darkness of his rooms, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he listened to muted screams from the Malfoy Manor’s dungeon. Bile would rise in his throat every now and then when he heard the echoes of his aunt’s manical laughter accompany a hoarse plea for death.
For the last few weeks he had been confined to his bedroom with only house elves for company. The oak doors that’d bring him into the hallway of the West Wing were sealed tight with multiple warding charms, and the windows were spelled shut as if they had been melded together with their main frame. Draco knew this because he had kicked, hit, and cursed the wards for hours on end, desperate to be free and see if his mother was alright. His father had dropped by once many days ago with a warning, his voice carefully neutral as he told Draco to stay vigilant and wary in the days to come because the Dark Lord was disappointed in Draco and that in itself was reason to worry. Lucius’ eyes were blank as he spoke, completely stripped of emotions as if he didn’t want Draco to see that his father was scared for the wellbeing of his son. It only worried Draco further, afraid of what punishment would be inflicted upon him and he only begged that it was short and painless.
After his father’s visit the days dragged on more than before for Draco, who was honestly surprised his confinement could be even more torturous as time seemed to slow as his fear increased. He lost track of time then, but Draco was pretty certain it was only just a couple of months since Snape had furiously hurried him along Hogwarts grounds as they escaped that disastrous night at the Astronomy Tower in a flurry of robes and flying hexes. That’d make it about mid- to late July, which explained the suffocating humid air that plastered his blond hair to his forehead in the heat. The still air also bore with it a stench of death that seemed to etched itself into the walls, and was so easily soaked up by the old wood that Draco was surprised it hadn’t started rotting and pealing from the smell alone.
Draco bit his lip painfully as another tortured scream resonated in the walls, and he could swear a taste of copper filled his mouth as teeth pierced fragile skin. There had been loud sounds earlier coming from what Draco assumed was the foyer, and he could only wonder what the latest Death Eater raid had entailed as shouts and protests had filled the air before drifting off again. If he had to make an educated guess it seemed like they had caught more hostages, more to be stored away in the dungeons for later for Bellatrix’s amusement.
A quiet click from the door leading to his bedroom snapped Draco out of his thoughts who suddenly felt apprehensive and giddy as his father’s warning rang in his head. He quickly scrambled off the bed, feeling incredibly vulnerable as he became aware of the absence of his wand which had been taken from him the second he had appeared within the Manor back in June. The memory caused a surge of panic to well up within him, and the urge to throw up battled with his need to run and hide somewhere.
Before he could decide on either the door slid open without a sound, undoubtedly charmed with a silencing spell to catch him unaware in case they’d need to ambush him for any reason. As the door swung open fully, Severus Snape walked into the room with his robes billowing behind him and eyed Draco critically where he was standing on edge like a trapped animal.
“Draco,” he greeted calmly in his silky voice, seemingly ignoring the anxiety which was rolling off Draco in waves.
Draco only nodded mutely in return, his body relaxing a bit as he realised Snape hadn’t brought anyone else with him. He trusted Severus not to hurt him, even though Draco was unsure where his loyalties lied these days.
His old professor’s eyes travelled across the dark room, his gaze scrutinising before they landed back on Draco who suddenly felt self-conscious of the state of his room and the state of himself, both of which were equally unkempt as a result of the distress he’d suffered over the last weeks. But instead of commenting with his usual snide remarks, Snape only hummed thoughtfully and said, “come with me,” before turning around in a sweeping motion and exiting the room, leaving Draco gaping after him.
He was allowed to go? He watched in bewilderment as the sleek, dark robes disappeared around the corner before his feet caught up with his brain, and he scrambled to catch up with his old professor who somehow was already halfway down the hall.
Draco struggled to keep his composure as he finally managed to walk in step next to Snape, who didn’t even as much as glance at him as he lead them down towards the main floor. It made an unsettling feeling lace itself in Draco’s stomach; “What is happening?” Draco wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.
With a swift and graceful movement, Snape retrieved something from within his robes and shoved it in Draco’s direction without once breaking the fast pace they were keeping.
Draco couldn’t quite comprehend what was in his hands before warm and familiar magic laced soothingly around his fingers as if in greeting, and he came to an abrupt halt as he realised with a startle that Snape had given him back his wand.
Snape seemed to have noticed the absence of a figure following him and had stopped at the top of the staircase leading down to the foyer. His gaze was penetrating but he was silent as Draco looked at him with badly concealed wonder and fear.
“Severus?” Draco hated himself for the doubt and insecurity he heard in his own voice, all too aware of what such displays of weakness could mean in front of the Dark Lord. He gulped at the thought, as he became distinctly aware of Snape’s presence approaching and what this could all mean.
“Keep it with you but make sure it out of sight.” As if sensing that the answer wasn’t good enough Snape pressed his lips into a thin line, which Draco recognised as a look that the professor only reserved for when Granger was being particularly obnoxious. It was only now that Draco realised that it was Snape looking pained. “The Dark Lord is requesting your presence.”
Even though Draco had expected it, he felt his blood run cold with fear as the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that this was it; he’d most likely be dead soon as the Dark Lord’s punishments always had death as an end result. It all just depended on how long the torture would last first.
They stood in tense silence as Snape was looking at Draco and Draco was looking everywhere else. Those black eyes seemed to bore into him, and if Draco wasn’t a skilled Occlumens he’d have thought Snape was reading his mind.
Draco worried his lip again as his mind went in overdrive, but before he could form any coherent thoughts a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Draco looked at his professor in surprise and could have sworn he detected a hint of worry in Snape’s face.
“Draco, we have to go. Now.”
Taking a shaky breath, Draco steeled himself and raised his chin in what he knew looked like self-assurance and arrogance, and nodded at Snape who turned to decent down the stairs with the same purposeful pace as before and Draco following close behind.
The ruckus he’d heard earlier might have quieted but the strained atmosphere in the foyer was palpable as Snape and Draco entered the room. There were only a few people there thankfully, four in addition to him and Snape as far as Draco could count, but it was who those people were which made his stomach drop.
He watched as Snape walked over to his father who was standing looking resigned in the corner of the room and whispered something to the man which only elicited a weak nod in response. By the main doors to the foyer stood the tall, thin frame of Dolohov, who was sneering at the two figures hunched on the floor. One of them was his aunt who was screeching in triumph over the very still and bloody figure of Hermione Granger. Draco could only stare at his old classmate who looked like she was barely breathing behind the thick cover of grime and blood.
“I’d love to slice you up and see your filthy blood run dry, but unfortunately my dear Cissy would be very upset if I ruined her carpet, and - ah, my littlest nephew, I’m so glad you could join us.”
Draco felt all eyes in the room swivel and land on him, and he wanted nothing more than turn and cower in his room again like he had done for weeks, but his feet was rooted into the ground as he remembered Snape’s quiet reassurance only minutes ago.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Come over and give your Auntie Bella a hug.”
Draco approached slowly as one would with a dangerous animal, and the instance he was within reach Bellatrix snagged his collar and forced him down on to his knees right in front of Granger who he now could see was unconscious. Bellatrix’s eyes were gleaming with insanity as she looked between him and the Mudblood, her mouth stretched into a monstrous imitation of a smile with all yellow and crooked teeth.
“Dolohov! Get Draco his present.” She barked at the tall figure by the door without taking her eyes off of him. “You should be grateful dear nephew, our gracious lord has decided that killing you would be too much of a waste of pure blood.”
He wasn’t going to die? He almost wanted to cry in relief, he had been terrified for weeks... yet the looks Snape was giving him and the way Lucius was avoiding his eyes quickly crushed any hope he possibly had left as clarity hit him like a physical punch to the face; the Dark Lord had other, far more sinister plans for Draco.
In that moment Dolohov returned, carrying something bundled up in a thick cloth and handed it over to Bellatrix with scowl.
Bellatrix grabbed the Mudblood by her hair and tilted her head back, placing her wand to her temple. For a second Draco worried she was about to kill Granger off, but the whispered enevrate made him breath a sigh of relief. As much as he hated the girl, he wasn’t sure if he could stomach watching her murder. Granger woke up with a gasp, which was choked by a sob as she recognised where she was and who she was with. Draco rather wanted to join her.
“This,” Bellatrix started, grabbing Granger by her chin and forcing her to look at what she was holding, “is by the Lord’s own design. As much as I’m sure you’re all dying to know what it is, all that the two of you need to know is its purpose.”
Her tones had gone from smooth and sweet to dangerous and deranged in a matter of seconds and Draco rather wanted to throw up with the anticipation. He then remembered the wand hidden in his sleeves and realised that Snape had given it to him for this purpose; so he had a chance to fight his way out of there. But before he had a chance to draw his wand Dolohov had him by the shoulders and forced him face to face with Granger, whose eyes were shiny with tears.
Draco felt like he should say something to her, but he bit his tongue in the knowledge that it’d only cause outrage in his deranged aunt who was preaching some sort of monologue. Granger too looked like she was too scared to pay attention, which was quite telling about the situations seriousness as he’d seen her keep awake through all of Binn’s lectures.
“Now,” Draco was snapped out of his thoughts as a plain glass orb was placed between them, and he understood it was the object Dolohov had brought in earlier. “This might hurt quite a bit.” Bellatrix grinned again, and Dolohov tightened his grip on Draco’s shoulders and Draco could see Bellatrix do the same to Granger.
Then the orb started glowing ominously in swirls of colours he could have sworn he’d never seen before. Bellatrix was chanting something in the background, but Draco couldn’t tear away his eyes from Granger who stared at his just as fearful. The glow became stronger, so strong that Draco attempted to squint before realised get couldn’t as he was locked in place, kneeling on the floor mirroring Granger. Dolohov and Bellatrix were no longer keeping them in place and it was only him and the Mudblood left in a little bubble. A bubble which filled with an array of light and colour, an echo of a chant and powerful magic which started of as a faint sting but was now threatening to tear him apart. He watched as Granger’s body shook with violent sobs, and he could feel tears tracking down his own pale cheeks too. His vision blurred as he tried to suppress the tears and as the pain was becoming too much to handle, but he blinked furiously to clear them as he felt an inexplicable need to see Granger pulling through for some reason. As his vision cleared for a brief second he could have sworn he met his own grey eyes looking back at him in terror, but before his mind was able to comprehend what he’d just seen the magic within the bubble peaked and Draco embraced the blissful and painless darkness of unconsciousness.
...
Sleep was a confusing assault of flashing images which flickered in rapid succession in Draco’s mind’s eye. Sometimes it was Potter yelling, sometimes an unfamiliar man and woman smiling down at him, and too often a disturbing amount of ginger. He’d think it was a nightmare if it hadn’t been for the unsettling feeling of familiarity and warmth towards the foreign scenarios playing in his head. He was aware enough to understand they weren’t his memories, but despite his efforts to tear himself away they kept hitting him in rapid succession.
Only after what felt like an eternity to Draco a loud explosion rang and shook through the Manor, sending him shooting up in bed in terror. His chest felt heavy as he sucked in large gulps of air as the sound of a battle carried up to his dark rooms. He scrambled off the bed to the door, stubbing his toes on the edges of his desk in the process. The wards had been set back in place, he could tell as he practically bounced of them in his haste to escape. He wanted to scream as he realised he was a sitting duck, it was just a matter of time before whoever the attackers were would find him trapped in his own bedroom. And how humiliating that would be.
There was more shouting and Draco could hear someone yell a blasting hex a lot closer to were his rooms were than before. He felt panic well up within him again as he was completely unarmed and blind in the dark as the attackers were closing in. Knowing that he could at least solve one of those problems he rushed back to his bedside where he lit up his reading lights. The suffocating blackness disappeared and Draco felt himself breathing easier for a brief second, but then he spotted his wand tucked halfway underneath his pillow and the memories from last night came rushing back; Snape coming to collect him, giving him his wand, and Bellatrix and Granger... then nothing.
He paused, his eyes staring blankly ahead as he searched his mind for memories just out of his grasp. It was surprisingly blank and Draco wondered if he focused hard enough he would detect traces of residue memory charms. But he didn’t have time as he heard several heavy boots stomping outside his door, and he snatched the wand which felt wrong in his hand and his heart was racing a mile a minute.
“Hermione!” Someone called and his hand clenched around the cold wood and raised it towards the door, ready to attack if they tried to come in here. He searched his mind for every useful curse he could think of, but the tremble which was rocking through him kept him from keeping focus. Draco glared at his wand arm and willed it to still, but his mind halted uncertainly as he saw the unfamiliar slimness of it. Before his mind could fully register what he was seeing however, more shouting erupted from right outside and then the door burst of its hinges and the last thing Draco saw before an astray hex hit him between the eyes were a mass of wild hair and faces full of worry.
...
Hermione was jostled awake from a fitful sleep by a large set of hands shaking her shoulders gently. Her head felt like it was full of cotton and the nightmare she’d had kept haunting her as she blinked rapidly to clear her vision in the bright light. Someone was speaking, but everything was too foggy for Hermione to fully comprehend what they were saying.
“ – we’d like to ask you some questions.”
She squinted against the lights, recognising the usually warm voice from her third year, “Professor,” Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the chair she was sitting on, but something twinged around her wrists and she felt the confiding bonds of a rope charm digging into her arm. She looked up at Remus with growing apprehension, “What’s happening?”
Her voice sounded off to her own ears and the way Remus looked down at her with a mixture of pity and disgust felt wrong and foreign. She was bound to a chair in a too bright, plain room while her mind couldn’t seem to clear the fog following her sleep. This was all wrong. Everything was wrong. “Remus? Where are we?” Her voice came out scratchy and weak, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time, or as if she'd been screaming.
Her old professor looked taken aback for a brief moment, but quickly composed himself with a quick cough, “Well, that information is unfortunately confidential. All I can say is that we’ve brought you in here for information. Can you answer some questions for us?”
Hermione hesitated, “I don’t understand.”
Remus sighed, looking like he was taking some pity on her, “We found you during a raid at Malfoy Manor. We were searching for someone and you were locked up and unconscious in the dungeons. Now, why would we find you there?"
Her memories of what had happened during the last few hours were vague at best; she remembered meeting up with the Order at Private Drive and taking Polyjuice with the others. Then her and Shacklebolt had separated from the others, but the Death Eaters had known of their plan and intercepted them both by shooting them down. Hermione didn’t remember much in between that and when they brought her to the Manor, just that when she’d finally woken up that terrible woman was pulling at her hair, forcing her to look into the face of Draco Malfoy who looked as terrified as she felt. Then... everything was blurry again, but she remembered some sort of incantation? Even though she didn’t have any experience with them she knew they were extremely powerful and had severe effects on the castees. The apprehension she’d previously felt grew tenfold as she understood that muddled thoughts were the least of her problems if she’d been exposed to one.
“A raid? Is everyone alright? Harry, Ron?”
Remus seemed reluctant all of a sudden, like the line of questions had thrown him off, but before Hermione could continue prodding a sharp rap on the door broke the built up tension between them and she frowned dejectedly as Remus went to open the door.
She couldn’t see who was standing in the doorway as Remus’ figure blocked the slight gap in the door, but she could hear furious whispering while Remus kept glancing back at Hermione with sceptical eyes.
After what seemed like forever, Remus closed the door with a sigh and turned to her with a searching look. “I think it’d be best,” he started, folding his hands in front of him, “if you disclosed everything that happened at the Manor, Draco.”
...
Draco was laying wide awake on top of a makeshift cot in a room which looked like it had previously been a small living room. Someone were whispering outside, but he didn’t recognise their voices. He didn’t dare move while there were still possibly hostile people nearby who might hear him roam about, especially when he didn’t know why they’d brought him wherever they were in the first place.
He felt strange where he was lying on the thin mattress. He had barely noticed previously during the attack on his home, but now that he had time to think and take in all the impressions something felt... off. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but the way his chest felt heavy and how the blankets hugged him just felt wrong. Everything within him itched to take full inventory of himself, to check for injuries, but to his utter frustration the people outside seemed like they weren't wavering from their post any time soon. They had been there since he woke up but no one had come in to check on him either.
Draco bit his lip unsure as he felt his patience wearing thin. The people outside kept talking, surely they wouldn’t notice if he moved out of bed... Before he could think about his decision or change his mind he slid from underneath the covers and let his bare feet hit the cold, wooden floorboards.
The room was only dimly lit and he had to squint as he tiptoed across the small space towards the window. From there Draco could see a narrow street lined with houses and lamp posts illuminating the pavements were a woman was walking her dog. It was a muggle neighbourhood he realised, but that was not what made him freeze in terror.
In the darkness his reflection was barely there, but the features he could distinguish in the faint light wasn't any he recognised as his own. He leaned in closer to get a better look and realised to his horror that even though the reflection wasn’t his it was still rather familiar.
“Granger?” he whispered and gingerly touched the cold glass, but then wished he hadn’t as he watched the Granger in the mirror imitate the action, and their fingers touched on the cool glass and his eyes fell on his hand.
He withdrew as if burnt and cradled his wrist which was far too petite or feminine to be his. And then he became aware of all the other irregularities as well. How soft curls tickled his face and how he felt shorter, lighter. The heaviness of his chest suddenly made a lot more sense.
“Mirror. I need a mirror.” He muttered to himself and the sinking feeling in his gut only worsened as he heard the obnoxious timbre of Hermione Granger’s voice.
Draco no longer cared if he was making a ruckus as he stumbled around the room on unfamiliar feet. He was suddenly all too aware that his sense of balance was off as he tripped on his feet and fell towards the floor with a loud thud.
He lay on the floor stunned as wild hair splayed around him like a fan and he tried to process what had just happened. He was Hermione Granger. He tugged at the dark curls and felt the painful sting in his own scalp. This was the Mudblood’s hair, but now it was attached to him.
This wasn’t Polyjuice. As much as he wished it was, something within him knew it wasn’t. It was something else, something darker.
His throat went dry as reality dawned on him. He was Hermione Granger; a Mudblood, a know-it-all, a girl.
Draco Malfoy screamed.
...
“Please listen to me! You have to believe me, Remus!”
Hermione could tell that she sounded desperate, could hear it in the voice that was coming out in a terrifying rush but wasn’t hers. The sharp baritone was one she knew all too well and belonged to a boy that had tormented her for years. A boy she'd in return loathed for each snide and prejudiced comment and jab he’d ever made towards her and her friends.
Remus was giving her a critical look as she frantically tried to explain a situation she herself didn't understand, but he hadn’t interrupted her once during her account of what had happened. He had looked briefly surprised when she had told him about the plan to disguise seven people as Harry Potter to evade Voldemort, but had turned grave when she explained that the Death Eaters had shot down the thestral Kingsley and her had been flying on and brought her to the Manor. The dark look had deepened as she kept retelling what she remembered from Malfoy Manor and when she’d gotten to the part of the incantation Remus had shot out of his chair. Hermione couldn’t tell if he believed her or if he was upset with what he thought were lies.
Remus stood there fuming, looking everywhere but at her. She’d hardly ever seen her old professor like this, all twisted up with anger and sadness. Her panicked up as she understood that it might not be her that were the root to all of Remus’ troubles.
“Is everyone else okay? Harry? Ron? Tonks?”
Remus seemed to have a hard time in composing himself, but he squared his shoulders and sat back down with the same tired, neutral mask he’d worn earlier.
“They’re fine.” He replied shortly, “Though as you probably gathered, we ran into the same problems as... yourself.” He bit out the last part, as if it was hard to him to say out loud.
“Remus.” She drew a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She needed that sharp mind everyone credited her as the smartest witch of her age. “I understand this is all a lot, and impossible to believe, but I –,”
The door open with a bang, making both Hermione and Remus jump in fright and turn to stare at the intruder. In the doorway stood Madeye Moody, his blue eyes swivelling in its’ socket before landing on Hermione who suddenly felt very naked and exposed under the scrutiny.
“There is something you should see.”