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As far as being held captive went, it was a dream, really.
The war had been cruel and unkind to everyone. Hermione knew she had been lucky so far, this included.
The dungeons of Malfoy Manor were cold and hard, but they were far from a nightmare.
It helped, of course, when your captor was your secret boyfriend. It helped more when your secret boyfriend had only become a Death Eater to help you win the war.
It had been hard for Harry and Ron to understand at the time; why Hermione had given him a chance.
She had begun spying on him in sixth year. He was up to something– that much she had known– and she had been determined to figure out what exactly it was.
What she found was a boy, broken and scared, following orders from a Dark Lord. The alternative? The death of his mother, the only person who had ever truly loved him.
And so she helped him. Hermione Granger did what she does best and helped Draco Malfoy.
His success in his tasks earned him a Dark Mark. But it was strictly for vanity.
Over the months they spent together, sneaking around and scheming, the two of them found love exactly where it wasn’t supposed to be. In each other.
Draco had joined the Order officially during the trio’s short time at Hogwarts during seventh year.
To any passersby not privy to the Order’s new spy, they were still on opposite sides of the war. But in reality, they were fighting for the same thing: a way out, alive, together.
When the Snatchers had snuck up on them that day, Hermione knew where they had come from and where they were going, thanks to Draco’s insider knowledge. She knew she would be fine if they took her. So she pushed Harry and Ron out of the way, throwing a Portkey at them at the very last second. She was nearly splinched as the Snatchers apparated her to Malfoy Manor.
She’d been lucky, yet again, that she had been captured when she was. Had it been just a few months earlier, Lucius would have been the man of the house still. But Voldemort had driven him to madness. He was skittish now– his brain damaged from all the Cruciatus Curses. Narcissa kept him upstairs, waiting on him with the help of the house elves. The Malfoys were holding their breath; The Dark Lord could put Lucius out of his misery at any moment.
With the Manor completely under Draco’s control, Hermione had escaped all torture thus far.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there– a week? Maybe two?
A part of her… a very guilt-ridden, shameful part of her, felt relieved.
In the Malfoy dungeon, she was brought food and drink by the elves. She was kept company by Draco, who visited every moment he found himself free. She was free of the shackles, allowed to roam freely around the dark floor, exercise, and was brought any book she requested from the library by Narcissa. In the Malfoy dungeon, she was free from the war.
If Draco had his way, she’d be held captive in his room. But Voldemort was due any day now to check in on things. If he found the Mudblood in Draco’s bed, pampered and loved, Draco would be dead.
It was for safety, her stay in the dungeons. But it didn’t stop Draco from destroying himself with guilt. Each time he came to visit her, he looked worse. Sunken eyes, gaunt cheekbones, and long hair. Narcissa had attempted to cut it a few weeks ago, but she’d just left it uneven and choppy.
He’d been in communication with Ron and Harry, trying to stage the perfect rescue. Trying to get Hermione out of there in the most convincing, least suspicious way they could manage.
When he walked in now, she knew they’d made no progress. The look on his face was bereft. His footsteps were slow and careful. He was approaching her like a dog with his tail between his legs.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she told him, sitting up against the wall that got the most light from the door he’d left ajar. She patted the ground, motioning to sit next to her.
If she knew him at all, he hadn’t sat down in days. To her surprise, he obliged, setting himself down beside her.
He had been very strict during her time here. Voldemort was notorious for using Legilimency on his victims. Hermione was a very skilled Occlumens, he knew, so she was able to fabricate many of her memories if they were looked upon by a Legilimens. But it was mostly the overall tone of the memories she was able to alter. Draco could come in and talk to her, but never kiss her or hold her hand or even sit with her like this. If he was towering over her, she’d be able to make it seem like he was talking down to her. Remove his real words like she hadn’t been listening or inject fear into the memory.
She knew he wanted to be close to her, but he had been so strong up until now. He was so different from the boy she’d become friends with in sixth year. Once a cowardly, fragile child looking for guidance; now a strong, disciplined man who would not let his own desires put others in danger.
Though she was comforted by warmth beside her now, his lack of resistance raised a red flag.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her heartbeat suddenly in her ears.
He looked at her, his icy blue eyes swimming with sorrow.
“Harry and Ron can be here by tonight– tomorrow the latest,” he told her.
Her stomach did a flip and she perked up, straightening out her posture against the hard stone wall. She would be thrilled to see her friends again. But the feeling stirring inside her could also be interpreted as dread. Dread of being away from Draco again. At least here, she knew he was safe. At least here, she was safe.
“That’s– that’s great,” she breathed. “Isn’t it?”
“It would be,” Draco croaked. “But I’ve gotten word the Dark Lord is coming as well. I don’t know if they’ll beat him here or not.”
“You have to tell them,” Hermione said urgently. Pathetically. Of course he had told them already.
“I have. They hope to meet him. Catch him off guard,” he continued. “I told them they were being bloody idiots, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“That’s just like Harry,” she sighed.
Always walking right into danger, even when he knew it was a trap. Even when he knew he was putting his very life at risk. Anything for the upper hand against Voldemort.
“It’s anyone's guess how he’s still alive,” Draco shook his head.
They sat in silence for a while. At first, Hermione was devising a plan. Could they fight Voldemort? Hold him off just to have enough time to get out of the Manor? Could this be exactly what they’d been hoping for? The Dark Lord would see with his own two eyes that Harry and Ron had come to take Hermione by force. They’d stun Draco– make it impossible for him to fight them.
But if Voldemort got here first…
“I need to start fortifying my memories,” Hermione realized. “How long do you think I have?”
Draco didn’t reply. Instead, his head simply rolled against the wall to look towards her. He picked up one of her hands gingerly and kissed the back of it. Without thinking, Hermione swiped it from his grasp.
“What are you doing?” she asked frantically, sliding away from him on the floor.
“You have no time, Hermione,” Draco told her, his eyes fixated on the dusty stones of the floor between them. “You can just show them to him as they are.”
“What? Why would I–”
“He gave me an assignment, Hermione.”
Her hands were shaking now. No matter how closely she held them to her chest, they trembled uncontrollably. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely think straight. Was the room spinning?
“Draco?” she asked, her voice echoing through the dungeon.
“Have you heard stories? From Lavender and Cho? Luna?” he questioned, his voice thick.
Hermione wracked her thoughts.
Lavender? Cho? Luna?
Those were the names of all of the female Order members who had been captured thus far. They’d all been liberated, but they weren’t without scars.
Was that what he meant? Voldemort had ordered Draco to hurt her? She could take it. It would be hard for him, but she could take it.
There was something else… something Luna had said in her dreamy haze that had made Lavender and Cho fall into an uncomfortable silence upon their first meeting back after being rescued. What had she said again?
… He was quite gentle, though I do wish he would have talked a little less, he had a rather jarring voice.
A gasp escaped Hermione. Luna’s words made sense now. She hadn’t put it together before… she’d just been so happy to have her back safely.
“So… so what now, then?” she asked, her eyes searching his face quickly.
Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“You know what he’ll do to me, Hermione,” Draco said. He was close to tears now. “When he sees I haven’t– I haven’t– our time is up.”
“What?” she asked, bringing herself to her knees. He couldn’t possibly be saying what she thought he was. She crawled closer to him, closing the space she had just created a few moments ago. “ No. No, you will not die for me, Draco Malfoy.”
He finally turned towards her, meeting her eyes with a sad smile.
“I would rather die for you than for nothing at all,” he said softly.
Now tears were streaming down her face. She’d beaten him to it– she would cry enough tears for the both of them. There was no easing into it; her body was immediately convulsing, sobbing hiccoughs getting caught in her throat.
“And what about me?” she asked. “I need you. I need you to live. I don’t want to walk the world without you.”
His expression told her that there was nothing to be done. He had made up his mind on the matter.
“Don’t you love me?” she squeaked, her voice nearly silent.
Draco’s head fell back against the wall sharply.
“Of course I do,” he said firmly, his brows furrowing together in frustration. “That’s why I can’t. If I do this… how could you believe me?”
Hermione let out a manic laugh, her tears spilling into her open mouth.
“Give me some credit, Draco,” she begged him. “I will always believe you. For as long as you’re alive, I will always believe you. But you need to be that– alive. This is easier than torturing me, isn’t it?”
“Hermione…” he began. His eyes burned holes through hers as she waited for his next words. It felt like ages until he spoke again. “I’m a virgin.”
She collapsed over herself, pressing her head to her knees in the fetal position. She should have known… The one thing that could have made this situation worse. But it wasn’t his fault. Their luck was simply running out.
The whole house must have heard her crying. Narcissa, the elves, even Lucius. Her sobs rang like a banshee against the empty walls of the dungeon.
“Please,” she wailed, reaching her hand up to clutch Draco’s arm. “Don’t end it this way. You don’t have to die. We’re so lucky– I’m so lucky it’s you. I know this isn’t how it should be, but it’s still me. Make love to me, Draco. I’ll be your first, I’ll be your last, I’ll be–”
Then his hands were gripping her shoulder firmly, pulling her up to a sitting position again. His hands wiped tears from her cheeks vainly. New ones simply replaced them seconds later. His lips parted, and she got to see that sweet look in his eyes again. The way his pupils always dilated for her before he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
No. No, this was bad.
She’d have to erase this memory; lock it away good with the rest of them.
“I’d have to have my mask on, Hermione,” he said against her lips when he finally pulled away.
“I know,” she hiccoughed.
“And you’re still sure?” Draco asked.
She nodded quickly.
“It’s not about me, Draco, it’s about you. I’m so sorry it has to be like this. But I’ll make it up to you, I’ll– I’ll,” she was breathless and he was stealing kisses between her fragmented words. Sloppy, wet, devastating kisses. “We’re going to survive this war and you’re going to get down on one knee and ask me to marry you and I’m going to say yes and we will be so happy and safe and I’ll show you what it’s supposed to be like, but Draco, you have to do this one thing, and I’m so sorry. We have to do it the wrong way first.”
“Okay,” he said, his breath ghosting across her lips.
She cried even harder as Draco took her face in both of his hands and kissed her with more fervor. She was about to deflower the love of her life, in a dungeon while he wore the uniform he hated, as his prisoner.
When he disconnected their lips again, he looked at her with wide eyes, waiting for guidance.
Hermione searched the filthy floor around her until she found what she was looking for. Shackles. Heavy, iron-clad things attached to the wall with a hefty chain. She pressed them into his hands, then offered her own, her wrists pressed together.
With a heavy sigh, Draco clamped the shackles around her and locked them with a tap of his wand.
Hermione lowered herself onto her back, shimmying so that she was away from the wall, her bound hands suspended above her head. She watched as Draco’s throat bobbed nervously. He flicked his wand towards the dungeon door, slamming it shut. Then he brandished it over his face, his Death Eater mask materializing along with leather gloves covering his hands.
Her breath hitched as he mounted her, resting his hips atop hers.
This was not how it should have happened.
She should have been excited– to show him her breasts, to wrap her lips around his cock, to know what he felt like inside her.
Instead, it felt somber as he ripped her shirt in half from the bottom to the collar, bearing her chest to him.
His eyes were bright enough to be seen in the darkness and they’re the most familiar sight she’ll ever look upon. It was still him. It was still her. She would not let Voldemort take this away from them.
She let out a whine as his glove-clad hand palmed her breast. She’d been waiting for this moment for so long. They’d felt each other up through their clothes plenty of times, but there had never been the opportunity to go all the way.
The Dark Lord had ordered Draco to fuck her. He never said that she couldn’t enjoy it.
And for Draco’s sake, she would.
She bit her lip and arched into his touch, hoping the sight would entice and comfort him. Not that she’d look too sexy with her wild hair on the filthy floor, her eyes swollen from crying, and the rest of her unshaved and unprepared. But Draco loved her. So it should be good either way.
His hand massaged her breast before he flicked his finger over her nipple, the seam of the fabric catching and making her gasp. Then his fingers traveled down her stomach, the skin there twitching at his touch. He dipped them beneath the hem of her trousers, and Hermione took the liberty of bucking her hips upward into him. She watched as his cock hardened beneath the fabric.
Good . At least he wanted it. At least it would feel good for him physically.
He pulled her trousers down, exposing her skin inch by inch to the coldness of the dungeon. He threw them to the side, turning back to examine her matronly plaid knickers. In her defense, she hadn’t been aware that she’d needed to wear lingerie to get captured by some Snatchers.
Draco pulled those off too, and suddenly Hermione was naked on the dungeon floor, completely exposed to the elements. Naked in front of the one man she’d been dreaming of shagging for years now.
He crouched down, the mouth hole of his Death Eater mask level with her cunt, like he was going to eat her out. Instead, the cold metal of it dragged along her clit, producing a string of whines from her throat at the sensation. She was throbbing down there now.
She watched, allowing her arousal to grow as he unzipped his own trousers and pulled his pants down. Out sprung his cock, which she moaned at the sight of. It was just like the rest of him. Pale, beautiful, and pure. He was uncut, his foreskin bunching up at the base of his erection, like it was revealing a treasure sealed within.
He began pumping himself and Hermione’s eyes were glued to the sight in a trance.
“You gonna take my cock, Granger?” he asked.
Her eyes fluttered up to meet his, forgetting the situation they had found themselves in. Gods, she wanted him to talk dirty to her when she could look up and see his face, not a cold metal shell. She clamped her eyes shut.
“Say it again,” she told him quietly. She could use this for the memory.
Draco cleared his throat. “Gonna take my cock, Granger?” His voice was demanding. He’d caught on to her little game.
She nodded.
“I’ll take it, Malfoy,” she responded, making herself sound frightened. “Just– just don’t hurt me.”
Of course he wouldn’t. But she had to seem at least a little skeptical.
Draco cast a silent lubrication charm, the sudden wetness between Hermione’s legs making her squirm.
Then he was lined up at her entrance and she was bracing herself; holding her breath. She felt him hesitate, so she threw her eyes open. She nodded, giving him a final nudge.
As he pushed into her, his groans and gasps were primal, and her heart broke for him. His first time…
Okay, she could manage a little more manipulation with the memory.
“You feel really good, Draco,” she said sweetly, and honestly, too. He’d bottomed out and fit perfectly inside. Her walls hugged his cock like they’d been expecting its arrival. “And I would have asked you to tie me up anyway.”
She forced out a laugh. She wasn’t lying, but perhaps right now was not the best time to be revealing her kinks.
“Gods, Hermione…” he rasped. “You’re– you’re everything .”
She had to bite her lip to stop her tears from flowing again. He was so honest. So innocent.
He began to thrust inside her, albeit slowly and without rhythm. His body came down to rest on hers, weighing her down with a comfortable familiarity.
Draco breathed in her ear, the sound of it reverberating off the inside of his mask. His longer hairs escaped and brushed against her face. Hermione sighed with pleasure.
It was him. It was her boy. Making love to her, finally .
Draco used one hand to prop himself up with, the other finding hers in the shackles above her head. He Intertwined their fingers, and a single tear rolled down her face.
It felt so fucking good. So right. She was so loved.
But she couldn’t afford to be loved at this moment.
“Draco,” she whispered. “Not like this. I can only fabricate so much. You have to make it believable.”
He sighed defeatedly in her ear, but listened to her, nonetheless, sitting himself back up on his knees. He pulled her flush up against him by her thighs, letting her ankles hang over his shoulders.
She slid slightly back and forth on the floor with each pump of his cock inside her and she could feel him struggling against her clenching cunt. It still wasn’t enough. It was still too perfect.
Hermione craned her neck, exposing the tender skin to Draco.
He got the hint and closed his gloved hand around her throat. That was it; the winning shot. This was what Voldemort would want to see: a Death Eater’s fist around her neck, the Dark Mark on display right in front of her face as Draco’s sleeve rolled up and exposed it.
But his touch was still too light. His gaze was too adoring.
“Call me what you used to in school,” she said quietly.
This time, he ignored her. Not a single sound left his mouth.
“Draco,” she tried again. “Please. Say it.”
There was a sharp inhale of air into his nose. Then his voice came, weak and unsure.
“Mudblood,” he said.
“Like you mean it,” Hermione begged.
His hand tightened around her throat and she arched her back more in response.
“ Filthy. little. Mudblood, ” Draco spat, raising his voice. “How does it feel to be fucked by someone like me? Do you like the way my pureblood cock feels inside your filthy Mudblood cunt ?”
The venom in his words made him sound like his third year self all over again. Hermione yelped, surprised at his conviction, before letting a groan rumble in her throat.
She felt… well, she would never tell him, but her cunt twitched at his words. Throbbed at his dominance. Her hands flexed with desire inside the shackles as she stifled a long moan.
Instead, she let out more whines and whimpers to let him know that he was doing perfectly. He seemed to gain some confidence from this, as his thrusts increased in both force and tempo and his hold on her got tighter. To her satisfaction, he kept one hand around her neck, which was already burning under his grasp, the other gripping the thickest part of her thigh. Even through his gloves, his touch was comforting. Stabilizing. Erotic. Safe.
Their eyes met again and a content sigh left Draco. His pupils were blown out, leaving just a thin circle of icy blue. As Hermione stared into them, she could nearly imagine the mask falling away.
Beneath it, the pale skin of her lover, smooth and glowing. His pointy nose looking down at her. His longer strands of hair falling into his face. And his lips… she’d be able to see his soft, pink lips, like a blush upon his face, parted for her.
‘I love you,’ she mouthed.
She could see his eyebrows raise beneath the mask. His facial expression was softening. He would say it back if he could.
His cock began pulsing, hitting that spot deep inside her, bringing her close to the edge. She moaned and focused on her breathing, being sure not to lose the momentum. She would finish for him.
He was filling her up so good, like a mold made just for her. They fit together in so many other ways– of course they fit together like this, too.
The pounding of his hips against hers was soon accompanied by leather-clad fingers brushing over her clit, and she choked out a sob of pleasure. Draco’s hand twitched around her neck, giving her that one last push that she needed.
She came hard, seeing stars in the dark room around her. Her body jerked under him erratically, and the chain of the shackles clambered against the wall. Along with the release, tears spilled out of her eyes, clouding her vision.
The new sensation of a woman orgasming on his cock must have been a lot for him to handle, as he came shortly after her, letting out a guttural grunt as he pulled out of her. His cum trickled onto her stomach, leaving it warm and tingling.
Draco allowed Hermione a moment to finish embedding the memory into her mind. Then, he banished the mess, casting a cleaning spell over her stomach and cunt. He removed his gloves to slide her knickers back on with gentle fingers. Then her trousers. Finally, he mended her shirt, stitching it back up the middle with a wave of his wand. Her shackles fell off, hitting the ground with a loud clatter and Hermione quickly wiped her tears away.
She finished buttoning up her trousers as she watched Draco tuck himself back into his own. He sat next to her on the floor, finally removing his mask and raking a large hand through his hair.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she breathed heavily. “The tears weren’t bad tears. You felt really good… and we’re safe.”
He nodded.
“Are you okay?” she asked when he said nothing else.
“Yeah,” he replied, reaching forward and grabbing her hand. He brought it up to his mouth again and peppered it with kisses. “We’re safe. And it was still you.”
Hermione threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, relishing the way that he felt against her, though he used to be more muscular and toned before they parted in seventh year. She’d feel his body flex beneath her hands and struggle to meet her arms entirely around his back. Now he was leaner, and she overlapped her fingers easily. But he still smelled like new parchment and spearmint. He still felt like everything was going to be okay.
“I’m so sorry it had to happen like that,” she sighed. “I hope you still love me the same.”
“I hope you still love me the same,” he repeated.
“Don’t do this, okay? I know you’re going to drown yourself in guilt and try to hide it from me,” Hermione said. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about. I asked you to live and you did that for me. Thank you.”
Draco was silent. He simply dropped his head onto hers, nestling his chin into her curls. His fingers ghosted the back of her neck, touching her like she was fragile, the way he always did.
He stayed down there with her for the rest of the day. He summoned Wizard Chess for them to play, they ate their dinner from the elves together, and even drifted off into the best sleep Hermione had gotten for a while.
She was awoken by Narcissa’s shouts.
“ Draco!” she called, her voice tired and raspy.
He was on his feet in seconds.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, picking up the shackles and placing them on Hermione once more. “He’s here.”
Hermione’s stomach twisted so violently she thought she might be sick right on the spot. Draco kissed her on the head before running out of the dungeon.
She sat alone in darkness, timing the pace of her heart before he returned. She had to trust her Occlumency skills. Had to trust that she could do this.
The already freezing dungeon dropped a few degrees as Draco came back through the door, Voldemort flanking him.
The Dark Lord was a blinding shade of white and a hideous sight to look upon. He resembled nothing more than bones in an oversized cloak. His foul face turned into a smile as he glided across the floor to where Hermione was sitting.
“The Mudblood has been here, my Lord,” Draco told him. “She cries loudly and often.”
It didn’t hurt Hermione to hear Draco talk about her like that. At the very least, it made her proud. She knew how hard it was for him to say something cruel about her these days. It wasn’t uncommon that he’d have breakdowns about his behavior towards her when they were children. He tried to shower her in nothing but compliments and pet names after their friendship had blossomed.
He was a man riddled with guilt.
“Let’s see then…” Voldemort began, crouching down to reach eye level with Hermione.
With a terrible grimace and the twisting of his wand, he was in her head, a sharp, searing pain cutting through the middle of her forehead. Hermione yelled out in agony, her head jerking backwards and hitting the stone wall.
He was more violent than anyone she’d ever practiced Occlumency with. She could barely see what he was doing– what he was looking at. It was like a feral beast on the loose behind her eyes.
After what felt like ages, the pain stopped, leaving a soreness in Hermione’s head. Once her vision cleared and her thoughts settled back to their original state, she realized that she was crying. And choking. Her throat was sore from the screams she hadn’t even realized she had been producing.
Voldemort’s face came into view once more, a hideous, rotted smile plastered across it.
“It seems you two have been having some fun together, then,” he said, trailing a hand over Hermione’s calf. She jerked it out of his reach and saw Draco’s hands ball up into fists. Voldemort rose to his feet to address him directly. “Well done, Draco. I honestly didn’t think you had it in you. In fact, the other Death Eaters made bets–”
The Dark Lord froze in place, like he’d just turned into an ivory statue.
“My Lord?” Draco prompted after a moment of silence.
The smile on the devil’s face turned into a maniacal full-toothed grin.
“Harry Potter is just outside your wards,” he told Draco. “Open them up. Let him in.”
He strode quickly to the door, as if he was floating. Draco followed suit, only turning back towards Hermione when Voldemort was out of sight. He flicked his wand, dropping the shackles to the ground.
“I love you,” he said desperately.
“I know,” Hermione told him. “As long as you’re alive, I’ll know.”
His glance was lingering, his blue eyes watery until he turned away. Then she was in the dark again.
All Hermione could hear was glass shattering and Voldemort’s laughter. She bit her nails, desperate to join the fight. But that would only put Draco in danger.
The door to the dungeon swung open and she raced towards it, trying to see what was happening out there. It was hard to discern who anyone was, as black smoke and dust from the crumbling walls of the Manor fogged the entire room up.
Draco’s body flew past the open doorway, a stunner having hit him square in the chest. She gasped loudly, holding herself back from running to check on him.
“ Fuck!”
Harry’s voice.
“Harry?” she called.
“Hermione!” he yelled back, following the sound of her voice. Finally, he emerged from the haze and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. “We brought the whole Order. Voldemort fled. It’s time to go.”
“And Draco?” she asked, craning her neck to see where he had fallen. It was a wreck. She couldn’t spot him.
“Draco is safer here,” Harry told her. “Where it looks like he tried to stop us.”
There was a pop – and Malfoy Manor was spiraling away from her.