The Price of Harry Potter

Chapter Seven: Oaths

Hermione stared at Draco, the semi-smirk on his lips slowly becoming a smile.

"Still in control?" he repeated.

"Yes," she breathed, leaning forward and kissing him. His arms came up around her and drew her to him, pressing her breasts against his torso. She could feel his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against hers, his warm breath on her cheek, making her shiver with delight. He eased his lips across hers, opening his mouth and running his tongue across her bottom lip.

Her mind was screaming No, no, stop! But her body disobeyed and her lips parted to allow his tongue entry, warm, soft, flavourless. At his touch her bones melted and she hung in his arms, supported by his body until he pulled away for a second time, more gently, his lips lingering against hers before leaving.

"Well..." he whispered. "How about that?"

Hermione couldn't speak. Had she just kissed him? What the hell did I do?

Somehow she didn't regret it, and from the smile on his face, neither did he. But, as she pulled him towards her again, deciding that actually this was not something that she was going to think about, he put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her, still looking into her eyes.

"You're drunk."

"I'm not."

"Oh, you are. Or you would never have let me kiss you, let alone kissed me back. I'm Draco Malfoy remember? You hate me."

"No I don't. You're not that bad," she said softly, lifting a hand to his smooth cheek. "I don't think that you are as cruel as you try to be."

His eyes hardened. "I'm not a misunderstood, waiting-to-be redeemed hero, Hermione. I am fully aware that I am ruthless. I do what I do for me, because it gives me the best options for the future. I don't care for the future of the human race, especially not Mudbloods. That's not what it's about. I'm incapable of love."

"No, you're not," she replied with a smile. Her vision was blurring slightly from the alcohol and she had to steady herself on his shoulder to stay upright. Shit, I have drunk too much. But I mean what I'm saying. I'm not that drunk! Her brain argued, trying to convince herself. She looked up at Draco again, somehow he had moved, and was now standing beside the bench, his grey eyes blazing.

"I could love you, Draco."

He didn't move. Not a flicker of a reaction in his face.

"Hermione, don't fool yourself," he said coldly. "I think I need to remind you of something." Ever so gently, but detached, he helped her to her feet and, supporting her just in case with an arm around her waist, drew her over to the window.

The snow coated everything that she could see white, bleeding grey and brown in places where it was melting into slush and the pureness of the colour was affected. Below them, through a gap in between the trees, Hermione could see the ponies that she had fed the other day.

She wondered if they got cold, even though she was inside, she was shivering, although this was perhaps due to the fact that Draco was pressed up against her back, preventing her from moving.

"Are you watching?" he hissed into her ear.

She nodded, confused and unsure as to what it was she was supposed to be watching.

She could see the tip of his wand out of the corner of her eye, but she focused instead out the window, suspecting that she should be looking out for something. Cold dread filled her to the brim and she suddenly, desperately needed to get out of the treehouse. She needed to run, but Draco's body was like steel behind her, preventing her escape.

"Let me go," she whimpered, hating herself for being so feeble. "I'm going to be sick."

"I haven't done anything yet," he replied, sinuously. "And where would you go?"

He was right, which certainly didn't make her feel any better.

"You could love me," he repeated her words back to her, his lips warm on the back of her neck. Somehow the sentiment seemed twisted, and Hermione cursed her foggy brain. What's going on? "You said that you could." The tip of his tongue grazed her ear, making her knees weaken and the panic intensify. "Sweet, sweet, Hermione. Don't be distracted. Look out the window."

She tried to do as he said, beads of cold sweat forming on her forehead with exhaustion, just the exertion of standing here immobile, terrified and desperately confused, not sure if she wanted to turn and kiss him or push him to the floor and run. The contemplation was pointless anyway as he held her so firmly that she had no option but to stand there, where he wanted her.

He kissed the back of her neck and murmured something she couldn't hear into her skin. There was a flash of light, sickly green. She knew instantly what he had said. With the realisation, her vision cleared.

For a beautiful, frozen, immobile second she thought that nothing had changed. His lips were still caressing the back of her neck, her hands were still tightly gripping the window frame, the snow was still blighting the landscape and the ponies.

The ponies were dead.

* * *

Hermione had always thought that shock could bring instant soberness, but it didn't. Confusion and horror mingled in her head as Draco allowed her to pull free. She stood in the centre of the room, breathing heavily, watching him watch her.

"You killed them."

"Don't fall in love with me, Hermione."

* * *

She was crying by the time they got back to the manor. Some Christmas. She went straight upstairs, not caring that Narcissa had supper ready.

She heard Lucius come out into the hall to confront Draco about his curse. "Careful... waste... pointless... checks..."

She didn't hear Draco's reply. But she heard Lucius's angry response to his son's words.

"Don't give a damn! It's gone too far now. Fuck her if you want but don't let her renege on our agreement."

In fury, Hermione leant over the banister and spat down, "Don't worry, Lucius. You will get your Harry, much good may it do you!"

Then she slammed her door and sank to the floor sobbing. Why don't you just leave these people? part of her asked. I want my family back. Will they ever give you that? Is it worth the risk?

She though of her mother, her father, Ron, his family, all that she had lost. Yes it was worth the risk.

She pulled herself together, washed her face and went back downstairs.

She didn't notice what she ate. She didn't speak. Neither did the Malfoys. Lucius was drinking. Hermione's head was beginning to throb. She drank too, trying to forget, knowing that it was the wrong thing to do, but beyond caring.

* * *

It was dark when she woke and she hurt with an indescribable intensity. Moving her head made every nerve in her body scream and she felt like she would throw up, so she closed her eyes again.

Then she became aware of an arm holding her still. Her first thought was panic and fear, remembering Draco in the treehouse. Then she realised that the arm wasn't pinning her down, it was carelessly draped across her waist. This scared her even more. She had been very drunk the night before... surely she wouldn't have...

She turned very slowly so as not to disturb the other sleeper until she had seen who it was. She feared it was Draco. Even more worryingly she was lying in what appeared to be Draco's bed in Draco's room. She sat up in horror and the movement woke the youth who lay beside her.

He murmured something blearily. She gaped at him and as he continued to wade towards wakefulness an expression of realisation dawned on his beautiful face. From comprehension came a smile and then it twisted into a smirk.

Hermione's heart was still thumping. "What am I doing here?" she asked breathlessly.

"Sitting. And you were sleeping a few minutes ago I would guess," he replied smarmily.

"And last night?"

"I carried you up here when you passed out in the dining room. I don't have a key to your room and I figured that you would be more comfortable here than on the sofa."

She watched his face for any evidence that he was lying. There wasn't any.

"What about all the spare rooms that you have?"

He shrugged with a smile. "I'm human: not a saint. I wanted to sleep with you against me."

She shuddered. "If you so much as..."

"Come on, Hermione. Even I wouldn't do that. I'm a Malfoy."

"You killed all those ponies yesterday," she said pointedly. "I don't know what you would and wouldn't do. You seem pretty ruthless to me. And I heard what your father said last night."

"Hermione. I will put it in its simplest terms: I would love to fuck you. But I would take pride in seducing you. Rape takes no skill."

There was a ring of truth in his callous words, but she was not about to give him any credit for honour. She clambered off the bed, relieved to see that she was still fully dressed, if somewhat rumpled, in her clothes from the night before.

She stalked across to the door and looked back at where he lay languorously on the bed. "Thank you for your assistance."

She was about three paces down the corridor when she heard his voice. "Don't forget that it's Boxing Day." She wasn't sure why that mattered, but his voice continued, "Father's crowd are coming over tonight."

Father's crowd. The Death Eaters. Oh yes, now she remembered.

* * *

Hermione, in all the goings on the day before, had forgotten the sword. But the Malfoys hadn't.

"So this is our little protégée," a tall bald man with noxious breath wheezed in her face when they were introduced.

Lucius smiled his most charming smile and moved her on, another Death Eater, another introduction. They treated her with gracious kindness, as an equal, almost as an honoured guest.

In the company of this nefarious nobility, Draco kept his head low. Hermione was amazed to discover that she missed him. As disconcerted as she felt in his presence, it was a comfort in comparison to how she felt when exposed and vulnerable in the centre of a room of Voldemort's elite. It could have been any of the men - or women, Hermione was a firm believer that women were capable of anything that men were - who had killed her parents. And Ron, and the other Weasleys. But she couldn't think about that now, not if she wanted them back. And she did, so she kept her teeth gritted and smiled politely at the loathsome guests.

Draco's arm slid around her waist from behind as she passed the buffet table. To her surprise it felt nice and she sagged against his chest as he whispered in her ear. "They are going to get out the sword in a minute. Agree to everything they ask. They won't initiate you tonight, not when we are only days away from the New Year. They'll wait until then. Especially if your initiation can be in front of Harry," she stiffened at the thought, "Don't bate their anger. Keep them pacified then slip away when they lose interest and carry on drinking."

And he obviously knew how they thought, because less than ten minutes later Narcissa called Hermione over to her. Whispered charms calmed Hermione's hair in a way that she herself had never managed and rumples were smoothed from the black dress that she had chosen. (She had debated wearing the scarlet silk that still hung unworn in the extensive wardrobe, but had decided that Gryffindor colours might antagonise the Death Eaters. She wanted to be as insignificant as possible tonight.)

"They are going to ask you to chose to be initiated," Narcissa told Hermione when she had the girl looking to her satisfaction. "You will, of course, agree and be honoured."

Hermione nodded, glad that Draco had warned her. Did she trust Draco's word that they wouldn't initiate her tonight? Did she have any other choice? Maybe she would be able to get her parents resurrected before her initiation the following week. Maybe.

"Good," Narcissa said, pleased. She gave Hermione the first genuine smile that Hermione had ever seen on the woman's face. Then Lucius came over and led Hermione to the centre of the room. The ceremonial sword was in his hand.

"Open your mouth." Lucius told Hermione. She didn't mean to obey, but her lips parted and he placed the tip of the blade on her tongue. It was cold, so very cold. It made Hermione think of the numbing injections that her parents had used before tooth extraction.

"Do you wish to be initiated as a member of the Order of Voldemort?"

How could she refuse when she had a gigantic sword poking her mouth?"

"Yes," she whispered around the metal.

"Repeat after me: I, Hermione Granger, renounce the false order and pledge my life, soul and magic to the service of Lord Voldemort and the study of the True Art."

Hermione looked at the gathered Death Eaters around her. Their eyes, determined, glowing, malicious, were focussed on her. "I, Hermione Granger, renounce ...the false order and pledge my life, soul and magic to the service of Lord Voldemort and," she stopped, stuttered and continued, "... the study of the True Art."

A jolt of pain shot through her body, ice cold and stinging. Her sight went black.

* * *

She came around dizzily, her head hurt and she thought that she would throw up, and she had an ironic sense of déjà vu. Draco's voice broke through to her consciousness.

"Hermione?"

She opened her eyes and his face came looming out of the dark, swimming into focus.

"Hermione are you okay? Oh, Hermione." His arms came up around her, rocking her gently. "You did well, Hermione. I won't let them hurt you. I promise I won't let them hurt you."