The Bottom Of Black
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
5,009
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
5,009
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Bottom Of Black
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
PS: /dfdafg/ are thoughts.
******************************************************
/Two years./
Draco lounged on the thick leather couch before the fire, absently changing the orange flame green then back again, thinking.
/Two years?/
He wasn’t much for anniversaries, but two years was difficult to just take out with the garbage. The fire licked against the granite stones encasing it from three sides. A lazy wave of his wand converted it to a sickly olive color. His eyes adjusted. He flicked his wand. Red and yellow sparks sprang from the depths of the fire as it paled white then sparkled golden-ginger once more.
/Today, of all days, had to be two years. My triumph softened because-/
“Grill!” He shouted to the air. A gnarled house elf appeared suddenly, bowing deeply to his master. “Get her dressed.” Grill opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and vanished with a pop instead. The fire glinted green yet again. Orange. Green. Orange. Then darkness.
Draco stood, tucked his wand inside his robes, and strode from the room.
/I need to see her./
***
It was cold, the goose bumps pocking her body told her so. It had been such long time since she’d registered the temperature of anything that only her skin acknowledged the chill. And it was dark, dark like a moonless night reflected in the pupil of one’s eye. Open or closed, her eyes saw no difference. She didn’t move. She tried not to breathe, waited until the last second when her lungs were bursting with protest and her heart pounded and her chest was caving in, then she’d gasp in air. It gave her a vague sort of optimism. She felt pain, and it gave her hope. She could still feel, damn them. They couldn’t break her.
Time was a whisper she could barely hear now. Day and night had no meaning without windows, and food was sporadic at best. No one ever saw her (not that she cared to be seen) or spoke to her. There was a flap in the door where grizzly mounds of muck heaped on to a bent pewter plate were slid in. She stopped eating it for a while. Whoever was feeding her didn’t care. She started eating again. Desperation, instinct, whatever you wanted to call it, kicked in.
She spent the hours reciting spells and facts out loud. No one heard her. She screamed sometimes. No one answered. Her hair was matted, her clothes taken from her, her body grimy and soiled. She wreaked, she knew, but she couldn’t have cared less.
Numb. There was nothing. She did not exist. She would die here. No one would notice.
***
The stairs seemed endless. Everywhere around Draco was solid rock hewn roughly into a stairwell that went down, down, down. Pity there was no spell to speed things up. He’d only been this far once, when she was first brought. He hadn’t seen her since, or heard anything spoken of her. Still, his mind bent to her against his will.
Finally, the stairs leveled into a hall, a long hall with few torches. He retrieved his wand. “Lumos.” More echoing steps forward. A room with a squalid house elf. “Nox. Is she ready?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Grill is with her now.”
Draco paced, surveying the room. It was bare except for a table in the corner and the door in front of him. “Does she speak?”
“Constantly, sir. Spells day in and out. Talks about Hogwarts. Potter. You, sir.”
“Me? What does she say about me?”
“Can’t make out nothing but yer name, sir.”
“I see.”
/Two years./
***
There was movement somewhere near her. She couldn’t see, of course, but she could feel the shifting air, hear the shuffled feet. It was terrifying.
“Who… who-”
“Put this on.” Something hit her leg. Something soft. She picked it up, felt it over in her hands. The sensation seemed new to her.
/Something soft./
“I can’t see.” Light, sudden blinding light, filled the room. She blinked hard. Her eyes adjusted. The garment in her hands was a grayish color, a smock. She looked down at herself. “Should I-”
The house elf grimaced- no, wait- it smiled. There was hardly a difference. “I’ll take care of that.” He waved his hand dramatically, and the grime of what felt like forever wiped itself clean of her body. The grungy dreadlocks in her hair untangled themselves and fell once again in gentle brown curls. He glanced around the room. Another histrionic gesture and the walls and floor scrubbed themselves clean, the furniture righted itself, the single torch above a table flared up. “Put it on.” The house elf vanished.
***
Grill appeared outside of the door. Draco watched him bow with cruel eyes. “Is she ready?”
Grill nodded. “Nearly, sir.”
“You may go.” Draco turned to the other elf. “Unlock this door.” It was done instantly.
***
A figure stepped into the threshold and looked her over. She tugged down the edges of the smock. It rode high on her hips, higher than she would have liked. The man looked familiar, like someone from a nightmare. He was a part of her past, she knew, but she couldn’t place him. His facial expression seemed somewhere between piteous and amused. “When I said ‘dressed’ I had hoped for something a bit more appropriate. But, what can you say to a house elf, yes?” She stared dumbly at him. “Well,” he stammered, seeming to lose some of his nerve, “here you are. It’s been years, hasn’t it?”
/His blonde hair, his pale skin, his smile.../
“Draco?” She whispered. It echoed, so unlike his words. “Draco… Malfoy?”
“Did you not remember me?” He took a step forward into the light, his figure sharpening both physically and in her mind. She lurched back against the wall.
“No… Was it… It couldn’t have been… you?” He moved toward her, his robes sweeping the floor. She pasted herself to the jagged rock behind her. “NO! Get away from me. Traitor! Liar! I hate you!” She turned as if to run, but there was nowhere. She slammed her fists into the wall. She wept, sobbed. “Get away from me…” She slid to the ground, still crying hard and loud. Tears littered her cheeks.
He was close now. And she couldn’t get away. She didn’t care anymore. She was still.
/Liar. Liar. Murderer. Traitor…/
The words marqueed around her mind as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and under her knees. He raised her up and took her from the room.
***
He carried her down the hall, up the stairs, through corridors, an impossible distance, but she was so light and his resolve was great.
Twenty minutes later found him laying her down on black sheets in his own room. She was still, curled up, tears silently wetting the pillow. He pulled up a chair and stared at her back. It moved slightly as she breathed, her backbone like a rope full of knots under the smock. This scene was unfit for her. She was more than this. At least, she had been more than this.
And in the privacy of his own room he would tell her.
/Finally tell her… Two years./
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I could do nothing. I have spent the last two years trying to get to you. I wanted to tell you everything. You wouldn’t have believed me, you wouldn’t have listened.”
Her voice was emotionless and low. “I’m listening now.”
So he told her. He told her about Ron’s betrayal, how Ron had tried to expose Draco as a spy for the light, how Ron had knelt before Voldemort and received the dark mark. He told her how close he had come to getting caught, how he had to pretend not to care when Death Eaters raped her, beat her, locked her in a cell in the darkest dungeon so that he could free her when the time was right. “They would have killed you, killed me. Then what good am I? I did it for us.” He told her how Ron died, how he snuck into Draco’s room and tried to slit his throat, how Draco had been ready with the killing curse, how Harry would never forgive either one of them. “He’s still alive. Harry is, I mean. I don’t know if you care, but he’s still everyone’s hero.” Then Draco told her about Voldemort, how Harry had killed him in one last duel to the death only yesterday, how the Death Eaters had surrendered, how the world was right again but no one was the same.
She shook, wracked with sobs, for what seemed like ages. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands watching her. She was nothing and everything like he had remembered her. “Hermione…”
**********************************************
R&R!! I know it's not much now, but if you like it I can add more. This is my first and I’ll need some reassurance. Thanks! -TooMuch
PS: /dfdafg/ are thoughts.
******************************************************
/Two years./
Draco lounged on the thick leather couch before the fire, absently changing the orange flame green then back again, thinking.
/Two years?/
He wasn’t much for anniversaries, but two years was difficult to just take out with the garbage. The fire licked against the granite stones encasing it from three sides. A lazy wave of his wand converted it to a sickly olive color. His eyes adjusted. He flicked his wand. Red and yellow sparks sprang from the depths of the fire as it paled white then sparkled golden-ginger once more.
/Today, of all days, had to be two years. My triumph softened because-/
“Grill!” He shouted to the air. A gnarled house elf appeared suddenly, bowing deeply to his master. “Get her dressed.” Grill opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and vanished with a pop instead. The fire glinted green yet again. Orange. Green. Orange. Then darkness.
Draco stood, tucked his wand inside his robes, and strode from the room.
/I need to see her./
***
It was cold, the goose bumps pocking her body told her so. It had been such long time since she’d registered the temperature of anything that only her skin acknowledged the chill. And it was dark, dark like a moonless night reflected in the pupil of one’s eye. Open or closed, her eyes saw no difference. She didn’t move. She tried not to breathe, waited until the last second when her lungs were bursting with protest and her heart pounded and her chest was caving in, then she’d gasp in air. It gave her a vague sort of optimism. She felt pain, and it gave her hope. She could still feel, damn them. They couldn’t break her.
Time was a whisper she could barely hear now. Day and night had no meaning without windows, and food was sporadic at best. No one ever saw her (not that she cared to be seen) or spoke to her. There was a flap in the door where grizzly mounds of muck heaped on to a bent pewter plate were slid in. She stopped eating it for a while. Whoever was feeding her didn’t care. She started eating again. Desperation, instinct, whatever you wanted to call it, kicked in.
She spent the hours reciting spells and facts out loud. No one heard her. She screamed sometimes. No one answered. Her hair was matted, her clothes taken from her, her body grimy and soiled. She wreaked, she knew, but she couldn’t have cared less.
Numb. There was nothing. She did not exist. She would die here. No one would notice.
***
The stairs seemed endless. Everywhere around Draco was solid rock hewn roughly into a stairwell that went down, down, down. Pity there was no spell to speed things up. He’d only been this far once, when she was first brought. He hadn’t seen her since, or heard anything spoken of her. Still, his mind bent to her against his will.
Finally, the stairs leveled into a hall, a long hall with few torches. He retrieved his wand. “Lumos.” More echoing steps forward. A room with a squalid house elf. “Nox. Is she ready?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Grill is with her now.”
Draco paced, surveying the room. It was bare except for a table in the corner and the door in front of him. “Does she speak?”
“Constantly, sir. Spells day in and out. Talks about Hogwarts. Potter. You, sir.”
“Me? What does she say about me?”
“Can’t make out nothing but yer name, sir.”
“I see.”
/Two years./
***
There was movement somewhere near her. She couldn’t see, of course, but she could feel the shifting air, hear the shuffled feet. It was terrifying.
“Who… who-”
“Put this on.” Something hit her leg. Something soft. She picked it up, felt it over in her hands. The sensation seemed new to her.
/Something soft./
“I can’t see.” Light, sudden blinding light, filled the room. She blinked hard. Her eyes adjusted. The garment in her hands was a grayish color, a smock. She looked down at herself. “Should I-”
The house elf grimaced- no, wait- it smiled. There was hardly a difference. “I’ll take care of that.” He waved his hand dramatically, and the grime of what felt like forever wiped itself clean of her body. The grungy dreadlocks in her hair untangled themselves and fell once again in gentle brown curls. He glanced around the room. Another histrionic gesture and the walls and floor scrubbed themselves clean, the furniture righted itself, the single torch above a table flared up. “Put it on.” The house elf vanished.
***
Grill appeared outside of the door. Draco watched him bow with cruel eyes. “Is she ready?”
Grill nodded. “Nearly, sir.”
“You may go.” Draco turned to the other elf. “Unlock this door.” It was done instantly.
***
A figure stepped into the threshold and looked her over. She tugged down the edges of the smock. It rode high on her hips, higher than she would have liked. The man looked familiar, like someone from a nightmare. He was a part of her past, she knew, but she couldn’t place him. His facial expression seemed somewhere between piteous and amused. “When I said ‘dressed’ I had hoped for something a bit more appropriate. But, what can you say to a house elf, yes?” She stared dumbly at him. “Well,” he stammered, seeming to lose some of his nerve, “here you are. It’s been years, hasn’t it?”
/His blonde hair, his pale skin, his smile.../
“Draco?” She whispered. It echoed, so unlike his words. “Draco… Malfoy?”
“Did you not remember me?” He took a step forward into the light, his figure sharpening both physically and in her mind. She lurched back against the wall.
“No… Was it… It couldn’t have been… you?” He moved toward her, his robes sweeping the floor. She pasted herself to the jagged rock behind her. “NO! Get away from me. Traitor! Liar! I hate you!” She turned as if to run, but there was nowhere. She slammed her fists into the wall. She wept, sobbed. “Get away from me…” She slid to the ground, still crying hard and loud. Tears littered her cheeks.
He was close now. And she couldn’t get away. She didn’t care anymore. She was still.
/Liar. Liar. Murderer. Traitor…/
The words marqueed around her mind as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and under her knees. He raised her up and took her from the room.
***
He carried her down the hall, up the stairs, through corridors, an impossible distance, but she was so light and his resolve was great.
Twenty minutes later found him laying her down on black sheets in his own room. She was still, curled up, tears silently wetting the pillow. He pulled up a chair and stared at her back. It moved slightly as she breathed, her backbone like a rope full of knots under the smock. This scene was unfit for her. She was more than this. At least, she had been more than this.
And in the privacy of his own room he would tell her.
/Finally tell her… Two years./
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I could do nothing. I have spent the last two years trying to get to you. I wanted to tell you everything. You wouldn’t have believed me, you wouldn’t have listened.”
Her voice was emotionless and low. “I’m listening now.”
So he told her. He told her about Ron’s betrayal, how Ron had tried to expose Draco as a spy for the light, how Ron had knelt before Voldemort and received the dark mark. He told her how close he had come to getting caught, how he had to pretend not to care when Death Eaters raped her, beat her, locked her in a cell in the darkest dungeon so that he could free her when the time was right. “They would have killed you, killed me. Then what good am I? I did it for us.” He told her how Ron died, how he snuck into Draco’s room and tried to slit his throat, how Draco had been ready with the killing curse, how Harry would never forgive either one of them. “He’s still alive. Harry is, I mean. I don’t know if you care, but he’s still everyone’s hero.” Then Draco told her about Voldemort, how Harry had killed him in one last duel to the death only yesterday, how the Death Eaters had surrendered, how the world was right again but no one was the same.
She shook, wracked with sobs, for what seemed like ages. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands watching her. She was nothing and everything like he had remembered her. “Hermione…”
**********************************************
R&R!! I know it's not much now, but if you like it I can add more. This is my first and I’ll need some reassurance. Thanks! -TooMuch