The End Is The Beginning Is The End
Morning
‘Good morning.’
Hermione would have laughed if she weren’t so afraid. It was anything but a good morning. In fact, it was the farthest from good.
She awoke to find herself bound to an uncomfortable wooden chair.
She was in a library, and a rather magnificent one at that. But instead of happily examining the spines of the many leather bound volumes she instead was examining the young man who stood across from her.
He was tall. Much taller than herself. And possessed of a lean build. But what stood out most to her was his hair. He had long, pale blond hair that tumbled down past his shoulders and down his back. It reminded her of someone she had seen before.
‘Malfoy?’ She asked, shocked.
He had the look of Lucius Malfoy. The same hair. The same pale blue eyes. And of course, the ever present look of haughty disdain—as if he had stepped in something icky.
However, the man before her looked to be in his twenties. Mr. Malfoy was in his forties, and he possessed a beauty that even Draco could not compete with.
‘…are you a cousin of the Malfoy family?’
He lightly tapped his perfectly manicured fingers on the desk that he leaned against—it was a way to artfully display his body, the hips sticking out slightly—and of course an obvious attempt at unsettling her.
How was it unsettling? Because he was so obviously at ease with the fact that he had a young girl bound, deprived of a wand, in his study.
‘That is Lord Malfoy to you,’ He lightly said.
Hermione was not panicking. At least not yet.
‘Hermione Granger. Who would have ever thought you and I would meet under such circumstances. ‘
She felt her heart skip a beat. He knew her. Oh god.
With a bravado that she did not possess, she casually asked, ‘How rude. No tea?’
He smiled.
She shivered.
‘Tea is for guests, something that you will never be.’
‘And what am I then?’
He shrugged, choosing to stand erect. With his arms behind his back, he began to slowly pace around her. Each time he left her line of vision, she felt her heart speed up.
‘A tool. Perhaps a prisoner, but even that would suggest you have some sort of worth.’ He laughed softly, ‘And you and I both know that as a mudblood you have none.’
She wanted to cry. Or scream. Or run away. Maybe do all three at once.
She did none of those.
‘I won’t tell you anything.’ She should shut up. She should. But fear was in control now.
‘Pity.’
Her blood went cold, and he pulled her hair, jerking her so far back that if he pulled just a little harder she would topple to the floor. But he did not, and she was balanced, staring up at his calm face with wide-eyed terror.
‘Pity,’ he repeated, ‘because your usefulness is directly related to your life. The moment it runs out, so does your life. So Ms. Granger, try to think of something because if you prove recalcitrant then I will have to loosen your tongue.’ He brought his face even lower, so close that his lips almost brushed hers when he spoke, ‘And if that fails, then I will hand you over to those who would treat you in a fashion…let us say that you will beg for death, and it will not come.’
He released her, and she flew forward, toppling to the floor along with the chair she was bound to.
‘Now Ms. Granger, be a dear and try to remember: Where are the Weasley’s?’
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I just wanted to respond to a comment: This story is a few years after Harry Potter's death [I apologize if that was not clear!]. I think you raise an interesting point: could the non-magicals fend off the magicals? I tried to make it more plausible by having a nuclear attack that the muggles used [which is why a lot of places are too toxic to inhabit]. I don't think we could fend off magicals in a safe way [i think we have a tendency to jump the gun a.k.a. diplomacy is not a favorite point and combine that with a stockpile of arms...]. but I am sure you are not the only person to disagree with me here. Thanks for the feedback. I enjoy positive reviews but it's really the more critical ones, like this, that impact how I write [but you all motivate me :) ].