Triumvirate

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the songs included in this fanfic nor do I make money off them. These stories are for entertainment only.
~

Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me

Savin Me - Nickleback

~

Draco Malfoy stared at the woman curled on the bed. So fragile, so broken. The damn Cruciatus curse! They had used it on her! This could quite possibly ruin everything. The area surrounding them was dangerous, growing worse each day. They had to move quickly, but now, with her in this condition, he had no idea when he would be able to move her.

His cottage was heavily warded, safe for now. Nearly impossible to reach, perched precariously in the mountains. But this was a temporary residence. Not meant for more than a few days to find and eliminate a target. Now he was playing babysitter for the far famed muggleborn Hermione Granger.

A woman he hadn’t set eyes on in nearly two years.

A woman who had changed greatly.

A woman he would have known anywhere.

She lay before him, cleaned from her battle in the woods, soft as thistle down. Tiny. As if she’d grown no taller in the years at school. While Lord Potter had grown to nearly six feet and the Weasel, past that, Hermione had retained her diminutive size of five foot three.

Of course, her size was the only diminutive thing about the bold woman. She was a celebrated witch, known throughout the wizarding world as one of great intelligence. She was also known to be one of Harry Potter’s great Captains, though her role was rarely one of combat.

Draco ran large, elegant hands over the slender arms, and smooth legs. His fingers ringing her small wrists and delicate ankles. One of which had a nasty purple hue. He healed it with a nearly silent incantation. He searched for injuries in a methodical unhurried manner. He could heal most of her wounds, but until she woke, the full effects of the torture curse would not be known to him.

He was trying very hard not to notice certain things.

Like how satiny the flesh behind her knee felt. Or how sweetly her hips flared under his hands. And certainly not how his large shirt, put on her by the resident house elf, barely covered her thighs in her current position. The long sleeves rolled back several times at her wrists.

No, he certainly was not noticing any of these things. This was THE Hermione Granger, overly protected by Lord Potter. The new dark lord.

But other things he did notice. Couldn’t help but notice. The full sweep of dark lashes against her ivory cheek. Once upon a time in school, those cheeks had been rosy and sunkissed. No more. Like fresh cream. Apparently she spent much of her time indoors. No doubt surrounded by those many tomes she had always been so fond of.

Her rosebud of a mouth that had in these past years blossomed into a sensual bow. Her cheeks, still carried a slight rounding of youth though all other childlike qualities were gone. She was, in short, beautiful. Not in the classic fashion, but in a nearly fae type way.

Draco knew a great deal about beauty. From his earliest days he had been surrounded by it. It filled the halls of Malfoy Manor. It was his mother, his wretched father, even himself. And being wealthy gave him unlimited access to all things beautiful. Art, jewels, homes, lands, women.

Yet it had never given him…her. Perhaps because it had taken him far too long to notice. Odd that.

He finished tending her, recalling how she had looked tonight. Small and alone, wrapped in the horror of the Cruciatus. A ball of misery on the forest floor, the fodder for death eater entertainment. He had no illusions about what they would have done to her before killing her.

Even now, the thought filled him with the blackest of rages.

Why?

Perhaps because she was a woman, and he’d seen his own mother suffer enough to not tolerate such things.

Perhaps because she had been dragged into this war, like the rest of them. Having little choice.

Perhaps because he had wanted her, since she had once plucked up the nerve to call him a cockroach and nearly broken his nose.

Perhaps.

Maddy the house elf returned a moment later to fetch the bloodied, dirtied clothing and towels. Her blue eyes wide and luminous in the firelight. “Will the young mistress recover Sir?” she asked.

Draco sighed, shoving his hand through his long golden hair. “Not sure Maddy” he replied, “I have no idea how damaged she is from the cruciatus.”

The elf’s ears drooped, “But Sir, soon it will not be safe here”.

He frowned, “I know that. I’ll think of something”.

Maddy reached her small hand to brush Hermione’s hair from her brow in a comforting gesture, “I know that Sir, you always do”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco had taken a few shots of firewhiskey and penned a missive to Lord Potter. He stated that Hermione had been recovered as ordered but as yet had not woken and as such he was uncertain as to her full condition. Therefore, he was not clear on when they would move.

He charmed the missive carefully, using only this most vicious owl to send it. At times being unseen and unknown in the new dark court had it’s challenges. He would have felt much better with a floo call. However, that was not to be. Not at this point anyway.

His silver eyes dropped to the ring on his right hand. Waving a hand the concealing charm on it dropped. What appeared to the Malfoy family crest became sometime much more. The ring of Potter’s Captains. A special gift entrusted to each.

A sound to his left drew his attention and he watched as a tall, lithe black haired woman entered the study. Her strange golden eyes on him.

“Saya”

“The death eaters are dead” she told him, “Cain has made certain no others will find this place.”

“Good.”

“When do we leave?”

“She hasn’t woken yet Saya. I cannot say.”

“We are running out of time Draco”

He tipped another firewhiskey back, his powerful fingers clenching around the glass, “Don’t I know it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Time was lost to her. Had no meaning. Only the darkness and the warmth mattered now. Surely she was dead. That would explain her delusions. The death eaters had killed her in the dark, snowy forest. And the long dead heir of the Malfoy family had come to escort her to her just rewards.

But she had been a good person all her life, or at the very least tried to be. And he had never been. So where did that leave her? Did using the killing curse mean she automatically went to hell? And what worse torment than to send her Draco Malfoy?

But death was very dark, she thought.

She felt some small pain, that couldn’t be correct.

But the questions and the pain nagged at her, drawing her back to awareness.

Hermione slowly forced her eyes open, seeing the ceiling spin wildly for a moment before it settled into place. She tried to sit up, grimacing over the shooting pains rushing through her.

“Don’t”.

Her head whipped to the side to see the tall, powerfully built man sitting in a padded chair in the corner. She tried to move again. But the pain grew tenfold and she found herself feeling ill from it. She was going to be sick!

She struggled to leave the bed, but her body would not obey. She whimpered frantically and then, arms were around her. Supporting her weakened form as a pot appeared before her face.

She was barely aware of concerned silver eyes before she retched. Her body contracting painfully as it emptied. Tears ran down her cheeks, brought on by the pain and pure pressure of her body’s actions.

She gasped, trying hard to catch her breath between bouts of sickness. She felt like was choking. A large hand spanned her shoulders, rubbing them softly. And she was ill again.

After long minutes of this newest torment, she slumped against him. The large body near hers. Too weak to anything else. She surrendered her weight to him. Panting and shaking, covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

“Damnit” he said, spelling the pot away, “I spent the last day patching you up. We haven’t time to repeat the process.” A cool cloth smelling of herb water was there, wiping her face clean.

A house elf stepped forward with two vials, as a large hand lifted her hair and wiped the sweat from her neck.

“Master?” Maddy asked.

Draco glanced over at her, seeing the calming aqua vial and the livid yellow. He reached for the yellow. “She isn’t strong enough for that” he said, his chin jutting towards the other. Maddy obediently put it away.

“Drink this” he commanded, uncorking the angry yellow potion.

Hermione shook her head weakly.

Draco growled, “I am not going to poison you Granger. Open your mouth and drink – it will help you through this.”

She shook against him and he swore softly, catching her chin and dragging it upwards until she was locked in the wintry gaze he’d leveled on her. “The Cruciatus has put your body into shock” he explained coldly, “Surely you understand what will happen if it is not treated.”

She blinked, her eyes wide.

He took this as her assent. “Now. Drink.”

He placed the vial at her lips and she was mildly surprised that he was gentle as he did so. Wide amber eyes locked with his, and for the second time in his life he read fear there.

“I’ll not harm you, but this won’t be pleasant”

Her head settled in the crook of his arm, vial at her lips.

He was a death eater. What was the worst he could possibly do to her? Kill her? Torture her? If so why had he gone to so much trouble to save her life? Was it another of his petty torments?

But there was something. In his eyes that soothed her. That seemed to seek even the smallest measure of trust.

She parted her lips, feeling the cool liquid trickle into her mouth.

It tasted vile!

She fought against it, but he was there, calmly stroking her throat to ease the medicine into her stomach. “Tastes like Hippogriff piss if you ask me” he was telling her. But she was only aware of the bitter burn that singed her palate and throat like bile.

When the vial was empty, Draco tossed it aside and patted the sputtering, gagging woman on the back, prepared to levitate the pot back if needed.

Soon enough the shudders stopped and Hermione breathed a little easier. Her stomach felt numb and her limbs felt only a twinge of the pain that had surged through her before. It was…relieving. She sighed and sagged again. When she could trust her voice not to crack on her, she spoke.

“Thank you”

He nodded, rising from the bed to cross the room.

Hermione watched him carefully, “So what happens now?” She could barely hide the tension in her voice. The growing anger.

He turned at her tone, one pale brow arching in question, “What are you talking about?”

She glared at him now, feeling just strong enough to question his motives.

“When are you taking me to him?” She demanded.

Draco bit back a smirk at the sudden flare of temper, knowing it would only wear her out. “The dark lord you mean?”

She nodded stiffly.

He shrugged in a careless way, “When you are well enough to travel.”

Her little hands clenched the bedding, “Why don’t you just kill me?” Her voice was downright hateful.

He blinked at her, “As interesting as that idea might sound at the moment, I do have my orders.”

Her upper lip curled in a sneer that would have made his father proud. “Why you…..”

He cut her off with an imperious gesture, moving to stand beside the bed again. “We all have our roles to play little lioness” he said with some mirth, “Even you.”

Hermione flinched when he touched her hand, fingertips grazing over the emerald on her finger. Her Captain’s ring. Glancing down, she saw that he, too, wore the intricate crest of Dark Lord Potter.

His was woven with the Malfoy family crest but recognizable to her all the same.

“Where did you get that?” she demanded, snatching his large hand in her own.

He withdrew his hand from her hold, “Same place you got yours I would imagine” he drawled.

She shook her head, “No. Not possible. Harry would never –“

“Never what?” he demanded of her, “Never rely on an enemy? Never forgive past mistakes?”

His face was close to hers now.

She glared right back at him, “He’d never make a Malfoy a Captain” she spat back, “Because they can’t be trusted.”

He straightened, his eyes like frost on her small form. “Get some rest. You are going to need it. If the situation grows too dangerous I am afraid I will have to give you something to accelerate the healing process. I really don’t want to do that.”

She glared at him again, “Why not?”

“Because it is very painful” he told her with deadly calm, “Nearly as painful as the curse itself.”

“I still don’t trust you”

“You don’t need to. But Lord Potter does and he has given me charge of you.”

She gasped, “No he hasn’t!”

Draco lifted his ring hand to show her, “If any of the Captains were to betray him, to lie about his orders, you know what this ring will do. Dark magic that. It would seem your precious Potter doesn’t tell you everything.”

With that he left the room, slamming the door behind him. Hermione fell back against the linens, her outburst having drained her.

She touched her own ring, “It’s not possible” she whispered, “It just isn’t!”

A pop sounded and she looked up to see a gentle faced house elf staring at her. “Master Draco bade me come” she said softly.

Hermione eyed her carefully, “For what? To make sure I don’t escape from his lying death eater clutches?”

Maddy turned an interesting shade of red, “The young mistress will not speak such wretched words of the master” the elf admonished angrily.

Hermione gulped, “I’m sorry, I know that you are honor bound to defend your house and master.”

Maddy shook her head, “Oh no, only of the family demands it of us. My master was most unkind to Maddy, until Master Draco came. I have been with him ever since. Master Draco is a good man.”

Hermione stared at the elf in quiet shock. A good Malfoy? There was no such thing. Hadn’t he watched her be tortured in his own home?

“Why have you come?” Hermione asked, eager to be rid of the elf.

Maddy lifted a black lacquered box to her lap. “My master commands that you have full access to the owlry”.

Owlry?

“He was under the impression that you might wish to send word to Lord Potter. He is your friend is he not, that great man?”

“Oh. Um, yes he is.”

“He will likely worry despite my master’s assurances” Maddy went on, “Master Draco commands you write a missive and I am to see it sent in the morning.”

“Morning?” Hermione asked, “Why morning?”

Maddy set the box down, “Master Draco bids you rest for now. You have been through a great deal.”

Hermione bit her lip, “Maddy? How long have you served Draco?”

“Four years now” the elf said proudly.

“And you trust him?”

“With my very life. Good night miss”

Four years. Four years ago Draco had nearly vanished from the wizarding world. His name the source of rumor and speculation. He had gone missing, shortly after Harry had gained his full powers and there were some who believe that Harry had been the cause of his disappearance.

Hermione herself hadn’t wanted to believe that Harry would kill Draco. However, as Malfoy Manor, sat empty and cold, the thought began to take root.

Now here, he was! Claiming to be a Captain like herself. Like Ron! It was utterly ridiculous.

Or was it?

Within Harry’s mansion was a room. The great War Room. Here Harry met with his two captains and his various advisors. Hermione had always wondered who the third captain’s seat was for. She had thought Harry left it open in memory of Sirius. His mentor and godfather.

She had never pressed, not wanting to bring up painful memories for her lord and friend. She had often witnessed Harry casting odd glances at the chair. She had assumed that he was missing Sirius in those moments.

Ron had once told her that the death eaters believed Harry could kill them from anywhere at anytime if they drew too far from Voldemort. Such victories had been lovingly attributed to the Glorius Third. The unseen third captain that she had assumed was the memory of a dead man.

She laughed brightly at the idea until she herself had recovered a corpse with a lightning bolt scar. Harry’s mark. She knew enough of operations that there was an unknown element at work within their army. Could it possibly be that the glorious Third was Draco Malfoy?

She opened the box with shaking hands and ran her finger over the costly vellum sheets before her. The small jar held India black ink, the quill was of high quality. Quality that she had not grown up with, that she was yet unaccustomed to. Even with his vast wealth, Harry did not splurge on things like this.

Funds were needed elsewhere. They were at war. While Harry did not enforce such restrictions on his followers, Hermione and Ron had followed his example. They lived comfortably but not lavishly.

She had been mesmerized by a decadent orchid perfume once. Terribly expensive. She hadn’t often wanted such things and she could not justify to herself the right to have it when others had nothing at all. So she’d left the shop empty handed and told herself that perhaps after the war, she could get it.

Had Malfoy ever known what that was like? Any form of suffering? Likely not.

With a confused heart, she uncapped the ink and penned her letter. She told Harry that she was with Malfoy and that he had claimed to be one of the captains. She didn’t honestly expect that he would ever see the message so she put it in plain terms for Draco to read that she didn’t believe his rubbish. It was simply too far fetched.

She didn’t want to think that such a thing could be true, or what that could mean. She didn’t want to think that the handsome man was anything other than an enemy. And she certainly didn’t want to think that he was handsome. There had to be a reason, she decided. A logical, selfish reason for him to pretend to help her.

She set the sealed letter on the bedside table and lay back against the pillow.

She was a prisoner. A hostage. To a Malfoy. Again. It terrified her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco sat before the fire in his room, just across the hall from Hermione’s temporary quarters. It had been over an hour since their little encounter and she was no doubt fast asleep by now. Another side effect of the healing potion he’d forced on her.

He tried not to be irritated with her black and white view of things. Granted he had once been no better. Her unfounded dislike for him chafed. Well, ok, perhaps not unfounded but it has been years since he or anyone in his family had done anything to her. Years! He bore Potter’s ring for Merlin’s sake!

Their history, he admitted was not a good one. But her high and mighty attitude made him angry. Did she think she was the only one who lost precious things in the war? Did she think she was the only one to suffer?

Apparently, she did and all the raging in the world would not give him back all that he had lost.

His safety.

His home.

His beloved mother.

His life.

His humanity.

What had she really lost, in comparison?

He turned with a low growl and threw his crystal glass into the fire, watching the orange flames flicker along the liquor coated shards.

He glanced out the window, seeing the moon high above. A silver grin of a crescent, that reminded him that time would soon run out. He had to do something about the curse on him, before the moon became his sun.

“Draco?” came a soft voice from outside his door.

He nearly groaned with frustration, “Come in Saya”

The female wolf moved lightly into the room, her golden eyes finding him. Hot with unspoken question, they danced to the large bed in the corner.

Draco pretended not to notice.

She moved closer, her arms sliding around him and her face nuzzling into his hair. “Draco?” she breathed. He turned in her arms to catch her lovely face between his large hands.

“This is not for us Saya” he said gently, plainly.

She pulled away from him, hurt, angry. “Why not?”

He turned back to the window feeling his gums itch, “Because we are two different monsters Saya.”

The wolf stared back at him. “We are people!” she insisted, “Isn’t that what you said? Our curses were not our choices. We can live as beasts or people. That choice remains ours? Isn’t that what you told me?”

Draco smoothed her hair back, “It is Saya. But this is a choice we cannot make. This is a choice I have already made. Be dear to me in your own way, but ask no more of me.”

Saya looked away, her eyes welling with unshed tears. How prettily he denied her. Always denied her. She had long thought he was handsome, gentle and kind. Who else would have tolerated her in her curse? Who else would have befriended her, made her feel wanted and lovely?

Draco Malfoy was many things to many people. Wealthy, titled. Things he would reclaim when the war was over and it would be soon, she just knew it. He was charismatic, lethal, seductive and of course aloof. She had thought in time he would soften to her, make her his own. Give her that chance. Why else had he saved her?

But no. It was not to be it seemed. She had ceased trying to justify his want of her when he had saved Cain. She was not so special to him. They were friends. But they would never be lovers. Never.

She lifted her eyes back to him, “Very well. Good night lord Malfoy”

“Good night”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saya stepped into the corridor and nearly collided with a solid chest. “Cain” she snapped in a whisper, “What are you doing here?”

The older wolf eyed her carefully, “When will you stop offering yourself to him Saya?” he asked.

She blinked innocently, “Whatever are you talking about?”

“You are my mate, and I will not force you to accept. In time you will come to understand it. For now, do not torment him. We are all he has, you shouldn’t make him suffer like this. It’s not right.”

She bared her teeth at him in a vicious smile, “How can it hurt him?”

“We are the first true friends he has ever had Saya. Your tears hurt him, even if they are contrived. Do you wish to lose him?”

She paled, and shook her head.

“Then leave him be.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry sat in the War Room, staring at the two empty seats. His clear green eyes troubled. He had received Draco’s message that he was nearing Hermione's position. That he expected to secure her very soon. Merlin, but he was worried about her. About them both.

He longed to go there himself. But things were complicated when you were a dark lord and your magical signature was easily spotted. Too bad that keeping innocents alive was easier said than done. He couldn't risk movement yet.

Now two of his greatest secrets were huddled together in a hostile lands. If anything should happen to them, he doubted there would be much left of Italy to see the end of the war......

He snapped himself from such dark thoughts. Those type came all too easy of late. He turned his mind to lighter matters.

Draco would not fail. He never did. As harry's chief assassin and trusted spy, he had made certain that Death Eaters everywhere feared Harry more than they had.

And Hermione was likely giving him fits, because she wouldn't ever believe that the snobbish boy from Hogwarts would ever help them.

"Harry?"

The dark haired man looked up to the portrait of the beautiful blonde woman to his left.

"What is it Narcissa?" he asked.

"I am worried for them" she admitted.

"So am I"

He must not go. Must not speak of them. To pretend ignorance was to keep them both alive. No matter how much his heart wished otherwise.

“Draco, Mione. Be safe for me”.