Hostage of War

A/N: A huge thank you to Softobsidian74 for alpha reading and feedback and to Sempra for the absolutely flawless beta!!


Hostage of War

Chapter 2


Exchanges

The weather had changed from as hot as summer can be in Scotland to cool enough to warrant the need for pullovers to ward off gusts of wind. No woollen cloaks, yet, but from one day to the next the year was waning, nature readying for the withdrawal of the resting period of winter.

Hermione rubbed over her fingers that were feeling stiff from being exposed to the cold wind. It was as if her surroundings were mirroring her feelings inside.

Agreeing to deliver herself into the hands of dark wizards, Death Eaters, in order to save her world had been one quick, heroic gesture full of foolish Gryffindor bravery. Now that she was standing on top of a hill not far from Hogwarts, her trunk next to her, she felt as if she was awaiting her death sentence, not the verdict as to where she would spend the next two years.

Please not Voldemort himself. Pleasepleaseplease.

She could hear Ginny sobbing quietly into her father’s dark brown robes. A while ago she had averted her gaze to afford the Weasleys a bit of privacy.

With her parents in Australia, there was nobody here for her final goodbye besides Dumbledore.

The group of order members had arrived very early at the designated meeting point. Huddling together in smaller family groups, Hermione and Dumbledore stood apart and solitary. Arthur and Molly Weasley were trying to console their youngest child, and Mrs. Longbottom, clad in her finest attire, complete with a formidable witches’ hat decorated with flowers and feathers in shades of red stood proudly next to Neville.

As per tradition, it should have been Hermione’s family to accept a hostage from the other side in return for their daughter.

There was a tiny stab to her heart, when she thought about her oblivious parents, working hard on making their new dental practice near the Sydney harbour a success. Even if this war ever ended, Hermione doubted that she would have the heart to take that new life from them and bring them new worries and again a world they could not understand.

Why did it have to be so cold?

Hermione was glad that she had braided the mass of her hair into a tight French braid as she had become accustomed to ever since the fighting started. At least she would not end up making a fool of herself by battling her hair after the wind had whipped her curls all around her face.

With loud cracks announcing Apparition, several cloaked figures appeared about twenty metres from where their group was standing.

Voldemort, in the centre stood out, the others wore identical black Death Eater robes and silver masks.

At a sign from their Lord, the others pushed back hoods and removed masks to reveal their faces.

Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione had trouble breathing and Ginny’s sobs had gone eerily quiet.

The petite black-haired witch next to him was unknown to Hermione and she could not assess whether she would be the lesser of two evils. Blaise Zabini was standing at her left, so she was probably his mother and he was representing the Head of the family. Hermione thought she had heard that Blaise’s father had died when Blaise was still very young. Or was he a hostage like her? Theodore Nott and his father were also there. Maybe one of them would go to live with the Notts? Hermione did not know anything about them besides the fact that they served Voldemort.

Hermione was not sure what would be worse: living with Lucius and Draco Malfoy, being more or less alone with Hogwarts’ playboy for two years or going with these two unknown men. Was there a Mrs. Nott? Lady Nott? If so, why was she not present? Pansy Parkinson stood between her parents, her face blank as if under Imperius.

The Dark wizards outnumbered the Light, Hermione noted uncomfortably.

She looked over to Ginny and the younger girl met her eyes with a worried frown.

Dumbledore nodded to the new arrivals and started the ritualised exchange of hostages as tradition dictated.

“We have come to secure peace.”

“And so we will for the agreed number of moons.”

Voldemort’s hissing voice made the words sound false and empty, making a mockery of the ritual.

“We are offering one of our brightest lights to you, to honour this pact.”

Dumbledore rested his hand on Hermione’s right shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“My faithful servant, Lucius Malfoy, will have the honour to house her.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and only then she realised that it had been beating much faster than usual.

The Malfoys.

Would they call her a Mudblood and use her as a servant? But that was not allowed. They had to behave civilly.

With determination, Hermione turned around to her leader and knelt down, kissing the back of his hand to satisfy tradition. After she straightened, she wrapped her arms around the old body that felt so frail beneath the voluminous robes.

“Goodbye,” she whispered. “Make it worthwhile.”

She felt his bearded, scratchy nod against her cheek and parted from him with tears in her eyes.

Unsheathing her wand, she turned around and traversed the green towards Lucius Malfoy, her trunk levitating behind her.

She fell to her knees, with hardly suppressed rage upon the subservient gesture and offered her wand. It was customary to arrive unarmed at her host’s home.

Lucius Malfoy accepted her wand and extended a hand to help her stand. She knew, all movements were choreographed like a dance but was nevertheless surprised that he did not flinch, when her ungloved hand touched his.

Hermione stood behind the blond man and observed first Theodore go through the motions of the exchange, taking his place with Lavender’s parents, then Ginny, who seemed unsure whom to offer her wand. In the end, Mrs. Zabini took it, but handed it to Blaise. Ginny solved the problem of uncertain hierarchy by standing behind both Blaise and his mother.

Pansy was the last one to pass to the other side and stand with Arthur and Molly. Outwardly calm, it was clear that she was terrified.

Voldemort and Dumbledore first cut the ball of their hands, and then raised their wands to speak the final words. Magic flashed, spread like a dome and then vanished in a rain of sparks.

Their fate was sealed by magic and blood.

The Notts and Zabinis Apparated away nearly simultaneously. Just as Lucius Malfoy took her elbow and turned to transport her side-along, Hermione heard the loud sob of Pansy breaking down.


***


Lucius Malfoy let go of her hand immediately after his home materialised around them and Hermione tumbled to the flag stone floor, felled by the momentum of Apparition and the unexpected loss of leverage.

“Graceful as ever, Granger.”

Hermione looked up into the faces of Draco and Narcissa Malfoy.

“Conceited as usual, ferret?”

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy just scoffed softly.

“Careful here. Equal treatment goes both ways. We have to treat each other as,” and here his face had a disgusted expression, “family. So as long as you would not call your brother a ferret, I suggest you refrain from it in this house or the premature end of this truce will rest on your shoulders.”

Racking her brain for a witty response that would surely come to her in a few hours time when it was too late, Hermione tried to get up from the entrance hall floor with a bit of dignity left.

What a way to start the next two years.

“Nonsense, Draco!” Narcissa Malfoy placed a delicate hand on her son’s shoulder and pushed him toward Hermione. “Remember your manners and help her up.”

Draco closed his eyes and sighed. When he looked at her again, his face was free from malevolence. He took a step in her direction and offered his hand to assist her.

Hermione needed to stare at the hand in front of her for several seconds before she could decide that it would turn events from bad to worse should she refuse his offer.

“Thank you,” she said straightening up.

Narcissa’s face lit up in a smile.

“Now that this is cleared up, I would like to welcome you into the house, Hermione.” She kissed the air next to Hermione’s cheeks right-left-right, as the French greeting went and then held her by her shoulders at arm’s length. “You poor girl!” she exclaimed. “What you must have suffered in the war!”

Without comprehension, Hermione looked at the pure blood woman.

“I will instruct the elves to run you a regenerating bath and place extra beauty potions on your vanity.”

Oblivious to the affronted look on Hermione’s face, she looped her arm through the girl’s and proceeded toward the wide stone stairs leading to an even wider landing.

“Then, when you are settled, I will take you to my seamstress to outfit you with respectable robes, we can’t have you walk around in tatters.”

Hermione looked down at her clean dark jeans and light mac. Although her clothes were decidedly Muggle and a far cry from the elegant style the Malfoys seemed to prefer even during daytime on a weekday, Hermione bristled at being called … ugly? Had Narcissa Malfoy implied that she was ugly?

Narcissa chatted on animatedly, outlining visits to beauty salons and fabric stores, the hair witchery and the shoemancer.

Because she did not know what else to do, she let herself be led up the steps but could not keep from looking over her shoulder in horror, into the amused faces of the Malfoy men.

“Welcome to hell,” Draco mouthed before displaying a vicious smirk.


***


Hermione was surprised to see that her accommodation was comprised of a spacious bedroom with adjoining bathroom instead of a corner in the servants’ quarters.

She was also very thankful that they had decorated in colours other than Slytherin’s. Her room had a homely feel to it with pale yellow wall coverings and gleaming mahogany furniture.

But then, the laws pertaining hostages were clear and strict as she had researched prior to her hand over.

The Malfoys would need to treat her like family, or give her at least all the privileges that a daughter of the house would enjoy. Affection could of course not be ordered to be given.

Hermione doubted that they were very affectionate toward each other anyhow.

Her reflection in the faceted crystal mirror looked nervous.

Hermione had brought her one and only set of dress robes which were a rather muted affair as she had bought them for a memorial service. The black looked very severe. It reminded her of the man they had buried and the pang in her chest surprised her with its force, even more than a year later.

Her wand had been on top of her things in her trunk when it was delivered to her room and Hermione now used it to quickly lighten the colour of her robes. Grey still gave a depressing impression so she changed to a golden chocolate brown that brought out the natural highlights in her hair.

“You look worn out and impoverished, dear.”

She gave the thing a withering scowl. A talking mirror was just what she needed. Especially since she would not want to know its answer to any question that started with ‘mirror, mirror on the wall…’

Her looks had to do for now.

She had been informed that supper would be served at seven o’clock, so she needed to leave now or be late for the first meal with her hosts.

Malfoy Manor was not as grand as she had imagined it. Of course it was a large house with many reception and bedrooms and the finishing touches were of very high quality and spoke of a long history of house proud inhabitants who loved to put their mark on the property.

But somehow she had thought of a wizarding manor of something akin to a fairy tale castle complete with turrets and battlements and maybe even climbing roses all over its walls.

In truth, Malfoy Manor was not much different from a Muggle manor, which simply meant the biggest house in the village.

Letting her gaze drift over ancient oil paintings, tapestries and suits of armour, she had to admit, it was a rather nice manor, indeed.

When she reached the entrance hall, she found Draco Malfoy pacing at the bottom of the stairs in a set of charcoal dress robes. He halted when he became aware of her descending the steps.

“Well, at least you know how to dress for supper, albeit rather commonly.”

He offered his arm and she rested her hand on it, wondering whether he would bear her touching his person if his arm would not be protected by several layers of robes.



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