Trussed

Draco knew he should vacate the box and close it. And if he were really a self preservationist, he should hand it right over to the Dark Lord to gain favour.

But he stupidly did neither of those things.

“Rennervate.” He whispered, and when Hermione’s brown eyes fluttered open his stomach sunk to the floor. Why had he done that?

“M- Malfoy?” She stammered, attempting to sit up. She realized her hands were bound behind her and growled, managing to merely slide backwards along the floor. “What are you doing?” Her voice was surprisingly steady given her predicament, and her eyes flew around the room, noting the square of light above them as the only exit.

“I have no fucking idea.” Draco muttered with a sigh. “Who put you in here?”

“I don't know.” She grunted, finally managing to sit up. He noticed her usually defined frame was much leaner now, borderline gaunt. Sun kissed skin now pale. But her eyes were the same. That determination. He saw fear, yes, but the need to overcome it. Ever the Gryffindor. “Where are we?”

“The Manor.” Draco replied. “Well, an enchanted box that my own owl brought to me. In the Manor.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You need to get me back to the Order.”

He laughed humourlessly. “Right. The bloody Order.”

“I mean it, Malfoy!” She snapped, and he imagined her stomping her foot had she been standing. “I know you and Snape have been in contact with Harry.”

“Not for months, Granger!” Draco growled. “Your precious Potter has left us hanging! All I've been able to do is play faithful little lapdog to keep my mother safe.”

“You're a rotten liar.” Hermione sounded scandalized. “Snape sent Harry a Patronus just last week.”

He furrowed his brow. “Granger.” She had no idea. His mouth went dry. “What's the last thing you remember?”

“Susan and I were on a scavenging mission in France.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Trying to find an old herb cache to restock our medical supplies. I assume we were ambushed, considering I was sent to a Death Eater in an enchanted box.”

“Fuck.” Draco ran a hand shakily through his hair. “Granger, that mission was eight months ago.”