She Will Be Mine

Hermione didn’t know how long she lay there, staring blankly at the unmoving door in the unnervingly sterile white room. A dull ache had settled low in her stomach, and her cuts that Malfoy hadn’t healed prickled uncomfortably— a reminder of the Dark Magic that remained in her skin. But even the fact that an ancient curse was slowly eating away at her flesh couldn’t mask the horrible feeling that what Malfoy said was right, and that she really was a hypocrite.

She thought she knew him. She thought he’d lived such a pampered life, never so much as getting dirt under his professionally manicured fingernails. But in the past few hours, all her beliefs of who he was were flying out the enchanted windows… Malfoy had watched his mother being raped… Malfoy had blamed himself for it happening. Malfoy had been forced to torture witches and wizards… Malfoy’s mother, whom he had obviously loved dearly, had died. Malfoy had suffered so much…

She felt horrible for accusing him of torturing her, when he really was only trying to help. She knew the old Malfoy from their school days would never try to heal her unless his life depended on it. Obviously he had changed, and it was her prejudiced views of who he was that hadn’t. She was the racist bigot she’d accused him of being time and time again.

Slowly she moved to sit up, wincing as a sharp pain stabbed at her insides. She would worry about that later, right now she had to find Malfoy.

As she stepped into the faintly lit hallway, she realized that locating him was going to be easier said than done. She didn’t even know where to start. The hallway she was in seemed to be comprised of nothing but closed doors and empty picture frames. When she reached the end, there wasn’t anything there. It just… ended.

She was trapped.

Frustrated, she pulled at a random door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. She tried another and was met with more of the same.

“Rude girl, don’t you know you can’t just go barging into a room in someone’s home? Most non-barbarians tend to knock first,” came a pompous drawl from behind her. Hermione jumped a foot and shrieked, wishing more than ever that she had her wand and wasn’t dressed in some flimsy hospital gown. Her heart beat uncomfortably against her chest as she peered up and down the hall, searching frantically for the source of the disembodied voice.

“Twitchy, are you not?” asked the voice.

“Who—who are you?” She urged herself to sound braver than she felt.

“I am Abraxas Consecus Ovarious Malfoy. I think the more important question is, who are you?”

Abraxas Malfoy? “You’re… you’re Draco’s Grandfather?” she asked, no longer afraid, though she was still unable to pinpoint which portrait was talking to her; every one she could see was empty.

“Indeed, and you must be the ‘infuriating know-it-all’ my Great Grandson is currently trying to pawn off on Harry Potter.”

Hermione scowled at the floor, but said in a low voice, “Yes, that would be me…” The portrait chuckled at her. It seemed to come from the walls itself, and not one single portrait, so she gave up trying to find it in exchange for more pressing matters. “Can you please tell me where Draco is?”

“He’s in the library,” Abraxas said simply.

“And where would that be?”

“If I spoke to my elders like that I would be met with the cane, you savage of a girl,” the voice said haughtily.

Hermione stamped her foot in frustration and growled, but forced herself to ask again. “Could you please be so kind as to point me in the direction of the library?”

“Ah, so the undomesticated mongrel is a quick learner… In that case, the library is through the fourth door on the left. Take the first right, and then follow that hall to the main entrance, up the grand staircase. Take another left, and when you come to the double doors, you have reached the Malfoy Family Library.”

Hermione mentally tried to memorize the directions… Fourth door… left… right… stairs… left…

“Thank you, wherever you are,” Hermione said, counting the doors until she came to the fourth one on the left side. She pulled at the handle but found that—just like before—it was locked.

“I take back my complement about you being a quick learner,” the deceased Malfoy huffed.

“I know the Alohamora charm, I just don’t have my wand on me!” she shot back angrily.

Abraxas let out a snort of laughter and started grumbling to himself. “Dimwitted Muggle… What my Great Grandson was thinking… letting her roam the halls unsupervised…”

Hermione was really starting to get annoyed. She tugged and pulled on the door handle with all her might, growing more and more aggravated with every second it wouldn’t open. Giving up with the handle, she began pounding on the door, taking out her irritations on the highly polished wood.

When she stopped she was breathing heavily, but somehow, miraculously, she heard the click of the door unlocking. She gripped the handle and turned, and it easily opened for her without so much as a creak.

“Knocking… such a foreign concept to the uneducated.”

Hermione didn’t respond, but she couldn’t help but smirk at the simplicity of it as she walked through a new, much brighter and cheerier hallway. It was lit by glimmering chandeliers and there were decorative vases filled with fresh flowers on a table along one side. The pictures on these walls weren’t just frames with empty canvases, but paintings of scenic landscapes with trees whose branches moved by invisible winds.

She tore herself away from the beautiful artwork and followed the rest of Abraxas’ directions through to the entrance hall, up the stairs, and finally ending up at the double doors of the library. She didn’t have to knock, as one was propped open, and Malfoy had already spotted her. Suddenly becoming aware that she was still wearing the skimpy gown, she crossed her arms protectively and stepped inside. Malfoy was seated in a high-backed leather chair beside a fireplace, where the flames were slowly turning from green back to orange. She moved to stand in front of him and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“Potter isn’t coming. He and the Aurors thought they were following your Apparition trail, when in reality they weren’t following anything at all. They Apparated onto the roof of an abandoned building, and it collapsed instantly under the weight of them. They’ll be in the hospital getting fixed up for at least the next 6 hours or so. I was just about to go fetch you to send you to St. Mungo’s to join the ever-lengthening queue, when I was told you were on your way. The floo powder is on the mantle.” Malfoy’s voice was businesslike and cold. He hadn’t even turned to look at her, though she was standing directly in front of him. In one hand he held a cup of tea, and the other—his wand hand—was soaking in a bowl of what she suspected to be Murtlap essence. She felt the guilt rise in her throat like bile.

“Is Harry alright?” she asked, worried.

Malfoy shrugged. “You’ll have plenty of time to find out while you wait to be treated.”

Hermione’s face fell. If the Healers were busy tending to the Aurors, it would be hours, maybe even an entire day before they got to healing her. The wounds would be sure to scar. “Malfoy, please, I’m honestly sorry I said that. I wasn’t thinking, and I do appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

He simply shrugged again and took a sip of his tea. “You’re only sorry that you will have to live with those scars for the rest of your life.”

“Well obviously I don’t want to be scarred for life! But that’s not the reason I’m apologizing. I’m apologizing because you were right about what you said.” This was harder to say than she thought it would be, but she steeled herself to continue. “I am a hypocrite. I just… I don’t know. I guess I never thought you’d change how you felt about me, that you’d always think I was lower than the dirt on your designer boots.” She fought back a tear, blinking rapidly and sniffing.

Malfoy finally looked up at her. He seemed sad and tired, though she could tell he was trying to hide it. “Well you’ll be happy to know that I no longer dislike you for your blood, I now solely dislike you for your personality,” he sneered.

Hermione scowled and sucked on her cheek, not knowing what to say to that. Apologizing was a lot harder when he was being such an arsehole. “Look… you’re mad at me because I still think of you as the same arrogant prat you were in school, but—”

“No, I’m mad because you think of me the same but expect me to have changed my opinion of you,” he corrected, his eyes meeting hers, just daring her to counter him.

“But you didn’t hate me because of something I did, you hated me because of my blood, because of who I am! Do you know what it’s like to be hated and considered lower class for something you can’t ever change?” she asked desperately.

Malfoy was staring at her intently, and it was starting to make her feel uncomfortable, but she was determined to make him see her side of things. “I haven’t changed being a Mudblood because I can’t. You say you’ve changed, so why don’t you prove it to me?”

He was quiet for so long that Hermione almost thought he wasn’t going to respond, but finally he sighed and seemed to deflate, sinking into the chair. “You really hit a nerve when you said I was torturing you,” he grumbled.

“Well, obviously,” Hermione replied, mentally rolling her eyes at him.

“But… I suppose you have been through hell tonight, so I may be able to excuse you for not thinking before you speak, just this once,” he smirked.

“So… do you accept my apology? Will you heal me? Please?” she pleaded softly.

Malfoy pulled his injured hand out of the bowl and examined it. “If you move again, I don’t think I’ll be able to continue. My hand will be too blistered to hold the wand. If you don’t think you can stay still, I’ll have to restrain you. The hospital wouldn’t give you an option. They’d most likely tie you to the bed and have assistants holding you down as well, so don’t go thinking I’m being unreasonable.”

Hermione gulped audibly. Being held down by a team of Healer’s assistants while they watched her private areas get mended hardly sounded better than being back on the bed of rose petals. Since when was wizard medical care more invasive and crude than the Muggle methods?

“I’ll be careful… I won’t move,” she spoke seriously.

Malfoy set down his cup and stood up, brushing off his white lab coat with his uninjured hand. “Good, then we should hurry.”

“Yes, do run off to play Healer with your Muggle, it sounds like such fun,” sneered the voice of Abraxas Malfoy, coming from nowhere in particular.

Hermione’s eyes darted every which way, trying to pinpoint the source, but all she could find were a spattering of empty canvases. “Umm… Malfoy? Does your Great Grandfather haunt your house or something?”

The voice responded with a low snicker and the alive-Malfoy shook his head, smirking and leading Hermione out of the library.

“My Grandfather died of dragon pox. My parents hired numerous artists to paint his portrait, but every time they returned the paintings, they were blank. My parents blamed the artists of course, and kept hiring new ones, but then they heard the empty pictures snoring… So now we have thirty or so paintings of a wizard that refuses to show himself because of his pock-marked face. He sees everything that goes on around here though, which is useful at times, but annoying at others,” Malfoy said, shrugging.

“He can’t see in every room though, right?” Hermione asked, thinking of one room in particular she hoped his invisible eyes couldn’t see. So what if he was technically only painting? He was still a man, and it was still creepy.

“Don’t worry, Granger,” Malfoy reassured her, “your naked parts will stay between us.” He smirked and opened the door to the Healer office for her.

She stepped inside, but not before playfully elbowing him in the chest. “Lucky me,” she said, the sarcasm not lost on the tall blonde, who chuckled lightly.

Hermione walked straight over to the bed and settled herself on top, laying back and straightening the gown before she lost her nerve. “I’m ready for your non-torturing, Malfoy.”

“Ok…” he said, snapping on a new pair of blue latex gloves. Hermione’s heartbeat quickened as the fear crept back in. “Just remember when we’re through here, that you asked for this.”

Hermione closed her eyes and gripped the sheets once more.

Right… I asked for this…

He covered the wounds on her arms and hands with the antiseptic.

I asked for this…

Then came the cool tingle of the phoenix tears, putting her at an ill sense of ease, but it was short lived.

She felt Malfoy’s hand grip her arm, making sure she stayed still while he performed the spell.

I asked for this…

“Guarigione Bacio.”

And then she screamed.




Sorry this chapter is pretty uneventful and boring, the next chapter will hopefully be better. You will find out how Hermione escaped at least. Thanks a bunch to everyone who has reviewed and rated! It is very much appreciated, and though I can’t really respond to reviews on here because I’ve seen the admin yell at other authors for it, if you review at Granger Enchanted instead I can respond to everyone individually. That site should be caught up with this one soon, because Alexisrose is SOOOO nice and is posting there for me now too! So THANK YOU ALEXIS!!!!