Proserpine

Part 2

Chapter 1

“Into the world inverted
where left is always right
where the shadows are really the body
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me”
-Elizabeth Bishop

He had everything. …
Draco Malfoy had everything. Everything except the only thing he wanted, her.
She had vanished five years before and they all believed she’d died, like she was supposed to. But Draco knew better, she was too smart to die. …
He’d taken a fair share of girls to try to erase Hermione from his mind. He took the ones that would shadow her. He pieced them together to form the girl that would not die. There’s the chestnut hair, there’s the large cinnamon honey eyes, there’s the fair skin. He took the girls and wanted them to be more than what they were, to give him more than what they had. Draco raised them so high on pedestal and one by one they fell. These girls, they withered underneath his touch, losing their bloom.
Draco had many distractions, so it should have been easier to move on he had assumed. Being a right-hand man to the Dark Lord wasn’t easy. However, as a prince to the Death Eaters he could have anything done…anything taken care of. But, he just felt apathetic to everything. Draco loved evil, but he loved himself more. And, he scorned the foolish muggle-hunting, the raping and pillaging. Draco was a purist at heart, and he admired nature and balance. He loved the finesse in a sharp dagger drawing blood, but he loved the beast in the stag ranging in the forest night too. In the Lord’s world, not a bird would chirp. And the air, it would smell of decaying bodies, never of winter and ice, that which Draco loved.
But, again, he was apathetic. The Lord would do Merlin knows what, and as long as Draco held power, created fear, and had a girl for the night, he was fine. Or so he had hoped. Inside him, there grew emptiness. He expected it would breed callous, but instead it created desire. And soon, it began to suffocate him.
Three years he could go on, but then he couldn’t anymore. He began to search for her. Draco knew that if he sent his spies, they would either hurt her, or report him for loving a mudblood. And so, he had to go about it alone. Two years have led him to this point: Hermione was not a prisoner in any jail of Voldemort’s. She was not a slave-girl to any fellow Death Eater, and she was not dead. In the world where evil reigned, she was a lost cause. Hermione was one of the very few survivors of Dumbledore’s side, the side that lost the war. Every now and then the Death Eaters captured another and he or she would be tortured to everyone’s satisfaction. Draco sometimes wished Hermione would be caught. She’d be raped and killed, for sure, especially since she had been so close to Harry Potter. But, at least then his mind could settle, and he would have seen her the final time. And then at other times, he’d regret wishing such a foul thing.

Draco worked harder and harder to locate refugee camps. The other death eaters whispered behind his back, he knew. They spoke of his sudden “increased motivations.” The Dark Lord found out and to Draco’s surprise, he praised him for hunting out the scum of the earth. Yes, Draco, thought…he was hunting. And one day, he found her.
To describe exactly how he did it would serve no purpose. The amount of people killed to root out information, the amount of miles crossed, they’re each too great to depict.

In a little village, in Southern Russia, Draco walked on the cement ground. His footsteps fell heavy in the empty night of a desolate ghost town. The fog swirled around him and as he walked it cleared in his path. He stopped and heard slight footsteps approach. They neared and neared until they stopped when Draco was caught sight of.
And like Lazarus come from the dead, she appeared. Hermione’s eyes widened and her cheeks went pale, then flushed red. She pulled out her wand beneath her navy blue-black robes.
“You! Get away from me.”
Draco didn’t stop moving closer. Hermione’s wand hand began to shake slightly.
“Stop…don’t come any closer”
“Hermione” Draco seemed to whisper. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her to be. He was just a foot away.
“You love me still” Draco stated.
And, why? A love potion?” Hermione questioned.
“Love potions are illegal.” Draco responded.
“Your love is illegal.”
Draco smiled. “And yet you’re drawn to me like a moth to a flame.”
Hermione’s eyes began to glisten. She spoke, “and I’ll burn just the same.” Draco couldn’t hold back, he was upon her immediately. He kissed her lips, her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck, all the skin his lips could reach. Draco was a dementor and Hermione was his soul to take. All the emptiness he felt for five years he tried to fill in a moment. Hermione stepped back, panting lightly.
“Come with me” she pleaded. “We can go away.”
Draco had not really expected this. He couldn’t imagine why. “I can’t” he spoke simply.
“Why? You’re nothing like them.”
Was she referring to the Death Eaters, Draco thought.
“I am exactly as they are”
“No, no. You can change…” Hermione tried to appease.
“I cannot change!” snarled Draco, perhaps a bit too fiercely.
Hermione looked hurt, as if the world had failed her.
“You can come with me.” Draco offered. He didn’t expect Hermione to suddenly turn so irate, but she did.
“Let go of me!” she yelled out.
“But, I’m not touching you” Draco stated matter-of-factly. And, indeed, he wasn’t.
Hermione quieted, “You lost me once. Don’t lose me again.”
Draco hated promises. He held out his hand to her. Would she take it without his word, only his love?
Hermione looked at him and in the moonlight her hair turned more gold than brown. Her skin glowed. She was an angel of the night, Draco thought. And, me…I’m the devil in the day.
Hermione left his hand untouched. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him fiercely. After a moment she broke away again. “I always thought there was a battle, Draco. A battle between going to love and entering darkness. And now I see they are one and the same.”
“And you?” Draco asked.
“Me? I’m the heart of it.” Hermione said gravely.
Draco put his hand on the girl’s lower back and together they walked into the dark.

Chapter 1

Draco thought it best if Hermione went. He chose her grey-silver dress and the fastenings to her hair. And on the day of the masquerade, he corseted her dress. Hermione thought it was too tight, but Draco said it was better that way.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,..."

The trip to the Lord’s manor was awfully cold, and the closer they got, the colder it seemed. Hermione felt an aching inside her and she knew that her actions were all wrong. She felt so guilty for everything. She had followed her heart, not her mind. And it led her to this place of evil. She was the one stream of light amongst all the darkness and she felt she could be told apart in a moment. Hermione shivered in fear. They’ll know…they’ll see I’m different. Hermione looked up at Draco but his eyes were empty. They held no comfort. She sighed deeply, and Draco only tugged at her hand a little more.
The manor was archaically decorated, unsurprisingly. And, it reeked of death. The ball-room was well lit, and it could have been beautiful, if not for…everything…for the life into which it was built. The floor gleamed in patterned black and white tiles. It was a little disorienting, and when Hermione walked across it, her footsteps echoed heavy as they fell. They’ll hear that I am different.
Hermione stood near the center and was dazed. The loud silence was littered with whispers coming from groups near the sides. Hermione looked to her right but Draco was already gone, off to say his greetings to his father….and to the Lord.
The air smelled like gardenia and deceit. Some of the woman looked at her with a disdainful curiosity. Draco had told her to wait until she was spoken to to speak; And then to be brief, but courteous. None of the woman seemed to be eager to meet with her, and Hermione was all too glad for it. She walked away from the ballroom, and toward the hallways. No one had really noticed her enough to care, she thought. But, Hermione was wrong. One person did care.

"Time watches from the shadow..."

Hermione walked slowly and unhappily through the halls. Since she chose to be with Draco, little had actually changed. She was on the other side of life, and yet, the same shadows still followed her. The same emptiness existed. And her own reflection, which she thought would be bitter and false, looked exactly the same as ever. Before she was lost, on her own. Now she was lost, surrounded. No different at all.
Hermione had for a long time felt a deep loneliness in her heart, and now it only grew. She missed something so poignantly painful, so deeply resounding in her heart and yet she could not say what it was. As for Draco, she longed to hold him and tell him her fears and wants and hopes and dreams. But, this was a different time and he was like a different place. They were on two realms, and he would neither understand nor care. She was on this path alone and she could not run forward, she could not turn back. Hermione who always wanted to be correct, to do the right thing, was stuck in her own worst nightmare. She was neither correct nor wrong…she had no choice about either. And the ambiguity haunted her. Hermione walked through the halls in search of something that could not be found, drowning in misery not for the choice she made, but for choices she had no say about.
Lost in her thoughts, Hermione was usurped when something caught at her shoulder. Hermione quickly turned around and saw Draco. She breathed a sigh of relief. He brought his face to hers in what she thought was a kiss but, instead, he whispered in her ear, “I thought I told you to be on guard.”
“I am!” answered Hermione defiently.
“Right…” Draco was not amused. “You don’t want to know what happens in these halls, love.”
“Games of Monopoly and Scrabble?” said Hermione eagerly sarcastic.
Draco smirked and opened the door behind him. Hermione peered in but could see only black and hear scuffling. When her eyes adjusted she let out a yelp. Inside, a masked death eater was raping a muggle, who was tied up to the bed. The victim was screaming in agony but no sound left her. A silencing charm is all too effective. Draco shut the door.
Hermione had tears in her eyes but the scornful look on Draco’s faces wiped them clear.
“You have to understand my world” he told her and started to walk back to the ballroom.
Hermione stared at his back for a few seconds. “Never” she whispered under her breath, and followed him.
The ballroom was now filled with more death eaters and their wives. They each had masquerade masks on. Masked masks hiding heartless hearts. Hermione felt at her side to where her own was tied neatly to a sash of her dress. She stepped up to Draco, who had finished putting on a black covering the size of half his face.
Music began to play and Draco had his arm around her waist, ready to dance. She placed a hand on his shoulder and the other in his. They waltzed for a few minutes, and Hermione lost herself in the motions. She felt icy and wanted nothing more than to disappear. Draco kissed her jawline but Hermione barely noticed. She sunk her head down to his lapel. However, Draco stopped her in a few seconds.
“You’ve been given poppies.”
Hermione looked up startled and confused. “What?”
Draco pointed at the small red flowers, now affixed to Hermione’s waist.
“What does this mean?” Hermione asked nervously.
“You’ll have to give them back” said Draco.
“To whom?”
Draco waited a while before responding, “you know who.”
Hermione gulped and turned away from Draco.

"And coughs when you would kiss"

At the center of the ballroom stood Lord Voldemort. He alone was unmasked. Hermione remembered then that she too had never put on her mask. Hermione stared at the faceless beings surrounding her. They could be smiling, laughing their heads off. And I couldn’t see, Hermione thought.
She approached the Lord, who watched her appraisingly. When she got as close as she dared, she knelt. Voldemort seemed to raise her with his mind, and as she straightened a long, white hand reached to take the poppies at her waist. Hermione could not help but shiver as he took his time to touch her.
“You are new here,” said the voice that Hermione would remember forever, a voice that would play in her nightmares over and over and over.
“Yes.”
“Then, I do believe we should become better acquainted. I invite you to spend some time with me after the festivities.”
This was not a request.
“Yes, my lord.” Hermione curtsied again and when she rose, Voldemort had moved his glance away.
Draco came and took her hand, and they walked freely to the side of the great room. Hermione did not speak to him. The hurt inside prevented her from uttering a single word. This isn’t real. It cannot be. No..no..
“You know what he expects of you” stated Draco
“Me” replied Hermione.
Draco didn’t even squeeze her hand to reassure her. He just nodded.
“You painted a false picture for me” Hermione cried out suddenly.
“I did no such thing. I gave you no promises.”
“You gave me nothing…but you love…you say you love.”
Draco looked at her fiercely and spoke, “You want me to be struggling between love and hate. I don’t.”
Hermione felt the tears rush down her face. “This world…”
Draco interrupted her as he quickly brushed the tears away. “This world is mad. I know. You know.”
“How can you let me go…just like that?” asked Hermione.
“Forget about me.”
She continued, “but I have only you”
“No, you have only yourself.”
Draco walked away.
Hermione raised her eyes to the scan the room. Lord Voldemort was speaking to a small group of Death Eaters. He was playing with something in his hand and when Hermione squinted, she noticed it was a red poppy.”

Chapter 3

Once the guests had either departed or had gone to their rooms, and Hermione was left alone with Lord Voldemort, he led her to his own room. It was a grand space, and at the center stood a huge four-poster bed with brown velvet drapes. Voldemort did not hide his intentions any longer.
“Go and sit down, make yourself comfortable.”
Hermione sat on the corner of the bed, and folded her hands neatly in her lap.
Voldemort went and knelt behind her, breathing on the back of her neck. He began to loosen the ties that held her corset together. However, Hermione felt tighter inside as the corset gave way. Hermione remained motionless and Voldemort undressed her as he would a doll. She fought with all her might to keep from shaking. The minutes became hours, and the hours days…and it went on and on.
* * * * * * * * *
Afterwards, they lay together, and Voldemort placed a hand on Hermione’s stomach possessively.
Hermione was numb, and the same thing kept running through her mind, “how could he just let me go…how could he?”
Voldemort spoke, “I know what you are thinking and if he truly wanted you, he would not have let you go. I would have accepted his choice.”
Hermione remained mute. Voldemort took her wrist and rubbed his thumb over the thin skin, where the veins were easily visible.
“So beautiful…like porcelain. Think how it would be with my dark mark.”
Hermione pulled her hand back sharply.
Voldemort chuckled.
“Hermione…. I will tell you what I told your friend so very long ago”
Hermione started at the fact that he knew who she was.
“…Of course then, I wasn’t yet speaking for myself. Nevertheless, I told him that there is no good and evil. Only power, and those too weak to seek it.”^
Hermione steeled herself against the Lord’s words, and against his gaze. She whispered, I don’t want any of this.”
“No, of course you don’t. You want only him.”
Hermione’s eyes began to tear and she hated that. She wanted to be strong. She couldn’t cry…not in front of Voldemort! But, to her surprise, he pulled her close to him, and rested his pale head atop hers. “Hermione, and are you so sure he wants you?” Hermione did not say anything; she was above defending herself and defending Draco. She only began to remember and the memories bloomed like flowers at a grave and nestled in her heart.
Once, Draco had surprised Hermione with a picnic on school grounds. This was shortly after the Graduation Feast, when they would soon part for the summer….but, when they would actually part for years. They would never again be truly happy after that June, and they didn’t know it then. Then, they had forever to be with each other. How deeply love had entrapped them. Hermione lay cradled in Draco’s arms and he breathed affection and care for her. He spoke of how much he loved her, and she responded back with love. If only time stood still…if only…
No. That was gone. And now she lay in the arms of evil and hate.
Voldemort seemed to be in an awfully good mood. “And you say he loves you, eh?”
Hermione did not remember saying anything. “Did he tell you such a thing…did he mean such a thing?”
And now the memory flowed clearer. Draco had a scowl on his face. Hermione hated that expression and knew it meant he was unhappy with her. Draco had said, “I did love you once.” And she had responded, “Indeed, Draco, you made me believe so.”
“You should not have believed me...I loved you not” he continued.
“I was the more deceived.”^^
Hermione let out a sob. “No...no that isn’t true. That’s not the way it happened!”
But, already she began to doubt, and already drowning sadness choked her.
Voldemort rose from the bed and put his robes back on. Hermione looked around for her own things and began to pull them on as well. She left the corset alone.
Voldemort sent for a carriage, which would bring her back to Malfoy Manor, to Draco. He did not speak to her until she was seated in the coach. Hermione had already begun to close the carriage door until he stuck his arm out and held it still.
Hermione gulped and faced him, keeping her eyes gazing down.
“Draco knows what you are worth. So, I do not understand why he chooses to act in the manner he does. It is fine for you to be confused, but not for me.”
Hermione was at a loss. He does not treat me with much worth indeed, she thought.
“I shall send for you again.” And with that bittersweet parting, Voldemort closed the carriage door.

^ From Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
^^ From Shakespeare's Hamlet

Chapter 4

Draco woke up suddenly and he wasn’t quite sure why. He didn’t even realize he was awake until he noticed he was staring into the slowly fading black of the room. He was about to close his eyes again when he heard a sob from his left. Draco turned his head to face Hermione lying next to him. She was clutching the silk sheets fiercely with one hand and there were tears streaming down her face. Draco was about to ask what was wrong but he noticed she was still deep in sleep. Hermione’s mouth was slightly parted and she was blubbering nonsensical words, crying for something only she could see. Abruptly, she began to speak, “please…please don’t leave …I…please….no…Harry, no.” Draco was momentarily shocked she had said Harry. Harry was dead. He reached out his arm to grab Hermione’s shoulder but she rolled onto her side, farther away.
Draco pulled back his arm just as a bolt of fire seemed to soar through it. The dark mark was calling him. Draco rose from the bed and looked back to see if the movement woke Hermione. She had curved her body into herself and was subtly shaking, still crying in her sleep. Draco turned away and put on his robes, ready to apparate to the Dark Lord.

***
The meeting seemed to drag on forever, and Draco was sure the sun was already beginning to rise. Voldemort had gathered his closest death eaters, a group of around 30, to an impromptu meeting; he loved to do that just to piss everyone off. They were all huddled in a semicircle, facing Voldemort, who sat on his throne. He looked unusually happy and fingered the jeweled and bone-plated armrest. The entire throne was actually made from the bones of his enemies, and the seat was said to include pieces of Harry’s skull-very snug for Voldemort’s derriere.
They had already discussed the last series of attacks on muggle towns, which, of course, went exceedingly well, and proceeded to plan the rebuilding of the Chamber of Secrets. Draco was bored and had begun to slouch when the chamber door swung open, letting through two masked Death Eaters who were dragging a body.
Voldemort spoke up, “Aaah, boys, tonight’s entertainment has arrived.”
Draco looked at the hapless being…it was a frail female, and its muddied dark hair had covered the face, so that it was being dragged blinded to fast approaching death.
The Death Eaters let her go directly in front of Voldemort, and thereby in front of Draco, who stood at the apex of the semi-circle. The girl snapped her head back as she hit the ground, and Draco gasped. It was Hermione.
Draco began to breath hard and fast, as if he could not get enough air.
“What is the meaning of this!?” he yelled out to Voldemort, who opportunely smiled. Suddenly, the crowd began to laugh…not just a soft chuckling, which was the trend, but a loud, free, drunk shrieking that filled the chamber, echoing off the hollow walls.
Draco twisted his head left and right to look at the men in disbelief, his heart beating violently inside. Finally, he looked back at Voldemort. The Dark Lord rose from his seat and the laughter died immediately. He slowly walked down from his dais and stopped at Hermione’s side. She was crouched over again, her face hidden.
Voldemort said, sarcastically concerned, “Master Malfoy, whatever is wrong? Why don’t you look again.” He put his hand on the girl’s shoulder, and she lifted her head. Draco’s grey eyes met dark blue ones. The dirty brown hair was now blond, and the fair skin, which he had known head to toe was now darker and speckled with freckles. This was most certainly not Hermione. Voldemort smirked and went back to sit on his pile of polished bones.

***
Draco waited until the Death Eaters had departed to have a moment alone with the Dark Lord. But, he knew already. Voldemort spoke before Draco could say what he had intended to.
“Yes, Master Malfoy?”
Draco’s confusion cleared his thoughts. “Why do you call me master?”
“You do me very well Draco. You are the finest Death Eater I have, which is why I let you have her though I paint the walls with those of her same blood every day.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“You are so like me…you are the master of your own heart. You shouldn’t even pretend you would care if I brought her here, if I had her tortured.”
Draco didn’t quite think it was pretend…
Voldemort continued, “you have charred your heart to the finest of black. You’ve done away with the impurities of anything good, and yet she still loves you. Draco, you lead her so loosely…but you must know that she loves in you not you, but the man you once were.”
Draco asked, “What would you have me do, my lord?”
Voldemort smiled before replying, “Oh, I love the path you have taken. You are doing away with dreams and hope, justice…morality. Into ashes all your lust.”
Draco nodded. “The grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace.”^
“Rightly so, Master Malfoy.” Draco disapperated.

***
Meanwhile, 3000 miles away, a young woman sat on her knees, facing a campfire she made out of dried leaves and sticks, the old-fashioned way.
The fire made Ginny’s red hair seemed to burst into flame itself. She looked past it though, as she focused on Harry’s head. Talking through the floo was very dangerous as it was easily detectable but the situation was urgent.
“Ginny, have you found her?”
“It’s been three months now.” Ginny gulped and continued, “…She’s dead. Harry, she’s been murdered.”
Harry spoke with a slight shriek in his voice, “Who murdered her?”
“Draco did.”

^ “To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell

Chapter 5

Brazen (Rated R-Warning)

Chapter 6

*One Week Before*

Ginny rose from her place by the fire and lethargically wiped the dirt and ashes from her knees. She had lied to Harry. She didn’t think Hermione was dead, but Harry needed to do what he needed to do without trying to rescue someone who could not be rescued. Ginny stared into the woods and at the twinkling lights that belonged to the camps on the other side. The air was still smoky and it added an unnerving quality to the bitterly frosty Romanian night. The young woman unconsciously tore at her cufflinks, as she was apt to do when worried. She checked to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything on the ground and turned around to go and bumped straight into Draco Malfoy. Ginny was too shocked to pull out her wand in time to curse him into oblivion. Draco back-handed her and she fell to the ground, her wand tumbling away to another side. She stared up at him in cold fury. “Go ahead, kill me. But you will never stop us all. You and your Death Eaters can go to Hell.”
Draco ignored her words. “You floo transmission was a stupid thing to do. It will be traced. The Death Eaters will be here soon. Pack up and go.” Draco was painfully calm and icy. Ginny, meanwhile, was stunned but quick to see what he was saying, what he was doing. She got up. “Why?”
Draco looked at her carefully. The moonlight had turned her hair to fire, and if not for the shadows beneath her eyes and her sickly-pale skin, he could have called her beautiful. It’s the war that turns diamonds to dust. Once, Voldemort had suggested to him, “Isin't there pleasure in criticizing everything, in seeing faults where other people think they see beauties?” He had responded, “That is to say that there's pleasure in having no pleasure” and Voldemort had liked that very much.^
Her realized Ginny was staring at him for his prolonged silence…and she had even snuck back her wand. Draco bellowed, “No time. Go…tell the others!”
Ginny had only a moment to gush frantically “Don’t forget you love her” before her nerves sent her running to the camp.
Draco stood there, staring at her back until she disappeared into the trees. He picked up a rock and held it. He felt its weight, its solidness. Then, he threw it against a tree and it was such a brutal gesture that the rock broke in two. Draco apparated away.

^Voltaire's Candide

****

Draco elegantly crashed into the door of the Stinky Toad Inn. It was storming in Hertfordshire, so if anyone asked, he was there for shelter. Really, he was there to get pissed drunk. The inn housed a dilapidated bar, with the finest of seedy characters. Draco held his breath as he passed by two gentlemen who were covered in dragon dung. They were cackling about the illegal dragon market. Draco slipped into a stool by a witch with a large purple straw hat, which fell over her eyes. She scooted her stool closer to him, and Draco appropriately scooted farther away. The bartender approached the richly dressed, handsome, young death eater respectfully. He introduced himself as Roymil, “the owber of thib fine etablishment.” Draco bit back a yelp at the man, who’s dirty hands were holding onto his worn pants, which really didn’t need holding onto as the man’s stomach rolled over them twofold. Roymil’s greasy hair fell into his eyes, and a cockroach ran over his shirt, down his sleeve and into the cup of mead he had just picked up.
“What can eh geb you?” he asked with a grin, revealing four missing teeth. Draco said, “firewhisky...and keep them coming.” He was served promptly.
Two hours later, and on his fifth drink, Draco was engaged in a wonderful conversation with…well, he didn’t really know whom with. Lecherous people liked to remain anonymous. The wizard, who had already shown him his numerous illegal cauldron collection, was asking about Death Eater plans. Draco was explaining the Lord’s idea for proper schooling, and the wizard was nodding. He wanted to become a private dealer for supplies, but Draco wasn’t concerned with that. He thought the man was funny, going on and on about what he could get, what he could sell. Draco yawned and drank the rest of his glass. Roymil quickly refilled it. A troop of vaudeville players entered the inn and performed a skit entitled, “Knockturn Girl,” which made all the witches working in the inn roar with laughter, and all their paying suitors hit their bottoms. Things began to get very blurry for Draco. And yet, they were so much easier that way.
“Who cares a flying hypogriff about Granger.” A buxomly broad, overhearing Draco’s statement, preened “Right, lad. Who cares about her? I can make you forget allll about your troubles, aye.” She winked and Draco spat out some of the alcohol in his mouth, sending her skirting away. It was getting hard to concentrate. The minutes seemed to float by and the next thing Draco knew was that the completely unhygienic bar table was the most comfortable pillow in the world. He vaguely heard the bartender ask if he wanted a room. Draco hoped his throwing of the glass over his shoulder and at Roymill was a sufficient “yes.” The next morning Draco woke in the finest suite of the inn, which wasn’t saying much. He only expected to stay for a few days to try and clear his head of love and loss and desire and desertion, but he ended up staying a week. Draco hoped he achieved something but he was too drunk to know what that was. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just let go. Nor, did he comprehend why he had warned Ginny. It was like an itch that you couldn’t scratch, and Draco was used to having everyone beg to scratch his itches. This, thereby, was most unusual.
Draco had his evening meal of steak and kidney pie, with a side of 4 firewhiskeys, and decided to return from his AWOL state.
Knowing the right apparition charms, he apparated straight into Voldemort’s manor. He had long before suspected the Lord would send for Hermione, and now it was time to see what was still left of her.
He wandered the halls until he found her room, and when he entered it without knocking, he should have been unsurprised at the sight. Hermione lay sleeping; her golden brown locks fawned over the pillow. After remembering her restless sleeping states, this angelic tranquility was enthralling. He sat down at the edge of the bed, and pressed his palm to Hermione’s face. She did not stir. Draco couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss her, but just as his lips met hers, he felt her come alive and push him away. Surprised, and very much intoxicated, Draco stumbled onto the floor. Hermione had sneaked his wand from the holster and now held it threateningly at him. She was breathing heavily. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she asked. “Draco!?” Draco came closer, and seeing her lower the wand, leaned over her, pressing his body to hers, and kissed her fiercely. Hermione accepted for a few seconds, but then pushed him away. “Voldemort….” Draco grew angry. ‘Oh yes, you’re his whore now.” Hermione turned red. “Well, at least I am no longer yours.” Draco wanted to prove her wrong. He wanted to show her that she could not turn off her lust. Instead of getting off the bed, as Hermione had expected him to do at her words, he pressed himself against her more. He pinned her arms to her sides, and made her feel his desire for her. Hermione was pushing him away with all her might, or was she rubbing against him? She was crying, or were those moans? Draco could not tell if she wanted him or not. He didn’t think Hermione knew herself, as a matter of fact. Suddenly, he was swept right off her and landed on his back, on the other side of the bed. Voldemort had walked in and was not happy at the sight of Draco with Hermione. Draco raised himself to see Hermione pressed against the wall by magic. Voldemort was choking her through a curse and she was clutching at thin air to try to find air.
“Stop” said Draco. Voldemort turned to him, keeping one hand facing Hermione “Are you so sure you want me to?”
Hermione, seeing Voldemort face away, grabbed a sconce, which was hanging on the wall, and threw it at the Lord’s hand, causing him to lose the connection. She crashed onto the floor. She stumbled up and the two wizards stared at her. No one moved.

Time seemed to stand still. Hermione was leaning against the far wall, breathing heavily, her eyes dark and angry. Voldemort looked faintly bemused, faintly miffed.  And Draco, well…Draco looked scornful and proud to hide his sharply fading inebriation.

Then, Voldemort threw a sly smile at Draco, as if they were sharing in a secret joke, and before Draco could fully process the gesture, the Dark Lord was standing before Hermione. One hand reached to claw off her chemise, in the process lacing her chest with thin, bleeding scratches. Hermione screamed at the violation, the exposure, and tried to push off Voldemort, hitting his face and arms. He, unmoved, pressed his hands again her thin neck, cutting off her breathing. It was such a light gesture in comparison to the slashing that Draco, staring on, barely could notice. It was a romantic if violently painted visage. There was an elegance to the Lord’s dark cloak against Hermione’s pale breasts, to the girl’s rose red open lips and fluttering eyelids, to the pressure of her slight body against the slate walls. Draco seemed to wake up. Voldemort was killing her.

“Let me” breathed Draco and Voldemort heard this rustle through the air. He seemed to feel it coming like the quiet before the blowing of the wind. Draco took a few steady steps and replaced Voldemort in front of the china doll they shared. His hands against Hermione’s neck seemed so much smaller than Voldemort’s. Surely he, a mere mortal, could not wield such power over life and over death. No more air…

Suddenly, Draco felt something collide with his manhood and it was like black had closed around him, choking him instead of Hermione. The bitter bitter sharpness of such excruciating pain slammed into him with full force.  He was on the floor, clutching himself, cursing as the hurt echoed in every nerve of his body. Hermione had kneed him, that wench.

And then, a sound so foreign to his ears, resonated. Voldemort was laughing. But, Hermione cut him off, “"I am weary of days and hours, blown buds of barren flowers, desires and dreams and powers, and everything but sleep." Hermione raised her chin in a dramatic gesture, and with her harsh breathing, her bare chest rising and falling violently, she looked like a savage empress.

Voldemort pressed his mouth into a thin line and looked at the young woman sharply. Then, his eyes grew wide and if he had had eyebrows they’d have raised. He understood the reference and was surprised at that. “You think me the king of the underworld, Proserpine?”

Hermione shook her head and then pointed to Draco on the ground. "No, I think he is."

******

“But, Voldemort would not share his empire with anyone.”

The sun was high in the afternoon sky. “My story is fading. It’s almost done, and I won’t come back here after this. I hope you’ll be sorry to see me go but that’s too much to expect.” Hermione smiled.

“I wasn’t only his whore, though. After Romania, he wanted more information. And I led his astray, to the mountains of the Trolls where my people would not go, to the ancient, dried up seas, and to the lands lost over time, Avalon and Stonehenge and El Dorado. He took me to see his troops, the armies of Death Eaters riding upon thestrals, both in love with blood. I was his pet, and even such a being of hate wants something to amuse himself with. Everything and everyone were too easy for him. Perhaps in me he saw something more complex. After all, good is the one thing he never could understand. But, he could use me, bend me to his will, and dispose of me within a moment. I knew my place in this world better than ever. Draco thought I would make him happy, but he could not find happiness, and so, he rooted out any chance for mine. The Dark Lord was different; he was too pleased and so could not see the end draw near.”

Hermione brushed her hands over the white roses. “I sent information to Ginny. It’s impossible that Voldemort did not know, but he didn’t stop me, and the owls got to Ginevra and warned her. I told her what little I knew of the Lord’s plans. I never ever imagined it would do any good. We were nothing; we had been nothing for five grueling years. But even if I would not see light, I would not rob others of the chance to see it.”