Complexities

By Bambu

~o0o~

Chapter Two: Obsessive Need

Hermione watched Draco go, her shoulders slumping a little, and then she closed her eyes in resignation and to shut out her surroundings for a moment, gathering her composure.  It was one of her private rituals, and those who knew her well recognized it.  She had tried so hard to put the volatile nature of her interactions with Draco behind her.  The war was over, and he’d stood against the rabid, pureblood supremacists.  She’d been able to put aside the divisive House loyalty with so many others.  Why couldn’t she and Draco find a way to simply talk to each other without one or the other’s feelings being hurt?  Because, even though she wasn’t sure how, she knew nonetheless, that she’d hurt Draco’s feelings by turning his request down. 

The situation left her feeling oddly brittle and very sad, her throat thickened as if she was holding back tears.  A distinct prickle of distress rippled through her body as she wondered why she continued to let the blond Slytherin get to her.   Running her hands up her arms, Hermione rubbed the gooseflesh through the cotton of her blouse.  The arrogant prat had hated her for years.  He’d spurned every conciliatory gesture she’d ever made.  And then, when he finally made a overture in return, she couldn’t accept it immediately.  It wasn’t her fault.  She’d just been offered a chance to teach, it was a significant advancement in her career.  Something she couldn’t ignore because Draco Malfoy, on a whim, wanted a minute of her time.  Why didn’t the spoiled prat understand that?

“Here, Hermione, after that, I think you need a hot cuppa.”  Callused fingers, their roughened tips almost scraping the delicate texture of her hand, offered her a teacup.

“Thank you, Zach.”

Without opening her eyes, Hermione accepted the tea and took a healthy drink.  The hot liquid warmed its way to her stomach.  She breathed deeply, preparing herself to talk to Smith.  He’d offered her a vote of confidence professionally and Hermione’s heart fluttered in excitement at the prospect.  Draco’s curiously vulnerable grey eyes were forgotten.  Dismissing the continuing odd prickling sensation in her arms and legs as excitability, Hermione opened her eyes to look up at Smith.  She must’ve kept them shut for too long as the room seemed a bit hazy, almost bronze-tinted.  Hermione blinked a couple of times to clear her vision, asking, “Did you mean it, Zach?  You’re going to let me teach?”

“Drink your tea, Hermione, and let me tell you about my ideas.”

Obediently, Hermione drank more of her tea.  It was sweeter than she liked, but he’d been so nice about bringing it to her after Draco’s rather harsh exit, that she wouldn’t hurt the Hufflepuff’s feelings by not drinking it.  She blinked a couple of more times to clear her vision, and when the reddish haze didn’t diminish she decided to see Madam Pomfrey in the morning.  At the moment she had to pay attention to what Smith was saying.  He was giving her a chance to teach.  Hermione ignored the insistent buzzing in her head, and her eyes grew wide and glazed as she listened to Smith drone on for several minutes about grindylows and kappas, and their place in the first year curriculum.

Two storeys below the DADA office, Draco stormed through the entrance hall.  His glower was so pronounced that students scattered from his path.  He was seething with anger at Granger’s refusal to listen to him.  He’d wanted to talk to her.  He’d gone to find her.  And she’d turned him down, turned him down.  The devil’s advocate in his brain whispered traitorously that Smith had deliberately manipulated the situation, deliberately dropped the Golden Snitch into her lap at the propitious moment.  If anything, the scowl on Draco’s handsome face grew more set.

Across the foyer, Snape crested the staircase leading from the dungeons, and Draco nodded his head, he wanted to talk to his old Head of House about Smith’s odd behaviour.  There was something else that niggled at his mind, some other important detail about what he’d seen in the DADA office.  And then Snape had reached him, and together they made their way to the staff entrance.  The Potions Master was eager to discuss the simmering Wolfsbane variant in the research lab.  They’d been working on it for several months, and the results were promising.  Draco relegated the discussion about the DADA Professor until later.  

Upstairs, the stocky professor in question flushed with success, and looked at his prize after handing her the cup of dosed tea.  As Draco had exited the office, Smith hadn’t even spared Hermione a look before following his unwanted guest’s departure to lock and ward the classroom door.  When he’d returned to the private office he’d also locked it, providing a double buffer of safety for him to put his plan in motion.  No one would think to look for him tonight.  It was commonly known that Hermione worked late on Friday nights, and the house-elves always reported to Dumbledore if a member of the staff was working through meals.  His ordering a ‘working tea’ had taken care of that detail.  And, wonder of wonders, Draco Malfoy had proved to be an unexpected ally.  The self-centered blond would be whinging to anyone who would listen that Granger had refused to talk to him.  Smith couldn’t have planned Malfoy’s participation if he’d tried. 

Smith watched Hermione’s bent head, noting that her rigid posture was easing.  His gut had churned as he’d watched her react to the Malfoy spawn.  It nettled him that Draco could wind her up to such a degree.  Her eyes remained closed as she regained her composure.  He thought she seemed to glow, a golden-red aura of beauty, and he smiled at his inner fancy.  He’d often thought that she glowed when in his company, a faint luminescent shimmer.  He knew that it was a trick of the lighting which cast the reddish-gold tint to Hermione’s skin, but he smiled at his own romanticism.

Years ago, Smith had decided that Hermione was to be his reward for his sacrifices, for losing his illustrious future.  He’d been patient… waiting, planning, and now she was his.   He hadn’t intended to claim her until after she’d begun to respond to his subtle insinuation into the more personal aspects of her life.  But the interest Malfoy had shown tonight changed his plans once again.  She was his.  Smith would claim his own tonight.  Now.

Hermione’s huge, luminous eyes were glassy and unfocused, but were watching… watching Smith.  Her heart-shaped face held an expression of passive curiosity.  Even under the growing influence of Liquid Imperio, Hermione’s legendary inquisitiveness rose to the surface. 

It was time to test the potion.

“Come here, Hermione.”

Hermione blinked her eyes furiously, as if she was trying to understand what he was saying.  Everything she looked at appeared to be veiled by red gauze.  She reacted to the potion infiltrating her bloodstream, and stood up from her chair, her head buzzing and her body swaying slightly. 

Elation surged through Smith’s brain.  He had done it.  She was his.  Mine… mine… mine, he thought.  He would never let her go.

“Zach,” her voice was weak, a whisper, “Zach, I don’t feel very well.” 

“I’ll help you.  Come here, Hermione!”  It was clipped, a whipped command.

Almost without thought, Hermoine’s wobbly legs obeyed the command of her captor.  She continued to blink rapidly as the dimensions of the room swayed and telescoped in and out of a red-tinted focus.  Her heart began to race in her chest.  Reaching toward Smith, beseechingly, she stumbled in his direction, only to be caught up in his arms.  They wrapped around her, tightly, possessively.

Somewhere in the back of her mind was a tiny voice screaming a litany of fear.

Wrong!  This is wrong!  Something’s wrong!  What’s going on?  I need to get to Poppy.  Poppy can sort me out. 

“You’re so little, Hermione…”

But Hermione couldn’t seem to listen, or to coordinate her body.  Her mind was reeling, buzzing almost audibly.  Her hands and feet seemed to be going numb.  Dimly she heard the DADA Professor’s voice as he scooped her up into his arms, lifting her free of the floor.  Everything tilted on its axis.

“…Should have used only two drops… ”

Hermoine’s head flopped against Smith’s chest, the wool scratchy under her cheek.  The cloying smell of something poisonously sweet filtered through her olfactory senses, flooding her sensory receptors. 

I can smell that.  I can feel that.  What is that smell?  Why is everything red?  Why is he holding me like this?  Gods, I feel terrible!

Hermione’s head felt several sizes too large, and off-balance.  It was as if she suffered from vertigo.  Angling her head, she squinted and then widened her eyes as far as she could.  Maybe that would focus the room.  Things seemed so far away, and then… so close.  Thankfully her heart had stopped racing.  She felt terrible, and that smell wasn’t fading.

“Madam… Pomfrey… Zach, please… help me.”  Hermione had to force the words from her mouth, her lips felt stiff and as if they weren’t under her control.

“It’s alright, Hermione, I’ll help you.  I’ve wanted to help you for years…”

Her head lolled on his arm, and, in a strangely surreal way, she thought that the dark wood of Smith’ desk seemed to be expanding.  Her eyes grew larger as the desk grew and her head swayed with the movement.  It wasn’t a hallucination.  With a flick, a swish and a muttered incantation, Smith turned his desk into a low-lying bed. 

Help me!  He said he would help me.  Why aren’t we Flooing to Poppy?  What’s he doing?

“I’m… ill.”

“No.  You’re mine.  Do you understand?  From this moment on, you are mine!”

Her head swam with wooziness, and she closed her eyes to stop the dizzying swirl of the room.  Her brain didn’t comprehend Smith’s meaning.  She recognized the words, but they didn’t make sense.  The screaming voice in her head was on an endless, repetitive loop.

Wrong… wrong… wrong… No… No.. No! 

Snippets of what Smith was saying began to compete with her own thoughts as he laid her on the transfigured surface of his desk.

“… never letting you go…”

Terror flooded through her as if a Dementor had glided into the room and she was its only victim. 

Oh… my… gods!  The charm!  NO… NO…NO… Wrong, wrong, wrong!  Fight, Hermione!

“… Seventh year… you were so nice…”

Sight and sound were strangely distorted.  It was almost as if someone had cast a Disillusionment charm and a Silencio simultaneously.  While Hermione could hear the echo of his voice just beyond the range of comprehension, she couldn’t quite make out the shapes in the room, the red haze was so pronounced.  Hermione blinked furiously, attempting to see clearly.  She might not be able to see or hear clearly, but she could smell.  That sickeningly sweet smell blurring the distinctions between the sour aroma of her fear-laced sweat, or the lust-riddled pheromones of Smith’s arousal.  She could also feel.  Smith was petting her body through her clothing.

Bastard!  He’s a DADA… he’ll terminate the charm.  Where’s my wand?

“…After my injury… your visit was so nice…  I knew then…”

Coherent thought was a struggle.  She could summon help, if she could get to her wand.  She vaguely remembered that it was in her robes.  She couldn’t see them, everything was a cloudy red.  She blinked, but her eyelids were so heavy.  She wanted to shudder under his touch, but her body couldn’t seem to summon the requisite impulse to do so.

Red for rape…  Wand!  NO…NO…NO!

“…I know you liked my gifts.  I could tell…”

Did he say that, or did she just think it?  Where were her robes?  As if it were an artic flower forcing its way through dense permafrost, the answer worked its way to the rapidly diminishing rational part of Hermione’s brain.  Her robes were on the coat rack. 

Wand!  Find my wand… sick bastard… 

“…Malfoy ruined my ultimate gift.  I had the vase custom made for you.  I could kill him for that.” 

Hermione’s vision was dimming, almost a solid red haze, or was it truly growing darker in the room?  He’d removed his hands from her, and was standing up again, or so it seemed from the fuzzy red outline.

Malfoy?  He’s going to kill Draco.  Need help… Draco! 

But her body was losing the fight as, with each beat of her heart, the potion sped through her bloodstream.  Her arms and legs felt as if they were being bound.  She struggled to lever her body away from Smith, off the desk-bed.  But nothing responded as she commanded it to.  

Wand… only hope… he’s going to rape me… Move, damn it!

If she could… just… crook… her finger….

 “Once we’re married…” 

Hermione tried to wriggle her fingers, to summon the coat rack.  Nothing happened. He loomed over her.  She tried to get her arms to push against his chest, but her hands wouldn’t move at her brain’s desire.

“…never speak to Snape… Death Eater bastard…

Everything was spinning, swirling, growing darker!  No… she was lying down.  She’d been lying down.  Why was she lying down?  He must’ve brought her to the infirmary.  She was so confused. 

Poppy, help me!  Severus… Help… Draco!

At least Hermione’s sense of smell still seemed to be working.  This wasn’t the infirmary.  Why wasn’t it the infirmary?  Something wasn’t right. That sickly sweet… something… still filled her nostrils.  Nope.  Not the infirmary.  Madam Pomfrey would never allow that smell here.  And, if anyone knew what the infirmary smelled like, it was Hermione.  She’d been a patient so many times that she’d given names to all the beds.  Surely Madam Pomfrey would be here soon.

“…wanted you for years… You’re mine… Let me kiss you…”

Something was pressing against her mouth.  She didn’t know what it was… she couldn’t see.

I’m blind!  Oh, gods, I’m blind!

Wait.  Her eyes were closed.  Hermione fought to open her heavy eyelids.  They didn’t seem to want to obey her.  Finally, she triumphed, and Zacharias Smith’s face was centimeters from her, his dark eyes glittering with strong emotion.  His face was flushed, but all Hermione could make out was the red haze of warning.

AAAAH!  Zach!  What are you doing?  You’re too close!

She hadn’t actually spoken aloud.  Her mouth wasn’t able to function properly. 

“…kiss me, Hermione…  You’re mine.  Remember that.  I’m the last wizard you’ll ever kiss.”

And then her body felt tingling warmth spread through her, overriding the warning buzz in her system, as her limbs responded to the potion in her body and the commands Smith had just given her.  Her body was no longer under her control.  Hermione’s arms rose to do his bidding, encircling his neck, vaguely noticing that she was naked, the roughness of his jacket material scratched her sensitized skin.  Unwillingly, but under the direction of his control, she opened her mouth to his invasion.  His tongue was tangling with hers, fighting for dominance and the small part of her mind that remained her own was screaming.

No, no, no.  I don’t want this.  Stop!

But the kiss didn’t stop.  She thought she was being smothered.  It was wrong.  It was all wrong.  And she couldn’t stop, her body couldn’t stop.  Cold air chilled her suddenly naked body. 

NONONONONONONONONONOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

She whimpered, and slurred “‘S’cold.” 

“Not for long, I’ll keep you warm.”

And then there was a heavy weight pressing on top of her, and she felt hot skin pressing on hers, one hand tugging at her breasts, tweaking her nipples.  She struggled against the inevitability of his potion-controlled demands, but was almost beyond coherence.

No, no, no!  No… no… no…

“No, no, no.   Zach…no.”

With what was left of her own will, she tried to turn her head, to wrestle weakly from his embrace, but her head wouldn’t move.   Everything was fuzzy in the room… everything except Smith’s face, which was contorted into a grimace of triumph and pleasure.  In the deep recesses of Hermione’s rational mind, it sickened her.

His voice was sharp, angry.  “Stop fighting me!  You are mine.  Do you hear me?”

Without conscious thought, Hermione’s head nodded in response.  The potion’s control was almost complete. 

“Good.  Now, kiss me again.” 

Hermione opened her mouth to his possessive claiming, the invasion of his tongue as he marked his territory. 

No… no… no…

Smith was panting heavily when he broke the kiss.  “You don’t know how much I want this.”

His mouth descended to her breast, and he laved one nipple.  It pebbled immediately.  Hermione began to arch into him, her body already beginning to respond to his need as the potion in her bloodstream countermanded her natural instincts and the charm she’d used for her own safety.  It was only a matter of time… of moments… before she was his to command. 

His groan was guttural and vaguely Hermione felt his erection pressing against her abdomen.  Her last remaining clear thought screamed.

STOP! I DON’T WANT THIS!

But it was too late… her mouth could no longer form the words against Smith’s will.

And then Hermione felt her legs being wrenched apart… wide.  Cold air hit her most private bits, and he was pressing against her.  Everything went black.

~o0o~

Dinner in Hogwarts’ Great Hall on Friday evenings was always a boisterous affair.  Students and faculty alike were relieved that the sometimes seemingly endless week was over and the weekend upon them.  This night was no exception.  The only staff members missing from the High Table were Hagrid, Hermione and the DADA Professor.  None noticed Hermione’s absence as she rarely made it to a Friday evening meal, but the DADA Professor’s non-appearance raised a few eyebrows, and the occasional smirk by an older student. 

Smith’s preference for his Apprentice was obvious to many, and Rolanda Hooch had been trying to open a book on the impending relationship between the former students.  None would take the bet, Pomona Sprout had finally told her colleague that, regardless of the fact that the young DADA Professor had been in her House for seven years and a prefect for two, it would never happen.  Hermione Granger’s heart was engaged elsewhere.  The feisty Herbology Professor refused to comment further on the subject, and Rolanda had been sulking for the past several days.

Because the DADA Professor wasn’t present, Draco had taken his seat at the staff table, the better to converse with Snape about their work.  Normally seating was arranged so that the junior staff had a break from their mentors during mealtimes, but when staff members weren’t present, others could temporarily take their places.  As Draco and Snape discussed the possibilities of publication for the Wolfsbane variant, Draco had forgotten about his concerns regarding Smith’s odd behaviour.  The Potions Master had offered Draco co-authorship if their trials were successful, and Draco was deeply moved by the generous suggestion.  While Potions had never been his career objective, he had thoroughly enjoyed working with the often snarky, but brilliant Potions Master.

Dessert was appearing on the tables throughout the brightly lit room and, as Draco reached for the gooseberry fool, a flash of blue light drew his attention to the Ravenclaw table.  One of the seventh-year students was showing off the family ring she’d received for her coming-of-age.  The sapphire’s facets threw refracted blue light across the hall.  The happy ritual playing out at the student table served to remind Draco of Pansy Parkinson’s family ring.  He smiled remembering how his childhood friend had proudly displayed the large emerald at the table the day she’d turned seventeen and had been entitled to wear the heirloom.  Then Draco froze.  His guts clenched.  Pansy.  She was the niggling thing he couldn’t place earlier, when he’d seen the blue aura surrounding Granger… Hermione.

“I would appreciate it if you would pay attention when we discus your future, Draco.” 

Draco ignored the slightly biting tone of his mentor. His eyes grew unfocused as he called up the memories of his last year at school.  Pansy Parkinson had returned to Hogwarts for their seventh year with an unwanted betrothal -- a marriage arranged between her family and a pureblood family on the continent -- and a chastity charm.  Her fiancé’s family wanted to assure her purity when she came to the marriage bed, and her groom was the only one to know the counter-charm.  It was an antiquated custom, even barbaric, but some pureblood families still followed the older traditions. 

The chastity charm ensured the witch’s cooperation.  Pansy had been embarrassed by it, especially as it always caused her to glow blue whenever Greg Goyle had gotten drunk.  He’d fancied Pansy since their fourth year, even if it would never come to fruition.  She’d had to explain to the entirety of Slytherin House that the blue glow was the first level of the chastity charm’s protection.  It reacted to directed, unwanted prurient interest.  The more intense the colour, the more intense the interest.  Goyle had always caused a pale blue light to glow around Pansy, the flaming red of the wizard’s blushing cheeks were an interesting contrast.  No one had ever had the temerity to tease the hulking Slytherin, but the entire House knew about chastity charms.  Draco didn’t pause to think why Granger would have one.  It didn’t matter.

“Mr. Malfoy, I expect more courtesy from you.”  Snape’s rapidly thinning patience was evident in his tone, which had dropped to a dark, silky purr.  Many a victim had dreaded that tone, it meant the Potions Master was preparing to strike.

Draco continued to ignore him.  His grey eyes darkened to charcoal and narrowed to slits as he tried to recall the colour of Granger’s aura, to gauge the level of the threat.  It had been the deep, intense, vibrant blue of mal-intent.  “Shite!”

“Mr. Malfoy!”  Snape was livid.  They’d begun to draw the attention of the other faculty members and a few students who wondered at the commotion.

“BLOODY, BUGGERING BASTARD!”

All eyes in the Great Hall turned to the Malfoy heir.  Dumbledore’s legendary twinkle was non-existent.  Despite his volatility, Draco Malfoy was rarely profane.  To hear him swear loudly was shocking.  To see him standing abruptly from the High Table, his expression one of lethal intent, sent chills down many a student’s spine, and roused the concern of several teachers.

In a heartbeat Draco’s wand was in his hand as he registered the meaning of the glittering triumphant look in Smith’s eyes.  Fuck!  Could he get there in time?  Looking at Snape, the nearest thing he had to a best friend, the blond almost spat in his fury, “Severus…. Smith. Granger. Parkinson’s charm.”

Comprehension hardened Snape’s face, and several students shrank in upon themselves.  Few had ever seen the unmasked face of a Death Eater bent on destruction.  None would ever forget it now.  As chilling as Draco Malfoy’s face and demeanor was, Severus Snape looked like a death head of vengeance.

As Snape stood from the table, Draco abandoned all decorum and sprang from the dais, his wand at the ready, his teaching robes discarded on the flagstones separating House tables, as he ran from the Great Hall.

Turning toward the Headmaster, and in a remarkably commanding tone, Snape said, “Bring Poppy,” before he too, followed his protégé from the Hall.  He was so greatly feared that the entire student body was silent at his passing, but as soon as the massive doors swung shut behind him, pandemonium reigned. 

Snape couldn’t be arsed about it.  He was a wizard of very few friends, and he treasured each of them.  That Hermione Granger had become one had taken him by complete surprise.  She’d insinuated herself into his life and his heart over the years that they’d worked together, tirelessly, as members of the Order. Their friendship had been comfortable, and she was valued highly by the intensely private man.  Snape took the stairs two-at-time -- Hogwarts itself seemed to understand the urgency, and the staircases aligned themselves for rapid ascent -- he could hear Draco’s running steps on the first floor.  If the young Malfoy was correct about what was happening between Smith and Hermione, the professor didn’t give much of a chance on the DADA Professor’s survival.  If Draco hadn’t killed Smith outright by the time Snape found them, the ex-Death Eater would be certain to finish the job.  The question of why no one had noticed the alteration in Smith’s interest before would have to be asked at a later time.

In the first floor corridor, Draco had arrived at the DADA classroom out of breath, but his righteous fury sustained him.  He pointed his wand at the locked door.  “Alohomora!”

Nothing.

The door was impervious to the spell.  Draco panted for breath.  His brain had shut down on his mad dash from the Great Hall.  He had no real understanding of why he was here, why he was so livid… so desperate to get to Granger.  He only knew that he had to get into that room.  Again he pointed his wand.  This time he shouted the spell.

“ALOHOMORA!”

Still nothing.

“Bugger. Bugger. Bugger!”  Draco’s blood was pounding in his temples, and he wanted nothing more than to have the porcine neck of Zacharias Smith between his hands.  But first he had to get into the effing room.

Snape reached his side and, without asking what steps his protégé had taken, immediately flicked his wand, “Revalato!” 

Complicated layers of wards appeared, not the least of which was a sophisticated Repelling Spell.  The telltale, signature chartreuse of a Confundus was revealed, anchoring the charm to the door’s handle, and evidence of several other arcane spells which would leave a victim in varying states… from befuddlement to incapacitation.  The DADA Professor had put a personalized tag on the charms, so none responded to a ‘Finite Incantatem.’  Zacharias Smith might never have made it into the Auror training program, but he had learned defense from the best, and had corrupted his knowledge for his own reprehensible purpose. 

Two of the best were ready to take him apart, limb by limb, if they could open the thrice-damned door.  As Snape worked on dismantling the personalized tagging, Draco paced and growled.  His anger hadn’t dissipated one iota.  “Bollocks, Severus, that bastard’s had her at his mercy for an hour… I’m going to Diffindo his other Achilles tendon from his body and choke him with it.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Malfoy.  I’ve already Floo’d for the Aurors.”  Albus Dumbledore’s voice preceded his person down the hall, but Fawkes flew on ahead of him.  Draco was intensely relieved to see the flamboyantly feathered familiar.

“Shite! The Floo.  Why haven’t we Floo’d in there?”  Draco was already sprinting down the hall to the next classroom when Dumbledore’ voice halted him.

“It’s been blocked from within the DADA office, Draco. I checked in the staff room.  Mr. Smith seems to have planned for the contingency.”  The weight of judgment was clear in the old wizard’s voice, and Draco’s face settled into grim lines, making him look a great deal like his father.

Snape stood up, his face a hard mask of resignation.  “If I remove the next layer, Albus, then Smith will be notified that someone’s dismantling the wards.  He will have ample time to harm her before we can get to them.”

Draco’s fists clenched.  His right hand was wrapped so tightly around his wand that he had to consciously loosen his grip in case he snapped the slender rod.  He wanted to strike… to kill something.   He was going to rip Smith’s heart out of his chest if Hermione was hurt… or worse.

All three wizards had lost people they’d cared about during the Voldemort War, and to some degree all three wizards were inured to the pain of death.  However, with peacetime had come a softening of their personal walls of defense, and Hermione Granger had become entrenched in the lives of these men.  Her death would be a very real blow to all three wizards at the door.

Dumbledore’s voice was as ruthless as anyone had ever known, and he summoned his power to him.  There was an audible hum in the corridor and the hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stood on end.  Albus Dumbledore was the greatest living wizard and he would not allow his young colleague to remain in peril within his demesne.  “In three minutes, Severus, you may dismantle the rest of the wards.  Draco, be prepared to enter the classroom quickly.”  

Draco and Snape stood to the side, and Dumbledore raised his wand.  Pointing it directly at the wall in front of him, he relied on a century of experience, and shouted, “Stupefy Smith!”

A jet of incandescent fiery red shot from Dumbledore’ wand, impacting against the wall of the corridor, the hex mushroomed into a large, pulsating circle until it seeped through the mortar and cracks it sought between the uneven blocks of stone.  Streaks of red disappeared from sight, and none of the wizards in the corridor doubted that it had reached the door to the inner office. 

They waited. 

When exactly three minutes had passed, Snape released the final wards on the door and yelled, ‘Reducto!’

The door imploded into fragments, and Draco didn’t wait until the dust had settled.  His long legs carried him across the classroom, his heart beating in time with his steps, and up the stairs to the inner door, passing the frantic Pixies in their cage.   He barely registered the conversation between the Headmaster and Snape as they followed him at a slower, but no less urgent pace.

“I don’t think blasting the door made things better, Severus.”

Snape’s dark, sulky voice said, “It made me feel better, Albus.”

“I know, my boy.  I know.”

Draco had already cast the revealing charm on the inner door, and it was here that Smith’ had made a mistake.  There were no complicated wards delaying the fury of Hermione’s rescuers.  One simple ‘Alohomora’ later and the door swung open.  Wand drawn, Draco crouched into a defensive posture, and stepped into the DADA office. 

The room hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been in it, except that the imposing edifice of a desk had become a bed.  Draco quickly scanned for any evidence that the Headmaster’s hex had somehow left Smith operational.  There was no sign of the wizard.  But Hermione’s naked body lay sprawled across the bed’s surface, her pale limbs askew.  Draco didn’t register her nudity, her alabaster skin whose smooth expanse was interrupted by the dark triangle of pubic hair and the dusky peach of her nipples.  Instead, his stormy eyes were drawn to the livid red weal of a hand imprinted on her otherwise colourless cheek.  It was the only indication that she wasn’t a still life of luminescence and shadow… except for the crimson line of blood trailing across her thigh.

Draco’s heart stopped, and then he moved to the transfigured desk -- with no memory of having taken a step -- one uncallused finger searching for proof of life.  The softness of Hermione’s skin was immaterial to his search.  He refused to let his eyes wander over her lithe body.  It seemed too intimate… too invasive.  The memory was already imprinted upon his brain.  As soon as Draco felt the entirely reassuring thump of her continued existence, he drew a relieved, ragged breath.  His own heart beat once more. 

Draco’s sharp ears heard the rapid approach of Severus and Dumbledore, and he turned to block their sightline from the nude woman who’d been so obviously violated. 

Snape entered the room first, his black eyes quickly cataloging the situation, taking in the transfigured desk, the remnants of the tea things, the heap of clothing in the corner, Hermione’s naked feet, one of her hands dangling off the side of the bed.  Draco was protectively blocking his line of sight, but something about the stillness of Hermione’s drooping hand hardened his heart, preparing for the worst.  Mentally, he told himself to prepare for a lengthy stay in Azkaban for the murder Zacharias Smith. 

And then Draco’s words granted Smith a stay of execution… barely.

The grim-faced Apprentice ground out, “She’s alive… unconscious, but alive.”

“And…?”  Severus’ voice was almost a whisper – satin on silk – and as deadly as a basilisk’s.

Draco’s response was a growl, “He hit her… at least once.  And there’s blood.”

Dumbledore had joined the men in the room, and he, too, took stock of the tableau as well as the young Malfoy’s defensive, protective posture.  If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, a twinkle would clearly be sparkling in the old wizard’s rheumy eyes.

They couldn’t disrupt the scene before the Aurors arrived, but they could certainly cover their young colleague.  Dumbledore quickly looked around the room and saw Hermione’s robes hanging on the enchanted coat rack.  He crossed to the rack, lifted the heavy velveteen and turned only to see something he’d never have expected.  Severus Snape, the wizard of a thousand buttons, had removed his outer robes, and handed them to Draco to cover his friend.  Never, in all the years he’d taught at Hogwarts, had the Potions Master removed his outer robes outside of his private chambers, unless he’d been a patient in the infirmary.  Dumbledore needed no further proof that Hermione Granger was indeed a well-loved witch.

Draco accepted the satin-lined cloak, then turned to carefully drape the heavy cloth over Hermoine’s nude form.  His movements were so tender that Dumbledore’s heart ached for the younger man, and they bespoke of Draco’s unrealized feelings for the witch.  Neither Headmaster nor Potions Master was cruel enough to point it out.

Snape turned to Dumbledore, “Where’s Poppy?”

“She should be here momentarily.  Where’s Smith?” 

“The bastard’s here.” 

Draco’s snarl alerted his colleagues, and they immediately joined the Potions Apprentice at the head of the bed, looking down at the unmoving, nude, bleeding form of their now-reviled colleague.  The Headmaster’s hex appeared to have thrown Smith from atop Hermione’s body, immobilizing him in a state of retaliation against the unconscious witch.  One of his arms was cocked, hand clenched in a fist, his face contorted in a rictus of agony and fury, the other arm had stiffened into a position which indicated that his weight had been propped on his hand, and his legs were bent at the knee – almost indicative of a fetal position.  The blood was oozing from his groin, more specifically from his flaccid penis.

Identical, vicious smirks graced the features of the blond and raven-haired Potions instructors as they realized that the DADA Professor had encountered the third level of protection from an active chastity charm.  Smith had been given first degree burns as a result of his attempt to penetrate his unwilling victim.  Only later would anyone realize how lucky Hermione had been that Smith had not given her a verbal command, because the Imperius Potion would have overridden the chastity charm.

Draco pointed his wand at Smith’s pustulating wound, and the depth of his fury was clear, “A quick Diffindo will finish the job.”

Dumbledore placed a liver-spotted hand on the younger wizard’s arm.  “Let him be taken care of by the Aurors.  I assure you that he will not be coddled by those who will arrive at any moment.”

Snape grimaced, “Potter.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Harry.  And Ron Weasley if I’m not mistaken.   But none better for our purposes.  Besides, gentlemen, we need to preserve the room for later testimony.  It would not do to contaminate the evidence.”  He waved his hand to the cup of tea that appeared to have fallen to the floor in front of Hermione’s desk chair. 

Quickly turning toward Hermione, Snape prepared to examine her for the underlying cause of her unconsciousness.  The triggering of a third-level chastity charm shouldn’t have caused this severe a reaction.  Before he could step beside Hermione, however, Draco imposed himself between the Snape and the bed.  The older wizard was unprepared for the swiftness of the move or the accompanying low and dangerously voiced, “Leave off.  Poppy will take care of her.”

Snape was taken aback by Draco’s implacable command, and the degree of protectiveness the younger wizard was expressing for the Muggleborn witch.  He’d realized several months previously that Draco’s reaction to the pretty brunette held more attraction than revulsion, but he hadn’t realized that there was a very real emotional attachment.   He doubted that the Malfoy heir was aware of the depth of his feelings, but rather than inflame a volatile situation, Snape stepped back from the bed, and instead crossed to Hermione’s desk and the fallen teacup.

“Albus…” panted Poppy Pomfrey, as she rushed into the room.  “Albus, where is she… Oh!”  Without a pause in her forward momentum, the stern but kindly mediwitch continued to Hermione’s side.  As she reached out to pull Snape’s heavy robes off Hermoine’s still form, a strong, young, male hand halted her gesture.  Poppy raised her blue eyes to meet Draco’s concerned gaze.

“Madam Pomfrey, she’s nude under the robes.”

“I see.”  She straightened for a moment, cast her eyes around at the three men who didn’t appear inclined to depart, and then drew her wand from a pocket in her skirts.  It flared to life as she cast a diagnostic spell over the unconscious witch’s covered body.  Immediately a holographic image of Hermoine’s body superimposed itself over the wounded witch’s form, a swirling mass of colours radiating through the ephemeral projection.  The lividity of the red handprint glowed, an incandescent red, while other red marks flared at Hermione’s wrists, her breasts and one broad spot on her inner thigh.  The pearlescent sheen of a chastity charm in full force and effect pulsed in a triangular shape over the location of Hermione’s ovaries and uterus, but there was a distressing, roiling black which highlighted the witch’s entire bloodstream.  Poppy sucked in a shocked breath, and asked sharply, “What was she given?  Whatever it was, it was too high a dose.”

Albus Dumbledore had made use of his time in the room, and was even now standing over the pile of discarded clothing with a speculative look, that was hidden partially by his flowing white beard.  “One moment, Poppy, I may be able to shed some light on that.”  He raised his hand, wand held securely in his fingers, and with one swift downward stroke he intoned, “Revelato generis.”

For several seconds nothing happened, and then sickly yellow sparkles of light flared around four items in the room:  the teacup and stain on the floor, Hermione’s body, Smith’s right hand, and a small lump in Smith’s discarded trousers.  Another flick of his wand, and Dumbledore muttered “Coalesce.” The glittering yellow sparkles flew in an incandescent trail whirling into the shape of a small potions bottle, pulsing with malevolence.

“I’m afraid it’s one of the Unforgivable Potions, Poppy.  I cannot tell which.”  Dumbledore turned to look at his younger colleague, “Severus?”

“Not without a sample to test, Albus.  It’s possible that I have an antidote in my private stores, but without knowing which one Smith’s used on her, I would not take the risk.”

Draco seemed to grow taller as his desire for vengeance grew. “Let’s wake the bastard, Severus.  I’d be happy to… ask… just what he gave her.” 

Poppy gaped at the Malfoy heir while Dumbledore and Snape exchanged what could only be called a significant glance.

“You mean to tell me that he’s still here? In this room?”  Poppy’s voice became shrill with distress, and the Headmaster placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“He’s Stupefied, Poppy.  He will need your attention…”  As she appeared to instantly follow his bidding, Dumbledore continued, “after you’ve seen to Miss Granger.  I believe she is deserving of our help first.”

“There are times, Albus, when my oath as a mediwitch is not easy to bear.”

In the ten seconds before their professionalism asserted itself, two masculine voices shouting “Hermione!?” echoed in the DADA office, interrupting the conversation.  By the time Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, dressed in full Auror uniforms, entered the room with the rest of their team, a sober, black-haired Nymphadora Tonks, and the stern, imposing form of Millicent Bulstrode, Draco had reassumed his position in front of the transfigured desk.  

His position caused the Aurors to check their strides, even though Harry and Ron continued forward to their fallen friend’s side.  Draco raised a hand, palm outward in the universal sign to halt. 

With barely controlled anger, Harry spluttered, “Malfoy, what gives you…”

“She’s hurt, Potter.  She’s nude, unconscious and overdosed.  Before you play St. Potter to the rescue, we need official sanction for Severus to evaluate a sample of the Unforgivable Potion that Granger was given.  Poppy cannot heal her until she knows.” 

With a speed that surprised everyone except his teammates, Ron Weasley’s wand was thrust into Draco’s neck, and his voice, heavily-laden with suspicion, ground out, “What did you do to her, Ferret?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed to silver slits, the hand he’d held to prevent Harry’s touching Hermione dropped to his side in preparation for a fight, fingers twitching in eagerness to reach for his wand.  He’d hated the redhead since the day that Harry Potter had spurned his offer of friendship in favor of the pauper’s.  Draco refused to reply to such a specious accusation… rather he’d save his breath to hex the brainless buffoon into next week.

“Ron…”

“Save it for the actual culprit, Weasley.”  Snape’s derisive tone overrode Harry’s half-hearted attempt at checking his partner’s actions.  Harry hadn’t been convinced that Ron’s assumption was incorrect.

“Ronald Weasley!”  Nymphadora stepped forward.  As the senior member of the team, she was the putative leader, and, in this case, it was imperative to follow procedure.  “You’re here as a professional.  You can wait in the corridor or you can stay and do your job.  Your choice, mate?”

“Ron, Harry,” Dumbledore took the two steps necessary to reach the young Aurors’ sides.  “Mr. Malfoy is the reason Miss Granger’s danger was discovered.  We have him to thank for saving her.”  

Ron’s flushed face flamed further with his embarrassment at being called on the carpet for his impetuous assumption, and he dropped his wand.  He turned to look at Harry, before stepping back from Draco.

Before Draco, Harry or Ron could continue their animosity-fest, Tonks took charge.  The fumbling lack of coordination that she displayed in her off hours didn’t, for some reason, translate to her professional duties.  A number of things needed to be set into place immediately.  The room was too crowded for effective investigation and she’d heard what Draco had said to Harry.  Prioritizing her duties, and having taken note of the results of the Headmaster’s charms, she officially removed the small vial from Smith’s trousers’ pocket and handed it to Harry, who’d remained beside Hermione’s blond guardian.

While everyone’s attention had been drawn to Ron’s outburst, Harry had maneuvered himself off to the side of Draco in order to see Hermione, to confirm that she was alive.  He was startled by the whipcord movement of Draco’s arm preventing him from touching his friend.  Harry flicked a glance at Draco and gave him a curt nod of understanding.  He couldn’t touch her until Poppy Pomfrey had completed her examination.  But nothing prevented his eyes from taking in the still form of his childhood friend.  Harry’s heart constricted as he realized Hermione’s state of dishevelment, and the still vivid handprint on her cheek filled him with a pulsing anger he was hard-pressed to contain.  He absent-mindedly accepted the vial from Tonks and drew his attention to her instructions that he was to accompany Snape to his lab and not let the vial out of his sight.  The chain-of-evidence was as important to maintain in the wizarding world as in the Muggle.

The only challenge to Tonks’ authority came when a rigidly controlled Ron discovered the Stupefied body of Zacharias Smith.  Not slow to accurately add a column of figures when necessary, the redhead realized that Draco Malfoy had actually been protecting Hermione.  “Oi, Harry, c’mere.  Here’s the sodding bastard that touched ‘Mione.  I never liked him in Fifth Year, and now he’s risen to the top of my list.”  In as close to an apology as he would ever come, he added, “Skipping right over Malfoy.”

Harry joined his teammate for a brief moment, and the two Aurors looked down on the still form of the naked DADA Professor.  Not even the common bonds of masculine sympathy for Smith’s wounded groin could soften their hearts against the obsessed wizard who’d coveted and hurt their dearest friend.  Both Aurors tightened their jaws and got to work.  They would be textbook-thorough with this investigation because they’d be damned if Smith walked away from this assault without a blemish to his name. 

No one spared a thought to cover Smith’s nudity. 

After Harry followed Snape from the room, Tonks sent Ron to the classroom with Dumbledore to examine the dismantled wards on the doors.  She then banished Draco from the DADA office as well.  He initially refused to move from his post at Hermione’s side, but Tonks had crossed the room to convince him.  They were an interesting contrast of relatives… the light and dark side of the Black family.  The tips of Tonks’ short hair began to change to a deep orchid, and she tilted her chin to look Draco in the eye.  “Poppy can’t examine her until you leave,” and when he merely crossed his arms in a stubborn refusal, she touched his forearm with her hand, “We will care for her… cousin.”

Draco’s emotions were a seething mess of anger, vengeance, fear, and something he couldn’t put a name to, but he was determined to protect Hermione even from the impersonal care of Aurors.  The fact that Tonks’ played the familial-bond card changed the situation.  The tall Malfoy heir bowed his head in a patrician gesture, and the utterly serious look he gave his cousin punctuated the seriousness of his next words, “See that you do, or you will answer to me.”

He stepped from his post.  His former Housemate escorted him to the classroom where he decided to follow Snape to the lab.  Dark-haired Millicent Bulstrode only asked one question of the Slytherin, “Granger?”

“Granger, what?”  Draco snapped.  He had no idea what she was asking.  His sharp mind was focused on only one thing - making the bastard who’d hurt Hermione pay… and pay… and pay.

“Nothing, Malfoy, nothing.  Where will you be?  I need to interview you in more detail after we give the scene a look.”

“I’ll be in the dungeons assisting Sev—Professor Snape.”  Draco turned to look at the glowing light coming from the DADA office, his face curiously young and vulnerable, and then his features shifted into a mask of icy control.  Nodding to Bulstrode, he turned and stalked from the classroom.

With a shrug of her broad shoulders, Bulstrode returned to her assigned task, collecting evidence. 

~o0o~

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