Chapter Text
She regained consciousness in slow, blurry waves. Her pounding head made it difficult to focus, but at some point her eyes focused enough for Hermione to take in the room she was imprisoned in. She was in a castle or manor or some other ostentatious home. Her arms were bound behind her back, her legs tied to the legs of the chair she was slumped on, and she was gagged.
She looked around sluggishly, hoping to glean more about her surroundings, but was abruptly backhanded across the face. She grunted in pain as stars exploded behind her vision. Hot blood dripped from her lower lip. Hermione refocused her eyes with difficulty; the slap was not helping with the brain fog.
“And you’re supposed to be the brightest witch of our age?” a voice sneered. Hermione tried to make her eyes focus on the towering form in front of her. “You were so easy to kidnap.”
The man came into focus. He was of an average build, nothing special about him; hair a brownish blond, brown eyes, tan skin. The only thing that stood out was the scowl on his face.
“The Darkest Lord will reward me for capturing you. You’ve been a damn nuisance. Do you have any idea how much work goes into stealing dragons and turning them?” the man questioned.
Hermione could not respond, but silently begged him to tell her. She wanted to get as much information from the man as possible. She worked at the gag in her mouth, trying to dislodge it.
“First there’s capturing one without dying—that’s hard. Very hard. Getting the eggs is easier. Takes too long for them to mature, though. And since you’ve killed nine of our dragons—that’s right, nine. Aren’t you supposed to have a hard on for magical creatures or something? Fucking dragon fucker,” he grumbled.
Hermione bristled. She worked harder at the gag.
“More like dragon killer,” he sneered. “We’ve had to kidnap some. We’re lucky we have our potions master.” The man sighed. He leaned against an elaborately carved wooden table. “Anyway. You won’t be bothering us for much longer. I can’t wait to see what he does to you. Maybe I’ll get a turn.”
Hermione’s blood ran cold, then boiled in rage. Her rage helped focus her vision.
The man continued monologuing, “I hope he imperios you and makes you work for us. Soon you’ll be enslaving those dragons you like fucking so much.”
Hermione felt magic sparking up her arms.
“What do you get out of fucking Malfoy anyway? That blood traitor like to role play Death Eater and Mudblood or something?”
In a bolt of energy, Hermione’s magic came to her. The ropes keeping her in place lit on fire and burnt to a crip, somehow not damaging her clothing or skin. All that laid in their wake was smoke. The man stumbled back in shock.
“But you don’t have a wand. You’re a mudblood,” he stammered.
By some miracle, Hermione rose to her feet. Not sure what magic was flowing through her veins, she instinctively held up her hands in his direction and shot a blast of scorching flames straight into him. Her kidnapper screamed as his clothing and hair caught on fire.
Hermione looked around frantically for a wand. His shrieks of pain and thrashing body were incredibly distracting to her already unfocussed mind. The smell of burning flesh wasn’t helping either.
By chance, the man’s wand rolled toward her. She picked it up and rapidly doused the flames burning through his flesh. She then stupefied him. He looked like he was still alive—though severely burned. Hermione summoned her own wand before promptly doubling over and retching from the smell of burnt human. The heirloom carpet was definitely ruined.
Hermione’s wand zipped through the gap under the sitting room door. She pocketed the man’s wand and held her own, feeling far more at ease than before. Adrenaline was rocketing through her veins, helping her shift her focus from the horrific sight of the burned man’s mottled flesh. But her brain remained sluggish.
She debated tying the man up, but could not stomach the thought of the ropes fusing with his liquified flesh. He was harmless without a wand, anyway.
Hermione heard approaching footsteps and had about one second to disillusion herself before the door banged open, definitely damaging the centuries old wood and wallpaper on the other side.
Hermione knew her charm would not do much given that she was in the middle of the room and the two hooded figures were evidently looking right at her. So, she used the second of surprise to take down one of them.
With a powerful stupefy, one figure was blasted off their feet and fell to the ground, limp. Her head was still pounding, so when the second figure shot a slicing hex at her, Hermione did not dodge it. She cursed as blood bloomed on her side, making her barely disillusioned body very easy to track.
Hermione dispelled her disillusionment charm, recognizing that it would only drain her magic instead of help her. Another confusing surge of magic leapt through her veins. Following an unknown instinct, Hermione held up her left hand again and shot a barrage of flames from her palm directly at the hooded person.
They immediately caught ablaze, the smell of ash and burning flesh once again filling Hermione’s nostrils. The person shrieked and ripped at their clothing, trying to free themselves. Hermione retched again. The figure was on the ground now, rolling and moaning in pain, the flames licking over their skin.
Hermione cast an augamenti and then likewise stupefied the husk of a human. Her stomach was roiling. She looked away, not wanting to see if the person were still alive or not. She would deal with the fallout of her actions later. First, she had to get out. Before leaving, she bound the unburned stupefied Death Eater.
She stumbled from the room and slammed the door shut, trying to clear the smell of burnt flesh from her lungs. Now that the immediate threat was over, Hermione’s body was rebelling. She fell to the ground on shaking legs, dry heaving on the pristine carpet.
Several minutes passed. Hermione crawled down the hallway, her limbs heavy and her brain getting foggier as the adrenaline leeched from her veins. Whatever they had done to rend her unconscious was still impacting her brain.
“Draco?” she tried calling weakly. There was no answer. But she felt something—as if he were trying to reach her and could not.
Hermione pulled herself to her feet and shook her head. She looked around her manor prison. The portraits did little to give her clues as to her whereabouts and since they were landscapes, she could not even ask them for help. Though, she doubted in a muggle-hating manor she’d get much help.
Hermione leaned against the walls heavily as she slowly made her way to what she hoped was an exit. She walked and walked, confused as to if she was actually getting anywhere. As she took in the same portrait of a river, she realized the place was charmed into an actual maze. She was walking in circles no matter what path she took.
Hermione growled in frustration.
She felt the manor give a tremendous shake. Hermione clutched the nearest doorframe to her. The wood floor boards shook again and a muffled far-off sounding roar reached her ears.
Draco.
She knew it was him intuitively. He would always find her.
Hermione swore as a sudden pain ripped through her right calf. She collapsed into the door frame she was clutching. Hermione turned too late and was sliced again, this time on her upper thigh.
Another hooded figure was standing in the corridor, not far from her. How she had not heard them made no sense to her—but her senses were not particularly strong in that moment. Whatever they had done to her was dulling her ability to think, to communicate with Draco, to hold herself upright.
Hermione raised her wand and panted at the figure. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, whether or not that were true. She did not want to burn him alive, that was for sure. But her regular magical felt depleted, whereas this confusing fire magic was strong, thrumming within her veins, begging to be released.
“Shut up, mudblood bitch,” the woman replied.
Hermione groaned in annoyance even as she lifted her left hand. The flames greedily licked over the woman’s body and burnt her to a crisp. Hermione did not have it in her to check if she were alive or not—either way, she stole the wand and stupefied the woman. The woman’s screams haunted Hermione as she stumbled away from the smouldering remains. Then
Hermione continued on her never-ending trek through the labyrinthine hallways.
No matter where she turned, she could not find a window or an open door. There was no staircase. Only hallways of paintings and tapestries, statues and carpets. The occasional booms and roars shook the walls of her prison.
Hermione tried to heal her wounds and did a decent job, considering how muddled her brain was. But she was still leaking blood.
After what felt like a half hour (though, she had no concrete understanding of how much time had passed), Hermione tried to open a door. Why she had not up to that point made little sense to her, confirming the presence of a curse or potion in her system.
The door would not open. None would open. She kept trying and trying. The manor shook again, throwing her to her knees. Hermione cried out, frustrated tears streaming down her face.
Two figures appeared suddenly—again their appearance defying even magic (there was no sound of apparition); she should have heard their approach. Before Hermione could react, she was knocked unconscious, her foggy world fading to black.
*
When she came to again, she felt even more sluggish than the first time she had woken. She was able to process that some people were nearby her and arguing. It took her much longer to put together that she was in a large room, perhaps a drawing room of some sort. Hermione was strung up, her hands tied together with thick ropes and hanging from a hook. Her shoes just grazed the floor.
“I still don’t think this is a good idea. He’s already torched half the place. And we have five more dead, plus the ones she’s killed. The Darkest Lord—” A woman was saying frantically from somewhere nearish to Hermione.
Hermione’s stomach had started roiling again, making her feel seasick as she tried to keep herself upright. She focused on her feet, her sensible work shoes feeling out of place for the horrors she had just witnessed.
“He’ll just keep coming for us,” a man’s voice countered. “We bait him now and get the talisman in him.”
“We don’t have enough people. She killed four of us. His horde is decimating us out there—!” the woman argued.
There was the sound of a slap. “You forget your place,” the man’s voice growled.
Hermione flinched in fright at the sound of the slap. She tried to focus in on the arguing people near her, but her eyes seemed incapable of obeying her. Hermione’s shoulders ached from being suspended and drool (or maybe more blood) was dripping from her mouth. She had never felt so disconnected from reality before.
“Draco,” she murmured in her mind, knowing he was somewhere near. “I love you.”
A gut piercing roar rattled the window panes.
Hermione recoiled as the floor titled beneath her feet and a massive explosion rocked the manor. She blinked hazily in the smoky aftermath that was filling the blurry room around her. As the smoke cleared, it was suddenly very bright.
Her eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of what she was seeing: the wall had been destroyed and there—Draco.
His silver horns glinted in the light, his greenish-black body massive, his wings beating a familiar thud-ump that made her instantly relax. He was there. Everything would be fine.
A vicious plume of molten hot fire exploded into the drawing room. Hermione didn’t cringe. If anything, she moved toward the flames.
The sounds of screaming, the roar of fire, the smells of sizzling skin filled her senses. With a whimper, she collapsed to the ground as the flames burned through the ropes holding her upright. The flames danced around her, licked at her skin, but did not harm her. They nearly blinded her, forcing her tired eyes shut. But they were warm and safe. She was warm and safe.
While all around her, people screamed their last breaths.
*
Hermione, unsure when she had passed out, awoke to a much darker room, cradled in someone’s arms.
“Hermione,” a voice begged. “Please be okay. What happened? What did they do to you?” The voice mattered. He was someone important.
Hermione blinked up at him. Her mate. His dangerous horns looked larger than normal, his eyes the slits of his dragon form. He was smoking, literally, smoke curled off his body. But he looked so soft to her. His face broken as he gazed down at her.
Hermione cupped his cheek with a feeble hand. “I knew you’d come,” she murmured.
Then she passed out again.
*
Hermione awoke in the hospital ward at Yhalis. Draco was curled around her body, snoring softly into her ear, but as soon as she woke, he tensed and stopped snoring.
She looked at him groggily. He peered back at her.
Hermione offered him a soft smile.
They were kissing fiercely a moment later.
When they came up for air, Draco stared down into her eyes. “I am so sorry, love. I failed.”
Hermione frowned. “What?” her voice was hoarse.
“To keep you safe.”
“Draco,” she scolded, wishing she had some water. “You literally saved my life. What are you talking about?”
“You should have never been captured in the first place.” His arms tightened around her.
“How did you…what happened?” Hermione’s brain was still sluggish.
Draco kissed her mark, making her tingle. Draco helped her sit up, handed her some water and patiently waited while she sloshed it down her throat. He gave her another glass once she drained the first one. Her throat was much better after that.
Next, Draco handed her a series of potions. She didn’t ask questions, her brain still feeling swollen and slow. Hermione downed the potions. After a few moments, she felt them begin to work: she felt calmer and able to think more clearly. Hermione took stock of her body with a clearer mind and noted that she didn’t appear to have any wounds and was not sore. She wondered how much time had passed. She also felt clean instead of covered in ash and sweat; she had been healed and cleaned.
Hermione diligently accepted the plate of snacks that Draco handed her next. After a few bites, she looked at him again. “What happened?”
Draco blew black smoke from his nostrils in a puff of anger.
Hermione stroked his face, calming him. “I’m alive,” she reminded him softly. “Thanks to you.”
“Bill didn’t realize you were missing. He gets like you, as I’m sure you’ve noticed; lost in the work. At least an hour had passed, but we’re not sure because the idiot doesn’t pay attention,” Draco grumbled. “He only noticed when I showed up to pick you up and force you to eat dinner.”
“I eat dinner,” Hermione protested, eating her grape. “You know I was completely capable of taking care of myself before you came into my life.”
“Granger,” Draco levelled her a look, his eyebrow pointed, “Let’s not argue now, not when you were almost taken from me.” He paused. “But we both know I’m right. One measly meal of instant noodles a day is not taking care of oneself.” Hermione went to rebut, but he kept talking, “You were gone. Your scent disappeared in the atrium. And it was accompanied by another—a man.” A huge puff of black smoke overtook his face.
Hermione thought of the man who had said how easy it had been to capture her. Of his shrieks as the flesh melted from his bones. She shuddered.
“I lost it…” Draco admitted, cheeks heating a bit. “I might be facing some serious destruction of property charges from the Ministry.”
Hermione laughed despite the gravity of the situation. “What did you do?”
“I shifted in the atrium. Destroyed that stupid statue. Burnt everything in my path.”
Hermione, having an entirely inappropriate reaction, felt heat gathering in her lower abdomen. “Oh.”
Draco smelling her desire, danced his fingers across her mark. Hermione groaned in response. “Should we take a break from this story?” he asked.
Hermione nearly agreed. But she stopped him. “No. I want to know everything first.”
Draco sighed. “I destroyed the Ministry Atrium. Bill got the horde mobilized while I was losing my shit. We began a search party. I couldn’t sense you like normal. I don’t know why. It’s still a bit…faded now. Is it the same for you?”
Hermione nodded. “Yes.” She spoke to him mentally,“You’re there. But it’s like you’re so far away.”
His response was muffled, distant, “I hate it.”
“So do I,” she replied. “But it seems to be returning to normal. How did you find me?”
“We had a few leads on potential areas thanks to that guy Potter interrogated, Doug. He had never been to headquarters, but he had heard some chatter. We started searching the areas. Scared a lot of purebloods by showing up on their doorstep. It took too long—” Draco grumbled in annoyance. “But we finally found you at Avery’s old estate.”
“Avery. Isn’t he a husk in Azkaban?” Hermione questioned.
“He is,” Draco confirmed. “But apparently, no one is monitoring his home. And it was being used as a base. When we arrived outside the wards, I could sense you. And we were immediately greeted by a band of dragons and riders. It took a long time to get through the wards. Too long.”
“I could feel you breaking them,” Hermione murmured. “The manor kept shaking.”
“I’m sorry.”
Hermione kissed his knuckles. “Did you capture any of them?”
Draco shrugged a shoulder. “I honestly don’t know. I know I killed a few. But I concentrated on destroying the wards. Burning the place to the ground, since I knew the flames would not harm you. And I just kept feeling you—the ghost of you just beyond my awareness. I could feel you hurting, confused. And I could feel…fire.”
Hermione placed her now empty plate on the side table. Draco handed her another glass of water. She rolled her eyes and drank it.
“Yeah. I could somehow… I think…” her slow mind put it together. “I was channelling your magic.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your magic. Your flames. I was using your flames. I was too weak to really fight them. Whatever they gave me—confused me. Is still confusing me. My brain is slow.” Hermione frowned. “Some sort of magic suppressant is my guess. But I could feel this fire in my veins—actually kind of like how I feel when we—” she felt her face heat a bit. “Well, when we have sex.”
Draco leaned toward her, looming. “Tell me more about that feeling,” he practically purred.
Hermione chuckled. She pecked him on the lips. “Like I’m going to light on fire with my desire,” she replied, her eyes on his lips. Her eyes darted up to his slitted pupils and thought she ought to change the topic before he pounced on her and she didn’t get a true update for what seemed like might be days. “But instead of lust, it was rage. I…I think I killed four people,” Hermione admitted, effectively dousing her desire.
Draco clasped her hand. He looked even more aroused by her admission. “With my flames?” he asked. “Our bond helped you?”
Hermione nodded. Draco was on her then, ravaging her mouth, pressing into her body, grinding against her.
“It kept you safe? I kept you safe?” he muttered against her lips.
Hermione curled on hand in his hair, the other around the base of a horn. “Yes,” she groaned against his lips.
Hermione’s goal of learning what happened was quickly derailed. Draco was inside of her within seconds, grinding his hips against her core possessively. “My fire torched those fuckers who tried to hurt you?”
“Mmm,” Hermione replied, nodding feverishly. Her hips danced against his, their mouths clashing aggressively.
Draco grinded her into the hospital bed, promising, “I’ll always protect, I’ll always keep you safe. I love you.” His vows sworn against her lips, her throat, her mark. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again. You’re mine to protect. To love.”
Hermione was wailing with pleasure, her heart pounding and her mind happily fogged with desire instead of whatever her captors had given her. “Yours,” she agreed. “Yours to keep safe. To l-love. Oh, fuck. Yours. Draco. Draco. Draco.”
He bit at her neck.
“You did so good,” Hermione whimpered. “I knew you’d come for me.”
Draco moaned deep and low, his hips erratic. “Yours,” he vowed. “I’m yours.”
They came together on stilted moans. Their hips jerked and Hermione clamped down on him painfully.
Draco continued muttering over and over that he’d keep her safe, promising to never let anyone touch her again.
*
When Hermione woke again, Draco forced more food and water on her. She accepted it without complaint. “Tell me the rest.”
He picked some food from her plate. “The horde took care of the others. I broke through the wards somehow. I could sense you better closer to the end of the fight and my magic surged. I destroyed the wall of the room you were in, making sure the explosion was as far from you as possible. When I saw you there, strung up, bleeding…” more black smoke spilled from his nostrils, his eyes turned to slits, and his horns grew. Hermione stroked his cheek comfortingly.
Draco took a deep breath. His eyes returned to human shape, though remained luminous. “I did not think. I just burned everyone to ash. I was worried in the end it might harm you. But once the screams stopped, I saw you there, on the ground. Fine. Well—except for your wounds. I shifted and held you in my arms. Since the wards were down, I was able to apparate you straight back to Yhalis.”
“And what about the others?”
Draco shrugged. “Theo updated me while you slept. Neville was injured again—Pansy is furious at me for endangering the horde with barely a plan. He’s fine,” Draco clarified. “Just had a torn wing. We healed it fast enough. A few others got scrapes and gouges—but nothing we couldn’t fix quickly, thanks to Charlie.”
“And prisoners?” she asked.
“Ah. We only got one…”
“The rest were killed?”
Draco inclined his head solemnly. “We saw three fly away.”
“Fuck,” she muttered. He frowned. “No. I mean. Well, thank you, obviously. All of you, for coming to rescue me. But we’re definitely going to be in a bit of a cluster fuck with the press. And maybe the Aurors.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, love. Potter’s going to make all that business go away. Official Auror business is the current line we’re using.”
Hermione frowned. “That won’t protect us forever. People want to demonize magical creatures. And this is the perfect ammunition.” Hermione sighed. “Okay. I’ll think of something to deal with that later. What about the prisoner you captured. Any news?”
Draco pushed her onto her back and snuggled his head against her chest, his horns grazing her cheek softly. “Yes, love. But it can wait. Nothing helpful at the moment. And you should sleep. Do you know what they gave you? Or was it a curse?”
Hermione stroked his hair and let her eyes drift closed. She had just been asleep, but her body was still exhausted. “No,” she replied. “I don’t remember drinking anything. I was stupefied in the Ministry. Then I woke up in Avery manor tied up—” Draco stiffened. “I broke out easily enough. Thanks to your magic,” she reminded him, relaxing him. “There was no evidence of a potion or anything else. Wait!” Hermione tensed. “Did you search me for dark magic? A talisman?”
Draco stroked her arm. “Yes, love. You’re clean. We assume it was a potion. We can’t find anything in you, though.”
Hermione frowned thinking on that while the silence stretched on.
“Sleep,” Draco reminded her. “You’ll have time to ponder this when it’s out of your system and you can think more clearly.”
Hermione kissed his forehead. “Draco,” she said, the sleep thick in her voice.
“Yes, love?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Hermione opened her eyes. “And we’re going to stop this asshole,” she vowed. “This Darkest Lord or whoever the fuck they are. They will be stopped and they won’t harm dragons anymore,” she spat. “We’ll burn them to the ground.”
Draco lifted his head and grinned at her savage declaration. “You need your rest,” he murmured. Hermione blinked at him with tired eyes. “So, I’ll wait to ravage you. But just know that your new violent streak is really hot.” Hermione chuckled. He kissed her softly, then dropped his head back to her chest. “Sleep, love. We can plot how to burn our enemies in the morning.”
Hermione drifted off to sleep, safe and warm in her mate’s arms.