The Arcane Rift

The temple remained silent around them, as if even the ancient stones were holding their breath at that encounter. Golden dust hung in the air, dancing under the flickering torchlight, while shadows crept along the columns. Hermione stepped back, without breaking eye contact. Her posture was firm, but inside her heart pounded, almost as if trying to warn her of what was to come. Draco stood ahead, casual, spinning her wand between his fingers with feigned disinterest. The other hand rested relaxed at his side, but there was tension there, latent, like a weapon about to be drawn.

“You still think you’re the heroine of all this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low, laced with irony. “Gonna save the galaxy with a handful of old books?”

“Better than destroying it for the sake of control” she shot back.

Draco tilted his head slightly, as if pondering that with genuine interest.

“Control brings order. Order prevents chaos. You used to understand that. Back when you still believed in rules.”

“I believe in balance.”

“Balance is a lie people tell themselves when they’re afraid of the truth,” he said, stepping forward “You’re afraid of what you might become, Granger. And worse, you’re afraid I might be right.”

Hermione clenched her fists, feeling the heat rise through her veins. But she said nothing. She knew this was his game. To provoke. To destabilize. And yet, for a brief second, his words reached her. She felt like the girl she used to be back at Hogwarts.

Draco smiled. A crooked, dangerous smile. Knowing that his words may not have had the effect he wanted, but they had stirred something. Cracked some part of her armor, and that, in that moment, was enough.

“You were supposed to be with Potter, but oh” he sneered “He abandoned you, didn’t he? Left you alone. With no one. Poor Hermione Granger.”

Hermione didn’t answer. But something in her eyes burned. Harry hadn’t abandoned her; he had his reasons for leaving the Resistance base and going on his own journey into the unknown. The vision he had of her before leaving couldn’t have been the real cause — and it wasn’t.

Seeing she didn’t respond, choosing silence instead, Malfoy took another step forward, though there was still a considerable distance between them.

“Coming to Jheda alone was bold of you… or foolish” he said.

She held her ground, fists tightening, ready to defend herself if needed. “I’m not afraid of you or Tom Riddle’s followers.”

“It’s Dark Lord to you” he corrected “And of course you’re not afraid. Fear was never your problem. The golden girl. The brightest witch of your age. Your problem was always believing too much.”

“There’s nothing wrong with believing in better days” she countered. Malfoy laughed, tilting his head back slightly like she’d told a joke.

“You’re predictable,” he said, his voice low, almost disappointed. “And yet… fascinating.”

He still had that smile — the one she personally found repulsive. Like a worm slithering among the dead. Disgusting.

“You’re weak,” he said. “Weak like the girl from Hogwarts who lost her parents. Like the girl abandoned by her best friend. Like the girl who needs to lie about who she loves just to fit in a little better with what she calls a family.”

“You know nothing about me, Malfoy.”

“Then prove me wrong, sweetheart” he said, tossing her wand toward her. Hermione caught it mid-air and immediately took a defensive stance.

The tension between them seemed to electrify the air.
 
For a second, everything stopped. And then — with a sudden movement — Draco activated his own wand. A vibrant green beam burst from it, casting his face in a cruel light. Hermione responded by reflex, stepping back. She knew his wand had commands from the Arcane Force, but she had never seen it in action. Only heard of it — and none of the stories ended well for those who faced it.

Granger tightened her grip around her wand, feeling it pulse with heat. “Fulgaris!”

The spell cut through the air like a blade of scarlet light, but Draco dodged it easily, twirling his wand in a graceful arc. The green beam deflected the energy, sending sparks toward the temple ceiling. She advanced, striking with determination, her wand tracing red arcs that cut through the gloom between the pillars. Malfoy stepped back only slightly, like a predator entertained by its prey, blocking every attack with lethal precision and utter silence.

Hermione didn’t fight with technique — she fought with fury. Every spell carried weight, every movement driven by memories that bled in her mind. The scent of ashes. The void left by Harry. The weight of the prophecy that now was hers.

“Expulso!” she shouted.

The blast made the ground tremble, stones falling from the arched ceiling. Draco moved as if dancing between shadows, blocking again, the green blade of his wand vibrating in response.

“You’re not fighting me” he said, voice calm amidst the chaos. “You’re fighting yourself.”

Hermione screamed, spinning and launching a flaming bolt in his direction. Draco raised his wand, turning his wrist almost lazily, and the spell dissipated in a wave of green light.

“BB-8, run! Now!” she yelled without looking back. The droid hesitated for a second before spinning at full speed, vanishing down a side corridor.

Draco followed the movement with his eyes but didn’t stop it.

“Always protecting the weak” he murmured. “You always had that flaw.”

Hermione shoved him back with another spell, this one so powerful the ground cracked beneath both their feet. Draco was forced to step back, his eyes gleaming for a second with a spark of surprise — or perhaps respect.

She was panting now, hair clinging to her face with sweat, hands gripping her wand.

“I may not have the Arcane Force like you, but I’m not defenseless.”

He didn’t respond. Just raised his wand again, as did she. The temple seemed to breathe with them — as if the very walls acknowledged the power gathered there. Malfoy smiled in a way she couldn’t quite identify.

“No more games.”

Draco stepped forward slowly, his eyes locked on hers. Hermione still tried to stand tall, chest heaving, fingers tightening around her wand with the little strength she had left. But before she could cast again, he raised his hand — and the Arcane Force obeyed. An invisible and brutal pressure crushed down on her mind. Hermione staggered, eyes wide with shock and indignation, until the world went completely black. As she fell, Draco caught her before she hit the floor, his expression unreadable under the temple’s dim light.

He held her tightly, as if her body were made of ancient glass, ready to shatter. For a moment, he simply observed her — her delicate features now softened by unconsciousness, her breathing uneven, hair framing her face in dusty, stray strands.

Then, the scent.

Still there. Subtle, but unmistakable. Dark vanilla, with something earthy, almost like wet leaves at the end of autumn. Like long nights in Gryffindor tower, like books handled so many times they carried the owner’s scent.

“Still smells the same” he murmured, not mocking, almost unaware he’d spoken.

The echo of his own voice unsettled him. He frowned, clenched his jaw slightly. Draco looked away, as if he’d said too much. He carried the witch in his arms to the ship, not bothering to go after the drone — he already had what he wanted inside her head.

Upon arriving at the Nocturne, Theodore Nott watched the girl being brought in with a troubled expression. His eyes showed a confusion that bordered on petulance. If Hermione had been awake, she would have found it irritating.

“You captured Hermione Granger” he said, not quite believing it. Everyone in the resistance had a price on their head. She was no different.

“Don’t tell anyone” Draco said without looking at his friend and subordinate. “You’re to keep this a secret.”

“But the Dark Lord-“ he tried to say, but the blond interrupted him before he could finish.

“That’s an order, Theo. If anyone finds out, I’ll know it came from you, and I don’t forgive betrayal.”

Theodore held his gaze for a moment, lips slightly parted as if to protest, but he said nothing. He only nodded, reluctantly.

“Start the ship” Draco said before walking away. He didn’t give Nott a chance to respond, he passed him without making eye contact, his firm steps echoing through the dark corridor of the Nocturne.

When he entered the reserved cabin, the same one he used for long missions, Draco walked through the automatic door, which shut behind him with a sharp hiss. The soft lighting revealed a simple space: dark metal walls, a chair in the corner, and a narrow bed in the center.

It looked like a cell.

He laid her there carefully, as if her body weighed more than it should. He watched for a second the faint movement of her breathing, the outline of her face still marked with dust from the temple. With a discreet motion, he moved the strands of hair from her face. The scent of dark vanilla hit him again, subtle and warm.

“Course set. Entering hyperspace.” Nott’s voice echoed, pulling Malfoy from his thoughts. Small gestures of humanity that he hated.

Draco kept his eyes on Hermione for a few more seconds before leaving the compartment and locking it behind him.

He knew from that moment on, things would no longer be simple.

Back in Jheda, BB-8 waited for Sirius to send someone to retrieve him. He had reached the ship safely but saw Hermione being carried by Malfoy. He saw her being taken and could do nothing. Though he couldn’t feel emotions, there was a weight of sorrow and helplessness. Harry had asked him to look after her before leaving. That had become his mission and now that mission, his reason for existing, had been taken by the enemy.

Hours passed until a resistance ship arrived and pulled the Starflare into the hangar. When the hatch opened, Sirius was the first to appear, his cloak whipping in the pressurized air. But before he could take two steps toward the droid, Ronald Weasley emerged behind him, striding across the hangar with long, irritated steps.

“Of course he’s fine” Ron muttered, brushing past Sirius without looking at him. “Droids are always fine.”

BB-8 let out a short, confused beep. Ron turned to him.

“Don’t pretend you feel anything,” he said, eyes narrowing. “You just record and obey, don’t you? You have no idea what we lost down there.”

“Ronald” Sirius warned, his tone sharp.

“That thing was with her, wasn’t it?” Ron pressed on, not backing down. “And still she was taken, and we don’t even know by who.”

BB-8 slowly rolled back but said nothing. He just projected the stored image: Hermione, in Draco Malfoy’s arms, being carried into the Nocturne. The hologram glowed for a few seconds before vanishing into the air.

"That piece of space junk! Malfoy took her, the First Order has her!" Ronald shouted, grabbing his wand and pointing it at BB-8.

Sirius stepped forward and stood between them.

“Enough,” he said in a low, cutting voice. “Hermione wouldn’t want you talking to him like that.”

Ron was silent for a moment, his eyes still fixed on the spot where the hologram had vanished.

“Maybe not” he finally replied. “But she’s not here, is she?”

And he walked away, his footsteps echoing through the hangar.

Sirius remained there for a moment, his gaze still on BB-8, who spun slowly in place.

“You did what you could” he murmured. “Now it’s on me.”

Sirius walked with the weight of two wars on his shoulders. His long cloak swayed behind him, dark as the ship’s hull, and his heavy boots rang against the hangar floor in a steady rhythm. The gray streaks in his braided black hair stood out more under the cold lights, and a persistent shadow lingered under his eyes — not just from exhaustion, but from memories that refused to leave him alone. The tattoos of the Resistance marked his exposed forearm, moving with him like living scars. When he reached the control panel, he paused for a moment, his fingers hovering over the buttons, before finally activating the connection to the advanced base. His eyes, sharp and intense, didn’t blink. It was the look of someone who had lost too much to lose again.

“BB-8, can you connect to the panel?” he asked, and the droid obeyed without question. “Project the map of the planets we know are under the First Order’s control.”

BB-8 complied again. Most of the habitable planets were dominated, there wasn’t much left to be done against Tom Riddle and his followers. They were more powerful in every way. Sirius, more than anyone, knew that. What power does and the scars it leaves behind.

“Send George an image of the ship. Ask him to check with his contacts. Someone, somewhere, will give us the lead we need,” Sirius said, and BB-8 beeped in response. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring her back” the man promised.

And he meant it.

Even if it meant walking straight into death’s embrace.