Opposites Attracted

Hermione:

Her eyes flickered open, attempting to adjust to the darkness of the room. She became aware of the charmed ropes binding her to the chair, burning wounds into her wrists and ankles. The foul smell of blood attacked her nose, a smell she knew well. The rusty smell that would stick to her skin whenever the muggle army attacked with them. Where the fuck was she? How did she get here? Her mind is reeling trying to backtrack, remember what happened. She was in the forest being chased by hounds, death eaters more than likely, snatchers? No, they always liked to play with their prey before handing them over to their precious Lord Voldemort. Then who? Only a death eater who knew who she was would give her the time of day to be tied to a chair. Fighting with the logic of why they decided she was useful enough to try torture. It'd been three years? Surely someone noticed? She was hard to miss in battle, always the target, her wild unruly hair didn’t help either. She'd lead the majority of the units before her dismissal if you could call it that, surely someone in Voldemort's army had noticed Hermione had disappeared. Maybe not, maybe she wasn't as important as she thought she was.

As her eyes adjusted to the light she caught a glimpse of something. Someone was in here with her just staring from a chair in the corner. The glint of a ring sat on his finger gave him away, otherwise their presence would have been undetectable.

"Granger, how unfortunate to meet you again mudblood."

Her breath caught in her throat, she knew that voice, she looked around panicked, she knew this cellar. Draco Malfoy? Was she in the manor? No, she must be imagining things. She heard the voice stand, steady footsteps made their way towards her, a cold, strong hand grasping her jaw. Grey, cloudy eyes stared down at her. The cold glass of a phial pressed against her lips.

"Drink, now" Draco looked down at her expressionless, he'd gotten much taller, his hair was still just as white, the muscles in his face were defined as if he was made of glass and ice. He wore a plain white button down and black dress pants, both tailored to fit him just right. Hugging the muscles of his biceps and chest. Hermione studied his face, lips pressed together. He'd grown into a very fitting young man, he still had the sleek seeker build, but the exterior was more rough, more...manly?

"I suggest you drink before I shove it down your fucking throat, I'm sure you can remember how thin my patience is." The muscles in his jaw tighten, his words dripping with venom.

"Why would I trust anything you're trying to feed me." The short sentence knocked the wind out of her, fuck she really was weak. How long had she been here?

"I'd think the golden girl would be smart enough to identify an anti-magic potion when she sees it," a small smirk played on his lips, so minuscule it was like it was never even there, "Don’t worry sweetheart I have bigger and better plans for you than simply killing you, if I didn’t you would have been dinner for my hounds in the forest."

Hermione's heart beat hard against her chest. What plans could he possibly have? A strong hand wrapped around her chin, the phial emptied into her dry mouth. Her eyes made contact with the grey ones staring into her soul, almost curious.

"I don't have all day, swallow, now." his lips pressed into a hard line.

He tipped her head further back, strengthening the grip on her chin, forcing her to cough and swallow the disgusting mixture.

"That wasn't what you said it was," she stated between the coughs.

"How so?" He cocked eyebrow towards her as he turned back towards the chair.

"It was mixed with a pepper up potion, you can tell by the color."

"Hm, I definitely did not know that. Once that anti magic has taken full effect I'll escort you to your quarters." He poured himself a glass of whiskey, lighting a cigarette and planting himself in the chair.

"Quarters? You've got to be insane if you think I'm staying here with you?" She felt the potions taking effect, as her magic disappeared from her veins it was replaced with much needed energy.

Draco took a long drag, letting the nicotine mix with the liquor, "bold of you to assume you had a choice, sweetheart." He waved her wand around before shoving back into his coat pocket.

"Where your wand is, is no longer any of your business. You won't be needing it," he answered, bored.

What the fuck was he getting at? Why does he need my wand? Sweetheart? When did his voice get so deep? She hadn't spoken to anyone but random squatters who didn’t even know their own name in three whole years. A year after she'd left the order she stopped trying to get updates and see whose names were in the paper. She doubted the paper was still being written at this point. She selfishly cut herself off from society, she had nothing to stand for anymore. In all honesty she didn’t even know why she hadn't killed herself yet. She looked at the man across from her, why was he looking at her like that? She tried to piece together his expression. Curious eyes, dead face. Not a muscle or hair out of place.

Draco:

I stared at her for hours waiting for her to wake up. Why was she in the woods? Especially so close to the manor. He'd assumed that she'd taken back from battle to have kids with the red head weasel, but apparently not. Why did he care anyways? It was about six hours before she'd finally stirred in the early hours of the morning. But for some reason he couldn't take his eyes off of her. The situation seemed curious, nothing was out of the ordinary anymore but this, this was very intriguing. Technically speaking, he should've reported his new capture to Voldemort hours ago, it's not like Nott would rat him out. But he couldn’t help find a use for her at first. Even the greatest most feared man in the country couldn't deny that this stupid little mudblood was very powerful. She was smart and that got her and the order too close for comfort too many times. If he could just find a use for her then she'd become their greatest asset. Maybe then he'd be able to do, well anything other than murdering people in cold blood.

The order had been stagnant for the past few years, they were yet to find another horcrux. Their numbers were obviously diminishing and their attacks were, well, sloppy. Draco figured Granger leaving must have had something to do with that, she was always bossy, it would make sense if she was the brains behind the attacks. Voldemort being the stubborn bastard he was insisted we waited for the order to attack first every time. To show them the power pureblood wizardry had over them no matter how much muggle machinery they brought in. Stupid really, prolonging a war just because he felt like it. Just to feel the adrenaline of watching his soldiers fight, win and die.

He stood, pulled out his wand and undid the ropes with the exception of her wrists, grabbing the middle and pulling her up.

"Like I said, I don’t have all day. Move." She huffed like a child before plopping herself on the ground, "alright hard way then," Draco pulled her back up and half dragged, half carried her through the manor.

"This is your room, you cannot leave the manor and I would not recommend trying. Have a shower you're a mess." Be threw her to the floor before turning on his heel, removing the ropes with a swift flick of his wrist and closing the door behind him.

Hermione:

She stayed on the floor where he left her watching the shadows of the night disappear with the sunrise, staring at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of the stone archways that made up the roof. A small metal clatter disrupted her focus, she turned slightly to the left. A small silver tray, a plate of eggs, bacon, toast, sausage and a glass of orange juice. Just the thought of it made her mouth water. No, she wouldn't give in. She'd starve herself to death before she sank as low as to take charity from anyone let alone a death eater.

Her eye caught the décor, green silk curtains stretched from the roof and cascaded down the wall on each side of the large bay window, the door sat across from it, to her left a fireplace with intricate marble moldings curved around it. Dark wood paneling stretched around the room, a four poster bed to her right covered in green and white blankets and pillows invited her in. A door to the left of the fireplace was left open, a bathroom. She laid on a plush green carpet, of course. Candles were scattered across the room and a single vase of white daffodils. The door swung open but she ignored it, opting to trace the patterns in the marble fireplace instead. She heard a huff.

"Granger, eat." More silence, "I'm going to force feed you like a toddler if you don’t get the fuck up."

Hermione all but rolled her eyes continuing to trace patterns. She wouldn’t care if she died of starvation on the floor right here, but for whatever reason she rolled her head back towards the door. She watched as he rolled his tongue across his teeth, god she wished she could knock one out with a good punch after what he did to her during her second year at Hogwarts. That all seemed like a distant memory, she'd figured out how to cast a silencing charm on her bed to cry herself to sleep that night, how stupid that all seems now. The smell of food was so tempting, her stomach betrayed her growling slightly at the mere mention of food.

"You know you want it, stop being so fucking stubborn," He strode over to the window, opening it with a flick of his wrist before lighting himself another cigarette, "You're not going anywhere, so might as well sweetheart."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She had no magic, even wandless magic. She had no way of escaping and who knows what wards he's put over the bedroom. She gave in, dragging herself to her feet and sitting herself on the foot of the bed picking a piece of toast that was still warm and crispy not stale despite it being at least lunch time. It must be charmed. She suppressed the moan, who knew butter on some bread would taste so good. She felt his eyes on her. He was in classic death eater robes now, hair perfectly combed back, the Malfoy family ring sat proudly on his right hand.

"Figured out what to do with me yet? Force me to sell my soul?" She spat the words at him with as much malice she could muster.

"Hm" he continued to stare at her while she ate the single piece of toast.

An hour passed and he continued to sit there and stare at her wordlessly. She didn’t know what to do, she wasn’t going to eat any more than she already had. She looked down at herself, covered in bruises and cuts from the run in the forest. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in a mess of frizz and tangles. Sick of being stared at like an animal in a cage she stood and strode into the bathroom. Turning on her heels and meeting the grey eyes that followed, before slamming the door in his face.

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. Malfoy was right, she was a mess. Leaves and sticks stuck in her brown waves, dirt covered every inch of her skin and clothes. Even the remnants of moss on knees and shoes. The bath turned on without her trying, a second passed before she heard the bedroom door close. What a gentleman, letting his prisoner shower in peace. She peeled the clothes off her body which disappeared as soon as they hit the floor, house elf's hopefully unless Malfoy was planning on stealing her clothes along with her dignity. Staring at her reflection in the mirror. Every bone in her body stuck out, her ribs and hips the most prominent. Pale skin stretched over weak bones, she hated how she looked. Her physical appearance was telling of how weak she had become. Not wanting to be so exposed for too long in her prison, she sunk into the bath and got to work ignoring the sting of her open wounds.

She wrapped herself in the fluffy white towel and walked back into the room, praying Malfoy had left and the house elf's had returned her clothes. A simple teapot and mug sat on the foot of the bed on a similar silver tray. Next to it, simple black robes.

"Guess it's better than being naked," Hermione huffed.

"That I can agree with." She turned to see Malfoy leaned elegantly against the door frame, "finally cleaned yourself up I see, took you long enough. You left mud on my carpet."

"It's not yours yet." Rolling her eyes she grabbed the robes and turned back to the bathroom.

"My parents are dead sweetheart, this." He waved a hand across the room, "belongs to me and me only."

Lucius and Narcissa both dead? She wouldn’t have thought them to be anything but completely loyal to the Dark Lord, but she guessed it made sense Narcissa did report Harry as dead. "Oh you poor baby," Hermione jutted out her lip sarcastically.

"I would tread carefully, mudblood," Draco hissed, his teeth bared at her. The action made Hermione shiver, but she didn't show it. She refused to admit anything he did had the slightest effect on her. She continued into the bathroom to get dressed, closing the door behind her before someone caught it. She dropped the robes, catching the towel before it fell.

"You will tell me what you know whether you like it or not sweetheart." Slamming both the doors behind him, leaving her alone; again.