AN: It has been years since I've written anything for the HP fandom, and I'm not sure what possessed me to write this now after so long, but here it is. I've always loved Draco and Hermione, but I must admit, I have found a new love in the Naruto fandom and my heart rests there now and probably for a long time! Hope you guys enjoy this short appendage to the original one-shot.

Part Two

"Stay close to me."

The weight of the hood drew her gaze to the ground. Her face had to be hidden away, and the invisible cuffs on her hands prevented her from using any wandless magic. She was not under the Imperious curse, nor was she physically restrained or bound to Draco in any way.

She just understood the truth.

Her life was in his hands now. Nothing within her power could change what was happening. The world she once knew was gone, and everyone she loved had vanished into the nothing. She was alone.

Except for him.

Stumbling slightly, she felt his arm grip hers and bring her to a halt.

She didn't know where they were going. For the last six months, her life had been the same. She wasn't brainwashed, or mistaking what he was, but Hermione knew his bed was the only safe place for her in the world now.

Hope was hidden away in her heart, restrained under lock and key, until one day, she dared to let it out. But it would always be there, safely waiting for the sun to rise on a clear day that black clouds did not blot out the sky.

Curious as to why Draco had stopped, she caught his eye seeing much contemplation. He had never taken her out of the manor before. To be walking down the streets of London was bizarre, and just from the atmosphere, she could tell things had changed. They had been exposed to the muggles, and fear chilled the air.

"I shouldn't have brought you," he muttered.

Noticing a crowd behind him, Hermione finally lifted her gaze.

There, high on a raised deck, was a man. He looked like death, his hair falling into his face. His hands were above his head, tied to a beam behind him.


The screams of a man being tortured silenced the crowd and Hermione felt the blood in her veins burn as the wind caught her hood.

The same wind lifted the dark hair of the prisoner, and her eyes widened in shock as they grazed the scar on his forehead.


The desperate cry was heard throughout the city. The cry of the girl who everyone knew was the prisoner of Draco Malfoy. The cry of the best friend of Harry Potter. The only breathing muggle born witch still alive.

It was the sound of hope dying. The reaction of Hermione Granger seeing her best friend, and the only hope for humanity that was left, as a cry of grief sent a clear message to everyone. She could not save him so that he could save the world.

Not when Draco Malfoy was the only reason she survived.

When Hermione's eyes met Harry's, she saw a flicker of life from him that didn't seem possible. But then the curse took him, and tears were flowing down her skin, and she was running to him. The pain was flooding her, and the power it surfaced destroyed the invisible cuffs on her wrists, and all she could think of was Harry.

She had believed he was dead.

She had thought she was alone.

How he must have suffered.

Finally she had reached him. He was within reaching distance, and all she had to do was reach out and take him. Escape. Run away and protect him.

That was all.

But Draco wouldn't let her.

"Let me go," she cried, staring into Harry's eyes.

"I wanted to let you see him. I thought it would make you happy to know he was alive," Draco said, pulling her arms behind her back. "I was mistaken to have brought you here."

"Harry," Hermione breathed.

To her shock, she saw a slight smile form on his lips.

"I never thought you would live, Hermione. And to think it is all because of him. Never bring her to me again, Malfoy. If you keep her safe through all of this, I won't kill you when I get free," Harry said, his voice failing.

Draco made an arrogant noise of disdain as Hermione felt the pull of being apparated.

Feeling the soft covers of his bed, Hermione let her tears rush down her skin.

"How could you never tell me?" she asked.

"What reason did I have?"

Unsure if he would allow it, Hermione twisted beneath him and found him watching her.

"I thought they would kill him soon, but it seems the Dark Lord wants to let the whole world see him weak before he does so. I thought it would bring you comfort to know he was still alive, but clearly taking you there was a mistake," Draco said.

"Is it true what they whispered in the streets? Am I the only muggle born left?" she whispered.

Draco's silence confirmed it.

"Why? Why haven't you killed me?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling.

Draco gave her a look of disgust as he got up. "You entertain me, why should I kill you?"

"Is that all?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he turned back to glare at her and he was upon her.

"You dare think it could be for any other purpose?" he asked, gripping her chin.

Her expression tightened as she struggled under his uncomfortable hold on her.

"But, you…" Hermione started, but stopped at the darkness in his eyes.

"But what?"

She shivered though the room was not cold. His eyes were watching her, waiting for her to speak, almost compelling her to, even when she knew silence was the best option.

He wanted her to say it.

And as his grip grew tighter, she dared to let herself reason. She dared to let herself understand.

"But what, Hermione?" he growled.

Her name on his lips was unfamiliar to her ears, but his tone of irritation was familiar.

"But you haven't touched me since that night… more than six months ago," she whispered.

The words hung in the air long after they were said. He watched her with that same cold glare. Then, a sharp pain shot up her arm as she was flipped onto her stomach, her arm twisted behind her. His breath was hot against her neck, his body pressed achingly against hers.

For the last several months, she had not seen Draco that often. He was gone most of the time, leaving her alone in his room with his library. To say she hadn't been content would be a lie. When he did return, she feared what he would do to her. She feared his very presence, certain he would kill her with each return, but he had hardly even spoke to her on those visits.

One night she recalled him coming back covered in blood. She had bathed him, his eyes glazed over. She wasn't sure if he even knew what she was doing.

The blood hadn't been his.

Another night he came in when she had been sleeping. She awoke from her slumber to find him holding her against his chest, his breathing even and peaceful. When she awoke the next morning, he was gone.

She had never seen it before.

What he was.

Draco Malfoy had always been a sadistic and manipulative bastard. He hated her for reasons out of her control. He was cruel and egotistical. A self-serving psychopath.

She had hated him.

And then, after completely and utterly destroying her, breaking her down to her raw skin and stripping her of everything she held dear—her pride, her dignity, her intelligence… yes, she had been a fool for allowing him to have her. He didn't even try to force her, she had yielded completely, and so easily. He had put her in the place he had always saw her—far beneath him, and she had deserved it that night.

Then, after she was broken, he showed a shred of compassion, and worst of all, it had been for her. A thread of compassion that saved her life. Such a sight had terrified her, left her speechless. She had wanted to die alongside them. She didn't want to exist in a world of such evil and pain. She didn't want to suffer so much. But no matter how much she believed she wanted death, she couldn't turn the blade on herself. Her fascination was too great. That shred of decency that had kept her alive had allowed her to keep hope locked away inside of her heart. Draco Malfoy was not lost.

Not yet.

Her body was pressed further into the bed as she strained against his painful hold.

"Does this clear any doubt you might have had, Mudblood?"

Hermione said nothing, and his grip faded as he twisted her back around in his arms. His kiss was overwhelming. The last time she had felt his lips on hers was when he had pulled her into the bath with him that night, bloody trails still being rinsed from his skin as he kissed her fervently. The event had left her disillusioned with her normal routine for days. However, soon enough, it faded like everything else. He hadn't been himself that night.

He wasn't himself as the kiss grew passionate either. Nor as he uncontrollably sought to remove her clothes. He was reckless and desperate, and without control, he took her. She could feel his staggered breath of relief on her neck as he held her closely, finally buried deep within her again.

Hermione couldn't resist the impulse to hold onto him. She could feel his tension. Was breathing his discomfort. She understood his confusion, but her heart refused to acknowledge what was clear to her mind.

As he hovered above her, his breaths deep and labored, she tried to see past the mask he always wore.

As if aware of her desire to penetrate him in his weakness, he snapped.

"You… mean nothing to me," he said.

Hermione stared him straight in the eye.

"Then let me go."

His hand came down to the back of her neck hard. She wasn't even sure when he flipped her over again, but his hold was tight and painful.

"I can never let you go," he whispered.

"But why?"

She was crying as she struggled to breath.

"You would die."

Maybe one day far off in the future I will add more to this. But I think the last line says a lot.