Black Sea | Solo/Jez

[xJEZEBELx]

Hermione found herself trapped in a nightmare she couldn't wake up from... And the only solice she had left was know, at the very least, her parents were both safe even if they'd never remember her again. She didn't know how they landed themselves here, but it had become a dark world where Voldemort in all his torment had emerged victorious, and Muggle-borns like her were nothing but commodities to be traded and sold to pureblood families as rewards for their loyalty to the Dark Lord. She could remember fleeting moments in the final battle before Harry fell... And then everything grew still a moment. She'd screamed and yet her ears rang and despite even Hagrid reaching to stop her, Hermione had hurried to Harry's side in unconsolable sobs. Ron was left stunned... stuck between the numbness as he saw the last breath exhaled from his best mate and wanting to comfort the woman he loved.

In the end, he stood there. Petrified in his stare and unable to work out how he'd lost everything in a single night. And Hermione, found herself tied up. She fought and screamed and it wasn't until that moment Ron snapped out of it, trying desperately... Even clawing his way to her. But even Hagrid couldn't stop it. He could only pick up Ron, hoping to at least save him if he couldn't save anyone else.

The Malfoys, one of the most influential pureblood families while they'd played a prominant role had also nearly turned the tide of the final battle in favor of Harry. They suffered a great deal for the indiscression, but they were far too valuable alive. They were one of the few truly pure lines left and if he was to hold unchallenged power he needed to keep Lucius under his heel. Instead, he offered them a gift "befitting" them... And in the same moment Hermione founder herself stripped of her freedom and dignity. She was forced to serve those who saw her as inferior, a mere pawn in their cruel game...

A filthy mudblood.

Draco Malfoy, the only son of the Malfoy family, seemed indifferent to to her plight at first. Or at least that was how she saw it-- His avoiding stares, his stiffened stance. Any hope she could've had (even if it was a speck in the universe) that he had any kindness in his heart vanished as she turned even colder than she had before. Now? Her gaze was pure hatred.

Her first few weeks were brutal as the Malfoy's specifically targeted her amongst the attendants. In some ways, she welcomed it... Hell, once she literally did as she managed to blame herself for a broken trinket that a house elf had unintentionally broke. Today, she was assigned a particularly demeaning task as she Draco... Or at least the was what Lucius had laughed about over breakfast before sending her to retrieve Draco. She knocked at his door as she waited anxiously in the hallway qs the worst case scenerios played in her head in rapidfire as she began to have a panic attack.

 

[Solo]

The war was over.

At night, when Draco slept, the final moments revisited him indefinitely. As the dust cloud settled, confused whispers and gasps rang through the crowd, the debris too thick in the air for anyone to definitively decide what had happened. Uncertainty swelled but was soon popped like a balloon as two figures came into view – one, slumped and unmoving, and the other, far taller and thinner, towering over the crowd with a sick, twisted grin.

What was thought to be impossible had happened – Voldemort had won. The Boy Who Lived was no more. Everything that Draco and his family had been working for had been realized, and yet, he'd never felt emptier.

That feeling consumed him in the days, and eventually weeks, that followed. All his life, he'd been taught to aspire to this moment, to the time when Voldemort would ascend and return the world to the way it once was, where loyal Purebloods like the Malfoys held the full potential of their social status and reigned like the royalty they were. Even if they had almost turned coat at the last moment, Draco's father had somehow convinced the Dark Lord that they were invaluable to his success, and while there were eyes on them at every corner, even in their own home, they were alive.

It was more mercy than most others had been shown, so Draco knew he had to present a grateful face.

Still, it was all he could do to go about his normal routine, rarely leaving his chambers, which were more like an entire wing of the manor if anything. Most of the Death Eaters had returned to their own homes, now that they were free to express their beliefs without fear of Ministry prosecution, leaving the manor desolate and echoing. If he left his rooms, the sound of his shoes on the marble floors was almost deafening.

So used to his routine he was that the knock at the door startled him, making him jump in the plush chair pulled up to the desk in his foyer. The book he'd been reading was laid on its surface, his place entirely forgotten. "You may enter," he called to the source of the noise, barely turning to recognize who would move through the doorframe.​

 

[xJEZEBELx]

Hermione hesitated at the threshold of Draco's chambers, her gaze fixed on the floor as if trying to avoid any eye contact... As if it even mattered. She could still smell him in the air-- the smell of cedarwood and something else she never could quite place still hung in the air from countless times spraying on a cologne, she imagined. The scars marring a section of her face over her eye as her once vibrant features told a story of pain and suffering inflicted by the Dark Lord's followers...a stark reminder of the cruelty and injustice that had befallen so many. One in particular, his Aunt Belltrix, had taken a keen delight in her pain and the fresh marks mixed with the old made it clear she was far from done.

After a pause that felt like eternity, she finally cleared her throat, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "I was sent to get you," Hermione muttered, the words heavy with unspoken burdens and the weight of her circumstances. The task assigned to her by their oppressors was clear, but the underlying tension and fear were palpable in her voice... As well as the unbridled anger that simmered. The girl that once punched him was still in there... biding her time as she waited for the opportunity to rise again.

Hermione's inability to meet Draco's eyes spoke volumes about the trauma she had endured despite the fire in her eyes and the emotional walls she had built to protect herself. Despite the circumstances that had forced them into this twisted reality, there was a glimmer of resilience in her demeanor, a silent determination... "We should go. Now." She tried to hurry him, trying to at least cause as little pain for herself as she could.

As she stood there, waiting for Draco's response, the air between them crackled with tension as she pursed her lips... Trying not to lose herself in the moment. To fight the temptation of showing him just how hard she could really hit.