FIC: The Silver Casket

[ningloreth.livejournal.com]

Title: The Silver Casket
Author: ningloreth
Prompt Number: 160 submitted by hummingbyrdd
Kink Showcased: Rough sex
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Summary: Lord Voldemort gives Draco one last chance to earn the Dark Mark.
Warnings: Voldemort wins AU
Word Count: ~6400
Author's Notes: Optional supplementary prompt, highlight to read: Draco Malfoy has been given an assignment to kill Hermione Granger. He must bring back her heart in a box to prove she’s dead. When he sneaks into her flat though, she ends up seducing him instead. I chose this kink purely for its brilliant supplementary prompt—many thanks to hummingbyrdd!—and then I had to think of a way to incorporate some rough sex into the plot. The story's a bit plottier, a bit crackier, and certainly more vanilla than it should be, but Draco never behaves how I want him to behave. I hope you still enjoy it, hummingbyrdd.
Nous, pronounced nowse, is British slang meaning 'practical intelligence'. I did try to use 'smarts' but, to me, it didn't sound right in the mouth of an English wizard.
Mustrez, Flamme and Descuplez are Anglo-Norman, and mean 'reveal', 'flame' and 'detach', respectively.
See the additional notes at the end.






I

“Come closer, Draco.”

Draco took a hesitant step forward. All around him, black-robed figures were lurking in the shadows, candlelight flickering on their elaborate masks. Wearing his best suit, and with his face exposed, Draco felt naked.

“Severus has persuaded me,” the Dark Lord wheezed, “to give you one last chance.”

Draco's heart leapt.

Lord Voldemort waved a hand, and one anonymous Death Eater—though, from his mask, Draco could see that it was Severus Snape—emerged from the rest. He was carrying an ornate silver casket and, holding it out towards Draco, he lifted its lid.

Draco peered inside. The casket was empty but, for some reason, the sight of its blood-red lining made his stomach roil.

“Take it,” said the Dark Lord.

With trembling hands, Draco accepted it and clasped it to his chest, watching Snape bow, and melt back into the crowd.

“In two days' time,” said Lord Voldemort, jerking Draco's attention back to him, “you will return to me with the casket filled.”

Draco frowned. “M-my Lord?” he stammered.

Voldemort's eyes glittered dangerously; Draco dropped into a bow, and stayed bent, submissive. “I... I don't understand, my Lord,” he mumbled. “Filled with what?”

“With Hermione Granger's heart.”

...

Hermione Granger!

Draco had retreated to the Ministry Archive and, sitting in an alcove, still hugging the pretty little casket, was trying to steel himself for the task ahead.

Granger was a Mudblood, and there'd been a time—when the Chamber of Secrets was opened—when he'd publicly expressed the hope that she would die...

And perhaps he'd meant it.

But he'd learned a lot since then.

In particular, he'd learned that the Dark Lord was a homicidal madman—

Realising how dangerous that thought was, he quickly shored up his mental defences, and almost hit the ceiling when a dark shadow fell over him.

“You've been hiding from me,” said Snape.

“I'm... I'm working on a plan.”

“Here.” Snape handed him a small piece of parchment.

“What's this?”

“Miss Granger's address.”

“Her... How do you know her address?”

Snape's answer was typically evasive: “Have I ever failed you, Draco? Your mother—and your father—left you in my care.”

“I know,” said Draco, bitterly. He hardly needed reminding that the madman had killed his parents.

“Do it tonight,” said Snape.

And he walked away, swirling down the corridor like a vampire about to transform into a bat.

...

The world had changed when the Dark Lord defeated and killed Harry Potter.

Nowadays, Muggles were little more than sheep, herded by Death Eaters. It was an order that Draco should have found natural and just but, somehow, flying along the deserted streets, he felt uneasy. Muggle London was a place of creeping shadows and sudden cries of terror. Draco had no idea how a Mudblood like Hermione Granger managed to survive there—no idea what she might have to do to put food in her mouth—and, judging by the slum she lived in, he didn't want to know.

He brought his broom to a halt and, hovering outside her window, cast a silent Shattering Curse. The grimy glass crazed, sagged, and fell apart, and thousands of tiny fragments rained harmlessly to the ground. Draco smiled. He might, so far, have proved crap at murdering in cold blood but—the fact was—he had more magical nous in his little finger than the average Death Eater had in his entire family.

He stepped from his broom onto the windowsill, dropped silently into Granger's flat and, as a precaution, cast a white-noise spell.

The place was as dingy on the inside as it was on the outside. To his left a narrow corridor, leading to the front door, ran alongside a poky little kitchen; to his right, two identical doors led, presumably, to a bedroom and a bathroom.

Draco was still deciding which door to try first when the farther one opened, and Granger appeared in the doorway, surrounded by a halo of candlelight.

It was more than five years since he'd seen her, and he was taken aback, for the buck-toothed, bushy-haired bookworm had grown into a graceful faun of a woman. She was wearing nothing but a tatty black towel, her skin was still damp from bathing, and tendrils of her hair, which she'd twisted and pinned on top of her head, were curling down her pale shoulders.

Draco stared at her, and Granger, who seemed equally fascinated by the sight of him, stared back.

Then, remembering his mission, Draco raised his wand, and—

Granger went for him.

She leapt like a wild beast. Draco—his Killing Curse dying on his lips—watched her come at him in slow motion, her towel unwrapping and curling away from her as she flew...

He hit the floor with a crash, the wind knocked out of him, and Granger was on top of him, her hands already grasping his wrists and pinning them down, one of her knees coming dangerously close to crushing his balls.

Draco struggled.

He was stronger than she was, but the winding had paralysed him, and every inch of his body was being dominated by her; her bare breasts were in his face. He closed his eyes and turned his head, willing up the power to act, until—dragging a great gulp of air into his lungs—he let out a furious roar and surged, up and over and down again, trapping Granger beneath him.

He'd won.

But it wasn't in the Mudblood's nature to admit defeat. She struggled, kicking and thrashing, and Draco felt her knee hit his thigh again and again as it tried to connect with his groin. Then she changed tactic, concentrating all her efforts on getting one of her hands free—

Why? To gouge my eyes out?

Draco hung on grimly.

She twisted her head and, with superhuman effort, dragged his hand to her mouth and tried to bite his wrist.

Merlin, she's a tigress...

And—Oh, fuck!—now he was getting hard!

Trying to ignore the sudden weight of his cock, Draco rammed a leg between hers, and bore down on her with all his might. “Stop it!” he hissed as they struggled. “Granger! Stop it!”

But Granger kept wriggling, and her movements were provoking his body's physical reaction—his heart was pounding, his cock was stiffening, and all his senses were being overloaded, because her body, beneath him, was so soft and supple, her breathing so ragged, her scent so warm, and rich, and familiar...

Shit! he thought, Granger's wet for me!

“No way,” he growled, through gritted teeth but, even as he was saying it, he found himself leaning in...

And then he was devouring her luscious mouth.

She didn't melt like women did in books. She kept fighting, even whilst she was kissing him back, her mouth hot and hungry; she kept struggling, even as her body was arching into his.

In that moment, Draco knew that his mission had failed. How can you kill a woman you've just fucked?

You can't, darling, said the voice of his conscience, unless you're the worst kind of monster. And you are not a monster.

No, Draco admitted, I'm not.

...

He let go of Granger's hands and felt them delve between their bodies, and rip open his fly—

He grabbed her arse and lifted her hips—

She pulled him into her.

Their fucking was a whirlwind of hands and hair, teeth and skin, lunging and thrashing.

They rolled across the carpet, they crashed into the furniture, but nothing could stop Draco thrusting and nothing could stop Granger riding him. They fucked and fucked until Granger's shouts of angry gratification all merged together into one long, continuous roar...

And Draco exploded inside her in a series of blinding, back-breaking spasms.

...

“Fuck,” said Draco. “Fuck.” And then, more accurately, “I'm totally fucked.”

“I suppose you mean that metaphorically as well as literally,” said Granger.

“You were my last chance.”

He felt her hand find his hand, felt her fingers entwine themselves with his fingers and squeeze them reassuringly. “It'll be all right,” she said, softly.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “Obviously. The Dark Lord's going to make me his right-hand man.”

She gave his hand a final squeeze, and got up off the floor.

...

Draco lay where he was, a dead man breathing, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling, contemplating cheating his fate by putting an end to things himself.

“Here,” said Granger.

She was offering him a big, stoneware goblet filled with a steaming potion. “All right,” she huffed, when he didn't take it, “just lie there then. But you might want to put yourself back in your trousers.”

Why? thought Draco. Being found with my tackle hanging out would just about sum up my life... But he tucked himself away, buttoned what was left of his fly, and sat up.

“What is it?” he asked, nodding at the goblet. “Is it... painless?”

“Painless? It's hot chocolate, you moron. How You Know Who ever thought you'd make a Death Eater's beyond me.”

She'd put on a thick, grey-white dressing robe and slippers. Draco watched her set the goblet on the coffee table, fetch another from the kitchen and, sitting down in a battered old armchair, take a sip, leaning back with a sigh of satisfaction.

What sort of woman, he thought, eyeing the fluffy robe, fucks a man like an angry Veela, to within an inch of his life, and then offers him a hot chocolate?

Oh, bugger it! He reached for the goblet and took a sip. The chocolate was rich, creamy, and soothing...

Granger, meanwhile, had finished hers and was padding towards the bathroom. “We can still get about five hours' sleep if we turn in now,” she said. When Draco didn't reply, she added, “You can stay on the floor if you really want to but, since neither of us has any modesty left to protect, we might as well share the bed.”

...

Granger's flat was a dump, but it was obvious she'd tried to make the bedroom as nice as she could, decorating the walls with colourful hangings, covering the bed with an embroidered throw, and twining a string of heart-shaped fairy lights around the brass bedstead.

Draco stripped down to his shirt and shorts and got into bed. Granger, he noticed, had put on the flimsiest, most figure-hugging night robes he'd ever seen. He stretched out on the very edge of the mattress, ramrod straight, closed his eyes, and—

“Granger!”

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing?”

She'd slipped a hand under his shirt, and was gently drawing circles on his midriff, teasing the little patch of hair just above his shorts. “I'm making the most of having a man in my bed.”

“I am going to die tomorrow,” he said, with feeling. “Die for not having had the balls to kill you! I've only got a few hours left to live.”

He heard her move and, suddenly, she was straddling him, leaning in on her hands and looking down at him. “And doesn't that make you—you know—just want to keep having frantic sex?” she asked.

“No,” said Draco. “To be perfectly honest, it doesn't.”

But, in the fiery light of the Muggle street lamps filtering through the thin curtains, she did look magnificent—her hair, which had fallen from its pins during their earlier exertions, hung wild about her slender shoulders; her cleavage, nestling in those low-cut night robes, made his balls tighten; her waist, narrow and supple in his hands—

In spite of everything, Draco was getting another erection, and Granger's smile had turned wicked; she could obviously feel him hardening.

“Whatever else you may lack, Draco Malfoy,” she said, slowly rocking her hips back and forth, “you certainly weren't at the end of the queue when these things were being handed out.”

Draco knew he was being played...

“All right,” he said. “But don't blame me if, given the situation, I have trouble keeping it up.”

...

He needn't have worried.

Granger's aggression—pulling him, pushing him, biting him, goading him—made him furiously hard, and the sheer effort of fucking her from squealing excitement into sobbing submission built up such a need for release in him that when at last, exultantly, he began spurting inside her, he came so long and hard he all but drowned her.

“God, Malfoy,” Granger panted, when they were lying side-by-side afterwards, “I've never felt that before.”

“Felt what?”

“A man's semen hitting my cervix. You're an animal.”

Draco knew that wasn't strictly true—at least, not under normal circumstances—but, in the light of his latest performance, he had no qualms letting her think it was.


II

The Forbidden Forest was was empty apart from one annoying crow, cawing in a rich, resonant voice, 'Mr Malfoy. Mr Malfoy...'

Draco sat up, wide awake.

Severus Snape was standing at the end of the bed. Draco automatically reached for Granger, but she wasn't there. His heart—and his stomach—lurched. “Where is she?” he demanded. “What have you done with her?”

“I believe Miss Granger is making your breakfast,” said Snape, calmly.

Confused by his mentor's bizarre answer, Draco went to throw back the covers, realised that he was naked under them and, instead—with a move he'd perfected in many a bed—pulled off the sheet and, without revealing anything, wrapped it around himself, like a Roman toga.

Granger was, as Snape had claimed, in her tiny kitchen, cooking.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “How d'you like your eggs?—Severus, you just want coffee, right?

“Severus...?” Draco looked from Granger to Snape and back again. “You call him... What's going on here?” A terrible thought occurred to him. “Are you two... Am I...?” His gaze swung wildly back and forth. “Am I?”

“Are you what, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco didn't think he'd ever seen anything more incongruous than Snape's quietly impressive presence in that dingy Muggle kitchen. “The meat in the sandwich,” he said, hoarsely.

There was a long moment's silence, then Granger laughed out loud, and Snape said, in the plummiest of plummy voices, “Ah. You flatter yourself, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco let out a long breath. Thank fuck. “Then what are you doing here?” he asked.

“He's... a friend,” said Granger, setting a plate of scrambled eggs and toast before him.

“I'm not hungry,” he said, pushing the plate away. In actual fact, he was starving but, given this new development, he wasn't sure he'd be able to swallow.

“Eat,” said Snape, pushing the plate back. “You will need your strength. Perhaps you should enlighten him, Miss Granger.”

“Yes. Of course...” Granger had joined Draco at the table. She picked up a fork and spread her eggs more evenly. “As you know,” she said, “He Who Must Not Be Named, having split his soul in seven pieces, encased the extra fragments in various objects—”

“To create Horcruxes,” said Draco. After the death of the Boy Who Lived, the Dark Lord's plan to achieve immortality, and Potter and Co's attempts to thwart it, had become common knowledge. “Potter, you, and”—he remembered Vincent Crabbe, burning to death—“others, destroyed them, but Lord Voldemort survived anyway.”

Granger glanced at Snape. “Basically, yes, though it's a little bit more complicated than that,” she said. “Severus thinks that one of the Horcruxes still exists.”

Draco stared at Snape. Did he know this man at all...?

Then, “Fucking hell,” he said, as the truth dawned on him, “you're planning to kill the Dark Lord!”

“Very good, Mr Malfoy,” said Snape. “But, in future, do try to avoid advertising our secret plans.”

“Severus believes,” said Granger, “and, after reviewing his evidence, I agree, that when You Know Who tried to kill Harry at Godric's Hollow, his soul was already so damaged, a fragment of it accidentally broke off and became encased in Harry. So the final Horcrux is Harry himself, and”—her lovely eyes suddenly shone with joy—“Harry's still alive, Draco! You Know Who's holding him prisoner!”

Draco checked an impulse to stretch out a hand and squeeze hers. “So,” he said to Snape, “does that mean you'll have to kill Potter?”

“No!” Granger was shocked. “No, of course it doesn't. Severus and I—well, Severus, actually—has worked out a way to extract the soul fragment from its casing. Then we'll destroy it.”

Draco attempted a little light Legilimency on Snape but, as usual, could sense nothing. “And what will this extraction do to Potter?” he asked, though he'd no idea why Potter's well-being should matter to him...

It matters, said the voice of his conscience, sounding—as usual—exactly like his mother, because you're a good boy, and you know right from wrong.

“Mr Potter will experience some brief discomfort,” said Snape.

“But,” said Draco, like a dog with a bone, “you've always hated Potter—”

“Severus is past all that,” said Granger. “We've talked it through.” She patted Snape's arm. “Haven't we, Severus?”

“Of course.”

She turned back to Draco with a radiant smile.

Draco ignored a sudden, manly desire to protect her from the inevitable disappointment. “How do you know,” he asked Snape, for the sake of argument, “that the Dark Lord hasn't already extracted the soul fragment, encased it in something else, and killed—”

“Mister Malfoy!” Snape interrupted, in his most intimidating, schoolmaster's voice.

Draco fell silent. Then, “So why do you need me?” he asked.

It had long since occurred to him that his... entanglement with Hermione Granger had been no accident—she and Snape had obviously planned it, and Snape must have made it happen by 'suggesting' to Lord Voldemort that she would be the perfect subject for Draco's final test.

“We need to find Harry,” said Granger. “Severus has searched all the obvious places and hasn't found him, so...”

“You think he's somewhere in Malfoy Manor,” Draco finished. Bollocks.

...

There were two problems to be solved.

The first was how to get Granger into the Manor.

“Why does she need to be there at all?” Draco asked Snape. “You and I can do whatever has to be done.”

That earned him a terrifying scowl from the woman herself. “I was fighting You Know Who's minions when you were still playing at Inquisitorial Squads,” she said, cruelly. “And, besides,” she added, “when we find Harry, he will need me.”

The second problem was locating Potter's prison.

“There is a chamber...” said Draco, reluctantly because his father had, after all, sworn him to secrecy.

“Is this in addition to the chamber under the Drawing Room?” Snape demanded.

“Yes—it's beneath that one—far beneath it—and I know how to open it.”

“Good,” said Snape. “Then I have things to prepare.” He rose to leave. “Might I trouble you for a hair, Miss Granger?”

“Of course,” she said, and—with the sinking feeling that there was more to this plan than Snape and Granger had thought prudent to tell him—Draco watched her yank a long, curly brown hair from her head and hand it over.

...

“I need a hot bath,” said Draco, the moment he and Granger were alone.

“Well, I'm afraid you'll have to make do with a tepid shower,” said Granger.

“Great.”

She stood up, and held out a hand.

Draco eyed it suspiciously.

“I've always wanted to have sex in the shower,” she explained.

“Fucking hell, Granger!” It was bad enough that she and Snape had tricked him into... doing whatever crazy thing it was they were wanting him to do, without her thinking she could use his cock whenever she felt like it. “I'm not one of those Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes Incredible Thrusting Dildos,” he grumbled.

“Awww,” said Granger, rubbing his back in mock sympathy. Then, “No—according to the Greengrass sisters, you're more of a Duracell bunny.”

“A bunny?”

She winked, knowingly, and Draco, though still baffled, remembered one red-hot weekend with two girls, taking it in turns...

“I was younger then,” he insisted.

“I have a potion, if you should need it,” she said.

...

The shower cubicle was tiny, which meant that Draco had to lift Granger off her feet and, with her legs wrapped around his hips and his hands cupping her arse, thrust up into her, whilst she, her arms locked round his neck, rode him frantically.

The position was hard on his thighs at first but, once he'd had found his rhythm, and the need to come had grown urgent, all he could feel—apart from the load building in his balls—was Granger's hot mouth, her harsh breath, and her sweet, tight pussy, gripping his cock like a velvet vice.

Merlin, the woman's incredible...

Granger moaned “I'm coming,” just as Draco sensed his own climax approaching and, in that long, delicious moment when he knew was about to ejaculate but the spasms had yet to begin, he felt her contracting around him—felt her orgasm merging with his own...

Afterwards, when they'd clumsily uncoupled, he hugged her to his chest.

“You're a strange man, Draco Malfoy,” she murmured.

Draco had no idea what she meant by that, but he couldn't help wondering if she'd still be wanting to fuck his brains out once he'd served his purpose.

...

“We should get some rest,” said Granger.

She was naked, flushed with sex, and glowing from a vigorous towelling and, as he watched her stretch to pull the curtains together, 'rest' couldn't have been farther from Draco's mind. He came up behind her and grasped her hips and, when she didn't pull away, he walked her to the battered armchair and bent her over it.

“Malfoy...”

“Shhhhhhh.” He brought his hands down to her gorgeous arse, and squeezed it.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned, deep in her chest, gripping the arms of the chair in a doomed attempt to control her body's reactions.

With a hand, Draco put his cock's broad head into her pussy and thrust it hard—“Oh god,” she sobbed, “oh Draco... God... Oh GOD!”—and, inflamed by her frenzied cries of gratitude, he gave her another savage fucking.


III

“What would have happened,” he asked later, lying beside her on the bed, “if I'd been a bit quicker with that Avada?”

“I'd have died,” Granger replied, simply, “and Severus would have needed a new ally.” She turned onto her side. “But in war, Draco, you have to take risks. And Severus assured me you wouldn't kill me—that you couldn't kill me...”

“Did Snape tell you to seduce me?”

She laughed. “No, of course not. The sex was my idea.” She leaned in, and kissed his cheek. “My reward, for taking the risk.”

“You said there wasn't any risk.”

“Severus said there wasn't any risk.”

Draco wasn't sure he liked 'Severus'. “So you really do enjoy sex?” he said. “And you like it rough?”

“What I like,” she said, “is to let go. Completely let go. I'm not into bondage, or being whipped, or anything like that, but I love it hard. And that means I need a lover I can trust—someone who won't freak out, or judge me, or take what he wants and push me farther than I want to go. I like to make love as an equal, Draco.”

“I like that too.”

“We're kindred spirits.”

Draco turned to face her and, reaching out, gently brushed her hair over her shoulder.

Granger was far too innocent to have developed the mental defences he and Snape had had to master, and catching her thoughts was easy: she'd always been attracted to him at school—even when he was calling her names, and she was punching him in the face—and when she'd seen him standing in her gloomy sitting room, she'd remembered their past antagonism, had been intrigued, and had made up her mind to have him.

“You,” he said, stroking the delicate skin of her shoulder, “are...” He was torn between 'beautiful' and 'sexy', but the words that actually came out of his mouth were, “Something else, Granger.”


IV

“Do you have the silver casket, Mr Malfoy?” Snape asked. He'd Apparated into Granger's sitting room, at the appointed time, like a great, black Portent of Doom.

“Er”—Draco glanced at Granger, wondering how much she knew about the casket—“yes, I do...” He reached into his undetectably extended breast pocket, and brought it out.

“Good,” said Snape, indicating that he should stow it away again.

Draco was puzzled... Then he understood: “You're going to use it to house the soul fragment,” he said.

“Indeed, Mr Malfoy—now,” he continued, “how are you planning to get Miss Granger into Malfoy Manor?”

“That's easy,” he replied, though—in truth—it had taken him all afternoon, lying awake, listening to Granger's steady breathing, to come up with the idea. He turned to Granger. “Say you'll marry me.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Just say it to me.”

Granger looked at Snape; Snape nodded.

“I'll marry you,” she said.

Draco pulled off his signet ring, and slid it onto Granger's finger. “Now we're betrothed,” he said. “The gates will admit you—and, to the best of its ability, the house will protect you,” he added, though he was fully aware that Malfoy Manor hadn't been able to save his parents.

...

Draco hadn't visited his former home since the day the Dark Lord, having cast two exasperated Killing Curses, had whisked him away and virtually imprisoned him in his new headquarters, deep in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. Looking at it now, silhouetted against the wide, Wiltshire sky, Draco suddenly felt that this hare-brained mission might be worth the risk, if it gave him a chance to reclaim the Manor...

“You're sure,” he whispered to Snape, “that there are only two guards?”

“Quite sure,” Snape replied. “And, provided our friend Tinker has used the Sleeping Draught I gave him, they'll both be sound asleep.”

“Right, then.” Draco held out a hand to Granger. “Come with me.”

He led her up to the great wrought-iron gates and, without allowing her a moment's hesitation, took her through them, as though the metal were nothing but smoke. Then, with Granger on his right and Snape on his left, he marched up the broad, gravel path, through the doors, which had opened as he approached, and into the Entrance Hall.

Sorrow almost overwhelmed him as he remembered happy times, forever tainted by his parents' horrific deaths but, holding Granger's hand, he led the way into the Drawing Room, and down into the cellar.

“This is it,” he said, nodding at an empty space between two columns.

“Open it, Mr Malfoy.”

Draco raised his right hand. “Mustrez,” he said.

Nothing happened...

Then a pair of invisible doors swung open, and Draco smiled triumphantly at Snape. “Be careful,” he said, still leading the way, “the stairs are steep.”

...

“Flamme,” said Draco, lighting the single lantern, and then, in shock, he added, “merde!”

Until that moment he'd been assuming that Potter was dead, and that Snape and Granger were leading him on a ridiculously dangerous wild goose chase. But there, chained to the wall, was the Boy Wonder, sitting in his own filth, his face prematurely lined, his black hair streaked with white, his grimy rags hanging on a pitiably emaciated body.

The Boy Wonder was no longer a boy.

And no longer a much of a wonder.

“Oh, Harry,” Granger sobbed, rushing to him and throwing her arms around him. “Harry... Harry...”

“Miss Granger,” said Snape.

“Just a hold on bit longer,” Granger was telling Potter. “Just a few more minutes. And then I'll take you to Grim—”

“Miss Granger,” Snape repeated, impatiently.

Draco grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

Snape, meanwhile, had reached inside his robes and brought out something red and bloody.

“What...?”

“It's a pig's heart,” Granger explained, quietly. “I did the research—pig hearts are very similar to human—”

“You're going to sacrifice me!” cried Draco. “The pair of you! You're going to send me into the Dark Lord's dungeons, clutching a fake fucking heart, to keep him busy whilst you spirit Potter away!”

“No!” Granger grabbed his arms. “Shhhhhh, Draco. Listen to me! Severus has a plan—”

“Another fucking plan!”

“Shhhhhh, Draco!” she said, shaking him.

“DON'T YOU SHUSH—”

Granger's mouth smashed into his, swallowing any further protests.

The kiss—if something so hard could be called a kiss—quickly deepened, growing more savage, and, to his horror, Draco felt himself getting an erection—

Suddenly, a great tingling spasm welled up in his groin, shot through his limbs, and filled his head with coloured lights that burst behind his eyes as his whole body exploded in a soul-quaking, dry orgasm.

Fuuuuuucking hell!

When it was over, he disentangled himself from Granger's trembling arms and, trying to ignore the aftershocks, looked across the chamber. Potter was hanging limply in his chains, like some grotesque, human-sized rag doll. It seemed that his and Granger's weird mutual climax had been nothing but a side-effect of being caught in the waves of Severus Snape's extraction spell...

“The casket, Mr Malfoy,” said Snape, urgently.

Pulling himself together, Draco handed it over, and watched his—former—mentor lay the pig's heart Horcrux in its blood-red velvet niche.

Granger, meanwhile, had run to her precious Potter and was trying to revive him. “Draco,” she cried, “help me get Harry free!”

Draco looked from her to Snape and back again, feeling hideously betrayed by both.

That Mudblood has fucked you over, said his father's voice. And Severus was never one of us...

You must still do the right thing, darling, said his conscience.

“Descuplez,” said Draco, wearily.

Potter's chains fell away from the wall.

“Thank you!” said Granger. She was struggling to get Potter on his feet, but she still took a moment to reward Draco with a lovely smile...

Oh, fuck it, he thought and, swallowing his pride, went to help her. Between them, they carried Potter to the foot of the stairs. “We need to get him right up to the Drawing Room,” Draco said, breathlessly, “so I can Apparate you both.”

It was difficult.

Snape went ahead to deal with Voldemort's guards—should they make an appearance—but their house-elf ally had done his job, and they reached the Drawing Room undetected. Draco, now fully convinced that Snape's plans for him were going to end badly, bid a final farewell to his ancestral home, and Apparated himself, Potter and Granger beyond the Manor's wards.

...

“Good bye Draco—and thank you, so much,” said Granger and, before Draco could protest, she and Potter had disappeared with an ominous pop.

Draco turned to Snape.

His old House Master was standing in a shaft of moonlight, every inch of his lean frame exuding the exceptional magical power he normally kept carefully hidden. Pansy Parkinson had once told Draco that most of the Slytherin girls fantasised about losing their virginity to their House Master and, at that moment, Draco could easily believe it—assuming, that was, that most of the Slytherin girls were masochistic perverts...

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now, Mister Malfoy, we return to the Ministry, where you will present the Dark Lord with Miss Granger's heart.” He held out the silver casket.

“What? No! He'll know that isn't Granger's heart!”

“Not if you keep your nerve, Draco.”

Draco's mind raced...

“Granger's hair,” he said, at last.

“Correct. I have transformed the pig's heart with a modified Polyjuice Potion. Time and secrecy are now of the essence. We must act immediately, and you must, at all costs, maintain your mental defences whilst you are in the Dark Lord's presence.”

“Merlin,” Draco muttered, looking for a suitable place to relieve himself, “I need a pee.”


V

“Come closer, Draco.”

Draco took three steps and, raising his hands high, offered up the silver casket.

As before, the black robed figures were watching him from the shadows but, this time, Draco didn't feel their contempt—this time, he sensed something closer to respect...

“Open it,” said the Dark Lord.

Draco lowered the casket and lifted its lid, involuntarily shuddering when Voldemort, making a sound exactly like a child slurping pumpkin juice through a straw, stretched out a white hand and stroked the air. “At last,” he said. His pleasure was obscene; Draco tried to hide his disgust.

“You have earned the Mark,” Voldemort continued, “and you shall have it, Draco, the moment you destroy the heart... Do I detect hesitation?” The Dark Lord rose slowly from his great, bronze chair. “A lingering desire, perhaps, for the Mudblood? I smell her on you.”

He came down the steps and circled Draco, sniffing deeply, and Draco felt his mind being probed.

“You fucked her, didn't you, Draco? You took her by force. More than once. Hmm... Did you enjoy those screams?

“I did, my Lord,” said Draco, truthfully.

“Good. Now destroy her heart.”

“My Lord...” Snape began.

The Dark Lord raised his hand. “Silence, Severus.”

“My Lord,” Draco echoed, humbly, his head bowed, “would My Lord not prefer to destroy the Mudblood's heart himself? With the Elder Wand?”

Voldemort lowered himself back into his chair. “Myself?” he said, thoughtfully. “Myself... Yes... Yes, that would be more fitting.” He drew the Elder Wand and pointed it at the casket. “A simple incineration spell will suffice...”

Draco, still holding the little silver box, gritted his teeth.

“Incendio,” said Voldemort.

The heart immediately caught fire, burning rapidly with a tall column of flame, and the heat spread quickly to the silver casket, which soon became too hot to hold, so Draco was forced to drop it.

The Dark Lord gasped and brought a hand to his chest—and, at the same moment, Severus Snape strode forward, his black robes swirling, his face uncovered, his hawk-like eyes glittering.

Draco thought of the Slytherin girls...

“What is this, Severus?” Voldemort wheezed, still holding his chest.

Snape raised a wand. It was eleven inches long, and made of holly.

“What are you doing, Severus?”

Snape stretched out his arm, but still said nothing.

“You disappoint me, Severus. Surely you do not think you can harm me?”

“The heart you have just destroyed,” replied Snape, “contained the final fragment of your soul. Now you are mortal. And this is Harry Potter's wand—I took its fragments from him before you stunned him, making me the master of every wand he had previously been master of.” He aimed the wand—

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Expelliarmus!” Snape cried, at exactly the same moment.

The was an ear-splitting bang, and Draco saw the two spells collide and rebound, and Voldemort's wand, dislodged by Snape's disarming spell, fly up, high into the air, and, spinning, spinning, spinning, find its way to the hand of its true master, Severus Snape.

Then Draco saw the Dark Lord crumple and fall, dead before he hit the floor, killed by his own rebounding curse.

And, at that signal, half of the Death Eaters in the chamber turned their wands on their fellows, and stunned them.

...

“WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!” Draco roared, his anger fuelled by the strain of having had to keep his mind empty and yet focussed throughout his entire exchange with Voldemort. “I thought we didn't stand a fucking chance!”

“Which is why you were so convincing, Mr Malfoy,” Snape replied, weighing the Elder Wand in his hand.

“You fucker!”

Draco stormed off, up the stairs to the floor above, got half way, realised he had no idea where he was going...

“And another thing,” he said, coming back. “How could you possibly be the master of the Elder Wand? Voldemort took it from Dumbledore.”

“Ah, Draco,” said Snape, “you are going to be so annoyed when I explain it to you.”


VI

“And now?” said Draco.

“Now,” replied Snape, “the Order of the Phoenix will play its part. Tonight, they will round up any Death Eaters who remain faithful to the late Dark Lord. Tomorrow, Kingsley Shacklebolt will be made Minister for Magic, and we will commence the task of rebuilding Wizarding Britain. We are already in communication with the Muggle government-in-exile, and have secured their co-operation...

“But you, I think, Mr Malfoy, have somewhere else to be.”

“What?” said Draco. “Where?”

“With Miss Granger. She is expecting you.”


VII

Draco hadn't quite dared believe what Snape had told him, but Granger was waiting for him at the broken window.

When he dropped from the windowsill, he hesitated, but Granger threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, and they embraced for what felt like hours, Draco's face buried in Granger's soft curls.

“Harry's going to be all right,” she said, at last. “It will take time, but Poppy Pomfrey's going to nurse him herself.”

“Good,” said Draco, surprised to find that he meant it. “I'm glad.”

They sat in the old armchair, Granger curled in Draco's lap, and watched the sky fade from jet black to pearl grey, and then lighten to pale blue as the sun rose, warm and bright, upon a world that held promise for the first time in five years...

Granger sighed. “Would you like some hot chocolate, Draco?”

Draco thought about it.

It was crazy.

Not the pure-blood-Mudblood thing—that no longer mattered—not to him, nor, please Merlin, to anybody else, now. But the feelings that kept welling up in his chest—the affection, the concern, the desire to protect—and the risks he'd taken, the part he'd played in History, because of her—all of that stuff was crazy!

He took her hand and, holding it, rubbed his thumb over his signet ring, still on her finger. “Nah,” he said, to her offer of hot chocolate, “let's just go to bed.”



End Notes: I don't know exactly when this AU diverged from canon—perhaps, when Snape said, “My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But — let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can —”, Voldemort agreed, and that would explain how Snape survived, and how he came to disarm Harry.

I've assumed that Voldemort, having realised that Harry was a Horcrux, defeated him with a Stunning Spell rather than a Killing Curse, and later claimed that he'd executed him.

I've assumed that the Elder Wand destroys Horcruxes.

And, finally, I've assumed that the Malfoy family have Anglo-Norman ancestry.