Inkbound

Chapter 1

It had been three months since Draco Malfoy defected from the Death Eaters.

The Order took him in with more than a modicum of reluctance.They wrung Draco dry for the intelligence he had and then kept him locked away in one of the Order's larger safe houses, out of the way but out of danger. For his service, his mother was whisked away to a hidden location, kept safe as the war raged on.

Draco was now largely ignored. He wasn't kept prisoner as such, but he hadn't been keyed into the wards. Everyone - including him - knew that if he ever left the safehouse he'd never be able to find his way back.

Draco hid away in the broken greenhouse in the dilapidated manor that was the safe house, as the long summer day turned golden in the afternoon. Lying back on the battered chaise-longe he'd pulled in to join the bed and desk he'd salvaged from the ruins of the house, he went to turn a damp-wrinkled page of an old book on the werewolf wars he was currently reading, when a loud snap in the air disturbed him.

A tiny house-elf he didn't recognise, wearing a tea-cosy as a hat, appeared in his greenhouse sanctuary. Only one house-elf usually visited him, to bring Draco food and firewhisky three times a day. This elf looked nothing like him. He puffed himself up proudly and told Draco his presence was required immediately in the so-called "war room".

Draco sighed and pulled himself from the chaise, dropping the dog-eared book back on the battered velvet. He cast a glance up to the shattered greenhouse roof and drew his wand, raising it and refreshing the modified Protego he'd raised to keep the elements from getting in. With the shield recast, Draco left the isolation of his greenhouse.

It was almost a five-minute walk from the greenhouse in the west wing to the grand staircase and the large drawing room at the top of the manor that had been made into the war room. Draco knew they were somewhere in the Welsh hills, but he didn't know which Order member owned the ruined house they were now living in.

With a short knock on the door of the war room, Draco entered when he heard Remus Lupin's voice call out, intending to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Lifting his head as he entered, Draco almost stumbled to a standstill from the shock of who he saw.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were sat around the table in front of him.

It had been three months since Hermione Granger was tortured for the first time in her life.

Lying on the marbled floor of Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix Lestrange's wand held above her, Hermione had wished for death, for anything to break the pain she felt.

She still vividly remembered it, sometimes in her nightmares, sometimes when she was making a cup of tea thinking of something else entirely. Sitting now in the war room, knowing full well Draco Malfoy was about to walk in, she thought she was prepared.

It was his eyes she had finally settled on during her torture. They were the stormy grey of an angry sea, and like a sea she had set herself adrift in them in an attempt to escape the pain.

Seeing those eyes again now was like a punch to the gut.

Malfoy hesitated when he saw her, those same eyes, her anchor in the storm of pain, locking on hers. Hermione felt Ron reach for her hand under the table as she caught her breath.

Malfoy sat down, avoiding her gaze, as Remus talked him through the information she and Harry and Ron needed to know about the Lestrange vaults.

Hermione wasn't concentrating on the words that flowed around the table. She was aware of Remus' mild voice asking questions, Malfoy's cut tones answering, Ron's mutterings under his breath, and Harry's no-nonsense responses, but Hermione didn't speak.