The night after the Death Eater attack at Hogwarts passed in a blur of Auror reports, protective spells, and silent fears Hermione dared not voice.
By morning, the castle felt normal again — too normal. Hermione walked the outer grounds alone, needing space to think, to breathe.
She never saw them coming.
A hand clamped over her mouth. Cold iron shackled her wrists before she could reach for her wand.
A voice hissed against her ear — soft, mocking. "Should have known better, Granger."
Darkness swallowed her whole.
She woke to stone beneath her knees and iron biting into her skin.
The air was damp, thick with rot and ancient magic.
She opened her eyes — and froze.
The walls were cracked stone. The floor cold marble. The faint burn of ancient Dark magic pulsed around her like a living thing.
Malfoy Manor.
No.
Not again.
Footsteps echoed against the stone. A tall figure entered the dungeon, every movement sharp and composed.
Lucius Malfoy.
His face was thinner than she remembered, his hair tied back in the same immaculate style — but his eyes burned with something deeper.
Hatred laced with centuries of pureblood fury.
Hermione met his gaze squarely. "What do you want?"
Lucius circled her slowly, his cane tapping softly. "What I have always wanted… justice."
He crouched before her, voice low. "I watched you corrupt my son. Defile the Malfoy bloodline. And for years, I did nothing. I let it pass. I told myself… perhaps the boy would come to his senses."
He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "He didn't."
Hermione stared him down. "Because he's better than you."
Lucius's smile was thin, sharp. "No. Because you poisoned him. And now… the blood will pay."
Hermione forced her voice calm. "You're wrong. You'll never control him. Or me."
Lucius tilted his head, that cold smile still in place. "We'll see."
He turned on his heel and strode from the cell, the iron door slamming shut with a final, echoing boom.
At Hogwarts, Draco's heart gave a violent lurch the moment Hermione didn't appear at breakfast.
By the time her name echoed through the empty halls unanswered, his blood ran cold.
He stormed into McGonagall's office, slamming the door behind him.
"Mia, stay with Professor McGonagall," he ordered, his voice taut.
"Where are you going?" Mia whispered, pale-faced.
Draco stared past her, his fists clenching at his sides. His world sharpened into terrifying clarity.
Only one person would dare take her.
Only one man would know exactly how to tear him apart.
His father.
And in that breath — that crushing, heart-stopping breath — Draco Malfoy realized something that nearly dropped him to his knees:
He wasn't afraid of losing her.
He was afraid of losing himself if he did.
Because every step he'd taken away from the Malfoy legacy… every moment he'd fought to be a better man… every ounce of light in him…
It was her.
It had always been her.
And if his father thought he could take that away…
He was about to learn just how wrong he was.