Dramione Fanfiction

Eclipse of serpents and lions

Chapter 1: Shadows of the Vanishing Cabinet 

Set: Hogwarts, early Sixth Year - Half-Blood Prince era. The castle feels colder, heavier, like it’s holding its breath.

The library dust motes danced in the late October moonlight slanting through the high windows, usually a comforting sight for Hermione Granger. Tonight, they just looked like ash. She slammed *Moste Potente Potions* shut with more force than necessary, the thud echoing in the unnervingly quiet Restricted Section. Her brain felt like it was vibrating – Arithmancy equations warring with worry for Harry, who was becoming disturbingly obsessed with his mysterious Potions book, and Ron, who seemed perpetually annoyed with… well, everything, especially her.

"Ugh, useless!" she muttered, shoving the heavy tome back onto its shelf. Slughorn’s impossible assignment on the properties of powdered moonstone under lunar phases could wait. What *couldn’t* wait was figuring out why the castle wards felt subtly… *off* near the seventh-floor corridor. Filch had complained about strange noises, Peeves had been uncharacteristically silent, and her own magical sensors (a discreet charm she’d woven into her prefect badge) kept pinging erratically there.

*Right. One quick patrol. Then bed,* she promised herself, tightening her Gryffindor scarf. The stone corridors were icy, the torches casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to reach for her ankles. Silence pressed in, thick and watchful. It wasn’t just the cold; it was the weight of the war outside, seeping through the ancient stones.

Suddenly, a muffled *clang* echoed from further down the corridor. Not Peeves. Too metallic. Too… purposeful. Hermione froze, hand instinctively flying to her wand. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. *Curfew breaker? Or something worse?*

She pressed herself against the cold stone wall, inching forward towards the Room of Requirement. The door shimmered into existence – not the usual plain oak, but something heavier, older, looking like it belonged to a vault. And it was slightly ajar. A sliver of dim, flickering light spilled out.

*That’s not right. That’s definitely not right.*

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione pushed the door open just enough to slip through. The sight that greeted her stole her breath.

Chaos. Mountains of forgotten junk – broken furniture, dusty portraits, tarnished suits of armor – towered towards the impossibly high, shadowed ceiling. And in a cleared space in the center, bathed in the eerie glow of hovering Lumos spells, stood Draco Malfoy.

He wasn’t lounging or smirking. He was *working*. Sweat plastered strands of his usually immaculate platinum hair to his forehead. His Slytherin robes were discarded, sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up, revealing forearms corded with tension. He was wrestling with a large, ornate cabinet – the Vanishing Cabinet Borgin and Burkes had tried to sell them years ago! – wielding complicated-looking tools Hermione recognized from Advanced Charms theory. His face was a mask of fierce concentration, etched with something she’d never seen on Draco Malfoy before: raw, desperate fear.

*The Vanishing Cabinet? What in Merlin’s name is he doing? Why here? And why does he look… terrified?*

Hermione’s analytical mind clicked into overdrive, momentarily overriding her shock. The Cabinet’s twin was in Borgin and Burkes… a passage… a way in… *Oh. Oh no.*

A splintered piece of wood snapped under her foot.

The sound was deafening in the cavernous silence.

Malfoy whirled around, wand snapping up, eyes wide with panic that instantly morphed into icy fury when he saw her. The fear vanished, replaced by the familiar sneer, but it was brittle, stretched too thin over the terror beneath.

"Granger!" he spat, his voice tight. "What the *hell* are you doing here? Get out!"

Hermione stood her ground, her own wand steady despite the tremor in her knees. "What am *I* doing? What are *you* doing, Malfoy? Fixing a piece of Dark junk in the middle of the night? Planning a surprise party for Pansy? Somehow, I doubt it."

He took a step forward, his silver eyes glinting dangerously in the Lumos light. "This is none of your business, Mudblood. Leave. Now. Before you regret it." The slur landed like a physical blow, but it felt… rote. Automatic. Like he was clinging to old scripts because the reality was too terrifying.

"You think slinging that word around makes you scary, Malfoy?" Hermione shot back, anger flaring hot and bright, momentarily eclipsing her fear. "It just makes you pathetic. And fixing *that*?" She jabbed her wand towards the Cabinet. "That’s not pathetic, that’s treasonous. Who are you letting in?"

His face paled, genuine shock flashing across his features before the mask slammed back down. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I know that Cabinet is linked to Borgin and Burkes!" Hermione countered, her voice rising. "I know Death Eaters would *love* a secret entrance into Hogwarts! Is that your grand plan? Daddy’s little Death Eater finally proving himself?"

Something snapped in Malfoy. The arrogance cracked, revealing the raw, trembling boy beneath. "SHUT UP!" he roared, a tremor in his voice. His wand hand shook slightly. "You have no idea! NO IDEA what’s at stake! What *he’ll* do if I fail!"

The raw terror in his voice, the sheer desperation, hit Hermione like a Stunner. This wasn’t the Malfoy who taunted them in the corridors. This was someone backed into a corner, drowning. For a split second, she saw past the sneer to the hollow eyes, the too-sharp cheekbones. He looked… broken.

Before she could process it, before she could even form a response, the heavy door of the Room of Requirement creaked open wider. Not Filch. Two hulking figures, hooded and masked, stepped into the dim light. The air instantly turned frigid, thick with malice. Death Eaters.

Malfoy’s face went bone-white. "No," he breathed, the word barely audible. "Not now…"

One Death Eater chuckled, a low, guttural sound. "Little Malfoy. Working late? And you brought… company?" The masked face turned towards Hermione. "A Mudblood prefect. How… fortuitous."

Panic, cold and absolute, flooded Hermione. Her mind raced – *Disillusionment? Too late. Stunning Spell? Two against one, and Malfoy… whose side is he on?*

Malfoy seemed frozen, caught between worlds, his wand hanging limply at his side.

The second Death Eater raised his wand, aiming squarely at Hermione. "The Dark Lord will reward us for this catch. *Avada Ke–*"

**"NO!"**

The bellow wasn't Hermione's. It was Malfoy's. Pure, instinctive terror ripped the word from him. He didn't cast a spell. He *lunged*.

Time seemed to slow. Hermione saw Malfoy move, not with grace, but with desperate speed. He crashed into her, sending them both sprawling behind a towering stack of moldering trunks just as a sickly green light shattered the air where she’d been standing. The smell of ozone and decay filled her nostrils.

They hit the stone floor hard, limbs tangled. Hermione gasped, the wind knocked out of her. Malfoy was half on top of her, his body rigid, his breath coming in ragged gasps against her ear. His heart hammered against her back like a trapped bird.

"Get off me, Malfoy!" she hissed, trying to shove him away, her own heart trying to escape her chest.

"Shut up and stay *down*, you idiot!" he snarled back, his voice cracking. He rolled off her slightly, peering around the trunk. "They'll kill us both!"

Us?" Hermione whispered, incredulous, scrambling to her knees beside him. "Why did you–?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger," he snapped, but the tremor in his hands as he gripped his wand betrayed him. "I just saved myself the inconvenience of explaining your corpse to the Headmaster. Now, unless you fancy becoming a permanent fixture in this rubbish heap, *help me*!"

The Death Eaters were spreading out, their wands casting probing beams of light. "Come out, little traitor," one taunted. "Bring the Mudblood. The Dark Lord might be… lenient… if you hand her over."

Malfoy flinched as if struck. He met Hermione’s eyes. The fury was still there, but it was warring with abject terror and something else – a flicker of horrified realization at what he’d just done. He’d defied them. For *her*.

Hermione saw the calculation in his eyes – the impossible choice. Hand her over and maybe save his family? Or fight alongside the enemy he’d despised for six years? His knuckles were white on his wand. His breathing hitched.

He’s going to do it. He’s going to turn me in. 

The thought was ice in her veins. She raised her own wand, ready to hex him first if she had to.

But then, something shifted. A spark of defiance, born of pure panic, ignited in his grey eyes. "Like hell," he muttered, almost to himself. He looked at Hermione, a grim, desperate understanding passing between them. An enemy-of-my-enemy truce forged in sheer terror. "On three. Stunners. Wide arc. Then run like hell for the door. One…"

Hermione nodded, her mind snapping into battle focus. Adrenaline burned away the fear. *Survive now. Analyze later.*

"Two…"

The Death Eaters were getting closer, their boots scraping on the stone floor.

"THREE!"

They erupted from behind the trunks simultaneously.

"*Stupefy!*" Hermione yelled, her voice strong and clear. A jet of red light shot from her wand, catching the nearest Death Eater squarely in the chest. He crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

"*Stupefy!*" Malfoy roared, his spell hitting the second Death Eater’s shoulder, spinning him around but not knocking him out.

"RUN!" Malfoy grabbed Hermione’s wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, and yanked her forward. They sprinted through the labyrinth of junk, dodging falling debris as the remaining Death Eater fired curses blindly behind them. "*Expelliarmus!*" Hermione shrieked, disarming him just as a purple flame curse singed the air past her head.

They burst through the door of the Room of Requirement, slamming it shut behind them. Malfoy whipped around, pressing his palm flat against the wood, his eyes squeezed shut. "*Colloportus! Obscuro!*" The door sealed with a series of heavy clicks and shimmered, becoming indistinguishable from the stone wall. Heavy thuds sounded from the other side, muffled now.

Panting, they leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, gulping air. The silence of the castle pressed in again, but now it felt fragile, shattered. Hermione became acutely aware that Malfoy was still gripping her wrist. His skin was cold, clammy. She yanked her arm back.

He didn’t look at her. He stared at the spot where the door had been, his chest heaving, his face ashen. The carefully constructed mask of the arrogant pure-blood heir was gone. In its place was raw, trembling shock. He looked young. Terrified. Lost.

"What… what did you see in there, Granger?" he finally rasped, his voice barely a whisper. He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

Hermione’s mind reeled. The Cabinet. His terror. The Death Eaters. Him *saving* her. Him *fighting* them. The desperate, fleeting truce. The sheer, overwhelming weight of whatever burden he was carrying. It crashed over her in waves.

"I saw Draco Malfoy," she said slowly, her voice surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her, "doing something monumentally stupid and incredibly dangerous." She paused, forcing him to finally look at her. His grey eyes were wide, haunted. "And I saw you hesitate. I saw you choose… not to hand me over."

He flinched, looking away again, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Don't," he choked out. "Don't pretend you understand. Don't pretend this changes anything. I'm not… I'm not a bloody hero."

"No," Hermione agreed quietly, her gaze fixed on the sealed wall where the Death Eaters were trapped. The fear was receding, replaced by a chilling comprehension and a thousand new, terrifying questions. "You're not. But you're also not just the boy who calls me Mudblood anymore, are you?" She pushed herself off the wall, her legs still shaky. "You’re in over your head, Malfoy. Way, way over."

She turned to leave, needing space, needing to *think*. Her mind was already whirling – the Cabinet, his mission, the consequences of tonight.

"Granger!" His voice stopped her, sharp with a desperate edge. She turned back. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable in the dim corridor light, but the fear was back, mingled with something pleading. "If you tell anyone… Potter, Weasley… *anyone*…"

Hermione met his gaze. She saw the threat, but beneath it, she saw the abyss he was staring into. The consequences for him, for his family, if his failure or his moment of defiance were discovered. The weight of his secret settled onto her shoulders too. "I won't," she said, the words tasting strange. "Not yet. But that Cabinet… Malfoy, whatever you're planning… it won't end well. For anyone." She hesitated, the image of his terrified face as he lunged to save her flashing in her mind. "You can't do this alone."

His laugh was harsh, brittle, devoid of any humor. "I don't have a choice." He ran a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. "Now get out of here. Before someone sees us." He turned away, leaning his forehead against the cold stone wall, his shoulders slumped in utter exhaustion and despair.

Hermione didn't need telling twice. She walked quickly down the corridor, the echo of her footsteps sounding unnaturally loud. Her mind was a battlefield – suspicion warring with reluctant, horrified understanding, anger tangled with the phantom feel of his hand on her wrist and the memory of that desperate, lifesaving lunge.

Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater. Or trying to become one. He was fixing a passage for Voldemort’s followers to invade Hogwarts. He’d called her Mudblood mere minutes ago.

And yet… he’d saved her life.

The boy who lived to torment her had pulled her out of the path of a Killing Curse. The weight of that contradiction pressed down on her, heavy and confusing. Who *was* Draco Malfoy? And what terrible price was he paying for whatever role he’d been forced to play?

The Halloween decorations in the corridors suddenly looked grotesque, mocking. The war wasn't just outside Hogwarts anymore. It was here. And it had just forced Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy into a terrifying, fragile, utterly unexpected orbit around each other. The game had changed. And she had no idea what the rules were anymore. All she knew was the Vanishing Cabinet loomed large, a ticking bomb, and Draco Malfoy, pale and shaking against the stone, looked less like a villain and more like the most desperate pawn on the board.

She touched her wrist where his fingers had gripped her. The skin still tingled. Not from pain. From the sheer, shocking electricity of the unexpected, the terrifying, and the utterly, irrevocably changed.