Summary: This story doesn't have to invalidate the Epilogue at 9 3/4. The battle of Hogwarts was won - just like in the book. Only difference is this: That battle didn't end the war... The Death Eaters re-grouped and kept on fighting.

Contents: This is a dark Gothic romantic/adventure story. There won't be fluff - there will be blood.

Rating: Episodes of rather dark violence and scenes of a sexual nature. Rated M.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the settings and characters you recognize - the rest is mine.

"Every life has death and every light has shadow. Be content to stand in the light and let the shadow fall where it will." – Mary Stewart

The Tower Window

Part One

1. Malfoy Manor

Hermione resumed corporeal form on the outer grounds of Malfoy Manor. Opening her eyes, the sprawling stone edifice stood all before her, a prodigious gray silhouette contrasted against a milky sky. Like a slap in the face, a constant reminder of its connection to pure-blood supremacy, it stood there defiant, humbling into submission all things around it.

Stones crunched under foot as she stepped onto a gravel path that led up to the mansion. Proceeding bravely along uneven terrain, the cold stinging wind whipped against her bare legs and signaled the coming of winter.

Passing through a span of junipers, she traversed a long stretch of hedgerow that autumn had faded into an olive drab. Proceeding cautiously, she made her way until dwarfed by the two great doors of Malfoy Manor. A single carpetbag, which held her entire belongings, weighed heavily in her right hand. Stretching to reach the heavy iron knocker, she pulled back then hammered the door with a deafening report.

After a few moments the cold wind was pushed back by the opening of the door. A single house-elf stood there guarding the way.

He looked her over suspiciously. "What do you want?"

"I'm Hermione Granger – I'm to report here." She handed the elf a ragged sheet of yellowed parchment. The house-elf took the parchment and rolled huge glassy eyes between the contents of the document and Hermione as if trying to weigh the authenticity of the document he held in his gnarly hand.

"Wait here," the elf croaked, and pointed to a spot on the granite floor and then trotted off.

Frozen on the very spot the elf pointed at, it was several minutes later before the slapping of fleshy oversized feet on stone floors announced the elf's return.

"Come this way," he ordered.

The elf led her through the great hall of the mansion. She looked up at the spot where the great chandelier had once hung to see a substitute, much smaller and less grand than the original. There was the spot on the floor where Bellatrix had tortured her before Dobby had saved the day. Stepping carefully around precious artifacts and steely gray suits of armor they passed the great fireplace. The thing was big enough to roast a small horse. It's crackling blazes heated only a small section of the great hall, but she lingered a moment to absorb precious warmth.

The elf stopped to look back impatiently and then proceeded down a dimly lit corridor at the end of the hall. The corridor was completely lined with stag heads, forming a long macabre display. Past the last deer head, the elf paused to rap on a door. A muffled 'come in' could be heard on the other side.

The elf struggled with the latch but finally managed. Opening the door, the elf stood aside for Hermione to enter. When she did, he closed the door behind her. The study was warm and cozy, but she knew the comfort was not meant for her. Casually and at length, a snow white head raised and gray eyes lifted to take notice of her. Slowly, the slender figure rose from behind the mahogany desk.

Draco Malfoy, dressed in the same black jacket, white shirt, and narrow black tie, moved slowly around the huge desk. The yellow parchment she had given the elf was rolled up in his hand. The walls were lined with shelves of leather volumes, some old, some new. The dark wooden walls, slick with oil and age, reflected the light from a nearby candelabra. At last, Draco circumnavigated the huge desk and stood facing Hermione. He looked her over, discreetly at first, from head to toe and then curled the corner of his mouth into a wry grin. He looked at the parchment and then back at the young witch as if weighing his options. Hermione stood there, restlessly as he had not yet invited her to sit.

"Can I sit or is this an official inspection?" she asked. Annoyed, Draco nodded and pointed toward a velvet covered chair off to one side of a small fireplace. She set down the bag, and casually took the chair before giving her attention back to the slender figure. "Thanks."

"You're late," he began. "This document says you were due two days ago."

"I had important business."

Draco paused at the answer and then shook his head.

"I trust it's taken care of now?" He snarled and slapped the palm of his hand with the parchment.

"I think so," she replied, not looking at Draco but at the wooden floors. Her bare legs were still pink from the cold wind outside.

"Do you know why the Ministry has ordered you here Granger?"

"I only know what the document says pureblood... to report here," she quipped.

Draco slid another chair to the other side of the fireplace.

"You won't find the story pleasing Granger, but I'll tell you anyway."

"I kind of figured you would," she replied with insolence.

"Your side Granger – lost the war. Oh, I imagine it was very touching to watch Potter vanquish the Dark Lord. Spirits were high and all were full of hope, I'm sure. But that was one battle – and the only battle your side ever won."

"They're still fighting," she replied with a touch of hope in her voice.

"And still losing... It's over Granger, and it so happens I'm in control now."

Hermione's head shot up, her eyes two fiery slits.

"You seen a lot of the war here in Wiltshire – pureblood?"

Draco ignored the insult and continued.

"This is a control center for our efforts. Lucius has fallen out of favor and the others are dead. So I'm in control. We have the Ministry in our back pockets and your side in this war is finished. Did you know – that every one of your rebel friends has a death sentence hanging over their heads?"

Draco paused to study her reaction but there was none.

"Oh yes," he continued. "There are six death eaters looking for Potter every day. Every day. One day they'll catch him. As for your friend Weasley – his outcome will be the same – and not too long from now I suppose. But that leaves you Granger... sadly I saw your termination orders come in just the other day."

"That must have broken you up."

"It did – and do you want to know why?"

Hermione didn't answer. She looked blankly at the floor.

"Granger, look at me," he demanded, but she remained fixed on the floor.

"I tried to sign the order. I really did," he orated and moved up from the chair. From the desk he pulled out an official looking document. When she still didn't look up, he grabbed a handful of bushy hair and yanked her head up. He waved the parchment in her face.

"Just one signature Granger; that's all it would take. And I almost did it. The quill was inches from the parchment, but then I couldn't. Do you know why?"

"Prey tell."

"It was all those years at school. All those years, I insulted you every way I knew how. I called you every foul name I could think of. Threw curses at you. Some you deflected some you didn't," he said and smiled. "But somehow, I never felt I was able to put you in your proper place."

"I feel for you," she quipped bitterly.

"And, I thought," he continued without delay. "I thought – why not continue where I left off. I'll sign a different order. One that will save your life. And I did. You are now a ward of the magical state. Here in Malfoy Manor you'll stay and perform the duties assigned to you. If you fail, or resist, try to escape, or shirk your responsibilities in any way, then it's this instead," he said and waved the termination order in her face. "Do you understand?"

"I think I get the picture."

Draco rose from the chair. "Then, I'll have your wand Granger."

She looked up at him as if incapable of the request.

"Granger... it's this or the Ministry. And you know what they'll do. You make the choice," he went on and stretched his hand out a little further. Hermione exhaled a long breath and then pulled her wand from within her garments and stuffed the implement, handle first, into the waiting hand. He took the wand and returned to his desk where he secured it in the top desk drawer.

Draco sighed with relief. "Now you're making sense Granger."

"And just what duties would you have me perform?" she asked, vehemently.

"Your official duties? They'll be housekeeping duties, errands about the estate, dictation and stenography, things of that nature. That's what will go onto the report," he said, and laughed. "I think I'll enjoy taking the stuffing out of you Granger. And who knows, within time we may even become friends."

"Friends?" Her head shot up suspiciously and then fell back down.

"Yes friends," he repeated. "And look at me when I speak to you," he added and waved the termination order in her face.

She complied and looked coldly into the steel gray eyes.

"I hope you get used to looking at me Granger because I've saved your life. And you should be glad for that. Yes, I would think friendship would be a small payment."

Hermione stiffened at the implication.

"But what about Astoria? What would she think of this arrangement?"

Draco smiled unevenly. "Astoria and I were arranged to be married when we were very young. And I'm sure one day we will be. But for now, she's been sent away. Far away from the ravages of this war. And Now, I am without comfort," he went on and then waved his hand as if to dismiss the topic. "So lets get back to business; I have a war to finish, and you should be thinking about your own future Granger."

"My future? What future do I have now?"

"Who knows. Perhaps things will change. If you fulfill your duties here – perhaps, if the other side ever evens things out, then who knows. But for now you better make the best of it. It's a fair deal Granger. Your life for... well, whatever."

Hermione's gaze fell once more. She looked up with a look of solid conviction.

"I am thinking of my future, so go ahead and kill me. Do it now if you have the courage."

Like a smack across the face, the smirk grin quickly disappeared. He stood there for a moment frozen until a calm fell over him again.

"Have you any idea what you're saying? Don't be an idealistic fool Granger. This is a fair arrangement. There are people dying out there for no reason."

"While you sit here and draw from your trust fund," she snapped back.

Lighting quick, a hand came hard across her face. Hermione reeled from the slap and resumed a defiant posture.

"Damnit – I'm growing tired of your shite. I trying to help you G'damit."

"And why would you do that?"

"Look at me," he ordered again and she did. "And stand up."

Hermione rose from the chair and then reached for the bag.

"Leave that," he ordered and looked over the witch like a hunter would look over the prize. He moved very close and guided her away from the chair and against the wall. With his left hand he held her shoulder against the wall and reached out with the right to cover and then knead her breast. Hermione grimaced and attempted to pull free but couldn't.

"After all these years Granger – you're still fit."

At that moment, he bent at the waist slightly and the hand left her chest and shot under her skirt.

"Stop," she pleaded.

"Hush," he barked back.

Slowly the hand worked it's way along the cool skin of her thigh and then upwards, where it was warmer. The hand was stopped by the crutch of her cotton pants. Angrily, he wrenched the strip of cotton aside and pressed further, stopping only when two fingers were inside of her.

Hermione stood there with eyes and mouth clinched shut, pulling a grimacing face. Just as quickly as it began it was over. Draco pulled his hand out from under her skirt and resumed a formal posture.

"Now – do you still want to die? Is my touch so offensive you're willing to die?"

Hermione dipped her head but remained hush. The tears were streaming down her face.

"I thought so. There's too much fight in you Granger to just give up and die. But you know what this means. Don't you?" he demanded, and Hermione could only manage a single nod.

"Good, so you'll play along with this arrangement and stay alive. This is your ticket out of the war Granger. Your ticket to stay alive. And we will become friends. You will repay my kindness in sparing your life. Alfred will see you to your quarters," he instructed and went for the door. The house-elf was still standing outside. She was almost through the door when he called.

"Granger."

She stopped and slowly turned to face the wizard.

"You may think yourself unlucky, but if you only knew how many wanted your death..."

Unwilling to bear more, the witch snapped around and stormed past the deer heads down the long corridor.

Waiting in the great hall for the house-elf to return, she overheard Draco mumble something to the elf. A few moments later the elf came around the corner and instructed her to follow. He then led her to another wing of the house. They stopped at a place she would come later to know as the northeast wing. It was a dark and disused portion of the mansion where the smell was musty and by the looks of things hadn't been used in many years.

The house-elf stopped by a heavy enameled door and then produced a large key from somewhere inside the pillowcase he was wearing. With some difficulty, the rusty lock finally turned over and the door opened with a squeal of protest. The house-elf took a candle sconce from a dugout in the wall and raised it above his head. Hermione could see a circular stone staircase continuing upwards to disappear in darkness.

"There is no railing so lean against the wall," cautioned the elf, without a trace of feeling.

Hermione did as the elf instructed but the heavy carpetbag tried several times to pull her balance away from the wall and into the dark abyss below. By the time they arrived at the top of the stairs her arm was aching from carrying the bag. Finally they arrived at the top and in front of a bare wooden door.

Once again the elf went through the same process with the same key and in moments Hermione was looking into the bleak room. A nearby oil lamp provided just enough light to see. The elf set the candle sconce in another cutout in the wall to provide barely adequate lighting.

The room was big enough for a house-elf she reasoned. There were eight walls and the shape was evenly octagonal. Along one side was a bunk just big enough for one. Opposite the bunk was a small writing table with a stack of parchment, ink, and a quill. A single chair was drawn up to a small window. A small coal burning stove was the only source of heat. Atop of it was a cast iron hob and a small metal bowl of soup of some kind.

"This is your room," the elf croaked. "The soup should still be warm. Would you fancy fresh bread?"

She had 'piss off' forming on her lips but for some reason the thought was rescinded. After all, she hadn't eaten all day and who knew how long it would be before the next meal.

"Yes, please," she heard herself say. The elf nodded and left the room. A latch from the other side fell closed to lock the door. Hermione looked over the simple apartment. The walls were of stone, rough cut and now wearing a thick coat of dust; the whole place seemed quite spartan. The bed sheets and heavy blanket looked fresh. The floors were not clean but looked as if they had been swept before she arrived. A dull tin chamber pot sat in the floor at the foot of the bed. Taking a closer look at the window revealed nothing. It was well after sunset and the night was already pitch black. There was nothing to see out the window except a small light far away in the darkness.

She heard the elf working the lock and heard the door squeal as he pulled it open. With a candle in one hand and a small platter in the other, he entered the room and set the platter on the small table.

"Be up and ready by tomorrow's light," he growled and pointed toward the window. Without another word he turned and left the room, repeating the whole process of locking the door from the outside.

Hermione took one look at the simple meal and collapsed on the edge of the small bed. She put her hands in her face and cried.