Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Harry Potter. On that note, all dates are canon, and the Malfoy Manor scene dialogue is also all taken out of the book. So creds to JK Rowling!
Author's Note: If you're wondering where I disappeared to, this is it. In fact, you probably won't believe how long it took to write this, but that's okay. Oh, and, I hope you like angst...
Consider Us Even
He resents it. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone, but he does.
He's resented many things in his life, actually. But none of them have felt like this.
Standing in the back of the crowd, under a black gazebo, he watches wordlessly as the ceremony begins.
The minister delivers his first words.
Angry clouds roll by, filling the sky with bitter patches of grey and black. Unsurprisingly, the rain follows. Sheets of water pound down mercilessly on the black tarp. The tent threatens to collapse under the pressure.
How cliché, he thinks, that it would rain on a day like this; that the sky would turn black, the way it did that night...
Too late, he tries to block the vivid memory out of his head, but already it's washing over him, his mind drifting back to the fateful night two weeks ago.
-OoO-
Flashes of red and green light up the black night sky; it would almost seem like Christmas, were it not for the countless shouts and screams, now miles away yet still resounding in his ears. But he is nearly safe now, within arm's reach of his parents. Pausing around a corner, a few feet behind his father, he waits for his breath to catch up.
Suddenly, he hears a cold voice lash out behind him, as someone approaches.
"Coward."
Even without turning around, he recognizes the speaker immediately; he isn't surprised by the familiarity of the voice. Somehow he'd always known his aunt Bellatrix would turn against him one day. Their only tie is in their blood, and somehow he doesn't think she'd be one to adhere to the "family first" rule. A whore to Voldemort himself, he doubts she laid down any loyalties except at his feet alone.
But as she pulls out her wand and aims it at him, he does nothing except close his eyes. Because deep down he knows perhaps he deserves whatever is coming – he has been a coward his whole life, his entire family hiding behind their Pureblood status, and he isn't certain which parent he got it from, but he's been running, every single day, from his own truths and beliefs–
"TRAITOR."
–and maybe, just maybe, he resents it, resents not being able to confront his feelings, man up to them like he should've when he'd had the chance, but look what he's doing now, even as the battle continues to rage before him, he is running for cover, a traitor, caring only for his own safety–
"AVADA–"
"NO!"
Suddenly, the ground slips out from beneath his feet. He falls, face flat against the cold stone pavement, pebbles and crumbled remains of buildings slicing into every inch of exposed skin. Pain shoots up his limbs, verifying at least a few broken bones, and he feels exhausted and weary. He doesn't understand how falling back can cause so much pain, but knows he's seconds away from passing out.
There is someone hunched over him, breathing heavily into his ear. He assumes that it's his deranged aunt; he can't see why she hasn't completed the curse yet. He supposes there isn't much he can do now but close his eyes and wait.
"–KEDAVRA!"
Through his eyelids, perception half-faded, he sees a burst of green light. A scream pierces his eardrums, a body slumps over him, and he's out.
-OoO-
He's not stupid. He knows coming here was a bad idea, but it had seemed necessary, important at the time, to come pay his respects. After all, he owes her for something he doesn't even deserve to have anymore.
He doesn't belong here. He hopes that the jet black robes he's wearing will conceal him from the gathering as he watches from a distance. Many gave their lives in the battle to save the Wizarding World from Voldemort, and yet her funeral is by far the largest.
Later, when the memorial ends and the mourners begin to trickle away slowly from her grave, he awaits his own turn under an umbrella. The rain continues to pound down heavily. As the last of the attendees clear the site, he lowers the umbrella and makes his way forward.
"Granger," he greets her, conjuring up a bouquet of white roses and adding it to the myriad already adorning the headstone.
Hermione Jean Granger
19 September, 1979 – 02 May, 1998
Beloved Daughter and Friend
"Courage is fear that has said its prayers."
He feels a strange choking sensation overtake him, upon reading the inscription. Before he knows it, he's on his knees, heaving sobs pouring out. Tears and rainwater begin to flow together, soaking him to the bone. He wants to curse her for making him feel so much pain, so much grief towards her, when really he should hate her for giving wizards and witches alike only another reason to hate him.
"Why'd you do it, Granger? What did I do to deserve any of this?" He cries out to her in shame, a vain attempt to find a single reason to justify her death.
"Malfoy," a broken voice calls out from behind him.
It's Potter.
He turns around slowly, face burning red with embarrassment. "Potter," he greets him back, hoping the man hadn't heard his shouting.
Potter sits down beside him on the muddy grass, face betraying nothing. It is then that he is able to get a close look at Potter's face. Though only nineteen years old, Potter holds a sense of weariness about him. The beginnings of worry lines are already starting to set in. Heavy bags underneath his eyes reminisce of countless nights of insomnia. But how can he sleep? His best friend is dead.
"What are you doing here this late?" he asks.
"I came to talk to her." Potter reflects his own tired voice.
"I'm sorry," he replies automatically, but Potter merely shakes his head.
Sadness lingers in the unspoken words between them. They sit side by side for a while, two young men brought together by tragedy. Funny how two weeks ago we considered each other enemies, he thinks, but there is nothing funny about the situation they find themselves in now.
When the air becomes too heavy to breath, he gets up to go, muttering an indecipherable excuse.
"Malfoy, wait."
He turns around to see Potter taking something out of his pocket. It looks to be a journal of some sort.
"I think... she would've wanted you to read this," Potter says, holding it out to him. For a second he hesitates, then takes the book and clasps Potter's hand in his own. Tucking the journal in the breast pocket of his robes, he disapparates back home.
-OoO-
They say they found her lying on top of him; two bodies plastered together, one unconscious and one lifeless. They tell him he may just be the luckiest guy alive next to Harry Potter – not many people manage to escape death's grasp with nothing a bottle of Skele-Gro can't fix. His father tells him he was lucky to have had the little Mudblood at his service.
He tells them all to fuck off.
He hates that he owes Granger something he'll never be able to pay back.
And so he lies back down on the infirmary cot, and resents his second chance at life.
-OoO-
Granger's journal sits on the desk in his room for days. He's not sure if he wants to find out what is hidden inside. Even closed, its presence alone manages to intimidate him. Still, he is curious.
One night, it finally gets the better of him. Great, Granger wins again, he thinks to himself, picking up the leather-bound diary. Somehow she manages to win every damn time. And it was true. Every remark he'd ever said to Hermione Granger, and she to him, had been ammunition in the ceaseless battle between them. Until now.
Enemies aren't supposed to save each other's lives. Which is why the questions continue to nag him.
-OoO-
There was a night, soon after the battle was over, when he opened his front door and was surprised to find a very confused Potter... following a very drunk Weasley.
For a split second, they simply stare at each other. Before he can open his mouth and ask what was going on, Potter breaks the silence. "Uh, Ron? What are we doing here? I thought we were going home."
"We're here to teach the bastard a lesson," Weasley hisses.
"I'm sorry if I upset your sissy feelings, Weasel," he begins, "but I'd appreciate it if you took your self-frustration out somewhere el–"
"YOU KILLED HER!" Ron bellows, pulling his wand out shakily and pointing it at him. "YOU'RE A MURDERER, YOU KNOW THAT, MALFOY?"
He is taken aback by the look of pure agony on Weasley's face. Fighting hard to keep his own voice and expression neutral, he tries to say something – anything – but nothing comes out.
"I loved her," Weasley whispers. The endless grief has overtaken all other emotions. "I was going to marry her one day, you know that? But you took her away from me."
"So do it." He hates how much his voice shakes. With what? Sadness? Pain? Fear? "Do what you came here to do."
"You'll regret it, Ron," Potter warns, looking a little dazed at the sudden turn of events.
"...It was a mistake coming here," Weasley whispers. "We... we should go."
Potter leads the way down the front steps. But as they prepare to disapparate back, Weasley turns and spears him a last glance. The look on his face makes him feel so small.
Needless to say, sleep doesn't come that night. Instead he stares up at the ceiling, wide awake, and resents Weasley not just ending it all.
-OoO-
Granger liked to write a lot. This is what he learns as he flips through the entries. He scoffs at quite a few.
September 10, 1990
Dear diary,
Today, I found out that I aced both the Divination and History of Magic exams. I was so excited I literally flew down the staircase with happiness...and nearly collided into Nearly Headless Nick because of it! Reading Hogwarts: A History in my spare time does have its benefits!
July 26, 1996
Dear diary,
I just received my OWL results today. For the record, I got straight O's; nothing less than perfect, as usual.
(Off the record, I got all O's except for Potions... I knew Snape was going to give me an E and ruin my day! What an arse. But it's alright; everyone knows he only cares for his Slytherins brats. Prissy snobs. Especially that Malfoy! Bet he didn't get all O's like me though! He better not have.)
Actually, he had... Potions inclusive. He snickers, before realizing none of it even matters anymore. Distractedly, he turns the pages, wondering what exactly Potter wanted him to see.
The next time his name appears is alarming.
April 19, 1998
Dear diary,
I honestly thought I was going to die a few days back.
It all began when Harry stupidly decided to say Voldemort's name out loud. To be fair, I guess neither of us took Ron very seriously when he said the word was tabooed – I mean, I didn't even know you could do things like that! Anyhow, the reaction was instantaneous; right away we were surrounded, and I knew we were in big trouble. Sure enough, five seconds later, we were tied up and wandless.
They took us to Malfoy Manor, the apparent makeshift headquarters of the Death Eaters. The Snatchers were horribly daft – they didn't recognize us at all. At that point, I was just thankful I'd thought of the stinging hex in time. Even some of the Death Eaters seemed to believe our stories. There were the more sensible ones though, to our downfall. They ended up bringing in the one person who could've known for sure our identities... Draco Malfoy.
The minute our eyes met, I saw recognition burn in his eyes; he knew who I was, and yet... he chose to deny it. Draco Malfoy voluntarily saved all our lives that day.
I need to know why he did it.
-OoO-
"They say they've got Potter," he hears his aunt say to his parents. He pales. No, he thinks, this can't be happening. Because even from where he sits, he can tell it's them, and he knows the inevitable that is to come.
Sure enough, "Draco, come here," his aunt's cold voice commands. What can he do but obey her orders? Ever so slowly he rises, away from the warmth and comfort that is his armchair, to face the bitterness that is his aunt.
"Well, boy?" He recognizes the raspy voice that belongs to Fenrir Greyback. The unofficial Death Eater forces the trio under the chandelier. But even as Potter's ruined face is illuminated, it's Granger who he locks eyes with. The two brown orbs are shielded by a cool gaze, but he can see the fear lurking behind.
"Well, Draco?" His father breaks his train of thought. "Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"
"I can't – I can't be sure," he hears himself say, though he's certain that it's them. Granger continues to watch him. Underneath the calm demeanour, her eyes implore his own.
"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" his father beckons to him, growing impatient."Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv–"
Her eyes continue to plead with his. And that's when he knows he can't do it.
-OoO-
After that, there aren't many more entries before the pages turn blank, and unsaid words fill up the spaces.
-OoO-
Later, when they've disapparated to the safety of Shell Cottage and a screaming match ensues between his parents and the remaining Death Eaters, all he can feel is relief.
-OoO-
He flips aimlessly through the pages, searching for answers. He is just about to give up, when he finds a message, dated one day before the battle, on the very last page of the journal. It is hastily scrawled and messy, so unlike Granger's style.
May 1, 1998
Dear diary,
Tomorrow, it will all be over. None of us – Harry, Ron, nor I – dare to say it out loud, but we all know it's going to happen. This time tomorrow, we will either be celebrating or lying amidst the bodies.
It's a scary thought, being so close to death. We are all scared, despite what everyone believes. In a way, this life was set out for us the minute we sat in the very same compartment that first day on the Hogwarts Express. But really, how can we complain? I'd rather like to think our friendship all these years has been well worth it.
Harry or Ron: if it should be that I do not survive the battle, and you guys find this entry, please help find my parents in Australia for me. The spell to reverse the fake memories I placed in them is "Retinentia Commentitus Rescindo". Upon doing so, please tell them the truth... and that I'll always love them, just as I'll always love you two.
I do have one confession to make, before we must be on our way.
The day at Malfoy Manor has been bothering me for weeks now. Enemies aren't supposed to save each other's lives, yet Malfoy chose to spare us. Perhaps I'll never know what his motives were... but I will always owe him for that one time.
The only way to pay him back is to save his life, isn't it?
-OoO-
Finally, the truth lay in front of him.
He realizes something: they are, in fact, quite similar. Neither can live with the idea of being in debt to someone else. And yet he feels so cheated, getting away with saving her life and sacrificing nothing, while she'd given up her life for the sole sake of justice.
Then again, while he was a coward, she was courage in its truest form.
Courage is fear that has said its prayers.
He knows what he must do even before he fully realizes. It feels strange going about the rest of the day knowing what he's about to do, but one thing he knows for sure.
He needs to make it right.
-OoO-
He visits her grave that night, a final time. Laying down the journal, he tapes down his message to her on the brown leather cover.
With no regrets and no resentments, he pulls out his wand and turns it on himself.
Granger,
Consider us even.
A/N: So, was that enough angst to brighten your day? ;) Don't forget to let me know what you think!