The Un-Murder
The sound of their muffled voices didn't cease. They didn't cease when her body protested at the continuous abominable plain. They didn't cease when her flesh felt as if it got splinced from the bone as if in a badly attempted apparition. They didn't cease when her eyes felt like hot liquid burning her throbbing mind over and over again. But she knew they were just tears. Because their voices didn't cease. They didn't cease when her knuckles turned pale white as she grabbed the absent air and held it tightly in search for strength. They didn't cease to laugh when her throat was too dry and pained to let out any feeble attempt to protest. To beg for mercy. To cry. The voices were the only reminder that she was still alive. That she was still in one whole, yet broken, bruised, scarred and painful piece. But for how long?
"Crucio!" cried the same voice that made her scream in horror within the walls of her mind when her lips were too weak to open. Her flesh was stabbed with a thousand sharp needles, breaking everything that kept her together. The muscles in her legs contracted so hard that she felt her bones go solid, scaring away numbness. But she knew she was still in one piece. She knew it was just happening in her mind. She knew that they would soon get bored and kill her. She longed for death's cold and dark hands to come and carry her away. Death was her knight in shining armour on a midnight black horse. Death would soothe her to sleep and take away the pain. Death was an old friend. An old friend that liked to be late. No, no, no…death could not abandon her. It had to come. It had to. She heard herself whining like a scared little child as their voiced erupted in a roar of laughter. He lifted the Cruciatus Curse off as the little painful parts that surrounded her like a circuit ceased to feel. It all came back together. The blood transformed in a layer of cold sweat as her whole body started a dance of painful convulsions that scared away rest's feeble attempt to soothe her pain.
Somebody spoke more words. She did not understand what they were saying and in her numb memory of pain, she was glad the words were not directed at her. Because the wounds left behind in their absence of talk were real. She let out a small, pathetic moan, as the tears ran down her face and fell onto the table only to mix with the blood that already resided there. She felt the solid levitation charm beneath her break, as if an invisible board was taken away form under her body. She fell hard on the wooden table beneath her, in her blood and in her tears. Her head hit the hard mahogany wood and for just a few seconds she felt the welcoming air of unconsciousness come over her. But just when she was about to grab it and cover herself with it like a warm blanket, it disappeared and she found herself opening her tear stained eyes to look directly into Voldemort's bloodied, smiling orbs.
"Well, well, well…look who decided to grace us with her presence." The table broke into a roar of laughter, as Hermione felt the surge to crawl into the foetal position. Yes…that was where she longed to be, back in her mother's womb where nothing could harm her. But her body was too weak to move. She looked around her living cage. Bellatrix Lestrange was not sitting too far away, playing with a small knife and craving something into the wood, as if practising for when she would get her hands on the little mudblood. Yet again. Yaxley was only one sit away from Bellatrix, but his cold eyes were piercing into her, as if withholding unknown desires. She felt as cold hand caress her cheek and then sharp nails scratched a sore spot on her chin, making it bleed again. When she gathered the remaining Gryffindor courage to look, Voldemort was cleaning his hand off her blood on her ripped muggle clothes. "Filthy mudblood," she heard him say before the hands of death tickled her. But didn't take her. That was it. That was the moment when all her courage left her body.
When she attempted to open her eyes again, through fresh tears she saw Draco Malfoy, sitting right in front of her, between his parents, his hands holding on to the edge of the table with all his strength. He looked into her brown eyes and for once, Hermione did not feel all the hate within him directed at her. Those grey eyes that she once despised so much looked at her with…could it be? Compassion? They looked at her with fear. Did he imagine what it would be like if he were in her skin? She didn't want to look away. She wanted to die looking into his eyes. She wanted to die looking at a familiar face. A face that once fooled her to feel unknown love.
She felt herself being levitated into a sitting position and she cried in pain as an already injured rib cracked inside of her. The Death Eaters ignored her. They were all looking at their leader, as he started circling the table, like a predator ready to devour his prey. "Tell me Hermione Granger," she felt her hands going cold when her name escaped from his non existent lips, "Where is Harry Potter hiding?" She should have guessed, they were back at the start. It was the exact same question he asked her when they first brought her at Malfoy Manor, after killing her parents. She pushed them out of her mind. The immediate memory was too painful for her to handle. It was more painful than the wounds covering every bit of her body. "Well?" he asked again, stopping right in front of her, as all the Death Eaters were eyeing her. The first time she refused to answer, they dragged her down to the dungeons where Bellatrix "played" with her for a few hours before being asked again. The scars that spelled out m-u-d-b-l-o-o-d were still sore on her arms. When she refused to answer the second time, she was levitated in mid air and tortured by all the Death Eaters at the table, after Voldemort gave them the freedom they desired. The first curse came from Snape. It was an easy one…that simply pushed her into a wall. He hadn't cursed her afterward, when the unforgivables came. The next shots came form the Carrows who had killed her parents. Over and over they came, until she could no longer distinguish who caused her the pain. She could just feel the pain. "ANSWER ME, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD!" Voldemort's hand clawed around her collar, choking her and dragging her until she was right in front of his chair. She had left a trail of blood on the table as she slid. "Somewhere you'll never find him," she spat, finding a surge of courage hidden beneath the pain. Voldemort's eyes pierced her, entered her mind trying to find a trace of Harry Potter, but the walls she had built around her friends were still standing. "Crucio!" he cursed when she said nothing more and when his attempted occlumency failed yet again. He was getting angry. The last thing she saw before unconsciousness finally decided to embrace her was Narcissa Malfoy wiping away a tear and looking away from the girl that was being broken on her table. She hoped no Death Eater saw that surge of weakness.
Draco Malfoy was sitting in his parent's room, his back against the cold stone wall, his knees drawn to his chest. His elbow rested on his knee as his arm supported his head. A single tear ran from his eye…but soon enough it was followed by another, and another and another, until he found himself sobbing helplessly like a little boy. The scream that followed next, ripped his soul and made him place his hands on his ears. He wanted to block her out. He wanted to hate her like he did before. He wanted to forget her. For two years he tried to be mean and horrible to her, hoping that his acrimonious behaviour would make the love he felt for her go away. But it only grew stronger. It grew arms and legs and a head, with a mind of its own. It took residence inside his soul and kept him enslaved. He was in love with Granger, the mudblood. To see her broken like that, on the table on which he ate only a few months before Voldemort took residence in his home was…too much. The bruises that covered her face like a black veil...the dried blood in her once bushy hair from a long forgotten wound….the broken swelled hand, made him break down even more. "Oh God…oh God, oh God…" he breathed out through his sobs. There was nothing he could do. To stand up for her, would cause him death, and her more torture. What use was he to her dead? What use was he to her alive? What use had he ever been to her alive? "Oh God..." he repeated with the same desperate helplessness.
A strong hand squeezed his shoulder slightly, as Lucius sat down next to him. He hadn't even seen his father coming in. "I know," he said simply. "I know it hurts, son." Draco only started crying harder. But he wasn't crying out of fear or helpless love. No. He was crying from anger. He couldn't control it. He felt overwhelmed with hate and love. He was so confused….it wasn't easy for him anymore to overlook what happened to the prisoners of his house. There had been too many. He saw their dead faces when he closed his eyes at night. He saw her dead face when he fell asleep. Only she wasn't dead yet. She was still alive, breathing. "I have to help her," he sobbed harder. "I have to save her," he repeated.
Lucius made Draco face him, and placed his hands over his tear stained cheeks, as he once did when Draco was a little boy and couldn't stop crying. "Listen to me," he started, but Draco was too caught up in his helpless fury to do anything but sob bitter tears. "Oh God, oh God…she's going to die…"
"Stop being so weak," hissed Lucius but still got no reply from his son. "Malfoys don't cry, Draco," he tired but Draco had entered a trance like state. That used to work after he punished Draco as a little boy. It set his pride back in and dried all the tears. But this time, the tears were too many. This time the Malfoy pride wasn't enough to block out tears. "Oh God, Hermione…"
"DRACO!" he roared, as grey eyes looked up at him in surprise. "Son," he said again in a softer voice, "you have to let it go. You have to let her go…there's nothing…"
Lucius stopped when his son threw his arms away from his face and stood up in a fury. "Don't. Say. That!" He spat the words out through clenched teeth. There were no tears left. Just anger. "I love her!" He admitted in a pained voice. "I love her…" he repeated as the realization hit him straight in the chest. Straight in the heart. Lucius stood up from the floor and looked at his little boy. But he was not longer a little boy. He was almost a man. And she was a mudblood, said his pure-blood-ist conscience, before he obliviated it away. She was a witch. She was a girl. Ahh…his time in Azkaban certainly made him see the world differently. It made him see himself differently. He was a monster…he had killed so many innocent people. Was now the time to correct at least some of the things he did?
"Draco," he started but was interrupted by his son.
"I LOVE HER, GOD DAMITT!" He was breathing rather hardly, his chest going up and down and the blood beneath his face making his flesh red with anger. Narcissa, who had just entered the room, with a tear stained face and blotchy eyes, closed the door quickly and looked at her nearly wild looking son a little taken aback. His hair was messy and tangled…his face was wet and his grey eyes were in a pain caused by the affairs of the heart. She knew that look so well. All those nights she spent in self-indulged torment waiting for Lucius to come back from one of those meetings still haunted her sometimes. "He requests that we go back," she said in a tormented voice. "They managed to get something out of the girl. Yes, she's still alive," she added when Draco looked as if he was about to give up. "She's still alive," she repeated, in a soothing voice.
Draco started making his way towards the door rather mechanically. He didn't know how much longer he could take Hermione's torture into his eyes. Because he felt every cut that sliced her flesh. He felt every fist that drew purple flowers on her pretty face. He felt every broken bone…every time she was deprived of air, every burn, every stab, and every wish for death to come. He felt it all. And he could do nothing to make it go away. He formed part of her cage. He was marked to be the murderer, along with all the others.
"Wait." Lucius Malfoy's voice came deep and solid through the cracked air of despair. He was looking out of the window, at two crows flying in the distance, away from a tree. He touched the window pane slightly, as if remembering the Manor as it once was before the Dark Mark plagued it with death and abominable acts. He breathed a deep sight and he turned to face his wife and son. "Whatever happens tonight, I want you to be strong." He walked over to his wife and took her gentle hand in his, laying a small kiss on her pale flesh.
"Father…"
"Don't interrupt me!" scolded Malfoy senior. "Don't show any emotion," he continued placing a hand on his son's shoulder yet again. "Both of you. He hates weakness. More than anything, he loathes it. Don't show it. Under any circumstances. It's the only way to stay alive. Do it for Granger as well." Gray eyes pierced grey eyes. Draco nodded, took his mother's hand and the three Malfoys made their way towards the meeting room. Towards that blasted, bloodied table. Towards damnation.
Hermione's head lay limply on the edge of her chair. The ropes that held her chair bound were too tight around her wrists. As if she could escape. As if she even had the strength to do so. They made already bleeding flesh bleed even more. She felt nauseous, but knew that is she were to vomit, she would sign her death sentence. She already signed her death sentence, she thought, when she swallowed up theveritaserum. She had been half unconscious and thought someone was kind enough to give her some water.
The tears swelled in her eyes, and fell on her face, over the insulting words Bellatrix carved into her cheek as if into wood. Mudblood. Now she had it written on her face. But it didn't matter, for she was bound to die soon. She wanted someone to kill her before she would betray her friends. Was she better than a common murderer? She shouldn't have swallowed. She should have spat it into Bellatrix's face. Maybe then she would have been granted death. Oh, how she longer for it.
Draco Malfoy swore under his breath as he walked in the room and his hands clenched into fists when she saw Hermione tied up to a chair, looking like an abused little girl.
"What was that you said?" Voldemort was standing close. Draco hadn't realized. His blood grew cold in his veins. He swallowed once or twice and then said: "Filthy Mudblood, my lord." The words came out in a weak voice, as if he had been deprived of water for a very long time. The Dark Lord gave out a small laugh as he sat down at the head of the table. He pointed his wand at Hermione and dragged her chair to the table. She was sitting between Lucius and himself, where the line of the table formed a corner. She was a guest at her own death party. "I believe you went to school with her, did you not, Draco?" he continued, taking great pleasure from the tormented expression of the young Malfoy.
"Yes, my lord," said Draco still avoiding to look at anything but his own pale hands, squeezing life out of his chair.
"Was she a good student?" inquired the Dark Lord looking at the 17-year old as if at a piece of interesting furniture. He contemplated whether to break its other leg or not.
Draco found it hard to answer. Lucius's hand went on his knee. "She was, my lord," he found himself saying as Lucius's hand tightened in warning. "I mean, as good as a mudblood like her can be. She was…desperate to be like us. She tried, but…she wasn't able to…to….she wasn't…"
"I see," said Voldemort looking towards the broken girl, all tiny in the chair. He grabbed her hair and she moaned as he titled her head towards Draco. "She was once pretty, Draco was she not?" Red eyes pierced grey eyes as Draco looked up rather shocked. He took a look at Hermione's broken face and tried not to gasp. The words on her face were swollen, red and bleeding. They were contoured by bruises. But she was still beautiful to him. Lucius's hand was hard on his son's knee. "N-no my lord. I never found her pretty. She's just a…a filthy mudblood." Voldemort laughed at Draco's comment, but he did not hear anything. All he could concentrate upon, were Hermione's eyes, both the bruised on and the intact one, as they started at him in a hurt way. She looked like she almost…had feelings for him. She looked as if his words pained her more than those written on her face. He looked down as Lucius withdrew his hand.
Lucius tried not to look too much at the girl that could have been his daughter. He tried to imagine what he would do if Draco were in that chair. He couldn't contemplate it. His eyes hardened but he showed no other emotion. He was a Death Eater after all and nowadays, the emotionless mask came on automatically. Narcissa's hand was small and sweaty into his own. Every time the Dark Lord approached the broken girl she would squeeze it, before managing to relax again, slightly.
"Enough chit-chat." Voldemort's eyes hardened as he looked at Hermione. She seemed half unconscious and after all he wanted to get some answers out of her before it was too late. He made a sing for Bellatrix to go and hold her head up, by her hair, for the girl had no strength to do so on her own. Hermione hissed in pain as Bellatrix's claws dragged her head up. Narcissa felt sick.
"Now, mudblood, tell me, where is Harry Potter hidden?" his voice was cold and all the other Death Eaters quietened down in respect for their master. They dared not speak when he spoke.
"I don't know," said Hermione in a surprisingly strong voice. She looked at Voldemort in the eye. If she were to die, she would do so with Gryffindor pride.
"You are lying," he hissed getting slightly angry. Bellatrix pushed her head up harder.
"How can I be lying when you gave me veritaserum?"
Voldemort said nothing for a while. He stood up and started pacing around the room, firing questions at Hermione as he did so. "Where is Harry Potter usually kept? Where is the safe location?" He spoke about the boy as if he were a hamster that everyone wanted to feed.
"The Burrow," answered Hermione as new tears sprang from her eyes. Crime number one, she though, damning the Weasleys.
"I see," said Voldemort, not acting very surprised. Hermione had a cold feeing that he already knew about the Burrow. "Where else, is Harry Potter safe?"
"Hogwarts," she replied, but Voldemort got angry and apparated a few inches away from her, grabbing her bruised jaw into his claws and making her mouth smile in a horribly unnatural way. "I want real answers," he hissed and let go. He sat back down in his chair, taking pleasure at the new tears that Hermione shed on his hands. He wiped them away on his black robes.
"What is Harry Potter doing now?" Hermione's stomach twisted with dread. So he did feel something. He did wonder about the horcruxes…but she couldn't let him know that they knew. She hesitated.
"ANSWER ME!" he roared, his red eyes becoming bloodshot.
"He's looking for a way to destroy you," she said looking down and hoped that he wouldn't persist. He wouldn't take the chance…she thought. There were too many Death Eaters around the table that he did not trust.
Instead of persisting, Voldemort just laughed, his cold, sardonic laugh that sent chills down her spine. She wanted to die. She wanted it to end. "And does Harry Potter have a plan?"
"Yes," answered Hermione.
"Would you be so inclined as to share?"
Hermione bit her tongue as hard as she could. Blood came out. She could taste it, but it made no difference. She would rather die than betray them. She would rather die.
"Well?" persisted Voldemort.
Hermione bit harder, until the blood started showing on her swollen bottom lip. Murder flashed before his red orbs as he stood up in a storm of anger and slapped Hermione over her bloodied cheek, making her spit all of the blood from her mouth onto Bellatrix. The latter dragged Hermione's head by her hair, making her feel as if she were in a pack of wolves, ready to be devoured. She let out a small moan of pain followed by a sob. Why couldn't they just kill her?
"ENOUGH!" There was the sound of shattered glass in the far distance...perhaps on a dark corridor of the mansion. Hermione wondered how many Death Eaters plagued the house.
The Death Eaters that were roaring with laughter stopped. Voldemort looked at the one who dared speak with poisonous calmness. Narcissa was squashing her husband's hand in her own, hoping that he could sit down and pretend that nothing happened. But she knew it was too late now. He let go of her hand as he held his head up. "You will not touch her again while you are in my house." Bellatrix let go of Hermione's hair and looked at her brother in law in disbelief. "You dare…"
"DON'T you dare speak to me like that in my own house!" hissed Lucius looking from Voldemort to his wife's deranged sister. "I suggest you sit down," he added. Bellatrix smirked at him. "I only take orders from my lord…"
"Sit down Bella," said Voldemort not one taking his eyes off Lucius. They were the only ones left standing as Bellatrix sat down like an obedient dog. Hermione managed to keep her head up, as she looked at Lucius with perplexed brown eyes.
"What is this, Lucius?" he asked in a cool, calm voice.
"I want you and all of your Death Eaters out of my house. The Manor is no longer open for headquarters. I want no more torture and no more murder. If you want to continue your sadistic game of torturing information out of this girl, you must do so somewhere else." Lucius's voice matched Voldemort's in cool calmness. Not once did he look away from the red orbs that aimed to penetrate his mind.
"Lucius, you surprise me. After all that I did for you, you turn me out of your house? I liberated you from Azkaban…"
"No. It was because of you that I ended up in Azkaban. You liberated me of your own accord. I owe you nothing," he said, piercing Voldemort with his cold eyes.
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME IN THIS MANNER?" he hissed, taking his wand out. Within seconds, all the Death Eaters were standing, pointing their wands at Lucius, but his was already pointed at Voldemort. He gave his son an urgent look and Draco at once understood. He had no time to process the pain that it would later bring him. He was his father's son. He had to be strong now. In the madness of the moment, Draco went on his knees and crawled under the table until he reached Hermione. He grabbed her ankle and then his mother's, who was too shocked to do anything, and apparated away from Malfoy Manor.
Before his lungs were deprived of air and before his surroundings blackened, he saw a jet of green light hit his father in the chest as the Malfoy senior fell to the floor lifeless.
"What have you done?" Narcissa looked around disoriented, at the open fields. It was pouring down with rain and no light was to be seen in the consuming darkness. She quickly cast a lumos spell, bathing herself and Draco in a warm light. "Draco what have you done?" she asked again, as a surge of uneasiness crept over her. "We need to get Luce...no…you stay here. I am going after your father." She was close to tears and all that Draco could do was to hold her tightly as she started sobbing. "I'm sorry mother…I had to get us to safety. Father…"
He could not bring himself to finish the sentence. He could not aknowledge the fact that this father had died. His father had sacrificed himself for his love for a mudblood. Hermione. He broke the hug in which he swore to keep his mother safe and started looking around, desperately, for his broken girl.
She was unconscious, sprawled on the wet grass. The apparition impact tore her from the chair, which lay in pieces not far off. He had chosen her over his father. He felt a lump forming into his throat as his eyes watered and the tears fell. He ran to her, picked up her frail body, rocking her to and fro, as if soothing an ill child to sleep. She opened her eyes slightly, one more than the other as grey eyes stared at her, raindrops falling all over her face. "Draco…" she said barely above a whisper.
"It's okay…I got you out of there. You'll be fine now…you'll be safe," he found himself saying even though he had no clue as to where on earth he could hide himself, Hermione and his mother. "We'll be okay…we'll be fine," he repeated and held her tighter.
"Draco Malfoy I love you," she said, finally admitting what she tried to conceal for the past two years. She fell back into unconsciousness as his lips crushed hers.
Narcissa made her way through the rain towards her son. Rain mixed with tears and make up as she kneeled next to the two youngsters. She placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and caressed Hermione's cheek ever so slightly. "I'm proud of you, Draco," she said kissing her son's cheek. "You were strong, like Daddy told you to be." She said the last bit in a broken tone, trying to fight the tears that threatened to come. She had to be strong now…Lucius had been right. "We need to get out of here," she said. "We need a safe house."
"Mother, no Auror would home Death Eaters, there's no safe house we can go to…"
"Shell Cottage," said Hermione in a weak voice that was barely above a whisper. "We'll be okay there."
Mother and son looked at each other in a worried glance as Hermione came in an out of consciousness. What other alternative did they have? There was no other place they could go to without Death Eaters hunting for blood traitors like themselves. All for a broken girl. Draco could see the disgusted looks of his father's once fellow Death Eaters. He cringed.
Two Malfoy and a broken Granger embraced as their lungs were once more deprived of air and their surroundings darkened with the unknown.
The light was strong. Too strong, if Hermione dared to add. Every time she attempted to open her eyes, they watered in pain and she had to close them, even tighter than they had been before. She groaned after five minutes of attempting to open them, and decided to feel her surroundings with her hands. No chains? No…it was nice and warm here and she was lying upon something soft. A bed? Her right hand was sealed in something rigid that prevented her from moving. But it also prevented the pain from biting her flesh. She was safe. And safety smelled of jasmines. Drawing a hand over her eyes to block out some of the light, she finally managed to open them. The room she found herself in was warm and clam. She was lying in a giant bed, surrounded by pillows and more pillows. The windows were open, allowing fresh air, bathed in a sweet jasmine scent to overwhelm her nostrils. Hermione took a deep breath as if afraid that all the air in the world would soon cease to exist. It was then that she noticed Draco Malfoy sleeping, rather uncomfortably in an armchair. His blonde haired head was resting on his hand, clearly showing that he did not want to fall asleep. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked troubled. How long had she been asleep for? The last chain of events reappeared in her mind as she felt the small hairs on her arm stand up in fear.
She attempted to stand up, but her foot hurt too much. Rolling her eyes, she lay back on the comfortable pillows and stared at Draco. She remembered saying that she loved him. Did he kiss her after? She could not remember. She smiled a little at the realisation that she had not been irrational or mental. She meant every word. If only her mother would know that she fell for the enemy. But he was no longer the enemy. No…he was her angel. Her eyes saddened at the thought of her parents. She felt cold and lonely in the world even though she had Draco and her friends. Her parents had been snatched away from her too fast to even think about a life in their absence. She heard their screams in her ears and eventually managed to shut the memory away until she had more strength to face it.
She looked back at Draco, hoping for a distraction. She focused on the features that she was slowly growing to love. His eyelashes were dark brown and long, casting shadows over his pale cheeks. The nose, straight and elegant was met by tender lips…she felt the surge to kiss him just to make sure she was really alive. What if this was all a dream?
"Stop staring at me." When he opened his mouth and let the words out, Hermione jumped a little. How long had he been awake for? How long had she been staring for? He opened his grey eyes, making the room a few degrees colder. She welcomed the cold. "Welcome back," he said and attempted a small smile.
"Thank you," said Hermione feeling as if she were at a loss for words. She knew it was not the moment, nor the place, but her stomach filled with butterflies. "Where are we?" she asked slightly perplexed.
"Shell Cottage," he replied looking out of the window for a while, at the delicate point where the ocean met the coast in a love struck embrace. He inhaled, hoping that the air would bring tranquillity to his tormented soul.
"How long have I been out for?" she asked, finally realizing that she lost trace of place and time.
"A week," he responded as he sat down on the edge of her bed, caressing her scarred cheek. Hermione remembered and her hand automatically went to her injured face. But Draco stopped her fingers from making contact with those letters. He took each one of her fingers and kissed them gently, as if they all had a mind and heart of their own, but deserved to be loved nevertheless. He turned to face her, and was met by a smile that he crushed with his lips. His tongue asked for permission to enter her mouth and she approved. She met his with her own tongue as they danced a passionate waltz, only stopping to draw in air. "I love you," he said when they broke away from each other.
Hermione gave his a sweet smile and rested her head on his shoulder. "How odd," she said. "We hated each other for the past four years and now…one night changed everything." She looked up at him and saw his eyes saddening. "I'm so sorry about your father," she said, taking his hand in her own. He did not respond for a while.
"He wanted to do this. He…he did what he had to," he said, swallowing hard. He would not cry. He felt like a bloody girl, crying so much. But there was still a part of him that cringed at the thought that his father gave his life for a mudblood. No…no…he said to himself. His father gave his life for a broken girl. A girl that he loved. He wanted to give something back to his son. Despite everything, he had been a good father.
Ron and Harry had gone. After Hermione was kidnapped from the forest where they were hiding, they disapparated, swearing that they would somehow return and save her. She didn't know how to find them. They left no clue as to where they were. When Draco and Mrs Malfoy appeared at the door of Bill and Fleur's home, they were received with hostility. It was only when Fleur realized that the broken girl in Draco's arms was Hermione that she allowed them to come in. Like criminals, they were checked by Bill with all the adequate spells. When they were found to hold no dangers, they were allowed to sit down. Fleur flooed Mr and Mrs Weasley who came at once, and brought along their whole family, or what was left of it, once Draco told them about veritaserum, the torture and Hermione's sorry words. Shell Cottage was packed. Narcissa wanted to help with Hermione's healing, but Mrs Weasley wouldn't hear of it. They showed no sympathy when Narcissa, after being asked if Lucius ended up in Azkaban yet again, told them he had died to save them. She hadn't expected any.
That particular morning when Hermione came back from her comfortable unconsciousness, Narcissa was sitting in the garden, observing the waves and the sand and the cold November winds. She thought of Lucius and whether he was sleeping comfortably. She wondered what they did with the body that once cured her of her innocence. She wondered…she sighted and closed her eyes for a moment. So that was what he meant when he told them to be strong. Oh, Lucius, how can I be strong when all my strength was taken away from me?You were my strength, she thought to herself.
"Mrs Malfoy?"
Narcissa turned around as the wind played with her blonde hair, making it fly like a silk veil above her perfect head. Hermione was standing, rather awkwardly, behind her, helped by what appeared to be a walking stick. Narcissa gave the girl a cold smile, not because she held anything against her, but because she found it hard to smile any other way, after the years in which the Dark Mark over her husband, son and house slowly kidnapped kindness. She made a sing for Hermione to sit down next to her, on the bench, and with the bit of struggle, the young witch managed to do so.
Narcissa said nothing for a moment. Hermione looked at the waves and their perfect asymmetry. Unconsciously, a hand went over her scarred cheeks, tracing the letters that labelled her. She felt a warm hand caressing her hand for a while, and when she turned to look, Narcissa was rather teary. She said, nothing, but let her hand drop and returned her eyes to the agitated sea. "I'm really sorry about what happened to Mr Malfoy…to…Lucius." When Narcissa didn't respond to the name of her husband, she proceeded, "I imagine what you must be feeling. He gave his life, for a…" she closed her eyes for a minute as if it pained her to say the words…."for a mudblood. For…unworthy blood."
"Is that what you think?" asked Narcissa, not looking at Hermione. She even smiled a little. "No, he did not. He gave his life for Draco and me." When Hermione said nothing else, Narcissa turned to look at her. "I'm not going to pretend that my husband undertook a 90 degrees turn after he was brought back to me. But Azkaban did change him. You may be a mudblood, but you are also a girl…a young woman. And my son happens to be in love with this young woman. He may have not liked muggleborns, but he did have the power to overlook this small detail. Especially if his only son finds his source of happiness in your, how did you call it?Unworthy blood?"
Hermione felt a little as if she insulted Mrs Malfoy. She looked slightly uncomfortably at the older woman and then said, "I really am sorry for your loss. And for Draco…this must be very hard on him."
Narcissa looked at Hermione in a softer way. She took hold of her hand and said: "My husband did what he had to do." Hermione stared down at the pale hand on which a simple wedding band was resting. "Draco knows that. He has you to remind him that. Can you be strong for my son, Hermione?"
"I…I will do my best," she answered. She had to. She loved him, but she felt a little too intimidated by Narcissa to say that.
"You parents would have been proud of you," Narcissa found herself saying and Hermione broke down in tears. "You did well," she added and placed a hand over the girl's shoulders, finding her maternal instincts take over. "You need to be strong now."
"Draco wake up!" Hermione stood blot upright, searching for the light. She put it on and barely cringed as her eyes protested. Draco Malfoy was sleeping next to her, one arm around her frail body that was still recovering from the abominable torture. "Wake up!" she repeated and stood up from the bed, walking excitedly around the room.
"What?" he asked, slightly perplexed as he forced his body into a sitting position. He looked at Hermione and her bushy hair. Her eyes were alive. "What's the matter?" he repeated. Her bruises were fading. Her smile was coming back, but it was still only a shaded memory of how it once was.
"I know how to save your father! The bag! They've left behind my bag!" she exclaimed and sat down next to him as his eyes hardened. "What bag? What are you talking about? My father is dead," he said looking at her rather strangely. He considered whether there were side effects to the continuous chain of the Cruciatus Curse, and yet Hermione did not look irrational or even slightly mad. She looked, if Draco recalled that particular face of hers correctly, as if she were about to undertake a complicated exam.
"Okay…I'm all ears," he said as sleep completely abandoned him.
Hermione sat down next to him, saying: "My use and value unto you are gauged by what you have to do,"
"Huh?" asked Draco reconsidering whether Hermione had been psychologically affected by the torture curses.
"Just listen!" she said in an irritable voice. "I mark the hours every one nor have I yet outrun the sun!"she finished excitedly.
"..."
"Don't you see?" she asked rolling her eyes at Draco's baffled expression. "We can go back in time and save your father!" she exclaimed.
"And how do you plan to do that? Ride a broomstick? Do you have one in your bag?" he asked rather sarcastically.
Hermione looked at him rather angrily. "If you don't stop being sarcastic, Draco Malfoy, I swear to God I will start riding you!" Hermione was about to say something else before realizing what she just insinuated. Both teens blushed and looked away for a while, but Hermione then rolled her eyes and said, "We can use a Time Turner."
Draco fell silent as colourful possibilities flashed before his eyes. He had read about such devices, he had yearend to use one many times, when the abominable acts in his life were too painful to handle. He wished to go back in time and take away all the poisonous words that were not enough to stop Hermione from falling in love with him and him with her. He longed to go back and erase the Dark Mark that burned his skin every second with acidic murder and torture. He swallowed once or twice before he could bring himself to look at Hermione. The memory of his father's sacrifice was still alive within him, draining him of happiness and his mother of life. Could he change all of this? Could he take the chance to make his family face the light? "How?" he asked standing up. The flicker in his eyes returned.
Hermione smiled at him, a sweet smile that spoke a thousand words. "Just trust me," was all that she said when Draco took her hand.
Malfoy Manor appeared like a dark castle of torture before their eyes. The hourglass encapsulated by gold stopped spinning as she liberated Draco from its lacing hold. They broke the embrace that shattered the rationality of time and looked at each other with concern. "What if this doesn't work?" asked Draco dragging Hermione behind a tall tree. He hated the feeling of his own home watching over him like a bloodthirsty enemy.
"We don't have time," whispered Hermione looking rather pale. The idea of re-entering Malfoy Manor in the middle of her torture scared her. It filled her with dread and horror. It filled her with nausea. She thought of Lucius and what he must have felt before standing up for execution. She shivered, but this gave her more courage. They only had half an hour. "Remember, we can't let ourselves be seen, especially..."
"I know," said Draco placing his hands over her frail shoulders. "Maybe you should wait here..."
"No!" Hermione looked at him rather angrily. "We're in this together. You can't do this by yourself." Draco looked at her for a moment and then he let a small smile escape from his emotionless mask. "Fine," he said, "But if anything goes wrong, you need to know that..."
"Draco, we're running out of time..."
"Just listen," he insisted and Hermione fell quiet. "You need to know that I love you. More than I ever loved someone..."
"Draco..."
"Bloody hell, Granger, just shut the fuck up!" he said and crushed her lips with a fierce kiss. When he let go, he whispered, "You bring out the good in me. Thank you, for existing." Hermione gave him a warm smile as they looked back at Malfoy Manor and started making their way towards the back servant door.
They made their way along narrow dark corridors. The house elves had abandoned the mansion when Voldemort took residence. The layer of dust upon the furniture was so thick that it made the entire corridor a dull grey colour and the air hard to inhale. It was as if the house itself was carrying an abominable weight. It was as if the house itself was hiding from the dark magic that weakened its foundations under a blanket of dirt. Draco led Hermione by the hand, down secret corridors that were unknown to Death Eaters. Her hand was sweaty and small in his and he could hear her accelerated breathing. She was scared. Merlin, he was scared. But he had to go on, for the sake of his father. They couldn't give up. Gryffindor courage and Slytherin pride would suffer if they were to do so. They veered left down a dimly lit corridor, wands ready for any possible attack. But they encountered no monsters on the way. The monsters were all in the Malfoy meeting room, enjoying the show. Enjoying the slow and painful murder of a girl.
Their muffled voiced didn't cease. But she was alive this time and she felt no pain, except for the one in her soul. They became louder and louder as the dark corridor was coming to an end and the firelight of the meeting room chimney bathed their determined features. Her hand grabbed Draco's harder.
Inside the meeting room, Hermione was tied to a chair, bleeding, hurting and slowly dying. "And does Harry Potter have a plan?" inquired Voldemort looking intently at the broken girl in the chair. A feeble yes escaped Hermione's bleeding lips. The voice was cracked and dry. The Hermione on the corridor felt her eyes filling with tears as she looked at the words inscribed on her cheek. She didn't look in the mirror since her arrival at Shell Cottage. She felt Draco's hand caressing her own.
"Would you be so inclined as to share?" persisted Voldemort. Hermione did not speak. Her head bowed down as Voldemort insisted, "Well?" Still no answer escaped her bleeding lips. From the shadows of the corridor Draco could see Voldemort's features darkening with anger and hate. The moment was approaching and he felt a lump forming inside his stomach. This was their only chance. The Death Eaters came upon Hermione like a pack of perturbed wolves. Bellatrix dragged her head back by her hair, as Voldemort backhanded her bleeding face.
"Get ready," whispered Draco, letting go of Hermione's hand.
"ENOUGH!" Lucius' shout startled Hermione, and in the reflexive actions of her body she knocked a vase off the table, making it shatter to pieces on the marble floor. She froze, listening for any predators, but the Death Eaters in the meeting room were too busy eyeing Lucius to notice their duplicated presence.
Draco and Hermione eyed each other in apprehension. They felt their time as it approached with bigger and bigger steps towards them. They had to act before time passed them, stealing away their chance to save Lucius and hiding it away. Draco looked one more time at the meeting room and saw himself crawling under the table to save Hermione. "Now," he mouthed and he ran, as fast as he could towards Yaxley, who had his wand pointed at Lucius, and knocked him to the ground.
"What...?" Yaxley looked at Draco with a perplexed expression and murdering eyes. The chair-bound Hermione and Narcissa vanished as a loud pop cracked the air. "Draco, no!" said Lucius starting to run towards his son. Voldemort pointed his wand towards the blond man, but before he could curse him, a flash of red light from Hermione's wand sent him flying into a stone cold wall at the other side of the room.
Draco knocked Yaxley unconscious with his boot as he ran towards Hermione grabbing her hand and, ignoring his father's perplexed expression, grabbed the edge of his robe before disapparating.
"YOU FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS!" screamed Bellatrix in a psychopathic tone as the dagger in her arm, with which she scarred Hermione's face, flew towards the place where two Malfoys and a Granger were disapparating. It had one single aim as it vanished: bloody murder.
The early morning ocean breeze bathed Shell Cottage in a calm atmosphere that was disturbed only by a small crack in the distant air. The sunrays casted warm shadows over the cold sand, the dunes painting a picture of miniature Desert Mountains. A seagull sang a sad song in the distance, before disappearing in the horizon.
Hermione Granger was sprawled over the cold sand, laughing and crying tears of joy. They succeeded, Lucius was safe. She stood up, looking around frantically for the boy she loved and his father. They were not far off. They had landed on a large sand dune, embracing for all the years they had lost when father and son showing emotions towards each other was too degrading for the Malfoy name and reputation. "You stupid, stupid boy!" she heard Lucius saying while hugging Draco rather tightly. "You stupid boy," he repeated, kissing his forehead. "Why would you even think about saving me? Do you know how much you endangered yourself? You were placed in Slytherin, not in Gryffindor!" Draco broke away from his father's tight hug. "Father," he said, "I couldn't have left you there to die. Mother...she can't...she can't contemplate life without you. And besides...this was Hermione's idea," he finished looking at the girl he loved. Malfoy senior pierced Hermione's face with his bottomless cold grey eyes. He gave her a small smile as she approached.
"Well, well, well...don't you look better?" he said in a kind and almost...paternal way. If Hermione would have been told, a month before all these curious events occurred that she would feel happy to see Lucius Malfoy addressing her in such a manner; she would have called the person insane. But standing there that cold and calm morning, she could not remember feeling happier. "Miss Granger, you are a very stupid girl." The smile on Hermione's face faded as she looked at Lucius slightly perplexed. "I cannot believe that you would risk your life and my son's life to come back in time and save a murderer."
"Father," started Draco but he was swiftly interrupted by Lucius.
"Quiet! I was ready to embrace death, but you two were not. You could have died!" he looked at Draco as he said this. "You could have died!" he repeated and stood up from the cold sand, approaching Hermione. She instinctively took a step back. His eyes softened upon seeing the scar on her cheek. He lifted a hand and touched it, ever so slightly, as Hermione looked down. "But as stupid as you may be Miss Granger, I owe you my life."
Hermione's lips curved in a small smile, even though the skin on her left cheek was stretched, causing her reminiscent pain. "And I owe you mine, Mr Malfoy."
"Then, Miss Granger, I believe it would be better to say that we owe each other nothing. It would prevent complications in an already irrational relationship." Muggleborn and Pure-blood smiled at each other, a uniform smile, filled with similar meaning. They would get along well, thought Hermione, for they had the same mind.
Mrs Malfoy smiled at the hand caressing her pale neck. She smiled at the dream in which her husband sat down next to her, slowly waking her up. She smiled at the impossible possibility of him being alive.
"Cissy, love, wake up," he whispered in her ears. She smiled, with closed eyes at the dream that seemed so real. She lifted her hand up to caress the air and pretend that it was him, but upon doing so, she touched flesh. Her hand ran down the flesh, she found a nose, a severe mouth, and a strong jaw. What a peculiarly real dream, she thought. "Narcissa, you need to open your eyes." There was urgency in Lucius' voice when his wife didn't believe that dreams could become reality. He laid a small kiss on her forehead and when he lifted his mouth from her face, piercing blue eyes, teary eyes met him with all the love in the world.
"Luce?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.
"I'm here, Cissy." He smiled at her as she sat bolt upright, feeling his face as if she were a blind person, drawing his features in her mind with the power of her hands. Her breathing quickened and the tears fell down her cheeks. "Oh Luce," she breathed and hugged him as hard as she could, getting lost within his strong body, letting his arms engulf her in a protective embrace. She didn't care how it was that he came back to her. She could only think of the overwhelming love that made her warm. She whipped in his chest and ran her hands through his tangles blonde mane. He let her do so, and buried his face in her shoulder, hiding a sad smile. Narcissa ran her hands across his chest, down his abdomen, in a dreamy embrace. She ran her hands over his legs and over his waist. They stopped when they encountered wet, hot fluid. She looked at her hands and started weeping harder when she saw that they were covered in blood. "You're hurt," she cried.
"It's okay love, it's okay," he whispered in her ear, drawing her closer. "Just hold me. That's it, hold me tight," he said, as she hugged him like a scared little child. He caressed her head and her blonde hair that he loved so much. He closed his eyes and inhaled her perfume. He was in a heaven he did not deserve, he thought. "You'll be okay, Narcissa," he said as she held him tight. Her heart pulsed in his chest as his started to fade.
They buried him near Shell Cottage, behind a large sand dune. His grave was close to Dobby's grave, another victim of Bellatrix. Narcissa shed no tears during the funeral. There were only three people there to say goodbye to Lucius: herself, Draco and Hermione.
After the intimate service, Draco started making his way towards Shell Cottage, leaving Hermione and Narcissa in front of Lucius' grave. He needed some time to himself. He hated to cry in front of others. Only his father could see him cry, for his father knew how he felt. But now his father was gone.
Narcissa stared for a moment at her husband's burial place. So far from Malfoy Manor...so far from all of his other relatives, she thought. But Malfoy Manor was no longer their home. It was too dark, too pained to be their home. Malfoy Manor had been murdered the minute the Dark Lord walked in. Malfoy Manor was just a putrefying corpse to her now.
"Thank you, Hermione," said Narcissa looking at the young girl. Hermione looked terrible. The bruises had faded, the scars were not as bright, but there was no light in her eyes. She made it her mission to cast away the shadows from the young woman's shoulders, to make her the girl she once was.
"We failed, Mrs Malfoy," said Hermione her eyes casted down upon Lucius' resting place.
"Failed? No...no you didn't fail." The older woman placed a hand over Hermione's shoulder as they started making their way towards Shell Cottage. "You've brought him back to me. You saved him from their claws," she continued as their silhouettes were concealed by the sand dunes. "For that I owe you everything."
Lucius Malfoy rested safe and sound in his new bed. Here, no dark magic could touch him. He could finally rest and be forgiven by all those that perished at his hand.
The End