Title: Not The Way It Goes
Author: Savage Midnight
Rating: PG (for now)
Disclaimer: Any characters or concepts familiar to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: Old enemies are drawn together as the past is dragged into the present.
Author Notes: The start of what I hope will be a pretty interesting adventure.
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Prologue
With a belch, the fire gutted out, plunging the room into darkness.
It was within this darkness that Hermione Granger arched her eyebrows and stared pointedly over her book at the fireplace, as if unable to believe it's sheer audacity. But the fireplace had nothing to say for itself, leaving Hermione to huff and puff and rise to poke the dead and dying coals with sharp, exasperated jabs.
Nothing. The coals remained lifeless, crumbling into ashes that floated up whenever she unsettled them. With a growl of impatience she jerked her wand out of her pocket and snapped it towards the fireplace, biting out one curse to light it, and another when the flames whooshed up and sent her flying on to her backside.
"Not. Funny," she gritted, rising to settle back down into the softness of her high-back armchair. With a last menacing look towards the fireplace, she picked up her book and continued to read.
A few minutes later, the fire gave another belch and died again. This time Hermione did not eye it disdainfully, but rather suspiciously. Once was a fluke. Twice meant someone else's magic was interfering with her own. And that meant someone was in her home.
Slowly, she placed her book on the arm of her chair and curled her hand around her wand. She eyed the darkness around her, her gaze tracking the shadows for any signs of movement. There was none. Pushing herself up from her chair, she crept quietly across the room towards the living room door. With her wand pointed in front of her face, she grasped the door knob with her left hand, turned it, and cracked it open.
More darkness. She could just make out the bulk of her refrigerator, but past that she could see nothing. But that didn't mean that whoever was in her house couldn't see her.
She sighed. Enough of this. This was her house and she refused to feel afraid in it.
Wand still firmly grasped in her hand, she moved to switch on the lamp beside her chair. The small room was instantaneously filled with a low glow.
Placing herself in the middle of the lounge, she narrowed her eyes, and said, "Whoever the hell you are, you better show yourself before I lose my damn temper."
And then she heard it. The soft sounds of footsteps moving across a carpet. Turning her gaze and her wand in the direction of her bedroom, she waited, tense and alert, as the footsteps grew closer. She watched as the shadows seemed to bend and grow, until finally they gave way. And the last person Hermione ever expected to see slid out of the darkness and into the light of her living room.
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Draco Malfoy was standing in her living room.
Draco Malfoy, the boy she had not seen since Hogwarts, the boy who had been dead for six years, was standing in her living room.
"Granger," he greeted casually. He was leaning against the doorframe, legs crossed at his ankles and his arms folded over his chest, looking for all the world like he belonged there.
Hermione couldn't help it. She gaped. Her eyes widened and her lips parted and her wand hand fell to hang limply by her side.
Not possible, she thought. You're... you're--
"You're dead," she blurted out, barely remembering to raise her wand again. Impossible or not, she was still standing in a room with a sociopath.
It was a roguish smirk and a deep, unfamiliar voice that he answered her, "Not last time I checked."
And something flickered beneath her skin. It was an echo of something old, unused but familiar, and it was enough to steady her trembling hand.
Survival instinct.
She held her wand like a lifeline, pointed confidently towards him, remembering a time when it had been all that stood between her and death. It had been a long time since she had felt that shiver of fear, but it was there, as it had always been, woven into her bones.
Damn you, she seethed silently, faintly aware that her jaw had tightened and her teeth were grinding against each other painfully.
"I saw your body."
It was a statement, but the question was there nevertheless.
"You saw a body" he replied as he unhooked his ankles and moved further into the room.
She tensed. With an ugly incantation resting on the tip of her tongue, she followed his path across the carpet with her wand, cautious and alert and prepared to fry his ass if she needed to. But he made no move towards her, instead settling himself down in her armchair.
Her lips tightened. Her armchair. In her home.
"What gave you the impression that you were welcome here?" she questioned icily.
He didn't answer her. His attention was drawn to the book that was resting on the arm of her chair. Picking it up, he briefly glanced at the front cover before giving her a quick, cool look.
"Morrison," he said. "Interesting."
He began to nonchalantly flip through the pages, occasionally pausing to scan one. One particular passage must have caught his attention, because Draco's mouth suddenly curved into a half-smile and he began to read aloud, his voice, though different, holding that same sharp certainty that she remembered from Hogwarts.
"They looked back on their own youth as a period of ignorance, and regretted that they had not made more of it." He looked across at her, unaware or uncaring of the tension that radiated from her.
"Do you regret your youth, Granger?" he questioned mockingly. "Or has your period of ignorance still not come to an end?"
His stare was intense, probing, and something inside of her snapped.
"Get out," she snarled. "Before I make you dead all over again."
He smirked at that and said, "I wouldn't recommend it, Granger. At least not until you've heard what I've got to say."
"I'm not interested, you bigoted piece of shit. I want you out. Now."
"Not until--"
"SILENCIO!"
The incantation was loud and harsh, even to her ears, and it was made worse by the heavy silence that followed. Exhaling loudly, Hermione lowered her wand and stared across at Draco. He was glaring at her balefully, literally speechless.
"Out. Now," she bit out, raising her wand again. "Before I cause you permanent damage."
He sighed heavily in exasperation, clearly conveying his annoyance at what he no doubt considered to be her stupidity. Leaning forward in her chair, he reached for the pen and paper resting on the small table beside it and began to scribble slowly and loudly.
A few seconds later, he flung the pen aside and lifted the notepad up so she could read it.
And there, in big, black letters, was her nightmare brought back to life.
VOLDEMORT.
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"They looked back on their own youth as a period of ignorance, and regretted that they had not made more of it." -- Toni Morrison, The Bluest Eye
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