a/n; A completely new Dramione multific, and completely different to anything else I've done, I just hope you guys like it. This fanfiction is not compliant with DH, and will have some dark turns in it, so if you're into a big happy ending with everyone living, I would say this fanfiction is not for you, not to deter anyone though I really hope this takes off and anyone who reads it enjoys it, plus it will have some attempts at fluffiness and humor, so there is something for everyone! Song Recommendations; this is war by 30 seconds to mars, shake it out by florence and the machine, and paradise by coldplay. (if anyone has any song recs for this chapter, please message me!).
Chapter 1: Silence
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"Don't you understand if we could just find it, if we could find Voldemort, then we could..."
The silence hit the tent like a large gust of wind, the entire atmosphere falling to the deep pits of quiet, the only movement by eyes swivelling to look at one another, as the gravity of what had just been spoken hit them all like a ton of falling bricks, or a stunning spell from a Death Eater. No blame could be found for such a silence, the triage had been caught in the moment, caught in the revel of new information and the happiness at forming the thinnest of plans, before everything had stopped. For a moment the silence remained, hearing a pin drop would be the appropriate Muggle term for such a moment, before Ron's voice broke into the crushing, agonising silence to wake them all back into the reality of what had just been said and the consequences it were about to cause, the chances of avoiding the consequences as they all knew were incredibly slim. Even the eternal optimism that the three had managed to cling on too could not hope for more than an escape in such a situation.
"RUN"
Ron's scream broke through Hermione like a recently sharpened sword, her senses immediately coming back to her within seconds of such a silence falling upon them all, she dived for her wand on the table as the sharp crack of apparation behind them broke Harry's silence also and then the three of them, the infamous golden trio broke into running out of the tent, leaving behind every possession and literally running for the hills but more importantly running for their lives. They ran as a threesome out into the cold bitter air, snow crunching under their feet as they ran with everything they had, burning lungs and aching muscles ignored for the killer need to survive. Hermione ran with everything she had, matching the stronger boys stride for stride, forgetting the scolding sensation in her ribs of an oncoming stitch, and the water collecting in her eyes with the wind whipping so harshly against her face.
On and on she ran, ignoring Ron's calls, merely thankful he hadn't called them directly by name, she would have loved to call to him, but for the life of her she couldn't think of one thing to say, couldn't think of any call that wouldn't slow her down; and slowing down was not an option. So on she ran, her feet pounding against the floor, her teeth gritting against the harsh caress of tree branches hitting her, against the wind working as a barrier to slow her running, she ignored everything, merely continuing on and on, regardless of any obstacles; jumping over fallen trees and roots raised from the ground, nothing would deter her from getting away, she would not die today, she would not let herself be crushed like a bug under Voldemorts boot, even if captured she would go down fighting, and she had no doubt her best friends..no her Brothers would be the same, the Gryffindor courage that was deeply embedded into all of their hearts would not allow them to give up.
Her Brothers was the right term for Harry and Ron, the two best friends she now easily regarded as family and to call them anything less would be an insult. True hopes of a relationship between herself and Ron had once ghosted across her mind but come 6th year and the realisation that Lavender and Ron's relationship caused no pang of jealousy in Hermione's unbroken heart she soon accepted they would be nothing more than friends; as did Ron who too understood that he saw Hermione as a deeply close Sister rather than Lover or Girlfriend. Things had been easy between the trio since such a time, and they had become a closer family now that all sense of awkwardness had ebbed away. Hermione was thankful that no sense of a relationship now appealed to herself nor Ron, as they could finally accept each other as best friends, rather than the fine line they had once danced under the plague of false wanting and naivety.
The stitch in Hermione's side continued to grow as she vaulted across an upturned log, but she wouldn't allow it to consume her mind, the pain she could push away under fear of being caught. The stretch of field seemed to go on forever and she just hoped when forever stopped they would be able to meet up again and apparate; she didn't much care where too, just away from the Snatchers who had broken the chatter of three friends you would think from first view had no sense of care in the world, not until you looked closely at least.
The changes in the golden trio had been insignificant to start but had manifested upon continuing their mission.
Harry didn't bother to cover his scar anymore, and didn't bother hiding the incessant pain it caused every time Voldemorts mind threw him a new emotion. He no longer bothered to try and cover up or shy away from any visions that he saw; instead using them for information, the clear pain it caused him to do so constantly etched upon his face, that had grown from boyish to manhood in a matter of weeks. The babyish look to him had long disappeared under hardships and the agony of being connected to the darkest Wizard's mind anyone had ever known.
In Ron the changes were the most subtle but still apparent to the experienced eye. He too had lost all sense of boyishness under the strains of the mission they had been given, his face now showing no hint of infancy, only pure unadulterated manhood. His stance had become something of defensive, ready to spring to any attack if need be, ready to defend himself and his loved family within a moments notice, something unconsidered before the starts of a war.
With Hermione the differences were the most obvious. Dark circles were a constant accompaniment to her face, easily apparent under her eyes night and day, hinting at a clear lack of sleep. Her weight had thankfully not taken too much of a toll, her bones only sticking out a fraction more, all baby fat gone to accommodate for thinned cheeks and an adult look to her features, rather than the little girl she had once been. Her stance like Ron's was on the constant defensive, so much so she slept with her wand in hand under her pillow; unlike the other two who kept it on the side of their beds, not as paranoid as Hermione, but never completely unequipped, to do so in such times could only be considered stupid.
Above everything the three of them had matured mentally over the time of the mission; laughter and excitement had fallen to the way side in such serious times to make way for vigilance and caution, it was painful to think over a year ago even amongst the grips of war the trio could have been sat in the Gryffindor Common Room giggling over homework, but now? Every possibility for laughter had been torn from their grips, with the same hurt it would cause a babe to be ripped from the Mothers arm. They had all grown up far too fast; not just the inseparable trio with a dangerous quest to carry out, but everyone they knew, everyone had to grow up and leave childish things behind in the times of war, things such as dances, the newest broomstick released and hell even Christmas was put on the back burner in such dangerous and devilishly close times.
The stitch in her side is becoming more and more apparent and quickly snaps her away from thoughts of maturity and war, it's really aching now, the pain becoming enough to tempt her to stop, to tempt her just to allow them to catch her and deal with whatever consequences for a moment. Hermione only allows the seams of temptation to fall before she jolts back out of it; her dignity, her pride and most importantly her courage will never allow her to give in. Gritting her teeth against the harsh pain, and the legitimate tears now streaking down her cheeks from the wind, she fires another curse behind her and allows herself a small smile as a resounding thud confirms she met her target; before continuing onward and onward, forever stretching in front of her, as the hope she has rarely allowed herself to feel recently blossoms inside her chest; gods she hopes they all make it out of this, alive, well and together.
He's a statue, carved from ice or stone or possibly both, a clear engraved body with the arrogant Malfoy features; an upturned smirk, the cold look in the eyes and the overall expression clearly showing a nasty sneer. A sneer that said; you're not good enough, you're beneath us and most importantly you belong to us. The dark folds and falls of the dark Death Eater robes surrounding his body, the hood marring hair the color of snow, the typical blond broken by the whiteness of the strands, much more beautiful, but conveying coldness in a way hair should not allow. The entire stature reeked of dominance but at the same time an impossibly captured cowardice that spilled from every crevice of the beautiful monument. The obvious structure showing off a wand held aloft with green mist falling from the tip; signifying the main curse that expelled green spark, the famous curse; the curse he had failed to use.
The Killing Curse.
With a jolt Draco awoke, his entire body crippling over as he sat up, his head glancing the wall with a fearful caress as he sat up so rapidly, and fell back down with the same extreme rapidness. He was shaking all over, his hands trembling as he reached up to wipe the mixture of tears and sweat off his face, both undefinable, but he imagined with the pain the dream was causing him physically and more so mentally, the majority of the moistness on his face were due to tears, if he could see in a mirror the image would confirm that theory, tear tracks streaked down his cheek with the delicacy of an 18th century French painter.
Dream was the complete wrong word. Dreams were for hopes and ambitions, the idea of frolicking in fields like some bloody Hufflepuff or solving some absurdly difficult problem with joy like a sodding Ravenclaw, maybe even conquering all, the kind of thing he imagined tainted the Gryffindors dreams at night. Dreams were something to recall with a smile, to recall with a sense of happiness and a wish for such a dream to return to the thought process, something to hope for; hope that it returned the next night to allow a peaceful nights sleep and a smile for the next day. Thus Draco knew he was by no means dreaming, without admitting it of course he prayed for dreams now, prayed to be granted one nights sleep of peace and happiness, he prayed to a God he knew didn't exist but prayed all the same, disappointment hitting him every morning when he sprung awake from another horrific onslaught of nightmares that wracked his body through and through, leaving him even more exhausted than to when his head had hit the pillow.
That was the right word; Nightmares. Such visions that caused Draco's body to shriek internally, caused him to want to pull out every fine strand of silky hair, caused him to want to claw his own eyes out with a vengeance, visions that would simply not go away. The nightmares themselves were nothing too perplexing, often just images of himself or Voldemort or his Father, it was the consequences of the actions in such a nightmare that terrified him. A list of failures he had incurred would probably be as long as his arm now, and that thought did not sit well with him, Draco knew he was a failure and hated himself for being so, hated himself for falling apart under every order, every challenge he had been given. He had been second in his grades to a Mudblood, second in Quidditch to a HalfBlood and had failed to kill an old, wand-less Man, had failed to take down Dumbledore, sacrificing his freedom, his dignity and his power with a mere falter of his wand.
Though of course it had not only been a falter of his wand that stopped him.
Upon ascending the steps to Astronomy Tower, Draco had known he would not be leaving a killer, knew only the one spell of Expeliarmus would leave his lips upon the Tower he had studied in since a young age. The back of his mind, what little he had left of a conscience had been shrieking at him from the moment he had been branded with the ugly dark mark he had easily come to resent, had continued to screaming at him to do the right thing; for a while it had been all too easy to push such a thing to the back of his mind to be caught up in the unfamiliar praise of his Father, the over caring of his Mother and the admiration from his friends and fellow Death Eaters, however upon the night of his mission that had all crumbled, to reveal the tired conscience of his; it's voice hoarse from trying to help, bare and completely all consuming, and when his foot had landed on the first step upon his way up, he knew he would not kill tonight, but the prospect of being killed was highly likely, and for a moment, for the slightest moment that had not bothered him (However in the next moment it had and he had considered lobbing himself off the tower so not to give any of them the satisfaction of his death).
Another crippling pain of his headache hit him hard and an overdue gasp of air left his lips again, continuing to breath in and out at an even pace, Draco cast his glance upward, fear taking the place of pain now as the small, dull sounds of footsteps echoed overhead. It wasn't something Draco had not experienced before, but still caused new stretches of fear to plague him each time it did; if he were to be discovered, to be found would be his last failure and everything he had done in the last months would have meant little. Draco wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was surviving and that was all that mattered. Survival; the baser instinct that Draco had now adopted, what choice did he have? Voldemort and his army wanted him dead, as most probably did the Order, both sides fighting over which one would be aloud to kill him. Laughter bubbled over his lips at the mere thought before he remembered where he is and all sounds of joy vanish from his pale mouth.
Survival was difficult, not nearly as cool as all of the Wizarding Authors would have it sound, but it's a way of a life, a way of staying alive. Sure the hunger pains killed him mid day when he knew a small wedge of cheese were to last him the week, and the cellar he inhabited was freezing cold at best, and tiny all together, just enough room for himself lying down, the height of it the worst thing, barely even able to sit up in such a space. He was lucky enough to still have his wand, and that thought bought a wry smile to his lips as he looked down at it, the comforting traces of magic crackling against his fingers; he always slept with it in hand under the pillow, he wasn't going to be a defenseless idiot.
With a small sigh escaping his mouth as the footsteps went, Draco moved slightly (as much as he could in the minute space), before quickly sorting through his provisions in his small backpack. 3 changed of underwear, 2 changes of general clothes, a small bag of toiletries, 2 different books and an empty flask (water was not a problem with his wand but he had a flask as a method of actually drinking). The lack of food hit him smack in the face as he realised he would need to head out again soon, by his account it was dark; the best time to head out for provisions, going out during the day time would have been a suicide run for Draco; maybe he could get one or two things to entertain himself with whilst he was out and about; something to keep him occupied amongst dull stretches of day that nightmare filled sleeps couldn't cover. The lack of food worried him, normally he would stock up but patrols had increased in frequency and group number over the last week or so, and going outside had been incredibly difficult, however tonight he had no choice.
Sitting up again and crouching over, before pocketing his wand and slinging his backpack over his shoulder; a grim look on his face as though he were a man going out to war, and in reality he was. Maybe he wasn't making that much of a difference but he was still fighting against it, still a Solider in one way or another, still fighting for a war he was sure they had already lost. The sad thing was 'they' didn't constitute anyone anymore, as Draco had no idea which side he was fighting for. With a grimace pulling at his features, he opens the door of the cellar, and bounds into the small village of Hogsmeade, with no clue if he would make it through the night to return.
The door shut with a thud, and Draco lost himself to the darkness.
Her mind is blank to how long she would run for and how long she had been running for, but it seemed the edges of forever were never in reach. Her feet continue to pound into the floor, her teeth gritted against the harsh pain in her side, and yet it never seemed to end, every step she took just added another, and another; every tree she vaulted over, another three would appear in it's path, every time she thought she was getting away another Snatcher would try and grab her before she managed to fend them off. A sigh leaves her lips as she glances behind her again; the path is clear, and she allows herself the smallest of smiles, she may actually survive this, but then just as she thinks the very thought, everything goes wrong. She should be accustomed to such a thing now, things always went wrong and not once did they go off without a hitch, honestly she berates herself for being foolish enough to think everything would be alright.
On turning back around her foot catches against a raised root and in moments shes tumbling to the ground, coming to a short stop with a searing pain in her ankle, she can only be sure is broken. Her eyes flirt around and she turns to look for her Brothers but can see nothing but forest, trees and wood; no Snatchers on her tail, but neither of her Boys near her either. Fear strikes through her at such a thought but she shakes it off and goes to stand before the pain in her ankle weighs her back down, and the shouts pulling closer and closer cause her to pause.
"HERMIONE RUN"
"LEAVE US BEHIND"
The shouts are even closer now, and then she sees them, being dragged into the clearing of the woods, near the log she is crouched under (more by the accident of a fall rather than a tactical move), and she hears them screaming; it wouldn't take an idiot to realise they have been dragged back in hope of finding her, and of course the move is the correct one. How could she leave them? Her family, the answer was, she couldn't, she would never leave them behind.
Shakily standing to her feet and ignoring the pain in her right ankle, her eyes catch Harry's and she ignores his pleas to run, whatever is going to happen they will go into this together, escape it together; the golden trio will not break up. So with a rough smile, and casting a shield charm in front of her, she limps forward, ready to give herself in to join the two of them and complete the triage; but the next move, completely unexpected throws her off guard, and the shield charm twinges for a moment, only a second or so; but a second long enough for chaos to ensue.
Her eyes only watch as Harry breaks free from the hold and takes the Snatchers wand; what is he doing? Surely he can't hope to escape, and then she realises before trying to duck, he has no intention of escaping, and that thought is confirmed as she feels the purple sparked spell hit her directly in the chest; the one learned in the last year of Newt Level.
Forced Apparation.
The scream is snatched from her lips as she goes to yell, but is unable to form any sound. The sparks are consuming her, completely taking her over and the feeling that washes over her is one of hurt, anger and most of all fear..what fate is she being forced to leave them too? A fate she could have helped them in, or even more so could have helped them avoid? Fear again washes over her and she barely, just barely has time to glance at Harry and Ron; her god damn family, her boys that she is leaving behind, leaving behind to what sort of future? Her eyes glaze over, and she sets her mouth in a grim line; she needs to look strong for them, and a smile just ghosts over her lips before their face's disappear and she finds herself falling, falling so fast into the unknown; the darkness of the forced spell pulling her in an unknown direction, pulling her toward god knows what, she doesn't even ask the question she's obviously thinking. Where is she heading? And where are the boys heading? To both questions she has no answer, and as she lands with a sharp, shattering thud on the soft earth floor and glances around, she still has no answer for where is she is.
ahhh so what did you guys think? I super hope this takes off as I have worked so hard on the plot and writing and stuff, so yeah I hope you guys enjoy it and spread it to your friends!
If you have any questions about anything please, please let me know and I will answer, also any mistakes I may have made feel free to drop me a message, and any song recs drop me one as well!
so yeah I hope you guys continue to read, and continue to enjoy.
as always please review, until next time m'lovelies.
vicki.