Whooo! So this is my first Harry Potter fanfic. I'm excited for this. The deal with Draco is that at first his parents and other Death Eaters were in hiding, but they were found. His parents were convicted but Draco has not yet been convicted.
Also, for those of you who are reading my Lion King fanfic...hold on. I haven't given up yet. I'm working on the next chapter, it's nearly finished now. As for the time lapse...well, old habits die hard.
Enjoy.
His hands clenched upon the bathroom sink, fingers digging into the tile, the boy fought to regain his composure. He could taste the acerbic fear in his breath; hear the racing of his head and the struggle of his facial muscles to contort once more into a composed, firm stare. His knuckles grew white and he dared himself to stare into the mirror at his own reflection. The pale, ghoulish blond hair that framed his face hung like curtains in front of his face, scattering his image. He held back his tears, no, tonight, he would not cry. He had to be brave, he told himself even as he felt the familiar sinking feeling inside of his chest.
"Draco?" A voice echoed from somewhere in the hallway, needing, wanting. Craving.
He let go of the sink, looking once more at his reflection with revulsion. Not bothering to wipe away a fresh layer of sweat upon his pearly forehead, he opened the door to the bathroom and closed it softly behind him. The shadows of the grand hallway hid the veins that threatened to pound through his neck, and his hands clenched into fists. He walked coolly into the light, flaunting into the room as though there was not an entire problem in the world, in his world. He let out a smirk that was reflective of his father's, the smirk of trade, practiced in front of mirrors and passed through slithering generations of cunning. He held up the image of no fear even in the face of the long, daunting table half in the flickering light of flames, flanked by ugly, scarred faces that held secrets and malevolence in their eyes. They stared at him, opening up the layers of his skull to reveal his own soul inside, flipping through his thoughts and memories like the tattered pages of a used book. He blocked his mind, relaxed as thoroughly as he could, his emotions padlocked and his memories buried. His eyes fell upon his parents, the only people he would dare to have eye contact with.
"Yes?" he spoke, his eyes twinkling, not with eagerness but with muted terror.
The owl flew through the deep night, guided by eyes that shone even through the murkiest of clouds. Its target was obvious, being the only building for several miles. Light and laughter flickered through the windows, illuminating the ragged dimness of the shingles that hung on precariously to the roof. An open window brought with it the smell of leftover apple pie and the faded scent of a lit candle. The owl bore through the window, gazing around for any crust left from the pie. It ruffled its feathers, being ignored. It let out an indignant hoot and there was silence, then the clambering of many pairs of feet. It sat in apprehension as the stairs in the house seemed to be ready to collapse with all of the commotion that ran down the steps. Many people came into view and the owl obligingly dropped the letter upon the counter, and then, seeing a cherry lying on the counter, went to hungrily devour it.
"Shoo!" Mrs. Weasley yelled at the owl, who pecked at her angrily and flew off with a cherry in its beak.
"It's here!" Harry said, blissfully ignorant of the large grin on his face. He passed it down from hand to hand until it reached Hermionie, who quickly tore it apart, biting her lip.
"Don't be shy now, read it out loud," George said, the smile on his face causing a scar on his cheek to crinkle.
"Dear Ms. Hermionie Jean Granger,
We are pleased to announce that your application has been read, and considering your past scores and academic achievements, you have been accepted into the Ministry of Magic working in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Orientation will take place on Monday morning at 9:00 AM.
We wish y-"
"Not tomorrow!" Ginny whined, stepping out from the shadows. "You said you would come shopping with me, and you know it's the only day all week I'm free!"
"Ginny, I'm really sorry but I'm afraid this is more important than a couple of shirts," Hermionie replied, still smiling and gazing down at the letter. Her finger traced over the seal for the Ministry of Magic on the envelope. It truly was surreal.
"I'm proud of you," Ron grinned, sliding an arm around her waist, curling her fingers in with his. She let out a tentative smile. They had been fighting again. The others saw the look on her face and thought it best that they themselves look away, suppressing the urge to awkwardly cough.
"Well, I've ought to start cleaning," Mrs. Weasley said, not able to stand the tension in the room. Everyone else mumbled strained goodbyes and things that sounded like good job or congratulations. Harry gave Ron and Hermionie a hesitating glance, and then headed up the stairs to Ron's bedroom, gazing after Ginny's shadow.
"Don't think this has changed anything," Hermionie hissed as soon as everyone else was out of earshot. "Muffalito."
Ron winced as Hermionie jerked her hand out of his.
"'Mionie..."
"I told you not to call me that!" Hermionie exasperatedly cried, suppressing tears of frustration. "You-are-so-dense! You dared to come hold my hand like nothing at all had happened? Merlin, Ron...I just...I can't stand you anymore!"
"Oh, don't act like it's all just me!" Ron yelled, struggling to hold in his frustration. He had been trying to hard to not yell at her again, but he could hardly control himself. "You know what my problem is! You're studying, always studying. I try, Hermionie, I really do. I've given you so much time to study and yet you still find some kind of excuse every blasted time I invite you somewhere with friends! I thought this might change, what with the job at the Ministry and all, maybe you'd finally just stop studying all the time but now you're just going to be spending even more time away from me...I'm so sick of only having an hour with you on a lucky day! I can't carry on like this, Mionie, it's killing me. I miss you so much."
"...You have a problem with me studying? Ronald...I thought you of all people would understand," Hermionie sputtered, incredulous to what she was hearing. "I'm not just sitting around and moping all day! Our schooling is over. We have to go out there in the world and make a difference. We may have won but everything's still so wrong. People are missing, people are dead. Families are torn apart. I can't believe you can stand to just sit around all day! Doesn't it bother you?"
Ron was now shaking with anger, his face reddening. His eyes grew dark and he gave Hermionie a look that made her, even in her own rage, stop short.
"Doesn't it...bother me?...OF COURSE IT FUCKING BOTHERS ME! I LOST MY FUCKING BROTHER! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT LOSING SOMEONE YOU LOVE!"
Ron's mouth was wide open and he could say no more. There was nothing else he could say. He raced up the stairs, past Hermionie. He brushed her shoulder angrily, not tenderly like he had in the past, in deep gardens and afternoons of laughter. Both of them knew that this fight had gone beyond their limits; their voices had cut too deep. They knew they were finished, for good. Hermionie lifted the Muffalito spell and listened to his footsteps heading up the stairs until they vanished with the slamming of a door that was barely on its hinges. She waited until she couldn't hear him pacing up and down in the room and then she began to cry.
Hermionie awoke the next morning with a furious headache and the sound of a door slamming still ringing in her ears. She stared out the window, gazing down at the bounds of the tall grass outside of the Burrow. She watched as Mr. Weasley left for work, confidently walking down to the forest and vanishing in the confines of the reaching trees. She did not let anything pierce her from last night. She only felt a numb sort of relief curled deep inside of her stomach, not churning but slowly melting.
"Hermionie?"
She did not answer. Harry opened the door and stared at her slumped back, holding back the sigh in his throat. She was not dressed and she was most certainly not ready. He could already feel her own emotions, after having been friends for so long, he knew what she would be feeling right around now. He let a warm hand upon her back and she stiffened, and then relaxed.
"Give me ten minutes," she said slowly. Her voice was teetering on the brink of high, cracked, emotion, despite what she felt on the inside. It gave her true feelings away and Harry most certainly understood. He backed out of the room, softly closing the door behind her. For once of a few times in his life, he didn't know what to say to her.
Hermionie let a sob come forwards, and then, she was done. She rose to her feet and gazed into the dusty mirror on Ginny's dresser.
She looked like hell.
Draco was always willing to please his mother and his father. At least, he had been when he was a kid. Now, he was no longer sure what he was willing to do. He had awoken early today; too early. He could have lay back in bed but he knew that sleep was elusive and had left him. He got up from his bed, tossing the covers away from him, exposing himself to the bitter, stinging coldness of his room. He let out a scowl as his feet touched the carpet and froze at its touch.
"Accio...suit..." Draco mumbled with his wand held protectively in his hand. His suit flew out of his large, oak dresser and landed compliantly at his feet. He smoothed over the material in his hand. He took his shirt off, his hand briefly glazing over a new, ugly scar. He paused as he always did when he saw the mark upon his left forearm, even if it was for a moment. A familiar shudder of revulsion sped through his body. He did not know if it was revulsion for himself or for those who had given it to him. He quickly covered it up with the crisp cut of his suit. He looked at himself in the mirror and then looked away. He couldn't bear to look into his own eyes.
Outside his door, there was the shuffling of feet. Draco's hand sped to his wand, and after a couple seconds of his heart racing, gently set it down on his dark nightstand. He felt a mixture of fear and annoyance throbbing in his head. He was being guarded; watched. He couldn't take a piss without having an Auror there to monitor him. His parents were long gone, probably sobbing themselves to sleep somewhere in a hardened cell, he thought, and then felt a twinge of something like pain. Shaking it off, he knocked on the door. It opened after a moment, and a figure came into the room, robes swirling upon the ornate mahogany carpet. Draco scowled at the sight of it. He hated that color. Without a word, he stepped forward and felt the imprint of a wand pressed threateningly into the crevice of his back. His hand twitched, yearning for his own wand, for the solace the cool wood brought him. He did not touch it, however, and walked down the hallway with his escort. There were several others at the top of the stairs, and down on the main floor, all waiting for him. Their eyes pierced him, seeking, searching. As he had always done, Draco locked everything away from their prying, taunting eyes. No one would ever, could ever, see into his mind, nor his heart...
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