Disclaimer: I do not make money off this story nor own anything Harry Potter and am not JK Rowling.
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Part 1
Draco sat on the rubbled stone, unmoving, unseeing. In the distance, he heard shouts. Thunderous roars from a giant or two and explosions. So many explosions scattered amidst the screams that followed close behind.
And here he hid. Continued to hide from both sides of a war that would see him die. That would happily piss or dance on his grave.
If someone even desired to dig him one.
How had he ended up here? How had he let himself get so blinded by an ideal he realized too late, was all just bullshit smoke and mirrors? Parroted by the weak, who blamed others for their own failures.
When he'd seen her blood; that thin, jagged line from his aunt's knife on her throat split and drip crimson on the floor; he knew. Knew with a certainty that fell like stones of lead into the pit where his heart should be.
Knew that the ideals he'd been raised on, told over and over until he could recite them in his sleep; were nothing but lies.
Lies, unsubstantiated prejudice, fear mongering.
He'd been so stunned to see bright red rather than the brown color of mud, that when Potter had wrenched the wands from him he'd had little more than a token resistance within him. He'd lost then, what little ground he'd had left in the dark lord's circle; first by not identifying the trio immediately and second, by letting them escape with all the wands.
He'd been punished for these misdeeds, of course he'd been, but for the first time in his life felt he deserved it. He welcomed it, sought oblivion through the pain. He didn't blame the catalyst as he'd done in the past, didn't begrudge the reason behind the discipline. Losing Dobby, losing to Granger in every class, to a mud...
His mind shut off at the subconscious pull to the word that now repulsed him to his core. For he'd seen, there was nothing muddy about her blood.
It was the same color as is own.
And didn't that just damn him to hell. Or maybe it damned her... Who knew anymore.
So here he sat. After Potter, Weasley and Granger had saved him - once again - from the place of hidden things, he'd tucked himself away and took himself out of the fray. He knew he was a marked man, from all sides and in many ways; and his desire to live superseded any heroics he might attempt, for whatever side would have him.
He was too tired for politics anyone. Too tired of the dance.
As he sat there, contemplating his fate in each win/loss scenario, he heard a scratching toward the door, before it slowly opened. Peering towards the opening of the broom cupboard he sat in; he saw a hand, then an arm, then a head, torso and body come slithering around the door into the room. The person hadn't seen him, here, hidden away amongst the shadows.
He lifted his hands up, the international symbol of unarmed, and said hoarsely, "Come on in, Granger, but please, shut the door. There's more than enough room in here. For both of us"
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Whirling around, Hermione whipped up her wand and set her gaze upon the figure in the corner. She saw Malfoy, crouched against the far wall of what she'd assumed was an abandoned broom cupboard.
He looked... Terrible was too trite a word. Utterly defeated only scratching the surface. Her wand lowered a bit at the sight in front of her, this broken shell with wandless hands raised in surrender.
She didn't know if he knew about his father, that Lucius had died protecting Ginny - of all people - but in that moment Hermione forgave the man his sins as her red-haired friend was able to escape unharmed.
Ron and Percy however, weren't as lucky. Ron was killed instantly, a blessing when she thought about Percy's demise; him bleeding out onto the stone from various cursed wounds from a spell gone wrong. A mangled sectumsempra, if she'd stuck around long enough to hazard a guess; but she'd been desperate to escape. To find a place to regroup.
She couldn't find Harry. Ron was... dead. Neville was, well, Neville was incredible. She was in awe of how, over the past year, he'd come into his own, and he, Luna and Ginny were now out fighting the good fight as the new motivational trio.
She knew it was cowardly to retreat, even for a moment, but she needed that moment. A break to mourn what could have been; mourn the boy she'd loved for half her life, in one capacity or another.
They'd just kissed, for bloody sakes, just admitted the dance they'd been waltzing the past seven years actually had a direction. And now, in the blink of an eye, her world had shifted once more. There was no more dancing, not for her. At least, not for a while.
The war was ramping up outside, she could hear the thundering of hooves and yells as others joined the fight. She found herself numb to the goings on, numb to anything but the two of them inside the cupboard.
Returning her gaze to his, she lowered her wand completely.
"Ron's dead, Harry's disappeared; your father saved Ginny by sacrificing his own life." She said, and watched as his face broke further upon that last piece of news.
"I'm sorry." She said, but didn't mean them, not really. She was sorry in the way one was about the concept of loss, but she wasn't acutely sorry Lucius was dead.
Draco nodded, as if reading her thoughts, and she heard a small "Thank you." Though she couldn't be sure.
"My... Mother?" He croaked out, eyes shining but, she suspected, dehydration more than pride prevented tears from forming and falling.
"Unsure, I'm sorry. I haven't seen her for a while." At his obvious regard for his mother, Hermione found herself wanting to comfort, even if just through words; and to not be able gave her a soft pang.
This was a boy who'd made her life miserable throughout school. One who taunted and tormented and carried so much hate.
But when the chips had fallen, he hadn't given them up. He'd shown mercy, even if it was driven by fear. And she would always be grateful for that mercy.
"Can I... Can I stay here, just for a moment?" She asked tentatively. She knew he didn't pose a risk to her, not with her holding a wand and him without. But ingrained courtesy had her asking.
"Share away,"he replied, and despite the defeated air evident in his whole being, mustered a sneered, "Who am I to judge one's own retreat, as I myself embrace and wallow in it..."
And with that, he closed his eyes and turned his head, resting it against the trembling stone wall.
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A/N: This little darkish Drabble would not leave my brain, so here it is. I have plans for this story; don't anticipate it being long, but I will continue to add to it :) I hope you enjoy my first Dramione...