DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.
AN: This fic was written for the 3cheersforidiots, who was an awesome beta! Hope you enjoy reading this, Sophie! Happy birthday!
Another AN: This is an AU in which Hermione is not a witch. This takes place in the times when witches and wizards were burned at the stake.
Beta: kuroaiko2014, Ned, PenDiva1, and Cia (They're all awesome people.)
Hermione takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet aroma of the red roses that surround her. She hugs her book tight to her chest and sits down, leaning against the tree. Opening the book, she flicks through the pages, searching for where she had left off. She hums a merry tune softly as she reads.
A rustling erupts behind her, and she whirls around, startled. Her brown eyes are wide with fear.
Draco swings over the large branch, scowling at the dirt that speckles his once pristine robes. His silver eyes search the area before landing on his wand. He bends down to pick it up and makes his way through the thicket of trees, muttering charms to clear his path as he goes.
The sound of quiet humming pulls him towards the clearing just ahead. The tune is one his mother used to sing. But that was in the will never hear it again, all because she is chained, slowly wasting away in a small prison.
His mother is like a taaffeite necklace, shining brightly for all to see. In prison, they throw her down again and again until she is broken and dull.
Draco closes his eyes, sighing as he listens to the humming. It's so soft and haunting, reminding him of all the times his mother would hold him close and sing. Those times are gone, never to return.
He pushes the low branches of the weeping willow tree away and steps forward. A girl is leaning against the tree, reading a book whilst humming the tune that he so wishes to hear his mother sing once again. She spins around, her face marred by surprise.
Hermione stares at the boy in front of her, trying to pull herself out of the trance he's sent her into.
The boy has molten silver eyes that are haunted by regret and grief. Platinum blond hair frames his aristocratic face, hanging in a wild disarray on the right. High, chiseled cheekbones jut out sharply from the pale skin of his face, giving him a slightly haggard look. He is tall, standing over five inches above her, with strong, broad shoulders.
She can't pull her heated gaze from him, and instead, she drinks in every small detail, the way his eyebrows are raised in a quizzical manner, the slight frown on his lips. Her eyes drop down to the fancy, carved stick in his hand. What is that? She glances at the navy blue cloak he wears. Robes, she realizes.
She wonders who he is. The boy stares back at her, holding her gaze firmly.
Draco watches as the girl's chocolate brown eyes—the color of the cookies his mother used to bake for him—take in his face and trail down his body, landing on the wand in his hand. Her face falls into a bemused frown.
He examines her keenly, scouring her every feature. Her caramel hair fans out behind her, falling to her waist in small ringlets; it complements her creamy, white skin perfectly. She wears a periwinkle blue dress with an empire waist, the skirt flaring out. A simple, white-gold chain adorns her neck, and a light pink rose hangs from it.
The girl looks wealthy; he can tell by the way she stands, her demeanor. She holds herself with confidence, although it is shaking at the moment.
"Who are you?" The two of them ask at exactly the same time. They stare at each other, a battle for dominance that neither of them wish to lose.
"Why should I tell you who I am?" the girl says, finally breaking the tense silence.
"Then why should I tell you who I am?" he counters with a smirk.
"Disclosing my identity to a stranger may have consequences," she says, her voice fierce.
The girl seems intelligent; her eyes are sharp and do not fail to scrutinize him.
"Fine. I'll tell you who I am, and you tell me who you are," he says after a moment of silence.
"Agreed."
"I'm Draco. Draco Malfoy. And you are?"
"Hermione. Hermione Granger."
"Hermione," he repeats as if experimenting with the name. He savors the feeling of her name on his tongue.
Draco. Dragon. It is an uncommon name.
Hermione lets out an involuntary smile as he repeats her name; it sends a small, warm tingle down her spine.
"The queen of Sicily. From 'The Winter's Tale' by William Shakespeare."
"That—that would be me, yes. But I'm not a queen." She doesn't know why she's stuttering. Why does Draco, someone she only met a few moments ago, make her feel this way? "Do you read Shakespeare?"
"Yes. His work is quite pleasurable to read," Draco says, a hint of a smile on his face. "I take it you are an avid fan?"
Hermione blushes. "Yes, I suppose I am." She turns around, her back facing him, and crosses her arms, willing the redness to fade from her cheeks. "You really should tell me what you're here for."
Draco sighs. "All I was doing was wandering around."
Hermione turns to face him again and fixes her gaze on him. "Really?"
"I swear on my father's wand—" Draco's eyes widen, and, in a hurry, he says, "No! Forget what I said!" The panic was clear in his voice.
"Wand?" Hermione asks instantly, her eyes narrowing. "Wands don't exist."
"Exactly!" Draco says.
Hermione notices the beads of sweat that are starting to speckle his forehead. "You're hiding something."
"Listen, just forget this ever happened. I was never here, and you never met me." With that, Draco brandishes his stick and points it at her.
The expression on his face is hard and almost mean. Gone is the boy of mere seconds ago talking about Shakespeare. Hermione screams, and before he can do anything, throws her book at the stick. It is knocked out of his hand, and she dives for it, getting up with the stick held triumphantly in her hand.
"Give it back. Now," Draco says, his voice frenzied.
Hermione holds the stick in front of him, pulling it back just as he tries to grab for it. "Not until you tell me what you're hiding."
Draco sucks in a sharp breath. His heart hammers against his chest in jarring beats.
Hermione has my wand. What, in the name of Merlin, am I supposed to do? She's obviously a Muggle.
"Tell me." Her voice is insistent.
"I can't." He hates the way his voice cracks pathetically.
"You won't get your 'wand' back if you don't."
"You don't understand. I am not permitted to tell you," he says, getting more desperate. "Just give me back my stick and leave."
"Why is this stick so important?" Hermione demands.
He has to tell her. He has no choice now. "Magic is real." Draco prepares himself for the inevitable onslaught of questions to come.
"What?! How? Magic isn't real!" Hermione says, her eyes wide. "You must be delusional!"
"You wanted an answer, so here it is: magic is real."
She stares at him in disbelief. After a moment, her gaze hardens. "Show me," she demands, her voice full of determination.
"Give me back my wand. Only then can I show you." He holds out his hand.
"How do I know that you won't hurt me with it?"
"You'll have to trust me. Now, give me my wand."
Hermione hesitantly places it in his waiting hand.
Draco's fingers curl around his wand, caressing its familiar figure. He walks away from Hermione and points his wand at a nearby flower. "Engorgio."
The flower begins to swell at a rapid rate, making Hermione gasp.
Magic is real. The thought runs through her mind like a frenzied deer.
"You're a wizard," she whispers in shock.
A small smile creeps onto Draco's face. "Yes, I am."
"But you don't look like a wizard." Draco opens his mouth, but Hermione carries on talking. "You should be burned at the stake!"
She parts her lips, ready to scream again, but Draco claps his hand over her mouth.
"No. Please don't tell."
After a few moments, he slowly removes his hand. Hermione looks up to meet his distressed gaze. His eyes are pleading. "But you're a wizard," she says again.
"I can't help being born with magic."
"Why shouldn't I tell? You're not giving me any reason not to."
"Please. A countless of number of innocent witches and wizards have been burned. I don't plan on joining those ranks."
"They weren't innocent," she says. At least, that's what her parents had told her.
"Witches and wizards deserve to be burned."
"We cannot let them spread their evil ways. They must die."
"And how would you know?" Draco asks, now glaring. "Everyday, we face the terror that we might be captured, our families taken away from us. My mother is wasting away in a prison!"
"But you have magic! Can't you just make yourselves invisible? Can't you use magic to prevent yourselves from burning?" With every word, her voice rises higher.
"Yes, because putting the fires out would really paint the picture of innocence, wouldn't it?" His voice is dripping with sarcasm. "People die every day because of you!"
"People die every day because of your kind!" Hermione shouts back.
"Because of one person. Is it really fair that all of us are punished for one person's idiotic views?" Draco says, his voice getting softer.
His mind rages at the injustice of it all. The Muggles must be stupid. It's not as if all of us are evil people who want to take over the world.
"Who's doing this, then? Who's killing my people—or as you call us, Muggles?"
Draco hesitates before answering. "The Dark Lord."
Hermione stares at him, puzzled. "The Dark Lord? And who, may I ask, is he?"
Draco glances down at the black mark that stands out against the pale skin of his forearm. It is the one thing brings him shame. The snake coils around the grim skull, baring its fangs at him. Reminding him that he is to kill Hermione. Kill the Muggles.
"I cannot speak his name." He swallows, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.
"Why?" Hermione demands.
He loves how her words are full of that passion. Full of life. It will hurt him to take that away. "It will call him here. It's forbidden to say his name."
"Then write it," she says, and she rips a piece of paper from her book, flinching slightly at the sight of the ruined page.
"There was no need for that," Draco says, holding up his wand. He waves it, and glowing, red letters appear in the air.
Hermione studies the letters. "Lord Vol—"
"Don't say it aloud!" Draco says quickly, cutting her off.
"This is the man who kills us?" she asks.
Draco nods. He watches carefully as her face flickers between fury and sorrow.
"This man killed my mother. And my unborn sister." Her words are raw with grief. She blinks back tears, swiping a hand across her eyes.
Draco tries to digest what she was saying as he replies automatically, "I'm sorry for your loss."
"He tortured my mother. My sister died because of that. Her name was supposed to be Elizabeth. I chose it," she continues quietly.
Rage, unadulterated rage, consumes his every thought. How dare they kill a child? A mother? He knows what it feels like to lose a mother. He wants to wrap his arms around her, comfort her. No. You have to kill her, he reminds himself.
"I doubt that the Dark Lord himself killed them. He usually sends his followers—Death Eaters—to do that," Draco says, trying to sound emotionless.
"It was a man with long, white-blond hair. Like yours."
Draco's blood goes cold. Hair like his. White-blond. It can be only be one person: his father. He feels his stomach plummet. No.
"Do you know him?" Hermione asks upon seeing how his face goes pale.
Draco's heartbeat races. "He… he is my father."
Hermione's face is blank for a moment. She says softly, "You're one of them. A Death Eater." She darts forward and slaps him.
Draco stands there in shock. Then, slowly but firmly, he nods. "I'm a Death Eater."
She slaps him again, breathing heavily. "Are you going to kill me now?" she asks, stepping closer. Her breath is warm on his neck.
"I can't," he says, realizing it's true. "I won't."
"You won't?" Her voice is surprised.
"No. I won't. I won't kill you. I don't care what he says. I won't." He repeats the words "I won't" to himself several times like a chant. It grows louder and more defiant every time.
He won't kill her.
Hermione simply stares at him. "Why not?"
"I can't. Not now," he says, taking deep breaths.
Hermione moves closer and takes his hand, holding his gaze. "Thank you."
He grips her hand as if it is his lifeline and sighs. "I don't want to be a monster."
Draco wonders why he is telling Hermione, a Muggle, this. He watches as her eyes light up with that passion. I will not take that away.
"You don't have to," she says. "Don't."
"I've lived my whole life this way. I can't change it now, Hermione. The time for change has long passed."
"You can always change who you are." She fixes him with her intense gaze. "No one can take that power from you."
"Why do you care so much?" he whispers. "You hated me."
She closes her eyes as if she is unsure. "I can't hate you."
"I can't kill you."
She tightens her grip in his hand, her fingers running over all the callouses. Draco lets out a small gasp as he feels a spark fly between them. He wants to lean closer, to touch her cheek, hold it, pull her closer. No. She's a Muggle.
"Do you feel it too?" she asks, her voice full of wonder.
Draco looks up. "Feel what?" But he already knows the answer.
"That spark," she says, her voice the softest of whispers. The feeling of her breath on his neck sends a tingle down his spine, urges his heart into a racing beat.
"I do."
He feels it, too.
"What is it?" she asks, holding back a wince at how ignorant she sounds.
"I don't know."
"I think…" She trails off. How foolish she is to think that what they're feeling is love. It can't be.
"You think?" He sounds only a tiny bit amused.
She meets his eyes hesitantly, trying to get rid of her blush. "I think… no, we just met. It can't be love."
"I think so, too."
Love. It's such a beautiful thought that he could have that.
He leans forward ever so slowly and cups her cheek in his hand. He pushes her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear, loving how she feels under his fingers.
Holding his breath, he closes the space between them, placing his lips on hers.
This is the best moment in his life. They break apart, staring at each other.
"I think… I think I love you."
Hermione is sure this is the biggest smile to ever grace her lips.
"I think I love you, too."
Two months.
That's how long it's been since he first met her. First met the angel of his dreams.
And now, he's going to lose her.
"Come in, Draco."
Draco walked into his father's study, keeping his head down. "You called for me?"
Lucius turned to face him, resting his chin on interlocked fingers. "Dobkey's been telling me of your… outings." His lip curled in a sneer.
"What about them?" Draco was afraid of the answer.
"You've been seeing… a Muggle." In a flash, Lucius is up and right in front of Draco. His eyes are glowing with anger.
"Father—"
"How dare you associate with that filth? And involved in a relationship, no less!" Lucius growled. He grabbed Draco's arm.
"I won't let you hurt her," Draco said.
Lucius bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Oh, but I already have, Draco." He pulled out his wand, waving it in a complex manner and muttered a spell under his breath. Translucent walls sprang up around Draco, encasing him in a somewhat sphere.
No matter how much Draco hit and kicked the walls, he was unable to move through them—the only thing he was able to do was speak. He watched as his father snapped his fingers, calling for Dobkey.
"Master," the house-elf murmured, bowing.
"Tell them to bring the girl."
Draco's blood seemed to freeze, turning into ice. No. They couldn't have Hermione.
A few moments later, the door was swung open, revealing Rodolphus Lestrange. Bellatrix Lestrange followed him, dragging someone behind her.
Hermione. Draco's heart hammered against his chest as he took in her appearance.
Hermione's eyes flickered open, showing only the tiniest sliver of that warm chocolate brown. Her hair was disheveled, a tangled mess. Tear stains marked her face, barely visible over the bruises and cuts that littered her beautiful face. Her lip was cut, blood trickling from the side of her mouth. She stared up at him, her eyes, once so full of hope and determination, were showing fear and disbelief.
"No," Draco whispered, his voice full of horror. "No." This time, he screamed it.
The Death Eaters laughed. Bellatrix winked at him as she sauntered forward. She stuck one hand through the barrier with a smug grin and lifted his chin with a single finger. "My, my, Draco. How did you ever get the idea that you could hide her?"
"You hag," he hissed, spitting at her face. He hit the barrier again, roaring with frustration when he couldn't touch her.
Bellatrix contorted into a sneer as she slapped him. The sting still remained on his cheek when she spoke. "We always find out."
Lucius kicked Hermione onto her side so that he could have a look at her face. "I suppose she's pretty enough," he said, shrugging.
"Don't kill her. Please. Take me instead," Draco said, fighting back tears. He had to be strong for Hermione.
She is going to die.
Hermione watched through watery eyes as Draco begged them—the Death Eaters—to not hurt her. A fat tear rolled down her cheek, falling with a small splash onto the rug. The salty taste of blood filled her mouth.
Bellatrix smirked. She pulled out her stick—a wand—and muttered something under breath.
Hermione was attacked by a sudden jolt of agony, and she screamed. It felt like fire had replaced the blood in her veins, like her skin was getting pricked by thousands of needles that charged relentlessly. Her head was filled with pain, pain that never stopped. She screamed again, screwing her eyes shut.
Bellatrix waved her wand, and the searing pain came to a stop. Hermione took deep breaths, trying to slow down her heart. The pain was still there, but only a small tingle now.
It's all going to end.
Draco watched as Hermione's eyes flickered open. "I love you," he whispered, hoping she could hear him. She answered with a slight nod.
"Enough, Bellatrix," Lucius said. "Don't play with the scum for too long. We don't want her to die yet, do we?"
Bellatrix gave him a mock pout before turning to her husband with a twisted grin on her face. "No, we don't."
Rodolphus hefted Hermione onto his shoulder, ignoring her flinch. "Let's go."
Lucius removed the spell and pulled Draco behind him, dragging him down the stairs. Draco kicked and screamed, writhing in his grasp, but Lucius was too strong. "This is what happens when you dare to defy the Dark Lord," he hissed in his ear.
Draco met Hermione's desperate gaze. He offered her a weak smile. "We'll get through this," he mouthed to her. She nodded and managed to smile.
Death is waiting for them.
They Apparated as soon as they had left the Manor, arriving at the outskirts of a Muggle village.
When they found their way to a row of shops, two burly Muggle men were waiting for them, torches in their hands. They exchanged grins when they saw Hermione and Draco.
"Are these the filth?" the one on the right said.
Bellatrix was clearly trying very hard to resist the urge to pull out her wand and curse the Muggles. "Yes, they are," she said through gritted teeth.
Rodolphus dumped Hermione onto the ground in an unceremonious heap. Lucius pushed Draco forward.
Draco lunged for Hermione and hugged her tightly, his tears mixing with hers. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"I love you," Hermione said, leaning her head against his chest.
"Aren't they adorable?" the Muggle on the left said, his voice mocking. He pulled them up roughly.
"What are they going to do to us?" Hermione whispered.
They were taken to what Draco assumed to be the town square. A crowd of Muggles milled around, excited murmurs filling the air. When they spotted Draco and Hermione, they began to jeer at them, eyes flashing with hostility.
The two Muggle men tied them to a stake. The rope cut into their skin, drawing blood. Hermione winced and closed her eyes.
Draco's eyes are fixed on Hermione. He longs to hold her, to tell her everything will be alright. But it won't be. It will never be.
"Hermione," he whispers. She turns to face him. He can tell she is holding back tears.
"Draco."
He wonders if this the last time he'll hear his name on her lips.
"Hermione, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."
She manages to smile that heavenly smile, the one that gives him hope. "I know."
Hermione can feel her heart pounding against her chest. Everything is blurry—everything except Draco.
She fights back her tears, determined not to cry. She has been fighting for Draco for what seems like an eternity, and she will not let them break her now. She has to keep fighting for him.
"Stay strong, Draco," she whispers.
Draco gives her a half smile. "I should be the one saying that."
"Roles switch in desperate times."
For a moment, one short, blissful moment, she thinks that everything will be alright. Then that moment disappears, leaving her with that hopelessness once more.
Draco laughs—a short, hacking, almost-cough. "True."
They watch as the Muggles approach them with the torches, and finally, they realize that there is hay surrounding them in a taunting circle.
They struggle to free themselves from the ropes, but it is useless.
Hermione cries, and Draco tries to comfort her. He wonders if she recognizes any of the people about to kill them; he can only imagine how much harder this must be for her. He stretches out his hand, and, just barely, their fingers touch. Hermione pulls on his fingers, interlocking them with her own. His arm aches, having stretched it out as far as he could to reach Hermione, but he barely notices, content in just having that bit of contact between them.
They will die together. Stay together forever.
The Muggle holds the torch tantalizingly close to the hay. He glances up at them and smiles, baring his teeth. The crowd cheers.
"Death to magic!"
Then he drops the torch.
The fire rises higher and higher. It draws closer and closer, flickering between shades of red, orange, and yellow. It sizzles and sparks, ready to claim the lives before them. It is like a towering giant.
Draco and Hermione can hear nothing, see nothing. Except each other.
"I love you, Draco." So soft.
"I love you, Hermione." So full of passion.
The flames swallow them up as they smile one last time, eyes locked. Silver and brown. The queen and the dragon meet in one last kiss.
Their last words will always remain.
Forever.