Demons
Inspiration: Demons – Imagine Dragons (I recommend you listen to it while reading. It's an absolutely beautiful song)
Rating: MA
Warnings: Mild profanity, explicit sexual situations, minor character death
Beta: Thank you to my wonderful beta Alexandria Roth that I managed to find on Tumblr
DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling owns all entities associated with Harry Potter and this fanfiction is in no way making a profit for myself personally.
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Chapter 1: White
It wasn't supposed to feel so heartbreaking. This wasn't the way it was meant to be. As if a part of himself was ripped away. He wasn't meant to feel. He never wanted to feel.
But it happened. And it hurt like fucking fire. It was kind of ironic. He'd burnt all the people who'd gotten too close and now he was burning on the inside. The fire within him was destroying him, tiny flakes of charred mess falling to the floor.
And despite the fact that it felt like he was being torn apart from the very seams, he wouldn't have traded what had happened for his fucking short life.
He gave one last look at the dilapidated house in which he'd bore resident to only for a night and thought of the witches and wizards whom he'd accompanied for months.
This was inevitable – the leaving. He couldn't pretend anymore. And it was time to tell this story from the very beginning.
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Draco haggardly walked through the rough terrain of the forest like a marathon runner at the end of his laps, constantly checking behind him, senses on high alert as branches whipped past him, snagging his clothes and breaking his weak skin. He hissed harshly as the stabbing in his gut returned through the haze of pain potions, mind dazed from the drugs – that or the Cruciatus curse.
He didn't know anymore. He could barely tell where he was walking.
The harsh branches whipped through the pathetic scraps of weak fabric that lined his body. Devouring tendrils of vines curled like taunting snakes with a venomous bite around him in tenacity. He was a beast trapped in a cage. The dappled rays of the weary sun stole through the thick forest, lighting a dim path lined with distastefully white tulips that sprang from the slithering forest floor. He paused, breath as harsh as a lion while his wounds trickled violent crimson red blood. A single drop of scarlet water fell, suspended in air for a moment, before inevitably plummeting to a pristine white tulip's petal. The scarlet pierced the thin fabric of nature's petal before falling and returning to the earth but the faint outline of what used to be his blood's path now marred the once immaculate and untouched blossoming envision.
One could never wash away the tainted hands that touched the beast.
His ears detected a low rustle of branches to his left and he furrowed his brows in manic confusion, nostrils flared with fiery fiend. They would've killed him with a spell if they were within earshot. But they couldn't be. He'd made sure. He'd made that it would take a day at the least to track him down. Track him fucking down and steal the light from his very eyes.
If they'd found him already. He was the walking dead.
The numbing anxiety wrapped around him like a scarf and pressed down on his shoulders with the weight of death, life, time and eternity.
There was no point in running when he was going to die in the end anyway. Yet that animalistic instinct that forced him into survival refused to let him give in and the hard reality of truth was pushed aside, behind guilt and self-loathing.
His head hesitantly turned to the source of the noise and found a slit of dreadfully pure white disappearing in the long grass beyond the forest – a rabbit. A rabbit with porcelain white innocent fur that shone like diamonds. He breathed a shaky sigh of hazy relief – the brief panic filled moment that had choked his heart dispersing momentarily. His breath condensed in the below freezing temperature and Draco Malfoy clad only in destroyed jeans and a torn plain black sweater over what used to be a crisp white oxford shirt stained with crusted blood was stumbling around with numb limbs and a choking weight of restlessness on his chest.
Draco's hands shook, frozen around his wand, his gaze venturing beyond the creature of purest white in the grass to find a miniature cottage in the open meadow.
With chattering teeth, he walked to what looked to be an abandoned cottage with peeling white paint and shattered windows. It would be shelter for the night – from the stark white snow and frigid cold that invaded the evening air as the sun's rays began to retreat behind the horizon, darkness readying itself to steal the earth.
He would have to leave in the morning to keep running. He would never be able to stop running. They would always be on his trail. Like a pack of wolves with the scent of his blood on their nostrils.
But for one night he would have a bed to rest his throbbing mind and deadly injuries from dark curses and hope that the white oblivion of sleep would be forgiving. The distant drumming of a headache echoed distinctly in his mind, strong as a castanet of a Spanish dance – seductive, animalistic.
He staggered out of the cover of the dense forest and into the open meadow of long grass that reached his knees.
Draco walked as fast as his body would allow him to, pain radiating from the fresh wounds on his limbs paired with what felt like thin knifes piercing through his abdomen – a bloodlust of fiery vengeance. It might just be a few broken ribs or it might be a fucking curse. He had absolutely no clue as blood seeped through his clothing; unforgiving.
With a trembling hand he approached the creaking porch step that sounded like a wounded animal before gruffly turning the rusted brass doorknob and pushing open the damp, mouldy wood.
Draco squinted in the darkness of the hallway for a hesitating moment before fatigue stole his wariness and he began walking forwards towards where an eerie white light flickered in the distance, fighting against the encroaching night that threatened the white brilliance of day.
He gravitated to the faint light that seemed to exude warmth, biting his lip painfully to keep his teeth from chattering. He was too far from reality to notice a faint chattering in the distance, his brain refusing to question why there was a light in a supposedly abandoned cottage.
He staggered into the room lit by the dying sun's rays and a fireplace that roared like a fire and froze in complete shock, the clockwork of his brain refusing to turn in realisation.
The inhabitants of the room watched him with widened eyes as they observed one another for a moment in astonishment, movements halted in their place, time ticking to a halt.
The faces of Dean Thomas, Nymphadora Tonks and Hermione Granger were illuminated by the burning fire, all with mouths open to form perfect 'o's.
There was a moment when none of them moved, Draco's wand still in his hand but now hanging limply, arm dropped to his side without even the thought of defending himself.
And then all of a sudden, it was as if something in their minds clicked in place from the pressure of War. And chaos ensued.
He was mildly aware of the people in the room all standing up at once with wands drawn before they lunged at him with practiced athleticism and dexterity, knocking his wand out of his hand as he landed with a groan on an arm he'd only just discovered to be broken. And before Draco could even struggle, bodies converged on him with mesmerising agility until finally a white spell hit him in the temple. He saw darkness and the clear sheer brilliance of white.
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The first thought that came to his mind when he woke up was where his wand was. Panicking with white terror, he tugged at the coarse rope that was binding his wrists behind his back and looped around his ankles to the point in which he was losing sensation in his toes. Attempting to stand up on his own, he stumbled wildly before collapsing again into the rickety old chair. Dread filled him as he found himself defenceless and restrained.
Breathing harshly through his nose, he forced the unforgiving emotions down, reverting back to a calm façade. He noted the fact that he was no longer experiencing any pain, only the weary throbbing in his mind as an after effect of the Cruciatus that nobody could remove. They'd either healed him or given him a very strong pain potion.
Footsteps approached the room in which he was currently tied to, the fireplace still flickering in the corner.
"Come on, Luna. Just walk a little faster," a male voice urged.
"You try carrying a child, Mister," the ethereal, demanding voice of Luna Lovegood floated to his ears.
He immediately stopped struggling at his bindings and continued pretending to still be completely out of it. Draco assumed he'd only blacked-out for a minute or so as they were only just ushering a pregnant Lovegood into the room.
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Hermione took in a deep shuddering breath before stepping behind Luna, still concealed in the darkness of the hallway. It was time for a performance, she told herself calmly. Get the information out of him. That's all. It's time to give them a show.
And with that, she stowed away the emotions behind a numb exterior and conjured fake anxiety, fear and anger in a mask of perfection.
Nobody knew but her. Nobody knew that all the emotions she showed weren't real. Nobody knew.
Everybody only knew the innocent, anxious Hermione they all saw in school.
They just needed to get information out of him. One job – that was all. This was War. There was no room for waste and no room for weakness. And she simply refused to be the weakest link in the team.
She stepped out calmly in the light as her face morphed into calculated disgust.
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"What should we do with him?" The anxious voice of an innocent Hermione Granger spoke. He could recognise that voice anywhere.
"He made no attempt at harming us even when he was armed," Tonks said soothingly.
"Well he wouldn't. He was greatly out-numbered not to mention badly injured," Hermione protested.
"What I want to know was how he got those injuries. Someone obviously put up a fight against him. I bet he was trying to convert them. The bastard," said a voice in which Draco assumed to be Dean Thomas.
"How did he find us in the first place? The wards should've kept him out. He can't have brought them down on his own," Hermione worried and Draco watched intently at her still hands, too still.
"The wards are protected against people who mean ill intent," Tonks responded curiously.
"Then why is he here?"
"Accident, I suppose," the vibrant haired witch shrugged.
"It's got to be some sick joke of You-Know-Who's," Hermione hissed.
He frowned to himself. Why would such strong fighters like these be referring to the Dark Lord with that ridiculous name? Especially Granger. She was the most stubborn witch he'd ever met. She would never―
Ah yes, the taboo.
"But how would he have gotten through the wards if he was still on You-Know-Who's side?"
"We should check the Wards. It's meant to be impossible."
"He did have a wand. You think he broke them?"
"I told you. It's impossible. No one can bring down the Wards alone."
"Then how did he do it?"
"Maybe you can ask Draco yourself," a soft delicate voice whispered. "He's been awake for some time now."
Draco rolled his eyes at the observant witch who was most evidently a little mad. She was perceptive at the least.
Feeling the sharp, attentive gaze of the occupiers of the room, he reluctantly opened his eyes to shoot a glare at the dirty blonde witch with a swollen stomach.
His eyes travelled from one face to the other, each with varying familiarity before finally landing on a frowning Hermione Granger standing rigidly beside a chair in a crinkled white shirt marred with tiny flecks of dried blood. With scornfully raised eyebrows, he observed her intently, smirking slightly at a blossoming purple bruise on her jaw in which she must've acquired from him in the blazing limbs of chaos earlier.
She studied him back with a lilting gaze, rosy pink lips to form a sneer of disgust that trembled from the pressure of holding it. "Explain," she demanded, roughly.
He continued directing his gaze towards her, eyes a pale stormy grey that seemed to glisten with unshed rain and cackle with pent up electricity. She refused to flinch as his eyes searched her face for a crack in her mask, silver orbs penetratingly clear.
"I said, talk!" Hermione commanded, stepping forwards with mock irritation in the hope of a distraction for him as panic swept over her after he'd stared at her for far longer than necessary.
Draco scoffed to himself and ignored the fact that her emotions seemed too smooth, too perfect.
"For god's sake, Malfoy. EXPLAIN," she yelled, gaining confidence that her façade was working. She was an expert on this after all. And yet each and every time someone stared at her for too long or whenever she met someone knew she would be gripped with the abhorred anxiety and panic of discovery.
Her eyes focused back on the insolent wizard that refused to speak; his lips still decisively shut as her cracking impatience radiated off of her in waves.
The others in the room grumbled, fuming at his lack of speech. He resisted the urge to grin at their extremities in emotion. Emotions were so fickle, especially at a time like this.
"I say we get rid of him," an aggressive Thomas bit contemptuously.
"We could get information out of him!" Hermione protested, pushing back to her original cause. "Besides, he's no danger right now. He's unarmed and bound."
He forced himself to ignore the fact that they were speaking of him as if he were an animal behind glass.
"Look at him! He's most definitely not talking."
"It wouldn't harm us to keep him around for a little longer to see what we can get," she objected despite how uneasy he made her feel. She refused to be the weakest link.
I don't know about that, Granger, he thought to himself. Draco Malfoy was most certainly not a person one would want to keep around for more than a few hours. Because a few hours could be all it took for his demons to catch up to him once more. Nothing, absolutely nothing was safe in his path.
"He's a death eater!"
"And this is War. We've got to take what we can get."
"Hermione, I know we've listened to your decisions on nearly everything so far, but we need to get rid of him. You-Know-Who could already be looking for him."
Oh they were, Draco thought bitterly. Just not in a particularly friendly manner.
"You can't!" She exclaimed.
"Why on earth not? He's putting all of us in danger."
"But this is War; we're all in danger regardless."
"He's not only going to threaten us, but Harry too. Imagine if You-Know-Who found us. Harry would come back here and the Death Eaters would be waiting!"
Draco's eyes lifted at the mention of the famous wizard's name. "I'm still here you know. Where are Potter and Weasley? Surely the Golden Trio aren't separated?"
An unspoken hush fell across the room as all eyes turned back to the platinum blonde with haunting eyes.
"Did he just speak?" Tonks whimpered softly.
"Malfoy," Hermione demanded in a vehement hiss that reflected how she was feeling inside. "How did you get through the wards?"
He cocked a brow, lips pursed shut once again.
Hermione groaned loudly in frustration as her inner-self stammered. "We're not going to tell you a single thing about Harry so how about you quit that unnerving thing where you just stare at us. How, Malfoy? Tell us."
Draco rolled his eyes at the stubborn witch whose voice was grating on his senses aggravatingly. "Why would I?" His voice was hoarse from dehydration and terribly soft but she heard it in the deathly silent room.
"Because I need to know," she answered softly, hard brown eyes meeting his in calculated honesty.
"It must be infuriating for you to not know something wouldn't it?" He laughed softly underneath his breath.
"Malfoy," she forced out between clenched teeth. "You're lucky we didn't kill you. Tell me how you got through those wards."
"Why?"
"Because," she emphasised. "Because I need to know! I need to know how you got through your wards. Nobody with ill intent can get through them and you obviously do, yet you obviously still got through." Hermione sucked in a deep breath of air. "HOW?"
"You think that for the sake of your own peace of mind is a good reason?" His clear grey orbs met hers once again and she nearly staggered at the force of it, completely forgetting about her performance.
She needed to leave now. Now, before he found out. She was too protective of herself to let anyone else know, let alone the Death Eater.
"MALFOY!" She shouted in faultlessly symmetrical detesting enragement so smooth that even she was amazed by the performance before storming out of the room, slamming the door of the living room shut on her way out.
Dean shrugged with no qualms of guilt. "Now that Hermione's gone, let's get rid of him and make sure the wards never allow him to return."
Draco shot him a glare as the idiot manhandled him up to a standing position, his arms still tied behind his back and ankles bound together.
"Tonks can you help me?"
His wand was the only protection he had from his demons; the hunters. No way in bloody hell was he going out there without his wand. No fucking way. The snowy blonde jerked away before stumbling into the arms of his relative, cursing underneath his breath.
"You can't make him leave," Nymphadora Tonks murmured.
"What?" Dean replied in surprise.
"You can't. I don't care if he's a death eater, he's still my cousin. He's defenceless. He has no wand. Can't we just see what else he can tell us?"
Draco had been in the ranks long enough to know the basics of the Order's strategy. In each Order base group, there was always at least one adult. Their caregiver. This was a rather minor base group but Harry Potter was important enough to guarantee a qualified Auror. And nobody defied their caregiver. Despite what stupid decisions they made like this one.
It was as if Draco was the only one who knew his true threat. Everybody else was just too blind to see the fire that followed him like a demon.
"Tonks," Dean tried to reason.
"No. We're keeping him for a little longer. Unbind him but make sure he doesn't find his wand."
"Come on, Tonks. He's dangerous!"
"Quiet, Dean. He can't do any harm without his wand," the elder witch berated.
"What if he tries to contact You-Know-Who? He could give away our position."
Draco scoffed to himself. There was no way he was willingly going to contact that bastard.
"He can't. The wards, remember? Nobody can reach us unless it's by patronus and I certainly don't believe the Death Eaters have enough joy to create one."
"He's already brought down the wards once, who says he can't do it again?"
The blonde Slytherin practically groaned at the absolute fucking stupidity of this Gryffindor. This idiot should've died long before.
"He doesn't have a wand, Thomas," Tonks practically shouted in exasperation. Apparently the two relatives agreed on at least one thing. "Don't try to talk me out of it. Malfoy could be valuable."
Grumbling fervently like a rabid beast, he moved to Draco and began using his wand to sever the rope roughly. Scarlet blood leaked through rough gashes of skin from the unhandy work, flowing out to drop onto the moulded wood of the floor or to seep into his already blood-crusted clothes.
"Take him to a bedroom, Thomas. He must be freezing," the witch said tiredly, sinking into the exposed foam of the sofa. "And make sure he doesn't find his wand."
The Slytherin flinched at the contact as Dean dragged the ragged wizard through a hallway of creaking floorboards to a room with a single mattress laid haphazardly in the middle of the room.
He resisted the urge to make a remark at the state of their living, instead, remaining resolutely silent, waiting for the door to shut behind the dense Gryffindor before collapsing into the cushioning surface of the mattress in exhaustion.
His shoulders trembled painfully as the sudden severity of the situation welled up once again. The striking emotion and the absolute dreaded terror. He knew that death was coming to him. Draco Malfoy fucking knew. And he was helpless to it all.
It was all his fucking fault. He had to disregard orders didn't he? He had to have morals. He had to set the white innocent free. And all at his fucking own cost.
All he had to do was keep an eye on them. That was all. And even he screwed that up.
And now the torturous screams of the innocent slaughtered before his very eyes mingled with his own in deadly harmony.
He fucking had to let the emotions conquer him for that moment didn't he? Just like what he was doing now.
Draco found a flimsy jar filled with porcelain white ribbons and threw it violently against the wall with shaking hands, now definitely not shaking from the cold but instead with white hot rage.
Several shards of glass were embedded into the weak plaster walls and he found himself feeling as if it wasn't enough so he found another jar and threw it.
And another.
And another.
And a lamp.
"Are you mad?" The angry voice of a calculated livid Hermione Granger seethed furiously, wrenching the door open. It was time for another try after she'd disappointed herself in the living room earlier. Hermione had spent the last half hour picking apart his words and his movements until she was positively certain that he'd known nothing about her show at all. She would not be the weakest link.
"Just let me go," he hissed, hands trembling as he attempted to steady himself.
"How do we know you're not a spy?"
"If I were a spy, letting me go would be the reasonable thing to do."
She carefully narrowed her eyes at the wizard with dishevelled snowy white hair, skin as pale as the moon and rosy lips that seemed to quiver just the slightest as he breathed in harshly. "We can't just let a spy of You-Know-Who's go. You could give us valuable information."
Draco nearly walked up to shake her. Everyone here seemed so fucking hell-bent on getting information out him. "Ask me if I want a death wish."
"Shut it, Malfoy."
"What makes you think I'm a spy in the first place?"
Hermione furrowed her brows slightly in correct and unflawed confusion, mirroring exactly what she'd been doing earlier in the evening. "What else would you be?"
He shrugged, shaking off the eerie vibe the witch before him gave off. It was as if she was under the imperius – every single emotion was immaculately clean with no raw edges. "What if I told you? You wouldn't believe me anyway."
"That's for me to decide."
"I disgust you."
She raised an eyebrow at the turn of conversation. She wasn't expecting this. She was expecting a few protests to her requests on information and that would be all. She hadn't prepared for this. Hermione took in a deep breath of air and focused on what she knew best – Hogwarts. "You were never this serious about anything at Hogwarts."
"We're not at Hogwarts anymore, Granger."
She nodded. "I understand. You're still the same rude, arrogant bastard from school though."
"We're 19, Granger. Fucking nineteen. This War has been going on for two fucking years. I think you should forget about Hogwarts and remember the disgusting things that I've done."
"I disgust you, don't I?" She chuckled to herself and it seemed as if a small part of her bitter self was trying to escape. "Not because of what I've done but because of who I am."
"Same thing," he breathed.
Hermione shook her head harshly, a lose thread of proper raw emotion breaking through before being tightly sealed away. "No. You had a choice to become who you are today in this War; I never did."
His eyes focused steadily on hers with deadly electricity. "Do you think I had a choice in this? Does it look like had a choice in this? BECAUSE I DIDN'T."
Hermione sucked in a deep breath as a pained expression stole her face, a small grin of satisfaction haunting her lips at his confession before she stowed it away, filing it for later use. "I―" She stammered echoing the perfect child.
"You don't trust me," he cut in.
She smiled ruefully. "True."
"Good," he said, softly. "You shouldn't."
She watched him intently with unmasked curious eyes that betrayed their distrust but curious nevertheless. Her shining eyes seemed almost like rich deep amber in the flickering light of the broken lamp that lay trashed on the floor.
"You should let me leave," he spoke, deathly soft like a trickling of fingers on ivory white piano keys.
"Sure," Hermione said noncommittally. "Go ahead."
"Not without my wand," Draco clarified.
She scoffed, eyes rising in tantalising mirth. "Fat chance."
"If you're forcing me to stay, you should dig me a grave too."
"Don't be so melodramatic," Hermione breathed, ignoring his piercingly acute gaze that seemed to slice through her pretence.
He gazed at her in all seriousness, eyes flickering from their natural pale silver with the same consistency as mercury to hard slate. "No, Granger. You should dig me a literal grave. And add four extra for yourselves."
Hermione rolled her eyes, paying no attention to the eerie feeling that was rippling off of him in waves and instead focused on the fact that she could feel her walls cracking already even though the conversation had only lasted a few minutes. She moved hastily to the door before he could detect a change and just as she was shutting it he spoke again.
"The lights are fading, Granger. My lights."
She looked back hesitantly at the tall unyielding young man that stood trembling in the room before the door clicked shut once more.
Hermione breathed a deep sigh of relief as she left; the innocent Hermione slipping away as her face crumpled in exertion.
She didn't understand why it was so hard to keep up the emotions when talking to him.
Maybe it was because he was so hot-blooded. He simply demanded a newly made emotion every second and she simply couldn't keep up.
With a huff of breath, Hermione walked back into her room. The only time emotions stole her was when she was fighting and yet the real curiosity seemed to emerge as she spoke to him.
She shook away her niggling anxiousness of him shredding her mask into pieces and replaced with cool calculated information. She was to get the information out of him. And information she would get. She simply refused to be the weakest link.
It was time to give him a show, Hermione thought as she slipped into the stiff mattress, darkness stealing the overpowering bright white light of real raw emotion.
And all the while, Luna was still there in the living room from when she had been herded in earlier in the evening. Nobody noticed her but she noticed them. She noticed Draco – noticed the pale faced man with ivory skin and snowy white hair stained with the rosy lips of blood. And she noticed Hermione – the creamy skin so smooth and flawless that it covered everything behind it.
AN. And yep, here it is. After nearly 2 months of nipping at the first 10,000 words of this story, I've finally gotten the courage to begin posting. All feedback is appreciated and I would love to know what you think. You probably know what a good review does right? It makes you feel all warm and bubbly inside (:
Have a wonderful day!