Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc belongs to JKR
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"What are you doing here?"
It could have been the light but something in her voice seemed to make him flinch.
"I needed to see you."
"This really isn't the time, Malfoy."
He frowned.
"It never is with us, Granger. I just… needed someone to talk to."
Something about it wasn't right. He was pale (paler than usual), his voice paper thin and all the while his eyes couldn't stay still, roving over her face and then back where he came from then up to the sky, gleaming bright in the light of stars and moon and church candles. He was scared and he wasn't trying to hide it.
"What's happened?"
"Nothing. Not yet."
That was all the answer she was going to get. Rocking back on the balls of her feet she said wearily, "You know Harry is here. If he sees you there'll be nothing I can do."
"I know."
Of course he did, sometimes she wondered if that was half the reason he did it. But then, he wasn't really one to enjoy courting danger (in so many ways unlike Harry).
"What are they doing in there?" he asked suddenly, ignoring her eyes on him, he'd been staring through the great glass window by which she stood.
"Worshipping, I suppose. It's a cathedral, Malfoy. At Christmas that's what people tend to do."
He blinked in something akin to alarm and she thought that maybe he'd forgotten what day it was. He was like this more and more these days, out of sync with the rest of them, in another world, perhaps (escaping).
"And why are you here, Granger? You never struck me as the worshipping type."
"I'm standing guard."
He grinned like a skull, "Ever the lioness, eh?"
She just looked at him, "Someone has to do it."
"Yes, and whenever you're involved that someone has to be you."
"No need to be snide."
"There's no need for you to stand guard, and yet you do it. You have yours and I'll have mine."
"They're anticipating an attack, there's every need to stand guard."
He just turned his head haughtily, while she watched and wondered with a slight frown what would happen next.
"Why are you really here?"
He smirked but didn't answer.
"You knew we were here didn't you?"
He looked like he might laugh, but she could see the muscles in his neck taut, he was breaking down (ready to snap).
Her frown deepened, they wouldn't send him, would they?
It was midnight mass at St Paul's Cathedral, hundreds of people were indoors singing carols and holding candles while outside she sat up alongside its great dome, overlooking the Thames and watching for any sign of danger. Harry should be somewhere below, with Ron, Ginny and a handful of others.
Ron had complained at the waste it seemed, to spend their Christmas outside some muggle church in the cold at the vaguest of chances that there might be an attack, but as she'd tried to explain, an attack on such a large congregation at this time of year, in this city would probably be viewed by the muggles as an act of war. The last thing they needed was World War Three breaking out as muggles misinterpreted Voldemort's sport to be an attack on a major world faith.
"I haven't come to set fire to your church, Granger."
She looked up, he sounded so tired, so heavy and aching and utterly exposed that she almost hugged him, but his next words stayed her.
"They found out, Granger. They're coming after me. He's coming after me."
Her eyes bulged as she stared at him. Somewhere below the congregation began to sing.
"But- how? What? Who-"
"Snape. It was Snape."
It was always Snape. She should have let Harry kill him when he had the chance.
"I think, I think my father-"
"No." She stepped towards him, shaking her head, horror-struck but needing somehow to comfort him. He flinched as she laid her hand on his arm. She drew it back.
"Why did you come here?" she asked it again, but this time her voice was soft, "You should be in hiding…"
His was ragged. "There's nowhere to hide, Granger. He sees, he knows- Everything, Granger. Anywhere. He'd find me anywhere."
"He's not all powerful, Malfoy. He's just a man. Just a fragment of a man."
"He's got no soul, Granger. He doesn't feel pain, or fear or, or anything. Just bitterness. He's- he's cruel."
She wanted to laugh then, laugh at the fear and passion and raw, blinding emotion he threw into that pathetic understatement.
"He's evil, Malfoy, just try and remember that evil never wins."
He looked at her through an unwashed blond fringe, catching the light from the cathedral window like a halo, "Did your mother tell you that?" Distain masked pain and something that could almost pass as the affection with which you'd deal with a naïve child, "I'd hate to have to tell you she was wrong."
She smiled. "You're a filthy liar, Draco Malfoy. You relish each and every opportunity to insult other people's mothers."
"Perhaps," he laughed.
There was a tense silence while the church warbled on below them.
"Promise me you'll hide?"
"What?" Her head snapped up to look at him.
"When they come," he wasn't meeting her eyes, "When they come, promise me you won't let them see you."
"What- 'When they come'?" she couldn't stop the higher pitch of almost-horror that seeped into her voice, "They're not coming, Draco. They won't know where you are!"
"He'll find me. He always does."
"You're being stupid. Who'd think to follow you here?" But then she looked at his arm and the shadow of a brand beneath his thin white shirt. He must be cold. "The mark…" it dawned on her as she shook her head, "He wouldn't. Couldn't."
"He does. He can read minds. He controls us."
She looked at him blankly. "Willing pawns," she murmured with a sigh.
"Puppets," he corrected.
She just looked at him, face passive and eyes dark. "I'd hate to say I told you so."
At that he snorted. "Liar."
"Perhaps."
In the lull that followed she watched the light clinging to the angles of his face remembering vaguely their distant past.
"You know… the first time I saw you I thought you were an angel." He looked up at her shocked, "Back at the sorting, in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with the sky and all those candles. You were beautiful." She laughed. "That was until you opened your mouth."
Looking back at his hands he laughed too, but didn't apologise (but then, she never really expected him to).
"You cold?" she asked.
"Only a litt-"
The sound of a gunshot ricocheted off the walls.
Then another.
Then another.
Silence and then, "Fuck." His voice was painfully tight,
She turned to look at him, not feeling real as she felt the cold fear spreading through her limbs like liquid poison. His eyes were wide and she could see the cords in his neck tightening while he pressed himself against the wall.
"Fuck… You have to go. Fuck, Granger. Leave. Now." His eyes were wild. Somewhere there were footsteps.
And she was running, staggering, tripping over her feet to dive behind a column, all the while wondering what she was doing. She should be with him, fighting, holding him, not running away like a scared animal.
The footsteps stopped.
"Draco." The voice was calm and she was so afraid. Forcing herself to mask her heavy breathing she realised in horror that she had a clear view in the blocked out window before her of their reflections. Two figures in black. One boy in white. She wanted to cry, it was almost ironic. (There was a third figure too, beyond the others. Darker.)
"You know why we're here."
He was staggering back, into the wall. Scared. Like a spooked rabbit - paralysed. (White like a rabbit, too. Had she fallen after him? (Like Alice.) Her heart was beating so hard.) (But then why had she hidden?)
"Our Lord doesn't take well to traitors."
She wanted to cry as he fumbled for his wand but didn't even have time to raise it before he was disarmed. (If she'd fallen she'd be fighting. That's what you did for people you cared for. She fought for Harry. She fought for Ron. Over these past months she'd begun to believe that she'd fight for him too.) (Misled.)
"If he can't rely on your willing obedience, Draco, it looks like he will have to take it from you by force."
Her hammering heart slammed to a halt as he threw himself backwards, colliding hard all the same with that searing jet of blue light. ("Imperio.")
"Stop," barked the voice, commanding.
He stopped.
In mid air.
The haunting voices of the congregation washed over her like cold fog. Eyes wide she could feel her heart beating hard against the frozen cage of her ribs. Her fingers were shaking and her heart was hammering and she thought if she opened her mouth to breathe now she'd start crying and never stop. He just hung there, limp; like a puppet.
"Stand," hissed the voice, laced with malice.
He stood.
Her eyes were brimming with tears but she stopped the sob before left her lips. Half choking she huddled back against the column, hating him so much for leaving her there. Her vision was blurred but by the weak light from the doors she could almost see the invisible strings by which he was controlled. (Imperio. It froze her heart as it froze his limbs. He never even reached the floor.)
"Bow."
In the window she saw his figure bend. Her chest heaved as she drew in an almighty breath. There should have been no feeling in that voice. Apathy. That was what they feared, wasn't it? And enemy with no conscience, no regard for morals or life? But this wasn't apathy, this was cruel and petty and bitter.
"Apologise."
She felt her hand almost move towards her pocket then, she almost drew her wand, almost leapt out and killed the both of them with her foolishness, just to save herself from hearing him grovel to that masked monster.
"I am sorry, Father."
Her hand dropped.
Father?
Squinting hopelessly into the glass she wondered how he could tell, then kicked herself for not recognising the voice and then almost wept for fear of what might happen to him now. Without his father's protection he was nothing. (Just a child.) ("You've got a lot of growing up to do, Draco Malfoy.")
The man was masked and robed, his eyes hidden in shadows from her vantage point behind the column. But… Lucius? His own son?
"Aren't you going to ask 'what for'?"
That voice she did recognise. Catlike and slightly off key, it was Bellatrix. She laughed and Hermione thought her blood might freeze.
If only Harry were here. But no sooner had the thought entered her mind was she quashing it. If Harry were here Draco would be dead. If Harry were here she'd have to choose. If Harry were here… she wasn't ready for that. It made her feel so dirty, so insincere, so… hollow. She shouldn't have been sure whom she'd pick, she shouldn't have known. It should have been the greatest, most heart-rending decision of her life, but even as she watched Draco Malfoy bend to his knees before the incarnations of his nightmares she knew; she'd pick Harry, each and every time. She'd die for Harry, but for Draco she hid behind a pillar of rock, watching his reflection cower (not even looking at him in the flesh).
"It's my turn, Lucius, dear," purred the woman, rocking her hips as she came to stand between the father and son. "Are you ready to play, nephew, darling?"
The voices of the worshipers within seemed to rise up and engulf her as she clutched at her knees, hands fisting in robes as she anticipated the spell to come.
It left the masked lips like a simple breath, hints of a smile lingering on a word too soft to fully hear.
Softly spoken but the burst of light it summoned knocked the breath from her chest, the red beam growing until it filled the entire window save the single writing figure in its midst. She shut her eyes to block out the sight but her lids turned the shade of blood and she heard his screaming, rising over the choir, so high and pained it seemed ready to snap.
Her eyes were closed but she could see him twisting and bucking on the floor, she could hear him cry for mercy as the light intensified and the carollers sung. She could hear Bellatrix laugh and feel the heat of the spell, warm on her cheeks while it ripped him apart with blazing white-hot irons. She heard him scream and wondered how the muggles hadn't heard, how Ron and Harry hadn't come running at the sound, but the organ bellowed with the voices of a thousand people and as she opened her eyes she saw his mouth firmly closed and the light snapped out and he crumpled.
He crumpled and she felt herself fall with him. Shaking he dragged his hand across his face and in the surreal glow from the church windows she saw blood come away with it. Her lungs heaved as it registered; he bit his tongue to stop himself screaming. (He's braver than he looks.) (It was all in her head.)
Pride. There was pride then, and shame at the fact she'd never thought it of him. But it was all too soon lost to fear as Bellatrix fell back, making way for the third to step forward.
"Draco," it hissed.
Voldemort.
Tall and slender and colder than any marble. He wore no mask but as she looked at Him she saw no face, only red sockets and white bone.
("He'll come for me! He won't let me escape, not after what I've done… If He finds me, Granger, I'll die. If He finds me… I… Gods, Granger. I'm so fucking scared.")
His wand was in His hand and she was shaking so much she could barely see the window, barely hear the voices as they spoke and he cowered and He leered and laughed and cast torture like it was an idle slap. (This time the screams were real.)
Her knuckles were tight around her wand as she saw Draco writhe and twist before rising again and kissing robes and begging and pleading while his father, aunt and Lord watched in disgust. Her knuckles were white, her eyes were red, her throat was tearing itself as her heart was a sledgehammer against it and she was rising, stumbling and unseen, falling back to her knees as she rounded the column.
And he was like he had been the first time she'd ever seen him, standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, bathed in the light of a thousand candles. His cheekbones caught the church's glow while his eyes remained in darkness and for a moment he could have been an angel, beautiful against the night. But this angel was fallen and his hair fell in rank locks of sweat and blood around his face. He was crying like she was and she wondered then that they weren't so different, for all his name-calling. Both just children… out of their depth and floundering in a war so much older than either of them.
"Father!"
Lucius flinched but moved no further. Voldemort laughed and hissed something softer than she could hear.
Her world turned green.
And then to black.
There was no sickening crunch, no wail of anguish or sound of tearing flesh. (There was not so much as a whimper, save from her.) The whisper of a voice and then silence. The spell had hit him and he died. (No lightning or choirs of angels, no darkening skies. Just death. And then a thud as he hit the ground.)
Avada Kedavra.
The Dark Lord said the words and he died to them.
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The seconds following became blurred in her mind. She'd staggered out of her hiding place but people were already there. Unmasked people. Her people.
"Harry?"
There'd been a fight, spell fire ricocheting off of stone while she crawled forward to cradle a body forgotten in the midst of it.
"You were here and you just watched?"
Harry just looked at her, jaw tight.
She'd have hated him then, but what right had she?
"Hermione, go back and hide," he said finally, not unkindly, but the implications of his words hit harder than the spell that inspired the command.
("Ever the lioness?") (For Draco Malfoy she'd made the exception.)
Tears bright in the candlelight she crawled back and cried.
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AN: lol – Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
AN II: Oh the melodrama. I wrote this on Christmas Eve but didn't get around to putting it up until now… Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas and a HAPPY NEW YEAR! What did you all do last night? (I was in London –grin- fireworks are fun!)
AN III: lol. Third posting. It's staying up this time methinks. It originally had the words of 'We Three Kings' running through it, but I didn't like that. Anyway, voila!
If you've read it please review it!