Salvation

by H of monini

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own any of the below characters (not even Draco), and accept that they are all J.K. Rowling's.

Summary: He came to me the way the breeze hits you on a hot a summer's day - sudden, unexpected, and gone before you knew it was even there. But you couldn't help but treasure that small moment of relief you got from the fire that burnt around you.

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"We all remember how many religious wars were fought for a religion of love and gentleness; how many bodies were burned alive with the genuinely kind intention of saving souls from the eternal fire of hell"

-Karl Popper

He came to me the way the breeze hits you on a hot a summer's day - sudden, unexpected, and gone before you knew it was even there. But you couldn't help but treasure that small moment of relief you got from the fire that burnt around you.

What do you do when you've already achieved everything you've ever worked for? For seven years I was loyal, the brain of the group, always giving answers, rattling off facts. I spent years learning curses, theory, history trying to jam it all in my head to be able to help at an instant. All of that work just to lead up to one thing. What happens when you've succeeded and conquered? Everyone moves on to live their lives, and you don't even have a life to live because you can't remember one before you began to prepare for the journey.

You never wanted the small tiny bit of fame you got, it was never important. All you wanted was a life, and now you can't even have that. No one needs facts to be rattled off, or to be taught spells and jinxes, or to be counted on to know the history of something. No one needs you anymore. You become obsolete, a piece of history that some small child will be taught one day and forget the next. You start to fade into the darkness, and your name that once meant something no longer means anything to anyone.

What do you do when you've seen horrors beyond your wildest dreams and tragedy at every corner of your battle? You close your eyes, and no matter how hard you concentrate, all you can see are the burned images of torture and slaughter and pain. And you can't help but remember that you once caused pain, you caused suffering, you took a life and it changed you - deformed you. There are some that can forget it - they will themselves to throw a comforting blanket over the fire hot coals of their past, and hope that those memories will never come back to haunt them. They're fools. People don't change. They can't forget.

Some people are driven to the extremes to maybe just one day find that those memories were just a nightmare they've woken up from. They begin to do things they've never done before, things they know subconsciously they shouldn't do. But they get involved anyway. And soon, it becomes less about them trying to forget their past, and more about submerging themselves deeper and deeper, until they can't block out the seductive voices that are calling to them, begging them to never stop. And you realize that you're in too deep to ever pull yourself out again.

That's how he found me. Slumped against a brick building in a dark alley way with some asshole working his hands down as he unbuttoned my shirt ignoring my weak protests to stop. Hazy dark smoke like a cloud around me, arms too weak to push him off, with tiny red dots painting the stark pale surface of the skin.

It had been ages since I had even carried my wand on my person, as I had done for so long in my adolescence - "constant vigilance" I was taught. I just couldn't find a way to form my fingers around the long piece of wood anymore. Every time I'd pick it up I could hear the screams and felt a chill pass through my body, and immediately would drop the wand as though it was on fire. Magic just wasn't an option anymore for me. I didn't let it become one. I was living as a muggle - I certainly took advantage of muggle methods of forgetting one's life.

I heard foot steps coming from one end of the dark opening, but didn't bother to summon up any hope - no one that came through that opening would be lucid enough to help, or even care. How could they? Everyone that came here had their own problems, their own sorrows to wash away. That's why I came. I couldn't help it. I told myself that I'd stop in the beginning, but every time I closed my eyes I heard the sound of his voice begging me to stop, and saw his eyes loose their life, I convinced myself that one more time wouldn't hurt. And now I couldn't stop.

He was almost done unbuttoning the shirt, and I began to stop my weak protests. What was the point anymore? What kind of life was I even living? There was nothing to fight for anymore, no real reason to live. I closed my eyes, ready to accept what would come, imagining his harsh grip on my waist as a lover's gentle caress. That's what everything seemed to come down to anyway. Making reality into some sort of falsehood, pretending everything was okay.

The footsteps became louder, the intruder was approaching us, until the sound of the steps stopped completely. I opened my eyes slowly, waking up from the daze I was in, and saw a tall, pale man stopped in front of us, a hint of something familiar tugging at me as though I should remember. He was just stopped - not making a move to pull the man off of me, just simply staring as though examining a particularly fascinating rare find, face screwed up in some sort of concentration.

What the hell. Was this man my supposed savior? The knight in shining armor that'd stop the man from pulling down my pants as he was doing? This was the man that was sent (by someone above as I'd been told as a child) as my protector? I supposed there really was no reason to hope anymore, to believe in something bigger than me or the man attacking me that controlled the actions of people on this earth.

"Help...please," I whispered quietly, hearing a weak and hoarse voice come out. It seemed to break only the man's reverie, my rapist not hearing a word, not caring about anything but ripping my clothes off of my body violently.

He looked thoughtful for a fleeting moment, maybe wondering if he should get involved, but staring into my eyes he seemed to make up his mind and suddenly grabbed the man's shirt and pulled him off of my almost naked body and pinned him to the wall.

My assailant, too weak to resist the man's strong grip, flailed his arms about until he was too tired to continue making any aggressive movements as he had been doing and slumped to the ground next to me, rendered unconscious by the sudden movements of his already feeble body.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, I realized suddenly how tired I was, how completely exhausted the entire day had rendered me. I closed my eyes again, and tilted my head back against the wall. Suddenly hearing a small cough, I opened my eyes to find the tall man staring down at me with the same calculating expression as before. I found myself staring back into his slate colored eyes, unblinking and focused on him, until he jerked his arm in front of me. There was something so familiar about those eyes. I followed the line of his arm down and found a hand reached out towards me. He expected me to take it so that he could pull me up.

I didn't want to. As much as I didn't want to be next to my attacked when he woke up, I didn't want to be in debt to this man in front of me. I didn't want him to have any expectations. I didn't want to be his "good deed" for the day. I didn't need his pity or a lecture about the way I was living my life. I would have much rather dealt with the man on the ground, despite his obvious danger to me.

He coughed - this time louder and more pronounced, but saw the conflicted emotions in my eyes, and sighed frustratedly, "Get up Granger, the ground is bloody filthy." My eyes snapped open, alarmed. No one had called me by that name in ages.

"Who are you?" I asked in the same quiet whisper. Ignoring me, he bent down and took my hand, and pulled me up before I could even protest. Still holding my hand, he saw the red stained spots on my arm where I had injected myself, and the bruises and cuts I had gotten elsewhere. "What the hell happened to you Granger?" he asked as he rubbed his hands together, trying to rid himself of the dirt he was now covered with.

Feeling a cool breeze, I looked down at my exposed body and bent down quickly to grab the torn clothes, attempting to cover myself as much as I could. I looked up at the man again to find he had stopped watching me, and was looking around the alley with an odd expression on his face.

"Who are you?" I asked again in a stronger voice, this time demanding an answer. He looked back down at me, "You really don't remember? I didn't think you could forget. Merlin, I heard about what had happened to you, but I had no idea it'd be this horrible. Look at you Granger. What the hell happened to you?" he asked again.

Tall form. Pale skin. Long platinum hair that needed to be cut. Slate eyes. "Malfoy." It wasn't a question but a quiet statement. It had been almost five years since I had seen his face and in those five years I couldn't remember even one time I had thought of him. Still, I should have remembered, but something in my mind didn't click. My mind didn't work the way it used to. I didn't need it to. I don't think I wanted it to.

He nodded once at me. "Granger, do you have a place to go?"

"Yes Malfoy," I spat the name, "I do. Who the fuck do you think I am? A bloody heathen?" The anger came back to me easily.

He looked at my filth covered body and face, his eyes traveling down then back up to meet my own. He gave me a knowing smirk, oh how I did remember that smirk of his, but didn't answer my question.

"Do you need help getting there Granger?"

"No you bloody bastard, I can bloody well get myself home." I was glaring at him. Honestly, I didn't know why I was getting so mad, it had been awhile since I had even felt this way - passionate about anything. But there was just something about him - his cool confidence, his easy smirk, his burning eyes that evoked a strange emotion in me. One that I couldn't quite identify and wholly hated.

It was bad enough that he had helped me once, but twice was just something I could not live with. Of all people I didn't need his help, and I certainly didn't want it. He was still smirking at me, and I couldn't help but think how familiar this all was - an argument with Malfoy. It was just so natural, so instinctual. He was looking the other end of the alley, and I took the small opportunity to study him as he had done to me.

He was a good number of inches taller that me, and his hair badly needed a cut. He looked oddly formal to be down in the alley at this time of night, or morning as it was, wearing black slacks and a black jumper as though he hadn't expected to find himself in this part of town at night. The moon was just about to wave goodbye, and showed a bit of its light onto Malfoy, leaving his skin, eyes, and hair lit up with its silvery luminescence. Everything about him was so light - pale skin and eyes, bright hair - he looked so pure and untainted. It was an inaccurate description of course. I knew Malfoy was anything but light and anything but pure. I knew that he had seen horrors, faced difficult decisions, was questioned in his allegiance. But looking down at my skin, made dirty by the grime and soot I was covered in, my dark eyes and dark hair, we were such polar opposites. And there was just a part of me that wanted to think that I was much worse off than he was.

"Where's you wand Granger?" he was looking back at me, and I wondered how long he had been looking at my face, how much of my silent examination he had witnessed. I turned my back to him, ready to walk back to my "home", to leave everything behind until it was time again tomorrow to come back, to lose myself once more.

"Granger!" he called me, I kept walking. "Why are you being so nice to me Malfoy? And what the hell are you doing in muggle London?" I wasn't particularly curious, I just wanted to be rid of him, and I figured that if I questioned him enough he'd get tired of it and go home.

"People change Granger." I stopped suddenly, but didn't turn back. I lived so much of these past years thinking the same thought with a negation between the two words.

"People can't change Malfoy. They pretend and try not think about they horrors they've seen and the terrible deeds they've done, but scars of their pasts burn too deep in their skin to ever truly forget and move on. People can't change. They don't know how to."

He remained silent, as though trying to find the right words to use. I continued walking, wondering why he was following me.

"Granger." I stopped again and looked up and found the bright moon had left us, the sun slowly rising in the sea of blues and whites, painting some of the sky a gentle orange. "You're right. Some people don't know how to change and so they can't." Oh. Well that had been easy, I took another step, ready to continue, when suddenly his voice cut through the space we were in. "Some people can. Some people can change when they've decided that they want to, and then nothing can stop them."

I turned around slowly, staying rooted in my spot, and looked at his face. I was surprised to find how close he was, I didn't remember him walking that close to me. His face was blank but his eyes were blazing, and I knew he talking about me, talking about how I didn't want to change.

"Fuck you Malfoy."

And suddenly the fire was put out, replaced by the smirk I was so used to seeing, and I knew something had changed.

He took a step back, and then another, and began to walk like that without turning his back to me. "I know you'd like to Granger, maybe I'll corner you against the wall? You seem to like that."

And before I could open my mouth to retort, he walked just a couple of steps backward and reached the apparition point. "Nice seeing you Granger," he said with a cheeky smile he knew would piss the hell out of me, and popped away leaving an empty spot where his tall form was just moments before.

I turned around slowly and continued to walk to the place I would spend most of the day sleeping - "home" was a term far too kind to apply.

For years, I was alone. No one came and tried to talk to me, there were weeks where I'd go without uttering even a word. I lived a solitary existence, "life" was another term far too generous to use. And I had grown used to it. I had grown used to no one caring where I was or what I was doing or who I was doing it with. No one thought to send me an owl or phone me up, no one wanted to see me anymore. And frankly, I didn't want to see them either. I had just gotten used to it all.

But somehow Malfoy had come and destroyed all of that in the course of one hour. He always did have the uncanny ability to throw me completely off-kilter.

I looked at the spot he had just been and ground my teeth angrily.

"Damn you Malfoy."

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Author's Note: Hey guys! This is a story that's somehow gotten really close to my heart, and I hope you all will like it. It's different than my usual style - more dark, not aaaas cute :)

You'll notice I have another story up called We Will Conserve Only What We Know (which will be a less dramatic and dark story) so that you have the option of reading both styles.

This will be a multi-chapter story as well, so hopefully if I get enough response (all types of reviews are welcome and highly encouraged!) I'll post the rest of the chapters up :)

Thanks Guys!

-H