Love's Fallen
A/N: This little fic takes place at Hogwarts and starts the summer before sixth year. I'm not sure where the it shall end just yet but I've got the general idea. This is my first fan-fiction, so I'd appreciate if you'd review or message me and tell me what you think. All opinions are welcome! Enjoy the story(:
Disclaimer: I wish I was J.K. Rowling
Draco's father was in prison. If Malfoy Senior had been around Draco supposed he would get some Malfoy babble and maybe how his father should sort out his priorities; like perhaps acquiring a brain. The absolute joys of the Malfoy way. but of course Draco knew that in ten years he'd be in the same exact position; kissing ass like his father at Lord Voldy's feet. And of course Draco wouldn't have it any other way.
These were his thoughts three days prior leading up to the first day of break; worries of having to put up with his batty old mother his whole holiday ceased to exist in his mind. Now he was on his way there. The place he had never been allowed. It was like he had gone ten years into the future, and he had predicted correctly. Although he hoped that then he'd be able to make his way there with dignity.
Of course Draco really didn't know for sure where he was going. This was because he had been kidnapped from his house -although no one had really tried to stop them- and after being apparated he was dragged down a dark cobbled road leading to Knockturn alley. He would've much rather spent his stay in Diagon Alley, maybe sneak into the Weasel's joke shop when no one was around.
A breeze picked up, and Draco heard a newspaper scuffle off with the wind. A chill ran up his spine.
The night air had gotten crisp, so bitterly cold that Draco Malfoy imagined he could feel it permeating his insides. He thought of icy fingers twisting around his intestines, turning and tangling and yanking. Nothing but blood on the inside, blood and the ugly bits that were his guts, and it would hurt worse than a Cruciatus when it all froze. He knew that for fact. He had seen it once, when he was five, seen life ripping its way from a body, and death was not beautiful. His father had almost proved that to him; his life just waiting to pour out of him, but of course, the Dark Lord let him suffer. And then the Golden Trio got him thrown into Azkaban.
He was here because Voldemort was upset with his father. Maybe two years prior, he would have gladly taken up the Dark Lord's wishes - impress his father and the whole of the Wizarding world- he wasn't a bloody eleven year old anymore.
But now he had no choice, and he had the whole of the Malfoy name on his shoulders. His father and his grandfather had spent years edging themselves into the deep cracks of Knockturn Alley and wedging their way into the tightest rings of the Dark Lord's circles. No matter the costs. But now they were back at the bottom of the food chain again.
Draco was being pulled along, down a dark alleyway, around a corner… His captors pulled at his arms so roughly that it burned. He suspected he'd have bruises tomorrow- if he lived until tomorrow. But Draco dared not struggle, that showed cowardice and unfaithfulness in the Dark Lord, something which he was sure they were trying to provoke out of him.
The air blew coolly over his face, and if he hadn't known any better he would have thought it was late winter, the leaves and grass around them were shriveling up and being coated with a thick frost. Draco gasped, but his silent captors just moved him along: they hadn't realized yet. A cry was in Draco's throat, to shout out, to warn them. But it sunk back down into the bowels of his stomach –they wouldn't, would they? The Death Eaters haven't gained that much power yet,- but he was just lying to himself. The dementors were here. Draco hadn't thought he was such a valued item in the Dark Lord's eyes.
Draco felt an odd mixing of a very different array of emotions; fear, honor, and fear again. But mostly surprise! Bloody hell, he never thought he'd get here! Maybe in his wildest dreams, or in his darkest nightmares...
Fuck, he thought about his mother and his father and the whole of the Malfoy's. He was their last heir! They were going to kill him. They were going to kill him without a second thought.
Or perhaps suck out his soul. Horrid scenes from his deepest night terrors flashed through his mind.
Draco Malfoy was brought back to his days of blissful childhood, and wished he'd saved his last cry over not getting that teddy bear he had wanted for Christmas for this. But he couldn't, not in front of them. That would prove he was weak; weak like his father.
Throughout most of his life, Draco had aspired to be just like Lucius Malfoy, but now, at this exact moment he wanted to be nothing but. It was his father's fault he was in this situation, the reason his whole family was. He wouldn't show his fear, he wouldn't show his anger, he would listen calmly to Voldemort, do as he wished, and then hopefully leave with his body whole. Unless of course they killed him.
After seeing Harry fight off Lord Voldemort for the fourth time in her life, after seeing how so many people were effected by one human being's own troubles, the war had never felt more real to Hermione than ever before. She had read about the first Wizarding World War in many history books, and it had felt like something was brewing, she had memorized the facts and the people killed and captured, she could recite them with confidence when asked. But Hermione couldn't hide behind her books or memorize the facts of what was to come. She couldn't see into the future and tell everyone how many people would die. This was different, and it was no longer in the pages of books, but right there, standing naked in her face; a war, and a deadly one at that, was brewing. Although, what scared her more was that right now, anything could be happening, and she couldn't even bat an eye at it. She would have no idea.
Hermione had left Harry and Ronald at King's Cross Station with the Dursley's five days ago, and although she was sure Mad Eye had scared some sense into Harry's ludicrous Aunt and Uncle, she was feeling slightly uneasy. This is what she hated most, being in the dark. She hadn't heard from Ron or Harry in days, and both of them could be dead! Hermione had finally decided to take matters into her own hands. And so.
She was headed to the post office in a fury. How dare Ronald promise her something this important and not even follow up on it! Especially now! Especially after what had happened to Harry! Hermione knew that Ron wasn't very keen to his word, but she had hoped he'd be responsible just this once in his life! Bloody bastard! Harry's last family member died, and he hadn't even wanted to talk about it, but preferred to spend his time alone.
Harry, blaming himself again for something that anyone could have done. Blaming himself for others mistakes.
So Hermione had decided to mail the letter the old muggle way. She had no access to owls, and this was urgent. She had remembered that the Weasleys had a mailbox – due to Author's obsession with muggles- and Hermione supposed that even if the Weasley's weren't aware, the muggles in their area had addresses, which the postman should know, even if they didn't have their numbers up. She just hoped that Author checked the mailbox on a daily basis, or Hermione would be stuck in the dark until next June.
The Post office was hectic with letters and stamps flying everywhere, people bustling out. Hermione's letter matched the pace of the hurried feet as she scribbled (it would be a miracle if Ron could even read this) her message down onto the rumpled paper;
Ronald,
You know it's urgent to get back to me, so the next time I see your face it better be under The circumstances that we worked out before the summer. I don't care if you break a dozen of the Wizarding World's laws to fly over in your father's car. It's important we get a plan together to take Harry to the Burrow as soon as possible.
-Hermione
Hermione licked the stamp and slapped it onto the envelope, stuck it into the awaiting mailman's arms, and marched her way out of there.
Hermione needn't have worried, and was quite cross when she reached her house and thrown down her coat on a kitchen chair. A brown barn owl sat perched on the counter, cooing at her with suspicion. Her temper rose, and Hermione batted the owl off the counter so that it wouldn't leave a mess.
Hermione, we will be coming to pick you up seven o'clock sharp tomorrow evening. Be ready with all your things packed.
~Mrs. Weasley
Hermione sighed and slumped down into a chair. Ronald wasn't even responsible to write the letter himself, Mummy Dearest had to do it. But Hermione liked Mrs. Weasley just fine, and so she batted away her disgruntled thoughts towards Ron and looked about for the old barn owl. And it just so happened that it was inching it's way towards the nearest window, obviously feeling concerned towards the brunette's nasty temper. "Come here, you." Hermione grabbed at the owls tail feathers in exasperation - frightening it more, which caused it to coo rather loudly and flap it's wings, looking up at her haughtily. But Hermione just glared at the bird indignantly and began to scribble a note back to Mrs. Weasley; all well and fair, she didn't want Ron's mother to read the furious letter she had just mailed.
A/N2: I'm pretty satisfied with this chapter, although it is a bit short. I think I made enough corrections and edited it enough times. I don't know when the next chapter will be finished, especially since I haven't started it just yet, but I am on holiday break so maybe I'll be able to patch some things together before the week is done. We shall see though, I am a notoriously slow writer at times. Review, review, review! xP
