Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Harry Potter.
Uhm, so this fic is a bit dark.
Sorry )
And I will update for PL soon... I just haven't been inspired lately.
Enjoy!
Nobody had expected Malfoy to come back for seventh year. In fact, nobody had seen him since his father was killed in the final battle. Most people assumed he'd gone into hiding. Malfoy? The name was synonymous with Death Eater.
Of course, Draco Malfoy had never been proved as a Death Eater. No, even after he had let others into the school, and started the Great War, he was not convicted. He had no dark mark, his wand was found with no traces of a killing curse. There was simply not enough evidence.
To everyone's surprise, even Dumbledore defended the young wizard, saying that if it wasn't for Draco Malfoy, he would be dead. And in fact, Dumbledore had 'died' in the war, being 'killed' by Severus Snape's wand up in the astronomy tower. Thankfully, Snape's true loyalties were proven just a month after the official funeral-when he returned to Hogwarts to raise Dumbledore from the grave with a rather obscure potion. From that day, the innocence of Snape and Malfoy became a fact that even Harry Potter was forced to pretend he agreed with.
Malfoy had not fought in the war. His name had not graced the injury lists, or the casualty lists. He had not claimed any kills, or assisted in the defeat of Voldemort. He had refused to supply any information about his father to the light side, and the few people that saw him during the seven months of battle would have told you that the only thing stopping him from being a death eater was the knowledge that the Dark Lord would not win.
Draco Malfoy was a mystery, a name almost forgotten by most in their triumph, and their grief. Harry Potter was left a broken boy, slowly recovering in the arms of Ginny Weasley, one of the four redhead children to survive the war. Ron had not been so lucky. He had distracted the Dark Lord in his final moment, allowing Harry to utter the curse which had haunted him for most of his life. Unfortunately, his distraction cost him his life, and he died at the hands of Lucius Malfoy.
So, seventh year started on a rather subdued note, a year later than originally planned. The great hall was filled with the names and laughter of the dead students. It hurt Harry and Hermione to go there for meals, hearing Ron's voice chatting away about quidditch from the memorial near the Gryffindor table. Hermione had taken to eating all of her meals up in her room- as Head Girl, she got her own private quarters. Harry often visited her there, with Ginny, but seeing her sad face would often become too much to the young couple.
The head boy had left his room on the other side of the hall, complaining that the crying kept him up and prevented him from studying. Truth be told, the constantly terrified face of the muggleborn girl scared him, and staying in rooms with her had become too much for him to bear. Anthony Goldstein had lost people too, and her ghosts only served to amplify his. He was now living back in the Ravenclaw common room, leaving Hermione all by herself in the Head's rooms in the Astronomy Tower.
Dumbledore himself had noticed the change in the Head Girl. Being a wise man, he knew that she needed saving. Harry Potter would not be the one to do it… so who would?
The return of Draco Malfoy to Hogwarts almost went unnoticed by Hermione Granger, even if it had the rest of the school talking.
Then, the boy appeared in her rooms…
-
"Still crying over the Weasel, Mudblood?"
Hermione Granger raised her large, still eyes to look at the blond boy. His trademark smirk was one of pity, and the fire in his eyes was almost blue with contempt. And the broken girl smiled emotionlessly, going back to her books.
Draco Malfoy raised an eyebrow at this new reaction, dragging his trunk into Anthony Goldstein's newly occupied room. His toned muscles carried the heavy load effortlessly, and any girl in their right mind would have drooled over the god-like boy's body.
He knew Hermione hated him, in fact, he hated himself. But he had expected some sort of reaction…
A smile? And a dead one at that.
What the hell was going on?
-
Hermione Granger had a meeting with Dumbledore the next morning. She was outside the gargoyle ten minutes before her appointment, leaning against the wall, and staring blankly at the portrait on the wall opposite. It was new, her sharp mind tiredly acknowledged.
The portrait seemed to study her intently, before sighing to herself. The gorgeous blond woman sat nervously braiding and unbraiding her long hair by a lake.
"Is my mirror still there, girl?" She whispered, hissing, in a tired, yet not unfriendly way.
Hermione only stared back, her empty eyes making the portrait's subject shudder.
A lonely tear made it's way down her face, and her mouth made no move to form the words she longed to say.
"I see. My mirror is of no use to you, because all that you desire cannot be brought back."
Hermione began to shake uncontrollably as the woman turned away, leaving the lake scene to eerie silence.
Albus Dumbledore watched the exchange from the doorway, a sad twinkle in his usually cheerful face.
"Miss Granger? It is time we had a talk."
-
"No, Professor. Please. No."
Hermione Granger's face wore the first expression outside of sorrow for the first time in a month.
She was horrified, shocked, outraged.
What the fuck was Dumbledore thinking?
She looked the headmaster dead in the eyes, the first spark of defiance in her eyes. The bags underneath them were forgotten, and her thin face only encouraged the fighting spirit that was beginning to shine through.
She was surprised to see Dumbledore's mouth curve into a smile. He winked at her.
"My dear girl, I believe that is the most active I have seen you look for weeks.".
He paused to look at her, and she hung her head, a little embarrassed. It had not occurred to her that while she had been crying and grieving, she had lost many of the friends that were still alive by ignoring them. She couldn't have saved Ron, but she could have at least tried to do something for the survivors…
Dumbledore's smile got wider, and he continued, chuckling to himself.
"I am sure Mister Malfoy will not bother you. If it wasn't for the fact that he is no longer safe in the Slytherin dungeons, he would not be with you at all. You are his protection, and he should be grateful. And, of course, I am sure your wonderful friends would love to help you if he does get a little, shall we say, arrogant?"
Yes. Harry and Ron and Ginny will protect me…
NO.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears once more. Ron wouldn't be able to warn Malfoy off anymore, he wouldn't be able to make ferret jokes to cheer her up… Harry and Ginny were too into each other to notice her pain.
Once again, the emotionless mask was pulled over her pale face, and her eyes were closed doors. She excused herself from the large, comfortable office, feeling no better than she had before she'd gotten there. Two names flew around inside her head as she re-entered her dormitory.
Ron.
Malfoy.
-
Draco Malfoy was sitting in the common room, stoking the fire. It felt like it hadn't been lit for months, and it was almost as cold as the Slytherin dungeons. Of course, the dungeons were off limits to him now, as he had received many death threats from his ex-friends. The death eater kids hated him for not fighting for the dark side, the Light kids hated him for who his father was, and the fact that deep down, he was an evil bastard.
He barely looked up as he saw Granger enter the room.
"Head Girl skipping breakfast? Ooh, what happened to the perky little Mudblood we all know and love?"
His head turned, in a malicious little grin. She smiled right back at him, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. They were empty again, Draco noted. That was awful. It was one of the singularly most terrifying sights of the boy's life. Worse than seeing his father die. Worse than being threatened by Slytherins. Hermione's empty, dark eyes. They usually contained hate. He found himself wanting to bring that hate back, if only to get rid of the vacancy in her chocolate orbs.
He began to taunt her.
"I'd thank my father if he wasn't six feet under, you know. Doing his bit to rid the wizarding community of a blood traitor like Weasley. I always thought the boy was a bit strange, loving a mudblood. You weren't even good enough for him, with your muggleborn charm and beauty. You're just a little Gryffindor BITCH. You know that? You may just barely be loveable if you were pure-blooded. If you were, Weasley my have taken another look. Your love may have saved him-"
Finally, his cruel words struck a nerve. Tears streamed down her face, and Hermione's brain reeled in shock.
"Thank You, Draco" she answered, tripping over her words. "At least someone in this fucking castle is honest."
He didn't get a chance to reply before she grabbed her books, and left for Defence Against The Dark Arts.
-
Seventh Year Defence Against The Dark Arts had been mandatory, thanks to the rise of Voldemort. And with the Dark Lord gone, the new professor found lessons rather hard to teach. The more involved, dark lessons brought back painful, yet fresh memories for everyone involved. So, that morning, with Dumbledore there watching from the corner, the Gryffindors and Slytherins were once again meeting the boggarts.
"War changes people. It brings new fears, and quells old pains. It compromises the brain, and kills without warning. These boggarts may be different from four years ago, but that does not mean they will be any different to deal with. I know that for some of you, this experience will cause pain. For that, I am sorry, but it must be done."
The students looked at each other, warily.
And Draco Malfoy stepped forwards.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the door to the cupboard opened. Out stepped a hooded figure, and many whispers of "Death Eater" went around the room. Draco smirked at the whisperers. What did they know?
The figure lowered it's hood, and Draco's face drained of colour. He found himself staring into the face of Hermione Granger, with her emotionless eyes. Smiling.
Gasps came from all around the room, as people turned to look at Hermione. Harry tried to push forwards, but he was immobilised with another twist and flick of Dumbledore's wand.
"It isn't what you think, Mister Potter." Called the voice of Albus Dumbledore from the corner of the large room. He looked over at Draco, his perpetual amusement still twinkling in his deep eyes. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"You know the spell, Mister Malfoy?"
Draco swallowed.
Surely he hadn't left the Slytherins, survived the war, buried both of his parents. Why did one girl have such an effect on him?
Yes, the simple charm he had placed on himself hid the fact that he had not slept the previous night. He had thought he would be able to hide from Hermione and her cold stare.
No, Draco Malfoy was not scared of a mere girl.
In fact, he scoffed at the notion.
No, it was the emotionless state she was in that scared him.
Because in that moment, the warm, loving girl had become untouchable.
She was walking dead.
In the moment he looked into her eyes, and heard her monotonous voice, he had felt remorseful. He'd felt so monumentally sorry for all of the times he had tried to hurt her.
Because although he hadn't fought in the war, although he hadn't actually caused the damage in her heart… he felt like it could have been him. He hadn't supported the light side any more than necessary.
His life would have been a better sacrifice than Weasley's, despite him being a blood traitor.
The idea of blood made Draco's skin crawl. To think, that once upon a time he had set so much store by genetics and other such things. To think, only yesterday, he had called the girl a mudblood.
He had been born to be prejudiced against her kind,. Brought up to believe that her blood was dirty. He'd never questioned the belief that was spoon-fed to him.
To see her react so little to hearing it?
It was devastating.
He forced himself not to look into the eyes of Boggart-Hermione.
He turned to look at the real Hermione behind him, and almost screamed in shock. But he was a Malfoy, Malfoys did NOT scream like preteen girls at a McFly concert. Even at the sight of Hermione Granger, smiling her empty smile.
Her face seemed to challenge him, to Ridikulus the boggart and make everyone laugh at her.
Go on, it's not like you could hurt me.
I don't care.
Draco turned to face the fake version of the girl.
He grit his teeth, and pointed his wand.
Hermione Granger was not all there.
She sat, looking out of the window in the common room. She had a perfect view of the Quidditch pitch from there.
On the pitch, she could almost see Harry and Ron flying around, running drills. She smiled at the memory, because she could almost hear Ron shouting at her from the stands. He'd first asked her out during one of those sessions, after losing a bet with Harry. She'd kissed him many a time down there, and even with Ron gone, the memory sort of comforted her.
It just proved that she had been able to love.
And the way she felt when he passed proved that it was true love… because she felt like she'd died too.
Every time she tried to consider moving on, she would hear his voice in her head.
Don't forget me, 'Mione.
And she broke down, and she cried.
She would have to start the whole process of getting over him over again.
She would have some good days.
She would be able to pull herself together sometimes, and it would almost be like the old Hermione. But her love for knowledge had gone, she threw herself into school and yet couldn't bring herself to care.
And try as they might, nobody failed to notice her sadness when she turned to the space on her right to tell Ron something she learned… only to find he wasn't there.
After 3 months of living with the girl, Draco still couldn't figure her out.
Obviously, she had loved Ron. But he couldn't imagine loving somebody that much.
And she seemed much colder around him. Every time he looked at her, the barriers would come down, and terrify him.
He had a feeling she associated him with Lucius… who coincidentally had killed the boy she loved. Unfortunately, that didn't spell New Best Friends for the dorm mates.
As Christmas came around, Draco was becoming increasingly annoyed.
He began to avoid Hermione at all costs, for fear that he would say something cruel.
Obviously, it was not in his nature to hold such things back, but deep down he was more than a little scared of the girl's reaction.
Nonetheless, by the time the holidays came around, his frustration had reached boiling point. He wanted the old Hermione back, the girl he had fought with. The lively, beautiful girl.
He found himself mentally kicking himself. Granger? Pretty?
Well, she was.
Even in her present, vacant state, she was gorgeous. A beautiful tragedy.
It was like a train wreck- it was terrifying to look at, and yet Draco couldn't take his eyes off of the girl.
She sat in front of the fire on the first day of the holidays, and as she got up to go to her room, Draco couldn't take it anymore.
"Merlin, Hermione!"
She turned to face him, a spark of something in her eyes… something which made his heart beat faster.
"Was it you that died, or him? Huh? Answer me!"
She looked at him, slight hurt etching her features. Unexpectedly.
Draco Malfoy took one look at her, and couldn't stop himself. He strode across the room, and roughly cupped her face with his hand.
He kissed her, hard, making her moan.
he was surprised as she leaned into him and let him kiss her… but not as surprised as she was.
Fuck, he'd never known that a kiss could feel so much like… well… magic.
She pulled away, her eyes full of warmth.
"Draco" she murmured.
Then fear hit her eyes. It wasn't allowed to feel so good.
Not with him.
So she turned, she ran.
Leaving Draco with a single tear running down his cheek.
--
Hermione did not want to spend Christmas in the Great Hall. She was feeling a lot better about herself, even if she didn't let Malfoy know. She'd begun to hold a grudging kind of respect for the boy, after the Boggart Incident. In fact, she almost considered him a friend.
Maybe more.
His kisses were the only thing to have made her feel alive in a really long time.
She'd never admit it to herself. After all, he wasn't Ron. And Ron wouldn't have wanted her to befriend his killer's son.
She had opted to get her Christmas meal up in her rooms.
And after finishing a rather meagre sized plate of the Castle's best food, she settled in to sleep for a while in front of the fire.
She didn't know whether it was the food, or the Christmas music that led her to have such strange dreams…
--
Hermione Granger often dreamed of the Mirror Of Erised.
Of course, being the smart girl that she was, she did not often go looking for it.
However, she had found it on the first day back to the Castle. She had never been back since, because she knew she would see the same scene.
She would see herself with a time-turner, going back, saving Ron. Finding some other way for Harry to win the war, without her losing the boy she loved.
The second, and last time she had visited the mirror, she had seen herself as a Pureblood girl, infiltrating Voldemort's forces and destroying him from the inside… and protecting Ron as she always wished she could have done.
No wonder Malfoy's comments had really hit home.
That night, however, her dreams were different.
She stood in front of the mirror, and she saw Ron falling, fast off of a cliff edge. She saw herself watching, smiling sadly, while a pair of creamy hands wrapped themselves around her waist. She gasped as the man behind her stepped out of the shadows, his platinum hair contrasting with her caramel curls.
Since when was Draco Malfoy her heart's desire?
She turned back to the mirror, and saw only her reflection. She sighed, then saw the mirror girl smile at her.
Hermione's eyes widened.
There were those hands again, snaking around her.
The real Hermione turned her head, to see Draco's face smiling at her.
"You may want me, but you're still a mudblood. Still filthy… even if you're gorgeous. I can only love a girl with PURE blood, after all, your inferior heritage killed your last boyfriend…"
She recoiled in fear as he whispered into her ear, spewing out taunts and insults to her blood as if they were sweet nothings.
She screamed.
Then she woke up.
--
Draco knew it was not normal.
To be so addicted as he was, to such a shallow thrill.
The Mirror of Erised had shown him what he had known all along- he should have fought on Hermione's side, he should have protected her.
Although, surprisingly, he never found himself wanting to go back and save Weasley.
After all, if it weren't for his death, he wouldn't have come to know Hermione, he wouldn't have been able to see past his father's brainwashing.
And if Weasley was alive?
Draco would be killed by the boy just for the way he looked at Hermione Granger.
Draco made his way down to the mirror, early on Christmas morning.
He had promised himself that it would be his last visit.
He had promised himself that he was going to save Hermione, to bring back the bushy-haired know-it-all that everyone had loved so much.
Maybe, even himself.
He stopped by one of the portraits of Dessa Amora, to find the girl pacing around a tiny conservatory. She looked at him, with sad eyes.
"Mr Malfoy? She's down there, she's in pain, I couldn't stop her. She is trying to achieve what her heart desires… please, Draco, help…"
He raised an eyebrow at the portrait.
"Who, where, why?"
His heart skipped a beat as the nymph stared at him, anger visible in her eyes.
"Hermione Granger, Draco. The girl who you search for."
--
She sat on the floor by the mirror, crying her eyes out. Indeed, the dream had been more than a nightmare. She had known it before she had come to make sure… she had just never admitted it.
She wanted Draco Malfoy.
She wanted the boy whose father had killed her sweetheart.
She wanted his cold, grey eyes to make her cold, black heart feel warm again.
And she felt that he could never want her.
She had transfigured her comb into a blade, and held it pressed to her wrists.
Slowly, shaking, sobbing, she cut the word into herself.
Mudblood.
She had to get rid of it. All of it. The filthy, disgusting, blood that had caused all of her problems.
The blood that had made her strive so hard to be as good as everyone else, the blood that had meant she could not save the people she had loved. The blood that had earned her hours of torture, when she could have been out saving Ron.
Filthy, little, Mudblood.
The words echoed through her head, as she carved them deeper, and deeper, laughing and smiling and sobbing and dying as the great rivulets of red flowed like tears from her gashes…
Soon, she was passed out on the floor next to the Mirror of Erised, for Draco Malfoy to find.
--
The mediwitch had healed her wounds in an instant, but the girl would still not wake up.
Many students poured in and out of Poppy Pomfrey's rooms, offering flowers, Honeyduke's boxes, cards. There was a pile of Chocolate Frogs, but Harry and Ginny had taken them away, in case Hermione woke up. Chocolate frogs would always remind her of Ron.
Draco Malfoy sat at her bedside, glaring at anyone with the audacity to ask him to leave, hissing at Harry Potter whenever he asked him why he was there.
"Because I love her", he would snarl. "That not good enough for you, Potter?"
Harry and Ginny were soon forced to admit that maybe the boy really did care about Hermione.
--
She had been asleep for a month.
The cards had stopped, the flowers were dying.
Just like the girl on the bed.
Draco sighed, running his hand through his hair.
It hadn't been washed in weeks, but did he care?
No, of course he didn't. What was hair, when the girl he loved was lying in a hospital bed? What if he wasn't there when she woke up?
Unfortunately, people were beginning to doubt she would wake up.
Harry and Ginny stood fiercely by Draco, defending him and Hermione and promising that one day, everything would be alright.
But some people said that Hermione had been dead since the start of seventh year.
It would take more than Draco Malfoy to bring her to life.
Maybe even Harry was beginning to believe it.
--
Hermione was in a field, a field she recognised as the battlefield.
It was where she had lost Ron.
She looked at the spot where a small, red gravestone sat. A magical gravestone, with words, pictures, memories.
She waited for the tears to come, but they wouldn't.
"Stop trying to follow me, Mione."
His voice echoed all around her. She felt a tug at her heart, and turned to see him sitting on a rock, twirling a lily in his hands. Her favourite flower.
"You know what this flower means? Heh. Dumb question. Of course you do. It means 'I dare you to love me'. You told me that yourself. And, well, I should really say this. I dare you to be over me, Mione. You deserved better when I was alive, even if I was too much of a selfish bugger to admit it. There's a boy that loves you. And he's alive. I'm not, Mione. I'm not coming back. I wish I could, and I'll admit that sometimes it's bloody painful to know we can't be together… but I'm gone. And if you could let yourself feel something? You'd see there's room in your heart. He's the only one who can fill it. I dare you to love him, Hermione. Because, strangely enough? You and him make sense. Stop running from it. Stop using me as an excuse. You're not bloody dead, and it isn't your time to die. Don't cry for me, Herm. I'm an arse for leaving you, but I honestly think you're better off with him. He's a git. You know that. But you love him… probably more than you loved me. He isn't his father. I'll forgive you. Just promise you'll never forget me."
She looked into his warm eyes, at his rueful smile.
She stepped towards him, and pulled him into a hug.
She glanced down at her arm, ashamed… only to find that the scars were gone.
He laughed at her look of surprise.
"You've left him waiting far too long."
And with that, Ron was gone.
Hermione blinked, then an overwhelming smell of lilies assaulted her nostrils.
She rubbed her eyes, and yawned.
God, she was so tired.
"Hermione?"
Oh God.
--
Draco looked at her in amazement, as she moaned in her sleep. Her eyes flickered open, and she stretched like a lazy cat.
"Morning" she said and then winced. "God, I feel like I've run a marathon."
Draco looked down at the girl in amused wonderment. Her eyes…
They were alive.
She locked eyes with him, and the magic in the air sizzled. She put a hand to his smooth, pale cheek. Even with the bags under his eyes, he was beautiful.
She could see herself loving that boy.
His eyes strayed to her mouth. His throat felt dry. She smirked at him, a twinkle in her eye. And then she thanked him, holding her arms out to him.
Merlin. He thought. Why did I wait this long to see how lovely she is?
He held her in his arms for a really long time, whispering into her ear. Telling her everything he had wanted to say.
I love you. I'm sorry. Thank you. Forgive me. Love me.
She pulled away slowly, sighing in silent relief.
He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong, and found his lips covered by hers.
The blood rushed to his cheeks, every part of his body felt as if it was on fire.
Her knees felt weak, her heart beat faster.
They smiled into the kissing, which soon became passionate.
It felt like love.
It felt like being alive.