Hello, beautiful people!

It's been a while since I last published anything, and I'm glad to be back. This is my first time writing under Dramione and I'm afraid the story isn't entirely new given that I just tinkered with a bit with 'Live For Me' and placed it on the HP world, instead of PJO. Anyway, I still do hope you enjoy.

Thank you for reading.

Last edited: July 05, 2017. Un-beta'd.

UNBREAKABLE

by Greek Wise Girl

...

The memory played out in his mind more vivid than the present time and place.

The most excruciating pain he had ever felt coursed through his body again as the Cruciatus Curse did its work. It had been too much from the very beginning that by now it had partially numbed him, or maybe he just didn't care anymore. At least not after the fifth or sixth time he was cursed. His arms hurt, his legs, his stomach, and his chest hurt. Everywhere. They hadn't spared a part of him. His mother, his poor, poor mother had been on the sidelines before. He couldn't see now if she was still there and if she still held her tight composure, just like his ever-stoic father. He wished that they still did despite the screams he let out and the writhing he did on the marbled floor of their manor, or this could end in an even bigger disaster. They both knew there was too much at risk to let slip now. They had to hold it together.

He didn't hear the curse being thrown another time, or see the caster and to which part of him the wand was directed at, but he definitely felt it, and he thrashed on the floor involuntarily. As his muscle spasm continued all over he saw again that one memory that kept repeating in his mind. The one memory that he held on to like the last thin strip of thread that tethered him to consciousness, reason, and life.

They were seated on one of the wide windowsills at Number 12 Grimmauld Place facing each other as the rain outside poured from the dark skies. The other residents had been asleep hours ago and the silence around the house was comforting; a clear change from the day-to-day thundering and devastating spells they were used to in the battlefield. It was a rare moment like this; rain pouring outside like a normal English night, all their family and friends accounted for, alive and safe in their rooms, and most important was having the witch opposite him despite everything wrong going on in their world that he was glad he was still alive and on this side of the war.

From the droplets of rain that stuck and glided down the glass he averted his gaze towards the witch in front of him and focused his eyes on the light freckles that dusted her face, the short curl of hair that hung by her left eye (one which he tried not to touch and bring behind her ear), and the darkened bags under her eyes. Despite the obvious stress they all endured that was sure plated in their features, he couldn't help but notice she still looked beautiful to him. A small smile made its way to his lips and as if sensing him looking, she turned.

His witch smiled back.

And he couldn't forget that moment when he realized that he was already in love with her, as much as she was with him. That despite his tainted past and faults she still stood by him, granted not at the beginning when all she did was ignore his and his parents' presence, like everyone else. But being subjected to her care for their stay she didn't have much choice but spend time with him.

Thank Merlin it had been her.

His mind went back to the present when he heard another masked dark wizard curse before his body once again struggled helplessly on the floor.

It was worth it, after all.

Crucio!

She is worth it.

Sectumsempra!

Hermione's safe now.

Crucio!

And that's all that matters.

The windowsill felt a bit too big. Spacious. Like it was meant for two people to share instead of one. Absentmindedly fiddling with the pendant that hung from a chain around her neck she stared at the empty space opposite her pretty much the same way she had since she woke up and sat down that morning.

Someone else should be in there, she told herself.

Once or twice she had voiced her opinion to her friends and all quietly looked towards the spot she indicated without anything to say back. She had been there for almost an entire day now, in the very same position in the very same room she had wandered into the moment she woke up. Everyone tried to persuade her to go downstairs and hang out with the rest of the Order, but she wouldn't leave. She didn't want to leave.

She was home. Right here. Not just anywhere around Grimmauld Place, but right here up in the attic on this windowsill. And she wondered why. For as long as she could remember, the room hadn't interested her as much as it did the past 24 hours. She had visited it a handful of times before, mostly noticing old antiques and objects that belonged to the Black family, but that was it. There was nothing else in here important enough that would make her come up and want to stay. Nothing. Except every time she attempted to leave it gave a painful tug at her heart and a surge of emotion flowed through her entire body.

"Hermione!" someone had called from beneath the trap door connecting to the rest of the house. She turned to see Harry's head pop up and look at her. "Mrs. Weasley says dinner's ready. She asked if you wanted to join us at the table this time, you know, instead of eating in your room again. You're feeling better enough, aren't you?"

But before he even finished, Hermione was already shaking her head and turning her head back to the window. "I'm sorry, it's just…" and words left her.

The rain still continued outside, but Hermione's eyes went past the swaying trees across the streets and the dancing pieces of paper and plastic on the road. She stared at her reflection on the glass and from it she could also see Harry making his way towards her. He quietly sat down on that one spot she didn't let anyone occupy. Not Ginny. Not Ron. Not even herself. But as she watched her best friend uncomfortably take a seat she couldn't help but feel that it wasn't his spot as well. Hermione didn't push him away yet though.

"I know," he muttered while adjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

A serene silence came upon then for a while and Hermione was grateful for that. Most of the people who came up to her kept talking, asking if she was alright, if she was coming down soon, and why she preferred staying in the small, dusty, old room in the first place. Except it wasn't a dusty old room. It actually seemed like it was occupied recently.

"You shouldn't be sitting there, Harry," Hermione said out of nowhere. "It's not your spot."

"Sorry," and he quickly stood up to sit on a nearby chair Ron had previously dragged by the window. "Ron and Ginny told me not to, didn't tell me why though."

But he already knew why. They all knew why she wouldn't let anyone else share that windowsill with her. But like everyone else, Harry kept quiet. If only he can tell her everything, the truth. But he couldn't. They would hurt so much more if Hermione remembered. Everything would have been in vain if she remembered. "How come?" He asked as innocently as he could, unable to help himself. "How come you don't want anyone else to –"

"Just because, all right? It's not your spot. It's not Ginny's spot. Not Ron's, not even mine. Okay? Can you all just leave it be?" Clearly she was a bit exasperated.

Harry's lips thinned at her friend's outburst and both of them didn't say anything else until Hermione spoke again in a soft voice. "It's weird, Harry," she started. "I wake up after that encounter we had with the Death Eaters at the train station and all I could think of was getting up here. I didn't know what I'm looking for but I felt… disappointed when the room was empty and I feel like I'm missing something. Like… Like I'm cheated of something important to me. I don't know what it is but staying in this room seemed to partially fill that void, but at the same time it's not enough. It could never be enough."

The tears started to flow from her eyes and all Harry could do was look at his best friend and curse fate for everything. They didn't deserve this. Not after all they've been through together. Anyone, but them.

Harry's fist started to clench tightly, half in anger and pain at what's happening with Hermione and half in attempt to not shed his own tears. His inner voice started debating with him whether he should just tell the truth and screw everything else or carry on with the lie and the false memories.

Blast Draco Malfoy for forcing him into an Unbreakable Vow.

"I miss him," Hermione said and Harry stopped short.

What did she say?

"What?" he asked. Harry knew he heard correctly. But how? How could she miss him when she couldn't remember him… when she wasn't supposed to remember him? "What did you say?"

Hermione finally turned around with a soft smile on her face and she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Nothing. I didn't say anything. Come on, I think I might join you tonight for dinner."

And she removed herself from her spot on the windowsill and tugged Harry by the arm and towards the trap door with one last look at the window and the pouring rain outside.

He was levitated back into the dungeon of his own family home, dropped in the cold stone floor surrounded by darkness. He heard the iron gates lock before he even had a chance to prop himself up and notice the lack of guards at the only entrance and exit. There was no point for a guard anyway. He had no wand and no one was stupid enough to try and set him free. They even knew that he wasn't going to try and run away. Not with so much at stake.

The darkness welcomed him and if it wasn't for his adjusted sight, he would have sat down right there where they had unceremoniously dropped him. Draco moved to one corner and leaned his aching back against the even colder walls. It wasn't enough, but the coolness partially numbed his wounds from that awful severing curse Severus Snape had invented. Still, it wasn't enough.

He didn't know how much time had elapsed, but Draco once again heard the click of the lock and saw two heavily cloaked wizards standing there with wands.

They're here to finish me off, he thought. Someone out there was actually stupid enough to kill me off without the Dark Lord's commands.

He would have laughed at their stupidity if he could move.

"Draco," he heard from one of his visitors. "Draco, can you hear me?"

And now he didn't want to laugh at their stupidity anymore. Fear gripped him in sudden replacement.

"M-Mother?" he asked incredulously. "What in bloody Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"We needed to see you," and he comprehended that to mean both her mother and her father, who was undoubtedly the one standing at the gates, keeping watch. "It was too much," Narcissa cried. "It's too much for my boy. I told Lucius to do something but he couldn't. I know we couldn't. Oh, my Draco…"

"Mother you really have to… go. I'm fine." He wheezed once. "I'll be fine. You've… You've got bigger things to worry about."

Narcissa brought her wand out and he already knew what she wanted to do. "Let me heal some of it at least, Draco. Please."

"No, mother. They'll know. And the first one they're going to blame is the two of you. They're already suspicious and wary. They can't know. Mother, they can't…"

The Malfoy matriarch continued to shed silent tears while reaching out for her son's face. "I know, Draco. I know. I just wish… Oh, I just wish this all to be over soon."

From the entrance of the room, Lucius Malfoy's voice echoed in the dungeon with a warning. "Cissy, hurry up. Rabastan's round in this floor is almost over. We can't be seen anywhere near the dungeon." But Narcissa didn't want to leave. She knelt in front of her beaten son and berated herself, her husband, and fate for their rotten luck.

"G-go, mother. It'll be over soon," Draco whispered, lightly touching his mother's hands against his cheeks. "Please. Go."

Sighing in defeat, Narcissa brushed Draco's hair away from his eyes and smiled gently before kissing his forehead.

"She remembers you," she added lightly.

"W-what? That's impossible. That memory charm…" Draco gulped and he cringed at the taste of blood. "That memory charm's strong. She couldn't have…"

"She didn't mention your name," Narcissa shook her head. "I don't think she remembers you, at least not in her mind. But they said she doesn't leave your room."

Then Lucius once again intercepted from the doorway, "Narcissa, dear, we really must go."

Draco let out a small smile although her mother couldn't really see much of it. "As long as she doesn't remember enough about us for her to come barreling down the door and offering herself up to him," he answered and winced when a slight adjustment of his position made a million stinging pain shoot out from his back. "He can't have her. As long as she's safe…" he hissed again when his arm throbbed. "As long as she's safe, I can handle much worse."

"Draco, you can't handle much worse." Narcissa said quietly, biting her lip in fear of what her son would say about her thoughts. "Maybe… Maybe we should just…"

"Don't, mother." He warned. "Just don't."

"Do you really care enough for that girl to endure this?" she asked a bit incredulously. "To let your mother and father watch as they throw curse after curse after curse at my own son up there and not be able to do anything? Is she worth all of this happening to our family, Draco?"

His heart tugged for his mother. He never wanted her to suffer through so much with him. For him. He didn't want her to be there when they punished him to death, standing on the sidelines acting as if nothing bothered her. He never wanted to beg her to two days ago to perform that memory charm on Hermione Granger to erase him from her memory forever. He shouldn't have asked her to do that. But there was no other way, and she was the best with the charm. They finally chose the side of the light, and they were paying dearly for it.

But it was worth it.

"She is," he said in the most controlled voice he could. A genuine smile, despite his current condition, played on his lips. One that Narcissa Malfoy clearly saw and she sighed.

"You love her." It hadn't been a question. And it was clear and with finality.

"Yes, I love her. And I'm not giving up, not until I die."

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness were the billowing robes of his parents as they hurried out of the dungeon and back up to pretending their never-ending allegiance to the dark side.

END

AN: It wasn't supposed supposed to end here. I planned to write the whole part where they made the actual Vow and memory charm, but I couldn't quite put everything together as neatly as I pieced things in PJO. I still hope you enjoyed this.

Thank you for reading again!