Like Toy Soldiers.
Step by step, heart to heart, left right left,
We all fall down like toy soldiers.
Bit by bit, torn apart, we never win.
She sits placidly at the side of the water, watching fixatedly as the water laps against the edge. Each time, it seems to creep that little bit closer to her. She's aware that she sounds illogical and simply silly, but it scares her – she doesn't trust the water. It's far too deceiving to be trustworthy in the slightest. Hence, she can't divert her gaze.
It has nothing to do with the fact that she's distracting herself. Nothing to do with the anxiety and worry clawing at her insides, leaving scars there that won't heal for many a year. She's lost track of the time, but he's late. He's definitely late. It grates on her greatly that he is so nonchalant, so utterly unable to meet her requirements in every way – well, except for the main requirement.
Despite her annoyance, there's an uneasy sensation in her that doesn't sit right. It makes her fidget, and though she couldn't care less, she knows that will only serve to annoy him. She knows what has to be done now –what has to be said. There's also the daunting prospect of what is next; never mind the words she has to stumble her way through, there's also the actions she has to troop on with. There's small comfort in the fact that there won't be months more of waiting, that she won't constantly after to be on-guard and on the look-out. After this, she – they – either win, or they don't. The dark space of the unknown is given light, regardless of good or bad news.
Where she's sitting now is actually quite beautiful. She only realises this now, wanting to take a break from the treacherous thoughts that lead to nothing but panic. They're meeting outside of Wizard territories, rather in the mountains of Wales. She isn't sure of how to get here not apparating, but it doesn't matter. (Her need to know everything is now limited to a need-to-know basis.) She can still admire this split second of peace she has.
Peace isn't the right word. By all means, the almost silent movement of the water, the light breeze with the cold ray of the sun beaming on her should provide her a morsel of peace in the current climate - especially combined with the lack of people, which she is rightly grateful for. Hermione supposes she should have expected that though, after all, that was the point of meeting outside the normal bounds.
Yet, peaceful is not what settles within her. It's a stillness, yes. Like the lake her eyes glance out over, there's a feeling of stillness. (It's more obvious than the dread and anxiety; it's a brief relief from the strength they usually receive.) However, she is never at peace. This only serves to support her theory - and part of her wonders will she ever truly be at peace again? It's not something easily answered.
If they come out victorious, there is rebuilding to do, friends to mourn, children now orphaned, and those who died at the hand of her own wand. Living with that won't be easy, and can she even be strong enough to try? She's so tired sometimes of struggling, so tired of constantly fighting the burden, the urge to lie down. (Never in the hardest of times would she let Harry down though, and she knows this.)
Voldemort winning is something she often declines to think about. She knows she won't live long to see it if that's the case. Hermione is right behind Harry on the kill-list, a spot she feels is deserved. At least she gets some recognition for all the fighting she has to do.
Her thoughts are brought to a halt as she hears footsteps approaching. Hermione stands quickly, dusting herself off as best as she can. (She subconsciously tugs at her hair, putting it behind her ear.) It's then she see's him, but he doesn't look as he usually does. Hermione would know, too, as she's his confidante on their side. She was the one elected to make contact and maintain contact, as apparently, she is the one most capable of sustaining an objective view. She can't argue with that, but it also couldn't be termed easy.
He nods to her as the gap between them draws narrower. Hermione can now see properly what she thought; a haggard man. His hair is not the styled, fall-over it usually is, but in quite a disarray. His robes have splashes of mud – and perhaps blood – dotted on them, while his face tells a tale of a duel. Hermione steps forward, extending her hand as she gestures to his appearance, "What is this?"
He's in front of her now, and he attempts to smirk – it's not the same. "Is this your way of asking if I'm okay?"
Hermione grits her teeth, "Whatever, Draco. I only wanted to know why you're looking like you've been attacked. Is it something I need to know about?"
A grave look comes over his face then, but before he elaborates, he casts some protective spells around the two of them. Suspicious glances around and a few more spells allow him to reply to her, "There's been a slight problem." His voice is rushed, and he barely stops for air as he continues onto the next piece. Hermione can't get a word in – even with the blood in her veins stopping in its tracks at those words, and her heart lodging itself somewhere between her throat and lungs. "I'm not sure how yet, I will find out, but somehow the most faithful of the Lords motley crew have discovered I am not so faithful as they. I know this because I was attacked by Theodore Nott this morning. Yes, baby Nott – I had no idea the loner could duel! Always the quiet ones." He pauses here to pick up a stone from the ground, turning it over in his palm. He continues to do this as he paces. Hermione watches on in earnest, hanging on his words, "Anyway, I suspect it was more of a tip-off, which I'm grateful for. He called me a traitor, blah, blah, blah. Didn't feel heartfelt though, so I assume –"
"Draco. I just want to hear the real story. I don't need all the commentary."
He looks around again, "I might have time yet. Commentary is therefore a nice little addition. So, he told me he knew I was meeting, and I quote, "that mangy mudblood" and told me he'd see me later."
Draco's finished now, watching her for her reaction. It takes more than a second for his sentence to register, and then she shoves him. (A little juvenilely.) "What were you thinking? Why did you come here? Why are we still standing here?"
She turns to apparate, grabbing his arm, but he halts her. "Hermione, they're already here." She listens to him, and believes him, because he very rarely calls her by her first name. In these moments, she'll later reflect on how odd the body's reaction is. Her palms begin to feel itchy, her eyes blink more times than necessary and there's a party going on her in her stomach. Hermione's going to be sick. Draco shakes his head, "I came here to warn you. They waited for me because they wanted what I'm about to give you. So, what we're going to do, is act like the shield I put up is fool-proof. I assume they have put up anti-apparition wards at this stage, so you need to run. I'll go with them – I'm a charmer, they'll believe I'm a double-triple-back-to-double spy like Snape. You need to get clean out of here and then apparate, do you comprehend?"
She hates how he can be so condescending and caring at the same time. He's essentially saving her, even if he'll deny that, and she should refuse. Hermione should dig her heels in, say that they're in this together and fight the Death Eaters with him.
Except, it's not logical. He has information for her that she assumes he'll give to her now, and if both of them died, this would never reach the forces of the light. There's something more important going on than either of them, and in the end, they're simply pawns to the bigger picture.
Yes, Hermione knows all this. Yes, she's a firm believer in logic, reason and rejects notions such as 'following the heart'…. But this doesn't stop her from grabbing his arm tightly, digging her nails in so hard that even she can feel the dent, and jerking him towards her. "Stop being so noble, god knows it doesn't suit you. Come back with me – the Light will take you in, and you can fight with us. What's stopping you?"
He sends her a tired smile, "I admire your optimism, Granger, but that's naïve. We both know what has to happen here – one of us can get out, or none. It has to be you."
The next words surprise even her. "Why?" Her tone sounds genuinely puzzled. His eyebrows raise, contemplating the question. All the while his eyes move around the surrounding area, trying to spot the people he's spent his whole life with – the adults and teens he grew up with.
"Because you're Hermione Granger." His reply frustrates her, and she's about to tell him as much when he shoves a piece of paper into her hand, along with a locket, "There's the information on horcruxes you were looking for. Don't let it out of your sight, it cost me my dignity. Don't ask. Are you ready?"
"For what?"
Draco frowns. He takes her by the arms, too roughly for her liking, and shakes her a few times. "What has gotten into you? You need to be on top form. Okay? I don't like being the nice guy. So let's get this over with. It was entertaining to be forced to talk with you, Granger."
"My pleasure." She replies dryly, tucking the paper into her top securely. Hermione ignores the look Draco gives her and ploughs off, "Be careful, I'd hate for the light to suspect I did something to you."
He chuckles, "That would be a shame." Time is weighing down their hearts now, and yet, also securing their feet to the ground. Neither of them wants to do this – it's clear in their manner, their stalling and even in their words. Time still ticks by. It's passing whether she wants it to or not, because it's not going to stop for her, and it's definitely not going to stop for him.
It's strange. Several months ago and Hermione would have fed Draco to the dogs, and now, she wants nothing more than to fight with him. She supposes seeing him fight so loyally with the light, meeting secretly with him, discovering that little bit about his personality has made her susceptible to his charms. One might call them friends, another might say they're accomplices or comrades.
He extends his hand, "Good luck."
She accepts it, cracking a rare smile. It's full of pretence and untruths. "You, too."
One might call them friends. But when she's running for her life, legs becoming numb and breathing short and fast, Hermione knows she wouldn't have done that to Harry or Ron. She wouldn't have even done that to Lavender.
Draco isn't her friend, he's a temporary comrade. In the end, in his end, he served his purpose and was exactly what she expected; a pawn.
I know that was a tad strange. I just wanted to write some Harry Potter, and moreover, a oneshot. It's not nearly long enough, but it will do for now. I hope to write more one-shots with a greater length than this. Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Obviously, it's AU. Hope it wasn't too confusing. Disclaimer: I do not own HP or "Toy Soldiers" by Eminem.
Thanks for reading,
CN.