Disclaimer: I do not own the Potter franchise. JK Rowling does. That is all.
Wand in hand, the tall, lean, muscular boy walked over to the farthest corner of the Room of Requirement. He was careful not to step on the lifeless corpses of some of his schoolmates. The War was at its peak, The Order's men versus Voldemort's followers were at each other's throats, screaming spells, incantations, and curses. I have to do this, he thought as his heart hammered. Father will finally acknowledge me as his son. He gripped his ten-inch hawthorn wood wand tightly, but not with so much force to break it. His usually stone-cold face softened slightly, as if to accommodate tears. It had been a while since he had felt the salty droplets line his pale cheeks. But due to his practiced coldness and hatred, his tempestuous-like grey eyes would not allow it.
Draco, his father Lucius' voice echoed in his subconscious, you must return home with the honor and approval of the Dark Lord. You know what we have been through. Yes, he did know what his family had been through. His father's imprisonment, Lord Voldemort's clear disdain for his supposedly elite bloodline… He had been through so much. His heart (do I still have one?) felt the heaviness of the task he was given.
He continued walking and stopped in the middle of the room. He looked around at the dreary, melancholic, and quite gory setting of the place. Blood of the dead splattered across the once grey walls, broken wands scattered all over the floor, and the slight swaying of the grand chandelier as a slight breeze blew through the broken shards of the windowpane. What have I gotten myself into?
Draco resumed his timely yet careful stride and for once in how many months, he felt the slight giddy feeling of being on top. He remembered his eleven-year-old self almost befriending famous Harry Potter. He shuddered at the thought of wanting to be friends with him, or was it fear? He tiptoed towards the broken window and careful not to cut himself on the glass, he peered at the ongoing battle between The Boy Who Lived and The Greatest Dark Wizard of All Time. The wands meeting were magical. The rays of red and blue illuminated the dark while they were battling in the grounds. He saw his father Lucius talking with some of his fellow Death Eaters, Dolohov and Yaxley. And by the look on his face, he was scared as hell. Funny how Father never really showed fear before, the boy thought. And indeed, tension filled the air… so many questions unanswered, the fate of the winner undecided? Oh, when will all the lights just go out? Where was Weasley's deluminator when he needed it?
Weasley, that blood traitor, he thought angrily. He thought about the ginger boy's financially challenged family. The rabbit family, breeding vermin non-stop. All his life, he had hated the Weasel and the Potty, as he fondly called them. They were such show-offs and quite the favorites of the late headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. A hundred points to Gryffindor for showing bravery and courage in the face of adversary, namely, the basilisk, he mimicked Dumbledore's airy, calm, voice. He hated how he was so bad at getting honor. He couldn't even secure his father's own. He hated how he knew he was so intelligent, and that was just not by word proclamation. It was indeed truth. He was excellent at Potions and could Transfigure this and that, but he never really showed any potential because he was just fleeting to and fro, getting girls like they were options on the Honeydukes candy shelf. He hated how perfect Hermione Granger was the ultimate academic celebrity in Hogwarts. He hated how even his own Head of House, Professor Severus Snape, was less cold towards the Mudblood. The Potions master also gave her a grade of Outstanding. Whatever happened to picking on the Gryffindors? Nice try, Snape. He thought nastily.
Speaking of the mudblood, he took a few more steps and finally arrived at the setting of his task. Hermione Jean Granger dressed in a white button down shirt with stripes, long skinny jeans, and cerulean moccasins, lay faint on the floor. He witnessed her fall earlier when Greyback chanted Expelliarmus a bit too strongly. Draco was actually quite surprised with the Death Eater's use of such a tame spell. Why didn't he use Crucio, Imperio, or Avada Kedavra? Stupid half-wolf, really meant to be an animal. At least the werewolf curse could have spared him half a brain! He could've made my life easier. He knew that the werewolf had no heart unlike Draco. He knew that even if he was quite a dark personality, he didn't and couldn't stomach killing a person, even if it meant killing his archenemy and his golden best friends, or a mudblood such as the girl lying on the floor near his feet. As he glanced at her slightly off-white skin tainted in light red blood (probably faded), he smirked at the thought of his twelve-year old self now. He remembered wanting the Heir of Slytherin to kill her. He said it with relish, even allowing a small but evil smile to line his pale red lips. He remembered Goyle acting too defensive about it and Crabbe fisting as Draco rambled on about Hermione's dirty bloodline. Up to this day, he still didn't get why his two henchmen were getting all defensive. Bollocks! She was a Mudblood, had they forgotten? Well, they'd always forget, seeing how stupid they really were. And after commenting like that, he regretted saying it to himself. They were actually scaring him, especially during the first few moments of the war, when they both turned on him, knowing how the Malfoy's reign of power was slowly dissipating.
"Draco," a voice floated across the area. He tensed up at once and slowly tilted his head to the right and then through his grey eyes looked for the source of the voice. But he did not see anyone but corpses. Disturbingly brutal sight they were, he thought. Amycus Carrow must have done a splendid job. "Draco," the voice echoed, its pitch slightly rising, as if impatient in awaiting a response. "Who the bloody hell are you?" Draco replied, quite anxious and irked at the same time. "You have no right to speak to your father like that," the voice responded. "But a Malfoy trait, nonetheless."
The boy felt a lump in his throat as he side-peered at the muggle girl lying on the floor. He remembered how annoyed he was for her constant nagging and her constantly high-pitched voice, spewing "Oh, Ronald, you have got to study your Arithmancy!" or "Harry James Potter, where were you last night?" She was such a motherly prat, it was so annoying—
"Draco!" his father's disembodied voice interrupted his train of thought. "Were you even listening to a word I said?" "Repeat them once again, Father," his son replied. "I was too engrossed in my thoughts." And he suddenly reddened. Engrossed in my thoughts? He thought shockingly. Nice answer, Malfoy. "Engrossed in your thoughts? Are you losing your focus on this mission, Draco?" Lucius exclaimed icily. "Do you realize our reputation is at stake? Do you not wish to be one of the most worshipped families in the Wizarding World? Hell, even the Crabbe family wouldn't get it into their shell they call a brain, pun not intended, to remember who is head!"
It was all about reputation. Were his father not seeking anything else but reputation? Never. It was always about the Dark Lord, always about destroying the boy wonder, speaking of the boy wonder, how was he…
"And here you are again, looking like a silly schoolboy who forgot his lunch money in his enchanted locked cupboard." Lucius cut in. "Funny you should remember such a thing, Father," his son shot back, tone icy like his Pater. "You have never been involved in my academic life. You have never even asked how I was back in school!"
Draco and Lucius were silent. His father took full form and appeared right before his eyes and he heard Dolohov and Yaxley exclaiming about where he Disapparated to. "How dare you speak to me that way? Do you know who I am?" his father growled menacingly. Draco couldn't help but cower in fear. He hated looking at his father when he was in his normal state: icy, cold, and quite nasty to be with. What more looking at him straight in the eye when his present persona could be likened to some beastly animal? He shuddered.
"Well?" Lucius snapped. "What are you waiting for? Do it!" Draco's hands trembled and his wand was shaking so much, the boy feared for its future breakage. "Kill the mudblood."
Draco's breath caught in his throat. Yes he did hate Mudbloods; they were the filthy sort after all. But kill? Did his own father think that was in his resume? Well of course, it is sort of in my resume. I am a Death Eater after all. But did he really want to be one of them?
"Oy, Lucius!" Alecto Carrow, sister to Amycus Carrow, shrieked. "You have to take a gander at this fight! Potter's weakening!" Draco's eyebrows shot up. Potter was losing? How could that be? His father, although reluctant to leave due to his want to witness his son's first murder, disapparated and Draco looked to find that his father was back at the fight area. He breathed a sigh of relief.
He kneeled beside Hermione Granger and blindfolded her with his tie. He knew that if he had to kill her, he couldn't torture her. He just wanted to get it over with, however hard it may be. "Avad—"
"Harry?" she croaked. Granger? Granger was awake? He casted a charm that changed his voice to that of Potter's and replied, "Yes, Her-Hermione?" It felt strange, her first name rolling off his tongue so smoothly. He was so used to calling her Granger. "Oh, you're still alive!"
Draco gulped. He knew Harry was still alive, but his whereabouts at the time were unknown. "Did you defeat You-Know-Who yet?" she whispered. "Erm.. not yet, I just came to see you…" his voice trailed off. He glanced at her pale face. A small smile danced on her lips, as if she were finally in a place of peace. And oddly, Draco felt peaceful too.
She laughed quietly. "Sorry, I can't really think straight with this blindfold off. Speaking of which, why didn't you take it off when you saw me in this position?" "Er, Hermione, you should keep it on…" "Am I dying soon?"
"Pardon?" he replied shakily. "It's okay, you don't have to hide it… I just need to ask one favor of you and you must cooperate. Yes?" "Wh-" "Harry James Potter!" she exclaimed, her tinny voice echoing the dead (pardon the pun) quiet room. "Just say yes!"
"Oh, all right, yes!" he exclaimed, a bit annoyed at her somewhat energetic demand. She then kissed him, surprisingly precise. And for some reason, Draco kissed her back too. And although he knew that her minutes to live were limited, she kissed like there was no tomorrow. He felt like she knew she would live forever even if she wouldn't. There was so much passion. Wow, damn good kisser she is! He thought. I never knew she could kiss like this… or me kissing her for that matter. As she pulled away, he saw there were tears slowly falling down her cheeks. "I don't want you to leave me, Harry," she whispered. "Promise me that you will be holding my hand forever."
"Look, Hermione, just…" he croaked. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "But you will be brave, am I right? Or else my constant nagging would not have been put to good use." She giggled. Draco uttered a sleeping spell and he saw that she had fallen back on the floor and out of surprising chivalry supported her head with his hand as he lay her down. He knew she couldn't kill her. He heard footsteps coming. Father! He quickly chanted, "Accio Remembrall!" And indeed a small glass ball with gold trimmings appeared on his left hand. He put his wand near the temple of Hermione's head and retrieved several silvery wisps of memory and stored them inside the ball.
After he untied her blindfold, he lifted her off the floor and Disapparated from the castle. They landed in Shell Cottage, a slumbering Hermione in his arms. He slowly opened the door of the now empty abode and looked for a bedroom. He lay her there and tucked her in. With that, he aimed his wand at her temple.
"Obliviate."