YOUR EYES
Hermione Granger was once named the brightest witch of her age and, after the war against Voldemort, she became a hero. She had never felt like one. Huddled in her cottage fighting sleep, away from any human, magical or muggle, civilisation, she felt more like a prisoner than someone who was both respected and admired. It had been four years since the battle that ended it all but she had never been able to get the faces out of her head or the screams out of her mind.
She had been changed and it wasn't just physically.
Looking into the mirror while she made herself the most foul coffee she could, she wondered what had happened. Although she had never been the thinnest or the prettiest witch in her school years, she had enough pride in her presentation to look decent, clean at the very least. Since she hadn't seen her friends for longer than she could remember and had refused to lift the memory charm on her parents, for who would want a daughter as damaged and practically deranged as her, she had forgotten that she was a human being.
Her brown hair was frizzier than ever and sat like a matted heap on top of her head, her pajamas stained and her breath definitely no where near pleasant.
Clamping her mug, she sat on her couch to turn on the television – although she had completely renounced the use of magic, tuning in to the new Wizarding channel was the only luxury she had allowed herself. Hermione felt her fingers numbing from the cold and kicked her small electric heater, knowing exactly what spell she could cast but also determined that her old wand would not be used.
Her friends flickered over the screen, a handsome Neville Longbottom with his Herbology talk program, Lavender Brown reading the owls she had received in regards to love and relationships and then even the Minister of Magic reading the news. Although the Daily Prophet was still delivered every day, this muggle invention had become their new way of transmitting information to the masses – no doubt one of Harry and Ron's brilliant ideas.
Harry and Ron, her best friends from school and the people she fought beside in the war. She missed them so much but it pained her to think about it: Harry with his face bloodied, screaming out in pain and fighting to the death; Ron with his injured arm and a missing leg, still defending his family and friends no matter how pale his face became from the blood loss. There were so many lives lost that night, she didn't dare think about it anymore.
However, it didn't stop the memories from flowing in immediately.
Cold skin, lifeless eyes, the shrieks of terror and all of the corpses littering the Hogwarts schoolgrounds. Hermione couldn't help it and let out a shrill cry, blocking her ears as though it would take her back in time to stop it from happening.
There was a sudden pop, a sound that after four years even she recognized. By reflex she screamed again and leapt behind her couch, hoping that it wasn't someone ready to kill her. Although a lot of witches and wizards were known to live for hundreds of years, Hermione had been hoping that she would die soon, being a muggleborn. However, it being in the hands of a dark wizard had never crossed her mind and she had hoped she would pass away on her couch with a coffee mug. Alone.
"Hermione!" said a familiar voice, "We saw you jump behind the couch and we know you're here. Get out."
She recognized it, someone she knew from school. Someone she knew very well, "No, Ron. I told you four years ago, I'm sick. Really really sick. It could be contagious. I don't want to see anyone."
Suddenly an arm grasped hers from behind, pulling her up, "We're not idiots," said Harry, his dark hair as messy as she remembered, "And you're obviously not sick."
"I am," she fake coughed, "So we better get away."
"No, Hermione," said Ron as he yanked her back over the couch, letting her fall clumsily into a pile, "We need to talk to you right now, it's serious."
She sighed. They had always been hard to convince, but another promise of Butterbeer and Firewhiskey was not luring her out, "Five minutes."
Harry and Ron took a seat in front of her, both flicking their eyes between the floor and each other, unsure of where to begin. Harry's eyes glanced at her, a mess since the end of the battle and most definitely a victim of the war. He knew that she had never been able to pick herself up and put the pieces back together after everything she saw, but he had never figured out why. Hermione had always been more than just an intelligent witch, she was headstrong and determined and not one to let fear get in her way.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small envelope, slightly weighed down by an object that had been sealed inside, "Hermione," he started, "Me and Ron were at St Mungos for an inspection yesterday and we kind of found Narcissa Malfoy. She's been in the hospital in and out for years, really ill."
"Yeah, I mean since she's been living by herself it's even worse, now that Lucius is in Azkaban," Ron looked slightly sorry since he knew that Lucius wanted to run at the end of the war but hadn't made it away before he caught him due to a disarming spell he had cast.
"Anyway, she's been slipping in and out of sanity and, in a moment of comprehension yesterday, she gave me this and told me to give it to you," Harry looked slightly confused, but handed her the envelope, "She said Draco gave it to her before he... you know. She wanted to hand it to you but didn't know where you were and was too afraid to ask us for help."
Hermione stared at the item in her hand: heavy parchment and the perfectly flourished handwriting that she knew so well, there was no denying that it was written in Draco's hand. Beyond her control, she broke into tears, letting her body fall over her seat and into the laps of the boys she used to confide in during school. All of the memories, the nightmares and the secrets that she had buried deep in her heart, wishing not for their discovery even in her death, were suddenly coming back to haunt her with more strength than they ever had in her nightmares.
Harry and Ron had absolutely no idea what happened and so did what they could, sooth her, hold her and ignore the terrible smell. As her sobbing died away to be replaced by difficult breathing, sniffing and the hiccups, Hermione wiped her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"It's okay, 'Mione," said Ron, giving what he hoped was an encouraging smile, "We didn't really know what it was about but if we did then we wouldn't have sprung it on you like that."
"I should have told you guys a long time ago," replied Hermione as she drew her thin legs to her chest, "I should have told you guys everything before the fight, not kept it to myself until four years after it all."
"What happened?" asked Harry, him and Ron putting her arms over their friends shoulders, "After the battle it just looked like you disappeared – not physically but your spirit was gone. We thought for sure that you were going into madness when you swore to never use magic again, not even on your parents, and then disappeared into the middle of nowhere."
"Every time we came," Ron added, "You pushed us away. We knew you weren't sick but we didn't want to pressure you."
She put her head on Ron's shoulder, still afraid to open her letter, "I know and I'm sorry. I'll tell you everything now, okay? Just... don't say anything until I finished. Please?"
When both of the boys agreed, she began:
Hermione lay in her bed, looking at the head girl badge that she held in her hands. So many years ago, this silly title had meant so much to her but, now, she knew that it was absolutely nothing. Harry's scar had been hurting constantly and everybody in Hogwarts knew what was to happen – Voldemort was coming. The younger students had been sent home immediately but a few people in the older years, actually most students, had decided to stay and fight. It was a difficult decision, knowing that a majority of them would not live for their eighteenth birthday or even see their family again, but it was a sacrifice they were willing to make. Hogwarts had taught them well, not just about magic but about moral and goodness.
Her only worry was that certain members of the Slytherin house had decided to stay too. There was no way McGonagall could refuse just based on their house, but most people were very cautious around them. They knew that, once the battle began, there would be traitors within these walls.
Sitting up, Hermione decided that her common room must still be safe, and so she descended the stairs, knowing fully well who she should find in front of the fireplace.
At the beginning of the year, she had always insisted that Draco Malfoy remain fully clothed around her but, with time and the slacking of her patience, she learnt that he simply did not like to wear shirts. It wasn't a poor sight, that she shamefully admit, but it wasn't enough to ease the tension in the room. However, she had made this visit quiet frequently of the late, if not to provoke his attack (although she knew he would be an idiot to do it), then to spy on him.
"Evening, Granger," he spoke, his voice gravelly.
"Hello, Malfoy," she said, sitting in the opposite love seat. Hermione eyed his poorly disguised dark mark. Choosing instead to focus on the fireplace, she stared at the embers. There had always been certain warmth in her common room, whether it was Gryffindor or here, and she knew that she would miss it so much. Once this battle was over, there was no saying how much of Hogwarts might be left or even what survivors they would have on their side.
"Can you do me a favour?" he asked suddenly.
She was slightly taken aback and didn't know what to say, so she just nodded, hoping that he wasn't going to say something ridiculous.
"Can we pretend for just a few minutes that you're not always down here spying on me and we're not enemies – just two school friends to just so happen to share a common room?"
This surprised her more than the previous request, but she nodded anyway, "Umm.. yeah, sure I guess?"
Draco turned to rest his feet on the couch and to smile at her, a lot more cheerfully than she had ever seen him smile, she noted, "So, Hermione, what's your favourite colour?"
She laughed with the ridiculousness of her mortal enemy asking her about her colour preference when there was a huge impending war above their heads, "Purple, I think. Yours?"
"Silver. I would have said green but that's too typical of me. How did you find out you were a witch?"
In any other circumstance, she would've thought he was ready to ridicule her, but the expression on Draco's face told her that he had become genuinely curious about her, "Well, I was getting the mail when a great big owl swooped into my living room carrying the letter and refused to leave. My parents threw bread crumbs at it and everything, but it just wouldn't budge. Gave us all a big fright!"
He chucked with the mental image, leaning back onto the couch and stretching his lean torso, "Father wanted me to go to Durmstrang you know? Had my trunk ready and everything when the owl arrived from Dumbledore."
"You said your mother didn't want you attending school so far away, right?"
He became awkward after that, choosing instead to look at his feet and mutter, "Yeah. Something like that."
Hermione sunk further into the couch, also resting her feet on the side. The fireplace continued to crackle and she watched the lights dancing off the Gryffindor and Slytherin banners that decorated the room. As much as she knew she had to hate Draco Malfoy, for that one moment she really wished she didn't have to. It wasn't like she was attracted to Draco, although she had to admit that he wasn't bad on the eyes, but she really wanted to forget about what house he was in or where his allegiance lay. Maybe that way she could really get to know him as a human being and maybe understand why he had been so mean to her for all these years.
"I like pudding," she said suddenly, smiling to look at him, "What's your favourite food?"
He smirked, "So now you want to play best friends too?"
Hermione jokingly threw a pillow at him, "Don't ruin the fun and answer my question."
"Steaks," he replied, relaxing his shoulders again and forgetting that the way his arms were placed hid his dark mark worse than the charm he placed on it, "I'm more of a man than you are. Why do you study so much?"
She opened her mouth, ready to deny that she did anything of the sort (at least not excessively), when she decided not to lie, "I like books and reading. I'm more comfortable when I know that I already know as much as I can about something – it's reassuring for me."
"Means you're a bit of a nerd," he laughed, but Hermione could tell that he wasn't doing it to be nasty, "It's not a bad thing, but it just means that you're always holed up with a book."
"I don't mind it," replied Hermione, smiling and tucking her slender legs under herself, "It means I can spend more time on things that matter instead of giggling about boys and love potions with Lavender or something. It works for me."
"I know, I'm curious though," Draco cocked him head, "From reading all of those books, do you think that all of this reading is going to be useful in a real life situation?" He was approaching tense ground as it felt like he was almost asking her whether she thought her studying would match up to what might happen in the battle.
Hermione was careful answering the question, unsure about what to say, "It's always good to be prepared."
"I see..." Draco voice trailed off. Suddenly, he screamed in pain, gripping his forearm. Beads of sweat suddenly appeared on his forehead as the atmosphere in the room immediately became dangerous.
"Draco, are you okay?" asked Hermione, as she made to approach him.
"Get the hell away from me, you filthy mudblood!" he pulled his wand out from his pocket and aimed it at Hermione, glancing quickly from side to side as he backed out of the room, running down the corridor to god knows where.
From the moment Draco Malfoy pulled his wand out at her, she knew that it had begun; even earlier than they had anticipated and the pain was no doubt from his dark mark signalling for the supporters to group. She stood there in shock for a few moments, the portrait hole ajar and screams coming from further in the castle. A boy who had been her enemy since she was eleven had suddenly had a friendly conversation with her about her, as though he had wanted to know every small detail of her life. Then he pulled his wand out, called her a mudblood and ran off to join the army wanting to kill her and her best friends.
Comprehension was beyond her.
At that moment her the boys came through the hole and found her. "Hermione! Are you okay? Where's Malfoy?" asked Harry.
She shook her head, "He left. His dark mark burned, he pointed his wand at me and disappeared somewhere."
Ron looked around the room, seeing nothing unusual. He noticed that Hermione was completely dressed; in her jeans, a practical shirt with her bag at the door and a wand in her back pocket – she had been constantly prepared for this battle but none of them knew what to do now that it was actually here. "What's the plan?" he asked.
She closed her eyes and thought for a moment, "Straight out to the front courtyard. There's no other way for the death eaters to get in, that has to be where they're all gathered."
The scene outside was terrifying and the battle was a violent one, putting into play every aspect of defence they had learnt in the last seven years and proving to them that death really was just an incantation away. Hermione had lost sight of Ron and Harry a long time ago and, as she cursed off another death eater, was wondering whether they were even alive.
Part of Hogwarts had become nothing but rubble within the first thirty minutes and killing curses were thrown off at every corner. Harry had chased off Voldemort and Snape, with Ron following, but Hermione had fallen behind while she tried to hold off Fenrir Greyback. She hadn't been bitten but it wasn't without the help of Percy Weasley, who, no matter if he had been on the ministry's side for so long, she couldn't afford to reject help from.
"Hermione!" there came a cry from behind her. She turned and saw Harry supporting Ron whose arm was bloodied and, she could barely force herself to look, had his lower leg severed off.
She ran towards them, keeping a firm grip on her wand in case anybody were to attack them but, for that one moment, they were alone. Ron collapsed to the group, his face pale and white. "What happened?" she asked.
Harry pulled his shirt off, using the only fabric he had to try and stop the blood from pouring from Ron's wounds, "Death Eaters. They tried to kill us and only just missed Ron, but he leg wasn't that lucky."
Ron chuckled faintly, "A Weasley ain't dying so easily."
"You still joke at a time like this?" Hermione cried, trying to suppress a small smile. She reached into the bag she had kept on her jeans belt and pulled out a vial, "It's going to sting a little, Ron."
"Is it going to stop the bleeding?" asked Harry, his shirt already soaked through.
She was holding back tears seeing her best friends injured to that extent, "I don't know. I really don't know. I mean, it depends on the curse he was hit with and how deep it went and-"
"Hermione, just do it," said Ron, closing his eyes, "Just stop the bleeding so I can fight again."
"Not on that leg!" she insisted.
Ron smiled bravely, "I don't know what leg you're talking about. Now go!"
She bit her lip in concentration as she opened the vial and dripped it over his open wounds. At first, the skin surrounding it bubbled, as though the dried blood had become acid and was burning his flesh right off of the bone. Ron gritted his teeth, trying hard not to scream for fear of discovery but as soon as the surface stopped bubbling, he couldn't help but let out a blood curdling cry. The potion was working its way right into his bone while pulling together the open cut. It was a painful and messy process, but the only thing they had in such circumstances.
Suddenly there was a loud pop and two wizards apparated in front of them. Before they could even register who they were, someone yelled out "Avada Kedavra" and sent a green light right at them. Without thinking, Hermione repelled the curse. She immediately regretted it.
No doubt after hearing Ron's screams, Lucius Malfoy had come to take them off guard, bringing Draco Malfoy with him. The father was the one to send the curse, but when Hermione sent it back he had used Draco as a shield instead of merely ducking. The blonde schoolboy had fallen straight to the ground, cold and dead by the hands of his own father and Hermione Granger's stupidity.
Harry sent a curse at Lucius, knocking him right out, before she ran at Draco's body.
She touched his hands, cold as ice. His eyes were wide open in shock, even he didn't anticipate that his father would sacrifice him in the battle. The grey tones were still as mesmerizing as the first time she looked into them.
The first and only person she had killed that night was her mortal enemy: the boy who had tormented her for years and, the evening before the war, wanted to do nothing but pretend that they had actually been friends.
Draco Malfoy was dead because of her.
The memories disappeared in her mind, but his eyes were still staring up at her the same. She looked up at her two friends, no longer young school children but aged from both time and the most painful experiences. Ron had a prosthetic leg made of wood that was charmed for ease of use and Harry had a scar running down his face, just hidden by his five o' clock shadow.
From reciting the events, her eyes became rimmed with tears, "I just can't stop seeing that dead look in his eyes and I can't stop wondering what would have happened if he didn't die. I mean, even brief, in those minutes I felt like we really could have been friends."
"Maybe he thought so too," Harry gave her a squeeze, "Open the envelope, Hermione. Me and Ron are right here next to you if you need it."
She pursed her lips, "But what if it's not what I expect?"
"At least you'll know the truth."
Realizing that Harry was completely right and deciding that she had already spent too many years punishing herself for maybes, she broke the seal on the letter. Two pieces of parchment covered in small, elegant handwriting was pulled out alongside a thin silver chain with a small grey crystal. She placed the necklace in her lap and read the letter:
To Hermione,
I'm writing this letter a week before the Dark Lord has planned the raid on Hogwarts. My room is starting to smell a little because I've been neglecting laundry and, right after dinner, you've holed yourself up in your room again – no doubt reading another book you think will help you in the battle. If you're reading this, then chances are that I was the one who didn't survive the battle.
Bad luck for me, I guess.
I'm writing this because, in the occasion that I do die, I don't want you to only have the image of me as that stupid kid you punched in the face that one time. I want to apologize for how I have treated everybody, but most of all you. You have never done anything to me and yet, I have probably been the worst. At least now I will have the opportunity to explain.
Since I was a kid, my father has been raising me to be ready for the Dark Lord's return. There had been whispers that he was gone forever, but he knew that it was all a bunch of lies. That's why he let me go to Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang. It wasn't because my mother would have missed me, but rather because he had received a message from Quirrell that Voldemort wanted his supporters as close as possible. I guess you muggles would have called me a secret spy.
My father told me that I was to hate Potter, and so I did. I hated Weasley too because I was told too and, when I met you, I knew that a muggleborn should not be treated any differently. I'm sorry, I really am. I was foolish and blindly following my parents orders. I did so until after the Triwizard Tournament when Diggory was killed. I was never his friend, but it was then that I realized the Lord would stoop to no ends to get the power he wanted.
At that moment, I should have turned myself in to Dumbledore. I should have came to your side, but I didn't. My entire family was under the Lord's power and a single toe out of line, even from me would have meant everybody's life. My mother may be cold and my father manipulative, but we are family and I could never let something like that happen to them, just like I know my parents would never let me die. I have gone along with it this whole time knowing that, when it came to the moment of the final battle, I will have to fight alongside whoever my parents do.
That's my curse, you see. I might not have a scar on my forehead or something, but I carry the burden of a family. I never want to kill someone and, as you're reading this, I really hope I didn't (although, if I do kill someone, then I have deserved to die and you should burn this letter and let me die a blabbering idiot). The point is, I have always wondered what it would have been like were we not separated by this war.
If I hadn't called you a mudblood and hurt you and your friends all these years, maybe we could have been friends too. Instead of sitting outside pretending to do an essay while waiting exactly seventeen minutes for you to get out of the bathroom (trust me, I count) I could have been kicking at the door, laughing at how your girls always spend too much time washing yourself. I probably would have spoken up and told me that you looked really nice at the Yule Ball too and maybe we would have danced together, instead of you being with that Krum idiot all night who barely even knew you.
We could have been friends, Hermione. That's all I wanted to say. I could have written this letter for anybody but I am writing it to you because it's you I should apologize most to – you are the one I owe the most too.
Don't worry, Granger, I'm not about to tell you that I've always loved you or that your hair smells like strawberries and makes my day brighter. It's really corny and you don't have to know me well to know that I would never have said that. However, I guess the whole thing is a 'maybe'. Maybe we could have been friends, maybe I would've fallen in love with you and, if you don't mind me saying, maybe you would have loved me too. But it's all in the past and, since you're reading this, there's no chance of that ever happening.
So I'm sorry.
By the way, I know that it's muggle tradition to give someone a present when you're trying to say sorry but I really had no idea what to give you for this occasion. It's not often a Malfoy writes a letter to be delivered to a muggleborn upon his death – in fact, I don't think it has ever happened before. I have put in the envelope a Malfoy heirloom that I have been wearing around my neck for years. It's been handed down from generation to generation and, you know, I thought the crystal might remind you of my pretty eyes.
I'm joking, it actually brings good luck, but I had always though the colour of it was a funny coincidence.
I'll leave you with this and my last words; in everybody's mind I might have been the death eater, the bully and one of Voldemort's allies. I don't care. All I want is for you to know that I was not that boy. I was someone more than that.
Thank you.
Your friend in spirit, Draco Malfoy.
She stared at the chain, so delicate and beautiful.
After Harry and Ron also read the letter, they stared at their best friend, wondering what her next move would be.
In an abrupt movement, Hermione stormed out of the room, into the bathroom and flushed the necklace down the toilet. Running after her open mouthed in shock, Ron asked, "Hermione! What the blimey did you just do? That was a family heirloom. It's probably been in their family for thousands of years."
Harry added, "It's probably the only thing of Draco's that's left since the ministry destroyed all of the death eater's belongings."
Tears ran down her cheeks as she explained, "Draco fought beside Voldemort to protect his mother and his father, the very same man who on that night killed Draco in order to save his own ass. Draco was used a as shield and that is all Lucius saw him as – an object, not a son. I don't need or want a Malfoy artefact because I don't want that Draco." She fell to the floor, holding the letter to her, "I have every part of him that I want to remember right here in my hands. That necklace is worthless to me."
Draco Malfoy, the biggest maybe of Hermione Granger's life, had never left her to begin with. From the memories she has in school, to the laughter in the common room, the eyes she could never forget and now the letter she held in her hands.
She will always remember him.