title. the vow of the strings
summary. one curse. nine plagues. two enemies. some people call it fate that brought together draco malfoy and hermione granger. they say it's a vow.
disclaimer. this is a non-profit fanfic and the harry potter universe is still j.k. rowling's.
"The mind of a bigot is like the pupil of the eye; the more light you pour upon it, the more it will contract." - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Prologue: All Was Well
Death Eaters weren't fools.
They may have murdered, raped and burned for their cause and lost twice, but they weren't fools. They may have stood behind a delusional half-blood, but that was no valid reason to consider them as fools.
No, Death Eaters were anything but fools. They were geniuses in the field of Dark Arts. Voldemort may have lost, but he was one of the best strategists the Wizarding world ever had the fortune of meeting. He may be a megalomaniac, but he was a Slytherin through and through, devising plans and means for world domination. Part of this meant hand-picking his followers so well that only few but worthy may carry his Dark Mark.
This was why people such as Snape, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, etc. were chosen for the fulfilment of the great task. It was because they were more than capable of doing it.
But Augustus Rookwood knew more than this. While Malfoy, Lestrange, Avery and the others were cooking up their own plan to gain power alongside their master, Rookwood was busy playing protégé to the Dark Lord. While the others were busy running petty errands Lord Voldemort, he was busy learning a very dark secret from the powerful dark wizard.
Rookwood knew better, and that's why he was trying to cover up his snicker as Aurors led him away from the battered ruins of Hogwarts to the dark, filthy soil of Azkaban.
But as he was being dragged away, he caught sight of the Potter boy and the blood-traitor Weasleys. He started laughing and snickering. Potter looked at him like he was a madman and the others did the same. He noticed the red-faced Weasley who tried to kill him during the battle and laughed more.
"FOOLS!" he yelled. Gasping, he yelled again, "HE WAS TRYING TO SAVE YOU ALL!" Another sick, loud laugh issued from him. The ropes gripped him tighter as he nearly doubled over with malevolent laughter.
"HE WAS TRYING TO SAVE US ALL! EXTERMINATE THE FILTH! SAVE THE PURITY OF OUR BLOOD!"
Then tears streamed down his filthy face. He let the Aurors drag him away, his chest heaving with real, loud, wrecking sobs. It was evident to the crowd watching him that he looked very much like a madman now, but he didn't care. They were the madmen! All of them! Insane fools!
"NOW IT'S TOO LATE! TOO LATE!" were Augustus Rookwood's last words before the Aurors whisked him to Azkaban.
The water rippled with waves as a soft wind blew along. The trees swayed and rustled in the wind. Birds, specifically owls, hooted in the distance. The sun shone on the horizon and its reflection on the Black Lake's waters was almost blinding, but its sight still welcome. The rustling and whooshing were the only sounds in the vicinity. Anyone who might pass by this place would surely be entranced by this peaceful and mesmerizing sight.
Apparently, it had entranced one eighteen-year-old brunette's attention.
With her back to the sorrow and the horrors and the heartache that the castle behind her currently kept, she stood worn-out and bruised and scarred in front of the lake that held many childhood memories, basking in the peace and solitude it now offered her. Or maybe, always had offered her. She grasped the wand in her hand loosely for the battle was over. She tilted her chin up as the wind blew again and breathed in the air of freedom deeply.
She was free. Everyone was free. The battle was won and over.
Suddenly, a piercing ache went through her chest at the thought of the people they lost in the war. But as fast as it came, it was gone, squelched by her and overpowered by the peace surrounding her. There would be time to grieve and to mourn, but it was not now, yet. Her thoughts strayed to her parents who were on the other side of the world and wondered how they were. There would be time for their reunion, but she decided that it was not today, yet. She must rejuvenate her worn spirit first and regroup her scattered mind.
Let the lake be her solace, and damn everything else to oblivion in the meantime. She needed this.
Behind the huge tree to her left, a seventeen-year-old blond sat and stared at the water, lost in his thoughts and emotions. A raging war could be seen in his grey eyes as emotions battled against each other. He didn't know what to feel. The war had ended and he was now free from the Dark Lord that enslaved his family; shouldn't he be happy? The cause had failed and the filth they were supposed to exterminate were once again roaming free; shouldn't he be angry? His friends—an unexplainable pain gripped his chest and burned his eyes—were dead; shouldn't he be sad? He was going to Azkaban surely, for all those crimes he did; shouldn't he be afraid? Years and years of apathy had erased the word 'emotion' in his vocabulary. For him, feeling was a petty thing, not to be taken seriously. But now, he was a raging mess because of the same 'petty thing' he had repressed all along.
He went outside, to this place, to escape the severe awkwardness that threatened to suffocate him inside the castle. He looked for a little bit of peace and solitude before his life became an inferno… again. He suddenly felt a hundred years old with the thoughts he was entertaining. Seven years ago, he never would've thought that he'd be like this, the boy or the man that he was right now.
He wondered what his life would be after this. Everyone on the winning side would surely live their happy fairy tale lives afterwards, and everyone on the losing side, his side, would surely be rounded up again by the Ministry to pay for their crimes, or in his situation, his mistakes. He could still hear the old wizard's words until now, forever reverberating in his mind, forever haunting his decisions. He heard it whenever a Mud—Muggle-born was brought to his house, screaming and writhing under his father's or his aunt's or any masked man or woman's wand, spilling their blood-that wasn't as muddy and as dark as his ancestors had told him-on the dark floor of the manor's drawing room. He heard it whenever he pointed his wand at any person, even at any animal such as that bloody centaur a while ago.
'Draco, Draco, you are not a killer…'
He shut his eyes and clenched his fists. This was something he would never admit to anybody: that he believed Dumbledore that night in the Astronomy Tower, and that he wished everybody would think of him in the same way too; that he has scars and regrets and mistakes too, just like Harry sodding Potter, and that he was sorry for everything…
Let the lake be his solace, and damn everything else to oblivion in the meantime. He needed this.
Unbeknownst to both, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, Muggle-born and pure-blood, brunette and blond, champion of the winning side and supreme supporter of the losing side, shared a single similarity that day: their thoughts. And also unbeknownst to them, this was not the last time they would share something.
Both simultaneously raised their eyes to squint at the sun, took a deep breath and wished for a brighter day. An owl hooted at their amusing display and flew away. The wind continued to rustle the leaves of the big oak and maple trees around.
Fate sighed at the two teenagers. It was not the end, but the beginning… of everything.