Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.
Beta Thanks:
rooOJoy
Triggers: language, eventual smut, major character death, torture, war
It Ends Tonight
Part Two
"... When darkness turns to light
it ends tonight …"
September 1996
The bustle of the train station was in full swing with older students hurrying along with their carts in tow and parents sobbing as they sent their eleven year olds off for the very first time.
The atmosphere was tainted with an unspoken tension floating in the air. Though, naturally, they all knew why.
The Dark Lord had returned.
Hermione, of course, knew first hand that this was true. Flashes of the Department of Mysteries flooded her mind, and she was temporarily lost in memory of the blinding pain she'd finally recovered from.
It was real, he was back, and you'd be a bloody fool to have thought otherwise.
"Let's go before all the compartments fill up."
Ronald Weasley's voice pulled her from her thoughts and back into the present. She steadied her breathing before grabbing the handle of her trolley and picking up the pace to catch up to Harry and Ron, who were already stepping onto the train.
No sooner had they settled into their seats, Harry's accusations began.
"He's taken the mark, guys. I just know it!" He huffed angrily.
Hermione rolled her eyes. He was probably right, she'd eventually concede. They'd run into Malfoy just a month prior, and it wasn't easy to miss the way he'd cradled his left arm, as if it had been injured. As if it hurt.
She tried to convince Harry that this snooping was unnecessary, that whatever it was Malfoy was into heeded no use to them. He didn't need to seek out trouble at every turn.
Of course, no one listened to her. Not until it really mattered, so she followed Ron off the train and told herself that Harry could save himself this time around.
Hermione Granger was a savior to her friends, and though she swore she'd let him muck this up on his own, she couldn't stop herself from hanging back and waiting for Harry's return.
As she sat by a carriage, toying with her trunk, she spotted the unmistakable platinum locks. Draco looked worn, tired, but his features twisted into a haughty sneer she'd come to know well over the last six years.
As their eyes locked, she couldn't stop the goosebumps that ran up her arms. No matter how many times this boy - man - had thrown insult her way, she couldn't deny the power, the passion that burned in his steel grey eyes.
This time, his cool demeanor rubbed her the wrong way, and she sprinted down the long trail, all the way back to the train and tried to stop the fury that ripped in her chest when she found Harry unconscious with a broken nose beneath his invisibility cloak.
How can a man that handsome be so very ugly?
xx
In the coming months, she'd watch, and she'd see - but it wasn't enough, because he needed help, and that wasn't something she could give him.
That wasn't something he would, or could, accept - not now. Not when he was under this pressure.
She sought out his head whenever she thought he wasn't looking, and on occasion, he'd let their eyes connect. He knew she was watching, her gaze burning holes in his soul, but why was the recurring inquisition.
Her eyes, golden brown, soft and full of concern. For me? Surely not, he'd think more than once. Because he was Draco Malfoy, and she, Hermione Granger, mudblood, know-it-all, beautiful, terrifying.
Because she saw! And Merlin, he was scared.
For he failed once, and the clock was ticking. He probably would again, and that meant consequence. That meant torture. That meant worse.
That meant death.
He was young, full of life, and it wasn't his time. So he vowed then and there to finish his mission, to survive. And if he could do this, he could surely do anything.
He could know those caramel eyes, and he could know why they haunted him when he closed his own.