Chapter Three: Memories
September 9/1997
The blank look she gave him must have been the cause for his face to contort into an expression that practically oozed disappointment. Obviously he had thought that Hermione would react to the sound of his name, as if he were some ancient god or something. But she hadn't. This boy's name provoked no emotion or memories to come spilling. Yes the name did seem slightly familiar to her, but there was no real recognition to it. It was of course an uncommon name as far as she was concerned, so if she felt a little prick of memory she probably had known him before…the crash.
Looking up, she stared into his storm grey eyes with her own chocolate brown ones. He didn't look away. Instead he returned her searching expression with one of disdain and fairly well hidden hint of worry. He was hiding his true emotions, that much was certain. For some reason, he did not want her to see his concern. Hermione didn't know why, but on the other hand she didn't really care so much.
"Are you hungry?" He asked again, pulling her out of her deep thought. Instantly her eyes darted to the plate of cookies just in her reach. Before she could reply though, her deprived stomach let out an irritated grumble. Embarrassed, she looked away and tried to shield her center. The boy just snickered though.
"I'll take that as a yes then." He said, while reaching out to grasp the plate. Carefully he balanced the plate in one hand and then reached out for one of the mugs of cider. He turned to her and Hermione took the plate of cookies greedily. She placed the treats on her lap and then reached out for the cup. Hesitating for just a second, he passed it to her.
They sat in silence as she ate, him lightly drumming his finger on his thigh and staring into space, while Hermione ate and pondered her situation. This boy was important, she knew, but his significance couldn't seem to break free from her conscience. He knew something she didn't, that was for sure. But was it for the best or worst. Could she trust him?
"Do you remember what happened?" she asked before she could stop herself. He stiffened. He stopped breathing and his eyes went strangely vacant. Slowly he turned his head to meet her eyes, and Hermione felt a chill crawl through her veins. It left her blood cold and head spinning. He looked dark and tormented, with grey eyes that smoked like a fathomless pit in hell. The way he looked at her made her feel like he could read every dark secret that she had. That just by looking her in the eyes, he could decipher her soul. She shifted uncomfortably.
"What do you mean?" He asked, his eyes never leaving hers.
"The train wreck. Do you remember anything?" Hermione said, her heart beat gradually increasing as her sixth sense began to sense danger. He looked away then, his facial expression changing to show deep sadness and his eyes reflecting someone lost in thought. He sighed sadly.
"I remember we were all on the train, heading to Hogwarts. I was sitting with my friends in the back end of the train, when for some reason the train stopped. Then the lights went out and it became utterly cold. It felt like there was some sort of evil that had swept through the air. It chilled my bones and made all light that had existed seem to die." He paused and then looked at her, his grey eyes filled with grief.
"Then the screaming started." He continued. "It rang through the train and stuck in my ears. And then suddenly there was an extremely loud explosion. I remember seeing red everywhere and then it stopped. I got up and exited the train. When I got outside, what I saw was horrid."
"There were dead bodies everywhere. The front half of the train was off in the ditch and the field around was covered in blood and fire. I remember seeing some poor first year dragging her self across the field; half alive she had no bottom half of her body. I remember the scent of decaying bodies fill my nose and the sounds of pain drench my ears. That's when I ran. I couldn't take it. I didn't stop running till I couldn't smell it anymore. I ended up on top of a hill and from the distance I could see the wreck. Near the front of the train I could see flashes of light and black shadows whipping around. And…in the sky…" He stumbled on his words, wincing and trying to force it out of his mouth. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes and finished.
"In the sky there was a giant skull with a snake in it, the sign of Him and death." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "It was horrible Hermione. I can't even begin to describe how much pain flashed through me the second I saw it. It was His mark. He had caused it. The war has begun Hermione, and Voldemort struck first."
-XXXX-
September 13/1997
After that night where Draco had told his story, Hermione had avoided him. She couldn't stand to see his remorseful eyes and searching gaze. He had expected the "name" to mean something to her, but it hadn't. For some reason her brain wouldn't let her learn all those secrets hidden inside. Sometimes it made her so angry that she would go into a fit of rage and then tear her stitches. Then she would have to sit there for hours as Draco re-sewed her up. He had told her that he didn't remember many spells and that even if he did he didn't reckon he'd be a very good heeler, so he preferred the muggle ways of healing.
Often when he re-sewed her he would tell her storied of his life he remember or answer her questions about the wizarding world. Most of the time Hermione would just lay there and listen, every now and then asking minor questions, but once she asked Draco to elaborate on a subject that was bothering her immensely.
It had been a rainy morning and Hermione had gotten so depressed that she had ran into her bedroom wall over and over to rid herself of her emotional pain and replace it with pain of the physical sense. Once her stitches had ripped she's allowed herself to embrace the burning tearing sensation that usually came with it, and had collapsed on the floor in a jumbled heap. She hadn't screamed or cried though. She was much too determined to do that. She had merely laid there and calmly called for Draco to come help her.
Like almost every day, he came, and gave her a disapproving look like usual. He had scolded her, saying that if she kept ripping her stitches her wounds would never heal. Hermione didn't care. She liked the hurt. It gave a sense of humanity and reassured that she was indeed alive and still felt pain. Pain was her only means of knowing of she still existed.
Grudgingly he had picked her up and carried her out into the living room where he had laid her down gently on the couch. Then after retrieving the first aid kit, had begun to mend the stitches on her leg that helped her wound heal. He had gotten half way down when Hermione had asked him to tell her about Voldemort.
"Who is he?" She had asked, wincing slightly when the needle threaded through her flesh.
"Who?" He asked, never taking his eyes off of her leg.
"Voldemort." She had said nonchalantly. Draco had paused, practically oozing his discomfort on the subject.
"He's a vile man, well thing. A ruthless, cold, hostile murderer, set on the destruction of humanity. He's cunning and evil, a true child of the devil. He wants to control the world and cause all chaos. He wants to "purify" the world of bad blood and shape it to his own desire. He's a killer Hermione, a soul-less, un-sympathetic killer." He said, his eyes gleaming like the tip of a sharpened dagger. Abruptly he stopped and looked up at her, stormy eyes meeting her own soft brown ones.
"Please, don't ever ask me about him again. It…hurts." He said. And with that, all conversation died.
He took another five minutes to finish then stood, told her to stay, and then he left out the door, leaving Hermione alone on the couch.
-XXXX-
When Draco was outside he let the tears run down his face. He hated lying, and the pain, and the way her face had looked when he had described…him. It hurt him to see the trust slowly fill her eyes, when he was using her. One day she would remember, and then he would have to carry out his deed. But he couldn't take it anymore. All the lies were killing him.
They filled his soul with darkness and clouded his heart till he thought he would burst. Seeing her face as she listened, and believed every little untruth he fed her with open eyes. She though he was an innocent young man caught up in emotion and sadness. How little she really knew. She didn't know that his sadness was a reaction to his guilt. That his betrayal sliced his heart in half and tore at him every time he looked at her. She didn't know the truth. She didn't know who he really was. Or what he was. And most importantly, she didn't know that in a matter of weeks, the plan would un-fold and He would come looking. Looking for her.
