The sun began to rise. The drawing room of the Malfoy Manor was slowly filling with light. What used to be the crown jewel of Draco's home, the room in which every big event of his life had transpired, was littered with remnants of a horrific night.

Lucius Malfoy still lay dead on the floor. The once-grandiose crystal chandelier lay in smashed pieces on the floor, shards of glass everywhere. Hermione's wand lay forgotten about against a far wall. Blood stained the cool marble that Draco had grown up crawling and playing on.

It was a cold spring morning, close to Easter Sunday. Draco had come home from Hogwarts for the Easter holiday. He hadn't expected to be robbed of his family and home.

He had offered to spare the girl's life for just one day, in exchange for her help in burying his father. He wasn't entirely sure of the reasoning behind this decision; it wouldn't be difficult to kill the girl and bury his dead father himself. But something inside of him was stopping him. He was delaying Hermione's death, though he didn't understand why. He had grown up despising her, hadn't he?


"Fine."

Hermione spoke quietly, still face to face with Draco. The chilliness of the morning caused her breath to be visible, and goose bumps began forming along her arms and legs.

Draco's eyes pierced her own with an intense look. He seemed perplexed, as though fighting a battle with himself. It made sense, as Hermione was also confused; Draco had yet to lay a single hand on her, and he had dropped the wand as casually as if he had never been intending to use it against her in the first place.

"Shall we?" Hermione asked, her eyes glancing suggestively from Draco to his father's body. Draco, as though suddenly coming back to reality, blinked a few times before solemnly nodding, breaking his eye contact with Hermione. He turned his back to her and walked slowly to Lucius. Hermione followed cautiously.

From behind, Hermione could see Draco begin to shake, as he got closer to his father. She could hear shallow breaths, and assumed that he was holding back tears. When he finally reached Lucius, Draco fell to his knees beside his dead father, clutching his lifeless hand in his own. He was crying.

He stayed like that for some time, his head between his knees, hands grasping to Lucius', and his entire body shaking with emotion. For what seemed like hours, Hermione stood, watching with anguish this tragic scene.


He could feel her presence behind him, but it didn't bother him. Draco knew that Hermione wouldn't try to escape. There wasn't anywhere she could go. Deep inside, Draco was grateful to have someone else there with him; he couldn't imagine being left alone with his deceased father in what was now a ghost of his former home. And so he mourned.

When finally, his tears began to slow, and his breath started to come back to him, Draco spoke.

"Now. Outside, by the fountain."

He reluctantly let go of his father's hand, and stood up. Avoiding Hermione's eyes, he motioned for her to take Lucius' legs, and she obliged. The pair lifted his father, with some struggle, and as gently as possible, carried him from the disgraced drawing room. They walked through a grandiose hallway, which was dimly lit, its walls covered with portraits of previous family members. Their painted eyes suspiciously followed the duo.

It was a quiet and solemn walk; neither Draco nor Hermione spoke. Finally, they came to the entrance hall. The giant front door, which was enchanted, swung open when Draco approached. The bitter cold of morning blew inside, and Draco shivered. They continued walking, down the stone path through the Malfoy's courtyard, past the white peacocks, past the fountain. Draco's eyes began to swim with tears, memories of his youth flooding back to him, days of playing outside with his father, before the troubles of growing up had plagued him.

They turned now to a clear patch of grass, far from the manor, but still a ways from the gate to the property.

"Here."

Draco and Hermione set down Lucius' body on the cool earth.

"Don't move. I'll be right back." Draco said, turning from Hermione and walking back inside the house, to retrieve a pair of shovels. He returned, and the pair silently began to dig.

It took hours, and morning quickly turned to mid-day. Finally the grave was dug, and without another word, Draco and Hermione placed Lucius inside, and covered the grave. He marked the spot with a rock taken from the courtyard's path.

Through all of this time he still hadn't made eye contact with Hermione.


When the grave was finally finished, Hermione set down her shovel and glanced towards the entrance to the property. The wrought-iron gates separating her from freedom were easy to spot in the distance. Her mind still raced with potential paths out of this hell.

"Draco, don't you think we ought to test the gates?" She asked, staring at Draco, though he looked past her, avoiding eye contact.

"There might be a way out for both of us."


Hermione's question was irritating. Draco smirked, and a hint of his old cunning self shone through his miserable exterior.

"Granger, honestly. I thought you were smart. If the Dark Lord says we're locked in, we're locked in on pain of death. He's not an imbecile," Draco spoke harshly, letting the escape of cruelty ease his mental burden, "now get back inside and don't ask any more idiotic questions, fucking useless Mudblood."

He turned on his heel, and walked back to his home, hearing Hermione's quiet steps behind him. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, and Draco guessed it was about 3 or 4 in the afternoon. The two walked back inside, and the giant doors shut behind them.

They stood in silence in the entry hall, side by side. Neither knew where to go from here. Draco had promised Hermione life through the night, and he planned to adhere to that promise. He was unsure of how to approach such a grim situation.


Hermione sighed. The distraction of Lucius had lasted almost half the day, and she hadn't had to face the misery of the night until now. It was growing dark, and the house was becoming cold. The lack of light was unsettling. After what felt like five or ten minutes of standing in silence, Hermione spoke.

"Don't you think we should start a fire somewhere? Or make some food? You promised me one night, and I think the last night of my life should be at least somewhat comfortable, Malfoy. After all we've been through." Her voice was quiet, yet strong. She knew that he would oblige. Something was to be said for the fact that Draco couldn't look her in the eyes. There had to be some kind of pity deep inside of him. She just had to find it.


Draco, relieved that the silence was broken, nodded.

He led Hermione to his own bedroom. The only room he could feel comfortable in, as it hadn't been touched by anyone other than him. Hues of silver and green were recognizable everywhere, his house colors clearly something that prided him. In the corner of the room there was a large marble fireplace, which, with a simple wave of the hand went up in flames. As the fire grew, the room got warmer, and both Draco and Hermione felt able to relax.

Draco sat now at the end of his bed, staring into the flames, lost in thought. He could see the girl in the corner of his eye, standing awkwardly next to the fire, waiting for some sort of interaction. 'She still looks like hell,' he thought, 'I suppose I can let her clean herself up while I'm deciding what to do next.'

"My bathroom's just down the hall. Though I doubt a shower could make you look any less pathetic, go ahead and clean yourself before you get you filth all over my house." Draco said, with a harsh tone, still avoiding eye contact with Ms. Granger. When she didn't move, he motioned with his arm towards the hall.

"Go, Granger. Get the fuck out."