Disclaimer: I own just the plot and the Sanctitas Charm.
A/N: Sorry for the long wait people. I was disappointed by no reviews for the last chapter. I'd sincerely hope you reviewed for this one, it really helps.:)
I'd been away for a long time and no, the cellphone could do nothing about the updates. Also, the nil number of reviews discouraged me. Thus the slow update.
The story, since you haven't voted, will have a LOT of pairings in it. Just for the different doses of flavours. Tee-hee.
Chapter 4: Reminiscence and Regression
The evening sun was almost setting on the grounds of Hogwarts. Everything looked like it was on fire, and the chilly winter breeze that was absent for the few hours of afternoon returned in full fervour. All the Hogwartians had sought refuge in the warmer common rooms, chatting away merrily; except the Slytherins who were too busy planning which first year to pick on next.
The end of the war had pretty much consummated in the evil to be drawn out of everyone. The Slytherins were still cunning, callous and devoid of humane feelings, but none of them were actually as evil as to kill off people and sorts. Although most of their parents had been Death Eaters, they were teenagers and had yet to suit themselves comfortably to killing and heinous sins of the same kind. The relief that had emanated from the end of the war had let these pressurized teenagers be what teenagers are supposed to be: carefree, fun-loving and company-seeking.
Blaise Zabini. The boy who had always hated Muggleborns, now realized, and made everyone realize, that it was circumstances that led him to feel so strongly against them. Now that the circumstances had been wiped away from the sheet of glass, Blaise could see better, and although past bitterness still hit him at the back of his head, he had eventually coped up with the fact that they were not that bad.
Pansy Parkinson. She was a slut as ever, but she had always been so easily influenced and so incapable of thinking for herself, that she soon forgot her very great loathing for others out of her "Me-likey" list and although like Blaise a twinge of dislike still existed, she had given up on boiling her bile in a body-internal cauldron every time she saw someone she was expected to impede on by her royal pride. She still had her annoying voice, though.
The others like Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott went through the same kind of transition. Crabbe and Goyle were just too thick-headed to ever form an opinion for themselves and just believed what their superiors did (to be honest they were pathetic enough to be considered minors). That leads to their former "master", Draco Malfoy.
As the wagon of the evening sun carried on riding southwards and the frosty wind was beginning to dominate its abandoned territory, a boy who had recently developed into a man innately and was thoroughly unaffected by the liveliness that had affected all the others, sat on a secluded platform of rocks beyond the lake which now looked like a creased sheet of never-ending crimson muslin, and concealed well by the thickening mass of trees so that no trace of civilization could disturb his pensive serenity. Blond bangs swept across his porcelain forehead. Some fell into his eyes, sometimes obscuring his view of the gorgeous scenery. But he was not concentrating on that; his mind centred around completely different things altogether. His platinum grey eyes with specks of green no longer had that mischievous fire in them; they were forlorn and drowned in a pool of mourning and repentance. He felt like he had been given the Dementor's Kiss—soul sucked in from within leaving him hollow. Draco Malfoy, a boy of only nineteen, had been robbed off all substantial elements that made up human soul to leave a broken man behind. He wished a Reparo spell could fix it. But he knew wishes did not come true. For him they never did.
He wished he was never a Malfoy. He wished he was never the Pureblood who had to spill blood to keep the name of his own blood. He wished his mother got the love, care and respect she truly deserved—both from her son and husband. He wished his father was not a Death Eater who blindly and blatantly acted upon sins that made everyone shudder even if they heard of them. He wished he did not have to kill his father. And he wished for this...thing. He didn't know what though, all his life he had been divorced from it and never been introduced to it. He knew something was missing, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what. A part of him said, What's to be missing when there is nothing? But another part of him, the part ruled by his Malfoy arrogance said, Nothing's missing. A Malfoy has everything to be asked for.
He recalled every single bit from the war that had registered itself onto his head. Heads separated from shoulders. Throats slit in gashes, oozing blood and life with it as every second passed. People writhing in pain from the Cruciatus. Some were put under the Imperius and forced to kill even their own mothers, and ended up killing themselves later in guilt. Some threw their internals up through their mouth. Draco felt a fresh wave of nausea hit him, and with much difficulty he refrained himself from vomiting. He had once heard Lucius say that Voldemort did not allow raping, because he though it would "stir carnal desires in his followers, and that would be a distraction". Draco had snorted at that time. He knew that everyone in the Wizarding World had a special kind of Charm—the Sanctitas Charm-- put on him or her on birth, which resisted any kind of forced action on the body. It was only put down when the person was willing. Now he thanked his luck that he did not
have to witness something like that. As if the sense of nausea was not already bad enough, it would just get way beyond control if he had to witness innocent men and women getting raped.
Draco remembered Lucius' last words: "So this was my destiny, my death in my own son's hands. Bravo, Draco, I know today I have taught you well."
Draco knew it was a sardonic remark, because Lucius had been the one who had almost handed him and his mother over to Voldemort. Draco had refused the Dark Mark a day earlier, and Narcissa had refused to convince him otherwise. Now they were to be punished, as Lucius had stated it.
What a father, he thought.
He had saved himself. No, his mother had saved him. After several excruciating Crucios, Voldemort was about to Avada him. His mother had jumped in front of him and took the curse. He had stared at his mother's once brilliant eyes, dimming away as the life slipped out of her. She was mouthing words that roughly indicated Draco to run away in a hoarse dying voice. Draco was too shocked to respond, but despite his bleeding heavy feet, he forced them to drag him somewhere to a place of safety. But he could bet anything he had heard the same voice mutter in between her last breaths: "i love you Draco."
He couldn't cry. He just couldn't. It was all so badly pent up inside him. He wanted to let it all out, but Draco Malfoy had his heart put in a bottle with a stopper put in by the force of darkness itself, and even he could not open it.
Draco Malfoy craved for his skies to see light after such a century of darkness. He wanted innocence; he wanted someone to restore substance into his soul and wash and scour his soul thoroughly of all the blemishes. He had had enough of deaths and spillage of blood; no more, he begged; no more.
He felt like slapping himself at times. He was supposed to be so hated and so evil that he had made Hermione Granger, the epitome of goodness, stop laughing. Her melodious and innocent laughter was put to an end by Draco Malfoy, and she thought he would do something malicious by the information he gathered from company. Was he really so bad? Really?
He wished he could scratch that Malfoy at the end of his name at times.
He had even stopped calling Muggleborns by the name "Mudblood". Two reasons existed for his paradigm shift. Lucius Malfoy had told him Muggles and Muggleborns were barbaric, uncivilized and intellectually incompetent, and also that their blood stank foul and looked greenish blue.
But Draco had seen their blood spill, and it was the same as his blood—every Pureblood's blood. And speaking of the other three adjectives they had been described with—Draco had come across Muggle technology during the war—it was brilliant. Another proof was Hermioen granger herself—who had beaten every Pureblood of her age in the race of intelligence. And barbaric...
Draco Malfoy had sought shelter in a Muggle's house when Narcissa had told him to run. A middle-aged couple had heartily opened the door to him. Even when he had told them he was the son of a Death Eater they had said: "Oh poor boy, you are just a child! And children have the most innocent hearts—they are cherubs of God!"
Draco did not know how to respond. He disagreed in his head, but curtly nodded. When the woman noticed his wounds, she hugged him tightly and a few drops of tears escaped her eyes. This startled Draco a little. The woman did not even know him and there she was, crying at his pain. The father quickly got some Muggle medicine. Draco would refuse otherwise, but his wounds hurt too much. The parental gestures affected him a lot. He felt...touched.
After he said thanks and left, Draco turned around to see two hooded men rap on their door. It didn't take him ling to recognize who they were. Death Eaters.
Upon opening the door one of them asked, "Did the blond boy by the name Draco Malfoy come here?"
The Muggle man nodded in negative. The Death Eaters said something consisting the words "liar" and "track", and Avada-ed them before Draco could do anything.
They died because of him, and he could never get over the guilt. If only I had acted faster...
They were Muggles, but the kindest of the lot. Barbaric? Never.
After the war, the Muggles had been Obliviated and all records that could remind them of all the incidents were destroyed. Good for them, they did not have remember all the terrible scenes they witnessed. Draco wished he was Obliviated too.
The sun had now set completely beyond the horizon, and Draco could hear the curfew bell screech loudly. He proceeded to get up, at the same time making a resolution to avoid Hermione Granger as much as possible. She was just bringing back sour memories to him in full force and messing with his head. And even if she did come around, he would just act the sneering evil boy she expected him to be.
After all, Malfoys never let anyone's expectations down. And that is what Draco had done throughout his entire life: live up to expectations. It had ruined his life, but there was no harm in ruining a life already in ruins, was there?
A/N: Like it or hate it, just review!! PLLLLLEAAAASSSSE?? pouty face
Sanctitas means "purity" or "chastity" in Latin. I checked a Web dictee but if anyone finds a mistake with this or anything else in the story, lemme know.
Although not the AU parts. I disregarded some stuffs from the books.
Next Chapter (sneak-peak):
More Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley interaction and a sort of hint-hint towards another pairing.:D Also Harry Potter coming up to the surface with...plots. Ouch.
P.S. I need help naming the next chapter. Help please? And also, should the next chapter also be loaded with DMHG interaction (non-romantic mind you. I mean bickering) or should that wait for the chapter after the next chapter?