Chapter Seven
Survivor
Even in a Muggle community Draco wore his cloak. He received many looks from the Muggle passerby's, but he ignored them, his hunched shoulders giving off an aura that demanded to be respected, and no one looked at him for long, a woman pushing her daughter past him quickly.
He paid none of them mind. He didn't look to the shops or the Muggles. He wore his hood for one reason, at the very least he needed to cover his white-blond hair. It was a Malfoy trademark and if on the slim chance an old comrade was searching for him it was a giveaway. Of course there was one...
"Dragon?"
He nodded to the invisible man in the shadows of the alley. "Rabbit."
Theodore Nott came forth, and though his hood was up as well Draco could feel that the man was glowering. "I hate that name. It doesn't fit."
Because he needed his help Draco didn't argue. Theo was the single man/Death Eater/friend that he respected and trusted. He would have never put him in the risk of his company if Hermione's life didn't rely on it, but the fact remained, Theo did have a rabbit-like appearance including the large teeth and black beady eyes.
"What is it you need?"
"I'm sorry for putting you in this position, but I need a favor. I can't tell you the details -"
"No, no details, mate."
"I need a memory-loss potion."
Theo was silent for a while before he croaked, "That's not a good idea. I see why, mind you, but there's loads of Wizards looking for you."
He shook his head. He didn't want to, but he had to lie. "It's not for me..."
Holding up his hands he backed away. "All right, I don't want to know. That's going to be a bit tricky, but..."
"Can you get it before Christmas?"
"Yes, certainly. If you meet me here in a couple of weeks -" He gasped suddenly, his right hand smacking on his left forearm. He cursed.
Draco curled his fingers ignoring the burning on his own arm. "Go, go now."
"Tell me one thing," he winced. "Are you happy?"
"I will be."
"I'll get it. Trust me."
"I do." He turned hearing the faint pop behind him as his best mate disapparated.
As Draco walked the dark streets alone he contented himself with the positive notion that he would receive his potion. Theo wouldn't let him down. As of December twenty-fifth him and Hermione would be happy. For a man who used to not rely on the emotion, he was giving into it then, because hope was the only thing keeping him going. Hope for the mutual love, for happiness, to see and hear Hermione's smiles and laughs once more.
He painted a picture in his mind of them sitting by the tree under a mistletoe, but all of that was blurred in unimportance. They were clear. They were smiling, joking, kissing...
He reached the end of the lane. With a silly grin plastered on his face he readied himself to disapparate, but there was a green flash above him.
Falling to the ground was a reflex, his wand in his grasp. The Muggles far behind him not in sight, screaming in terror. He rolled his eyes upward and saw in the lightening pink sky a smoky green, a skull, a snake...
It was the first massacre in France led by Death Eaters. Hundreds were probably being murdered, his mate killing them off like disgusting bugs, but Draco was thinking of only one thing - person while fear riddled him motionless as the symbol he once believed so much in echoed in his eyes.
Hermione...
***
She leaned on the window in the lounge, her arms crossed over her chest. She listened to faded screams, and upturned her face to stare into the sky where the Dark Mark hovered. Morbidly she wondered if there was one over the Weasley home that night. She supposed so.
It as easier to look at, to not be afraid. If she trusted Malfoy with anything it was the promise he made. It would be a perfect chance to earn his rank back, by delivering the best friend of the late Harry Potter, but he must've had some heart, for wanting nothing to do with the creature that killed his parents, but she believed he would let her go. He didn't truly love her.
Soon she would see her family. Her faith was there that she would hold her brothers and sister in her arms again. They would be together. The pain that was a constant reminder in her chest would go.
Then the door crashed open, and she spun, her heart skipping a beat.
Malfoy stumbled inside slamming and locking the door. He was a sickening yellow color, sweat beading his forehead as his hood fell off. He gazed at her with... She didn't know the look, but in her defense she didn't have long to study it, because instantly he threw himself at her, his arms squeezing her waist, her feet leaving the floor. He rested his head on her shoulder, gasping for breath.
"You're okay..."
"They aren't here..."
He let her slip to her feet, but didn't release her. "You say that like you're disappointed!"
She shrugged wriggling herself out of his hold. She didn't like the intimacy of it, and didn't like the way she did. "I'll have my turn." She looked out seeing the green fading for a moment before Malfoy nudged her out of the way flinging the heavy curtains closed.
"You're out of your mind," he muttered.
"You're right." She was out of her mind, and it made her further insane that knowing it didn't bother her. Nothing mattered, not when she'd be home in the coming month.
He turned to face her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Never thought I'd live to see the day Hermione Granger admitted I'm right."
She pursed her lips. Harry and Ron were having fits, she knew it. They would've already had their wands raised preparing for battle. All those little things that set them off. "Do you want a parade?"
His smile faltered becoming serious. "Hearing you say something only Hermione would say is plenty."
Like a string on a guitar he plucked the tightest, the one most likely to snap. She was despising that name, she hated it. "I don't have a name."
His eyes tightened, narrowing to slits. "Who told you that?"
"You have no history. You're unnamed." She clasped her head, her nails digging into the thin layer of skin over her skull. She could almost hear Ron's voice, deep and gruff the way she remembered it. Almost... It was a copy of a copy, worn and not like the original. He was slipping from her. She was losing him. "No," she whispered. She didn't want to remember, she didn't want to see his freckled face, the determination etched into the premature lines, and yet Draco kept insisting.
"Potter? One of the Weasley's? Who?"
She glared, the fire kindling in her heart imploding. She ran forward and slapped him. She raised her hand again much like the previous night, but he caught her wrist and the other as she started to swing that one too. The sound that came out of her was strangled, a mix of a cry, a wail, a yell, and a growl of fury.
"Say his name."
Without her permission her shattered heart told him. "Ron..."
He pulled her to him, slamming her to his chest. She didn't want it or him, but she didn't fight back. She cracked, the string broken. It all flooded through as he hushed her, lowering them onto the floor below the window.
"There were too many. They kept coming. There was so much blood." Her voice cracked many times. She, herself, was cracking. She wanted to stop herself, but at the same time she wanted the redemption. She wanted him to know that she was beyond repair. She wanted her story told beyond any logical explanation. Somewhere, in the back of her mind she realized she was going through a process of grief. She recognized she didn't want to get over her sadness and anger for it felt too much like letting them go. And yet... She couldn't stop herself as she knew that it was coming too fast. But perhaps she would die in the telling.
"They all fell, and I just stood and watched. Ron... Damn him," she cried and cursed. "He wouldn't let me fight, he kept me in that ruddy corner. I should have... I should have..." She tugged at the strands of her hair fighting against the final blow. She wasn't strong but she wanted this. She wanted to die. "They killed Teddy, poor baby, Teddy. They - they -" She wailed, her entire being in convulsions, the memory clear in front of her, haunting and forceful of the blood on his clothes and his pretty soft face unidentifiable.
What grieved her more - if such a thing were possible - was that it didn't kill her. She was acutely aware of the pain on her chest, a thousand daggers of pressure. She survived the step she thought she wouldn't take.
She confessed. It was a step that came too early for her liking.
***
Draco could see it. The murder at the Weasley house. He saw what she saw, but for her it was a million times worse, it had to be, for his mind wasn't burned with those images. He only understood a fraction, and how she was doing it... His stomach churned at the thought. It was worse if he had taken that memory and peered at it in a pensive.
Helplessly he stroked her hair holding her head to his chest. She was gasping for breath, her lips trembling, her muscles shaking. He waited for her to shatter, the breakable woman in his arms. He clutched her hoping to keep her together. He sucked in her scent to ease himself, but it wasn't helping.
Shakily he lifted Hermione in his arms. With slow steps he carried her to her bedroom. He stared at her terrified features. She continued to scream the baby's name, and though his jaw was locked he was screaming too.
Carefully he laid her down on the bed. Glass, he reminded himself. Brushing her cheek he whispered in her ear, "I'll be back. Give me a minute."
She didn't open her eyes or give any indication that she heard him. She was too lost to notice, and he counted on that. He didn't want her to see his weakness, not when she was so weak herself.
Draco covered his mouth as he walked out. He wanted to wash his mind in acid to burn the borrowed memory of that baby... Monsters, they were all monsters. A baby... A baby that was his second cousin no less, not that it really counted, he had nothing to do with him - never even saw him, but who ended his life? Crabbe? Goyal? One of his relatives? Who could have ended someone pure, young? It was worse than anything he knew, saw, or heard. It was beyond evil.
He had abandoned his ranks long ago, but for the first time he wanted to sever the tattoo off his arm, to cut every tie, every promise, he wanted to cut himself from his past. He would relish the spill of his blood, the flesh, the pain. That mark was as bad as if he mutilated her family himself.
He hated them, himself, his whole world.
Draco stumbled into the bathroom. He fell to his knees, the pain shooting down his shins, and halfway up his thighs. He wretched into the toilet.
A/N: I'd like to make a couple of things clear here.
First off, while I was writing this I didn't take it in phases. I went through it as I saw it. Hermione is going through stages of grief, but it isn't clean-cut, I didn't write it like a couple of chapters on sadness, a couple on anger. She's flitting in her emotions, yes, but everyone does deal with grief differently.
Secondly, I know many of you are wondering why I wrote Teddy into the massacre. It was cruel, it was sick, it was tragic, and I hated it too. But it made Draco see how far Death Eaters would go. He read Teddy's name in the papers along with the other deaths, but he didn't know he was a baby, not until Hermione said it. There was other ways I could have gone about it, but this isn't a happy story (not to say it doesn't have a happy ending), please keep that in mind.
