Author's Note: A huge thank you to everyone who read/reviewed the last chapter! Hopefully this one will please just as much. I must warn you, however, that there is character death.
"Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:"
Tuesday 28th April, 1998
After the discovery of the fifth Horcrux, Grimmauld Place had lapsed into uncomfortable silence. Draco's daily meetings with Granger now included Weasley and Potter, and there was no conversation besides that of Horcruxes. Draco wondered sometimes, when he watched her reading, if she missed their old meetings; she didn't seem to be that bothered, what with Potter and Weasley's change of behaviour. She seemed, now, to have everything she had wanted – and Draco didn't appear to be that important anymore.
It was hotter than average that day and Draco was, for once, alone with Granger. Draco sat by the open window in the library, resting his head against the pane as a bead of sweat trickled onto the clear glass. Granger sat on the sofa behind him, wearing shorts and a t-shirt and absent-mindedly fanning herself with a piece of parchment. It wasn't especially hot, Draco was sure the rest of London weren't suffering like this, but in Grimmauld Place weather only seemed to be exaggerated – when it was cold, they found ice on the window frames, and when it was hot…it was boiling.
"I'm not going to be around later this evening." Granger said, putting the parchment down on the arm of the chair. "There's something important happening after dinner." Draco raised an eyebrow at her.
"Will I be required to attend?"
"No it's…no." She sighed. "I tried to persuade them to let you, but – "
"Potter didn't want me there?" She leant forwards in her chair and rolled her eyes at him.
"No. Remus thought it would be too dangerous. I don't know why you're always so quick to jump to the conclusion that Harry doesn't want you there!"
"Because it's usually true." The library door opened and Remus' stepped into the room; he nodded at Draco and smiled at Granger.
"Could you come downstairs a moment, Hermione? There's a meeting." Granger stood up, slyly tugging down her shorts which had risen up.
"Can we discuss this heat whilst we're there? It really is getting ridiculous." She said, walking towards the door. Remus let out a sigh.
"We've tried everything we can think of." He replied, whilst shutting the door. "I've finally come to the conclusion that Mrs Black used some kind of charm…"
Draco lost track of the time, as he sat upstairs alone in the library. Granger did not return, and nobody came to call him for dinner. At eight O'clock he ventured downstairs, trying with great difficulty to hide his fear. It seemed odd to him that the house was so quiet; it was usually a hive of activity, and one could always guarantee that Molly would pop in at some point during the evening. After finding the kitchen empty, he began to frantically check each of the other downstairs rooms. He was alone. Fear swelled in him, rising like the bile that stung the back of his throat. As he walked towards the front door, a slip of parchment appeared from nowhere. He recognised Granger's handwriting instantly, and anxiously read the note.
"We had to leave earlier than planned – I'm sorry. Please just stay in the house, don't do anything stupid. And if we don't come back: run. Molly says, however, that there's no point in worrying about that and that there's chicken in the oven. Don't eat it all. Granger."
Sighing, Draco trudged back into the kitchen. He took the chicken from the oven and took a leg, and also procured himself some mead from the cupboard. He knew it belonged to Lupin, but wasn't too worried that he would be annoyed. Sitting alone in the house unnerved him; he hadn't been alone in a very long time. In fact, Draco realised that he had never been on his own since his induction into the Death Eaters. The thought sent a shiver of fear down his spine, and he took a brutal bite from the chicken leg. As he sat in contemplative silence, he took the opportunity to think about where they had gone. It was clearly a fight of some sort – he would no doubt have come into contact with his father, or other Death Eaters, if he had gone too. It riled him that he had been forced to stay behind; he would have leapt at the chance to face his father, to shoot a few hexes…but then, he supposed that was why they had made him stay. Sighing, he dropped the chicken bone onto the pewter plate with a clatter and, at the same moment, he heard the front door bang.
Ignoring his first instincts to stay frozen to the spot, he leapt to his feet and ran to the entrance hall. Lupin and Mad-Eye charged through the door; Mad-Eye's arm was bleeding profusely, and Lupin was helping him to the kitchen. To get out of the way, Draco stepped onto the first stair and watched from over the banister. His grip on the wood tightened as more people came flooding into the house; his knuckles were growing white, his nails digging into the wood. Others staggered into the house – bleeding, screaming, and crying. People he recognised, people he didn't, but all of them hurt. It was like a battle scene in the hallway. His heart thudded in his chest as the continuous flow of people seemed it would never come to end. The Weasleys, Potter, Lovegood, McGonagall, Hagrid, Shacklebolt, Longbottom…where was Granger? He felt as though he could be sick with the fear. An agonised cry ripped throughout the house, and Draco's head whipped round to see Mrs Weasley thrown over a body. She was sobbing, her hands grabbing a white shirt that was seeped with blood. It was Mr Weasley. His fear was making his knees shake, and he felt that they could've given way when he saw her standing in the doorway.
She saw him instantly, and their eyes met across the throng of people that stood in the hallway. Her eye was bruised, her hair was ruffled and there was a streak of blood across her cheek; she looked weary, but it appeared that she was alright. Potter and Weasley appeared behind her, both of them looking similarly drained and tousled. Potter's eyes met his, and Draco had to turn away. He felt responsible for this carnage. He was accountable for all of these people's lives, even if he hadn't even been there. His father, his former friends, people who he had heralded as heroes…they had done this. His stomach turned again, and the bile rose once more into his throat. Without speaking, Granger wove her way through the people and stepped up onto the stair with him. She took his hand and squeezed it gently, and Draco felt the dirt and blood sticking to the palm of his hand. Granger didn't say anything to him, but her eyes met his with a silent plea. He was about to turn, to lead her up the stairs but he felt a tug to stop. McGonagall had placed her hand on Granger's shoulder.
"Will you be alright, Miss Granger? Do you think you are able to…?"
"Yes." Granger stated, her voice sounding hollow. "Will I need to be seen by a Healer?" McGonagall nodded stiltedly.
"You will be one of the last. I shall send somebody upstairs, in an hour or so." Granger nodded, before turning to Draco once more.
They went into his bedroom, but neither of them sat down. Granger leant against the door and closed her eyes, her brown hair fanning out like a halo behind her head. She sighed gently, before opening her eyes and composing herself.
"Malfoy…" She started; her voice cracked. "Draco…I have something that I think...you should know that…I…" He moved forwards and took her hands in his, stroking them with his thumbs.
"Who is it, Hermione?" He whispered, frowning. "My father? My…my mother?" He saw a pearl-like tear tumble down her cheek and fall onto the collar of her t-shirt.
"Your mother. I'm…I'm so sorry." He brought his forehead down to meet hers, and closed his eyes as the agony of loss washed over him. He felt empty inside, as images of his mother swam in his head.
"How did she die?" He asked; his voice wobbling. "Was she in a lot of pain?"
"N…no…it was quick…she…I…"
"My father did it, didn't he?" She nodded, yelping with a poorly suppressed sob.
"She tried to come to us, Draco. She was shouting your name, she…she wanted to see you…"
It was too much for him. The tears and the pain he had been trying to hard to withhold erupted from him. His body began to shake with the force of the emotion, and he buried his face into her shoulder and cried like a baby. Soothingly, she rubbed his back and hushed him, but he could feel the wetness of her tears splashing onto his neck. He wasn't certain how long they stood like that, but he finally stopped crying when his bones were stiff and his eyes itched. Sighing, he pulled away from her and led her over to the bed. She sat down, before transfiguring a sock into a bowl and conjuring water and a facecloth. Before she could clean her hands and face, Draco took the cloth from her and did it for her, gently wiping away the blood and dirt and grit. Granger's eyes were closed, and she breathed deeply and heavily.
"I loved my mother." He said; his voice still thick with emotion. "Of everyone I have ever known, it was only my mother who understood me. No one has ever come close."
"What was she like, Draco? I've only met her once or twice and, well, we didn't really get along." Draco laughed gruffly.
"No, she didn't really get on with anybody – I wouldn't be too offended. My mother was everything a pureblood witch should be. She was beautiful, elegant, and dutiful." He spat that word as though it were filthy. "But she was also just an ordinary person, not that my father ever tried to look for that. She liked to collect tea sets…I was fascinated with them when I was a child. Her favourite set was exquisite; ivory, embossed with gold flowers."
"That sounds lovely."
"It was. She liked to read too." He smiled at Hermione. "Anything she could get her hands on; be it fictional, non-fictional…she even had a secret stash of Shakespeare sonnets." Draco laughed then.
"Did she have a favourite sonnet too?"
"Yes, number 55. Do you know it?" Hermione smiled weakly.
"Of course." She cupper his face in her hands, stroking the jaw-line with her fingers. "Not marble, nor the gilded monuments of princes…" She whispered.
"Yes, that's it." He replied, closing his eyes "She would read it to me sometimes, when my father was out."
"I'm so sorry…" Hermione said quietly, sighing. "So sorry…"
"I was worried about you. I thought you might not come back, and I…"
"Hush. I think we should sleep now. I think you and I should lie down, sleep a while." He nodded, and together they led back on the bed.
"You'll stay with me?"
"Of course – I won't leave you."
He led in her arms, but neither of them slept. Draco's eyes stayed trained on the ceiling – the Holyhead Harpies poster was empty, the witches had clearly chosen to leave them alone. He felt that he had more to say, more that he had to say before he could sleep.
"Are you awake, Hermione?" He whispered, and felt her nod in response. "I…I just need you to know how much I…how much I hate my father. I've always disliked him, always wished that he had just left my mother and me alone but now…now I loathe him. I want him dead, Hermione. I won't rest until he is dead." Hermione sighed, nodding.
"And I'll help you. We'll do it for your mother, Draco, and for you." He kissed her then, shortly and tenderly, before closing his eyes and letting sleep come over him like a wave.
Author's note: Here is the rest of sonnet 55. I thought it was very apt for this chapter.
Sonnet 55
by William Shakespeare
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contènts
Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.