After publishing the last chapter I decided to cover all seven books. The ending I planned just wasn't good enough. There are thirty chapters now and perhaps more to come. I know this hasn't felt much like a Dramione story so far, and that was unintentional. Blaise being this important was 100% accidental. My first couple outlines never mentioned him, yet here we are. Hopefully this chapter works as the final turning point from "messy weird love triangle" to focusing on the intended pair.
Draco was not a hugger.
Touches, he liked; feeling the presence of other people was nice. It grounded him. Somewhat of a holdover trait from those years Hermione controlled when she could and could not be felt. Draco always enjoyed Blaise's hugs, but he was always an exception to Draco's rules. Blaise had been holding Draco up since he was five. Hugs were reserved for Blaise and Hannah. And Hermione. Well, also Pans if she was having a bad day.
Fine, Draco Malfoy liked hugs! It's freezing in the dungeons and hugs are warm. Regardless, there was nothing to prepare him for the redheaded blur that nearly knocked him off his feet when he entered the Great Hall for breakfast. Everyone stared as Ginny Weasley pulled Draco in a hug.
"Get off me!" Draco shouted, trying to push her away to no avail. She only held on tight and said,
"Thank you."
"For what?" Draco asked, still very much aware of the seventy-or-so pairs of eyes trained on them.
In lieu of an answer, Ginny Weasley dragged him over to the Gryffindor table, leaving behind a bewildered Theo and Pansy. The twins stabbed their food a little too forcefully, looking like children being forced to apologize for something they weren't sorry for. Ron Weasley seemed to consider stabbing Draco with the butter knife.
"Come on, Gin," Ron said. "Do we really—"
"Tell him," she demanded. She sounded a bit like Hermione, bloody Gryffindors. When no one spoke up, Potter filled in the details.
"Mr. Weasley called in sick to the Ministry yesterday with a mild case of Spattergroit, so he was not able to go to the raid on Malfoy Manor. The Ministry sent six wizards, all of whom are missing and presumed dead."
"You saved our father's life!" Ginny shouted. She gave him another hug and he awkwardly patted her shoulder.
"Yeah, thanks," the twins grumbled at the same time Weasley mumbled, "Yeah, thanks you no-good sack off—"
"Ron!" Ginny exclaimed, thwacking her brother over the head. Draco looked up and down the Gryffindor table, suddenly very uneasy.
"You didn't … You didn't tell people, did you?" Draco asked worriedly. The twins grinned mischievously.
"Only the whole House," one of them said.
Draco fell forward very suddenly and gripped the edge of the table. He closed his eyes and grimaced as he tried and failed to black out the remnants of his nightmare that came back unfiltered.
Blood traitors are next to Mudblood in my book. There is too much resting on your shoulders! You've been spending too much time with that Hannah girl. We could lose everything! Drive him closer to those Muggle-loving whorebrains. You have always been weaker than I ever was!
"What have you done?" Draco groaned.
"Malfoy?" Ginny asked, actual concern in her voice. "Are you okay?" Draco shrugged her off and angrily said,
"I told you in secret, Weasley. In confidence! You have no idea what will happen to me next time I set foot in the manor. I hugged a blood traitor. I saved a blood traitor! Whatever you think my father will do to me, double it and you have reality.
"Fuck the lot of you!" Draco shouted. "And do not ever expect me to do something like that again!"
Draco stormed back to the Slytherin table unaware Potter had followed. Just before Draco took his seat next to Blaise, Potter placed a hand on Draco's shoulder to spin him around.
"Touch me again, Potter, and Weasel-bee will be picking the remaining pieces of you up off the floor."
"Look, no one will tell your father," Harry said dismissively.
"You are so stupid. Do you think I am half as worried about my father as I am … Forget it. Even when I do something nice for you, you have to go and fuck me over! I cannot win with you! Given that my life just got much worse thanks to your no-good ginger blood-traitor friends, kindly fuck off and leave me to my muffins!"
Potter started to say something but Blaise stood up. He was a couple inches taller than the two of them, suddenly looking like the adult in the conversation. Potter fell silent and Blaise said,
"I believe Draco told you to leave."
Draco could've kissed him. Their fracas in third year was the only time he'd taken a side in anything. Standing up to Potter, to risk alienating Gryffindors, to risk alienating Dean Thomas … Draco never expected that of him.
Blaise knew. They wanted the same thing and that was when Draco realized the rest of his life would be like this. A never-ending parade of what-ifs followed by a maelstrom of if-onlys. If only I didn't have to die. Draco chose Hermione and this was the consequence.
"Professor Dumbledore needs to see you in his office. That's what I came to tell you." Potter was surprisingly not upset, and that only angered Draco even more. He started to walk away but yelled over his shoulder, "Password's 'parsnip'!"
Draco groaned and swiped three muffins from the table. He took an angry bite from the blueberry one. Draco placed a hand on Blaise's shoulder and said,
"Thank you."
Then he left.
.oOo.
Headmaster Dumbledore was troubled. Not outwardly. He put on a good show, but Draco had seen enough silently frightened people in his life to know. The colourful office still whirred with energy, but the headmaster sagged just the slightest bit behind his desk. His eyes no longer twinkled behind half-moon spectacles, instead they focused on Draco in a rather perplexing manner.
"Biscuit?" Dumbledore offered Draco a tin as he sat down. Draco declined and Hermione took her place behind him. "Is Miss Granger present?"
Draco nodded and Dumbledore sighed. He seemed to age years in a matter of moments.
"Good, good. Master Malfoy, I do apologize for being rather distant during your years here. I have some empathy for the struggles you have faced, certainly over the two previous terms. I was preoccupied with young Mister Potter and overlooked some of your predicaments."
Empathy? What empathy?
Dumbledore has been preoccupied with Harry Potter. Who isn't? Even Hermione is preoccupied with him more than ever. All I've done was nearly lose my Reaper to a Basilisk, bring shame upon my family, fall in love, play damsel in distress for a Quidditch phenomenon, break my friend's heart, fall in love again, oh and nearly get killed by Lord Voldemort. But as long as I keep getting top marks no one seems to care.
"I believe my circumstances are about to change. There is some information I have kept from you that, now Lord Voldemort has returned, I feel you need to know."
Draco tilted his head to one side and smirked.
"I know he has a Reaper."
If Professor Dumbledore was surprised, he didn't show it.
"You are clever," he replied. Hermione wrapped her hands around Draco's shoulders in an attempt to soothe him. It didn't work, but he appreciated the gesture.
"To the point, then! I am afraid there is no precedent for two reapers appearing simultaneously."
"One or two, what does it matter?" Draco snapped. Headmaster Dumbledore calmly replied,
"It matters a great deal."
Fuck him and his carefully-constructed pretense. One apology for three years of apathy and sticking Draco at the bottom of the Black Lake was less than sufficient. Hermione had done more to help Draco than any professor, Dumbledore among them. His hedging and mild contrition were insulting.
Hermione threaded her fingers through Draco's hair, finally finding something to calm him. A good thing, because the vitriol on the tip of his tongue could very well get him expelled. He giggled, yes, giggled, because of how it must look to Headmaster Dumbledore. Small pieces of his hair seeming to move of their own accord. Dumbledore gave no indication that he noticed.
"There has never been more than one Reaper at a time; they often appear with centuries between them. The only conclusion I am able to draw is that Miss Granger is only here because something went wrong."
Draco blinked.
"Something went wrong?" he repeated.
"Tom Riddle distorted his destiny, along with a great many other things. Mrs. Lestrange did nothing to stop him and the universe needed to compensate."
"You are saying I am … That Hermione is … A fix?"
"More like reciprocity," Dumbledore amended.
"So I wasn't planned, I wasn't chosen, I was just … Convenient?!" Draco's voice rose to a shout, but Dumbledore still remained irritatingly calm.
"You were chosen, Draco. Can't you see? The universe was wrong. Of everyone in the world, it chose you to set things right. There needed to be someone strong enough to push back on Voldemort's beliefs so that even his followers will be forced to listen."
"More responsibility! That is all I ever get from you people," Draco whined. "I still do not understand why this matters."
"It matters because your destinies are inseparable. It also means your deaths are inseparable."
The headmaster paused to allow his words to sink in. Hermione's fingers stilled before he continued.
"Where there is hope for Harry Potter, I am afraid that, unless I am wrong, there is no hope for your survival once Voldemort is gone."
"We guessed I have about two-and-a-half years left," Draco admitted. Headmaster Dumbledore only seemed saddened by that. "If I die right now, would I take him with me?"
"NO!" Dumbledore rushed to clarify. Draco took a bite from one of his muffins to distract himself from the way Hermione's hands had moved to his shoulders. Her fingernails nearly dug through his robe. "You would take part of him with you. His soul has been torn into many pieces. Only once he is mortal can he be fully stopped. You would save no one by dying now."
Draco nodded, satisfied. Then Dumbledore gave him the actual bad news.
"I fear Lord Voldemort will try to use your Reaper against you. Harry Potter is taking Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape and I would like for you to join him."
.oOo.
Draco had finished all three muffins by the time he was back in the boys' dormitory. Everyone else was still at breakfast so he shut the door and waited. Hermione was doing her best to keep her emotions in check, but she was about to—
"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" she shouted. Hermione continued before Draco could answer. "We talked about it this summer! We discussed it and you'd throw it all away! 'If I died now?' What the hell kind of question is that?! You would leave your friends here alone? You would leave Blaise here alone?!"
"I wasn't thinking about Blaise!" Draco shouted back.
"Then who were you thinking about?!"
"My mother!" Draco answered much louder than necessary. Hermione's mouth snapped shut. Draco sighed. "I do not know what is happening to her, but I can guess. Father can only do so much, but he is the idiot who invited Voldemort into our home. This is his fault."
"We talked about this, Draco," Hermione said again. Quieter this time. "They deserve this time with you." She pressed her hand to the centre of Draco's chest and Draco placed his hand on top of hers. They stayed like that for a minute, Draco's heartbeat the only indication time was moving forward.
This is her way of saying, "I trust you."
Draco kicked at the carpet, unable to meet Hermione's gaze. They had spoken about several things over the summer, given that they hadn't much else to do. After ten years, Draco was comfortable talking about his own death like an abstract thing. A defined endpoint still far enough away to be considered distant.
It didn't feel all that distant anymore.
"I have to get ready for Quidditch practice," Draco said, ending the conversation. To his surprise, Hermione nodded and made to leave. She turned around and asked,
"Did you remember to pack the—"
"Yeah," Draco nodded.
"Okay," Hermione nodded before walking through the door.
.oOo.
Practice was awful. Cassius Warrington was captain since Flint had finally graduated, and Draco selfishly found himself grateful he didn't have to lead the team. He only wanted to sit on his broom and find the Snitch. It was a gloomy day and raindrops pelted Draco's goggles faster than he could wipe them away. He saw the Snitch contrasted against the grey sky, zoomed toward it on his Firebolt, and caught it!
Then he fell off his broom.
The drop was only a few yards and his shoulder took the brunt of it. Draco groaned and flung his goggles off into the grass. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes as raindrops bounced onto then off from his face. The choruses of "Malfoy, are you alright?!" were distant, like he was hearing them from the opposite end of a tunnel.
When he opened his eyes, Crabbe and Goyle stood over him clutching their bats as Graham Montague held onto Draco's broom. Someone asked again if he was alright and Draco couldn't figure out who it was. He smiled and said,
"Just lost my grip."
.oOo.
They had double-Potions with the Gryffindors on Monday. Double-anything with Gryffindor was a pain, but Draco particularly hated having to share his favourite class with his least-favourite people.
Draco hated Ron Weasley. He had this inferiority complex about him Draco would never understand. Hermione said it was about being the sixth of six boys in his family. She thought he felt like a disappointment.
I've been a disappointment my entire life, but I am not half as bitter about it.
Draco concentrated on his Draught of Peace, helping Theo along as well. The whole class jumped as a large boom reverberated throughout the classroom. Seamus Finegan could hardly be seen through the smoke emitting from his cauldron.
"Mr. Finegan, if you would be so kind as to make sure you only blow yourself up, please do not consign your classmates to the same fate," snapped Professor Snape. Most of the Slytherins chuckled, but Draco blocked them out.
Seven stirs clockwise.
Seven stirs anti-clockwise.
Hellebore … Hellebore …
Draco scooped the small vial of hellebore syrup from the table and delicately tipped seven drops into his solution. He lowered the flame and watched as the final minutes of class ticked by.
Professor Snape laughed derisively at Longbottom's attempt before spilling the contents of Potter's cauldron onto the floor.
"Our resident celebrity forgot to add syrup of hellebore. A zero for the day, Potter," Snape said before moving on. Potter looked to be fuming but he was also unsurprised. Draco was practically bouncing on his toes by the time Professor Snape approached Theo's cauldron.
"Noticeable improvement, Knott. Ten points to Slytherin for exhibiting an ability to learn." His continued disdain for Neville Longbottom was evident in his tone, but Draco didn't care.
Snape bent over Draco's work and smiled at the silver vapors emitting from the cauldron. As if to torture Draco, he took an exceptionally long time to study the mixture. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in what might have been a smile.
"Excellent work, Master Malfoy!" Professor Snape proclaimed. He bottled some of the mixture for his stores and Draco couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Ten points to Slytherin. Five points from Gryffindor for Potter's abhorrent concoction. Five points from Gryffindor as recompense for Finegan's eyebrows. Oh! Yes, and another ten points to Slytherin because Zabini's birthday is Wednesday."
.oOo.
November 1st was Blaise's sixteenth birthday.
As for all Slytherins, Draco arranged some house-elves in the kitchen to make a cake for the occasion. (He even paid them a few Galleons at Hermione's insistence.) Blaise was made to sit on one of the chairs by the fire with one of those stupid Muggle party hats. Draco couldn't resist laughing when he saw the green streamers pouring out from the top.
Draco gathered all the students in the common room after dinner. He stood on top of one of the tables, raised his arms to conduct a loud and obnoxious rendition of "Happy Birthday." By the time they were finished, Blaise was sufficiently embarrassed. He blew out the candles on his cake then Pans handed him the present everyone who wasn't Draco had pooled to get. She told him to open it later, which Draco found a bit strange.
Blaise received hugs from all the sixth-years as the rest of the House dispersed. Pans wished him a happy birthday before reminding him she needed help with her Transfiguration homework. He shyly confirmed to Theo that Dean Thomas did get him a present. Theo nudged his shoulder and said, "I'm sure he did," in a tone that made Draco curious as to what, exactly, he was implying.
"Your present is upstairs in my trunk," Draco mentioned. (Okay, a little possessively because how the hell did Theo know something about Blaise that Draco didn't?) He nodded toward the stairs, indicating Blaise should follow him up to their dormitory. Theo whistled after them and Blaise shouted back at him, to shut up. He smiled as he said it.
He closed the door behind him and muttered, "Colloportus." Blaise was still smiling when he turned around, and Draco was suddenly so nervous his heart might have stopped beating.
What if he doesn't like it?
Draco nodded toward the bed and said, "Sit."
Blaise frowned at being commanded, but obliged. Draco dug the rectangular box from his trunk and turned to face Blaise, whose eyes gravitated to the gift Draco hugged to his chest. He smiled fondly at the dancing snowmen on the wrapping.
"Found it in a spare room," Draco grumbled.
"The rest of the House thinks you brought me up here to give me a different sort of present," Blaise teased. Draco groaned.
"You know I'm not—"
"I know," Blaise cut him off. "But I am your best friend and that means I get to embarrass the shit out of you. Especially on my birthday." He smiled when Draco relaxed a bit.
"Do you hate Hermione?" Draco asked.
"Do I have to answer to get my present?"
He was met with silence. Of course he had to answer because he had to understand. Blaise sighed.
I don't hate her," he said before holding out one expectant hand.
"Why?"
Another sigh.
"I suppose I knew we'd need to talk about it eventually. Pans had the same question. I can't hate her, and I'll tell you why, but it's a bit of a story." Blaise took a deep breath and looked at Draco as he continued. "I was angry at her for a bit, though I knew I shouldn't be. You chose her vision of your future over mine and, yeah, I was angry. There was nothing I wanted more than …" Blaise paused. "Anyway.
"Hermione can do this thing where she sort of transports you into memories of her world."
"I've done it," Draco nodded.
Draco hugged the present a little tighter.
"She showed me what she remembered of Hogwarts. There was you, mostly with Crabbe and Goyle. Then with Pans and Theo. Hermione has almost no memory of me before sixth year. You looked like hell, and even then … I was alone.
"Draco, I wasn't in your life at all."
Blaise paused to let that sink in. Draco wondered what that must have looked like. Blaise on his own? He was quiet enough for it, but a face like that just can't get lost in a crowd. How could he have Blaise so close and not be this close? Blaise's gaze did not falter when he continued.
"The notion of not being your best friend scares me. The idea that I could have not known you at all? That's terrifying. I would rather have," he motioned to the space between them, "this than anything less. I've known you for eleven years, and by the time you aren't here anymore it will have been at least thirteen. That is thirteen more years than I got wherever Hermione is from. If your fate is the only reason I get to be with you like this, I can't hate it no matter how much I want to."
He said it so factually. If Hermione brought them tougher, he couldn't hate her. Like it was just that simple.
"Why are you like this?" Draco groaned, waving one hand in reference to his general Blaise-ness.
"Like what?"
"You just take everything I throw at you!" Draco shouted. "You should hate me! Or at least be frustrated! You are so important and I just did what I did. You said it, I chose Hermione and you're still here! Why are you still here?"
"I told you," Blaise said, "I am your best friend. And nobody on this planet loves you more than I do. If I only get to be your best friend, that's enough for me."
Draco sighed.
If only …
If only …
If only …
"Hermione and I talked a lot this summer. She does not know what it is like to die, and I am scared. I have thought about it so much, but I never used to think about how it would feel. For once, Hermione does not have the answer.
"She worries more about what the other version of her is doing. Hermione worries more about her legacy. She thinks she marries Weasley, which is disgusting, but it got me wondering about mine. Do you remember the book you helped me borrow during first year? Over Christmas holiday?"
"Somewhere between your hand slicing itself open and me kicking your arse in a snowball fight, there might have been a book," Blaise quipped.
"You two cheated!" Draco insisted. "It was a book detailing everything the world knows about people like me and their Reapers. Obviously, I am next. Hermione asked what I believe people will remember about me, and everything I thought was not good. I have a handle on the Malfoy part of my legacy. I can control that, I think. Perhaps. Maybe. Hell, just take it."
Draco thrust the package at Blaise, who took it with a laugh. He tore off the wrapping and opened the box to find a leather journal with the Malfoy crest emblazoned on the front. Blaise stared at it intently, unwilling to meet Draco's eyes. He always was quick to put the pieces together.
"Every one of those people had someone to write about them. The only thing I can do to show you how much you mean to me is to put my legacy in your hands. After I …" Draco anxiously cleared his throat. "After I die, people will say all sorts of things about me. This is really selfish, I just know you will tell the truth. I trust you will be fair and I cannot ask for any more than that."
Blaise couldn't really say anything. At least, Draco hoped he couldn't, because silence was always the prelude to disappointment. Draco shifted awkwardly. Blaise hadn't even looked at him yet!
"If you don't like it, do not want the responsibility, I understand. I just thought that maybe you'd, um, be the best, I mean—"
Blaise cut off his rambling by wrapping Draco in a tight hug. Draco melted. All the tension left his body at once and he had to wrap his arms around Blaise's waist to stay upright. Blaise was the perfect choice, like the universe pulled them together for this reason. This, right here? This was home. Blaise didn't say anything, so Draco admitted,
"There is no one else I trust to tell my story."