HUNTED
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Chapter 34: Shadows.
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Sometimes, light could be an enemy.
Hermione gave her companion a meaningful look before the final flickers of the Lumos simmered away. She saw the panic in her friend's eyes spark like crackling coal and quickly clamped her palm over Amelia's trembling mouth. The glow from the candles some distance away didn't reach them, but she could just discern outlines and shapes within the black void.
"It's okay," Hermione murmured quietly, unsure if Amelia had even heard her.
But it wasn't okay. She could hear it now; a third set of breaths whispering amongst the shadows. Another creak of wood skimmed across the floorboards, and Hermione felt the vibrations of movement quake against her knees. She wedged her tongue between her teeth to still the chattering, her mouth going crisp and dry as the cold continued to harass them.
Too cold.
Too dark.
Trapped.
Her Auror instincts were kicking in, although she could feel that they had been dampened by her recent attack. They'd been in the same place too long and had made too much noise. Whoever was slithering between the aisles would know their whereabouts by now, and instinct was screaming that the third party was best avoided.
There was another whine of worn wood.
They were stationary targets. They had to go. Now.
"We need to move," she mumbled as lightly as possible, taking her hand away from the witch's mouth.
She rose to her feet as carefully as she could, flinching when the ancient floor moaned beneath her weight. Bending down to help Amelia, her trained eyes scanned the area around them, searching for shifting shadows or anomalies, but her surroundings looked like they'd been painted in slick tar.
She grabbed the other witch's wrist and slowly started to walk blindly down the aisle, willing Amelia's whimpers to simmer. Keeping her wand at a defensive angle in front of her, she tentatively started to guide them, squinting her eyes and using the shady lines of the bookcases as a navigation aid.
She could still see her breath, lingering in front of her ominously. It distracted her for a moment and she lost her path, colliding into the shelf and sending a heavy book to the floor with a loud thud. The sound carried, rumbling like thunder.
Hermione had always hated storms.
She froze on the spot, waiting for the consequences of her mistake. Silence spat at her mockingly, enhanced by the dark and cruel with the cold. The sinister mixture wrapped itself around them, engulfing the two Muggle-borns and rooting them to floor. And then it was broken; shattered by a disturbance that clawed at her eardrums and scraped invisible fingernails down her spine.
A throaty chuckle.
A masculine vibration of vocal chords that constricted her chest and made every muscle in her body seize up. She wanted to cry. Wanted to turn around and sprint for the door or the furthest corner of the enormous room.
As a second clap of callous laughter struck the room and snatched a terrified gasp from her lips, her brain twitched. Her mind had done this before...At the Christmas ball.
...Very impressive, Miss Granger...
...Sometimes, Malfoy forgets his place...
She shivered. She wished Draco was here more than anything. These were the phrases that had made her uncomfortable.
...Very impressive, Miss Granger...
"...But still a Mudblood," she whispered to herself, finishing the sentence that had been scribbled to her. She recognised the voice behind the chuckle.
She'd been right.
Oh, God...
"Blaise."
They needed to escape.
She headed towards the faint burn of candles, knowing they were near the door. If she could just get there then maybe a spell would pop into her head and they could run, but an icy breeze rushed over her shoulders, and the remains of warm light dissipated.
Her goal was extinguished. Simple as that.
There was nothing now. Just a freezing abyss. No outlines, no shapes, nothing. But it only lasted for a few seconds.
.
.
Everything was blurry except the door. His panic was making everything unfocussed, like a grey mist at the fringes of his vision. He needed to get to her. She was in there; he could feel it in his throbbing chest.
Why did it have to be the portrait room?
"CALEB!" he shouted, charging down the long corridor. "POTTER! GET HERE, NOW!" He fumbled with his wand and pointed it at the door. "Alohomora!"
It didn't open. Didn't even budge.
Crookshanks whined louder but moved to the side, sending Draco an almost hopeful look that was completely missed by the rage-pumped male.
He could hear the other two wizards running towards him, their footfalls heavy and alert. He fired another unlocking charm before he reached the door, and then another. His hands latched around the doorknob, his grip denting the brass as he frantically tried to pull it open.
Nothing. It didn't even rattle.
"You're certain they're in there?" Caleb panted as he came to Draco's side.
"I'm positive!" he snapped, gesturing to his lover's lamenting pet. "That fucking cat-
"Have you tried an unlocking charm?" Harry cut in, animated with worry.
"Of course I have, Potter!" Draco bellowed. Merlin forgive him for hexing the stupid prat in his current state. "You are such a-
"Are you certain, Draco?" Caleb bit out, his voice clipped with impatience and alarm. "I can't hear anything-
"Finite Incantantem!" the blond spat, releasing the silencing charm his mother had placed on the room a few years ago. "It's the portrait room-
"Shit," Caleb hissed, his eyes going wide as he grasped the relevance of the words. "Draco, I still can't hear anything."
That made him falter. The paintings of his ancestors should have been screaming abuse at his Muggle-born girlfriend, promising her death threats that would have easily carried into the hallway. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The fog returned to his glare.
"Move out the fucking way!" Draco demanded, hurling his shoulder into the door.
.
.
Hermione released a small sound of shock when the bang invaded the room; loud and bold like a battle drum. She felt Amelia jolt behind her, the other witch obviously petrified. And then, out of nowhere, an explosion and a shower of light burst right next to her.
The blast shoved her forward, and she lost her hold on Amelia when a swarm of splinters attacked her arm. The shards scorched her skin as she tumbled across the floorboards with a scream of fright, smacking her head against a bookcase as she became more absorbed by the darkness.
She groaned and reached up to nurse her aching skull, feeling warm fluid trickle down her fingers and soak into her curls. Her arm was burning and she touched that next, grunting when she fingered four inch-long spikes piercing her flesh.
She fixed her wand between her knees and bit hard on her lower lip as she removed the individual thorns, unable to stop the small moan when she yanked out the largest. She could feel her blood streaming down her arm, tickling her elbow.
Taking a deep breath, she shakily rose to her feet, her mind a little dizzy from the blow to her head. Her shoulder hurt like acid rain, but she had to keep herself steady; needed to find Amelia in the labyrinth of shadows. They were separated. This was bad. The danger felt more real now she was alone.
She contemplated if it was wise to reveal her whereabouts by calling for Amelia, but when a shattering and vulnerable scream sliced through the hectic peace, the terror intensified.
"AMELIA!" the witch screamed, exposing herself to the dark and wobbling on her legs. She had no idea where she was or where she was stumbling, but instinct convinced her she needed to try. "AMELIA!"
And then the chuckle was polluting the air again, heavy and dense like smog. She stopped moving, bracing herself against one of the stacks with fleeing faith.
"Calm yourself, Granger," the sickly drawl flooded her senses; probing and bitter. "She's here."
He had Amelia...
There was another resounding bang far off to her left. She heard it then; the distant male voices barely slipping into the room. And they were dulcet and breathtaking.
Draco...
But the comforting sounds were smothered when the familiar voice ripped through the humid air.
"Oh, good," it annunciated crisply, sounding closer this time. "Your reinforcements are here. I had hoped for a little more time alone."
She cringed at the dark and dormant agenda. The door banged again and she tried to pinpoint the direction; her bearings lost and the acoustics confusing.
"Come on, Granger," he spoke again, his calm voice accompanied by some feminine whimpers. Amelia. "We both know you're going to do the courageous thing. Or would you like me to kill her first?"
She wanted to fight. Every cell in her body was aching to go. She didn't care that her wand arm was injured. She slipped off her shoes, knowing she needed to be as quiet as possible if she wanted to have a successful confrontation. He was giving her an advantage with his taunting jibes, allowing her to edge closer to the source.
"Fine, Granger," he sighed, sounding ultimately bored. "We'll do this the hard way then. Crucio!"
Amelia's shriek pierced her earrdrums, and the cold was forgotten. Hermione dashed forward, her legs numb with impulse and instinct. She was close. She could feel the air pulsing with the vibrations of dark magic. But she was too hasty, and she smacked straight into a wooden surface, her forehead bouncing away from the bookcase and sending her sprawling to the floor.
Amelia's scream died, and then there was another explosion, close enough that she felt some of the fabric of her top singe away on her right side. She heard the bookcase next to her groan, and then it was on top of her, crushing her and snapping something in her wand arm. Something was impaling her too, just below her ribs and tearing at her insides.
She cried out, and the sound split the night in half.
.
.
Draco could feel his sanity seeping out of his ears as the screams leaked out of the room. He could feel himself shutting down, breaking apart from his head to his toes and crumbling like sand. She was just on the other side of the door. Just wood. And he couldn't help her. Couldn't save her.
He continued to throw himself against the door with feral lunges, but it was pointless. He knew it was, but he did it anyway. Unwelcome emotions were inflating his chest, threatening to burst out with desperate sobs that his breeding denied. He glanced at the other two men who looked equally tormented, Caleb in particular looking broken.
Draco's breathing was ragged and his eyes were threatening to spill with years-old tears. He felt beaten, physically and mentally; like someone had stripped him of everything he was made of.
And then Hermione's howl stole the remainders of his reason, and he was withering like starving brambles.
So, this was what it felt like drown; to lose half of your newly-beating heart. He slumped down to the floor, his body failing him as his questionable soul left him to suffer. He would swear that his insides were caving; his organs shrivelling as flashing images flared across his damp lids. Images of her. Of them.
One thousand shoulds, and a thousand more coulds.
No...
"NO!" he yelled, dragging himself up and aiming his wand at the door. He'd be damned if he let another dark wizard steal his will. "Reducto!"
The spell rebounded and caught his arm, searing his flesh. His palm shot up to cradle the wound and he eyed his bloody handprint before him like it held an answer. A promise.
Caleb had taken to hurling every hex imaginable at the door, somehow successfully managing to block the reflections of his attacks, having learned from Draco's injury.
Malfoy kept staring at his crimson-coated fingers as memories thrived on his hysteria.
.
.
The cold was smothrering her again, pricking her skin and stealing her breaths.
It was too heavy; squeezing the life out of her lungs slowly. She was vaguely aware that the portraits were animated again, not shouting but muttering dark whispers that sounded like hail hammering against a window pane.
The bookcase moved and she barked out another scream, feeling the large barb stab deeper into her side. The weight was gone but the pain remained. There was light now, burrowing in through the gaps of her lids, but she didn't want to open her eyes. She could feel controlled breaths stirring her eyelashes and she just didn't want to look at him.
"Open your eyes," he commanded gruffly, his casual tone abandoned. "Now, Granger!"
With a snarl of defiance she spat at him, hearing the satisfying splat of water hitting skin and a grunt of displeasure. Then there was hand gripping her face, the thumb pushing painfully into her cheekbone. One of his slow chuckles scratched across her face and the hand softened, his fingers stroking languid circles over her tear-stained features. She hadn't even realised she'd been crying.
"I always liked that about you, Granger," he muttered, brushing away some of the sweat-gems that had gathered on her forehead. "You were always a feisty witch. Not like Pansy."
"Pansy," she breathed the dead woman's name, her voice hitching when her sharp breath agitated the wound at her side. "Pansy was-
"Fickle," he finished for her, his voice professional and relaxed. "You know, she knew all about the attacks and when I killed Creevey. Not once did she complain or question me. I did her a favour. She was a fucking state."
She whined when the spike in her torso moved, but she refused to open her eyes. "And-and the others?" she stuttered. She knew this routine. More questions. More ticks of time.
"I didn't do the others," he revealed, and she could sense that he shrugged. "Just the Mudbloods-
"Muggle-borns," she corrected automatically, her tone stronger this time. "I thought you'd changed-
"What, like Malfoy?" he mocked her, laughter rumbling in his chest. "He is so bloody naïve."
"Draco-
"I knew Draco loved you before he did," he remarked bitterly, the topic evidently repulsive to him. "It was so fucking obvious Narcissa's birthday. I knew you'd ruin everything."
She didn't reply; just tried to judge how bad her injury was behind her sealed glare. Could she make a run for it? She doubted it. Her arm was definitely broken and the puncture to her abdomen...well, she didn't know. She could feel herself getting weaker and the thuds of her heart were starting fluctuate in her ears
"I won't tell you again," he snapped, his grip on her face turning harsh again. "Open your eyes!"
She didn't. Just trebled as the chill nibbled her skin.
Then his hand was yanking at her hair, ripping some of her blood-sodden locks out of her scalp. She shrieked but clamped her eyes tighter, gnashing her teeth to vent the pain. She felt the wedge of wood by her ribs twitch, and she knew he had latched his grip around it.
Please, no...
He twisted it and a silent scream ripped her throat.
"Open your fucking eyes!"
She yielded. And there he was, staring down at her, looking more at home that she'd ever seen him. This felt so familiar and yet so different. While Montague had been a slobbering mutt with clumsy actions and no control, Blaise appeared completely at ease, like he'd practised this until he'd perfected it.
Montague had possessed the volatile eyes of a madman, but Blaise's stare looked utterly rational and composed. She was terrified.
"That's better," he smirked down at her, his normally dead eyes lively with waves of bistre and bole. "I'm not going to rape you, Granger."
She choked on a sob.
"I would never lower myself," he continued, his voice gentle. "Graham misread my intentions when I said I wanted to fuck you over. But it was beautiful to watch your reactions to my letters."
Her vision was turning smoky with tears and the fading fight to live.
"This was what I wanted," he murmured, like he was a lover divulging a fantasy. "Hermione Granger; beacon of light to Mudbloods everywhere. Weak and nothing."
He paused to stoke her cheek again, toying with a teardrop between his thumb and index finger like he'd never seen one before.
"I always wondered what a broken angel would look like," he commented, almost dreamily to himself. Then he calmly angled his wand to her chest. "Crucio."
Every muscle in her waning body was boiling in acid.
.
.
His mother's words...
The Manor has centuries of protective spells in the walls...
His lips twitched.
Not just protective spells...
Draco continued to stare at his scarlet-stained hand, his brain sieving through his memories. Something was in him, dormant amongst the creases of his mind. Something that was important. He needed to grasp it. It needed to slot into place.
Quickly...
He had no idea how much time he had. The pendulum could have stopped swinging for all he knew.
"Confringo!" Caleb screamed, deflecting the rebound with a roar of frustration. "For fuck's sake!"
Another scream tore into the hallway. Hermione. And just like that, Draco was snapped out of his trance and barging his way past Caleb, his panic-powered self firmly back in place. Rage poured back into him, streaming through is veins like a forgotten friend and warm like Firewhiskey.
He was going to get his witch. The other half.
Without a flinch, he stabbed his wand into his palm and dragged it under his flesh, blood quickly weeping out of the self-inflicted gash and glittering down his wrist. Oblivious to the round and wary eyes of Caleb and Potter, he slammed his palm against the door and smeared the wonderful liquid wide and proudly across the wood.
"Finite Incantantem," he spat, the fire loud in his voice. He felt the soothing lick of conforming magic against his shaking fingertips and willed the spell to hurry.
Hermione.
"Draco," Caleb choked, his voice completely devastated. Draco realised then that they hadn't heard Amelia for a while, and he could only imagine the trauma racing through his friend's head. "What are you-
"Just trust me," he breathed, and he could clearly hear how fragile his own voice was.
The buzz beneath his fingers stopped.
He eyed the door warily before he raised his wand. "Alohomora."
And it opened.
.
.
Amongst the torturing flames of the Unforgivable, Hermione spotted the piece of wood protruding out of her side. The spike was about eight inches long and had the thickness of a fifty-pence coin, and an image of a snowman's limb singed the corners of her eyes.
She knew then she was losing coherence. Her body was switching into the defensive mode one experienced before they died. She was going numb, and whimsical notions were spawning in her mind.
Thoughts of fireworks and lakes deep enough to swallow you whole. She was losing control. Her senses were failing.
And then the curse stopped.
There was no dark magic tainting her soul.
She could just make out Blaise above her, and he looked somewhere between agitated and shocked. She absently registered that the room was brighter and muffled voices were echoing outside the realm of understanding.
She knew though. She knew it was him. Her weak pulse fluttered slightly, as it always did when he was close.
"Draco," she whispered, and then the shadows took her.
.
.
...BLOOD TRAITOR!
...SHAME TO THE MALFOY NAME!
...MUGGLE-LOVING BASTARD!
The paintings roared to life when their relative darted into the room, wand outstretched and head snapping from side to side. With a flick of his wrist, they fell silent, glaring at him instead, but he was too preoccupied to give a fuck.
"HERMIONE!" he roared, charging down the central aisle and searching for something. Anything.
A whimper to his right.
Amelia.
Not Hermione.
He could hear Caleb screaming at his fiancée to wake up but he surged on, stampeding across the wooden floor. The aroma of fresh blood was ripe in the air; coppery and foreboding. He glanced down an aisle and saw a fallen bookcase, parts of it jagged and severed. There was a small rust-coloured puddle next to it and he halted, his personal chaos imploding in his skull.
"BLAISE!" he yelled, his voice rattling around the stacks, just as Potter came up behind him. "Where the FUCK is she, Blaise?"
"She's with me," came the steady response, and Draco whipped his head to the right. "Come here, Malfoy."
Potter made to move forward but the blond raised his arm to stop him. Blaise didn't know Potter was here. His Slytherin instincts clicked into place, warning him to devise some level of a scheme. Blaise wasn't stupid, and neither was he.
Giving Potter a stern look, he nudged his head, gesturing for him to take the other aisle. The Auror creased his brow in confusion before he gave a slow nod of understanding and disappeared from Draco's sight. He could only pray his old rival knew what he was doing.
"Come on, Draco," Blaise's casual voice called, and the pale man released a hesitant breath before his legs guided him to the voice.
He'd not been prepared for what he saw.
His former friend was standing casually, while his lover hovered in front of him like a dying swan. She was limp, slicked with blood that dripped against the floorboards. And beneath the clotting stains she looked blue, and it was then he noticed the cold. His eyes went to the large splinter in her side, embedded into her flesh, and he was almost collapsing to the floor.
He'd been too late. There was too much blood. She was-
"Is she-
"Not yet," Blaise interrupted bluntly. "Get a hold of yourself, Malfoy. You look pathetic."
"Fucking die!" Draco spat, locking eyes with his old schoolmate. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with you?" the dark man fired back. "What the fuck were you thinking falling for a Mudblood-
"We got over all that shit-
"No!" Blaise shouted, his unstable eyes turning down to eye the unconscious Muggle-born with lingering malice. "No, they do not belong. They should not exist-
"Just give her to me," Draco demanded, knowing there was a hint of pleading in his voice. "It's over for you-
"Then surely one more won't hurt," he argued, cocking his head in a challenge. "Would it change your mind to know that one of them killed your father?"
Malfoy blinked. "What?"
"My mother too," he went on, his wand coming to rest against Hermione's forehead. "Killed a couple of others as well, like Flint's father and Pansy's mother. Ringing a bell, Draco?"
He didn't respond; just kept his eyes focussed on the tip of Blaise's wand and willed Potter to make a move.
"And the Ministry told us it was one of Voldemort's men," he continued, his eyes dilating and his teeth flashing in the dim light. "It was fucking bullshit. A Mudblood killed them! The Ministry protected him! Him! Over an actual wizard!"
Draco's mind swirled for a second with this new development. Ghosts that had been laid to rest were stirring beneath his feet, opening old wounds.
The sad truth was he didn't care. His father remained dead and his lover remained lifeless. It didn't make a difference. Clearly to Blaise it had altered everything in his existence until it had moulded him into the monster he'd become. A monster he could have so easily turned into himself.
And perhaps some of the monster remained within his blood, but the beast was calmed by its mate.
Clearly he'd been silent for too long because Blaise clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"You don't give a fuck do you?" he stated, his tone disgusted and scolding. "The others didn't either. Not enough to kill anyway."
Had he honestly expected any different? "No," Draco answered simply, flinching when a vulnerable barely-there sound passed Hermione's lips. "She's still mine."
Blaise grunted and offered his one-time friend a cold smirk. "Well, now she's mine," he proclaimed as he moved his wand, and Draco watched with paused heartbeats when a green spark flicked out to lick Hermione's lips. "Av-
"STUPEFY!"
Draco threw himself forward to reach his witch before she hit the ground, absently aware of Potter binding Blaise. He crumbled to the floor and was frantically pushing her blood-damp hair away from her face, his fingers going to her throat. If there was life there, he couldn't feel it.
"No," he murmured, bringing his wand to her chest. "Enervate!" Nothing. "Fucking Enervate!"
His eyes fell to the wooden dagger in her torso and he was falling, burrowing his face into her hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear, swallowing back a sob. "Please, just wake up."
He grabbed her cheeks, smearing one with his own blood.
She was his. She couldn't do this...
He had plans...Shoulds and coulds...
Gasping on emotion that was dying to be released, he planted his dry and cracked lips on her unresponsive ones, ready to let go of his failing sanity. He was shattering. He could actually feel it. The breaking down of his defences and psyche. This was it. There would be nothing after this.
He didn't want his mouth to leave hers. If she could not breath then he would breath for her. If they were connected then she was breathing too...
One of those stubborn and damning sobs broke the contact and he was lost. He didn't know where he was. Didn't know who he was.
And then the smallest puff of air ghosted across his chin.
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a/n: Another quickie update! Um...love? No?...Aw...And I just sent off your little harps! Real gold, didn't you know?
So yeah...this is kind of the end...One more chapter and maybe an epilogue of you guys want it? You'll have to let me know! For the (I think...) three people who mentioned having a glass if wine...CHEERS! ...Um can I give you guys some info on my next story in the next chapter? It's pushing half five and I have work at ten...joy!
All of your reviews were amazing for the last chapter so I'm just going to say a massive thanks to Everyone! and hope that this chapter was okay...
By the way, yes I know there are some things still a little unexplained but they will come!
Read and Review...and drink some wine!
Disclaimer: still don't own a sodding thing...working on buying Draco though...
Next Chapter: Final one...except possible epilogue...pssst...this isn't a tragedy...