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XXXV: Nine of Wands

Bright emerald shone behind what were once dark lids, washing away the distant mist of hopeful dreams - a serene meadow, a bubbling brook, Draco Malfoy half-dressed amidst the trees surrounded by glittering fairies. The light shone so brightly it caused Hermione to jolt upright, her eyes fluttered open as she was jerked out of her peaceful slumber. Her forehead felt cold and she squinted against the brightness of green against the horizon of jagged trees.

As she drew back, she could feel a faint tug against the thin skin of her forehead and realized she had fallen asleep with her face pressed against the frosted window of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

She heard a grunt from behind her just as she saw it, obvious and jarring against the canopy of blackness: the enormous skeleton head. Its tongue slithered and swirled in a slippery dance in and out of the hollow black hole that was its mouth, undulating in an infinite figure-eight. The green light of the mark swallowed the earth below.

Her head snapped in Draco's direction, her hair flowing like a curtain to follow.

"Draco - your mark -"

Still shackled against the wall, he twisted his head upward. The lines of his Dark Mark, mirrored in the night sky and poking through hastily folded sleeves, darkened before their eyes.

"It's not burning," he said, his brow furrowed.

"Does it always burn?" Hermione asked in a hushed whisper. She didn't know why, but as rays of green light intruded into the room, she suddenly felt the urge to be quiet.

"When we're called, yes," he responded, matching her tone. "And I normally get the urge to apparate and - just know where to go. I think it means I'm already where I'm supposed to be..."

Hermione gave a wary glance toward the window. Night had fallen upon them once more; this may have been the third night that they were left alone in the classroom with not so much as a peep from the outside world. She approached the glass, her breath casting clouds. The edge of the forest was visible from their third-floor location, but the wash of colour seemed to make everything look like a highly simplified painting of black and green and grey.

She stood stiffly still. Though she could feel the pounding in her chest, a sudden sense of serenity overcame her. She was surprised at how little panic was left in her, and that was the most terrifying part of all.

Hermione turned to face Draco, his arms perpetually shackled and his face distorted with dread. His hair had fallen in front of his eyes despite the many attempts of her drawing it back or tucking it behind his ear. It had grown too long. His chin and jaw were covered in a thick sheen of blond. Just a few more days, and he'd be sporting a proper beard. She tried to avoid the question that popped in her head in response:

Do we even have a few more days?

Hermione fell to her knees between his legs. She reached her hand up to his face, her fingertips scraping against the scratchy stubble before they disappeared into his equally overgrown locks. He slanted his head toward her palm, eyes falling shut.

She memorized his features, studied his beauty for what could have been the thousandth time. Still, she always found something new to admire. When his eyes slowly opened and the clear silvery-blue irises trailed up to meet hers, she cracked.

It was hard to determine what it was: their fate sealed by the glow of green light shining through every angle of the classroom, the feeling that she had no way of fighting for him - for them, or the fact that all the sorrow and dread she felt was mirrored in his eyes had melted into a heartbreaking acceptance.

Her lip trembled, heat crawling up her neck and over her face before settling in her eyes as her vision grew blurry. Her ears grew warm, the faint freckles that dotted her nose suddenly blanketed by a sheen of pink before the tears began to spill from her glistening chestnut eyes. Draco tilted his head, a sudden crease formed in his brow as he took in the image of the crying girl, tears falling freely from her face. He wanted to reach out and still that quivering lip, draw her into his embrace and tell her it was all going to be okay.

"Hermione," he breathed.

It was all he could do. She sighed and leaned into his body, resting her head against his shoulder as she glanced up at him.

"We'll be okay, Draco," she murmured, curling up against him.

"Come here," he beckoned, as usual. She turned to face him and before her lips were able to find his, his gaze washed over her with a quiet intensity that made her want to shiver. "You're so pretty when you cry, it kills me."

With a tilt of his chin, he beckoned her lips for a soft embrace. Feather-soft and fragile, the green glow cast on their still features as they held the kiss, wishing to immortalize these mere moments together.

They hardly flinched when the door burst open and two Death Eaters clad in their uniform black robes stepped into the quiet room. The lovers remained still, soothed by the silent nothings that passed between them in their tender embrace before two flashes of red shone across the still room and rendered the pair unconscious.

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Hermione woke up to a sea of ugly faces. Blurry and grey, with grotesque tattoos that covered their silver cheeks and dark, narrow slits where their eyes should be.

She blinked. It was blurry.

She tried to raise her hand to rub her eyes but couldn't feel her arms.

Hermione blinked again. And once more.

It took a minute for everything to come together. Lines grew defined and faces grew distinct - and that's what made a cold shiver trickle down her spine - the sudden terror as she realized the faces were masks. Dozens of masks - and hoods - all in a neat half-circle around her.

Her fingertips had grown cold and tingly from binds that were tied too tightly around her wrists and restricted the blood flow to her hands. She leaned back and pressed against something warm and hard. She could only see a few strands of pale blond from her periphery, and it was enough to ascertain that she was bound back-to-back with Draco.

She instantly knew where she was as she gazed at the room, with its grandiose high ceiling and thousands of glittering candles. Her eyes roamed over the wooden panelled walls and enormous windows that looked out onto the Quidditch Pitch.

They were seated right where Dumbledore would give his beginning and end of term speeches. God, she could almost smell the food. Hear the clatter of silverware against plates and chatter of students enjoying their meal. She could almost envision Harry and Ron.

Hermione fought the urge to let her eyes roam to their usual seats toward the end of the long Gryffindor table.

The Great Hall was bleak and dreary compared to its usual state of warm and inviting. It was almost creepy how much of the green light from outside shone into the space and cast enormous shadows over the grim Death Eaters.

"Hermione Granger," the high, clear voice rang throughout the enormous mostly-empty space, drawing a cold shiver down Hermione's back. She turned toward the sound, instinctively squirming against the binds. The movement roused Draco from his unconscious state and he straightened his spine with equal alarm.

"Ah, Draco," the voice called out. "I had considered whether we would be meeting under these circumstances."

Suddenly, a sea of Death Eaters parted and Hermione could feel the trickle of cold sweat gathering on the back of her neck and settling in her palms as she spotted the greyish-green pale face. He was gliding between the walls of black and silver - stiffly standing before their Lord as he floated toward the pair. His face was nearly flat, slippery as though he had just shed his skin and the new flesh hadn't yet dried. His vibrant red eyes were visible from hundreds of feet away. He looked as disturbing and horrific as the acts he had committed. And she was in his presence. She, a muggleborn. And Draco, the traitor.

This is it, then.

If there was anything Hermione was grateful for, it was the moments of kindness they had granted each other. The love they had developed and raised in their quiet little relationship, under the swaying trees and cold walls of the cave. In front of the warm hearth. Before the twinkling fairies of the garden.

Hermione was grateful for that. They could never take that from her.

"Stand, both of you," Voldemort's voice was deathly still and quiet, though it carried like an arrow throughout the Great Hall. With a quick twist of his hand, Hermione could feel the tightness of the coils around her wrists loosen and disappear. She drew her hands in her lap and glanced up as Draco rose without a second thought. He avoided her gaze as grabbed her elbow and tugged her to stand up.

"My dear boy, how you've grown since I last saw you," Voldemort said. "Have you been feeding them, Gibbon?"

Voldemort glanced at one of the Death Eaters who gave a curt nod and murmured something to the robed serpent of a man.

He took his time walking up the stairs of the wooden platform, floating in front of the Death Eaters that had returned back to their rounded barricade. Hermione's eyes darted around her, desperately attempting to identify a method of escape. They were near the end of the Hall - the nearest exit led to a quiet hallway she'd seen teachers use to enter and exit the Great Hall. She stared a beat too long, her eyes catching the glimmer of incandescence rise from the floor to the ceiling.

Her heart sunk. They were in a warded cell. Invisible walls had been placed around them in a dome, preventing them from fleeing. Of course. As she shifted her gaze down, she spotted the cold red eyes on her, studying her behind thin sheaths.

"Introduce me, Draco," Voldemort said, as if asking his own son to introduce his Yule Ball date.

Hermione observed the paleness of Draco's features and the way his eyes would look just to the side of Voldemort, not deigning to make eye-contact.

"Don't be rude, Draco," Voldemort continued. "It's only fair that I meet the girl who ruined your life."

Draco's eyes darkened and lips grew pale as they formed a line, but he spoke regardless.

"This - This is Hermione -"

Hermione shifted awkwardly in her place. What were they doing? The thought of being formally introduced to the man that would kill them seemed laughable, but laughter did not come. They were so vastly outnumbered that the threat had hindered her ability to think clearly. Their chances of survival, even if they were not trapped in an invisible warded cell, were nil.

She avoided the searing stare of the Death Eaters and their Lord on her. Her ears rang and she could feel her heartbeat pounding like a war drum in her ribs.

"Look at me, girl," Voldemort said. She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to lift her eyes to meet his. His eyes were like glistening rubies, expensive jewels that would tempt paupers to approach with promise of riches and fame.

"Did your muggle parents teach you manners?"

There were a few chuckles amidst the crowd of silver and black.

"No, I'd imagine not. Dentists, are they not? I wouldn't imagine muggles who find joy in the barbaric art of teeth-pulling able to teach common decency."

Several of the Death Eaters laughed louder at that, the sound catching on in waves.

She felt the blood drain from her face, the sensation pulling her down into the floor as it sunk into the pit of her stomach like a stone in water.

How did he know about her parents?

"Nothing to say?"

"Just get it over with," Draco spat.

There was an edge to his voice that made Hermione wince. She fought the urge to shoot a glance at him; she hadn't expected such push-back - not in front of Voldemort who had them in the palm of his hand. Draco took a step in front of her, his body shielding her own. It was instinctive to reach out and touch him - just a soft brush of her fingertips against the inside of his wrist, reminding him she was there with him.

"Is that what you think this is, Draco? You think we brought you here to kill you? No. Though you will be killed, it won't be quite as ceremonious as this."

Then why were they there? If not to die. To be tortured? Crucio'd and watched by the hungry eyes of sadistic, power-hungry Death Eaters?

It didn't feel right. Everything was moving so slow, Hermione couldn't help but feel like their death was being intentionally delayed.

Lord Voldemort cast a glance toward the Death Eater. Hermione's stomach squeezed from the inside when she recognized the mask - she'd tried so hard not to study it or remember him, yet here he was: the same Death Eater that had cornered her against the wall of the classroom. As though he were silently summoned, the man walked toward the empty space that separated the Death Eaters from Draco and Hermione. She noticed the significant limp that he was walking with, something she didn't remember him having.

With a slight bend in his waist, he reached into his robe and withdrew two artefacts - thin and long. He rolled them onto the floor toward them, and Hermione immediately recognized them to be their wands. They stopped rolling several feet before the pair, and her eyes glued to the magical items.

It was a trap. It had to be. Once they moved to grab it, the Killing Curse would without a doubt come raining upon them from dozens of masked faces.

"Take it," the clear, high voice of Voldemort called out.

Draco turned to give Hermione a wary glance. She could not read his expression, but he remained unmoving. She followed his lead. She didn't know why she felt compelled to do whatever he felt was right - perhaps it was because Draco had met the Dark Lord before, countless times, perhaps. She didn't know - she had tried to avoid thinking about it for so long.

With a long, slow motion, Lord Voldemort's pale hand disappeared into his robe before withdrawing his bone-like wand. It rose, pointed straight at the couple.

Hermione felt herself bracing for the curse. She kept repeating the words 'I love you, Draco,' in her mind as if it was a shield that would protect them. His fingers found hers as they intertwined together and he gave her a sharp squeeze.

"Imperio."

The word was spoken so calmly, it was difficult to comprehend at first.

"Take the wand, Draco."

She felt the grip of his fingers loosen. His hand pulled away.

The distant glaze in his eyes was back - the same mindless look she'd seen when he grabbed her in the Black Lake. The same look that he'd had when he reached for her and dragged her back into the hands of their captors. Her hand jerked forward in a desperate attempt to grab at his wrist, but it slipped out of her grip like water through her fingers.

Draco's feet dragged. He walked as if his whole body was pulled by an invisible cord anchored at his chest. She could make out his trembling fingers as he bent to grab his wand from the ground. Sweat had already started gathering at his brow.

Gods, it was so hard to think, and even harder to know how to feel. Fear was a certainty, but as Draco's knuckles grew pink and then white with the force of his grip, an eerie sort of peace washed over her.

Better to die by his hand, unwillingly, than by the prolific, heartless murderer that was Lord Voldemort.

Yet, her heart squeezed as she thought about the horror he'd have to endure when the Imperius curse lifted and he was left with the knowledge that he killed her.

This was awful. This was so awful.

Draco seemed to stop once the wand was in his hands, waiting patiently for his next command. Hermione recognized this look in the rabbit. The small white rabbit waited patiently when it had escorted her to the stream, when she was meeting Draco in the forest. It waited with no purpose in the world except to obey its Master's next commands.

"Girl," Voldemort called to her. "Your wand."

Oh, God. Was she going to have to kill Draco?

"Please," she whispered. The word was so soft and drifted so freely from her mouth that it was hardly spoken at all. Still, it repeated in her head - a mantra, a chant, a prayer.

Please don't make me hurt him. I love him. Please.

Hermione rushed forward, not giving Voldemort the chance to curse her with the Imperius. It felt right to reach for it, for as soon as the Ivy and Walnut wand had come into her view she felt compelled to take it, let the power and control of the instrument hum in her veins and fill her head.

She gripped it, feeling the slight buzz of electrical magic sting at her fingers. It was alive as it pressed against her skin, starved as much as she was for retribution. She suddenly felt tempted to cast a thousand curses at the snake face of the Dark Lord. Burn the entire room down with every Death Eater in it, watching their skin melt and bone emerge, only to collapse into dust. She could taste their blood as the magic poured into her fingers, arms, soul.

"Now," Voldemort turned toward the glimmering metallic masks, "While most of my followers are aware of Albus Dumbledore's recent misfortune -"

The Dark Lord paused for effect, allowing cheer to erupt from the mouths of several of the Death Eaters, washed out only by the sounds of hushed, curious whispers of those that may not have heard. Hermione's jaw clenched, her heart suddenly in her throat. Misfortune. What misfortune?

"With the help of my loyal servant, Severus, his demise is inevitable," Voldemort continued, putting to rest several of the questions the Death Eaters - and Hermione - seemed to have. He was not dead yet. What about Snape? What misfortune?

"What many of you may not have known was that the task of ending Dumbledore was originally graciously given to Draco Malfoy."

A Death Eater jeered from the back.

Wait.

"Yes, I understand your anger. He was granted the opportunity to rise," the word sounded like a hiss to Hermione's ears. She could feel the hiss on her skin, leaving a wake of goose-pimples and risen hairs.

The words slowly seeped into her mind and every implication with it. Hermione's head had felt heavy as soon as she'd awoken. It had grown dense with rage once the wand touched her fingers and the Dark Lord opened his mouth. Now, as Voldemort's words sunk in, as the concept morphed from mere words to an image - Dumbledore dead - at the hands of - Draco?

Her head reeled with confusion.

Hermione turned to him, her eyes searching his face for the truth but Draco's eyes remained glazed over as he stared into nothing.

You were asked to kill Dumbledore? You - Draco - to kill?

"Despite his meagre 'attempts' of poison and cursed items -"

She could feel her chest caving in on itself as if someone was stepping on her lungs, forcing her into the earth without even the oxygen in her lungs to keep her alive.

Draco.

The cursed necklace - Angelina.

Oh, God.

She felt faint.

RON. He was -

The mead? Was Draco the cause?

Hermione remembered slipping into the girls' lavatory the night of Ron's poisoning. After hours spent in the Hospital Wing feeling guilt and dread about Ron's well-being, she had fled to Draco's arms. And he -he was responsible for Ron's poisoning?

She could scarcely breathe. The tears had started, pouring from her horror-filled eyes in hot streams. If she had any shred of strength left in her, she would have tried to stop them - cursed herself for crying in front of these horrendous people - shown unbroken courage in the face of their evil. But now… there was no strength.

"Yet, he failed. Instead, Draco here chose to fall gracelessly in love with a mudblood…"

The mocking tone that Voldemort had used as he said the word love made it clear to Hermione that he had likely never been in love, he probably didn't even believe in it as the word dripped with acid from his lip-less mouth. The jeering continued but she could hardly hear it.

She reached forward to touch his hand. He was so close but was hardly there at all. Her fingers reached for his palm, slipped into his hand. The digits remained limp and loose as if unaware of her touch, yet she could feel the minute twitch under his skin, muscles trembling but unable to move.

"Draco," she whispered, tears falling.

"And not just any mudblood - Potter's mudblood. What a twist of fate..."

Voldemort's face was alight with glee. It was truly terrifying as his tiny teeth sparkled under grey skin and a lipless mouth. The way he said Potter, the way he looked at her like she was living bait -

Oh, Merlin. She was. She was bait. Bait for Harry - that's why they were left alive. Did Voldemort truly expect Harry to pop into Hogwarts for her? Sacrifice himself for - she couldn't think of it. He would have if he knew where she was.

"Young Draco chose to cast aside his family - his honour - his loyalties to me," Voldemort continued. "He murdered my loyal servant, his own aunt."

Hermione felt like she was on an executioners block with all of the screaming and insults that were hurled at her like garbage. Like Anne Boleyn cast down from grace, a whore among the people, worthy of hell-fire and eternal torment.

"Our dear Bellatrix slaughtered at the hands of this traitor. What should I do with him, Amycus?"

"Allow me to cut off his arms and legs. Let him bleed to death, my Lord," a shorter, slightly portly Death Eater responded. Even from where Hermione stood, she could see the admiration in his eyes and sense the blood lust that seemed to waft in the air of the enormous Great Hall.

Hermione's stomach felt as though the skin had been turned inside out and a neat bow had been tied with her intestines. Everything felt awful, full of dread and lacking in hope. She pressed a firm hand into her stomach, fighting the urge to throw up from the nerves and the fear - from the horror and disgust.

"Do you take me for a butcher, Amycus?"

"No, my Lord. A thousand apologies - I only meant -"

"And you, Rowle?"

"Might I suggest killing them, my Lord, and ridding the world of their vile existence?"

"Hm," Voldemort considered. "They're worth more to me alive than dead, unfortunately. No, I don't think so yet."

"Torture them," another Death Eater offered. Hermione watched as Voldemort's eyes lit up like a Professor whose pupil finally understood a simple concept.

"Ah yes, I gave express instruction to provide Draco with multiple sessions, did I not, Alecto?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"He looks quite healthy, does he not?"

"I - He does, my Lord. A - An incident occurred -"

"Yes, I heard all about the incident with Gibbons…"

The Death Eater known as Gibbons cast his eyes downward like a scared dog whose tail was tucked between his legs.

"And how does our dear Draco fare against the Cruciatus curse?" Voldemort took several steps toward the cowering Death Eater, his face hovering closely near Gibbons'.

"Well, my Lord," Gibbons replied, his voice soft and quivering.

"And the girl…?"

The words were laced with acid, and Hermione wondered if she was mistaken in hearing a tinge of jealousy.

"She - she as well, my Lord," Gibbons said, his voice quivering with his trembling chin.

"Though you were not asked to lay a finger on her. Were you, Gibbons?"

She could see the shoulders of the man shaking so violently his hood was in danger of falling off of his head. The word Crucio barely passed the dark wizard's missing lips before Gibbons fell to the floor. The sounds of his screams reverberated off the windows and pierced her skull. She could hear the sounds of his bones cracking and dislocating with each seismic writhe of his helpless muscles.

This was not the Cruciatus curse she had felt. Voldemort's cruelty made the curse she'd experienced seem like a tickling jinx.

The discomfort could be felt among the suddenly stiff Death Eaters, their gazes averted from the tortured, distorted man.

"Draco," Voldemort said as he turned toward the pair. Hermione felt her shoulders turn inward, tempted to cower like Gibbons as the venomous eyes of Voldemort landed on her. "I had the misfortune of missing your mudblood's pain. Please delight us with a Cruciatus of your own."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Draco turned to face Hermione, his face blank and eyes glassy. She could see his pupils land on her, those icy-blue eyes that had graced her with looks of doting affection now regarded her with pure apathy as he lifted his wrist.

Hermione staggered back, lifting her hands before her as if they could shield her from the spell that effortlessly pierced through her and struck her with such force that she fell backwards.

A cry of anguish passed her clenched teeth as her fingers dug into the wooden floor like claws. She couldn't brace against the pain nor against the sheer terror as his lifeless eyes stared at her, watching as she screamed until her throat grew raw.

It was like drank liquid magma. Like her bones were being crushed under the weight of misery. Like every inch of her skin was being torn and cauterized simultaneously, ripping and repairing. She felt herself growing faint, the world blurring and darkening.

She hoped for the mercy of a brief coma. She prayed for a swift death.

"Enough," she heard the voice call out, and in an instant, the pain ended.

Her muscles spasmed uncontrollably, the aftershocks of their exhaustion now washing over her as she lay panting on the floor, forcing air in and out of her lungs. Cold mixed with hot as a clammy sweat trickled down her temples and mingled with fresh tears streaming from her face.

Draco's cheeks were bright red and his shoulders were trembling from an exhaustion of his own. She could almost see him trying to exert his will under the force of the curse, and that knowledge caused her to cry out with more heart-wrenching sobs.

When Voldemort released Draco from the Imperius curse, it took him only a brief flash before he flung himself onto her, covering her shaking body with his own as he wrapped her up and cradled her against his chest. He rocked her, whispering a thousand broken apologies into her hair and pressed kiss after kiss as if he could heal her by touch alone.

Neither cared that they were in front of countless Death Eaters.

"How precious," Voldemort's voice cut through their tender moment, and they grew stiff in response to the sound. "Stand up, both of you, and walk to opposite sides so we can all get a nice view."

They hesitated, terrified of what the cruel Lord would force them to do next, but the knowledge of what would happen if they didn't obey terrified them more. Draco tugged on Hermione's elbows, bringing her up to her feet.

"I'm so sorry -"

"There are worse things than physical pain." Even though she spoke the words, they caught in her throat and stuttered against chattering teeth. The pain had hardly made its way out of her, muscles still trembling as they fought to rebuild the tears they'd endured under the curse.

"Hermione, I -"

"There are impenetrable wards all around us."

It may have been a simple statement, but the way Draco's throat bobbed with a deep swallow showed that he understood her meaning. It was a warning. Don't do anything stupid, we don't stand a chance.

He nodded, his lips turning upward in a sour expression.

"That was quite an impressive Crucio, Draco," Voldemort said, his lips twisted into a proud smile. The man had the audacity to clap his hands together twice, in applause for Draco's cruelty. "Now, show us how you do it when you're not compelled by the Curse."

Draco's eyes widened as they landed on her.

"If you refuse, I have no hesitation of placing another Imperius curse on you. What do you think? Would killing her by your own hand be better than causing a bit of pain?"

The skin of Draco's face was white as bleached cloth and she could see all the way around his irises as he stared at her.

"It's okay," she mouthed, granting her permission for whatever that was worth.

What a lie. None of this was okay. It was horror; his worst nightmare.

She watched as he raised his wand, his lip trembling, reminding her of the tears he shed their first night in the classroom.

The poor man was being forced to dig his own grave - and that of his lover. Was it really better to succumb to the torture before their inevitable demise? Or should he have just given in, killed her and then himself, and not give the sadistic snake the satisfaction?

Though that's not what he promised her. He promised her to fight, not surrender.

Is that what this was?

It didn't feel like he was fighting.

"Crucio."

The words were weak as they passed unwilling lips. A spark of light exited his wand and landed on her. She had braced herself for the impact and was met with a slight burning sensation, like that of a bad sunburn. Her cries were unconvincing, proven by the laughter of several Death Eaters.

"You're going to have to mean it more than that, Draco," Voldemort replied. He stalked near the perimeter of the wards, his robes swirling as they brushed against the invisible barrier. "Think of what you're doing - you're saving her life. Do it again, mean it."

It all felt useless. What were they doing, anyway? Why was he wasting time with this show, prolonging the inevitable?

"Crucio," Draco said through gritted teeth as if afraid to part his lips enough for the words to be made real. She felt her chest thrust forward as she cried out, her spine bending and skin burning again.

"Come now, Draco. You're hardly trying."

"We're not your sodding puppets!" Draco's teeth were visible as he spat the words. His hair was white against the red skin of his eyes and nose.

"Aren't you? And what would you say you were when you cast the Cruciatus on your girl moments ago?"

With a vicious snarl, Draco drew back his wand arm. Hermione braced for impact, tears falling from her face as she grit her teeth and curled her fingers into fists, awaiting impact.

With a roar, Draco cast spell after spell, over and over, different curses, hexes and jinxes, that shot out of his wand like colourful fireworks. They streamed and collided all around her, landing against the wards, aimed with perfect accuracy for each Death Eater as he continued his curses until the final Death curse landed on the ward mere inches from Voldemort.

A hairline crack formed in the previously invisible ward where the Killing Curse landed, and the red eyes regarded it with a sense of amusement that Hermione did not understand.

A chill dragged down her spine as she recognized the force with which the spells poured from his lips.

Had the spell landed on Voldemort, it would have surely been fatal.

"Impressive. You are quite your father's son, aren't you? Full of drive and ambition if it suits you. But your father was a disappointment and you're proving to be a failure of your own. It's a shame he died in Azkaban -"

Draco's head snapped in the direction of Voldemort's voice as it continued to trail on.

"- alone and forgotten. I would imagine he would have had something to say for your betrayal if he was able to see you now -"

"What did you say?" Draco's voice came out in a hiss, the breath to support his words nowhere to be found.

The red eyes of Lord Voldemort regarded Draco with the purest curiosity.

Oh no.

No.

Please - don't.

"Oh," Voldemort breathed, his eyes widening slightly as his lips parted to reveal little reptilian teeth glimmering with glee and making the hair on Hermione's neck stand on end. "You didn't know?"

"My - father?"

"Draco -" She didn't know what to say.

Please, don't do this, Hermione begged into the vast expanse of her own mind. It will kill him.

Voldemort tilted his head with curiosity, studying the blond boy's features with unbreakable concentration.

"Well, I had not expected this."

The red eyes flicked over to Hermione's horrified face as she struggled to reach for Draco, struggled to bring him back to - where, she didn't know. There was nowhere safe for them.

"But you knew, girl."

Draco's face snapped toward hers. His previously pale face had blanched to the point that the only colour to be seen in his features were of his ice-cold eyes as they speared through Hermione in search of answers.

"Potter told you through the Floo, did he not?"

The Floo. Draco had been right - it was compromised.

She stared wildly between Draco and Voldemort.

"Draco, don't listen to him -"

A sound that Hermione never wanted to hear again pierced through her skull and rattled in her mind. A high, clear, cruel sound. Laughter. Voldemort was laughing.

Several of the Death Eaters followed suit, given permission to laugh at the cruel fate of Draco Malfoy.

"The girl you threw your life away for didn't tell you your father is dead? Failed to mention that he was rotting in a prison cell for two weeks before he was found? What a sick love story this is!"

Draco's hand flew to his stomach and he fell forward as if he had been punched in the gut. His face was white as a ghost as he held himself with one arm. She could see him struggling to breathe as his shoulders shook uncontrollably. She could hear the gasp of air pass through his lips and a lachrymose wail poured out.

It shattered her heart.

She wanted to - she had to - do something.

Hermione stepped forward toward Draco before she heard the sharp voice telling her to stop. Telling her she dare not move.

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Draco could scarcely hear anything as he curled into himself, save for the high ringing in his ears and the sound of his own breathing, broken and shallow as he fought against the physical pain of the news.

Dead.

His father.

He saw the droplets as they fell from his eyes, could feel the fluid evacuating from his face as he shook with violent sobs that made his lungs ache and heart fall like a leaden weight toward the ground.

He didn't want it - his heart.

The sole source of this mess.

The cruelty that he had cast on himself and his loved ones. Killed. He squeezed into himself as he cried on the floor like a helpless child, broken and alone with no source of comfort to quell the overwhelming guilt that tore through him.

"Father..." he whimpered to himself, the word barely passing his trembling lips. He wished he could join him. Soon, he would. He welcomed it now. The assured numbness of death. The lack of pain and cruelty that filled this horrid world.

To sleep forever. What peace.

Please, don't be dead. Please. This must be a cruel joke. He's lying. I know he's lying, please, father.

His lungs crackled against his wet sobs and he felt himself coughing, but the pain of his heart dullened any physical sensation.

"Draco," he heard the name.

Father?

No. Father's not here.

For a moment, Draco had forgotten where he was, and the truth drove into him like a runaway train. The anger rushed with it as reality set in and Draco understood who exactly was speaking with him - who exactly was his reason for all of the pain and suffering that he and his family and Hermione endured.

"Draco, the curse," Voldemort reminded. "Now, boy."

Draco lifted his head and his eyes reappeared on Hermione again, the blue of his irises vivid against the strained pink of his eyes. He could scarcely see through the overwhelming anger that was coursing through his blood, like an acid that burned and disintegrate all matter it touched. The world was vibrating around him, its edges blurry and barely recognizable. His periphery had faded into darkness and all he could see was through a small tunnel of light that was closing around him in blinding rage.

His fingers curled into fists against the ground and he let out a deep, vibrating breath that felt like fire as it escaped his reddened face.

With each breath, the rage seemed to flow out of him. The loud, deafening ringing lessened.

He pressed his weight into the fist that dug into the wooden ground of the Great Hall and felt himself rise. Another breath, another wave of anger fading from his body as an unusual and welcomed sense of apathy seemed to fight through his psyche and began to overtake him.

He blinked the last of his tears away and his vision began to find him again.

One more breath, and he watched as Hermione's horrified face stared back at him, tears streaming helplessly down her face as her hand flew to cover her ears, squeezing tightly against the sound that he seemed to not be able to hear.

Her brows nearly touched each other and her mouth was agape with a mix of sorrow and pain. Whatever magic she was enduring he was not aware of. He felt nothing.

Nothing. Peace. Silence and peace.

He watched as she fell to the ground, covering her head as if bracing for an earthquake as she trembled with overwhelming sobs.

The red eyes of Lord Voldemort found Draco's, wide and full of intrigue as they watched him. He could see the slits of his nose flare with a deep inhale as his lips curled again into a smile, his face hovering over the slit of space that formed where the ward had cracked. He took in another deep inhale.

"I wondered how you managed to kill a witch with more power in her thumb than you have in your entire being," Voldemort spoke finally, cutting the thick air with a contemplative intensity that only furthered the feeling of being smothered in the room. "But I see now that you have a lot of rage, young Draco. You could have been quite a useful ally had you not been sullied and seduced by this -"

He sneered as he pointed his wand to Hermione.

"Abomination."

He heard Hermione cry out with sheer pain as she squeezed her ears tight. He saw the way Voldemort seemed to twitch slightly as the anger in Draco boiled over and spilt outward into the air like thick magma, its heat filling the space until it was impossible to feel anything but its destructive burn. Draco watched as the Death Eaters covered their ears and flailed their arms, unable to see as they fought against the magic that drifted off of Draco's body like the smoke of an erupting volcano. There was no evading it as it slipped through the crack of the ward and flooded the Great Hall.

"This magic -" Voldemort called to Draco, his blank crimson eyes open with awe as he drank in the bitter taste of rage. "What is this magic?"

The loud boom at the end of the Great Hall was barely heard by anyone except for Draco as they all struggled against the piercing, deafening sound of whatever filled their heads. He watched as a real thick, brown mist filled the space outside the wards, mingling with the seeping magic of the Illusionment Charm as it cascaded over the Death Eaters.

Draco merely cast a glance toward Hermione before turning back toward the chaos.

It was with a muted white rage that Draco watched as the wide-eyed Lord Voldemort withdrew and disappeared into the smoke.

»»-¤-««

Author's Note:

If you enjoyed (on some level) this chapter, please feel free to leave a review! They make me so happy.

It's been quite hard to write these dark chapters because I just love the character so much, but this chapter, in particular, made my heart squeeze in my chest. I am loving your questions and theories in the comments! Thank you so much for your support!

All my love,

Syren