Previously…
Running out to the foyer, the too-long straps of her dress falling off Hermione's shoulders, she swung the front door wide open. Yet, it wasn't the regal Malfoy heiress she had been expecting, standing behind it.
"Pansy!" she exclaimed. "What are you—?" The girl in question barged in, and the question died on Hermione's lips.
For behind Pansy was Theodore Nott, the brown of his eyes glinting dangerously.
"Hola..."
Hermione's mouth fell open a little.
"Theodore," she breathed. "What are you…" She shook her head quickly. "You can't be here."
"Of course we can," scoffed Pansy, pushing her way inside past Hermione.
Theo tried following. Hermione half closed the door on him, blocking his way. "I'm serious," she said forcefully. "You CANNOT be here!"
Theo's eyes danced over her face as if searching for something. "I have to see him," he said to her softly.
"He's angry, Theo. He knows."
"I figured that out all by myself while I was waiting in an interrogation room, framed for murder."
Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for the mess I've made between—"
"Oh do shut up, Hermione," huffed Pansy abruptly, grabbing hold of the door and tugging it open for Theo to come in. "You're one big pity-party aren't you — a sight for sore eyes — a real bundle of joy — what are you wearing?"
"Wearing?" blinked Hermione forgetting herself. "Oh, yes, I was just trying on this dress and, well it's a little too big, you see it's not actually mine, but if I could just—"
"The hemline is all wrong, the straps need to be shortened, the back needs to be let out and don't even get me started on that neckline…"
Theo chuckled. "I believe Pansy is offering to fix it."
"After I see Draco," she added abruptly.
"Actually," started Hermione, righting one of the straps. "Draco's gone out."
"Oh has he?" sung Theo, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Suppose he felt like a taking a morning stroll down la calle, hm? Not as if the MLE and every other Wizarding government is out there looking for him."
"She's lying," Pansy said to Theo, "you are lying, aren't you?"
"No, he left."
"You can't be serious!"
"He had to get something important, he'll be back shortly. Don't worry, Draco knows how to be discreet."
"Clearly," spat Pansy angrily. "He's been hiding all this time, hasn't he?"
"Hiding from us," added Theo a little miserably. "Didn't even have the decency to tell us he was alive. A blooming letter would have sufficed, but no—"
"He couldn't," she defended. "His memories were gone. He didn't tell us because he didn't know who we were, he didn't even know who he was."
The two stared at her in shock, both clearly taken aback at the truth.
Pansy swallowed. "How?"
"I don't know and neither does he."
"A memory charm?" asked Pansy softly.
Hermione's brows furrowed in contemplation. "No," she said after a while. "I don't know. Most of the memories have come back to him naturally. That isn't usually the case with victims of a simple memory charm."
"Gilderoy Lockhart is still in the Janus Thickey Ward of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," said Theo gravely. "Memory charms are fickle things. We both know what happens when…" he trailed off avoiding Hermione's eyes. His gaze drawn to a spot on the far wall. "How is Draco still alive?"
Pansy frowned. "Who cares how he's alive, the point is that he is."
"It's strange is all —"
"Don't you dare analyze it Theodore!" cried Pansy angrily. "Beyond reason your best friend is alive—"
"But his memory—"
"I said don't! Just not yet, alright."
There was a long drawn out silence, Pansy's shimmering eyes boring into Theo's daring him to speak. Hermione watched them till with a defeated groan Theo leant against the wall, his hands folded, his lips an irritated scowl.
Pansy turned to regard Hermione once again. "I'll fix your dress for you while we're waiting." Without waiting for a response she took out her wand casting one spell after another upon the dress, cutting and snipping, tightening and loosening threads till Hermione felt the fabric around her, snug as a bug. "There," presented Pansy proudly. "Doesn't she look much better?"
Theo gave her a slip of a smile; the remnants of their friendship still scattered. She thanked Pansy, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and excused herself to go change into something more comfortable. She returned wearing casual Muggle clothes, finding it far too hot for robes.
Hermione attempted to make small talk with them to while away the time, but the conversation eventually wilted into an awkward silence. It was in this awkward silence that suddenly Pansy's face changed. Her eyes were fixed on something, her expression slack. Hermione spun round. Draco was standing at the entrance of the living room… completely and utterly paralyzed.
"Draco," clipped Pansy, a ghost of a smile upon her lips. "I suppose Potter isn't the only 'boy-who-lived'."
Draco made to open his mouth, to say something but the only thing which escaped his lips was Pansy's name.
Hermione watched as the corner of Pansy's lip tugged upward into a small smile. She could tell the witch was holding herself back, containing the storm of emotions roiling within. And then they were embracing, arms wrapped tightly around one another in a fierce reunion of friendship. It was so sweet and simple that she felt, with a sudden heavy weight of regret, that because of her, Theo and Draco would not share the same reunion. She pursed her lips keeping her own tears at bay.
"Pansy," said Draco again.
"Yes, it's me," she said softly. "You remember..."
"I do," he answered.
Draco's eyes lifted for a moment meeting Hermione's. She tried to remain composed but… her eyes flickered over to Theo who had turned to stone, his body rigid against the wall, as paralysed as Draco had been.
She watched with dread as Draco slowly released Pansy, turning around. His face, already pale, turned a deadly white. Theo, almost like a gargoyle coming to life, re-animated, pushing away from the wall, his arms at his side, refusing to look away from Draco's deathly glare.
Coming to stand right in from of him as to create a barrier between him and Theo, Hermione reached out and ever so slowly wrapped her fingers around Draco's. "Draco," she whispered calmly, watching from her peripherical vision, as more and more objects began to levitate. "Draco stop."
Draco suddenly blinked as coming out of a reverie. He looked around, bewildered at the sight before him and then in another instant, the objects fell at once, clattering and clinking onto the floor.
"What the hell is he doing here?" hissed Draco, his gaze levelled at Theo.
Pansy suddenly stepped beside Hermione, with the same idea of creating a wall between the two wizards. "Draco," she warned in a low tone. "Our dear Theodore has come to see you."
But Draco's eyes were turning black. "Then he must have a death wish."
Hermione winced fearing for Theo's safety. "Theo, maybe you should just —"
"Don't talk to him!" snapped Draco, his eyes wild and suddenly upon her. "Don't even…" He gulped, leaving the statement unfinished.
"There's no need to be rude," said Theo softly, his wand sliding down from the sleeve of his robes, finally perceiving the dangerous predicament he was in. Draco took no time in raising his own, and before Hermione could intervene, Draco was struck square in the chest by a hex which had him flying across the room into one of the archways. Hermione gasped and ran over, kneeling beside him on the floor.
"Draco, are you alright?" she cried. "You're hurt—!"
Draco's head snapped up to regard Pansy, whose wand arm was still raised from the hex she'd fired. Despite her trembling hand, her expression was ironclad and unyielding. Hermione looked Theo was standing beside her with a blank expression on his face.
"You have been gone for far too long, Draco," began Pansy in a faint whisper, "it seems you don't remember me at all."
Draco visibly flinched as if struck.
"Do you really think I'd allow you to harm Theodore in my presence?"
Hermione eyed Pansy and comprehended something she'd failed to realise in the last eleven years of knowing the witch. She was a formidable opponent.
"But, he—"
"I don't care," she cut softly. "I know there have been mistakes on both sides, but you will make peace with each other, and if you haven't by the time Hermione and I return, as Merlin is my witness, I will leave and you will be dead to me. Truly this time."
Hermione blinked, her expression incredulous. "Pansy I don't think that's wise—"
"We must let the boys squabble this out." And before she could protest further, Pansy had taken her firmly by the arm and outside into the back courtyard, toward the gardens. She turned her head to look back at Draco over her shoulder and hoped that he would understand her silent plea.
Her heart still beating furiously she asked, "Are you sure we should leave them alone?"
Without stopping in her tracks, Pansy tsked, "Hermione," Her name sharp on her tongue. "Theodore is Draco's oldest friend. He would never kill him. This is what they do. They fight, they yell, they cry and once they're done, Mrs. Malfoy takes them out for ice cream and all is well again."
"Except Mrs. Malfoy isn't here!"
"Well I'm here," clipped Pansy, "And you're here, so trust me, this isn't the first time they've fought over something."
"I've never seen Draco look like that."
With a slow haughty drawl, Pansy retorted, "Clearly you missed the Puffskein incident —well, of course you did — but if you had been there you would know how furious the boys had all been."
"Pansy—"
"I'll tell you all about it over a cup of tea," she cut in, conjuring two white garden chairs and a table. Taking a seat, she resumed. "See Mrs Zabini brought home a Puffskein for Blaise and — oh, do sit down and stop fretting!" she admonished, pulling Hermione down into one of the seats. "And well let's just say that pandemonium ensued when Draco found out."
"Pansy, I think this is a little different," said Hermione abruptly.
"Of course it's different, but don't you see how it's the same? Boys," Pansy muttered rolling her eyes. A tray of tea appeared with a plate of warm scones and Hermione wondered what odd spells Pansy had learned growing up as a pureblooded heiress.
She poured Hermione a cup, her hand unsteady spilling a little. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I'm so tired these days."
"Do you need to go inside and lie down?"
"No," she hummed. "I'm fine, really. It's just this heat."
Pansy took out her wand once again to cast a cooling charm over them. She picked up her teacup and cradled it in both her hands like a mug. A domestic gesture Hermione felt comforted by. Looking at the girl she'd so vilified in school, she realized that there was someone altogether different sitting in her place. Pansy noticed the attention Hermione was paying her and returned it. "It must be so lovely to get along in life being you," she sighed.
Hermione took a delicate sip of her tea bracing herself for whatever was to come. She never knew with Pansy. "I don't know what you mean."
"I don't mean being you, Hermione Granger — no, that's not what I mean at all — I'm just, I'm so jealous, so very jealous of how naturally it comes to you… being good… wanting to always do the right thing.
"In that way, you're so very much like Ronald, hearts of gold—it's no wonder they call you three the Golden Trio."
Hermione wore a quizzical look, baffled as to how she'd gotten such a title. "But I'm not perfect," she admitted softly. "I've lied, I've made mistakes… I let Albus Dumbledore die."
"But wasn't Snape acquitted of that? Dumbledore was already dying."
"But I didn't know that at the time. If I had made different decisions, things might be different today. What's happened is my fault—"
"Don't," interjected Pansy. "No one is at fault. These are the cards we have all been dealt, these are the repercussions of hatred and malice — Hermione," she said sternly taking hold of her hand, "look at me, you are a good person."
Hermione shrugged, giving Pansy a self-deprecating smile. "I chose to protect Draco instead of protecting Dumbledore."
"Yet when it came down to it, you chose to stay with Potter, even though you loved Draco."
"Well of course, it was the right thing to…" Hermione's words trailed off as realization dawned on her. She looked down at their interlaced hands and noticed that the extravagant wedding ring she wore no longer adorned her elegant fingers. Hermione's gaze flickered up back to hers and Pansy's eyes softened.
"In my place, you would've done the right thing… you would've stood by your husband even if you did love another man."
"Pansy—"
"Blaise won't even look at me," she whispered. "I keep waiting for him to do something; to lash out, to get even… to witness a stream of women leave through his bedroom door, but it's almost… it's almost as if I've broken him…"
"I love Draco more than I've loved anything in my life. Love," she said quietly. "It makes you selfish. You've done a bad thing, the way things happened with Ron, but you're not a bad person."
Pansy gave her a strained smile, tears gathering in her eyes. "I'm not a good one either," she half laughed, half scoffed. "Look at me, falling to bits. How ridiculous… I've made my bed, now I must lie in it."
Hermione returned her own watery laugh. "Do you think," she started, a little wary of how Pansy would reply, "do you think in another life, we would've been… good friends?"
The witch sitting opposite her suddenly grew serious. Tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear, she began, weighing her words carefully. "The truth of it is that I — and don't hold it against Draco, he was only repeating what he'd heard, and we were only just children but —I didn't know what the word Mudblood meant until he told me…"
Hermione pursed her lips struggling not to feel hurt by something that was so insignificant now.
"Even at that age, I admired Draco so much, I didn't just have a crush on him, I wanted to be like him. I liked what he liked, I hated who he hated, I… it's hard for me to admit this to you, or even to myself, but I was always a sheep.
"The boys seemed to know so much more than I did about the world that I never questioned them or the things they said, and I suppose they never questioned their parents either. Our lack of friendship has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you or the kind of person you are. I'm sorry."
Hermione was speechless. She had never wanted nor expected an apology from Pansy for her cruel behaviour during their school days but now that she had it, she realised that she had been waiting a long time for one. And it was a relief to know that people could change, that they could make mistakes and be forgiven, and even forgive themselves.
They settled into a lengthy but comfortable silence, sipping on tea that had gone a little cold. Still, the air was peaceful; cool from Pansy's bubble charm and yet warm from the Spanish sun; two women so far removed from the world and all its goriness, that when Pansy spoke again, the sharpness of any sound cut through that tranquillity.
"Are you sure this is what you want, Hemione… to run away with Draco?"
Hermione visibly flinched. "Did Theo ask you to speak to me?"
"No," said Pansy gently. "I was at the Weasleys and I don't very much care for that lot, they're such a rowdy bunch, the whole family, but—"
"But what?" demanded Hermione defensively.
Pansy bowed her head taking another sip of tea. "Your friends miss you. Ronald, Potter, Ginny… Theodore too, although he'd never say it."
Hermione licked her lips. "I doubt that, Pansy. The last time I spoke to Theo, he was planning to leave the country. I've caused him more than enough pain."
"At one point, you and Theo were the best of friends. What happened between you two… whatever it was… you were both grieving, Hermione. But you will always find a friend in him. Truly I understand, I," Pansy blushed. "He's probably never told you this but at Hogwarts, we almost kissed once."
Hermione choked on her tea, unable to hide the shock on her face despite her efforts. Pansy gave another soft chuckle finding Hermione's reaction amusing.
"We didn't," she reaffirmed, "It was during our seventh year when the Carrows were in charge. Not many Slytherins ever found themselves at the end of a wand, but it was usually because we were the one's asked to dole out punishment. Alecto, she…" Pansy faltered, a dark cloud passing over her face.
"She hurt you," supplied Hermione.
Pansy shook her head, closing her eyes. "Not me," she whispered. "I wish it had been me."
"What happened?"
Pansy looked out upon the vast view, her expression becoming forlorn remembering the past. "Beauty comes at a price, you see. It's hard to be seen, to be handsome as Blaise is… people notice him. Alecto became transfixed. She picked him most times to perform the Cruciatus Curse. He never wanted to, but he never refused either. I could see what it was doing to him though."
"I didn't know," said Hermione quietly. She wondered how something like this could've slipped past her knowledge. Sure, she had heard the stories from Seamus and the others about Crabbe and Goyle but not Blaise Zabini.
"I thought Longbottom would have told you. In fact, when I saw you arrive with him at my wedding, I was afraid that perhaps he had come for — I don't know — revenge or something. But he just…" Pansy wiped a phantom tear at the corner of her eye. "He seemed genuinely happy for us as if we've all been good friends for years."
Hermione smiled softly. "Knowing Neville, he probably never told anyone."
"No, I suppose he didn't," said Pansy, clearing her throat, "Well, anyway, Blaise became very distant and cold. Draco was Merlin-knows where, doing Merlin-knows what for Voldemort and it was just Theo and I trying to figure out how to survive."
"Oh."
"Nothing ever happened," she reiterated. "I only wanted you to know that you're not the only witch susceptible to Theodore's devilishly good looks and brazen charm. People get lost, Hermione. Then they look for themselves in each other."
She clenched her teeth, fighting the onslaught of tears. Ronald had tried to console her before, had tried to tell her she wasn't this awful person she felt she was, but his words hadn't reassured her the way Pansy's just had. "Some days I can barely look at myself in the mirror," she admitted quietly.
Pansy sighed. "I think that goes for everyone…"
"Not Harry," said Hermione after a while.
Pansy shrugged as if to say 'who knows', but then she burst out laughing. "No, probably not him!" And then Hermione was laughing along too.
"He's so perfect sometimes, it's irritating."
"I know, right? And he's pretty fit too," added Pansy casually.
They locked eyes and burst out laughing again. "Please don't let Ron ever hear you say that," she chuckled.
Hermione had forgotten how good it felt to just laugh. Draco and Theo were always so serious, so morose and pensive. The war hung on them the way it hung on her, but Pansy. She carried it differently. She had a way about her that said, 'I'm sorry,' but also, 'I'm not really. It is what it is.'
"I think we've given the boys long enough," said Pansy decidedly.
Hermione nodded. It was time to get back and face whatever awaited her in the villa. After vanishing the stage Pansy had conjured for their little tea party, they began to walk back through the large gardens to the Spanish villa barely speaking a word. When Pansy looped her arm around Hermione's, they still said nothing.
As the two reached the courtyard, Hermione stopped in her tracks, tugging Pansy close to her to stop her from entering. Her brows furrowed, looking at Hermione questioningly. But Theo's next words drifted out of the room to the courtyard, giving her, her answer.
"Even when Bellatrix made you cut that into her arm, she continued to lie." Hermione cocked her ear. They could only be talking about her, and Pansy upon noticing cocked her ear too. There was a pregnant pause before Theo spoke again. "You asked her to tell you and she didn't."
"No," hissed Draco, his voice strained with anger and regret. "I didn't ask, I begged…"
Hermione moved closer, her heart beginning to thud in her chest, her hold on Pansy tightening till it was the only thing holding her up.
"Is that why you carved M L on the arms of those Death Eaters?"
And that's when Pansy ended the conversation. Pretending not to have heard, she rang out in a perfectly happy sing-song voice. "Hope you boys have made up!"
She felt like stone upon Pansy's arm as they walked in. Her mind was racing with the memories of that night at Malfoy Manor, trying to dislodge them. It was a long time ago, she reminded herself. She'd repressed the memory, it wasn't one worth keeping. So why couldn't Draco? She would speak to him once they'd left, she'd make him understand.
Theo composed himself quickly, a small smile on his face. Draco ran a subtle hand over his and through his hair. They pretended not to notice he'd been crying.
"Well?" urged Pansy. "Have you two made up?"
"Actually, you're right on time," lied Theo. "We need to get Draco's memories back — all of them."
Draco looked just as surprised as the two witches. "We do?" he asked. Then nodded at Theo's silent answer. "Yes, we do."
"I can't," reminded Hermione. "Draco hasn't warded me yet."
"That's fine," interrupted Theo, who had clearly seen fit to take charge. "You won't need a wand to help Draco."
Draco and Hermione frowned in unison. "It's too risky," said Draco, voicing Hermione's concern. "They could still track her."
"No, Theo's right," said Pansy. "Ronald said they can't track anyone's magical signature in Spain. It's some sort of new wizarding law here. Privacy Act or — I don't know, sometimes I tune Ronald out but — as long as Hermione doesn't use her wand, she'll be safe."
"You can do it," reassured Theo, who seemed to know she was doubting herself. "The Memory therapy will work."
"Memory therapy is supposed to be a supplementary treatment for Muggle patients with Alzheimer's. It's not a stand-alone cure—"
"And if someone oblivated me," sighed Draco. "It's not going to be an easy fix. She'll need her wand."
"That's just the thing," said Theo urgently. "I don't think you were oblivated. Your memory loss is an unusual case. I've never heard of someone regaining their memory after it being erased so entirely."
"And you don't know how to swim," added Pansy softly. All eyes turned to regard her. "I'm over-the-moon happy that you're safe and alive Draco, but don't you want to know what happened? Nothing about your death — your disappearance — makes sense. I'm curious to know who or what kept you from us for all these years."
Draco sighed, his eyes pressing shut. "I just… some of the memories that have come back, they…" He shook his head.
Theo stepped toward Draco, his expression set. "You will need your memories back to…" he trailed off unfinished, but Draco seemed to understand the unspoken.
Turning to Hermione he asked, "So how does this work exactly?"
Feeling uncertain, she looked to each of them instead, "I don't normally do this without a wand."
"You can do it," said Pansy with such conviction that it gave Hermione the final nudge of confidence she needed. With one quick nod of agreement, she consented.
"Alright, well, I'll need this room cleared — of everything. Get rid of it all. The emptier the better. Draco," she clipped noticing his weary far-off expression. "If you need to stop, you can just say so."
"I'll be fine," he responded stoically.
Hermione watched as Pansy and Theo sprang into action, making quick work of vanishing the furniture and moving things out onto the courtyard.
"What about the ceiling fans?" asked Theo.
She shrugged in response. "I suppose we can leave them… okay Draco, sit here opposite me," instructed Hermione lowering herself onto the floor. "Crossed-legged… a little bit closer. Pansy, Theo—"
"I want them to stay," said Draco abruptly.
"They don't have to leave but they need to give us space."
"Why?" asked Pansy, her tone laced with concern. "Is what you're doing dangerous?"
Hermione smirked. "No, but he has to clear his mind. It'll be hard for Draco to do that with you two hovering nearby."
Theo scoffed, tugging Pansy back toward the far wall behind Draco. They sank to the floor as well, their expressions sober.
Hermione drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "Are you ready?" she asked him, half-wondering if she herself was ready.
Draco gave her a weak nod. "I suppose… how does this — what are you doing?"
Her hands had come up to his face, holding him perfectly still; their gazes locked. "To dive deep," she whispered cupping both his cheeks, "I need physical contact."
He gulped. "Dive deep?"
"Legilimency."
"You never told me you were—"
"Not naturally. I've never had the talent for it but you'd be surprised what you can master if you only practise it enough."
There was something about allowing Hermione to look into his mind which terrified Draco, and she could see it written all over his face. It was the unknown he feared… the empty spaces in his memory that she was trying to restore. She understood now why he had been so reluctant to get the ink before. He was trying to delay the inevitable... trying to delay exactly this.
Gently she asked, "Sure you're ready?"
Draco drew a deep breath, giving her one final nod of approval.
"You have to let me in, otherwise this won't work."
He took another long inhale, releasing the tension in his shoulders, his palms opening out and his fingers slack.
"Just relax."
"I am..."
"Draco… you have to let go."
"I am."
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed, her eyes squinting with renowned concentration.
A great force pushed her out, her head snapping back.
"Are you alright?" asked Draco. Theo had begun to stand up, his expression concerned. Pansy pulled him to sit back down, whispering something to him.
"No," answered Hermione, wiping the small drop of blood from her nose. "What did you do that for?"
"I didn't do anything, I swear."
"Then why can't I get in?"
"I don't know. I haven't practised Occlumency in years. I've had no need for it. It wasn't me," he promised. "Did you see anything?"
She nodded. "I saw a lake…" her lips turned down, her eyes narrowing accusingly, "before you pushed me out."
"I told you I didn't."
"Why do you think my nose is bleeding?"
Growing angry, Draco snapped, "well, maybe you're just not a good Legilimens."
Hermione barred her teeth.
"I've spent the last two years perfecting the skill. I was mentored by Queenie Goldenstein herself. I've performed this spell countless of times! If I can't breach your mind it's because you're using Occlumency to hinder my efforts."
"Fine," he growled. "Let's try again."
"No, I want to try a different way."
"How?"
"Just talk to me. I want you to tell me about that day at Hogwarts."
"How will that help?" scowled Draco.
Hermione pursed her lips trying to suppress her growing irritation with him. She felt suddenly as though he were an obnoxious patient in her care, a difficult one who would often whine and complain about his treatment.
"Let me simplify it for you," she huffed. "There are different types of memory; episodic, semantic, working and remote," she counted on her fingers. "Your semantic memory — your general knowledge of the world; to read, to write, ideas, concepts, the names of colours, of objects — that seems to have remained completely intact, and your working memory — creating new memories such as the one right now of us having this discussion — is also fine. It's your episodic and remote memory that seems to have been disrupted."
"You said simplify, not confuse further."
"Episodic and remote memory are what people refer to as long-term and short-term memory. Each type of memory uses a different network in the brain —"
"Muggle talk," he spat.
"I see living as one hasn't humbled you at all."
"It's not that," he grumbled, "it's just that Muggle things are so complex. Magic is so much easier to understand."
Hermione sighed, bringing her hands to cup his face once again. "I know, Draco, but the magical way alone isn't working… There's been a lot of clinical evidence to suggest that memory retrieval can be associated with a sense of re-experiencing. Reliving certain events might trigger something. It won't feel so intrusive when I try enter your mind this way... so tell me, what do you remember of that day — focus — don't look away from my eyes."
"The battle… the chaos… the protection charms over the castle… Voldemort was angry," he began. "Angrier than usual. He had destroyed Father's wand and was using another but it was resisting him. He ordered me to find and bring Severus to him… to help him. But I knew… I had this feeling in my gut by the way he spoke…
"He didn't want Severus to help him. He wanted me to find Severus so he could kill him."
"How could you have known that?"
"Spend enough time around a wizard like Voldemort and you begin to see how they think; they become predictable. You aren't surprised by the knife in your back, in fact, you start to anticipate it…"
"Did you find him?"
"Yes and I warned him. He went to look for Potter, said he needed to show him something. I returned to Voldemort and lied, I said that I couldn't find Severus anywhere. I implied that the headmaster might have been killed. He told me to keep searching and he sent two more Death Eaters out as well."
"Who were the other Death Eaters?"
"Jugson and some fellow with a funny name like Mayberry or Mayferry. We split-up. By the time I got back to the forest…"
"Harry was dead."
"Then the battle resumed… with Potter dead I knew I had to find you and apparate you somewhere safe. I didn't care what you wanted anymore."
"What happened, Draco? Why didn't you find me?"
"Father found me first. He took me somewhere. He..."
"Yes?"
"I don't remember..."
"But you remember that he took you somewhere," she supplied. "How did he take you?"
"There was…" Draco rummaged his mind. He knew this. It was there, just out of his grasp. Something in his father's hand. "He had a portkey."
"Was your mother with you?"
"No… I don't think so. I—"
"No, she wasn't," interrupted Theo.
Hermione held Draco's face firmly in her hands when he instinctively tried turning to look at his friend. "Don't lose focus," she warned. "Keep eye contact — and Theo, I need you to be invisible, no interruptions— now tell me, Draco. Was your mother with you? Don't worry about what Theo remembers. Tell me what you remember."
"Potter was dead," he murmured finding himself back on the grounds of Hogwarts. I was looking for you… searching everywhere," Draco paused. "No… my mother wasn't there… father was."
"Did your father say anything?"
"No," said Draco with more certainty than before. "He just grabbed me. The portkey was in his hand."
Hermione fought the urge to smile at the progress they were making.
"When he took you, did it hurt?"
She felt Draco's soft features tighten beneath her fingers. "A little."
"Did he take you far?"
"Yes…"
"How far did he take you?"
"I don't… I'm trying."
"Okay," she assured him quickly. "Just keep looking into my eyes. Don't tell me about what you remember seeing. Tell me what you remember smelling, or hearing."
Draco frowned. "The ocean…"
"Anything else?"
"Blood."
"From the battle?"
"No, it was—" Draco eyes began to flutter, trying to tear away from her gaze.
Hermione tightened her grasp on him. "Don't," she coaxed soothingly. "Keep looking at me." Suddenly tears were running down his face and over Hermione's fingers. Still, she didn't let go. "Draco, tell me about the blood."
He was quiet, his gaze on hers empty and vacant. She was almost there, almost through.
"Draco… Draco, tell me about the blood."
Still, he didn't respond and Hermione relaxed her gaze a little, her eyes searching his. Gently she let go of his face, the outline of her handprints on either side of his cheeks. Slowly she raised her hand waving it in front of his face hoping to elicit a response. But there was none.
"Draco?" she called out one last time.
But he was gone.
Draco doubled over, gulping. He felt like he'd been deprived of air and only just reached the water's surface to find it. Catching his breath, he stood up straight looking around. Hermione was gone. The villa was gone. He was back in the white room. And what was waiting for him there was himself, much younger, perhaps eleven or twelve, but unchanged; his cold glare, the sharp cut of his jaw and the cruel expression of his gaze. His arms folded across his chest and his pointed nose in the air.
Draco blinked and so did he, a mere mirror-reflection. He stared wide-eyed at the strange echo.
"You're me."
An arrogant eyebrow rose defiantly. "Who else would I be?"
"I don't understand," said Draco, looking about the empty white room. What are you doing in here?" he paused, correcting himself. "What am I doing in here?"
"Hiding."
His brow furrowed in confusion. "From Voldemort?"
Draco — the other Draco — frowned. "No," he scoffed as if the answer should be obvious. "From father, of course."
"What, why?"
"Well he's not very happy with us, is he?" he countered quickly. "With us misbehaving all the time."
So stunned was he with the response that Draco could not form a thought.
"First we try drown him and now we've killed him."
Draco flinched. "No…" he shook his head. "I never—"
"Yes we did. Father said not to go near the lake alone, but we went anyways—"
"That was an accident—!"
"We couldn't swim," he continued speaking, "and he told us it was dangerous. He warned us of things living in the deep waters; monsters."
"I was only a child—"
"We were angry. He was working, always ignoring us, so we went to the lake."
"No, I-I wanted to see the ducks," whispered Draco pathetically. "He… he never took me to see them. He was always—"
"Busy! Busy, busy, busy! Then Father almost drowned trying to save us, and this time there wasn't a lake, there was only you, and a cliff and…" the child looked sad, his sneer melting. "It's your fault he's gone."
"I don't understand." Tears were forming in his eyes, not his alone, but the younger Draco's too. What did the incident at the lake have anything to do with what happened years later on a cliff. "What did you," he paused correcting himself, "what did I do?" he asked fearfully.
"You did what you always do… drove him away… you drive everyone away."
Draco still didn't understand, was trying desperately to remember but… he couldn't… for the life of him, he didn't understand what his younger self was talking about.
"If you want," he said, "You can talk to him. He'll tell you." The boy lifted his hand pointing to something behind him. Draco turned. There was a small door on the wall where there wasn't before.
Breathless and afraid, he asked, "Did I do something to him? Did I—?" Upon turning back around the younger version of himself had disappeared and he was once again alone.
But Draco no longer needed the little boy. He knew that the answer lay behind this door. He stepped toward it, unfastening the bolt which had kept it locked all these years. His hand closed upon the round knob. Closing his eyes, he opened it and stepped through.
A long hall, filled with what Draco could only guess were memories… doors upon doors, some made of wood, some of iron, some already half-open, the doors slightly ajar as if he'd already gone in. The only door he was truly interested in however was the one on the opposite end of the corridor; so far away that the door itself seemed small from where he was.
But this door was special. It was made of wood and painted a brilliant white, there were several large metallic deadbolts upon it, and it almost shimmered, calling Draco toward it.
He had not been cursed with a memory charm, he had no lost his way… and as he opened the white door, he began to remember…
The scene before him was sickening. Fire and green light, rubble and stone, these were the things he saw during the Battle of Hogwarts. Unlike a pensieve this was not a memory to be shown but to be relived. He lifted his wand as if on his own accord and cast a defensive spell against an attacker. An Auror's spell rebounded and thankfully for her, it had only been a stunning charm. Draco continued on through the maze of duellists unharmed. His eyes darted from one figure to another searching desperately for Hermione. He feared it was only a matter of time till the Order fell without Potter at the head.
A hand suddenly clasped upon his shoulder, and for a fraction of a second, before he had turned his head, he had he thought it might be Theo.
It was his father. And without a word Draco was taken, his feet falling upon the soft grass with a jerk. The cruel sounds of the battle were gone replaced by the quiet murmur of the ocean and wind. He moved forward following the noise toward the edge of a cliff and looked down upon the sheer drop into the vast sea. He tore the hooded cloak from his head in a burst of anger and turned on Lucius.
"What the hell have you done!" he demanded. "Where are we!"
His father stepped toward him unfazed, placing an object into the pocket of his robes.
"I secretly had Borgin acquire a portkey for me. Do not try to apparate back. We are a long way away from Hogwarts. I've arranged for your mother to rendez-vous with us here. We just have to wait, she'll be here when she can get away."
Draco raised his wand threateningly. "Take me back," he ordered. He had to find Hermione. He couldn't abandon her, not again.
"I can't do that, Draco," he said a little sadly. "You forced my hand... your recent actions have put us all in a very difficult position."
"MY ACTIONS?" he thundered. "I believe, father, it was YOU who invited chaos into our lives. It is YOUR failures that have us imprisoned in our own home. It is not my hand that has forced you, but YOUR hand that has forced ME!"
"Son," said Lucius so gently, Draco's hand momentarily wavered. "There is a darkness that has crept into the very marrow of your bones. Your mother and I can see it and we are frightened for you. Even now when I look at you, I…" his father pursed his lips. "I cannot recognise you."
"Don't concern yourself with my well being—"
"The bodies you have left behind have drawn suspicion. Even Bellatrix has her reservations."
A cruel smile slipped across Draco's face. "I am leaving dear Aunt Bella for last."
Lucius shook his head slowly, his eyes bewildered. "I do not peg Hermione Granger as a witch to forgive murder."
Draco's hand fell to his side. It was the first time he had ever heard his father speak her name and it rang out like a declaration. His father was no longer going to pretend he did not know.
"But then again," he was saying slowly, "neither did I peg her as the type of witch to become involved with a Death Eater — and an addict at that. I found your stash of nightshade."
"How.. who told you?"
For the first time during their confrontation did Lucius seem angry. "I am your father!" he hissed, "No one need tell me a thing about my own kin!"
There was a grave silence and a sudden crack in the wind. Draco swirled around, his wand drawn.
A hooded figure, along with Greyback and Scabior stood before them.
Greyback was wearing a smug grin. "What? Surprised to see us?"
"A little," admitted Lucius slowly as if he'd merely received uninvited house guests.
"Running away, you are," snickered Scabior. "And we've caught you."
"You didn't think you were still in charge, did you Lucius?" laughed Yaxley. "Borgin took all of five minutes to come running to me with information on you… would have paid to be a little nicer to old Borgin. Then maybe he wouldn't have ratted you out."
Lucius smiled tightly. "And I assume, Corban, that you treat him with the respect he deserves… how generous of you."
Scabior muffled a snicker and Yaxley shot him a warning glare.
Draco's fingers itched to curse both of them but he knew he and his father were in a precarious position. They could've easily defeated the werewolf and snatcher if not for the Death Eater accompanying them. Yaxley was a powerful and skilled duellist and despite Draco's training with Bellatrix, he was still outnumbered and using his mothers wand. His father had acquired another after his was taken by Voldemort; this wasn't a fight Draco was certain they would win. If it came down to it, he'd take out Scabior first. He was the weakest.
"So I thought to myself," said Yaxley quietly. "What would my slippery friend want with illegal portkeys when we have the entire Ministry in our pocket ready to grant you anything you want like—" he snapped his fingers. "Ah, but of course," he smiled theatrically, "to keep it from the Dark Lord…"
"Our little Lucius is trying to run away," laughed Greyback, his teeth bloody. "And he's taking yummy treats with him."
"More than a yummy treat," growled Yaxley. "Your brat's soon to face charges of treason."
Draco couldn't help but smirk. "Am I?" he said innocently. "Whatever for?"
Yaxley grit his teeth. "Antonin was a friend."
"A special friend?" mocked Draco dryly.
The Death Eater's lips twitched. His voice trembled, rising in volume as he spoke. "I know his disappearance is your doing, boy! And I'm going to make sure you hang for what you've done! Both you AND your father!"
And then there was no more pretence, no more guile smiles or clever banter. Wands were drawn and curses were being flung back and forth. Lucius was locked in a fierce battle with Yaxley while Draco defended against Greyback and Scabior. As he suspected the snatcher was the weakest of the three but not wholly incapable as Draco had previously believed. Three against two weren't good odds, it was an uneven match, which meant he was only bidding time till one of them were struck down with a killing curse.
Draco decided to flip the script.
"Imperio!" he shouted, feeling the cold spindly fingers of the curse creep up his hand and settle in his veins. He watched as the snatchers body went still, his eyes glazing over till they reflected a certain hollowness and then in a sudden burst he rounded upon Greyback stunning him. The werewolf was so surprised by the turn of events, he began to panic, his defences faltering.
"Corban, help me!" he growled as he shielded himself against an onslaught of spells from not one wizard, but now two.
His father cast an expulso, a curse which narrowly missed Yaxley as he dove out of the way. He retaliated with a hex Draco hadn't heard of, sending his father to stagger, clutching his side. Draco rushed to his aid crying out, "Serpensortia!" A large black mamba materialised from the tip of his wand, hissing and spitting at Yaxley.
Yaxley threw a glance at Greyback, seeing him locked in battle with Scabior. He eyed the snake sliding toward him nervously, and then to Lucius and Draco. The corner of his lip infinitesimally lifted, his expression, almost smug. And as the snake recoiled preparing to lunge at him, Yaxley disapparated. Draco tried in vain to cast the killing curse but he had been too slow and the Death Eater had gotten away.
Upon seeing his ally abandon him, Greyback tried fleeing as well, but as he was turning upon the spot to apparate, Scabior hit him with a full body bind curse. His large body fell, rigid and unmoving on the ground. The imperiused snatcher simply stared down at him, his wand arm falling to his side, his muscles limp, his head hanging.
Draco released an angry curse. "We let Yaxley get away!" He was on the list and crossing his name off would have given him great satisfaction. But his eyes slid over to Scabior and a small nugget of satisfaction curled pleasantly in the pit of his stomach.
"Are you alright?" asked his father.
His gaze was drawn away from their captives to Lucius. Draco nodded, eyeing the laceration on his father's cheek and the way he was cradling his left side. "Are you?" he challenged.
Lucius stood taller, a tight smile on his face. "Just a flesh wound," he reassured.
Draco's eyes drifted from his father to the black mamba in the grass, coiled and waiting. "Yaxley got away," he murmured, vanishing the snake. He walked toward Scabior. "But I can have fun with this one," he whispered recalling all too well that before him was the very snatcher who had brought Hermione to Malfoy Manor. "And Greyback too," he sneered eyeing the disgusting werewolf. "He'll be so very fond of me by the time we're through."
"Draco—"
"But first," he chuckled taking out a vial from his pocket. "I have an idea for our imperiused friend."
Draco always made it a point to carry around a few drops of Basilik venom with him. Slowly he uncorked it and handed it to Scabior. Smiling, he ordered, "Drink it." He watched him raise the vial to his lips and Draco's smile widened into a malevolent grin.
"Son?"
"Yes, father?" He turned, still smiling. Then in a blink of an eye, a jet of white light hit him. It happened so fast that he fell, his wand slipping between his fingers as he felt his body stiffen till he could no longer stand.
Lying flat on his back, Draco strained to move his legs, his fingers, anything. He could only move his eyes but they were staring directly up. What he saw instead was the dark moonlit sky, and Scabior; choking on the poison, spluttering till he too collapsed on his side. Draco couldn't turn his head but if he had he would've seen the empty dead eyes of the snatcher staring right at him.
His father came into view, hovering above him. His features were pale, sweat beading on his forehead… and with a startling realisation, Draco watched as a dark red patch of blood began to bloom on Lucius' black robes.
"I'm sorry, Draco," he rasped. "Truly, I am… I've only brought you and your mother pain… as a husband, I've failed to protect my wife, and I have failed as a father to protect my son, but I will start now by protecting you from yourself… even if it is the last thing I do."
Draco's breath was coming in short spurts, terrified of what his father intended to do, of the blood that seemed to be falling from his father's torso in rivulets. He wanted to scream his lungs out, protest but all he could manage was a strained gurgle as if he had no control over his the muscles in his mouth. Then Lucius raised his wand.
"Legilimens."
A/N: I know, I know. I'm awful for making everyone wait this long for an update. Life has gotten in the way. Forgive me!
