Sixth Year Pt. I
The painfully somber memorial for Sirius Black was a quiet affair. The trio along with the rest of Weasleys and a select few members of the Order gathered together to mourn the loss of a great man.
The roaring fire in Grimmauld Place's grand sitting room did nothing to ward off the chill. Hermione pulled her black shawl tighter to her shoulders.
She had never seen Remus look so heartbroken. Hermione felt for the older man deeply, all of his friends gone to the Veil.
The last Marauder, The young witch shuddered at the thought.
Remus took it upon himself to regale the colorful stories and mischievous antics of his dearly departed brother in arms. Their ex-professor recounted the fierce loyalty and love Sirius held for his friends and family.
"Nights at the Shrieking Shack after a full moon, Sirius would be there for every cut, every scrape, and every broken bone" Remus recounted.
His eyes were glassy and distant like Remus was in the safety of a memory long since passed. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.
"Until we meet again Padfoot" Remus choked raising his glass in a toast for his fellow Marauder.
"To Sirius" the room chorused tearfully.
Grimmauld felt a little emptier to the trio. The house shook and it groaned like Hermione's heavy heart. Life was far too fleeting and fragile.
"These robes have been donned far too often these days" Molly Weasley exhaled.
The unusually solemn woman patted the lapels of Harry's traditional funeral robes and gathered the dark haired boy in for an embrace.
Hermione agreed, she has been to too many funerals as of late. Wizarding Britain has become that much more dangerous, especially for witches and wizards like her. It was only a matter of time before the Death Eaters restore their numbers and strengthen their ranks.
For the very first time since stepping into the Wizarding world, Hermione Granger was well and truly terrified.
Hermione stepped into the Tapestry Room to gain some composure. She looked at the intricately woven likenesses of the Black family her interest piqued. She ran her fingers along the embroidery, over the names of noble Black's long since passed.
Callidora, Cygnus, Nigellus, Belvina… constellations, Hermione's mind pieced the names together.
Her eyes caught dark patches that looked like scorch marks. She read Andromeda's name, disowned for marrying Ted of course.
Hermione's fingertips continued to follow the golden stitching. Bellatrix. Her stomach roiled in fear and anger.
Even her picture looked wicked, her eyes gleamed maliciously. Kreacher refused to get rid of the damned thing. Some bollocks about this being sacred history, complete gobshite.
Going past that was an image of Narcissa. The elusive Narcissa Malfoy formerly of the House of Black. Her features looked softer than her sisters. Narcissa resembled Andy. She had a hint of a playful smile on her lips. So unlike their eldest sister.
Trailing the thick thread again underneath Narcissa's likeness was a familiar face.
Hermione would know those mercurial eyes anywhere, her fingers roved over his nose and the curve of his cheek. The odd rapport between her and the prince of snakes was difficult to explain.
Draco, the last male heir of the House of Black. She thought of Greek heroes, fearsome dragons, and golden apples.
Would he too, be duty bound like the proud Dragon of his constellation? Hermione pondered.
There was a storm brewing and the muggleborn witch knew this was only the beginning.
Professor Burbage had been locked in the dungeons for weeks. Her face looked haggard, her dirty muggle clothes hung loose and tattered. And now under a strong petrificus totalus she was floating defenselessly above the dark stained wood of his banquet table.
Faceless Death Eaters sat at the edge of their cushioned chairs listening to the impassioned speech of their Lord and leader.
The sound of His voice haunted Draco. His words were almost corporeal, like you could feel every slimy slither and venomous hiss of his locution on your body. It never failed to set Draco's teeth on edge.
The youngest Death Eater could only recall fragments of Lord Voldemort's discourse.
"...Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children... Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic... The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance... She would have us all mate with Muggles ... or, no doubt, werewolves …" the wraith-like figure of the Dark Lord sat at the head of his dinner table.
The summit of dark witches and wizards watched in horror as a large, long python glided up and onto the table.
Draco saw Bella bounce up and down in her chair. She was giggling like a deranged, impatient child waiting to open her gifts for some twisted bloody birthday party.
Lord Voldemort sicced Nagini upon Draco's Muggle Studies professor. The snake striked viciously and very suddenly. Bellatrix cackled and hooted in amusement, she enjoyed watching the mudblood lover get her comeuppance.
There were several seasoned Death Eaters that jumped in their chairs, some shuddering and wincing in revulsion. Draco cast his gaze heavenward, he could not let his unease or disgust show.
He must compartmentalize his emotions to save his mother's life. The body bind curse kept the muggle loving professor's screams mute. But there was an audible fervent thrashing as Nagini bit and tore into the woman. Draco could hear the gurgling, he knew it was Burbage choking on her own blood.
The whistle of the Hogwarts Express snapped Draco out of his macabre reverie. He ran a hand over his tired and unusually gaunt face. The deep purple circles underneath his eyes conveyed the absence of his peace. His previously well-tailored suit hung off of his shoulder's loosely.
The aftermath of taking the Mark was crippling. Bella had continued Draco's rigorous education in the Dark Arts. Her efforts to harden the boy into a Wizard were brutal.
Draco would lie in whenever time allowed, to enjoy whatever minutes or seconds of quiescence he had away from the burning and the blood.
Always so much blood- mine, theirs, all I know is the smell of it... the warmth of it on my face- the color of it underneath my fingernails, Draco's thoughts were often morbid and morose.
The longer he spent under the tutelage of Pure-blood supremacists, contradictorily made Draco less inclined to share in their beliefs.
All the young man had seen was pain, death, and greed. There was no glory to be had, despite the propaganda they would spew out daily.
The Malfoy heir was well-versed in Bella's evil tricks and a deep rooted fear flourished. He'd learned just as many healing incantations as he had dark spells.
Draco you must hold steadfast, your life is in jeopardy. It is crucial for you to complete the Dark Lord's assignment, Narcissa's alarm was well placed.
The youngest Death Eater in Wizarding Britain's history was charged with the sisyphean task of murdering his Head Master, Albus Dumbledore.
This suicide mission was given to Draco with the expectation of failure. His Master wanted to see the Malfoy's punished for Lucius's mistakes. If the Dark Lord did not kill him Draco was sure the Order would.
Hermione Granger had kept tabs on their rival schoolmate. The young Gryffindor's periodical observations of the youngest Malfoy confirmed next to nothing.
Harry suspected that the prickly Pure-blood was up to no good. Harry's newfound obsession has led him to overtly stalk Malfoy.
It was driving Hermione absolutely mental. She preferred a more cloak-and-dagger approach to investigating the slippery Slytherin.
Their shared potions class gave her ample opportunity to study him. Hermione sat at a table adjacent to Malfoys. She tried her best to stay as inconspicuous as possible with her monitoring.
From the corner of her eye she would survey the hypnotic swish of his quill as he meticulously wrote out his notes and every so often when the Potion's Laboratory was absolutely stifling he would shed his outer robes and unbutton his collar.
Hermione would blush furiously and return to her school work realizing she spent a second too long ogling. She was glad Slughorn was often too caught up in his own overweening story-telling to call on students.
All Hermione had learned was that Draco mostly kept to himself in class, frequented the library, and had an ironic affinity for apples much like his namesake did. She did her utmost to forget the way his lips would wrap around said apples before his perfect, pearly whites would bite around it.
It was structured study in the library and the class swot was swathed in tomes, texts, and scrolls galore. She peered up from her wall of papers to watch the Slytherin boy from across the room.
He doesn't look well, Hermione Granger's brain could not help but to analyze the details of him.
His trademark blonde hair was ghostly and his cheeks had looked sunken. The hard curl of his lip almost never relented so the ponce looked like he'd eternally lost the pot. Malfoy seemed about ready to keel over his study carrel or set fire to it.
The curly haired Gryffindor hadn't seen him move his quill in over an hour. Malfoy would just drum his long fingers along the table mindlessly.
Hermione read the look on his face at a rapidity that errs on being humiliating. It was the same one he wore last week when he tried to find the best way to brew a complex batch of Dreamless Sleep. The Pure-blood posterboy had a problem he was trying to resolve.
There was a serious possibility his face could get stuck like that with how hard he's thinking Hermione giggled to herself.
Very suddenly his hand ceased in its drumming. The lanky Slytherin stood from his chair nearly knocking it over in his instantaneous urgency. She saw the flash of his robes swishing into the towering maze of bookcases.
With her curiosity roused, Hermione picked up a tome and followed after Malfoy. She placed enough distance between them as she tailed him through the stacks.
Just a swot looking for a book… Hermione hummed to herself.
He weaved around row after row. The brunette know-it-all picked up books along the way feigning interest from Legends of the Lady of the Lake to Moon Magicks: The Many Phases of the Moon and Me even past Numerology for Numpties.
Malfoy's search landed him in a far corner of the library skirting the edge of the Restricted Section.
The foot traffic was non-existent in this area so Granger kept her steps quiet. She watched the tell-tale blonde head disappear into a row of bookcases.
Hermione tried to bid her time, she only counted up to eight Hippogriffs until she could wait no longer.
Rounding the edge of the bookcase she bent her head in slightly to take a peak.
Malfoy was hunched over a heavy volume, she could barely make out the title of.
He briskly copied some information from the large text onto a piece of parchment. There was an illustration of some kind.
Hermione squinted her eyes and it looked like some kind of mushroom, but she could not be certain.
The brazen Gryffindor craned her head in a little further to see what Malfoy needed in such a hurry. At her fervor the bookcase gave the smallest of creaks.
Like lightning had struck, Draco's head perked up from the book. Before she could catch his eye Hermione pressed her back flat against the side of stacks.
She blamed Harry, his idiosyncrasies were bloody contagious! The Boy Who Lived to Make Her Barmy Hermione cursed internally.
She did not dare move. Embarrassment and adrenaline began to make her palms sweat.
Merlin on a bike this wasn't even my bleeding idea!
Hermione refused to budge from her spot, the silence was thick.
One Hippogriff… Two Hippogriff… Three Hippogriff…
The sound of retreating footsteps were Morgana sent. There was a hushed shuffle Hermione figured Malfoy was off to Madam Pince with his volume.
Four Hippogriff… Five Hippogriff… Six Hippogriff…
She needed to find that manuscript. Bolstering up all her courage Hermione dared to peak over into the aisle Draco had previously occupied.
The row was blessedly empty, a shaky exhale slipped from her lips in relief. Hermione moved to search for that godforsaken book when she felt the hairs on the back of her arms stand.
An iron grip hooked her elbow, yanking Hermione backwards and causing her to yelp.
The sharp corner of the shelf was digging between her shoulder blades. Malfoy placed a heavy hand over her mouth to keep her from making too much noise as the other kept her backed against the bookcase. Malfoy stood a foot taller than her; she couldn't charge past his shoulder like when they were First Years.
His cool eyes were harder than she'd last remembered. And that contemptuous sneer was pointed at her once again. Hermione had no recent run-ins with Malfoy's temper and she had forgotten how volatile he could be.
Fuck, he is angry.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing following me Granger?" He clipped acidicly.
AN: I've genuinely been on vacation fillet me later! I'm splitting Sixth Year into two chapters, because there's so much I want to tackle. I pinky promise you guys won't wait another month for an update! Just a little reminder that this is a living document and I revise and add on to previous chapters constantly!
Also to answer a few questions about the direction of the story and yada yada 1) I'm paving the ground work for some plot at the moment, so give me a smidgen of time. 2) I might compile chapters together later down the line and change the format of this story and a bunch of other trite dribble. 3) I don't intend for this fic to be fully Hogwarts centered. 4) I try to be as canon compliant as possible so if you see something small like ages slightly off just look the other way for me dawg. But if there are GLARING inaccuracies please message me and let me know!
Please leave me a review, they give me serotonin.