There was just...so much blood.
Everywhere.
Soaking his socks and squelching between his toes. Drenching the ends of his robes. Slicking the dark floor in a sickly burgundy colour...
Draco gagged.
The metallic tang had wrapped tightly around his tongue, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat as each second passed.
Whose blood was it?
Draco looked down at his stinging left arm to see that his mark had been mauled. It was unrecognisable. A smeared mess. He watched as three droplets of ruby red blood dripped down his arm, along his fingertips, and into the pool of crimson that lay on the floor of the manor.
No. Definitely not all his.
"Mudbloods, dear nephew." Bellatrix cooed from The Dark Lord's side.
"M–m...—Mudbloods?" Draco choked.
His aunt gestured her head to the left and Draco looked in horror at the pile of bodies that lay discarded by the fireplace. There were nine or so people. All of them lay lifeless. Unmoving. Some of their jaws still hung open as though they had been murdered mid-scream and all of their eyes remained open. Dull.
Dead. All of them.
The Dark Lord grinned.
"The sacred mission has truly begun." He rasped.
Draco's ears stung and he felt his pulse quicken. He wanted to do something. Anything. Mudblood or not, this was a death that nobody deserved. They had been stripped of their dignity and were piled on top of one another as though they were nothing more than pieces of dirt. If anything, he wanted to at least close their eyes for them. Help them to attain peace.
Oh Merlin.
"If you will..." His red eyes found Bellatrix's and she grinned with glee.
"With pleasure, My Lord."
A scream tore its way out of Draco's mouth as his aunt fired a silent curse at the pile of bodies and he watched the corpses burst into flames.
"Draco."
"Draco!"
He surged up from his bed, chest heaving to catch a breath and his sweat-soaked pyjama shirt clinging to his chest. Draco followed his arms to find that his hands had desperately grabbed hold of Blaise, who was hovering by his bed anxiously.
Oh Salazar. A dream. Just a dream.
"Merlin's beard, Malfoy, you nearly woke us all with your bloody shouting." Blaise eased himself out of the blonde wizard's grasp.
"Sod off."
His throat felt dry, and Draco noted that his tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth. He needed to leave.
With a wave of his wand, Draco had dressed into a standard robe and his shoes found his feet.
"We're going to talk about this later, you know." Blaise called from his bed.
Draco barely tilted his head to the side to acknowledge him but nodded and silently left the dormitories.
He slithered through the dark common room, and he estimated he was somewhere near the leather sofas when the flames in the fireplace suddenly burst to life. Draco swore at the sight of Nott.
"Going somewhere?" Theo mused.
Draco rubbed his palms into his eyes and turned away from the fire with a frown. His stomach churned.
It was just a nightmare, Draco.
But was it? It felt too real...What if it was The Dark Lord invading his mind and sending him a threat?
And if it was just a dream, why in Merlin's name was he feeling so bloody guilty at the sight of dead mudbloods? They deserved it didn't they? That is what this was all about, after all.
Draco frowned as he recalled his dream. The blood on the floor belonged to the mudbloods. It was red...just like his. The exact same shade. The same smell. His blood had mingled with theirs and it all felt the same beneath his feet.
What the fuck did that mean?
"Just fancied a walk." replied Draco gruffly.
Theo quirked an eyebrow at him curiously.
"Where are we going?" He asked.
Draco grunted as Theo fell into step beside him.
"Who invited you?"
"I did." Theo grinned.
"Shouldn't you be catching your much needed beauty sleep, Nott?" Draco drawled.
Theo clicked his tongue and a frown settled on his face.
"I could ask you the same."
Nightmares, then. Theo was having them too.
"What do you see?" Draco asked quietly.
They were silent for a moment as they wandered aimlessly through Hogwarts' corridors.
"A lot of death." He finally murmured.
Draco nodded at the floor.
"Do you think it means something?" asked Draco.
Theo snorted mirthlessly.
"It means everything, Malfoy."
Draco glanced at his housemate and nodded.
"I thought as much..."
"Do you ever think that we might be wrong? Like, not just us...our parents, everything they taught us?"
They had circled back from their walk and reached the Slytherin common rooms once again, with a mumble of the password, the two young wizards shuffled in, and Draco sighed.
"If they're wrong, then what do we believe to be right?"
.
Hermione groaned.
5:04am.
She had managed four hours of sleep. Perhaps less. It did not matter, really. She was awake now and despite her aching limbs and sore eyes, she knew she would not be able to drift back off. She eased out of her bed and slowly padded over to her trunk to retrieve a pair of jeans, a jumper, and her robes.
It was Sunday today. Hermione hated Sundays. There was just...something strange about the particular day. Whilst some might have found it to be a relaxing and lazy end to the weekend, she always found that she was filled with a fresh dose of dread and anxiety for the week ahead. It was not always the case, but recently it had become like this. Her friends would be distracted with quidditch practice or something or another and she was usually left to her own devices. Again, she did not mind that, but some days she craved company.
Not today.
She would prefer to be alone today.
After a quick shower, once she had wrapped up warm, Hermione grabbed her bag filled with a few different books and assignments and left the Gryffindor common room. The sun had risen now and was shining rather proudly in the sky, but she knew that the chilly October air was profound. Not seen but felt.
Hermione scowled at her feet.
She hated how some things could not be seen. Emotions and such. Seeing is believing. But, then again, she had not seen Voldemort in the flesh until the department of mysteries incident last year, yet she believed every word that Harry spoken in fourth year. He told them that he was back, and Hermione believed him instantly. Perhaps sometimes it is not about what can be seen, she guessed, rather it is about what you feel, what you hear, who you trust and love.
She wandered away from the walls of the castle and ventured down to the Great Lake to sit on a stump a few metres away from the water.
"It becomes more and more beautiful, doesn't it?"
Hermione jumped a little at the sound of Luna's dazed tone.
She smiled at her friend.
"Yes, this place never fails to amaze me." replied Hermione.
"I do hope I'm not disturbing." Luna murmured.
Hermione breathed a laugh, "no, of course not, I just wasn't expecting anyone else to be awake. Take a seat." She patted the space next to her.
"Have you been struggling too?" Luna sat down beside her daintily.
Too? Were her peers just as sleep deprived as she was?
"Some nights, yes." Hermione said hurriedly. She looked down at the floor, watching Luna's bare feet sink into the soil and soggy leaves.
"It will be okay, you know. You'll figure things out eventually."
Hermione frowned and looked back up at Luna, who stared out at the water, her lips pulled into a small smile and her eyes absent as ever.
"I–...figure—"
"Whatever it is that you've been tasked with, I mean." Luna added.
Ah, yes. Malfoy had been on her mind a lot. He was the reason she often found it difficult to fall asleep. Her mind constantly flitted with guesses of what he could have been doing on the seventh floor, but each suggestion seemed to be more ridiculous than the last. Merlin, if only she could ask him about it.
Hermione breathed a nervous laugh, "I'm not sure what you mean, Luna."
The Ravenclaw-witch turned to her, eyes twinkling knowingly and her lips curving ever so slightly into a deeper smile.
"I find it sometimes helps when you try to see things without using your eyes."
Hermione watched as Luna skipped away from her and back in the direction of the castle.
Which bloody part of her body was she supposed to use to see things besides her eyes?
She loved Luna, really, she did. But, Merlin, it was sometimes rather annoying trying to understand exactly what she meant, and she found that when speaking to the Eagle, she was always left somewhat confused and unsatisfied.
With yet another sigh, Hermione trudged her way back to the castle and instantly navigated her way around until she reached the library, where she buried her head in her books until the light had disappeared from the sky and her quill had run dry.
.
"Granger?"
Hermione looked up from her parchment tentatively.
Over the last few weeks, they had spent their potions classes in silence. Aside from the odd mumble and insult, they spoke zero words to one another, and Draco barely even acknowledged her presence at their table. He seemed to become more and more withdrawn from his own housemates, she noticed, but Blaise and Theo were the exception. He still joked with them during the lesson, and they all avoided any interaction with her, as though she were a plague.
So, just why in Godric's name was he speaking to her now?
"What?" She snapped.
"How...–how did you realise you were a witch?"
It was that sodding nightmare he had a few days ago. It was playing on his mind endlessly. It was not real, yes, but it had felt so real. The smell of blood and fire was so real. The sound of Bellatrix's manic cackle was so real. The way Draco had woken up, his heart thudding against his rib cage and his body cold showed that he was so affected by the nightmare. By the sight of those dead bodies.
The mudblood bodies.
There was so much magical blood spilt. His and theirs. It all looked the same.
Merlin, what did it mean?
Draco needed answers. Fast. The foundation of his entire system of beliefs felt as though it was beginning to crack. Perhaps it was due to the conversation he had had with Blaise all those weeks ago, or maybe it was something rooted even deeper than that. It did not matter. What mattered is that upon seeing those bodies, Draco's first thought was not about their bloody purity. Or their statuses in society. No. It was the sickening realisation that they would never again move. Speak. Feel. Hear. They were gone. What would come in their place?
He felt sick. What had he signed up for?
Hermione blinked.
"What?" She choked out.
Blaise and Theo looked at them from across the table in surprise.
"You heard me, Granger." Draco mumbled.
"I...–" she frowned, "I just knew, I guess. I had read a few muggle fiction books about people having certain abilities...magic and such, able to make things happen with their mind. I was curious because I always felt different. I tried the things that I read, but in the end I noticed that things happened whenever I was particularly angry or sad. It wasn't in my control, I guess."
Her cheeks heated up.
She waited with bated breath for the insult that she was almost sure would spill out of Draco's mouth, but it never came.
He simply nodded and turned his attention back to his parchment, his quill in hand.
It was odd. He had the same problem as her in his younger years. He always found that his control over his magic would slip when he was angry or sad. It was common especially in children to have wavering control over their magic when feelings ran high, but the fact that they shared those two particular emotions...
"Why do you ask?" Her voice was quieter than she had hoped for it to be, but she felt nervous.
Why did he care? He believed that she was not worthy of her magic, didn't he?
Draco shrugged.
"It was just a question, Granger."
Hermione folded her arms across her chest stubbornly.
"Well, it came from somewhere, Malfoy."
"She's got a point." Blaise mumbled from across the table.
Draco shot him a glare then sighed and turned his attention to Hermione.
"I was curious, that's all Gryffin-bore." He flashed her a grin.
Hermione scowled.
"Well, I hope you're unsatisfied."
"Aw," Theo gave a pout of his lips, "did our favourite bookworm think this was an invitation for friendship?"
Draco chuckled under his breath and Hermione tightened her hand around her quill.
"Oh, don't break my heart, I've just been itching to acquaint myself with death eaters." She spat sarcastically.
Theo's face paled and Draco rolled his eyes, darting his hand forward to grab her elbow painfully.
"For fuck's sake, Granger," he threatened, "mention that again and I'll–"
"And you'll what, Malfoy?" Hermione taunted, propping her chin up in her hand and tapping her fingers against her cheek.
Draco's eyes darkened,
"I'll see to it personally that Potter's scarred head is delivered on a platter to You-Know-Who."
His body swarmed with guilt as soon as the words had passed his lips and he heard Blaise suck in a sharp breath. Draco opened his mouth; he did not know what he was going to say...an apology perhaps, but he did not get the chance. Granger had wrenched her elbow out of his grasp and swung her fist towards his face so fast that he did not have a chance to move. He swore loudly as her knuckles met his nose with a painful crunch and his head knocked backwards. His brain felt fuzzy for a few, long moments and it was the warm trickle on his face and the metallic taste in his mouth that snapped him back to reality.
Blood.
He felt suddenly queasy as images of his recent dream flickered through his mind.
Draco kicked his leg out with force against Granger's chair and watched her slide back, the wood screeching against the floor noisily and he smirked at the hazy sight of her toppling to the floor. Clumsy bitch.
"MERLIN'S BEARD! WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON OVER HERE?"
Draco blinked to clear his vision and sneered at Slughorn. He watched as Hermione struggled to get back on her feet and walked back over to their table, where their professor was waiting.
"I'm sorry, sir." She whispered and looked down at her shoes shamefully.
"You can both make your way to the headmaster's office," he rubbed his temple with one hand and waved his two students away with the other, "go on. I'll be there shortly to deal with this."
Hermione whipped around to fix Draco with a snarl, and she snatched her bag into her hand.
"Look at what you've bloody gone and done!" She seethed.
Draco stomped along beside her angrily and leaned down to shove his shoulder against hers.
"ME? YOU PUNCHED ME!" Draco roared and pointed at his face for effect.
Hermione looked down at her knuckles and hissed as she noticed the split skin. Not a large cut, but there was still blood.
"I think you deserved it."
They remained silent for the rest of the walk up to Dumbledore's office and Hermione recoiled at the stares of a few lingering students. They were judging her. She did not blame them. What was she doing with the Slytherin Prince and why were they both bleeding?
Draco's eyes widened at the sight of her hand, and he sucked in a shuddering breath when he noticed the small, scarlet droplets that had gathered in the spaces between her fingers. Certainly not muddy at all.
He knocked on the door and smirked as Hermione shuffled on her feet nervously beside him. Good.
The doors swung open, and they both walked into the room towards the desk where Dumbledore was already seated with McGonagall stood beside him. Hermione cringed.
Their transfiguration professor sighed, "I can't say I'm entirely surprised by what I'm seeing," she paused, "take a seat, both of you."
Hermione and Draco slumped down into the pair of matching armchairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, and she smiled awkwardly at her professors.
"Perhaps it is best that we wait for Horace to arrive," Dumbledore shot Hermione a knowing glance, "he will be able to tell us what transpired between the two."
"Yes," McGonagall muttered, "although I find it necessary to ask, why can't we have just one year without any form of conflict? We treat you as mature, young adults...don't you think you should behave as such?"
Hermione looked down at her lap with a shameful nod of her head and Draco snorted. Merlin, she was pathetic.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" She turned to glare at him.
Ugly hag.
"Ask her." Draco spat, gesturing his head at Hermione.
McGonagall opened her mouth to give a response, but the doors flung open and Slughorn hurried towards them cutting her off.
"Ah! Horace, let us begin." Dumbledore raised his arms once.
Slughorn nodded and gave his pupils a wary look. Draco rolled his eyes.
"I admit I wasn't paying attention, but I've been informed that it was Miss Granger who initiated the physical confrontation." Slughorn told his fellow professors.
Draco gave Hermione a lazy smirk and she spluttered on her breath.
"He provoked me, Professor!"
"I was simply making conversation, Granger."
She snarled. He was bloody enjoying this.
"Don't lie, ferret!"
"That's enough, Miss Granger." McGonagall gave her a disapproving look.
"Continue, Horace."
"Mr. Malfoy obviously retaliated, and that is when I chose to send them here. Perhaps I made an unwise decision in seating them together..."
"Of course not, as Minerva said earlier, they need to behave as we treat them. They will simply have to learn to be civil with one another." Dumbledore interjected.
"Ten points will be taken from each of your houses." McGonagall told them, "And I'd like to hear an apology from you both."
"Sorry." They muttered.
McGonagall hummed, "as two exceptional pupils, I would also like for you to prove that you are capable of civil gestures and are able to heal one another's inflicted wounds."
Hermione looked at her head of house in horror.
Use her magic on Malfoy?
"Absolutely not." Hermione snapped.
"I don't bloody think so!" Draco sneered.
McGonagall raised her brows at them impatiently.
"I don't believe I was asking. The sooner you do this, the sooner you may both leave."
With an extensive sigh, Hermione turned to look at Draco's nose and she smirked a little at her work. Perfect.
"Sit still, would you?" She feigned a smile.
Draco leaned back in his chair and gave a shrug of his shoulders.
"Hurry up."
She aimed her wand at his face and performed the appropriate healing charm, carefully cleaning away the blood and sewing the cut closed messily. Good. It would scar.
Draco winced a little at the slight stinging of her warm magic. It felt no different to his own. Perhaps stronger, somehow. Did that mean something too?
"What are you staring at? Get on with it, Malfoy." She hissed.
Draco blinked, then snatched her hand into his own, holding his left palm tightly around her fingers. She was warm. Much warmer than him at least. He let his mind focus on the contrast of her tanned skin against his pale colour. Like the sun against the moon.
It did not take him long. He performed the charm with ease and when the glowing tip of his wand disappeared, he dropped her hand carelessly and turned to face his professors.
"Happy?" He raised his chin defiantly.
Hermione looked down at her hand. The blood had been cleaned away and he had done a fine job of healing the cut, but it would most likely scar. She did not mind; it would simply be a reminder of her success against Malfoy. Odd, though, her hand felt like it was still tingling a little, perhaps the residue hum of magic, but it felt misplaced, on her fingers rather than by her knuckles.
She shook her head.
"Not quite, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall turned to Slughorn, "it would be most appropriate for Horace to decide on what punishment the two of you will receive."
"You already took house points from us." Draco muttered.
Slughorn hummed in thought, then turned to his pupils.
"You can both serve detention every night for the next three weeks. The potions class always feels like such a mess by the end of the day, so you can clean it up for me."
Hermione groaned.
"Without magic." McGonagall added.
"I don't fuc–"
"You may leave, now." She cut Draco off with her air of authority.
Merlin, he would have to spend his evenings with Granger?
Someone out there really did hate him.