Saving Grace
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter settings, situations, and characters belong to the ultra-talented JK Rowling. I am not making any money from this, so no trademark or copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter One: Promises Are Meant To Be Broken
Draco Malfoy was getting tired of standing, but, except for some slight fidgeting, he didn't show it. His companions were unfortunately not as disciplined.
"I'm hungry," Vincent Crabbe whined, sounding more like a toddler than a twenty-two-year-old. "Let's get something to eat."
"We've been here all bloody day," Gregory Goyle complained. "What if she isn't even at home?"
"When Voldemort gives us orders," drawled Draco in a way that was both relaxed and dangerous, "he expects us to follow them."
At the mention of their master, Crabbe and Goyle immediately stiffened against the cold stone wall, their eyes wide with terror. Draco smirked. He had always been in awe of the Dark Lord's power to frighten even his closest supporters, but that fear had somehow completely bypassed Draco. I have, he thought, gazing at the Muggles passing by him on the busy street with disdain, never been afraid in my entire life.
Except for one night. The night Hogwarts was attacked. The night he held an almost lifeless Hermione Granger in his arms. That was when he learned what it felt like to be afraid.
His thoughts wandered to the mark on his forearm, the tattoo of a skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth, hidden by the pearl gray sleeve of his sweater, and guilt assailed him.
"Promise me," he remembered a soft, urgent voice saying five years ago. "Promise me you won't become anything like your father."
"I promise…"
Crabbe suddenly grunted, transferring Draco's attention from painful memories to the apartment across the street, the one they had been watching ever since the break of dawn. A woman, dressed in a pale blue blouse and denim skirt, had come out. Her back was turned to them, probably because she was locking the door, but Draco knew who she was instantly. There was no mistaking those golden brown curls that fell in soft waves past her shoulders. His throat tightened.
"You think that's her?" Goyle asked.
No, that's Pansy Parkinson, Draco wanted to snap. "Well, of course it is, idiot. Who else could it be?" He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around his wand. Crabbe and Goyle followed suit.
"Come on," said Draco grimly, "let's get this over with."
Hermione Granger put her key into her purse, then made her way down the street. She had an uneasy feeling, as if something wasn't right, but then again, maybe she was just imagining it. Years of hiding from Voldemort and his servants, more than a dozen near captures, the death of several close friends, had instilled in her a sense of paranoia that was almost equal to that of Alastor Moody's, the ex-Auror who practically cursed anyone who made a sudden move in his presence.
And besides, Hermione, what on earth can happen to you in a street full of people?
A lot.
After all, it wasn't as if the Death Eaters were above killing dozens of Muggles and creating mass destruction just to get to her.
She straightened her spine and continued walking, smiling pleasantly at the people she knew, before she rounded a corner and waited for a taxicab.
"Damn," she muttered, glancing at her wristwatch. She was several minutes late. If only she could Apparate… but it wasn't wise to use magic in a non-wizarding community, where even the slightest Summoning Charm could be traced by the Dark Lord.
As soon as the word 'Apparate' came into mind, a young man materialized in front of her.
Hermione's mouth dropped open, and her heart all but stopped, as she found herself staring into a familiar pair of silvery gray eyes, eyes that were permanently burned into her heart and soul.
"Draco…" she whispered.
And then she remembered what he was, what he had become.
Memories of a night five years ago came rushing back to her in a flood. Bright, orange flames everywhere… students screaming and running around… shaky hands grasping a wand, an even shakier voice saying the counter curse that would stop the flow of blood gushing from her right arm… Harry opening the statue of the one-eyed witch... Ron urging her to hurry up and climb in…
"Why aren't you coming with us?"
"I told you, I can't. Don't ask questions. Just get a move on before they find you."
"Just promise me one thing. You're not evil. Promise me you won't become anything like your father."
Silence. And then, "I promise, Hermione…"
Now, five years later, Hermione could only stare at the man in front of her, and say, in a disbelieving, angry voice, "You broke your promise!"
A stricken expression crossed those handsome, aristocratic features. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but a voice behind Hermione hissed, "Stupefy!"
And everything went black.