Author's Note: Actually, I don't have a Beta Reader. Nobody ever offered to be mine! * sob * that is why I make so many mistakes! Woe is me, oh, woe is me…
Draco knew of his dad's involvement, but you don't think he'd admit it to Hermione, right? I mean, they're friends now a bit, but… he just wouldn't say that.
Also other replies to reviews: Draco didn't point his wand at Hermione, but his HAND. Maybe I wrote it wrong but it was supposed to be hand, not wand. Sorry! :-( oops!
Oh, hey, chapter 13… unlucky number… I'll probably mess up more then ever. ^_^;;
Sorry that there hasn't been any action in the last few chapters, I just needed to get it all worked up to this chapter… and then It'll almost be the end… so yeah, :-) … I'm almost done!
~* 13 *~
Very early the next morning, even before the sun came up, Hermione sat curled up on her cot. She could feel tears slowly sliding down her cheeks and then falling to her bare feet. She could feel a smile coming up as she thought: If I keep it up, I won't need to take a bath.
She tried to ignore how sorry she felt inside – sorry for whatever it was that had pushed Draco's buttons. He slept like a log, of course, but his uneasy breath gave wind of the turmoil still simmering inside of him. He barely spoke to her for the rest of the day, and he did little but nod her way instead of saying goodnight. He had always said goodnight, and when she asked him about it a few days ago, he justified it with a lame excuse about how his father taught him to always greet or dismiss everyone with courteousness, despite who they were or the circumstances.
Her eyes closed and she could almost feel a dropping in her stomach, a whirlwind feeling that hurt no matter how she tried to forget about it. Hermione tried to piece together what made Draco blow. He seemed to have denied his father's part in the death of the Potters. He was obviously not one to admit this easily.
He was also upset that Hermione didn't want anyone to possibly think that she and Draco were anything but sort-of-friends. Draco was always a bit frazzled by nature, but this was almost an overload of negative vibes, even for a Malfoy.
She knew that the next time they go into the memory room, it would be the last time. It would be the Potter's death – and the survival of Harry. Hermione didn't know if she'd be able to watch aimlessly as this went on in the memory. She was afraid she'd try to lunge forwards and save the Potters.
The crisp feeling of the bed sheets rubbing on her legs brought Hermione back to the world. She blinked and felt another tear slip from her eye. It was all too real, the memories were too personal. It was too terrible.
Trying to keep from crying any harder, she pressed her face into the pillow and decided to sleep.
~*~
That same day, they prepared to go the last time into the memory room. It would be the last memory, and therefore the most painful. Hermione could feel a numbness inside of herself as Draco and she both propelled themselves into the portal between the Punishment Room and the Memory Room. This being the last time in the room, Hermione felt there was a certain thing to be said.
The house that appeared before them appeared to be cut out of a magazine - old and Victorian, with tiny, tightly drawn drapes covering each and every window; obviously casting a looming darkness inside.
More so, the house seemed to be misplaced on the wide barren field, the grains whispering as the wind rubbed them against one another, the tall trees creating long, frightening shadows on its walls. There was a symphony in the air, the soft rattle of drying, colorful leaves and the low whispering of the wind as it slithered through every nook and cranny. The massive oak doors that led into the home had a single large knocker in front - the other appeared to have been broken off. The knocker was ancient, a rusty iron owl with a heavy ring running through its lifeless beak. Dead, still air broke away yet again as a gust of wind tugged at their clothing, hoping to blow them off course, like the ragged tumbleweeds that sometimes rolled by.
" The Potter's home?" Hermione asked, aloud.
" Let's get it over with. Going back and forth got a bit boring." Draco tried to hide his fear with a snide
remark.
She went up to the iron knocker, taking the heavy ring into her hand and pulling it up - the sound was as shrill as a cat getting skinned - and then, she tugged outwards. Unlike most doors leading into homes, these opened up to the outside, and not inside (more like screen doors would). " It was open." She said, almost fearfully.
" So? Get on with it." Draco pushed her inside, roughly, and then walked in himself.
They found themselves in a darkened hallway, the only light being that of a lone white candle burning in the distance on a small bedside table. It was set up at the end of the hallway. A Muggle phone was atop it - an old one, with a little circle with holes in it.
Hermione knew that the 'caller' was to put his finger in a hole and turn the circle to the right number, but she herself had never used a phone like this. Their footsteps made soft but clattering echoes as they approached the end of the hallway. The doors on either side of them were closed shut except the one at the end of the hall - a long, pale stretch of light escaped from it, creating a faint amount of light on the wood-tiled floor.
They slowed their pace to accommodate the fact that they could, quite plainly, be heard by the family in the home. She turned to him and whispered, just barely audibly: " Do we go in?"
" Why not?" He whispered back, almost too anxiously, revealing his tension. A low grumble was heard outside and he recoiled slightly.
" Are you scared?" Hermione asked, not meanly, just matter-of-factly.
" Possibly." He replied.
She hesitated before taking his hand in a sign of comfort. Slowly, she pulled him into the room that emitted the light. At first, their eyes had to adjust to the lighting, then they realized nobody was in the room. A merry fire crackled in an old, marble-lined fireplace. A pair of fuzzy pink slippers were warming in front of the hearth, and not so far off was a glass coffee table, reflecting the lights of the fire. On top of it were a few magazines - one was Quidditch Weekly, the rest were cooking and home magazines – and there was a newspaper. The heading blared loudly: "Rise of You-Know-Who inevitable". Hermione picked the paper up, trying not to rustle. She scanned through it and reflected on the long list of dead witches and wizards that were killed.
Draco looked away and examined the wall of photographs - all in frames - each waving or smiling or just standing still. Dozens of cheery faces sprung out from them, and most radiant of all were the Potters holding a small baby... Harry. Draco avoided looking at their joyous smiles and fixed his gaze at Harry instead. Harry, with a scarless face, just a happy fat baby with big green eyes that were dewy and shinier then gemstones.
There was movement upstairs and a low laughter was heard. James Potter was saying: " Can you say 'Dada'?"
" Gabhhh..." The baby gurgled.
" Dada." James repeated, speaking slower now. " Da.... da."
Lily was laughing. " He's just a baby, James, leave him be."
Hermione put the newspaper down with an extra tenderness, as if it were possible for the newspaper to crumble to age-old yellow dust in her hands. She thought to herself: James read this... James is going to die, and I can't do anything about it...
" This was a bad idea." Draco said, finally. "Seeing their memories, I mean."
Hermione replied: " I just feel guilty... I wish we could do something, but altering a memory - - it would change everything, our existence, the wizard world, dozens of events..."
Draco bit his lower lip. " I didn't say I wanted to do anything about it. Let them die. See if I care."
He plopped himself down on the leather couch and waited for the inevitable arrival of Voldemort. Harry Potter was destined to be an orphan, despite how many times Hermione would dream of this memory afterwards. Hermione stared blankly at the old clock hanging over the fireplace with a glazed look in her eyes, trying to make out through the dimming light what the time was. It was late in the evening, which was certain.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the loose shingles on the roof, which happened to be so old and weather-beaten that it was almost surprising that the entire home didn't suddenly sag forwards and collapse. The creaking of a metal hinge scraping back and forth in the wind was evident.
" We forgot to close the gate." Lily murmured. " I had groceries in my hand, and you were carrying Harry..."
James straightened up. " I'll do it." Footsteps thundered down the steps as James Potter made his way into the family room. Hermione felt all the hair on her neck stand up on end as she realized that they were going to be caught.
" Hide!" Draco hissed at her, his eyes blazing in the firelight. She was frozen in place like a deer blinded by the headlights of a car. " Gods, aren't you slow?" He leaned forwards and yanked her by the elbow behind the satin-like curtains in the room.
Hermione let out a wavering breath and turned to look at Draco beside her. The royal purple curtains wrapped around them both so awkwardly that she wanted to laugh all of a sudden.
He lifted his finger up to his lips to shush her, but laughter danced behind the coldness in his eyes.
James stepped into the room and then looked at the dying flames in the fireplace. He shook his head in exasperation and then left the room. The living room was a mess! He stopped at the front doors and swung them open only to find a tall, dark figure in the doorway.
James narrowed his eyes and then exclaimed: " Luciu--?"
Draco's body tightened and the Adam's Apple in his throat bobbed suddenly as he swallowed nervously. Hermione looked at him questioningly.
Lucius Malfoy slammed James back against the wall of the hallway. He smiled in a vile way and said: " Today you'll see what happens to weaklings like you - - sputtering in fear around the name of evil, recoiling from the dark arts."
" What are you talking about?" James managed to say.
Lucius simply stepped back out the doorway. A dark, maroon-colored glow filled the room, as if an evil spirit was present. Then, there he was, Voldemort himself.
James stumbled backwards and shouted: " Lily! Lily - run! It's HIM!"
Shuffling was heard upstairs as the house fell into uproar. James tried to scramble backwards, finally managing to get up, only to fall down to his knees, ready to plead for his life. Yet, James was a hero, not a coward, and as Voldemort prepared to relish in the young man's sniveling, he was instead faced with a wand.
James's hands shook as he tried to whisper one of the Unforgivable Curses. "Av - - Avada Ked..." It was too late.
Sharp like a knife, sudden and painful, Voldemort's wand whipped upwards and he said, quickly: " Avada Kedavra!"
Hermione swallowed a scream and watched James's lifeless body fall to the floor.
She looked back at Draco. He suddenly looked sickened and green. He could hear his father saying: " Lily's upstairs. I want to–"
Voldemort spent little time caring what Lucius wanted to say. " She dies too." He said, his voice raspy and dry. Lucius could only nod in fear. His striking resemblance to Draco at the moment – both white-faced in fear, their bright, icy-blue eyes wide as saucers – sparked shock in Hermione's eyes.
Draco watched Lucius stare at James's dead body with relish. He didn't seem to mind the fact that a boy he knew so well growing up, his worst rival, had just dropped dead. He turned hollow eyes at the curtain behind which Draco and Hermione hid.
Draco suddenly brought his hand up to his mouth. Hermione could see he had never seen anyone die before. Perhaps in his heart he supported Voldemort, and he had grown immune to stories about people dying. It did not hurt him. But now – seeing it happen – he was on the brink of revulsion. Vomit rose to his lips, readying himself to throw up.
He turned to Hermione, his eyes suddenly seeing the horror, not just hearing it, brief tales of terror that rang fear in breasts but did not give pictures in the mind. Just as he finally saw what it was, the truth behind it, the smiling face of the victims as they fell to a horrible death – their impact on dozens of lives afterwards – it all sent a current through him. Seeing it was different from hearing it. Hearing made him believe in it. Seeing it made him want to vomit now.
" I'll do something to change it."
" The memory?"
" Yes."
~*~*~*~*
A/N: There! I did it! Another chapter! Draco sees the effects, not just hears them - - it really does change stuff…. Believe me… personal experience… no, I do not like Voldemort! Lol. Nothing to do with that creep.
