Magnanimous Chapter Eight – Hurting
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A/N: Yes, it's THE long-awaited Chapter 8. To use my own words: 'It's the one where all the stuff comes out.' That was a particularly nasty double-entendre made when describing the chapter to my gamma, which she has never let me forget. If you didn't get it, be thankful that you are innocent and uncorrupted.
Oh, and to answer a question about the first chapter: Yes, the levitating spell is Wingardium Leviosa. Mobilicorpus, however, is used various times for levitating unconscious/Petrified people's bodies. I'm not really sure whether the Runespoor is a thing or whether it counts as a 'person', but I think of it as a person. I guess it's open to interpretation…
The upcoming book-length fic I mentioned in my previous update is underway! It should begin to come out somewhere around the end of Magnanimous – I can't do enough work in one week to get both fics up at once! Plus, I like to have a good few chapters ready and waiting before I begin working. Gives me a fall-back in case of disaster.
Anyway, I know what you're all really here for is the exciting chapter. Which I, personally, hate; but most writers hate their work so I'm not too worried about that. That said, let me invite you to sit back, relax, and enjoy!
~*~
Hermione, after a long time spent musing the subject, had concluded that if you were to know that one of your best friends was probably going to die soon and you could do nothing about it, the absolute worst place to know it was in a dungeon.
There was nothing to distract herself away from the horrifying possibilities but blank walls, which were no distraction at all. The images kept playing through her mind like some kind of horror movie; Ron and Harry… reaching the orb, trying to stop the spell, but being killed instead… Which one would it be? Harry, she guessed; he was always the hero. Or Ron. It could be either of them who was going to die. Heads it's Harry, tails it's Ron… like the toss of a coin.
Her cellmate wasn't much help either. Draco sat in one corner, back pressed to the blank walls, staring into nothingness. He was tense, pale, but his face was carefully empty. Every now and then, as a door clanged far away or a footstep clattered on the corridors, he would start a little with what Hermione would have called fright if it had been anyone else. But he always faded back to that blankness, that distant stare.
It gave her something else to think about. He seemed afraid of something, certainly, and from what he had said earlier she knew it was his father's imminent visit. She could understand that: Lucius Malfoy was not a nice man by any stretch of the imagination, and she could only begin to imagine his anger at Draco breaking a rule. And not just a small, insignificant rule either… But that led her back to the question of why he had broken that rule in the first place, why he had helped him, what could possibly motivate him, a Slytherin and son of a Death Eater, to betray his upbringing and help his worst enemies…
And she couldn't answer those questions. However hard she thought, her mind just went round in circles until images began creeping in, images of Harry and Ron, what would happen… which would die, how it would happen…
No. She wouldn't think about that, couldn't think about that: it would drive her insane. She forced herself to look at Draco, to concentrate on him, simply because he was the only distraction available. And not, in a superficial sense, bad to look at…
She had never seen him act like this. At Hogwarts, he was always the perfect, smug, self-important Slytherin; the bully, the mocker, the one who existed to sneer and scowl at them, taunting them, ridiculing them. But here, here in this dungeon, he was…
She never had time to think of an adjective. A footstep sounded, close this time, and Draco's head shot up, eyes widening. The passage of the footsteps was clipped and precise, like the ticking of a clock, as they made their way down the corridor. Hermione instinctively moved away from the door, glancing at Draco. Their eyes met.
And parted again, but in that split second she had seen something, something afraid yet brave, weak but strong, but there was no time to think of that because the footsteps had stopped and the door swung open, and there stood Lucius Malfoy, carrying his wand already, striding impressively into the cell and closing the door behind him.
'Morning, Father.' Draco said, and now his whole manner had changed like a chameleon. Instead of being tense, he now seemed relaxed. His speech had no hint of nervousness in it, and his eyes held nothing more than a glint. A mask. He was acting.
'Indeed.' Lucius replied, voice flat and level. 'Not, however a particularly good one. Why,' he asked, eyes suddenly flickering and his voice gaining anger, 'did you disobey a direct order of the Dark Lord's? You knew that your place was to remain inside the school. Yet you deliberately chose to leave it. Your excuse had better be a very good one.'
Hermione took one glance at Lucius' eyes and regretted it. They were glacial, each one a single shard of ice. She shivered, backing away from him, hoping he didn't see her.
Draco, on the other hand, was keeping up his complacent act. Rather than look at his father, he began to study his perfect fingernails. 'Why do you think I left the school, father?'
'If I knew, do you think I'd be here?' His eyes took on a degree more sharpness. 'As admirable a job as you are doing of not showing your true feelings, you can drop the immature pretences, Draco. I will have none of that. It will be far easier on you in the long run if you avoid aggravating me and simply tell me what in Hell's name you were doing.'
Draco shrugged casually, dropping his hand to his lap. 'I thought you'd have figured it out for yourself.'
'Perhaps you could explain it to me?' His voice was like the sound of silk being dragged over a knife edge; Hermione shuddered.
'Common sense, Father.' Draco replied, examining the skin on the backs of his hands now. He was avoiding looking at Lucius, she realised. 'Work it out. What could possibly make me break a direct order from the wondrous Dark Lord? Why would anyone have left the school grounds?'
'The only reasons,' Lucius replied, temper growing short, 'are to escape the spell or to counter-attack. You had no need of the former, and no Malfoy would be so stupid as to attempt the latter.'
For a moment, Draco was utterly silent.
'How sure are you of that?' he asked at last, his voice soft. With a sickening twist of her stomach, Hermione saw Lucius' hand clench around the wand he carried.
'Explain.' The one word, an order, was hissed as though the foulest word there was, with sheets of frozen anger waiting behind it…
Now, at last, Draco looked up to meet and hold Lucius' gaze. 'Remember Ceros?' he asked, his voice so soft, so calm, that Hermione wondered how he managed it, how he was still acting. Maybe he wasn't acting any more; maybe he'd gone so far through fear that he'd come out on the far side, so afraid he couldn't feel it. 'Remember her? Before she died, I made her a promise. I promised I'd not let something like that happen again. I promised her not to let you or the other Death Eaters or Voldemort himself get away with something like that again, if I could help it. And I intend to keep that promise.'
Draco closed his eyes, his face still looking so strangely peaceful. A million questions formed in Hermione's mind – what was all this? Who was Ceros? Something like what? – but there was no time, for Lucius' anger was building in the room with the charge of a thunderstorm.
Draco spoke again. 'You don't need to say anything.' He said, almost a whisper in the deathly silent cell. 'I'm a disgrace to the Malfoy name, I'm not fit to be your son, I'm no better than a Mudblood, so on and so forth. And I don't care.'
On the last three words, his eyes flew open, silver-grey and hard as steel, determined now, she calmness not replaced but augmented, sharpened, by something strange, something so familiar to Hermione but so alien to Draco's face. And yet, it fit him perfectly.
Lucius, white-hot anger radiating off him in waves, raised his wand. The one word he spoke, as he pointed the wand at Draco, was so full of venom and hate and disgust that it struck almost as hard as the spell itself; 'Crucio.'
Instantly, Draco crumpled into a ball on the floor, gasping with the pain. Hermione bit her lip, forcing herself to look away but unable to block out the sounds, the half-screams and muffled cries, unable to stop her eyes moving upwards of their own accord to him, his body shaking with the pain, curled tightly into a ball against the suffering. She wanted to speak out, to cry, 'Stop!', but knew she couldn't, knew she had to hold her tongue or make things worse…
After a minute or so, an endless, eternal minute, Lucius cut the spell, releasing Draco from his torment. The silver-haired boy, so like his father yet so different, gasped for breath, lying on the floor on his belly. Lucius was not finished yet.
'Seca.' He hissed next, making a slashing motion in the air with his wand. A thin ray of light shot from the end of his wand, span through the air and slashed across Draco's arm, splashing bright crimson blood through the air. Draco didn't make a sound. Hermione wondered if he were unconscious, or even dead – don't think that – until she saw his eyes, open and watching, silently speaking volumes.
Two more slashes joined the first, and still Draco made no noise, the horrible silence broken only by the soft patter of blood on stone. Finally, Lucius pocketed the wand, and Hermione breathed an inward sigh of relief. Those gashed looked nasty, not to mention the Cruciatius…
Lucius walked slowly and precisely to stand in front of his son. His footsteps were the only sound in the incredibly silent room. He towered above Draco, who was sprawled on the floor, head pressed to the ground. Lucius stood inches from his face.
With an obvious effort, Draco lifted his head up, to glare at his father with the filthiest look Hermione had ever seen. It was dark, and raged red-hot with anger, vile and filled with bitterness. Yet she couldn't say it was without justification.
In one swift, sharp movement, Lucius kicked Draco in the face.
Without a word, he turned and swept out of the room, the door slamming finally behind him. Hermione, shocked and alarmed, scrambled to Draco's side.
'Draco, Draco, are you alright?'
'Yes.' He replied simply, pushing himself up with one hand, his other hand holding his face. Reflexively, Hermione caught at him and helped him upright, frowning in worry as she did.
'Here, let me see that…' she said, pulling his hand away from his face. He let her; whether he was too drained to protest or he actually didn't mind remained a mystery.
Hermione gasped at the torrent of blood that poured from Draco's nose. 'He didn't break it, did he?' she asked him fearfully.
'He'd better not have. I'm not going to have a crooked nose for the rest of my life.' Draco replied irritably. 'It hurts. But then everything hurts.' he added, with a wry half-amused smile.
Hermione prodded the bone a little. 'It doesn't feel like it's broken.' She decided at last. 'But that' still a nasty nosebleed… Here, you need to pinch it until it stops. Like this.' She said, putting his fingers in the right place on his nose and squeezing them together. 'And you should lean against the wall, I keep thinking you'll crash to the ground…'
'Since when were you my nursemaid?' he asked, but complied, shuffling back to lean against the wall.
'And tilt your head back, it'll help the bleeding. And I need to find something to stop these other cuts bleeding… Oh, I hate your father, I really do!'
Draco didn't reply to this remark; just raised an intrigued eyebrow. Somehow, he managed to exude a smug air of maddening superiority even with blood cascading from his nose and various wounds. Hermione tore some pieces off the bottom of her robe – it was too long anyway, she told herself – and used them to tie up Draco's various wounds. It was what they did in books and films; she only hoped it worked in real life too.
A few minutes passed like this – Draco with his head tilted back, clamping his nose shut, and Hermione kneeling anxiously near his side. She wanted to do something – reach out, perhaps, comfort him, say something – but what could she say? He was still Draco, after all… she doubted a hug and a smile would go down well.
'Are you- '
'Fine.' He interrupted, knowing what her question would be. 'I'm fine. It's nothing.'
'It's not nothing. What he did… It's…' Hermione was at a loss for words. 'I mean, he used the Cruciatius on you… and when he kicked you…'
Draco didn't reply to this, just shrugged. 'I think my nose stopped bleeding.' He remarked, taking his hand away.
'It has.' she agreed, and then had nothing else to say. An edgy silence fell as Hermione struggled in vain to find something to say. A mixture of the shock over what Lucius had done and Draco's natural air of unfeeling left her at a complete loss of anything to say.
It was Draco, oddly, who ended the predicament.
'For goodness' sake, Hermione.' he said irritably. 'Stop worrying. There's nothing wrong with me a bit of rest won't cure, and these wounds will heal in a few weeks. Might leave a scar, in which case I'll end up in Azkaban for patricide, but that's not an immediate problem.
Hermione shook her head sadly, looking away. 'But the things he did… I mean… how can anyone do that?'
'It's nothing special.' Draco sighed. 'I half expected him to kill me on the spot. In my opinion, I got off lightly. Barring, of course, the very great possibility that he's going to come back later and finish me off. Oh, and the scarring.'
Not knowing quite what to say to this, Hermione stared at him. 'But… but he… Draco, he tortured you! You can't say that's getting off lightly!'
He shrugged. 'With my father it is.'
'But that's… I mean… Has he done this kind of thing before?' she asked. While she'd obviously known that Lucius practically tortured Muggles as a hobby, she'd never imagined that same brutality extending towards his own son. In her mind, Draco had always been the sneering spoilt kid who got everything he wanted, whose father bought him his place on the Quidditch team. Not loved, obviously, but…
But not tortured, not like this. Draco didn't reply, looking at the air straight in front of him, his face seemingly empty, as emotionless as though carved in stone, but his eyes told it all.
'He has, hasn't he?'
'My past doesn't matter.' he said sharply, and Hermione wisely realised that the topic was probably best left alone, for now at least.
Casting around for another topic, she remembered something he'd said to Lucius. A name, someone he'd said something about… Ceros. That was it.
'Who was Ceros?' she asked.
'No one.' He replied forcibly. 'I'm not talking about her.'
Hermione bit her lip. Her curiosity was screaming at her, demanding that she ask, demanding that she find out – an insatiable thirst for knowledge. And her curiosity was strong, that was how she'd learnt so much, always in and out of books trying to find out why, how, where, when, and a myriad other questions.
'I… Why not?' she asked. 'Why won't you?'
He gave her a hard look, crossing his arms defensively. 'Because I don't want to. I don't need to justify what I want to you.' But a note of hesitation underlined his voice, one which told Hermione that he wasn't sure, he'd considered telling her, and if she could just persuade him…
And this was more than curiosity, more than just wanting to know for knowledge's sake. She wanted to… help. Something about him, the suffering she'd just witnessed, the brutality he kept so hidden, made her want to help. She'd have put out her arms and hugged him close if he hadn't been that kind of boy.
'You can tell me, you know.' She offered softly. 'I won't… say anything about it, or judge you, or think less of you.'
'It's not that I'm worried about.' He sighed, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes, looking suddenly rather pale and vulnerable.
'Then what are you worried about?' Hermione asked, frowning. 'I just want to…'
'Be nosy?' he enquired. 'Find out about me so you can gossip about it with the Gryffindors?'
'No!' Hermione denied, looking shocked. 'I wouldn't do that! I… I mean, it's personal. I would never think of spreading that kind of thing around. Never.'
Draco turned his head away from her, dropping his argument. He spoke simply and wearily. 'Forget about it. Just don't ask.'
Hermione bit her lip, feeling uncertain. 'Are… are you sure? I mean, I don't want to…'
'For goodness' sake, will you not be quiet?' he exploded. 'Fine, I'll tell you. You obviously won't shut up any other way.'
Hermione felt a twinge of guilt, and was about to tell him not to relate the story if he didn't want to, but he'd already begun speaking. With his eyes shut, the blood marring his porcelain skin, his body half-curled as he spoke, he looked somehow vulnerable in a way that pulled hard at some place inside Hermione's chest.
'When I was five – or thereabouts, I'm not sure – my mother got pregnant again.' he told her. 'This time she had a girl. My sister, Ceros. I remember seeing her for the first time, when she was just two hours old…'
He broke off, sighed, and shook his head. Hermione did a quick mental reshuffle; for some reason she'd imagines Ceros as some kind of scarlet woman who Lucius had disapproved of. A sister? That put a whole new aspect on things…
Still with his eyes closed, he carried on. 'We both grew older. My parents, you can probably guess, never had much time for us, so I would often be left to take care of her. With the house elves, of course. But still… Well, she was my little sister… I became quite attached to her, and she to me, when she was old enough for that kind of thing. But of course, my father found out about it…
'He wasn't very approving of it, as you can imagine, and he decided to take advantage of it – she was four, I was nine. He began using her to get to me – if I did something wrong, or made a mistake, or anything, he'd hurt her. You can see where that leads… Eventually, he killed her. I was there, in the room, when he did it… and I knew he'd gone to far, there was too much blood, but I didn't know how to stop it…'
For a moment, he froze in his recital. His voice didn't choke, and his body didn't shudder, and his face was still in as perfect a mask as ever, but Hermione could sense how he felt and remained respectfully quiet. She'd had no idea of this, none at all… how could Lucius… it was unspeakable, sickening. Killing his daughter, his own flesh and blood, to hurt his son… How could any human being do that?
'Before she died,' Draco continued, 'she asked me to promise her something. To promise that I wouldn't stand by and let my father or the Death Eaters or Voldemort do that again if I could stop it. Hurt someone, I mean. Kill them… And I promised.' His eyes flew open at last; they were no more than silvery mirrors. 'That's why I came with you, by the way. To stop Voldemort hurting people.'
He seemed to have finished. Closing his eyes again, he leant back and rested his head against the wall. Hermione, sitting beside him, hadn't a clue what to say. There seemed even fewer words than before for what she'd just been told. It didn't seem real, as though she'd just dreamed it all; but there was Draco next to her, bloodstained and weary, bleeding and aching where his own father had hurt him. His own father…
'I never knew…' she whispered softly, more to herself than Draco.
'Of course you never knew.' He snapped. 'I never told anyone. And if you tell anyone about this, anyone at all…'
This was more familiar ground. 'I understand.' She assured him. 'And I won't tell anyone. I just… He killed her…'
'Yes, he killed her.' Draco said, his voice heavy. 'Forget it, Hermione, it isn't important.'
'Yes it is. It means…' She broke off. It meant that Draco was a completely different person to who she had once thought, with a completely different background and feelings… When was it they'd set out to save the school? She didn't know. Not long, certainly. It felt like weeks.
With a strange twang in her stomach, Hermione realised that she would never think of Draco in the same way again. He wasn't the same person to her anymore. And if he wasn't the same person, she had to ask herself: who was he now?
It was a difficult question to answer. He was Draco. Someone she wanted to help. Someone who had a horrible life, someone she felt sad for, at the same time as feeling amazement that he could have come through it. A mystery, an enigma, a puzzle she would never solve. Someone who maybe wasn't as horrible as she'd once thought. Someone with, maybe, a sense of humour – a vague, cruel and sarcastic one at times, but still. Someone she…
Hermione shook her head, clearing it of the confusing thoughts to focus on the here and now. Musings of exactly who he was now could wait till later; now Draco was sitting there staring into space, a melancholy look on his face. The urge to hug him welled in her again, and before she could stop herself she had cautiously slid one arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder.
He tensed. 'What on earth are you doing?'
She felt somehow silly and stupid, but persevered. Moving away now could make the situation stranger. 'Giving you a hug?' she volunteered.
'I don't need a hug.'
Hermione paused before answering. 'Maybe… maybe I need to give you one.'
He didn't reply to this, and as she sat there with him the awkwardness vanished, replaced by a quiet companionship, replaced by a sleepy stupor on Hermione's part. Her arm stayed around him, her head on his shoulder, but as she drifted into dreams and sagged against him she felt for a moment his arm around her, supporting her. She smiled in her sleep.
~*~
Latin: 'Seca' – Latin for 'Cut!' Oh, and 'Ceros' is a shortened form of the word for 'unicorn', because 'Monoceros' makes her sound like some kind of mythological monster. The reasoning behind 'unicorn' is that she's innocent and 'pure' – not a part of the whole Dark Arts and evilness. It's also carrying on the mythological animals theme started with Draco. Draco = dragon, (mono)Ceros = unicorn… Yeah.
A/N: According to my beta, that was a 'sweet' ending.
You know what would make it sweeter? Reviews!
Ok, ok, I beg for them every time, but I live on feedback. Seriously. I print them out and use them as sandwich fillings.
You do realise I'm still writing this with pus oozing out of my arm from an injection? That, about two weeks after my BCG inoculation, a friend who shall remain nameless bashed me violently on the injection site, causing possibly the most pain I've felt in my life (not saying much as I've never broken any bones or anything) and bursting the skin, causing a foul yellowish pus to start oozing out? That it's still very painful, not to mention itchy? And I'm still sitting here and writing all this for you?
I'm trying to guilt you into reviewing. Did it work?