Fears
By darthelwig
I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling is the talent that brought them to life.
PG-13 again, but beware! This chapter is a bit more intense than the rest.
He found himself walking through a darkened hallway.
The walls were stone and looked aged. The mortar was crumbling and the stone itself was scarred and chipped everywhere you looked. Lichen and moss covered the stone walls in green and white- almost to the roof. The floor was made of hard-packed dirt. He could hear water dripping somewhere in the distance, but the floor was dry.
There were no torches present. Actually, there was very little light at all. What little illumination there was came from somewhere at the other end of the hallway. From what he could see at this great distance, it looked like a candle.
He began walking down the hall, curious and a little afraid. He couldn't say exactly what he was afraid of, but an ominous sense of foreboding was slowly building in his chest. He wanted to run from this place but he moved forward anyway, his feet seeming to have a mind of their own. He tried to turn around, but with no success. Ever so slowly, he approached that flickering orange light.
As he came closer to it, he realized the light was not a candle at all, but a torch set in the wall. More details became clear to him the closer he got. First, he identified two separate torches, spaced about four feet apart. Then he saw that they bordered a doorway. He crept closer and closer, and panic started to rise in him. The sight of that solid wooden door filled him with a fear he had never known before. He wanted to scream but no sound escaped him. He was frozen in the grip of some terrible evil.
Far too quickly for his tastes, he was standing in front of that door. He knew he was going to enter, but he did not want to put his hand on the doorknob. He resisted with all his might, refusing to touch it, when a voice came from the darkness behind him.
"You cannot fight this battle, my son. Let it happen and save yourself the pain."
"Father?" he asked, his voice betraying his fear, and suddenly he felt like he was two years old again. "Father, I don't want to go in there."
"But you must enter, you see. Beyond that door is your future. This is what we have been working toward for so many long years now. Do not fail me so close to our goal." His father's voice was hard and cold, as he had always been, yet somehow different. It carried a hint of something his son could not quite place. Was it satisfaction? Or was it that giddy pleasure Death Eaters seemed to get from watching people suffer? Whatever it was, it had never been directed toward him before, and he became more afraid than ever.
"Please, father. Don't make me do this. I don't want it!" He was begging now, tears were sliding down his pale cheeks, but his father didn't help him or comfort him. He supposed he was a fool for wanting it. When had his father ever been warm towards him?
"Go on, son. Open it," the older Malfoy said, as if he were offering his son a gift.
His son's hand rose toward the door unbidden. He wanted to shriek when his flesh pressed against the cold, hard metal of the knob. It was slick with some kind of moisture, and he prayed he never found out what kind. In slow motion, the door opened, revealing a small, almost empty room lit by more flickering torches. Inside was a straight-backed chair facing a wall- and hanging from that wall, suspended by manacles, was Hermione.
A scream built up inside of him. Clearly, he saw her mangled body and scarred face. She was nearly dead. He wanted to run to her, get her down and find some help, but he was again frozen in place by that awful power that had taken control of his body. His father moved next to Hermione, raising her head so his son could see her better. The younger Malfoy wanted to turn away and not be forced to look at her in such agony. He couldn't bear it, but he was not in control and had no choice but to see.
"She has been in our way for far too long, my son. It is time we disposed of her. Perhaps, without the little mud-blood, Potter will fall." His father's excited smile terrified him. He did not want this to happen. He struggled, trying to move his body even the slightest bit, but he was helplessly caught in his father's web. Or perhaps this design belonged to someone more sinister….
He realized then that his father was holding out a knife. It gleamed brightly in the torch light, sending a shiver down his spine. His father was offering it to him, motioning for him to take it. He felt his hand close around the handle, felt the easy weight of it in his palm, and his panic was suddenly gone. In its place was a sea of calm, as if he had accepted this fate and was prepared to do whatever his father decreed.
He held the knife to her throat and was about to plunge it in when she opened her eyes and looked straight at him. Her eyes were hazy and unfocused, but that gaze cut deep into his soul. He could feel her look into him, and he leaned forward as he saw her try to speak.
"I forgive you," she whispered, her voice painfully hoarse and difficult to for him to hear. But that simple, remarkable statement in the face of all this horror broke the spell that had him enthralled. Emotion flooded in on him as he came back to himself, and his stomach lurched with revulsion of the act he had been about to commit. He yanked his hand away from her, throwing the knife to the ground, and was reaching for her face when a soft, cruel voice sounded behind him.
"Crucio," his father said, his voice like ice, and suddenly his body was collapsing as his bones and muscles screamed with pain.
Draco bolted upright in his bed, a scream on his lips. He was drenched in sweat and his heart was racing in his chest. He realized he was out of breath, gasping for air, and he ran a hand through his dampened hair. It was a dream, just a dream. It was a nightmare, really, but imagination none the less. He was at Hogwarts, his father was nowhere around and Hermione was safe.
He couldn't shake the feeling that this dream had been a warning of some kind. The dread he had experienced standing before the doorway was still with him. He wiped his face, trying to calm himself. There was nothing to be afraid of here. He was safe at Hogwarts. All the students were. No nameless, faceless evil was waiting in the wings looking for an opportunity to pounce. Not here. He had never seen that hallway before in his life. Where had that image come from? It had seemed so real.
He knew he wouldn't be sleeping any more that night. Not with the memory of that horrible place fresh in his mind. He could still see Hermione's face, torch light playing over her features, as she looked at him with those eyes. They had been full of pain and something else… betrayal?
A cold knot of determination solidified in his gut. He would not betray her. He would never hurt her like that, not even for his father. He would protect her from anything, himself if need be.
His new resolve comforted him somewhat, and he settled back down into his bed, resting his head on the pillow. He would protect her….
Once again he was lost to sleep's sweet oblivion, and this time his dreams were of roses and of her.