Within the Smoke

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Their J.K. Rowling's.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Draco took a few startled steps backward. He couldn't stand to watch this. He could witness death without flinching, he could enter battle composed, but this was his own personal hell.

===Note====

I finally know where I'm going with this! Sorta. Well I made a mind map at least. Paper's filled with bubbles and lines reminding me what I want to write since I keep forgetting. Good start yes?

Oh, and much thanks to foxer for reviewing every chapter and letting me know my spelling mistakes. =)

Within the Smoke

Chapter 9: He Discovered True Hell

Forcefully put on bed rest, Hermione lay quietly within a well decorated tent. She knew she must have fallen asleep at some point because her robes had been replaced by a white nightgown. Trying to recall what had happened over the past hour was a struggle. She knew that Draco had, once more, saved her and prepared herself for an uncomfortable conversation discussing what she had been doing there in the first place. It seemed that despite her best efforts, everything she did ended with failure. Hermione couldn't understand it. All through Hogwarts she had earned the top scores, received exceptional recommendations, and expected the same success to continue into her career. It was funny how cruel life could be.

Her thoughts were disrupted when a visitor pushed back the flap to the tent. Draco ducked his head as he entered and presented her with a grim smile which she returned. She realized that after all that had occurred, the contempt which she always felt for Draco had diminished. Instead of anger, she felt a familiar calm at the sight of him. But, in a typically Malfoy fashion, he could still frequently irritate her beyond reason.

"How are you doing?" He asked.

"Fine, I'm doing fine." Actually she was far from fine. She was in fact down right miserable. But what would the point be in telling him? Death didn't seem to disturb him the way it did her. He would never feel the burden of a comrade's death on his shoulders. Despite what Draco had told her earlier, Hermione faulted herself for her friend's death. She felt the guilt as if Harry had been killed by her own hands. Lying there now, the remorse weighed down on her like a crushing force that couldn't be controlled. She gasped suddenly as if she couldn't breathe.

Draco was at her side within seconds. "What's wrong? Should I get a doctor?" He pulled away to retrieve medical assistance before she could respond. Hermione grabbed his hand as he stood. No amount of healing charms was going to help her now.

"No, it's nothing. The wound's trivial. I'll be fine." Her reassurances seemed lost on him. Draco paused and seemed to contemplate if what she said was truthful. Deciding she must be if she was able to maintain such a stony grip on his wrist, he calmed.

Pulling up a chair by her bed, Draco sat and looked at her expectantly. "So, are you willing to give an account of what happened now?" No, she certainly wasn't. She would prefer to repress as much of the last few days as possible. "Because the Minister's mighty curious as to why you were out there." Hermione was sure he was. But that didn't affect her. "I don't understand why you left camp either." She didn't expect him to. What lasting friendship had he ever possessed?

Her thoughts were becoming bitter as Draco persisted. She didn't want to answer questions or explain her irrational actions. She wanted to return to her blissful sleep where she felt no pain. Sleep was the only comfort she had remaining, Hermione realized. The two friends whom she had always turned to were dead. Suddenly she felt as if she was the loneliest person on earth. Misery was consuming her as she lay quietly. Draco was still talking, Hermione realized, but she didn't hear a word that was said.

The words duty and determination meant nothing to her now. What did it matter if the Ministry never received her eye witness account of Harry's death? Currently, she wouldn't even flinch if she was fired. Hermione decided that the bed in which she was lying was all that she would be concerned with.

Draco had ceased attempting to talk to her. When she came out of her daze, she realized he had stopped long ago. Looking back toward him, she saw a concerned and wondering expression on his face. Perhaps it was unkind to ignore him so stubbornly. Hermione didn't want to be blamed again for her lack of gratitude.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I can't cope with this right now."

He nodded grimly. "Okay, I understand. Just, are you certain you don't want medical attention?"

"Yes, I'm quite certain." She responded evenly. Hermione refused to allow him to witness her in a sobbing state once more. "Listen, I just want to thank you for finding me." She wasn't entirely sure if she was actually grateful to him. A dark thought lingered that suggested she would have been better off dead.

=======

Seeing Hermione lost and battling her own inner demons once more, Draco stood and retreated from the tent without another word. He hadn't really expected her to discuss what happened, but the Minister was insistent that he report how Potter had died. The task was obviously pointless however, and Draco didn't intend to waste his time speaking with a witch too distracted by her own emotions to even notice his presence.

Wandering back to the Minister's tent he was determined yet to learn the identities of their prisoners. He knew some had escaped, the weakest ones most likely, by apparating away before the battle even began. He wasn't entirely certain if his father did have the courage or idiocy to face the army the Ministry had complied. Somehow, he doubted it.

Finding the Minister in his usual location, Draco wondered if he actually did a thing to contribute to this war. "Sir, I was wondering if all the prisoners have been identified." He paused. "And, if my father is among them."

The Minister stood and looked at him intently. After a moment of thought, he answered. "Yes, the prisoners are all identified. And, yes, Lucius Malfoy was among them." He stopped and waited for a reaction.

He waited in vain. Draco stood expressionless as he held the Minister's gaze. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this news. It didn't surprise or disturb him in any particular way. He knew his father's blind obedience to Voldemort would have kept him at the Dark Lord's side till the end. And, he knew his father's strict conviction, that evil would prevail once more, would have kept him believing long after hope was lost.

When he finally responded, the Minister started as if he didn't expect him to return back to life. "And are all the prisoners to be transported to Azkaban at first opportunity?"

The Minister looked slightly nervous at this. "Well, not exactly. See after that escape by Black, the public isn't feeling too secure with just having them sit in prison." He paused and his eyes darted to Draco with unease. "So, you see, we have decided to bring some dementors here to perform the kiss on the Dark Lord's most loyal supporters straight away."

Draco knew what the Minister implied. His father was to have his soul sucked from his body. Despite all contempt he felt for Lucius, he never intended for the man to have this fate. Death would have been preferred. Death, Draco realized, he could have accepted. Looking grimly to the Minister he asked; "May I see him?"

After a moment of hesitation, it was agreed. "I suppose, but be quick about it. The Deatheaters sentenced to the kiss are kept in separate tents on the edge of camp. Just tell the guards you have my permission to enter."

Giving a quick thanks, Draco exited and walked toward the guarded row of tents. He found his father's fairly swiftly and nodded to the guards as he passed into the enclosure. He didn't really expect them to impede him. They knew who he was and who he was seeing without ever needing to inquire.

The initial shock of seeing his father again after so long, caused Draco to pause in the entryway. The man seemed more or less the same as before, he realized, expect for his slightly drained appearance. Lucius Malfoy's head was hung allowing long tangles of hair to bar his view. His hands and feet were bound by a charm. Draco was surprised they didn't use a full body lock.

Lucius stirred when he heard movement in the tent. Looking up through strands of hair, he presented his son with a sneer. "You must be thrilled to see me like this, aren't you boy? It's what you always wanted, right? To see your father beaten and defeated." He let out a laugh that alarmed Draco. "Look at you, you ungrateful bastard. I raised you with every luxury. I presented you with everything you desired. And this is what I receive in return!? Be thankful my wand's been taken from me." He lowered his head again to signal he was finished talking. Draco remembered it was the same when he was a child. His father would turn away when he didn't wish for company any longer.

Instead of retreating however, Draco stood his ground and calmly spoke. "Do you know what's going to happen to you now?" When he received no response, he continued. "They're sending for dementors. The kiss will be preformed before nightfall."

Lucius looked up. He appeared visibly frightened. His angry demeanor instantly changed. Piteously, he stared at Draco. "They're going to give me the kiss?" Draco noticed him shudder. "You wouldn't allow them to do that to your own father would you?" Desperation didn't become him. Shaking his head, Draco only watched silently.

"You can't let them take my soul. I'll rot in Azkaban willingly. Please, my son."

A bitter laugh emitted from Draco's lips. It had been a long time since Lucius Malfoy had referred to him as "his son." He knew it was a clear indicator of how desperate the man truly was. He wished he didn't have to see a figure who he once respected like this.

"Please, my son." Lucius repeated. "I'm your flesh and blood. Don't let them do this to me." He attempted to crawl toward Draco but his restraints prevented him. "Anything else, I'd rather spend life in prison. I'd rather die for heaven's sake! Please, my boy."

Draco took a few startled steps backward. He couldn't stand to watch this. He could witness death without flinching, he could enter battle composed, but this was his own personal hell. His father was on his knees with hands clasped. How could such a mighty man come to this?

Draco couldn't stand it any longer. Without another moment's hesitation he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand. His father only stared as it was raised to him. Lucius shut his eyes tightly as a spell erupted from the wand tip.

The invisible bonds holding him were released. With a gasp of surprise, his eyes reopened and he pulled apart his hands. Draco watched with his wand still raised as his father pulled himself to his feet and let out a relieved laugh. "You made the right choice." Lucius said with a bemused sneer.

Draco only stood by silently as the man before him turned away. He watched frozen while his father retrieved a small sharp rock fragment from the ground. Still unmoving, he witnessed Lucius Malfoy rip and tear the back of the tent before pushing through into freedom.

Once certain the man truly was gone, Draco turned abruptly and left the tent. He passed the guards once more and, without taking notice of them, marched back to the comfort of his own lodgings. He knew it would be a while yet before it was discovered their prisoner was gone. And he knew undoubtedly the charge would rest on him. But he had made is decision in a split second after he watched his father deteriorate before his eyes. Despite all his vices, Draco couldn't allow the man to meet a fate worse than death.

===Note===

I was thinking about different ways to go with this but I figured this way shows Draco has a heart. One of those tragic childhood turns out a good man things? I don't know. You'll see where I'm going with this in the next chapter. Review please!

-Captive