Author's Note: o0o you liked it! You really liked it!! does happy dance A lot of you seem to not like my spacing, if it's so annoying, I'll change it, sorry for that!! sheepish grin o0o one more thing before I unleash my chapter upon you poor unsuspecting by-standers (teehee!) the dream sequence in this chapter is highly symbolic. Okay, so I'm completely insane, but that's okay, insane people were put on this earth to amuse everyone else!! I got the "Previously on... " idea from SNitchSS who is an amazing author, go read her stuff!
One more comment to add is that I have been keeping up with the revisions the next chapter will be the last chapter I revise (as chapter 13 is not yet posted—but it is finished and being critiqued) I also thought that readers such as yourselves might find it interesting to know what music influenced me in the events of the chapter. This chapter I found that the songs: "Here Without You" by Three Doors Down and "Somewhere I Belong" by Lincoln Park were quite inspiring!
Previously on Shadows of Light:
A part of Hermione screamed for her to run, to escape, before it was too late. The florescent blue liquid was reflected in Draco's quietly turbulent eyes. He was close now. He was pulling her to her feet. The bottle was at her lips. Another surge of rebellion raced through her, but it was quickly squashed when he tipped the effulgent liquid into her open mouth.
The effects were instantaneous. Her vision blurred. Hermione could see Draco's wide silver eyes, his expressionless face. He placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She had not even been aware that she was stumbling. She could not feel her feet. She could not feel her hands which were, unbeknownst to her, now grasping her wand. She had not been aware that Draco had even given it back to her. Hermione was trapped within her own mind. Helpless to do nothing but watch.
She sat up, an odd sort of half grin on her face, but looking in her eyes, one would not find amusement, only emptiness. Draco brushed himself off and glared around for whatever he had crashed into. He saw nothing at first. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand once more. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley appeared suddenly, a silvery shadow falling unnoticed to the floor behind them.
"Hermione are you okay?" Ron demanded in a squeaky voice.
"I am Hermione Granger," she narrated.
"Hermione," the freckle-faced boy inquired, "What's going on?"
"I hate Slytherins," she recited.
"This isn't funny, Hermione."
"I have no sense of humor."
Weasley pointed his wand at Draco's face. "TELL ME WHAT YOU DID TO HER MALFOY OR I SWEAR I WILL CURSE YOUR SORRY ARSE STRAIGHT TO HELL WHERE YOU BELONG!"
"Oh sure you will Weasley. You couldn't work a wand if it was tied to your--"
"PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!" the raging Weasley shouted.
Draco's body stiffened and clattered against the immense door. "What's wrong with her?" the fire-haired mongrel shouted spraying spit over Draco's frozen smirking face.
"Ron," Harry whispered in a shaky voice.
"He's not moving until he confesses!" Weasley shrieked.
"Is that so, Mr. Weasley?" a sinister voice asked coldly.
Ron's face fell. There in the open threshold directly behind a very still Harry stood none other than Snape in all of his greasy glory, an expression of pure vengeful malice painted on his sallow face.
Beta Reader's Note: This is some pretty good updating, right? Just say yes. I found some space to hide the bodies. '' Oh! and don't forget to review, because I am not above castration!
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: If I said I owned this, would you believe me? If so, then Joanne Kathleen Rowling is just a 16 year old girl who likes Eminem and writes fanfictions based on my work. Idiot.
Summary: Draco Malfoy had always hated that Harry Potter and his two best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and the hatred had magnified since they had landed his once highly-esteemed father in the wizard prison Azkaban. That was why nobody would put it past him to feign injury in order to torture Hermione Granger into doing his work for him in the name of vengeance on Potter. But what happens when an emotion much stronger than revenge begins to take hold? Could it be that fate has other plans?
Shadows of Light
Chapter 11
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be...
-The Who "Behind Blue Eyes"
Snape sat rigidly in his straight-backed chair regarding the student before him with an indecipherable gaze. "Do you know why I asked you here, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco looked into the incalculably black eyes of the Potions Master. In all honesty, Draco couldn't imagine why on earth Snape had taken him, Draco Malfoy, poster child for all that was malevolently Slytherin, to the dimly lit dungeons that were his quarters. Shouldn't it be Potter and Weasley, the imbeciles that had ambushed and hexed him, that were brought down here for interrogation?
"No. I am curious about that, sir," Draco admitted.
"You were out of your dormitory at one o'clock in the morning, as well as your Gryffindor classmates, Mr. Malfoy. I am sure, however, that you have a good excuse for your behavior, and I would like to hear it."
Draco cleared his throat. "What do you mean Professor?" he asked slowly. "I told you why I was out of bed, that Harry Potter was planning to do something at night, and I wanted to stop him from harming anyone. You said it yourself, sir, Potter and Weasley have no respect for school rules." Satisfied with his lie, Draco waited for Snape to dismiss him. But, to his puzzlement, the elusive professor did not dismiss him.
"I was more concerned, Mr. Malfoy, with the state of another classmate of yours. One who you seem to have been spending much time with: Ms. Granger. She was oddly submissive and did not even protest when I assigned her, and her Housemates, five weeks of detention for their breaking of curfew. Do you know anything of this? After all, you two seem to be getting rather... close." Snape's speculative glare seemed to see through Draco's impassive expression. He had a horrible feeling that Snape knew more than he let on.
The pang of worry began to gnaw at Draco's stomach. The intimacy he had shared with Granger over the past month was not likely to go completely unnoticed by prying eyes. Draco had never given it much thought that they might be seen, Hermione seemed to have that effect on him. He maintained, of course, that each encounter was absolutely revolting, and occurred only out of pure necessity, resulting in no inkling of pleasure whatsoever. The mere thought was disgusting, wasn't it? Yes. Terrible. Horrible. It was just a last resort to help the plan run smoothly.
But, terrible, horrible, and revolting as all of those occurrences may have been, inconspicuous, they certainly were not. Why hadn't Draco thought of this before? If anyone had seen anything, Snape was definitely the person who had. Always stalking about the castle, robes billowing behind him as he swept through the dark corridors, seemingly, in search of students doing something that they would not want to be seen taking part in. Always there. Always watching. Always watching Draco especially, owing to the orders of his father and the Dark Lord. Draco must be well protected during the time when this latest plot of Voldemort's was being carried out. Snape not being in the Dark Lord's inner circle, probably was unaware of the finer points of the plan, Draco concluded, but had surely been alerted that Draco needed more scrupulous monitoring, to prevent any interferences with the Dark Lord's bidding. Now Snape knew something was up for sure.
Draco shrugged. "I didn't notice anything," he lied. For a moment, Draco thought that Snape hadn't believed his lie as his dark eyes narrowed suspiciously; however, he dismissed Draco with a wave of his hand, and a warning not to be caught out of bed at night again regardless of how honorable his intentions were.
---
Draco lay down on his four poster bed later that night, a frown of contemplation on his face. Snape had acted strangely. Draco was well aware that Snape was in service to Lord Voldemort. Snape was also a friend of the family's. It perplexed Draco that he would question Malfoy on a matter he knew concerned the Dark Lord, when he usually turned a blind eye to Draco's anti-Potter conduct.
But, he decided after another moment's contemplation, it didn't really matter. Snape could believe what he wanted. He would never actually hinder the plan in any way, not without serious consequence anyway. Hopefully, though, Snape was the only one who had suspicions. It was too late for Draco to turn back now. He had done it. The plan was near to complete. Granger was completely defenseless, just as he had promised Lucius she would be.
The Mudblood would go to Lord Voldemort and meet her fate; just as Potter would foolishly jump in to rescue her, and Lucius Malfoy's unfair imprisonment would be rectified. Somehow, Draco didn't find the thought of revenge as satisfying as he imagined he would. Ever since his father had been taken to Azkaban, which were the sole faults of those meddlesome Gryffindors, Draco had dreamed of being the one to rescue him, or at least make up for it. He wanted his father to be proud of him.
He closed his eyes for a moment to imagine the look on Lucius' face when he found out about his son's success in bringing forth Potter and his little friends. But his mind could only see Hermione's face in front of his; her deep almond eyes burning into his own silver ones, her pale cheeks flushed with ardor, her wide, sensual mouth full of life and passion. Draco opened his eyes at once and tried to blink the image away, but it was just as obstinate as the girl it represented.
He would ignore any feelings he had for her. She was nothing. What they had was nothing. There was nothing. He would believe there was nothing, ignoring the fact that a lot of nothing always equaled something. In his case, it was something much bigger than he could ever imagine.
His eyelids began to feel suddenly heavy as he realized how tiring his day had been and how late it had become. He succumbed to the impulse to close his eyes and felt sleep descend swiftly upon him...
The room was cold. The walls were eerily white, so white, that Draco felt inclined to touch one just to make sure the room didn't simply open to the vast expanses of universal nothingness. Only one thing assured Draco that he was in a room at all; not too far from him, in a plain wooden chair, sat Hermione Granger gazing at him with her distressingly impassive expression.
She opened her mouth and shut it again, like a learning toddler, trying to get accustomed to the feel of her own mouth, experimenting with its sound and movement. "I am Hermione Granger." Her voice drifted weirdly to Draco's ears.
He took a step towards her, his footstep echoing darkly but silently around the surrounding emptiness. The walls, which seemed to flow right into the floor, and make up the never-ending ceiling, appeared to shudder with his motions. It was as if its impact was tremendous and minute all at the same time. They shook without moving and penetrated deep into Draco. There was something very strange about this place. Hermione was, predictably, unresponsive. Her smile was as blank as their surroundings as he drew closer to her still form.
"My only friends are Potter and Weasley."
A quiver of something remarkably like fear chilled Draco's spine. He stopped glaring at her mockingly blank face. "Be quiet," he said in a soft voice. He didn't want to hear these little mantras he had so hastily taught her. They didn't sound right, coming from her. It wasn't Hermione. He didn't want to have to face what he had done to her. He had made her into something... not someone.
"I hate Slytherins."
"I said be quiet!" Draco shouted. His head was spinning. The way she said hate, without the slightest trace of it. If only there was some emotion behind her words. It was more than he could bear.
Hermione's vacuous, disquieting face smiled back at him. She cocked one eyebrow in a question that was free of all curiosity, maintaining her disturbing monotone, "I'm just a stupid Mudblood. I exist only to serve as a pawn in your plans. I am completely insignificant. My life, my feelings, and my words mean nothing. They are nothing. I am nothing. My opinions and words have absolutely no impact, why then should I be silenced?" Her vacant voice ridiculed him, spoken just as one of the few phrases he had taught her to recite.
"SHUT THAT STUPID MOUTH OF YOURS MUDBLOOD!! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!"
He could not contain himself any longer. He was now directly in front of her chair. He shook her by the shoulders as he shouted. He shouted to drown out his feelings. He shouted to drown out her words. He shouted to drown out the truth. The truth that he had used her as if she was just some tool that could be discarded when it was no longer needed.
He stopped shaking her. Her lack of response to his actions was frightening to him. He backed up. She did not rise to meet him, but stared up at him inexpressively.
"I'm Hermione Granger." Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, as if she only realized what she had said. As if she had only realized the truth in her words. As if she had only realized who she was and where she was and who she was talking to. As if she was back to her normal self, not a slave to the potion, or the bracelet... or to Draco. She looked upon Draco as if only realizing he was there and being surprised at his presence and when she spoke, her voice was no longer empty and emotionless, but strong and full of truth. "I'm Hermione Granger," she repeated staring into his eyes. "And you, Draco Malfoy, are in love with me."
Draco took a step back. A fervent denial rose on his lips, but he couldn't spit it out. He took another step back. The words refused to come out of his mouth! He felt panic rise within him! Hermione would think he was in love with her if he didn't say otherwise!
Draco tried to open his mouth but found that it would not open! He no longer had a mouth! He tried to scream, but he no longer had a voice! The empty air was still ringing from Hermione's words and gave no heed to Draco's silent shrieks as he stumbled backward from where she stood. The look in her eyes was not of thoughtless vacancy any longer. It was blazing with truth, impaling his heart with her gaze and her words.
Draco raised a hand to his face, he felt his lips, snapped shut... He couldn't' pry them open to voice his denial of her claims! Hermione rose from the chair and her gaze upon him intensified, reaching a hand as if to help him. Draco lost his footing and fell! Hermione disappeared from his sight. He fell further and further down into the white!. Draco did not stop falling, the emptiness consuming him, but not catching him... It would never catch him...
Draco woke up with his mouth open in a silent scream. He was in love with Granger! No, he didn't love her; he was just feeling guilty, yeah, that was it. Deep down, Draco knew that he was making excuses, because Malfoy's didn't feel guilt when contributing to a "good" cause. But was it a good cause? He groaned and rolled over, groping for the lamp on his nightstand. He was not going to get any more sleep that night without Hermione's face haunting his dreams. When his hand found the switch, his four-poster was bathed in a dim, eerie light. His deep green comforter was jumbled up at the foot of his bed and his silver sheets were creased from where he lay. Draco pulled open the chest door with a slight squeak, grabbed a quill, piece of parchment, and bottle of black ink, and then closed it with a sharp snap.
"Dear Madame Pomfrey," he narrated quietly as he wrote. The quill scratched the parchment in a loopy cursive that did not belong to Draco's hand. A half an hour later, he signed "Narcissa Malfoy," elegantly at the bottom. He read over the letter, making sure there were no mistakes.
Dear Madame Pomfrey,
My son has recently suffered an injury involving a Quidditch match where he received an aneurysm from a bludger. I was shocked and dismayed that there was nothing in the school to remedy the unfortunate situation, so I decided it was upon me to heal my son. I have made some contacts with a few highly-ranked wizards and managed to grasp the very elixir that could restore Draco's arm to perfect working condition. He has been sent the Escensio and is now able to go about with his schoolwork,
I thank you for your efforts on my son, but a mother's touch is always best.
Yours, Narcissa Malfoy
Satisfied with the result, Draco folded the letter crisply and slipped it inside an envelope. The dungeon was as dark as ever, but Draco could tell by the animated silver clock on his nightstand that it was morning. This was the start of a new day, a new chance to see the plan unfolding. There were more obstacles ahead, and always the threat of someone noticing the difference in Granger; her friends already knew something was up, and had made it clear the night before. It would all be worth it in the end, he told himself, ignoring the sinking feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach over the course of the long, restless night.
He trudged out of the room carrying his steaming drink and letter.
----
The Owlery was crisp with morning light when he swung the thick wooden door open. A strong whiff of owl dung met Draco's nostrils with a furious force. Draco held his breath, not used to the revolting odor that was the natural order of animals. His own eagle owl was perched on the highest shelf with his head tucked under his wing asleep but straight-backed and at the ready, just as he had been trained to be.
Draco whistled a well-practiced tune and the bird woke up nobly then ruffled his feathers and flew down to his master in one graceful swoop. Draco tied the letter to his leg with strict instructions to send it directly to Madame Pomfrey sitting at the teachers table and not to visit him at all when delivering the letter. The owl hooted in obedient understanding; then took off back to his perch to wait for mail time.
The Great Hall was mildly crowded by the time Draco took his seat at the Slytherin table no longer wearing the white sling that had become a distinguishing characteristic of him. He collected many curious stares, but he truly did not care as his thoughts were weighed down by something much more sinister.
Hermione Granger sat across the hall from him, her face uncharacteristically impassive. He was, at first, shocked to find her this way. Recalling his dream, his nightmare, where she was returned briefly to her regular stubborn self. He half expected her to shout over to him that he was in love with her, which was, of course, a completely preposterous idea. Him, in love with her? Never. But, needless to say, she didn't shout anything. She didn't move at all. She didn't regard his presence in the least bit. Draco fought the impulsive urge to run across the tables and prying students and rip the band off her wrist just so he could see her eyes looking at him with recognition, even if such acknowledgment was the look of loathing she always reserved especially for him.
Draco shook his head. Why was he having these thoughts? It disturbed him that Granger's loss of identity and will to fight was getting to him so. The Dark Lord had asked for "the Mudblood" specifically. It seemed some sort of sick reassurance to Voldemort that it would be the Mudblood, and not some mere Weasley, that ultimately brought Potter to him for the final battle. If this was successful, Draco would finally become a member of Lord Voldemort's court of Death Eaters. Lucius would finally be proud when his son also bore the Dark Mark.
It was in this instant of deep contemplation, that the mail arrived and Draco became aware of his surroundings. Above his head, he could hear rustling feathers growing louder as the post owls approached. The Slytherin table was not very crowded, as it was the weekend and most of Draco's housemates were still asleep. Breakfast was a slow ordeal and Draco began to wish that he had just stayed in bed and put the resolutions to the plan off until later.
As he picked up his folded cloth napkin, he watched his own eagle owl swoop over towards Madame Pomfrey. She snatched the letter from the owl and read it quickly. She looked up at Draco, noted the absence of his sling, then folded the letter up and went back to her pancakes and scrambled eggs.
Draco was too busy watching Pomfrey's reaction that he didn't see another owl stop impatiently in front of his plate with a copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in it's beak until it made an irritated hoot to capture his diverted attention.
Draco dropped a few Sickles into the leather pouch on the bird's claw and took the paper. At this moment, when he was watching the owl fly away, that he realized the Great Hall had silenced and all eyes were on him.
The Gryffindor table in particular looked livid. Potter was staring openly at Draco, his emerald eyes narrowed in speculation. Granger was looking in his general direction; her eyes blissful and ignorant. Weasley was reading the Daily Prophet hastily an expression of pure horror impressed upon his pale face.
"WHAT?!?" the fire-haired adversary shouted throwing the paper into his marmalade. The hall turned its head in unison to glare at the offending redhead. Ron seemed not to notice the attention he was drawing. "I can't believe it!"
What was the fiery tempered numbskull going on about now? Whatever it was, it had something to do with the paper. Draco picked up his copy of The Daily Prophet, and pulled at the white string that bound it. As the newspaper unrolled in his hand, his attention was once again diverted by Weasley's shouts.
"You had something to do with this, Malfoy! I know you did!" All eyes were once again on Draco. The Weasel was positively fuming at him from across the hall. Draco just stared back, not knowing what he was yelling about. This lack of response seemed only to fuel Weasley's anger, however, and he dramatically marched out of the Great Hall, slamming the oak doors and leaving stunned onlookers in his wake. Potter trailed pathetically after him.
The hall remained silent as the students turned back to Draco, apparently anticipating his response. He finished unrolling The Prophet and read the front page headline. He couldn't believe it. His eyes must be deceiving him. He read it again. He read it a third time. Draco dropped his napkin, pushed back from the Slytherin table, and moved swiftly, almost mechanically, out of the hall. Professor Snape left his seat at the staff table and followed quietly after him towards the dungeons.
Murmurs erupted all around the huge room as students returned to their normal meal-time chatting. Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was as quiet as ever. Not saying a word, not making a sound, oblivious to the events that had just taken place around her. In front of her covered in marmalade on the polished wood table lay Ron's copy of this morning's paper. In large bold letters, its headline read,
Lucius Malfoy released from Azkaban on orders from Minister of Magic.
This was just the best cliffhanger ever to leave it at!! The next chapter will be longer, I promise, but if you don't review I will... ponders not update, okay really, I will cry and some stuff, yeah, so please... please review.