Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. You know about everything else.
A/N: I am unbelievably sorry for keeping you waiting for an unreasonable amount of months. But finally, thanks to the fans that decided to email me and contact me through Myspace, I am updating. Excuse me if my writing style has changed. It has been seven months.
Chapter 3Our Emotions
Recap: Hermione and Damien received an invitation to Draco's wedding to another woman, Cecil. They both went to the wedding, Hermione still in love with Draco. Unable to take the pain of seeing her love marry another woman, Damien and Hermione decide to leave, only to be stopped by a deatheater. Damien, having his wand, duels with the deatheater until Advada Kedava was sent zooming at Damien, sadly hitting Cecil instead.
It wasn't intentional. Honestly it wasn't. Her death was a mistake, but nonetheless, inevitable. As big as a loss that it was, that man would just have to live with it. People deal with losses everyday and they still make it through, barely, but they make it through. Take my mother for example. Strong willed and determined, she has made it 13 years without any outside help, fighting for her life each and every day. And amazingly has room left in her heart to still love those that abandoned her.
Three months have passed since her death, not a day going by in which mother has regretted her actions, actions of which she has not done. I felt bad for what I had done, howlers pouring in from angry and distraught family members, swearing vengeance and pain upon her. But mother has done nothing but continue about her day, tending to her garden of Easter lilies. But a letter my mother refused to leave unopened was her first letter from Dumbledore in over thirteen years. Ironically, it wasn't even to her. It was to me.
Master Damien,
I don't know what possessed you to do such a horrid thing. Just like your father, unable to let things go. Your father fell in love with another woman. Your mother will do the same. Your mother thinks that she is alone when she is not. I am always here for her. Harry, our defense against the dark arts teacher is here as well as Ron. She is not forgotten and she doesn't think that. I think you aren't really mad. Bloody hell, you're just frustrated. You will get over the hatred of your father and will learn to love him because he is your father. Until then, I will see you on September 1st at the sorting hat ceremony. Good luck to you Damien and the best wishes to your mother.
Sincerely,
Headmaster
Albus Dumbledore.
I hissed at the letter, tossing in the trash, not taking a second look at it. I pulled out a clean piece of parchment and began my own letter to the headmaster.
Headmaster,
I find hilarious how you know what my mother thinks. I find it even funnier how you know what I'm thinking. I am well aware of my emotions and you cannot be anymore wrong. You might as well be saying that Voldemort is alive and you would be more right than your interpretations of my feelings. I feel hatred and anger toward my father. Whether my accusations are correct, I do not know. But what I do know is that you were never there for my mother. She wouldn't have been in hiding for so long and she would be safe if you were there for her. She wasn't then and she isn't now. But luckily for both of us, what you think matters a little less than nothing to me. I cannot wait seeing the three of the four men that slowly emotionally killed my mother for thirteen years. Good day headmaster.
Damien
I didn't know whether or not to sign my name as Granger or Granger-Malfoy. Eventually, I just decided that neither would be appropriate. It was strange in a way, how heartless and cold I am, the only affection I feel would be for my mother, my hawk, and quidditch. The death of that fiancé person didn't faze me, not the slightest. Maybe I made a mistake.
Weakness? Is that you I hear in his voice?
Shut up.
-HGDM-
The emotions over the past few months have been a roller coaster that none in the world could challenge. Each and everyday it was harder and harder to get out of bed knowing that I was alone, helpless, and heartbroken. But the things that made me not want to open my eyes, to pretend I was dead, was the fact that I could do nothing, absolutely nothing, to get justice for the death of Cecil. It was a deatheater that caused her death, not that little boy. But I refused to believe that. I was able to convince myself that that little boy, experienced and cold hearted, killed my fiancé and I could do nothing but stand there and agonize over the pain of losing her. It made me feel worthless as a person, as a man, as her lover. Staying at the house would only make me relive the painful past, having pictures of us all over the mansion. Her brilliant smile, soft violet eyes, the way her hair moved elegantly against the gentle breeze, her delicate laugh…all of that was burned into the memory. So I retreated back to Hogwarts, stocked up in my room, sulking over my incredible loss. The headmaster did little to try to console me, saying that this was my own battle that I need to fight. One would think that after all these years he would stop the cryptic crap but no. If anything, he was more so now than he was when I was a student.
"Draco, I call for your presence in my office right away." said an unexpected voice from the fireplace, causing me to nearly tumble from my chair.
Allowing my heartbeat to steady, I made my way down to the headmaster's office and met up with Neville and Harry. The old hatred for each other eventually subsided, having to work by each other for more than ten years does that you I guess. Harry was still tall and lanky, the muscle from his old quidditch years slowly turning into nothing. Hair disheveled and glasses now gone, he was a new man. Neville's chubby figure and innocent looked was traded for a more dignified one, one that showed confidence and knowledge. Taking over Professor Sprout's position as Herbology teacher, Neville was now one of the most respected teachers on campus.
"I'm glad that you all came." Dumbledore greeted warmly, sweeping an aged hand over a set of chairs laid out for us.
"What's this about Albus? I have many things to attend to." Parvati Patil said impatiently, another student to take over an old professor's place.
"Well, as I begin this meeting, the subject I will pose to you may not seem that important but in the later days of the years; you will understand why it is so important for you to understand the situation."
"Situation? Albus, how serious is this?" Neville asked, leaning forward a little with either intrigue or worry.
"Well, it's shifty. There are many factors, such as his behavior, your behaviors, the other students, and events that will take place."
"Wait. His? Are you talking about a student here Alubs? I assure you Headmaster that there is no student that will come across us that we will not be able to handle. Now, if you'll excuse me."
After all these years, if there's one of us that haven't changed that much since Hogwarts, it was Parvati Patil. She's still one of the biggest gossipers among the school and she's not even a student. Parvati always managed to twist something that doesn't involve her into her becoming the sole victim of it. It was amusing sometimes, her theatrics, but those other times, it was a pure nuisance.
"Miss Patil, if you would please take your seat, you are not dismissed."
Her faced contorted in disbelief and shock.
"Albus, I am no longer your student! I am an adult and I deserved to be treated with respect. Much the same respect you would give to McGonagall."
There you go. The victim once again.
"If you want respect, then show me some as well. The matter at hand is not something I will allow you to blow off to go shopping with your friends, Paravti. This is serious. There is a student coming to this school starting out as a third year. He's highly trained in dueling, strengths evenly distributed to his offense and defense. His wit is sharp, his tolerance low, his understanding even lower. He's not someone that the students will want to mess with. He is coming here unwillingly."
"A new student eh? Well, where's the lad transferring from?" Harry asked, ruffling his hair, not changing its shape.
"He's not a transfer student. He's just…new."
This piqued my curiosity. There has never been a new student skipping two whole grades. And another thing is why he wasn't admitted into the school from the beginning. How special was this kid? A part of me wondered if this was going to be one of those 'Harry Potter' kids. It's the new title that the students gave to one another if you got special treatment from any of the teacher because of a situation or because you were special. My hairs stood on end by the way Dumbledore stared at me as he began again.
"To say that he's angry would be an extreme understatement. When you all will be teaching him, you'll need to understand and you must have patience for his behavior."
"What's this kid's name anyways?"
"His name is Damien. Just Damien, no last name."
My jaw clenched at the name, heartbeat increased dangerously. I had a white-knuckle grip on the chair, enough to make Neville look over nervously.
"Draco…" he began.
"No, Albus. Don't even bother. How could you let that murderer even try to come here!"
"Draco…"
"He killed my fiancé. My fiancé! AT HER OWN WEDDING!"
"Draco! He is coming here out of my request! You need to understand why he feels the way he does."
Regaining posture, I stood slowly and folded my arms over my chest slowly.
"I'm waiting. Why does he feel the way he does? Because we all know I care what that little murderer thinks and feels. So tell me, why?"
He opened his mouth but closed it, pondering whether saying anything was wise. I honestly didn't care what he had to say. As much as the rage and pain in my heart clouded my sense, I still knew one thing: I was wrong. He had little if nothing to do with her murder. But who was I to blame? Sad as it was, I needed someone to blame. I didn't want to accept her death as anything else but intentional. And he just happened to be my target of my fury and anguish.
"As disappointed as I am in him, I am in no position to spread his business."
"Then don't bring it up." I said in a deathly whisper, storming out of his office, knocking down chair, tables, whatever lay in my path.
"Malfoy! Malfoy, wait!" Neville yelled after me.
I wasn't in a mood to listen. I didn't want to hear anything. Images of that night flashed over and over in my head. I burst in my room, out of breath, beads of sweat running rivers down the sides of my face and on my chest, soaking my undershirt. I was huffing slightly, leaning against my bathroom counter. Staring back at me was a man I didn't know. He was lanky, bags etched heavily under his eyes. His hair was no longer that flawless white blond, blow in the wind elegantly type. It was ruffled and hard to manage, losing its shine and luster as I crept into the stage of hopelessness. Anger and rage filled my senses and brewed madly within my veins. Out of all people to come here, to this school, Damien. Out of all people to die, on that day, Cecil. And finally, out of all people that I needed the most, wanted so badly to come back alive, Hermione. Weariness washed over me like a tide upon the beach. My feet automatically dragging me back to my king sized bed, loosing myself in my troubled thoughts and sea of sheets.
-HGDM-
"Mum, I'm sorry, but it's only the smart thing to do. You know what we risk you coming?" I tried to explain.
She had a fake smile plastered to her face, nodding her head as if she really did understand, but her eyes told a different story. They were full of remorse and disappointment in my choice for her to stay home rather than to take me to Platform ¾. Even though I wanted her there badly enough, I knew the risks were too many in count. And the problem wasn't that she didn't understand; it may have been that she didn't want to understand. Since the "wedding" I knew she was trying so hard to keep her promise to me, to try and regain a normal stance in her life and try to move on past the horrific events. But again, she may not want to. Those events shaped her into the magnificent woman she is today. Gave her strength enough for me to live the way I choose. With all these thoughts in mind, it made me think that maybe it was I that failed to understand.
"Alright Damien, I understand. You're going to be late, now go." She stated firmly, pushing me towards the fireplace.
I felt horrible, but that only lasted a few seconds before my natural instinct to be protective took over.
"Sorry mum." I whispered, whisking away through the fireplace to another one in a backward ally near the train station. I brushed myself off and gathered my things, making my way alone to Platform 9 ¾.
-HGDM-
It was an odd feeling, being alone in the little cottage I called home. I always had Damien by my side. For once in the thirteen years I've been on the run and in hiding, sometimes barely making it out alive, I felt lost. All my life I knew what I had to do: run and fight, run and fight. It was a continuous process which I got used to, strengthened not only myself but my son for his future challenges. I sat down slowly on a bench in front, the high morning sun hidden behind numerous clouds, all different shades of grey. I cursed the common English weather: murky and forever gloomy. But on those days that the sun did peek from behind its covers, it was a sight to be reckoned with. The morning dew glistened on blades of grass, freshly mowed.
In my white, sundress and flat flip-flops, I finally decided I needed something new in my life. With Damien off to Hogwarts, I came across a hobby that I had long forgotten about since I began running: reading. I knew the perfect spot as well. The store's name was Belle's, after the owner of the store. She was an uppity young lady with chestnut hair that she wore in her natural out-of-bed style, usually pinned back on one side with a little flower pin. Belle and I hit it off, spending long hours at my cottage in front of the fireplace, a new book in each hand everyday. We'd watch Damien play with his broomstick and balls for quidditch. It was all great for a few months, before the deatheaters found out. When they did, I cut myself off from Belle, explaining to her that it was too dangerous for her, that she had nothing to do with this. Against her will, Belle only had to accept.
The store was only just beginning when I was a frequent shopper, but now, it was expanding and busier than ever. Books were constantly flying in and out of the store, customers locking themselves in their own mind with their book in one hand and a coffee in another, slouched in squishy armchairs of assorted colors. I traveled to the back of the store where the hustle and bustle of the street and the mutters of the customs began to fade, allowing me to hear the faint music of the store. People didn't know about this place, and that's how I wanted it to stay. Here and there you found a few people, but this wasn't exactly the kind of thing people would want to read. The books in this section were about history and such, Hogwarts and magical creatures, but what people failed to notice was that here it wasn't all that bad. They had diaries back here; of people that survived the wars with Voldemort and diaries about love and compassion.
I skimmed the books absentmindedly, finally coming across a book that piqued my curiosity. I reached up but my hand collided with another's, a man. I blushed and retracted my hand, mumbling something inaudible and walked away.
"Wait! If you want the book, I can get it down for you if you'd like. You were reaching for Her and Him right? Here."
He brought down the book gingerly and placed it in my hands. He smiled nicely and introduced himself. His name was Evan. He was tall and slightly built; broad shoulders and a pair of green-grey eyes that looked like Harry and Damien's eyes meshed into one color. His hair was ruffled, a color a shade darker than burnt sienna. His cologne smelt crisp and fresh yet intriguing. We sat in my corner and we had a quaint conversation and eventually agreed to meet up later for coffee and cake. He left me with a smile on my face and a feeling that I haven't felt for a long time: attraction.
A/N: I think this is where I'm going to leave it. The chapter was originally going to be a lot longer but I didn't want to keep your waiting more than I had. Now while I was writing this, I found myself writing in the second person and I just want to know how my reviewers would react to this. Do you all prefer second person or first person? I keep switching and I can't decide. So I guess R&R your responses and thanks for waiting. : Lots of love.
