Breathless
Summary: Draco's newfound realizations cause him to struggle with everything his father has taught him to believe. Can he break away from the imminent doom to which his father's ideals have him headed?
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine, but instead belong to the lovely JKR.
Chapter One: Blown Away
Here I stand at Malfoy Manor, the place that I have called home for the past 17 years of my life, surrounded by my father and his "associates." The current topic of discussion is the same as always. Destroying Harry Potter so that Voldemort can regain power over the entire wizarding world, ridding it of all muggles and mudbloods so that pureblooded wizards will have supreme power once again, blah, blah, blah. I put on my famous Malfoy sneer which leaves me free to daydream a bit, about things that I actually give a damn about.
Okay the thing is that I, too, not to long ago in fact, shared the belief that purebloods should rule over muggle-borns being that we were superior since we had been here first and all. But then I realized: So What? What difference did it make who was here first? In the grand scheme of things, what difference does it make whether the blood running through one's veins is "pure" or not? Blood is blood, right? In fact, the truth is that I did not so much agree with this belief so much as that I had an intense respect for my father, who at one time, could do no wrong in my eyes. Now, I see him for what he truly is. We'll get to that later, however. I must admit though that I did not have this eye opening revelation completely by my own doing. I had a push from a little, curly-haired, muggleborn witch, you see.
Hermione Granger. The "brightest witch of our age." And she truly is, too. The sad thing is that I spent more than six years making her life a living hell for being a muggleborn, or a "mudblood" as I so loved to call her. Now, I cringe at hearing the word spilled from anyone's lips. Before going on with my story, I must first mention this small fact. As a Malfoy, I am used to being handed anything I could ever ask for on a silver platter. I always had all the material things I could ever want, I had Crabbe and Goyle around to do my bidding and prevent me from receiving any bodily harm, and there was also never a shortage of pretty witches around, willing to fulfill any…needs of mine at any time. But I digress.
As far back as I can remember, probably from the day I was born, I was taught about Harry Potter and how he had defeated Voldemort as an infant. My father, of course, was not particularly pleased with the likes of Potter for destroying his precious "Dark Lord." I was told that one day, Voldemort would rise up into power again and defeat the Potter boy for good. So when he and I began school at Hogwarts the very same year, my father was beside himself at the prospect of me spying on him and eventually leading him to his defeat by said "Lord." As a young, impressionable boy of eleven, I too was excited by this prospect. Then along came Granger.
From the first time I lay eyes on that sassy little brown-haired witch, I was utterly taken with her. Oh, she was a proud little thing and she still is, I'm very glad to say. When she became best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Completely-And-Utterly-Make-Me-Vomit (ahem), along with his scarlet-haired pauper friend, my heart was torn up. Any chance at any semblance of a relationship with her was completely lost to me.
I was envious of the fact that Potter was famous in the wizarding community, even somewhat in the muggle world. Everyone knew his story and his scar, and there was a constant buzz about him everywhere he went. He had fame, fortune, (as did I) popularity, and of course, the fair Granger (alas, I did not). I had even attempted to make friends with him that first day on the Hogwarts Express, but he refused to shake my hand, thus leading to years of rivalries and enmity that I am just now realizing were completely on the petty side.
Back to Granger, my favorite subject of all. As I said earlier, I spent many years tormenting the poor girl, while filled with conflicting emotions regarding her. While I did truly consider both Potter and Weasley to be enemies of mine, what was between Hermione and I was on a completely different level. It went deeper, you could say. Despite the things I said to her, mudblood and such, I never actually felt vindictive towards her. In truth, I thought that getting a rise out of her was fantastic because it was the only I could get her to pay attention to me. And let me tell you, there was never and will never be, a sight lovelier to behold than an angry, passionate Hermione Granger. I'm sure if I could have, I would have swooned like a schoolgirl when faced with her wrath.
I was fascinated by her. Despite being a muggleborn, she always managed to have the highest grades in our class and was more adept to performing magic than were most of the pureblooded Slytherins. Excluding moi, of course. Beautiful without knowing it, well-liked despite her know-it-all tendencies, intelligent as hell, none of those things were qualities that I had been taught that a muggleborn would possess. And kind, always so kind. Always taking one for the underdog. An example being the SPEW campaign she set up, attempting to gain equal rights for elves although even the elves weren't to keen on this idea.
A better example: myself. It was during sixth year, shortly after the death of Dumbledore at Snape's hand, and I had just received the beating of a lifetime from father and a crucio from hell from that pathetic excuse for a lord for being a "miserable failure", as I believe they both put it. Hermione had stumbled upon me in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, where I was laying, hoping for a swift death so that I wouldn't have to face anyone again ever.
I felt so trapped during those days. I did not share my father's beliefs, I did not want to follow Voldemort, and I did not want to be a murderer of muggles. Or anyone else for that matter. However, I felt that I had little choice but to follow in my father's footsteps as that was all I knew, all that was familiar to me at that point. Standing in front of Dumbledore that night, pointing my wand at him, I knew I would be unable to kill him. I knew that if he had lived, I would have changed sides right then and there and taken him up on his offer to protect myself and my mother.
Anyways, so Hermione happened to be traipsing through the Forbidden Forest and stumbled across me. It seems that she, Potter and Weasley had been looking for the giant brother of the half-giant, bumbling oaf (I kid because I love) for some reason or the other, and had chosen to split up, each covering a certain area. Luckily for me. Upon first seeing me in my quite broken state, Hermione looked quite scared I must say, and more than a little bit frightening as she paced the small area we were in, muttering to herself. She then proceeded to scream at me for a while, calling me every name in the book, before finally exhausting herself and settling down on the ground next to me. She took in all of my injuries and then healed me, actually took the time to heal the boy who had just recently tried to kill her beloved Headmaster, and who had allowed Deatheaters into Hogwarts in order to target students Just…Like…Her. Talk about being blown away.
As she healed me, we talked. I found myself spilling everything to her and I was both surprised and grateful when she listened with an objective ear, even becoming sympathetic at some points of my story. When she had finished healing me, and I had finished talking, she had tears in her beautiful dark eyes. She touched my cheek and whispered, "I'm so sorry that all of those things happened to you. You deserve better. You ARE better." I looked into her eyes to see if she meant what she said and was shocked and moved to see that she actually did mean it. I reached for her hand and she entwined our fingers. We sat in comfortable silence for awhile, both trying to comprehend what had just happened between us. Then we heard it.
"Hermione?" The Weasel's voice, at that point in time, the most annoying sound I had ever bared witness to. Then again.
"Hermione? Where are you?" Potty this time. Equally annoying. I heard her sigh and then she released my hand and stood. She turned to me.
"I have to go," she said. "There's no telling what they'll do if they catch you here." I gave her a tiny smile and nodded, although it pained me to know that she was leaving me.
Just then, the two boy wonders came crashing though the bushes and trees surrounding us and stopped cold in their tracks. Mouths agape and wands drawn, they cried in unison, "Hermione! What they hell is HE doing here?"
"And why are you here looking all cozy with him?" added the Weasel.
Suddenly, I am brought back into the present when I notice that my father and all the rest of the Deatheaters are looking at me expectantly. "Isn't that right, Draco?" my father says silkily, it being more of a command than a question. Whatever IT is.
"Absolutely, Father," I say. They keep staring at me, so what do I do next? Why, I sneer at them of course. Suddenly they are all nodding in approval and life amongst the muggle-haters becomes business as usual.
