Thank you to all for favoriting/following this story! Means so much.
I am not following the exact plot of Sarah's Child.
These characters have been through a war since they were 11, they are not going to live sane and normal lives (for this chapterlet at least).
Im only taking small sub-plots here and there!
njoy
He was pissed drunk.
That much he knew. His supply of Firewhisky has dwindled since that fateful day-that fateful fucking day they retaliated. Astoria and Scorpius. She didn't suffer-an instant Avada Kedavra and she was staring lifelessly at the entrance door. His son. His tiny little boy, they crucio'd him until his own mind broke down and his organs shut down. He was still surrounded by his favorite train set George had sent him for his birthday with a flying card. Promises to send his children to the Manor to play. Peter Pan opened to the images of the second star to the North Star. Fucking Grange and her muggle contraptions. Fucking Granger and making his son love every muggle artifact-taking him to muggle London and showing him that both worlds unite and are equal.
He missed his son so fucking much. He missed walking up the stairs and seeing Astoria humming to his son to sleep with those damn muggle lullabies. Missed having a warm body to sleep with. He missed his family.
"Feelings were a signed warrant for an easy death."
Draco stared at Granger, his eyes studying the brunette, taking in her form. He can tell he made her uncomfortable. He did not care, she was Granger and just that. He watched her bottom lip disappear between her two teeth. Granger did have a horrible habit of chewing her lip. When Draco had first noticed, Astoria was angry at him for taking a case that will lead him to Ireland (Death Eaters were still at large, he had to catch them. He just had to)-Scorpius had barely hit two and he had missed his birthday because of the month long trials- he was writing notes and studying the file of his current case when Granger had plopped down next to him at the dining room table. Her very own workload making a muffled thud that somewhat echoed in the large room. Meeting her eyes, he eyed her lip being gnawed she gave him the same tight lipped smile as she gave everyone. The same one that made him falter in his words the first time he received it. Then Draco realized Granger didn't really smile. It never reached her eyes. Her eyes did not have the same wrinkles at the corner of her eyes like she did during Hogwarts. Before death was around every corner and you had to be wary of to trust with the secrets that made home in your brain.
"Feelings were a signed warrant for an easy death."
His father's words echoed in his mind as he took another swig of firewhisky, his stomach turning at the burning sensation before calming down. He stood from his armchair that was his fathers before him and his grandfather's before him and so on and so forth. Allestr always keeping furniture intact. Salazar bless that old elf.
Granger tilted her head to the side before she lifted her legs to her chest, the plush cushions comforting her somewhat. She was lost in her mind. Draco knew. She had that faraway look, the same one he had when a certain sound or smell or someone's touch took him back to his childhood. He wouldn't know how to remove himself from those memories, no matter the words his wife would whisper in encouragement, the memories still plagued him like sticky glue, never leaving always with the sticky residue.
The same faraway look he seen Potter and George and bloody Luna and everyone who fought in goddamn war. Draco recognized it so well.
"Gran..ger."
Draco watched her dull eyes of dark colored rum look at him, watching them in understanding that Draco was in fact very much in pain, just like she was, "You should sit back down. You'll fall flat on your face at the rate you've been drinking."
His laugh echoed, harsh and raw against his throat.
It irritated her ears.
He saw her visibly flinch.
"Come here." She stood, her pencil skirt now wrinkled along with her silk blouse, taking his hand she started heading towards the couch she had long ago transfigured.
"Have you always thought..you were better?"
His voice was by her ear and the snarl reverberating in her head. Draco watched her shoulders become even more stiff, watching as her eyes widen at his words. She wasn't innocent. She never was. She lost all her innocence in the war and the longing in her eyes when she watched Scorpius. She removed her palm from his, acting as if it was his skin that burned her.
"You're nobody Granger." Draco seized her throat, pulling her face towards his, knowing he was a whole head taller and she was on her tip toes, "You always sighed as if I as troublesome. As if I was the one doing the wrong. You don't think I didn't notice?"
He touched her lips, forcing his tongue in, exploring every ridge and crevice. Her guttural moan and her hands clutching his dress shirt like she was a wanton whore. He tightened his grip, hearing Granger wheeze, those moans now whimpers. She was damaged, she wasn't pure like his Astoria. She felt wrong.
With a shout he pushed her towards the door, "Get out! You fucking cunt! You're nothing compared to her-to me. You're nothing!"
He grabbed the last of the firewhisky aiming at her, a torn war cry filling the whole study. Her sharp cry never registering to him, tears clouding his eyes as he saw Granger scramble out the study, seeing her clutch her jaw.
He banged on his knees, screaming and shouting. Tears clouding his visions and his throat burning for air.
"Feelings were a signed warrant for an easy death."
Well wasn't his father completely right.
She rehearsed her speech in her mind (although knowing the detailed and well supported speech she memorized, she really wasn't going to talk much.) but the memory of his lips on hers kept distracting her. And his insults and the shards of glasses that flew by her head too but mostly the feel of his lips. Now as she faced the Chief Warlock she sported a nice pink scar on her jaw.
His tongue was warm despite his cold demeanor and cold skin with his equally cold touch.
Nothing Granger..
Hermione looked at Rebar and nodded her head when she saw him frown. Listen. This was hard. Why was this so hard? Rebar cleared his throat, peering at Hermione over his spectacles; her hair was loose amongst her shoulders, no longer the thick ringlets of curls Astoria had taught her to magic on herself. They were back to their unmanageable thick bushiness. She had three oval bruises on the pale column of her neck. Frowning he wonder who dared bruised the worn down woman, or if the screams plagued her again.
"Ms. Granger, I am not one to meddle with someone else's affair, but I worry. You are my best-and I mean best- of what any department have seen in decades. Although, I must ask...what happened to you?"
Merlin and anything and everything help her. Everyone past her age has asked that question to her since she walked inside the walls of the Ministry. Pansy had stared at the bruises before meeting her eyes and had stated that she was alive before she turned on her loafer and walked towards the floo.
Everyone was so bloody nosy.
Hermione sat up straighter, almost hurting her spine from the unnatural position. She didn't like to stand up straight as she was taught by her mother any longer. She liked to cave in. She wanted to know if harm were to come to her, they'll be minimum damage. Hermione knew if her mother were to remember her she would smack the youngest Granger while brushing her hair back behind her ear before crooning, "A lady never hunches. If you to hunch, do it in privacy."
She missed her mum.
Crossing her legs, Hermione concentrated on a hole on her leggings before steeling herself. She looked up and meet the deep blue eyes of the old man, "Henry Belay. I know he has no visitors unless you're his lawyer or the Auror in charge of the case, but I want to speak to him." She arched a brow at him, watching his face contort to confusion and sudden understanding. He respected Hermione, they worked closely over the years since she started as a psychiatric medi-witch when she was 20. Seven years later and he still saw the witch daily. Her testimony's and research viable towards the cases she poured her soul on.
Sighing, he nodded, "Belay is a monstrous man, Hermione. He...grew up with Riddle, he helped plan attacks against muggle-borns and muggles and anyone who didn't agree with their cause. What makes you think if you were to speak to him, he would talk?"
Hermione stood, her medical robes billowing to place, "Because Chief Warlock Rebar, I have something in common with him."
Rebar stood, watching the young witch exit his office. He raised his voice an octave, "Now, Ms. Granger. May I ask what that is?"
He never recieved an answer.
Leaving his office, throwing him the same tight lipped smile she gave everyone,Hermione ignored his question (if Rebar didn't respect her and her mind, she probably would have been fired immediately for such action). She sighed as she looked up at the intricate ceiling of the Law and Justice of Wizardry floor of the Ministry. Henry Belay. Astoria's and Scorpius murderer. The man with the shaven face and the sharp jaw, the man with the deep green eyes. The man who raped for the jest and killed because of boredom. As much as she wanted to ignore it, they did have something in common. Something she wish she didn't; that didn't plague her dreams and made question what it meant exactly to be one of the wizarding world's heros.
We both questioned what we fought for.
