A/N: This fic is a Dramione "re-write" of HBP. I had such a fun time writing it! This story has been stuck in my head for a long time, burning to get out. It's complete at around 150K words. I will post updates regularly.
This fic features the perspectives of Hermione, Draco, and Theo, and Andromeda. I have intentionally left out Harry, Ron, and Snape's perspectives. Theo becomes more prevalent as the story progresses.
One of my goals for this fic was to keep the characters "in character," and to make Dramione develop as naturally as possible BUT fair warning, (also spoiler alert) there is a bit of a Harry/Hermione and Draco/Hermione love-triangle, mostly in the first half. Don't worry, H/Hr never really materializes— Dramione is the true pairing.
Some chapters contain lines and paragraphs directly from HBP (some chapters contain none), and the story follows a very similar timeline to HBP. I intend no plagiarism, but I do want to say that I was very inspired by the fic "Clean" by Olivieblake, which I HIGHLY recommend. It's amazing.
Please be prepared for a SLOW BURN :) I'm a big fan of symbolism and Easter eggs, so you'll notice some throughout.
The first few chapters focus on setting up the story, which I felt was important for setting up this long-ish fic. I hope I don't lose you early on, there are plenty of Dramione moments to come. Some chapters are short, some long.
Warning: There are mentions of violence and child abuse. No smut.
I have a Spotify playlist of songs I enjoyed listening to while writing this story, entitled "The Other Side Dramione Fanfic," if you want to listen while you read!
The image for this fic was found via Google search, I hope the creator does not mind me using it here. I'm not sure who created it, but if you have info regarding the creator please let me know and I will ask permission and/or give credit.
Thank you for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it.
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The Other Side
"STOP!"
The power of Draco's desperation resonated over the echo of his mother's agonized screams.
Shaking with fear and fury, he broke through his aunt Bellatrix's grasp, her long, jagged nails, as black as night, tearing at his arms.
"Draco—!" She seethed as he lunged forward in an attempt to shelter Narcissa, who now lay unconscious on the cold flagstone floor, from further torture. Draco stood resolute at the receiving end of Voldemort's wand, his light gray eyes blazing through the dim light.
"Foolish boy. You dare defy me?" Voldemort hissed.
Draco did not move.
Voldemort did not hesitate.
"Crucio."
Knives— burning hot— pierced every inch of his skin, every muscle— every joint immobilized with excruciating pain. His skull was split in two.
Voldemort's Cruciatus lasted only a few moments, but when Draco came to upon his hands and knees on the floor of Malfoy Manor's drawing room, he was certain it had been an eternity.
"My Mother— does not deserve—" Draco breathed, his voice ragged and unfamiliar to even himself.
"I will decide what she— and what you— deserve. Your father," Voldemort spit out the word, as if it tasted foul, "owes me a great debt. I dare say your mother understands this… but it seems you, young Draco, have much to learn."
"My Lord—" Bellatrix whispered, her head bowed low. Both wizards ignored her.
Draco's thoughts were a flurry, he felt as if the ground were shifting beneath him.
"I wish to take on my father's debt, my Lord, to begin repayment for his errors. I— I want to take the Mark," Draco said, as firmly as his voice— and his fear— would allow. His eyes darted to his mother briefly before he slowly rose from the floor. To his immense relief,Voldemort did not stop him, but he made sure to keep his head bowed in subservience. "I wish to serve you. Allow me to prove my loyalty."
There was no other way, Draco was sure of it.
He ventured a glance upward and found Voldemort grinning, his red eyes burning with vile amusement. The effect was grotesque.
"Prove your loyalty—" Voldemort spat. "The apple does not fall far from the tree, I fear… and both seem rotten. You sound so like Lucius; your father made me many promises. Do you wish to share his fate as well?"
The memory of the sight of his father's vacant expression and the sound of his feeble voice echoed through Draco's mind.
"No, my Lord. Let me show you that I do not share my father's weaknesses. I certainly have no desire to follow in his footsteps—"
"Empty words… you are not even of age. What use do you have now, young Draco? I already possess everything your name has afforded you," Voldemort replied icily, gesturing his hand in a sweeping motion to indicate his control over Malfoy Manor, and his mother and aunt too— his family. "How could you possibly serve me?"
Draco glanced at his mother, the crumpled silver trim of her dark gray robes still immobilized on the floor. He wracked his brain for an answer, but none came. It was true, he realized, he had nothing to offer, certainly nothing Voldemort might value.
He was barely sixteen; he hadn't even finished school yet…
Draco sucked in a breath of air, struck by an idea.
"Hogwarts," he whispered. "I— I can get you into Hogwarts."
The sound of Voldemort's maniacal laugh reverberated through the room.
"You are both as weak and as foolish as Lucius."
Draco made every effort to stand firm, even though every inch of his body ached with the lingering effects of Voldemort's torture. He worked to keep his face impassive, to prevent his eyes from straying again to his mother's limp form.
"I know a way," he said, his voice now cool and measured. "It's hidden— I believe even from Dumbledore."
Voldemort's eyes flashed to him as quickly as he'd cast his Crucio, and Draco resisted every urge to look away, suddenly feeling as though he were stupefied. The sight of the Vanishing Cabinets at Hogwarts and Borgin and Burkes— the faintly carved Runes etched on their doors— rushed to the forefront of his mind unhindered, along with the memory of his fellow Slytherin, Montague, lost for weeks after he'd been shoved inside one of them.
He's reading my mind, Draco realized. Legilimency.
Voldemort grinned, but this time with eerie pleasure.
"Perhaps you may be more useful than your father after all… Bellatrix—"Voldemort's gaze swept right over Narcissa to land on Draco's wide-eyed aunt, "—remove yourself from this room, and take your sister with you—"
"But, my Lord—" Bellatrix pleaded, her wild dark eyes glancing from Voldemort to Draco and back again.
Draco looked away. Bellatrix had been absent from the great majority of his life, nothing more than a glimmer of pain in his mother's eyes throughout his childhood, and now that she was a part of his life, he rather wished she weren't.
He knew his mother still cared for her sister despite Bellatrix's impulsiveness, her clear— yet undeniably cruel— magical prowess, her unbridled desire to become Voldemort's right hand, and her obvious madness, but it was only now that Draco realized his own indifference to her.
"Do you wish to take on some of the retribution for your brother-in-law's failure? Perhaps you miss the walls of Azkaban?"
"No— I— forgive me, M—"
"Take her and leave us! And tell Wormtail to summon Severus at once. We must initiate our newest Death Eater as soon as possible. Tonight."
"Thank you, My Lord," Draco replied, bowing low. Relief coursed through his veins as a sulking Bellatrix levitated his mother from the room.
"You are young, Draco, but so was I when I set off on my road to power. I see your thirst, your ambition— follow me, and you may achieve greatness. But you will find a life sentence in Azkaban preferable to the fate that will await you and your dear mother should you fail me… or betray me."
Draco was unaware of the sting of his own fingernails digging into his palms, his relief now overshadowed by his anger— his hatred.
"Yes, My Lord. I will not fail you."
/