School: Hogwarts
Year: 1
Prompt: "Oh, I may be on the side of angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them." – Sherlock
Theme: Writing School - Dialogue
Story Title: Angels or Demons?
W/C: 934 (10% leeway)
A/N: AU where the Malfoys defect causing a mass exodus of TDL's followers.
Angels or Demons?
It was a dull, grey morning in London. Rain battered down as the wind pushed against the glass windows. Gathered around the kitchen table of 12 Grimmauld Place was the Golden Trio discussing the events of the past month. Well, one event in particular.
One dark, windy day with the time edging towards midnight, there was a firm knock on the door. Sirius opened it and there, the Malfoys stood in a state never seen before. Lucius was held up by Draco and Narcissa, blood pouring out of his side. In clothing stained with drying blood and mud, the other two Malfoys were not looking much better.
"Please help us," rasped out Draco. Molly quickly bundled them inside, settled Lucius in a spare room and force-fed Narcissa and Draco homemade stew before ushering them to bed too. Nobody else moved or made a sound in shock as all this happened.
That was three weeks ago. Since their arrival, the Malfoys had been quite reclusive. Although, Narcissa had taken to helping Molly in the kitchen, bonding over a shared need to keep busy. This happened to be a rare morning where they weren't in the kitchen first, so the teenagers had taken it over, claiming the need to do schoolwork.
"I still don't trust him," Ron said. "He's up to something."
"Oh, give over, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
"Hermione, you can't trust him," Harry warned.
"Harry, don't you start. I just think there must be some reason that the Malfoys have defected to our side, but none of you are brave enough to ask. There must have been some sort of light that made them see the truth," Hermione said, explaining her thoughts. Harry hummed at her, disagreeing with her sentiments.
Ron tapped his nails on the table, "Maybe they're spies for Voldemort."
"Who casts a curse that bad," Hermione questioned, "on themselves?"
Nobody had heard the small creak of the stairs as a lithe being descended or noticed the shadow that moved slightly in the hall, listening in on every word. It shuffled awkwardly as Hermione deflected every accusatory remark. Quick, shallow breaths were taken as panic began to set in. Did the opinion of the boys spread through the entire house? Would they have to return to that place? Would they have to watch their parents be tortured? Feel the burn of the Cruciatus curse expand through their veins?
A thump in the hall outside the kitchen alerted the occupants to their company. In unison, they jumped up, whipped out their wands and edged towards the door. Hermione gasped at the shuddering figure on the ground and darted towards them. She holstered her wand and grabbed both of Draco's hands. Kneeling beside him, she shifted his palms to one hand and using the other one, raised his visage to face her. Without speaking, Hermione began to breathe deeply and unconsciously, Draco began to copy her motions.
He could feel his breathing begin to slow down. His vision began to focus on the mess of curls in front of him. Her tentative smile showed clearly.
"Help me get him up," Hermione gestured at the boys. Together, they gathered him up and moved him to the kitchen table. Whipping up a quick cup of tea, Hermione pushed the full container into his hands. He sipped the warm drink and allowed the thoughts to clear.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head, his eyes darting to the boys who still glared at him. Hermione frowned as she was denied the answers she so clearly wanted. In a shockingly observant display, Harry noticed Draco's edginess at his and Ron's presence. Quickly, he made excuses for them and dragged Ron out of the room.
"Is it easier with them gone?" Hermione asked, waiting until it was confirmed before continuing. "Was it Him that caused the panic attack?" Draco nodded his head again. He looked up at her from where he had been staring at the murky tea. Her wide brown eyes begged him to tell her. Giving in to the urge, he opened his mouth and began his story; the story that encompassed fifteen years and took three hours to be told.
It had been two months since that morning encounter. Week by week, more people were turning up to the Order's residence looking for shelter. The Dark Lord's followers were beginning to dwindle. Those who remained were blinded by power. They were unable to see the reality of their situation.
Most of those who had arrived were children of followers or Slytherins that were being pressured to pick a side. The latest to appear were the Zabinis. Blaise had brought a lightness around that had been missing from the house. In his short time there, he couldn't help but notice a closeness that seemed to have developed between Draco and Hermione. After watching them converse, the Italian finally saw his opportunity to mention it when Hermione walked away from Draco. He sauntered over to the blond.
"Well, don't you look like you belong here," Blaise grinned. Draco pursed his lips at the boy who'd dropped into the chair beside him. He attempted a smile at him before his face fell in defeat.
" Oh, I may be on the side of angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them," Draco said, his grey eyes staring sadly out the window. "I might be living here, but I will never belong here. I'm just sick of the devil winning."
Blaise sighed, "You and me both, Draco. You and me both."