Chapter Two
"Sometimes one feels freer speaking to a stranger than to people one knows. Why is that?"
Draco Hermione UNKNOWN NUMBER (WILL NOT BE A MAJOR CHARACTER)
It's not unusual for adolescence to bring with it a myriad of challenges. Relationship drama, mood swings, and entitlement complexes plague the teenage years. Draco Malfoy could've handled all of that.
What he couldn't handle was murder. Even the word made him him shudder.
This frustrated Draco to no end, because life wasn't supposed to be complicated. The Dark Lord had returned. His side was winning the war. Draco was the youngest Death Eater of all time.
He'd been praying for all of that to happen since he was eleven. And yet, now that it had come to pass, things were worse than ever.
The glamour of having Lord Voldemort back wore off after a year. All it took was one disastrous mission at the Ministry of Magic, and the Malfoys fell dozens of steps down the social ladder. Draco's father was taken to Azakban.
Unfortunately, someone still had to pay for the failure. It was him or his mother, so Draco didn't give the Dark Lord time to think about it.
He'd wanted to die the entire time that the Lord was torturing him. Voldemort didn't even bother with the Cruciatus. Instead, he paralyzed Draco in the midst of his worst memories. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours, but by the time reality came back into view, Draco could barely breathe.
It was more than a wake-up call. It was an alarm.
He felt like a fool for all of the months he'd spent as a bystander. Since the end of Fourth Year, the Manor had been filled with the screams of muggleborns and blood traitors. Never once did had he tried to intervene.
Draco wasn't sure what his worldview was anymore. He'd been a blood purist for 15 years. That didn't just disappear; there were real security risks associated with bringing people in from the outside world. They did not belong in Wizarding Society. After being the one made to scream, however, Draco wasn't sure if their methods were justified.
Now, Draco was no Harry Potter. He had no qualms about torture.
He was, however, a man of morals. He didn't believe that innocent people deserved to experience hours of agony. From a purely Machiavellian standpoint too, the logic behind the Dark Lord's methods didn't add up. The old pureblood families that had enough cachet to orchestrate a quiet coup. If the name Voldemort wasn't synonymous with evil, he could've taken over behind the scenes.
From there, it wouldn't have been difficult to slowly turn public opinion against accepting muggleborns to Hogwarts. Those already in society could've been allowed to stay, provided they stayed quiet about the political changes. The average person would've been none the wiser.
That type of revolution would be easy for Draco to support wholeheartedly. Instead, what they had was an all-out war. There was no poetry to the thing, no subtlety. For God's sake, the Dark Lord had failed to kill a child on 5 separate occasions.
It was fair to say Draco Malfoy was conflicted. He knew the magical abilities of Voldemort were unmatched. By virtue of being open to Dark Magic, he understood more than Dumbledore ever could.
Draco was a Slytherin for a reason. He could tell which way the wind was going to blow long before the storm arrived.
In life, all he'd ever really wanted was power. He was going to have to marry some dreadfully dull pureblood girl, so there was no point in holding out for love. The promise of commanding respect and influence was all he had to hold on to. That was why he couldn't defect. He couldn't stomach the idea of spending the rest of his life as a second-rate spy for the Order, waiting to be caught and die a painful death. More important, he couldn't leave his mother.
It all added up to one inescapable reality:
He was fucked. Thoroughly.
There was nothing to be done and, as such, Draco didn't do much of anything. He lazed around the manor. He became increasingly cynical and bitter. He tried to think of ways to assassinate one of the greatest wizards of all time.
Lately, that pattern had changed. He'd taken up a new hobby, one which consumed most of his waking hours.
Draco liked to take out the muggle cellphone he'd purchased and stare at it. For hours and hours. The little blue send arrow had become his greatest adversary. When he was feeling unusually bold, he would write and delete hundreds of opening lines.
"Thank you for writing me back."
"I can't believe you responded to that letter. Are you quite sure you're sane?"
"I don't deserve this."
"Who the fuck reads something like that and responds?"
It was during one such period of indulgence that Draco received a text from an unknown number.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO SAVE HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS ON CAR INSURANCE? WE HAVE A DEAL FOR YOU! TO UNSUBSCRIBE, TEXT STOP.
What on Earth was car insurance? More importantly, who had his number?
Irritated, Draco tapped on the message and typed STOP.
Or, at least, he thought he did. Then he looked down and, to his horror, discovered that he had not responded to the ad. He must have tapped the wrong part of the screen, because he was still on the one that read 44-020-989-3998.
There was a blue text bubble.
Who the fuck reads something like that and responds? STOP 6:30PM
A collection of butterflies moved into his stomach.
Of all the introductions, he couldn't believe that was the one he ended up with. Draco nearly threw the stupid muggle device across the room, but he decided against it.
Instead, Draco Malfoy sat and waited for his last dream to be crushed.
The Burrow was loud. Then again, wasn't it always?
Still, Hermione found it comforting. There were enough people to distract her from her anxieties about the war, and Ron and Harry were both there, now that Dumbledore had retrieved the later from his horrible family.
The false cheer of the place did alarm her, though. She knew that Dumbledore had a plan, but it seemed the Order was woefully outmatched. They'd gotten lucky a few times, when Harry was involved, but without the strange magic linking him and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the light lost every time.
The opposing side also had the advantage of disobeying the Ministry. Her illicit research had turned up dozens of spells that could even the playing field, but most of them had been illegal since the 13th century.
Hermione didn't dare bring that of this up to the adults, but her frustration was mounting. She had more to lose than anyone, except for Harry, and she was constantly left in the dark. Again and again, crucial battles fell on her shoulders. Again and again, she went in blind, putting everyone at risk.
She loved her friends, and she knew she was on the right side of the war. It was just difficult to sit back when every bone in her body told her to become more involved.
Hermione was so completely immersed in these thoughts that almost didn't hear her phone chime. When she did pull it out, she was expecting a short note from her mother. She'd probably left something at the house.
Instead, it was a text from Unknown.
Who the fuck reads something like that and responds? STOP 6:30PM
It was possible that someone had entered the wrong number, but there was another possibility as well. It was one that made Hermione nervous enough to excuse herself for a moment or two.
How to respond? She pondered the question for a moment. If it was who she thought it was, the text was quite a rude way to begin. Then again, after such an alarming letter, what had she expected them to open with?
She weighed the merits of a few responses before spending one.
I think you have the wrong number. 6:34PM
By the way, I find it amusing that you end your texts like telegrams. STOP 6:34PM
Whatever response Draco was expecting, that was worse. He briefly debated getting a new phone and changing his number. The risk involved was too great, so he sucked it up and exposed himself.
I don't think it's a wrong number, I think it's just an exceptionally rude introduction on my part. 6:36PM
I've been sitting here for a half hour, becoming increasingly frustrated with my inability to start his conversation. 6:36PM
Eventually I wrote that monstrosity, which I proceeded to accidentally send. 6:36PM
If you really are the person who left the note in the bookstore, do you suppose you could give me another shot? 6:37PM
All in all, it was one of the more humiliating moments of Draco's life.
Whoever this was, they did not understand the social impropriety of doubletexting. Hermione had to slip out before the dings attracted too much attention.
She wasn't quite ready to let anyone in on her little secret yet.
When she checked, her heart skipped a beat. It was the person behind the letter, and they seemed to actually care what she thought.
She sighed. After giving a mile, she supposed it didn't hurt to give one more inch.
Alright. Let's start this again. 6:40PM
To answer your question though: the kind of person that believes in second chances. 6:40PM
Hello! I hope you enjoyed Chapter Two. I know it was still a lot of exposition, but hopefully you're starting to see how the story will work. I also think it was important for you to know where H and D are at psychologically, given that it's slightly different than Canon.
Other characters will start have dialogue and play a much larger role as time goes on.
To ASJS: Thank you for leaving the first review and for letting me exhale after I posted this story.
To Koto: Your encouragement is so kind.
To munzke11: I'm glad to hear you'll be along for journey of the rest of the story.
To guest: I don't know. All I can tell you is this: I'm a more mature writer, and I plan to write this to completion. Sometimes life does happen, but I have faith in this story, and I hope that you can too.