Sorry, this chapter is a lot shorter than previous ones, but I liked where it ended and began. Please review, this chapter meant a lot to me and is one I've been wanting to write since the beginning, so I really wanna know what everyone thinks. As always, everything belongs to J.K Rowling.
"'Mione…" Harry whispered from the doorway. "'Mione he's gone."
She was frantically overturning the blankets of his bed; they still ached of his sent, nearly bringing her to her knees. Gone. No. He couldn't truly, couldn't possibly…it was all joke. It had to be. And yet, his note still sat untouched on his desk, her hands had shaken too much to even lift it, to even attempt to grasp Theo's and see why the sick bastard deemed Theo more worthy of a proper goodbye than her. Three words. That was all she was afforded, meanwhile it looked as though he'd penned a fucking novel for his traitorous friend. It wasn't fair; it didn't make sense, none of it made sense.
Fury lit her from within, sparking against her bones. Was she not allowed one weekend, two days of freedom? Perhaps this was what she had deserved, for thinking for even a moment that she deserved a break from war, that she hadn't lost herself to blood and death. But still, despite the monster they had both become, she had earned a goodbye, an explanation, anything.
Theo set a warm hand down on her shoulder, her arms immediately ceased shaking the blanket. "Hermione," he placed another hand on her other shoulder and turned her to face him. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes, holding the same betrayal she currently felt drowning her lungs. "He's gone, love." The rage, Theo's warmth, it all vanished from her system as the cold January air seeped through the walls, through her clothes, into her chest. Gone.
Her knees crumpled beneath her and she fell into a heap onto the floor. Harry ran from the doorway and settled onto the floor next to her. Her voice broke as she looked up at her best friend. "Why?" A question she already had a logical explanation for. A question she wasn't sure she wanted an answer to; she wasn't sure what she was even asking. Why had he left? No she knew that, she understood even. Why did it feel like he'd taken a hammer to her glass heart? Why had she let herself glance her vulnerability, allow herself mere moments of happiness in his presence. Why was he gone? And why, why, did it hurt?
The Manor was eerily silent as he landed into his old bedroom. A thin layer of dust coated every surface, the curtains were pulled tightly over his large window, barely allowing the sun to peek through and expose the absence. As though shining a light on the emptiness, the untouched bed and neatly stacked clean clothes on his wardrobe would make it all too real, all too true.
How long had his mother searched for him before she refused to enter this room? How many tears had she shed for her missing son, her missing heart? He winced in pain at the thought of her loneliness, the person in his world that deserved it least. He called out for his house elf, but did not feel the familiar tug on his mind that signaled her arrival. In fact, he felt nothing where she usually resided, as though the bond between them had been slashed with a knife. Had his family set them free after he'd left? It seemed unlikely but he refused to entertain an alternative.
After a final glance at his room, he strode towards the door and walked through the equally abandoned hallway. Distantly through the house, he could hear a fire crackling and a low murmur of voices. He followed them, nearly running through the cold house, desperate to bathe himself in the warmth of his family, of his mother, of his friends.
"Draco?" Blaise stood from his armchair near the fireplace and sprinted to give his friend a hug. "We thought you were dead mate!" He stood back from him to look over his face, as though it couldn't quite be real.
"Oh don't be going teary eyed on me Blaise, I look good but I don't look that good." He smirked and clapped a hand on his friends' shoulder.
"My son, always so modest." A voice like ice snaked its way over the cold tiled floor and into Draco's lungs. His father stood from the armchair that had been facing away from him when he'd entered the sitting room. "I do hope there is an explanation for your extended absence?" Lucius' eyes bore into his sons, so similar and yet so devoid of the life Draco had fought to keep alive in his soul.
"Good to see you too, Father. Don't worry, I've just been dandy, thanks for asking."
Lucius ignored his sons' comments, "where have you been?"
"I don't know." Draco lied swiftly, "I was captured by the Order, but never told where I was staying." As expected, cool tendrils of magic bumped up along his mental walls, testing for any kind of crack, any lie. He struggled not to smirk at the pathetic attempt, had his time away really been enough for his father to forget, to second-guess, who the most accomplished legilimens in the Death Eater's was?
"How did you escape?" Blaise sounded breathless, still somewhat convinced he was dreaming the entire thing.
"Well Saint Potter and Co. have always been known for underestimating the enemy." He smirked but it didn't meet his eyes, didn't come from a place of spite like he'd intended it to.
"You mean to say," Lucius' lip began to curl, "you were in the hands of the Order for eight months and didn't manage to even get a hint of information to bring back to us?" The elder Malfoy rolled his eyes and went back to sit in his chair, "is there anything you're good for Draco? Or do you enjoy being a consistent disappointment?"
"That's uncalled for, Malfoy!" Blaise jumped to his defense, but Draco had hardly registered the words, too used to the insults over the years.
"Well forgive me," malice dripped from Lucius' voice, "if I'm not overly eager to be reunited with a son who didn't even make his mothers sacrifice worthwhile."
The ground dropped out from beneath his feet, snakes of grief slithered over his lungs and squeezed, sucking the life from his bones. "Sacrifice?" His voice sounded as though it had come from a distant room, not real.
"Mate, you didn't know? Half of me figured if you were alive, that was why you hadn't come back." Pity weaved through Blaise's voice. "She was the one who dropped the wards the day you left, she got the house elves to help her with their apparation magic. The Dark Lord was livid, I don't remember the last time I saw him that angry."
It was all beginning to make sense, why his house elf hadn't come when he'd summoned her, why the bond had felt wrong, empty. Why his house was so cold, the only person to have ever brought it life, permanently gone. Gone. No.
Fury ripped through his veins and he nearly growled as he aimed his magic at his father, the mental walls immediately vanishing into dust. Memories slid past his eyes, each more grotesque than the last.
Horror settled into his stomach as he watched his son flinch and then disappear on the spot. Voldemort's red eyes widened in shock and anger, he eagerly looked around the room as though his favorite lieutenant may be just behind him.
"Where did he go?" He hissed, the rage echoing off the stones in cruel reminders of his power. "Who possibly let down my wards?"
"I…I don't know m..my Lord." A white hand eagerly whacked across his face, leaving a bloody mark across his cheek. Bellatrix was trembling in the corner, knowledge shining in her black eyes. It took only moments for Voldemort to pick up on this, rifle through her mind, and roar in outrage as he tore from the room.
"Narcissa." Voice cold as death swept through the manor, eerily calm, searching. "Narcissa dear, that was quite foolish, wasn't it?" He laughed humorlessly, "I repeatedly tell you all that love will be your downfall, perhaps this will finally convince everyone."
Narcissa Malfoy stepped proudly into the room as her sister audibly cried out, begging her to turn around and to run. She ignored her and looked him directly into his eyes, red meeting blue. "Yes, My Lord?"
"It seems, I have underestimated a mother once again in my life…a mistake I shall no longer allow myself to make." Three house elves gathered around their master, looking up at her fearfully. Voldemort slashed his wand silently through the air and in a split second, all three dropped dead to the ground. Narcissa did not flinch, did not break eye contact.
"No one ever does seem to question the mother, do they?" She smirked, "all so convinced my son got his legilimency talent from his uncle, no one thought for a moment to look towards who created him, who birthed him." If she felt fear, she did not show it. Draco felt – through Lucius' eyes – dread spread into every part of his body. Narcissa finally looked away from the Dark Lord to meet her sister's gaze, "It was my mistake putting that information on you, Bella. I knew you could not keep it from him, so do not feel guilty. It's okay." Bellatrix had silent tears streaming down her cheeks, making tracks in the dirt that had settled onto her face from being hunched so far into the ground.
Voldemort's inhuman face stretched into an evil grin. "Imperio." He whispered. His wand was pointed not at Narcissa, but at Draco – at Lucius. His father bucked at the spell's hold, his fingertips bloodied from scratching at the floor, trying desperately to avoid the task his master had assigned him. Draco watched his entire world burst into flames before his eyes, the ash of what he had once known rained down around him. He watched his father, his own father, hand shaking, raise his wand and whisper the words he had filled his mouth with blood to avoid. Green light lit the room, and when he dared open his eyes – Lucius' eyes – his mother lay sprawled across the ground, staring up at a ceiling she could no longer see.
Agony ripped him from his father's mind; it tore his remaining resolve and sanity into ribbons. "How could you?" His voice was hoarse from screaming he hadn't realized he'd been doing.
"You know I did not have a choice," regret washing over his father's face, "you saw how I tried, I tried to fight."
Blaise was looking between father and son; understanding at what had just transpired dawning on his features. "We tried to have a funeral, tried to organize something small. But, he saw it in our minds. He took her body and burned it, punished us for weeks for trying to honor her. Draco, Draco I'm so sorry."
This was why Potter's spies hadn't seen any indication of a funeral; any hint that something was wrong. He should have known, he did know. A deep part of him had known his mother couldn't possibly be alive. Despite her legilimency skills she hadn't ever shared with anyone, not even him. He wanted to forget, he wanted to erase the image of her lifeless eyes from his mind. From every mind on this planet, so that it never existed, any of it.
A burst of emotion sent his magic spiraling towards his friend and father, both being knocked off their feet by his power. He realized, as they stood with a blank stare on their faces, what he had done. What he'd wished he could do to himself. He cast a silent disillusion charm, felt it trickle down his back as he molded into the shadows of the room.
Without a sound, he set to work. He snaked his way through their minds, erasing any suggestion of his presence tonight. Filled their minds with memories of an unremarkable night spent next to the fire, discussing new battle strategies. Only when he could not tell his work from reality did he step away from the room, sprint to the end of the hallway, and apparate away, running from the truth he hadn't ever wanted to find.
She found him where she'd known he'd go. Crumpled into a broken ball against the wall of the alley. Visible sobs shook his shoulders, illuminated through the sparse moonlight. She wasn't sure which instance of discovering him in this alley had been more shocking, had shown more of a broken man.
"Draco." She rested a hand on his arm as he flinched. That was the most he acknowledged her, and so she sat down on the ground next to him, and took him into her arms. He didn't fight her, perhaps too stricken by grief to even realize who it was next to him.
She'd fought endlessly with Theo and Harry to come here. They were convinced it would end up being a trap, that he'd hurt her. But she knew, knew in her bones that he would never hurt her, not if he could help it. She'd understood, despite the anger and hurt still simmering, why he'd needed to go. And she'd known, had an inkling of an idea of what he would find, of where he'd go once he came to the realization there was no where else.
The knowledge of this kind of loss, she wouldn't wish it on her worst enemy. The aching agony that empties out your chest, that hollows out your bones, until all that's left of you is cold air and desperation to feel their warmth once more, to hear their voice one last time.
Theo and Harry had told her of his questioning about his mother, how there had been no sign of foul play. How foolish they'd been, offering him hope on silver platter before he could snatch it. She had screamed herself hoarse at them, hadn't they realized? Voldemort wouldn't have allowed a funeral for a traitor, no matter who she was related to.
They'd then yelled at her, for keeping secrets of his magical ability, of his strength. In all honesty, she wasn't entirely sure they'd even been okay with her leaving to find him. She had taken a bottle of Polyjuice potion before they could protest, and apparated away before her features had fully melded into a stranger.
It was only once her teeth were chattering so violently she could barely hear his uneven breathing that she grasped his hand and raised his chin to look into her eyes. She'd charmed them to be her own, perhaps not her brightest idea, but she knew it was worth the risk as recognition slid into his eyes at who had come to sit with him.
"Do you want to come back?" She whispered.
His brain was too tired to consider what going back would mean, what trust he'd lost with every person who resided in that house. But where else would he go? Who else would he turn to? His mother was dead, at the hands of his father, and his friends and family, they had allowed it to happen. They had allowed him to be tortured within an inch of his life, only his mother possessing the strength, the bravery, and the love to save him. His head barely nodded before she smiled sadly and spun with him on the spot, a loud crack resounding through the alley.
Ahh sorry again this is so short and pretty depressing, but...it had to happen! Please review, they make my day! Thanks!