Update day! Thank-you all for the lovely reviews, truly! It gives me so much encouragement. I'm so happy to see you enjoying this story. It makes my day, every time. Thank-you! :)
Three things first:
I forgot to mention in the previous chapter that since this is AR, Lupin did not die in the battle of Hogwarts. Tonks did, but I like Lupin too much to see him gone. And it will be interesting to see how it will all play out later, regarding Lupin and the death of his wife.
Au contraire to what happened in the books, Hermione did not join Harry or Ron in their Horcrux quest and stayed at Hogwarts during their seventh year.
Also, this chapter is a bit longer than the others and I tried to write it in a way that would kind of portray the confusion that is Draco's mind at this point.
Ok, on with the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Year 1997, October
The Astronomy Tower
He had no idea why he kept coming back here. He had no idea why he insisted in coming back to the place where everything changed for him. This place, the place that became inscribed in his history as the place where he came close to murdering someone. The place that watched him be a coward, like he always had been his entire life. The place where he shed tears of guilt and fear. The place where Dumbledore had died, where Snape had killed him.
This place. He hated this place.
And yet, he kept coming back, every night, since he was accepted back.
He would come here, look around, sit in a corner and think. Think about life, think about death. He would just come here, at night, when everyone else was safely tucked away in their dormitories, away from the Carrows' atrocities; away from the harsh and dark reality Hogwarts was in right now. And most of it was his fault. It was his fucking fault and he knew that. He fucking knew it.
Draco Malfoy was to blame and for the first time in his life, he cared.
And he regretted it. Regretted all of it.
If only there was a chance to turn back time, he would take it in a heartbeat.
He had wanted the Dark Mark.
He snickered sarcastically.
Merlin, he was a fool.
For the longest time, Draco had ambitioned to be just like his father. He would come home and try to impress Lucius in every way that he possibly could. He would try to fly higher on his broom. He would read thick, long books to prove his intellectuality. He would cast annoying, little spells that drove other people crazy, just to prove he could. He even tried to be-friend Harry Potter, when all he wanted was to have one real friend in school. But he was in Slytherin. Slytherins didn't have friends.
His father had always told him that there was no such thing as friends. People are meant to be used and not meant to be trusted. You take advantage of them, just like taking candy from a shop and when you are done, off to the dustbin with them.
So, he did just that. All of that to make his father proud, because he wanted to be just like him when he grew up. And when the Dark Lord demanded Draco to step in, to take the place of his father and try to bring back the good Malfoy reputation, he was only too happy to oblige and prove himself once more.
Look at me now, father. I'm right where I should be: in your place.
Draco had finally become Lucius himself. And for the longest time, he obliviously had no idea of the implications of such transformation. His only focus was on the task he was handed. He had to find a way to let the Death Eaters into the school and he had to kill one of the few men who had actually been kind towards him, Albus Dumbledore.
And Draco took this task, without question and without any hesitation. He was, after all, proud of himself for accomplishing all of these things and was sure his father would be proud of him as well. Even being locked away in Azkaban, his father would know about this.
The day he took the Mark was actually a blur. Draco didn't know why that was. Supposedly, in life, when you have these big, life-changing moments, you remember them as if it were yesterday. They get carved in your skin, – in this case, literally – they get carved in your soul, in your mind, in your existence. Taking the Mark and ascending to a higher level of being was a memory Draco should be able to access perfectly, a memory he should be able to relive with ease, like a film flashing rapidly through his eyes. But that wasn't the case.
He remembers coming in the presence of the Dark Lord, leaving his mother to weep in a corner at Malfoy Manor. He remembers how he got there, remembers what the Dark Lord had said and remembers Voldemort taking out his wand and pointing it at his forearm. And after that, blurriness. He vaguely recalls pain and screaming and laughter. He recalls a celebration and Muggles being executed and he was laughing and clapping. He remembers seeing Bellatrix kill off a girl. He remembers someone asking about his father, if he was enjoying prison.
But it was all so blurry.
He did not remember how he got home or how he collapsed in his bed, exhausted. He thinks his mother was there, tucking him in, like a child, tears still fresh on her face, but he wasn't certain. And when he woke up the next day and looked at his arm, he felt pride. Draco Malfoy had gotten the Dark Mark and he was so proud.
Merlin, he was a fucking fool.
And now here he was, just months after that fateful night, the mark on his arm contrasting with the paleness of his skin and the brightness of the moonlight and he was no close to pride. He was not close to anything. He felt lost, lost in all of it. Maybe that is why he kept coming back, because this may be the only place where he knows exactly where he is. He knows exactly what happened here and knows exactly what he felt; the one place where everything doesn't feel like a blur. Here, in this Astronomy Tower, where Albus Dumbledore was killed. Here, he felt like he belonged. This was his place. This was where it all changed, so here was where he was meant to be. Not in the Great Hall, dinning with his fellow classmates; not in the Manor with a mother who wouldn't even look at him straight in the face. Not in the dungeons, absently shagging some Prefect. Not with Snape, or with Voldemort. Here, on this tower, is where he belongs. Here, in this turmoil of events, in this lingo, in this non-existence. Here, in a place he hates, this is where he belongs.
He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the wall behind him. What would his father say if he saw him now? What would he say? Probably give him a beating, curse him a couple of times and rage on about him being a disgrace, a shame to the Malfoy name.
Well, I'm sorry for that father. I'm a humiliation, but that doesn't change the fact that you are still rotting in Azkaban. Maybe that is where I should be as well. It's too nice out here. At least here I can breathe. And I don't really deserve to do that, now do I?
Snape was the one that told him he had to step it up, if he wanted to keep from being killed. After Draco's poor performance during his mission, Snape had taken him back to the Manor, where his mother was awaiting, in tears. Narcissa seemed to always cry a lot during those times. She wept continuously for hours on end, pleading someone to give her back her son.
"I'm right here, Mother." Draco would reply.
Narcissa would just sob harder.
And as Severus Snape took him up to his room, as a father would do to a child that had misbehaved (a normal father, at least), Draco began to finally acknowledge the severity of his actions. It was like a light bulb finally switching in his brain. Kind of comedic, really, if you are into dark comedy.
"I don't have much time Draco, since I have to go clean up the mess you made." Snape's tone was harsh. "From this point on, things are going to change. Everything about the Wizarding World as you know it, will change, do you understand? Everything in your life is about to change. I need you to man up and deal with it."
Draco could only nod, as he looked back at his favourite professor.
"I'm serious, Draco. You need to step up your game. The Dark Lord will not be pleased about this and you will have to deal with the consequences."
Another nod from the blonde boy.
"Good. Now, I'll be back."
Snape turned around and headed for the door, only to be stopped by a weary whisper that resembled the voice of a lost child.
"Am I… Am I going to die?"
Snape had his hand on the door handle, his back still turned, trying to remain his composure.
Draco Malfoy was scared.
Draco Malfoy was terrified and sounded like he was about to wet his pants. He had failed this mission, he had failed the Dark Lord. Once more, Draco Malfoy had been a coward.
And Voldemort feasted on cowards.
Snape did not know if the boy would live. All he could do was try to keep him alive, for now. So he told him the only thing he was certain off:
"Not if I can prevent it, no."
Silence.
"Wait for me here."
And with that, Snape was gone.
Draco did not know how much time he stood there, in the middle of his own room, with no other option but to wait. Wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution, that he knew would never come. But he waited. He waited for what seemed like hours, days, months, but he waited. And as he waited, he finally understood why his mother kept sobbing.
He had finally turned into Lucius and Narcissa was grieving the loss of her son.
Tragic.
In the end, he didn't die. He was punished. He was severely punished. But he took it all, trying to keep his head high. All these years living under Lucius roof had taught him a thing or two about pain – physically and psychologically. So, when the various Cruciatus came, he was no foreign to them.
Voldemort was fuming, accusing him of being just like his father. Well, wasn't that something he should be proud of? Wasn't that something Draco should be proud of? He had finally transformed into his father. Oh, the joy!
Afterwards, he was allowed to return to Hogwarts.
He wasn't a fool. He knew he only came back, because Snape wanted him here. He wanted him near, so he could protect him. Draco knew about this. If it were for McGonagall, he would have been locked up in Azkaban, right by his father's side.
He was allowed to return, but he was still a Death Eater. He still had obligations. His Dark Mark felt heavier and heavier, every time he was remembered of that fact. Snape had warned him and since he was back, he had been training. He had to train in order to become better. He had to become better, or he would be dead by now. He had to learn how to hide his emotions and how to read other people's, something he was fairly good at. And during all of that, Snape kept his manta going:
"Step up your game, Draco. The time to be a coward has ended. Fail this and you die."
Draco Malfoy stopped being a coward, the day Albus Dumbledore had been murdered.
His fellow Slytherins welcomed him with open arms, like a war hero. They didn't judge his last minute weakness and instead, asked him to show his Mark, so they could all see it, like some kind of trophy. Still, there were some of them weren't that pleased and some even mocked him for his cowardly actions, but most of them saw a role-model in Draco. And whereas, some years ago, that would have made Draco gloat with pride, right now, it wasn't that appealing. No, it was horrifying. How can someone aspire to affiliate themselves with Voldemort? They were fucking insane.
Never the less, the same had happened to him, so, Draco wasn't in a position to judge.
He played along, feigning pride and contentment. This only seemed to anger the other houses even more. Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, they all despised him. But they were too scared, to even come near him, noting perfectly well he was now Snape's protégé and the Carrows' favourite pupil.
Draco Malfoy was untouchable. He had destroyed Hogwarts and nobody could do anything about it.
So, if all of this was true; if all of this was the harsh reality of the situation, why did Malfoy insist on coming back here?
He should be down there, stepping up his game, shinning in all his glory, basketing in the fruits of his own hard labour. Instead, he was up here, thinking about it all, with no clear solution in sight. He was up here, wishing he could take it all back. Wishing he could just claw away at that stupid mark, the same Mark that branded him as an idiot and doomed man.
Are you proud, father? I bet you are.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
Draco woke up from his thoughts and he opened his grey eyes, only to be met with a pair of fiery brown ones.
"Granger."
There, right in front of him, in the place where everything changed, stood Hermione Granger.
She didn't say anything for the longest time, standing there, taking him in. Draco held eye contact and waited for the usual quarrelling and accusations. Now that the Potter and Weasel were gone, off to Merlin knows where, he had been seeing a lot of the small, brown haired witch. If he hadn't known any better, he would say she was spying on him. Maybe she was. Who knew? If that was the case, he had to tell Snape about it.
But this didn't seem like a bad spying act from Granger's behalf. This was coincidental. What she was doing here, he had no clue.
"You've got some nerve, showing up here today." She spat, her hands tensing into small fists.
Today? What? Draco had no idea what she was on about.
"Fuck off, Granger."
If there was someone he hated more than anyone in this world, more than Saint Potter, that someone had to be Hermione Granger.
The fact that she was a Mudblood was only the beginning. Her heritage was just the tip of the iceberg. The fact that she was a Mudblood, but did not live down to their standards, infuriated him. She was supposed to be this filthy, dumb, ugly girl. She was the reason the Wizarding World became, what it became: weak, powerless, deviant. People like her were the reason for it all. But the problem was, Hermione Granger was not filthy, or dumb or even ugly. She stroll around with pride and she was considered the brightest witch of their generation. And the fact that she had grown into a seemingly attractive female, had not been indifferent to Draco. How can someone, which is meant to be dirt, walk so high up in the sky?
He hated her for it. She confused him. She wasn't, at all, what his father taught him Mudbloods would be. And he found that baffling as hell.
In their first years, Draco decided it was best to just ignore her. Taunt her about her heritage, put her in the right place. But as they grew, he noticed she would not be put down. She refused it and she fought against it, hard. And as he began to watch her, he wanted nothing more than to destroy her. Cease this foolish nonsense of a Mudblood trying to act like a Pureblood.
He observed her at lunch hour, at classes. He took mental notes on how she acted, how she talked, how she looked. How she would help Potter study in the library, how she would scold the Weasel like he was a child. And they would let her. They let a Mudblood dictate all the rules and that was just not right. Since when was that normal?
Draco remembered it clearly when she punched him. Worse than hurting his nose, she hurt his pride. Lucius never knew about that, Draco was too ashamed to even think about it himself. And the slap during their Fifth Year, in front of the whole Great Hall. He never did get her back for that. And he doesn't know why. He should have. He should have done something. He should have put her in her place, right below him, where she belonged. And he also remembered, that when he thought about that, other images came to his mind. Images that repulsed him even more. Images he was mortified to even think about in the first place. Images his father would slaughter him for. Images he had expelled quickly from his mind, blaming them on bloody teenage hormones.
He had lost his virginity to Pansy shortly after that.
Thoughts like those never crossed his mind again, his sixth year being tough. He hardly had any time to think about anything, much less about the filthy, little Mudblood that he was meant to detest. He was a man on a mission, so proud of the Mark on his forearm.
He heard later that she attended the funeral, naturally, but she didn't cry. That confused him. He had wanted to know why, but had no way of knowing. At the time, it made him even angrier at her. She was supposed to cry. It was mainly his fault. Him, Draco Malfoy, the Pureblood.
She should cry, she should hurt.
And now, here she stands, hovering over him. And here he is, brooding and regretting, in this place that changed everything. A bit ironic, really.
Here he was, wishing he was dead and here she was, breathing freely. How could that be fair? She is something that is so wrong, she shouldn't even be alive. And he just wanted her to fuck off, to leave him alone. He didn't want to deal with her, she messed too much with his head.
So yes, Granger, please fuck off.
Hermione kept looking at him, but when he shuffled slightly her gaze lowered to the ugly, despicable Mark on his forearm. It seemed to mock her, its skull looking directly at her, like it was daring her to disturb it. And if she did, she might end up having the same fate as the man that died here.
"Have you no shame? Are you truly this appalling, Malfoy?"
Malfoy followed her gaze, deciphering what she was looking at. She was looking at the bane of his existence. Not that she knew that, of course. No one could ever know that.
When he didn't reply, she just continued.
"Why are you here?"
Fuck knows why, Granger.
"For the last time, just fuck off and leave me alone."
"Get out of here."
"Or what, Granger? This is a public space, I can be here if I want."
"You are disgusting, Malfoy."
She turned around to reach the nearer end of the small balcony. Only then did he notice the single white rose she was holding. As she edged the ledge, she took the rose and placed it by its wall. She remained silent for a while after that, her head bowed, like she was praying. She probably was.
Malfoy didn't know much about praying, but he knew it was something Muggles did when tragedy stroke. Then, what she had said in the beginning made sense. Maybe today marked something. Something that this tower was well known for.
Well, that was just jolly.
Here he was, contemplating all of his mistakes and acknowledging the fact that this tower changed his life forever and he didn't even know the exact date it all happened. Fucking pathetic.
Hermione seemed to finish her prayer and turned her gaze to Malfoy once more. He remained in that same spot, observing her. She noticed that something wasn't quite right. He seemed… older. And gloomier.
After what happened, Hermione's perspective on the paradox that was Draco Malfoy changed radically. She no longer saw him as the weeping, arrogant, cowardly boy that thought himself superior to everyone else. Oh no. When she looked at Draco Malfoy, all she saw was pity and repulsion.
She hated him with every fibre of her being. Why he was still alive, was a mystery to her. She knew Snape was behind it, but she didn't want to think about Snape right now. Every time she thought about him, she imagined him dead, in a pool of his own blood. So, to be in the mere presence of Malfoy, nauseated her. How can someone be this vile? How could she have been so daft, back in their sixth year, when Harry had insisted he was, in fact, a Death Eater? She felt so angry at herself for, even once, contemplating that Draco Malfoy was innocent; that he was nothing more than a bully.
Oh, how wrong she was.
"Are you just going to stare at me all night, Mudblood?"
That word.
The most dreadful word she had ever heard.
That word.
The word that had the power to completely shut her down, to make her blood boil, to make her capable of murder. The word that categorized her into nothing, a word that meant to hurt. A word that was invented just to injure someone. A word which solo purpose was to burn and damage all those who heard it.
This word.
Mudblood.
The word he addressed her with only so often, the word he was not ashamed of using.
This word.
This word is what made the gap between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy even larger. All this hatred, all this war… all of these, just because of this fucking word. And he was the reason she had learned that word. He had taught her that word, the word that would forever be carved in her skin.
"Don't call me that, Malfoy."
"Why? It is, what it is." He said, pulling himself on his feet. He was taller. Had he grown?
"You really have no morals, have you? How do you even live with yourself, after all you've done? How can you even show your face?" Hermione pressed on, trying not to feel intimidated as he came closer to her. Draco Malfoy was a coward, remember that. "How can you sit there, in the place where –"
"Where what, Granger? Where I drew my wand at that pathetic, old man?"
"How dare you!" Hermione was outraged.
"So he died. Big loss for your side, I must say. I don't see why I can't go where I well please, just because of that fact."
"I can't even stand to look at you, Malfoy. How can you be so damn revolting?" How could she ever think he was innocent? Oh Merlin, how!
"You keep asking how this and how that, Granger, but truthfully, I don't give a fuck. I'll do what I want, when I want and that is nothing of your business. Now, do us both a favour and fuck off, like I told you too."
He walked passed her and went to stand near the ledge. Inwardly, he was mentally screaming at her to just go away.
Just go. Just leave me. This is my place, not yours. I belong here, you don't. Just fucking go.
"You really feel no remorse at all, do you?"
I do.
Oh, Granger, you have no idea how much.
"Why should I? I didn't kill him." Yes. Keep the act. Step up your game.
"But you wanted to, didn't you?" Hermione kept looking at his back, trying to shake off her anger.
He acted as though he didn't hear her.
"You did, didn't you, Malfoy? So, what stopped you?" Hermione had always wondered "Was it fear? Was it guilt? Too much of a coward to actually go forward with the job? Were you waiting for Daddy to do it for you?"
And suddenly he turned around to face her.
His features were angry and he was fuming. He had drawn his wand and he was pointing it right at her.
Yes, here he was again, at this very tower, wand ready, pointing it at the Golden Trio's brightest member. Pointing it at the Mudblood, the epitome of everything that made his life so much more complicated. If there had been no Mudbloods in the first place, then Voldemort would have never went on a frenzy to kill them all. He would never have encountered Saint Fucking Potter and Saint Fucking Potter would have never survived an Avada. His father would have never joined the Death Eaters and he would not have been obliged to follow his footsteps.
Yes, they were to blame. All the Mudbloods. All the fucking Mudbloods and Blood-Traitors. Fuck Voldemort, fuck Potter, fuck Dumbledore, fuck the War. It was the Mudbloods. It was her. It was Granger.
Hermione froze right in her spot, caught off-guard. She made a move to get her wand –
"Don't even think about it, Mudblood."
She held her hand in mid-air, fear spreading through her body. His wand was pointed right at her. Ok, Hermione. Breathe. This is Malfoy. Remember. He barks a lot, but he doesn't bite.
Does he?
She remained still and silent. Her heart was beating so fast, but she wouldn't let it show. No, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"Nice, little Granger. See, now this isn't so bad? This is how it is supposed to be. You'll do well to remember that. No matter how hard you try or study or try to associate yourself with people that you think equal to you, you will never be it. You'll always be dirty. And dirt gets stomped on. So be a good, little witch and give me a proper apology for wasting my precious time on this pointless conversation." He smiled evilly.
"You really like to hear yourself talk, don't you Malfoy?"
"It's an interesting pastime, yes."
"Well if you at least listened to what you say, you'd take notice of all the crap that comes out of your mouth."
"Careful, Granger. You are threading on thin waters here."
"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy."
"You should be, Granger. Everything is different now. Finally, the balance is going to be restored and filth like you will have the ending it deserves. Dumbledore and Hogwarts were just the beginning. The Dark Lord will crush your precious Order and Potter will be put down, as he should have been, all those years ago."
"You are wrong, Malfoy. Harry will win this. We will win this. You are completely delusional if you honestly believe otherwise."
"I'm delusional?" he asked with loud laugh. "Look around you Granger!" he signalled around him with his left hand "Here we stand, in the very same tower where the only wizard powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord, died. He fucking perished, right here. And this castle you call Hogwarts? It is run by Death Eaters. Our numbers are superior, our magic is superior. We are fucking superior because – "
"You are not, in any way, superior to us, Malfoy! Not to me, not to anyone. Blood means nothing." She countered, her petite form starting to tremble with rage.
"Blood means everything." He growled.
"Harry will find the Horcruxes and we will defeat Voldemort. Good will overcome evil and – "
"Oh, for fucks sake, don't give me that cliché crap. Even you don't fucking believe in that."
"Yes, I do." Hermione was being honest. Yes, she did. She had to. Otherwise, she would not have the strength to go on.
"Your funeral, Granger."
She didn't notice, but he was much closer to her now. And she had, unconsciously, taken a few steps back and her back was almost at the far end of the balcony. His wand was still pointed straight at her; hers was still in her robes. He had her trapped.
"You want to know how this will all end, Granger? Want to know what is going to happen to dirt like you?" He kept walking towards her, his height towering over her. Hermione's heart started to beat faster, if possible. "Do you want to know, what I'm going to do to people like you? All you filthy, dirty Mudbloods?"
Draco was losing it.
He was so far gone right now. Everything was becoming blurry again. This place, this limbo, this non-existence was no more. He was wide awake now and completely out of his mind.
Here she was, right in front of him, confined to his presence. Here she was, Hermione Granger, the epitome. Here she was, looking up at him, a fearful stare in her features, as she backed herself up against a wall.
Wasn't it just perfect? This is how it's supposed to be. And oh, how it would be so easy, to just end her right here and now. To make her not breathe anymore, to make her not talk and say all of those wretched words at him. Words that cut him deeper than they should. Here she was, almost pressed up, beneath him, so dirty, so filthy, so beautiful.
sobeautiful.
And suddenly, those images he tried to repress long ago, were back. Images that would made his father sick. Images that made Draco sick. Sick with dread, with shame, with hate. Images that he vowed never to see again. Images that made him question almost everything about himself.
No. Not these images again. No. Not now.
Not when she was so deliciously scared. Not when he could prove to everyone he wasn't a coward. Not anymore. He could prove it. He could show it. Fuck all these thoughts about regrets and Dark Marks and Fathers and Voldemorts. Fuck it all. Here she was, at his mercy. Kill her. Kill her, Draco.
Kill her, Draco. Kill her.
Lucius voice was inside his head.
Are you watching father? Are you watching this?
His wand was suddenly at her throat and she yelped in surprise. Her hands came to his wrist to try to pry him off her, but he wouldn't budge. She thought about screaming, but she knew no one would hear her. She tried to scratch his wrist, but he was quicker, faster, stronger.
With his left hand he caught her own wrists and put them up against the wall, over her head. His Dark Mark was so close to her face. There it was again, that ugly skull, looking at her, mocking her, daring her.
This was it. He was going to kill her.
His body was flushed against her now, almost suffocating her with his presence. Her legs were trapped. She felt his breath right in her face, his grey, piercing eyes boring holes into her own. He was angry. He was fuming.
His wand buried itself deeper into her throat and she let out a small cry of pain.
This is it, Hermione. He is going to kill you. And no one was here to witness it. Harry, Ron, Lupin, Ginny, Neville… Oh, Merlin.
They stood like that for what seemed the longest time, staring at each other, waiting. She was waiting for death. And he was…
"What are you waiting for Malfoy? Do it." Maybe she had gone temporarily insane, instigating someone who had a wand at her neck. "Don't cower on me now, Malfoy. Do it." But she was Hermione Granger. She would not go down without a fight. "You said it yourself, right? I shouldn't be alive. I'm scum. I'm dirty. I'm the reason everything is messed up. Well, now is your chance to make things right. Do it."
His was breathing deeply, his eyes observing her face. She noticed then how crazy he seemed. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, probably from lack of sleep. His face looked thinner and paler. His eyes were rapidly searching all over her face and his mouth was open, teeth clenched, like an animal about to bite his pray.
Only Malfoy wasn't supposed to bite.
He wasn't.
He didn't.
Did he?
"Go on, Malfoy. Kill me. Kill this Mudblood. Learn how to bite."
And then something clicked. Something changed.
His eyes widen at her last remark, almost in surprise. He was looking down at her now, eyes wide, breathing laboured and she was trying hard to understand the change in his posture. His frown was gone and he was searching her eyes for something. Hermione kept her stance, challenging him. She was a fighter. She would not fear him. So she matched his gaze, daring him. Daring his Dark Mark.
Draco was, once again, battling with himself.
Fuck.
All he had wanted, was to come here and be alone. Come here and wallow and grieve and think about death. All he wanted was some kind of peace, not to exist, before he had to head back down and keep up his game. Before he had to deal with Snape's and Carrow's and Death Eaters. Before he had to suck up the vomit up his throat every time he watched Muggles being killed. Before he had to endure all that foolish talk his fellow Slytherins would have about Dark Lords and Mudbloods. Before he had to write to his mother, who never wrote back. Before he had to undergo Voldemort's wrath every time he was weak. Before he had to live his fucking excuse for a living.
And then she came along.
And here she was, right where those images had pictured her, right where she belonged, right at his mercy. His wand was at her throat and he was so close to just end it all. He had Hermione Granger scared and pinned to a wall and she was… telling him to bite her?
This was too much.
Too much. Too much.
Fucking kill her, Draco!
Shut up, just shut up.
You fucking coward!
I said shut up!
Kill this Mudblood! Kill all of them!
SHUT UP!
"SHUT UP, FUCKING SHUT UP!"
His scream took her by surprise and it was her turn to widen her eyes. He was shaking now, his wand itching her neck. He had his eyes shut and he looked like he was mentally battling something. He was breathing rapidly and he kept repeating those two words, over and over again:
Shutupshutupfuckingshutupshutup
She was unsure of what to do now. Something was off. He was talking with himself. Just saying those things, as if he was in a loop of some kind.
His hold on her had loosen and, yes, this was her chance.
Hermione took the opportunity to push him off her, using the weight of her body.
She found no resistance.
He let her hands go and his wand fell to the ground. She pushed passed him and drew her own wand, pointing it at him. Merlin, her palms were sweaty, her wrists ache. She was panting with adrenaline, the arm that was holding her wand shaking. She took in a deep breath, wanting to calm herself down.
Merlin, she was alive. She was alive. He had let her go. What had she said to make him change his mind? What happened?
Malfoy was still in the same spot, head down, muttering something, his wand on the ground next to him.
She thought about running. She thought about hexing him. How hard could it be to finish him off, right now, after all he has done? After all those horrible things he said to her. So many good people in this world were dying and this bastard was still alive and kicking. Oh, how it would be so easy.
Her arm trembled, her wand ready for action. You want to do it, Hermione. You want to do it so badly. That fucking bastard. What he was doing here in the first place, that is what baffled her. Today marked six months since Dumbledore's death. She came in ready to pay tribute to his memory, prepared to shed a few tears, away from everyone. She prepared herself for everything. But she had not prepared herself for this. To see Malfoy here, to have him talk to her – insult her, threatening her and almost ending her life.
She was thinking about all those things until she heard it and she thought she didn't. She thought she was imagining it.
There, in front of her, where he once sat, smirking, Draco Malfoy was now sobbing. He sobbed as he kept whispering and murmuring. His shoulders were shaking and he had buried his head between his hands. And like they do in films, his knees gave up and he fell to the ground, wrenching cries leaving his mouth. She noticed how one of his hands went to claw at this Mark, trying to scratch it off.
Hermione was at loss for words.
Draco Malfoy was crying right here, in the place where he nearly killed his Headmaster; in the place where he nearly killed her.
Draco Malfoy was crying.
And Hermione was torn.
Was he sorry? Did he regret it? Why was… What is happening?
She did not know what to think. She had once believed that he wasn't that for gone. That he wouldn't go down the dark path. She had once believed that people still have some good left in them.
She doesn't believe in that anymore, not after all that has happened, not after all she has seen.
But here she was, in front of someone she thought was lost. Someone who came close to ending her life. Someone she hated so much… And he was crying. He was weeping like a little boy. And somehow, that vision, this vision, gave her hope.
She then decided to flee, leave him be.
Run.
And that is what she did.
She ran, away from that tower, away from him. She ran until her lungs hurt, until she reached the safe haven of the Gryffindor's Common Room. She ran until she collapsed, back against the closed portrait. She ran until all the air got knocked out of her.
But she hadn't run because of fear or guilt. She hadn't run because she was scared of him, because he had been crying or because she pitied him. She hadn't run because of that.
She ran because he had given her hope.
And that shouldn't come from him.
And that scared her.
Thank-you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Do you think that Draco's messy thoughts and feelings were well portrayed here? Tell me what you think :)
And keep having a wonderful day, wherever you are!
