The sun was brighter than usual at the Burrow.
Even for summer, Hermione had to admit that the days seemed warmer and longer than they had before at the Burrow. Summer was drawing to a close, but this was the hottest day through the whole season. The sun beat down hard on Harry and Ron as they tossed the quaffle for each other to catch. As usual, Hermione just watched, her book propped up on her jean-clad knee as she leaned against a small tree.
They were there because the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour had happened several hours ago. Bill was scarred and he did seem to enjoy his meat raw these days, but apart from that, he was fine. They both had seemed very happy to have finally tied the knot, and they'd already headed off for honeymooning, a point which Hermione considered the end of their enjoyment; marriage didn't really seem to make anybody happy, in spite of the fact that every girl wanted it.
Bored of 'Water Creatures of Ireland,' and bored of her quaffle-wielding companions, she stood and headed back in to put her book away. "Going for a walk, Mrs. Weasley," she called out through the house, taking herself up the steps, putting the book away, and then carrying herself back down. There was no reply, so she assumed the busy red-head was currently napping. Not wanting to awaken her, she let herself out, and headed away from the Burrow.
For the first few minutes, it was a nice walk. She thought about the future, she thought about Harry and Ron, she thought about Dumbledore, and she thought about Bill and Fleur, and marriage. The great heat the sun was forcing upon her was lightened by the trees she passed; she also passes a good many bushes, which was what she was passing when a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle.
She screamed.
All she saw at first was gray eyes that were utterly familiar, and she thought for a moment, forgetting how he'd lowered his wand, that she was staring into the eyes of a murderer. "Help!" she screamed, closing her eyes. "Death Ea-" she was cut off as she felt his hands on her shoulders. She opened her eyes, and immediately gasped.
She remembered Draco Malfoy quite well, for some reason. His hair had always been slicked back and there hadn't been any dirt nor dandruff to taint the pure solution of hair gel. He'd always been spotless and looked as though he was on his way to a fancy party, in spite of an immature and stinging tongue.
The Draco Malfoy she saw now was none of that. His skin and clothes were coated thickly in blood and dirt, and there was an enormous and deep-looking gash cut across his chest that looked only a day or two old- even though it was hard to tell through a layer of grime. His face had less dirt but blood had dried in layers there, and he looked paler than usual, and skinnier.
That wasn't even a scratch on the surface compared to his expression. Usually he looked smug and controlling, but now he looked somber, insane. He pushed her against the nearest tree. "Granger!" he gasped, shaking her. "Take me to Azkaban! They- they're going to kill me; they want to kill me, put me away!" His voice was desperate, but it was hard to feel sorry for him when he was squeezing her shoulders tightly enough to leave bruises. She grabbed his arms and gave a great tug, but to her surprise, the force wasn't needed. It seemed his grasp on her shoulders was mostly to keep him standing, and he fell limply to his back on the dirt.
She forgot herself for a moment and found herself kneeling by his side, telling herself to get help. He didn't seem like a murderer at all; he looked like a boy who'd just fallen from an airplane, and she couldn't help sympathy. He had spared Dumbledore; after all, it was Snape who had sealed his fate. In her mind she knew that he probably wouldn't have killed Dumbledore under any circumstances. He seemed like a complete and utter jerk, but for six years of knowing him, he didn't really seem a killer. And now he just seemed a poor boy.
But by the time she was actually by his side, he seemed to have fainted.
She saw Harry and Ron running in her direction. "What are you here for?" she asked, feeling suddenly protective of the 'poor boy' on the ground. "We heard you screaming bloody murder!" Ron replied, exasperated, and about to ask why she had screamed, until he saw Draco. Harry had already seen him, and was looking down at the messy blonde with little other than confusion- his emotions were so mixed that it seemed like nothing.
Ron looked like he was about to curse the boy himself, but Hermione stopped him. "What are you doing?" she hissed, sounding very hateful, indeed. "He's hurt; can't you see that he needs help?" The irony in her words was unbearable. "Hermione, what are you talking about?" Ron asked angrily. "He cursed and almost killed Katie Bell- he poisoned me- it's his fault that Dumbledore is dead, it's his fault that my brother is half werewolf now!"
Hermione looked regretful and felt badly for arguing (because Ron was right) but the bloody young fellow did not deserve worse than what it seemed he'd already gotten. "It's not his fault entirely, it was Snape that killed Dumbledore, not one of the wizards he'd let in the castle… and Harry said he didn't want Fenrir there, it wasn't his fault he came."
"You're sticking up for him! You're sticking up for Malfoy!" Ron looked furious. Harry spoke up, eyes still on the weak and wounded Draco Malfoy. "You're both half right, but we can't do a whole lot now… I mean, look at him." Harry didn't hate him any less, but still, he pitied him, too. He knew of the situation he was in, at least how Malfoy had explained it; it wasn't really up to him to do it or not, the life of him and his family was dependent upon whether he did it or not.
Draco's eyes opened a bit and he grabbed Hermione's ankle. "They want to kill me, mom," he muttered, his speech slurred almost drunkenly, "they want to kill us… they want to put me in the room with her again, and they're going to cut me up, mom, she will…" Harry could hardly bear to look. His crying in the face of Moaning Myrtle was nothing compared to this; it was horrible to watch. Not unlike Harry, Hermione's stomach clutched with pity, and even Ron's hatred dropped just the smallest bit. "I guess we should take him to mum," the red-head muttered, though he didn't help as Hermione and Harry grabbed the shoulders of his robes, and then held him up as they made the walk back to the Burrow.
A/N: Sorry it's so short. Last time it was short because it was kind of a prologue, this time I have no excuse. xD Sorry again.