Nobody Wins - Chapter 7
"Hey Blaise," whispered Hermione slowly, sinking back into the bedframe.
Ginny whipped around to stare at the dark haired boy, smirking as though he owned the place. In a literal way, he practically did. His parents donated a large sum of galleons to the school about four years prior, supposedly intended for Slytherin accommodations. Stating Slytherins used the Hospital Wing just as much as anyone else, Dumbledore put the money to use there. The Zabini family raged over this, sniping at Dumbledore's trickery which more or less turned into silent grumbles knowing they could not say anything about it. Technically, Dumbledore did no wrong.
"Granger. SheWeasley." His acknowledgments were no more than a method of taunting, primarily at Ginny.
"Go away," snarled Ginny ruthlessly, "You're not welcome on this side—" throwing her arms around to represent the area surrounding Hermione, Harry, and herself—"of the wing. Why don't you venture done there to the ferret? He may actually pretend to enjoy your company."
Blaise smirked before he said, "You're kind of cute when you're all pissed off. If you didn't associate with mudbloods and such, I might actually go for you. You are a pureblood after all, though nobody can really tell by the way you act."
Ginny never got a chance to reply, as much as she would have liked to, given Blaise turned around to meet his friend. The red-head huffed, but she too turned around to meet the melancholy face of Hermione. Her eyes were downcast at her hands, shuffling them back and forth. One thing about Hermione to be admired, or feared by her enemies, was her adept ability to think when dozens of things happen around her. While she heard the arguing between Blaise and Ginny, though only jumbled bits, her thoughts primarily focused on what she planned to do about the situation—getting the sword to Voldemort just seemed wrong for some reason. She knew of his fears, knowing what the prophecy meant, and thought it best to leave the sword alone; safe and away from her master. The farther away in physicality then the farther away her master would be from harm.
Hermione's attention snapped fully back when she realized Ginny's hand waving in front of her in attempt to focus her thoughts again. Hermione licked her lips before she muttered, "Sorry. My thoughts ran away with me." Lie; she had heard their bickering stop, but felt better engrossed in her own thoughts. She hoped the redhead would soon leave her to those thoughts.
"Yes, well, your friend Blaise over there—"
"Blaise is not my friend," snapped Hermione anxiously. The tone of her voice wearied Ginny's trust just a little bit more. "What on earth would make you say that?"
"It was a figure of speech Hermione considering you do spend a significant amount of time with him. He is your...tutor or whatever you want to call him," she replied sensibly though with much suspicion. "I didn't mean for you to take offense."
Hermione let out a heavy breath, sighing and realizing her mistake. She was becoming so paranoid that it was starting to affect her relationships with everyone and not just the ones she loved.
"My...aren't you a bit dodgy?" noted Ginny, her cobalt eyes sweeping her friend's appearance over. Hermione definitely looked flushed, but the girl could not determine whether the high color derived from fever or from worry.
"I'm sorry. I think...I think I just need some rest." After the words were spoken, Hermione turned on her side, obscuring her view. Hermione heard a faint sigh before soft steps. Ginny was gone.
In the distance, from across the room, another argument was taking place...
"Are you alright?" asked Blaise, checking out the long scar along his neck and upper chest. "Do you know you look like hell?"
Draco eyed him vexatiously, not keen on answering a paradox. Draco's mind reeled in uproar, the ability to both listen and think coming to him in full force; always had. Blaise had yet to inform him about how everything went with Hermione. She'd brushed over it, but Blaise spoke with him before Hermione yet did not mention that anything went wrong. Then Hermione came into the wing, unconscious and unmoving, and yet Blaise still did not mention anything was amiss. Draco's inert lips extended beyond Blaise's asinine questions.
"Draco you've got to talk to me. What's going on in that fat head of yours?" asked Blaise, his mocking tone lessening.
Draco's acerbity extended on, continuing to keep his lips tightly shut. Having no intentions of speaking to his best mate at the moment, he turned on his side like Hermione had done to Ginny, shielding his face.
Blaise realized Draco's anger directed toward him making him leave the room. If Draco did not want to talk to him, fine—so be it. Even if I was the one to bloody save his girlfriend's ass, but fine, whatever. Let him sulk if that's what his stubborn ass wants.
What was Draco to do?
His best mate neglected to give him a full story and in such, Draco's trust dwindled. Hermione recently blacked out, panic and stress overcoming her. Obviously Hermione could not handle everything being thrown at her. Who could blame her? Most of this was new.
Draco had a feeling he would need to take most matters in his own hands. Perhaps thinking for himself—something he claimed he always did, if only to keep himself sane, knowing full well he did not—would be a much harder concept than planned.
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After another day of rest, Draco left the Hospital Wing in full health and without the ghastly scar; Pomfrey had done well to diminish it, mending his abnormally pale skin. He did not tell Hermione how the scar came about knowing it would scare her into another panic. You see...when Harry knocked him off his broom, he fell to the ground; hard. His body landed on the broom...acting like a sheath.
Hermione left the night before, worry gnawing at her until the early morning when dawn breeched over the mountain bends surrounding Hogwarts. Sitting on her windowsill, she placed her hand against the glass, watching the rain cascade down the crystal slot. The cold chill swept throughout her very soul, but she kept her fingers firmly placed against the glazing.
When had everything gone so wrong?
Truth be told, when she went to Hogwarts. Everything about her life changed and transformed when she saw the green ink of her Hogwarts letter. Before the post arrived on that Monday afternoon, she had been ordinary, born into a family of respectable muggles. As upstanding people of the dentistry profession, the couple took pride in their only daughter, a child who always excelled in all things thrown at her. Hermione was the ideal child and her life had been not only sheltered, but idyllic.
Not one to lie, Hermione knew Hogwarts had originally been seen as a blessing by her and her parents. Nothing could go amiss and certainly the prospect of a life filled with wands and charms seemed sublime. At the beginning it was. Then she met Harry and...well, her life began to go downhill.
She may have been part of the Golden Trio, but aside from initially having the same goal in mind, she never fit in with them. After all, being the only female of the group and the smartest of the three, they tended to isolate themselves from her. She hardly recognized it herself until the Dark Lord coaxed out the truth.
The truth, of course. He did bring the truth about. Right?
"Am I not doing the same thing over again? Am I not submitting myself into following another's orders?" It did not register that she was speaking aloud, but no matter—she was alone in her room...or so she thought.
"I've been following him and listening to him since this started. Why follow the masses? Why am I not thinking for myself?"
"Perhaps because you've spent so long in a cage."
Hermione turned around to see Ginny standing in the doorway, red-hair hanging loosely around her heart-shaped face. They were both trying to read the other, both failing miserably. The same emotional barrier blockading Hermione's face seemed fenced around Ginny's.
"Are you talking about the Order, following Dumbledore's orders? Or are you referring to someone else?" asked Ginny in a soft voice.
"Of course I'm talking about Dumbledore. Who else would I be talking about?" Hermione's voice sounded damn near bent on desperation, a plea for her to understand.
"I don't know Hermione," replied Ginny, walking into the room, closing the door which had been left ajar. "I just don't know anymore with you. Ever since you've been back, you've been someone else and I don't know if I like this someone else."
"I don't need this—"
"This, I know. You don't need any of it," interjected Ginny sharply, "and I know you probably expect me to just give into that. To stop questioning you. I'm not going to. I can't anymore because I've remained quiet throughout this whole ordeal yet I don't think I should. What the hell is wrong with you?"
Hermione looked away toward the window again, staring at the falling rain drops. She could hear Ginny stepping closer to her and Hermione had to admit she felt scared—Ginny had to know. Why else would she question her like this?
"I'm not going to pretend like I can relate to you, Hermione. I've been sheltered from most of the bad things this war has brought on unlike you. I agree with this war, though, for I know I fight for justice and I fight for your kind in the right to live. I fight because I know in my heart it's right. He-who-must...not...Voldemort must be stopped."
Hermione had never heard her speak with such force. Of course, Ginny had said his name before, but most of the time she used the terms 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who', feeling scared like most people to utter such a vicious word. The emphasis she put on the her Master's name alerted her just how involved Ginny really was in the war.
Both girls were breathing heavily, scared in what the other planned to do. What either of them said would have lasting effects on not only their relationship, but on others' outlooks.
"I don't know what happened to you in there nor does anyone else. You've cut off all ties with us and I know the Hermione before all this happened. She would have thrown herself at us, screaming at the top of her lungs what happened and—"
"And what do you want me to say?!" bellowed Hermione, standing up from her comfortable position against the frosted window. Her red face flushed to a crimson glow as her hands shook with near palpable fear. "I don't know what you want me to say. Do you have a particular question? What?!"
Ginny stood there remaining quiet. Countless questions ran through her mind yet she could not bring herself to ask any. She had her suspicions, but little proof to place on them. She did not want to reveal to Hermione that she heard the end of her conversation with Malfoy, just yet at least. Something was most definitely wrong.
"Unless you have something to ask or anything worth me listening to, then I suggest you leave the seventh year dorm. You're no longer welcome in here Ginny. Perhaps I'll come see you when I can stand to look at you again. How dare you question me like that?!" Hermione's voice echoed so much she figured most of the people in Gryffindor Tower would hear her cries. No matter, she wanted precisely that. She wanted Ginny to be on the receiving end like this.
Ginny, for the most part, remained composed and collected, keeping direct eye contact with the dark-haired girl. Noting hair in particular, Ginny stared at Hermione's appearance. Her ebony hair had been pulled back in a slick bun, tendrils falling in her face. Clad only in a grungy Durmstrang sweatshirt, no doubt one she got from Victor Krum, and ratty football shorts, she appeared casual and blasé. Hermione usually wore clothes based on comfort rather than appearance, but the way she put herself together gave a different impression. She'd never worn Krum's jerseys and quidditch shirts on the grounds of jealousy between her two male friends, both of whom had strong opinions about who to support in the game, yet there she was wearing his sweatshirt. The grungy shorts were far shorter than usual, hiked up high on her thigh. She just...didn't look like Hermione.
Crossing the room back to the door, Ginny stopped short before exiting. When she spoke next, it was with her back to Hermione; "I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to right now, but just know that I'm not as out of it as you may think. I know something is amiss and I fully intend on finding out. Mark my words, Hermione."
In one fluid movement and slamming of the door, the red head left. Hermione stood there, unmoving, for several minutes.
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Draco entered the Great Hall with a look of malice on his face, sneering toward the blindly loyal Gryffindors, hell bent on eyeing him militantly after what went down with Harry. Searching the table for Hermione, his eyes never found her which alarmed him.
Where is she?
Reluctantly he walked toward the Slytherin table after getting a stern glance from Snape. The man knew what Draco's thoughts were reverting to—or more like who—and Snape was not someone to cross. Draco may be his favorite, but he could only push his buttons so far. Unlike others, Snape knew what Draco and Hermione were up to. Smart enough to know Snape would have his ass, Draco sat down next to Blaise and his other fellow Slytherins.
"Are you feeling better Draco?" asked Blaise, eyes focused on the plate in front of him. He'd expect the sort of bad-mannered aloofness from Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom were feasting on the plentiful food in front of them, grunting in approval, but not from Blaise. Aside from Blaise being raised in a manner of upstanding class, it was not in his personality to be rude toward Draco. The two always gave each other their solid and full attention; mutual respect notion.
"I suppose you're still pissed at me," muttered Blaise, still looking down at his plate.
Draco glanced at him, muttering, "I wouldn't say that. I'm just annoyed at the situation altogether. Can we drop it, now?"
"Fine," he uttered flatly, not even lifting up his eyes to acknowledge anything between them. Needless to say, things were tense between the two Slytherins.
Draco's attention reverted back to his beloved, wondering unequivocally where the hell she was. With so much going on and their movements being constantly watched, the few moments they did get to see each other, at least in the presence of others, were welcomed by him. Yet, another moment passed by without the others' presence and Draco sure as hell did not like it.
"I think she and Potter are together right now," murmured Blaise, under his breath as to not alert anyone else at the table.
Draco wondered fleetingly what her and Potter were doing, but focused back on the present. "Have you received any...messages lately?"
"No," replied Blaise simply, "I suppose you haven't either. I don't know about the girl."
Draco shook his head, staring down at his cloak-covered wrist. "She wouldn't. You know she doesn't have it yet."
"Yet...right."
Draco's head whipped toward Blaise so fast that it nearly toppled him over. 'Yet...right.'—what the fuck is that suppose to mean?! What the fuck is he bloody implying?!
Without lingering, he bluntly asked just that; "what the fuck is that suppose to mean?" Draco's harsh voice sent chills down the spines of every Slytherin at the table, all of whom had jerked at the sound of his fury-filled voice. Everyone's attention now fixated on the two most important of Slytherins; one head boy, the other a Malfoy.
"Draco I suggest—"
"I suggest you remember not only who you're talking to, but about. If I ever hear that type of sarcasm drip from your tongue again, then be prepared to lose it."
Draco stood up, pushed in his seat harshly, fought down the urge to growl out in narked anger, won (barely), and then walked heatedly down the aisle to the exit.
While nearly all the Slytherins watched Draco march from the room in heated dander, Blaise still focused his attention on his dinner.
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Draco managed to search most of the castle and not find a trace of Hermione anywhere. Catching sight of quidditch outside through a raining window, he realized Potter was flying around the pit. Hermione had to be there.
The walk allowed him much time to think certain matters over. Obviously, Blaise still had wary thoughts regarding Hermione, an utterly ridiculous notion. Of course she fought for the right side, their side, so why give her such grief? Bloody hell, they were fighting for the same cause!
Reaching the grounds made him feel better, letting the cool air brush against his face, rain drops drenching his hair and robes. He could see Harry flying around on his broom, swirling in circular motions over a particular person; one Hermione.
Ducking down beneath the stands, still in ear shot as to allow him the ability to hear their distant yet forceful conversation, he stood still, shaded by the darkness.
Hermione could be seen throwing her arms around, waving like crazy, an attempt to grasp Harry's firm attention, who was still flying about the sky, oblivious to the coldness of the night air. She looked slightly haggard, like someone had been virtually bothering her all day.
"Harry! For Merlin's sake, will you please just come down here and talk to me like a rational person?! You're roaming the sky like some spoiled child," she said bitterly, emphasizing the last word in particular.
With Harry, even from his incredible height in the air, one could easily distinguish a wholesome, unfriendly snort coming from the dark-haired boy. "I'm the child? Please, Hermione, give me a break. You're the one who has been acting like some scared tot since the moment you arrived back. What is bloody wrong with you? And where in the name of Merlin have you been vanishing off to? I know it's not the library, as was my first thought, given I have gone there several times and never once found you."
"Where I go when I need to be alone is certainly none of your business," she spat firmly, "and even so, why would I tell you at all? It would defeat the purpose of being alone you insufferable prat!" Her voice rose several octaves, losing battle with her impending frustration.
"Hermione you're not the same girl. I just don't know you anymore nor does anyone else. I understand what happened to you—"
"You know nothing of what happened to me!" she screamed hoarsely.
Harry sighed, taking cue to drop to the ground, his dragon-hide boots splashing the mud beneath him. Finally, after a long pause of mutual staring, he muttered, "Then why don't you tell me? Why don't you open up to me or to Ginny or to...to anyone and let us help you! We want to understand and to know what happened—"
"No you don't," she uttered firmly, though her tone had change, much to Harry's–and Draco's–surprise. When she spoke, her voice seemed despairing and bittersweet; "I doubt anyone would want to know what happened. I don't...Merlin, I don't even know...I–I just..."
She wasn't even making sense, much to Harry's dismay. However, this little speech gave him a slight bit of hope. Could she open up? Was she willing to open up?
Biting down on his tongue, gulping thickly, he straightened out, extending a hand toward her shoulder. She accepted his gesture, leaning into his arm, before he engulfed her into a complete embrace. Draco watched with covetous wonderment—both jealous and interested. He did not like the way Potter's hands caressed Hermione's back, roaming fairly close to her waist. The wonderment extended toward Hermione, pondering her motives behind such intimate contact with her former best mate.
Finally, after several long minutes, much too long for Draco's liking, Harry and Hermione disengaged from one another, Hermione looking at him with the same bittersweet stare she'd used before.
Confused as to her look, he asked, "What?"
Hermione shook her head, muttering, "It's nothing. I just...I think you'll know soon enough about what happened. Just give it—me...some time and it will come out. Okay?"
Harry seemed satisfied and appeased by her answer, succumbing to the knowledge of Hermione gradually moving back into her life with him and the rest of her friends and family. Time...that's all it was.
"It's freezing and we should—"
"You go ahead," she interjected, sounding pensive, "I think I'll stay out here for a minute. Collect my thoughts and just...listen to the rain, feel the rain. I've missed this, you know? Just...letting go."
Harry, knowing Hermione obviously needed more time alone, nodded tersely before exiting the quidditch pit. The girl's smile dwindled the further away he got, leaving entirely once Harry was no longer within sight.
Taking his cue to enter at Harry's departure, Draco emerged from beneath the stands to meet Hermione. Though her back was to him, she spoke first; "how long were you standing there?"
"Long enough," he replied shortly. "You seemed...somber. Why?"
Hermione sighed. "Perhaps because I am. This wasn't just a random meeting with Harry...I was saying good-bye."
"Good-bye?" repeated Draco, more so out of confusion, wanting her to extend on what she meant.
Without saying another word, she held up a piece of parchment in the air, water dripping down on it. Draco snatched it in fear of the rain drops ruining the paper, using himself to cloak and shield the parchment from the water.
Draco read the black ink with astonishment clouding his lovely ice-blue eyes...
Young one—
Be prepared for you have three days. The object of my desire better be in your possession by then or face the most painful of deaths, along with all the others, by the bare hands of me.
The letter had not been signed nor was there a reason for a signature. Draco knew without a doubt, aside from the inky scripture, the letter had been written by the Dark Lord. Not just some servant death eater, someone who hoped to pledge allegiance, but the actual man...well, the actual being. Voldemort was no more a man at this point than Filch's ruddy cat Mrs. Norris.
We attack in three days? Why was I not informed?
As though she read his mind, she muttered, in apparent afterthought, "Most likely he'll alert you in two days time, giving you one day to prepare. He'll...he will want to keep you on your toes, not to mention wouldn't want to run the risk of anything getting out."
"And you think sending a letter, a letter which easily could have been intercepted, would be classified as discreet?" asked Draco harshly, knowing better than to get mad at her. It wasn't her fault all this would be happening so soon.
No matter; she seemed relatively unaffected by his tone. Hermione continued, "I've just come to realize that nobody wins. We can't win in this."
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice calmer than before.
"Whatever the outcome, whatever happens...nobody wins. If our Master wins, then the likelihood that I'll survive will be slim to none."
"Not true," he said firmly, walking toward her and desperately wanting to hold her. He couldn't, nonetheless, because they were still in broad daylight in a very visible place. Anyone could have come out and seen them together.
Hermione pushed back her drenched hair, running her fingers through the soft dampness, as she added, "On top of which, my entire species–muggleborns–will all be killed off."
"Hermione," drawled Draco in a deep voice, "I...call me a prat, but I just don't get this. I mean I thought you already thought this stuff through. I thought you knew what you were doing and—"
"The only thing I thought about was how much I love you!" she screamed, jerking around to face him. The rain shielded her face from whether or not she was crying, but it was no matter to Draco. Hearing her voice crack, such desperation leaving her pink lips, had been enough to break his heart. There was no need for tears as he could already tell she felt agony and fear over what would be coming. "Nothing mattered to me when I first agreed to all of this because all I thought about was you. I just wanted to be with you and now that I've actually come to realize the result of my actions...I..."
She broke off, suddenly finding interest in the muddy contents beneath her already soggy shoes. Draco ran a hand through his slick, damp hair, a nervous gesture belying his normally cool facade.
"Not to mention," she continued in a choke voice, "everyone will be out for my blood. I betrayed their side and...I think...there are some on Potter's side where 'forgive and forget' does not ring a bell. After the Dark Lord, I'll be the number one target. There will probably be a bounty on my bloody head!" she screamed, losing control like never before. Draco watched her pull and tug on her curls, anger and fear wracking her body into spasms.
"Again," she started, once she felt able enough to compose herself, "nobody wins if Potter wins because that would mean our side lost. Either way...I have the strong feeling we'll be parted."
"No," he growled in the most animalistic voice she'd ever heard. His voice seared with fear, rage, and anxiety all at once. He pushed on, "Nothing will part me from you, do you understand? We're going to get through this, whether our side wins or not."
"How?" she asked desperately, her eyes shining with fear and love.
Draco remained quiet for a long moment, shuddering at the various thoughts now plaguing his mind. Images of all the horrid things which could be wrought upon her, thus hurting him, flashed through his mind. He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the present situation.
"I'll take you away."
His breathless words shot through her like a dagger. Exhaling soundlessly, she turned around to meet his usually guarded eyes.
"What?" she asked, just wanting clarification; had she really heard him right?
"Whether our side wins or not, I'll take you away. I'll take you where we don't have to deal with the chaos our side brings or the danger Potter's does. It'll be me and you, the way it was intended—the way things were meant to be. I'll take you somewhere safe."
Hermione shook her head, unsure whether all of it registered the way he'd intended. Was he really offering her this? Was he offering her something she knew he did not—normally would never even consider!—want to give? Stepping toward him, rain dripping down every inch of her body with cold air freezing her lungs, she rubbed her hand against his chilly cheek.
"Y-you'd do this?" she asked meekly.
Without muttering one word, he gave her his answer. Most would have missed it given his expression nearly always lacked any sign of emotion, but nobody knew him like she did. Nobody knew the Draco beneath the outer sneer and lovely flesh. They knew nobody would win, but if they stayed together, remained one with each other, they'd at least have a fighting chance.
Three days...
Three days until they would know the outcome.
Three days until everyone would know the side Hermione Granger was on.
A/N: As always, tell me what you guys think. I know everyone has been waiting for this chapter patiently and I thank you all for that. As for my other story 'A Dream Worth Keeping' - I'll definitely be continuing it. Curse the person for thinking it was copied. I did nothing wrong so I'll be continuing this story as well as that one. Give me a few days to finish the next chapter. Again, thank you to all the supportive people who wished me well. I appreciate you all so much!!
Also, be prepared readers - the war is quickly approaching in the story. I'm going to warn you all that two main characters WILL die. I know I'm required to kill off one as part of the challenge, but I'm going to drop a bomb - I'm killing off at least two. I am not saying who or when exactly in the war it will happen, but be prepared for it.
Please note that I've got finals this week and next week (yay me!) so I'm going to do my best to update as much as possible. I hope you all will bear with me :)
READ AND REVIEW!! If you can read it, then you can review it.
Evil's Mistress is the work of fanfiction. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, but the featured story is mine.