Chapter Fourteen

Malfoy's Mistake

How backwards things were... Putting her life in the hands of someone she once fought against. Five years later she was fighting with him.

Nott sat on the bed across from her. He began by telling her how him and Malfoy became friends. Malfoy, the boy who was groomed to follow in his father's footsteps, who had his side of the world placed on his shoulders wore it with pride and worry. He wanted to be a Death Eater - until that is he went to Hogwarts and saw that his lineage had been wrong.

Nott knew it from the beginning. He despised his father for being who he was, and despised his mother for serving him like a house-elf. He was determined to break out of it, but he formed a kinship with Draco when they were younger. Like her and Ron following after Harry in his mission, Nott followed Malfoy.

Unlike his perfect timing at her house, Nott did not have the same luck with Malfoy. Contrarily, he arrived there in time to witness his death. He saw the blinding flash of green light and his friend's body lying sprawled onto the floor. It took him an hour to get through the wards, and when he was inside the murderer was gone and Malfoy was beyond recognition, everything coated in blood.

Being the vivid storyteller he was, his lovely eyes glazed to the past as he told of the sloshing sound that his sneakers made in the puddles. His was monotoned through it all, not feeling his words. Finally, he was done.

"Are you ill, Granger? You're a pitiful color."

"I'm okay," she assured, but as she went to touch her forehead she saw that her hand was trembling.

Nott frowned. "Didn't know you had a weak stomach. How did you get through the war?"

"It's not the detail." It was Malfoy. She didn't want the image of his murder, but she felt compelled to listen. Nott wanted it told and she had to leaned an ear. It was the least she owed to him.

"I understand," he said, his normal pitch back. "But that's how I came to have his wand."

"You have it?" When was she going to stop being surprised?

He reached to his backside withdrawing a perfectly smooth wand. "Hawthorne, ten inches, unicorn hair. It's clean."

She accepted it gently. It was as smooth as it looked. There wasn't one knot or splinter, and it was indeed clean. It shined in the light from the iron brackets.

"Have Potter and Weasley figured out how to use their inheritance?"

"No," she said fingering the wand. Malfoy's wand.

"They still don't know who you are?"

"I'm Hermione. They know that."

"No, they don't. They know you as Hermione the know-it-all-bookworm. They know you as a Gryffindor, as their friend. They don't know you as Hermione, the sneaky should-be-Slytherin who had an affair with their enemy. They know none of your secrets."

"You mean they don't know I'm a liar."

"You didn't lie, Granger. You have secrets like all of us. You deceived everyone, but you did it for your and Draco's safety."

She shook her head sadly. She couldn't be allowed to feel better about what she did. She had no right. "Don't sugar-coat it."

He snorted. "You would have made an interesting Slytherin."

"I'm Muggle-born. Being a Slytherin requires valuing blood-lines."

"And Draco did? Do I?"

She laughed sarcastically. "You two have called me mudblood more times to count."

"For Draco it was a matter of keeping the secret. For me... It's a habit, that's all." He touched her cheek, stroking his fingertips to her jaw. "If I cared about blood-lines I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't touch you or fight so hard to keep you alive."

"Out of obligation," she said with her remaining breath, her eyes sliding close of their own accord. She was starting to become accustomed to the feel of him. More than accustomed, she was enjoying it, the softness of it. It was comfortable, him touching her, and as she touched his cheek in return, the burning desire for him growing How wrong was it that she enjoyed it the way she did?

She knew that answer. It was incredibly wrong. He was Malfoy's best mate, her old enemy. What was wrong with her? Why did she have to keep falling for men that she shouldn't?

His hand fell and her eyes opened. They returned to reality, and she shyly gazed down at the wand. "His last spell. We should find out what it was."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"I think so too."

They smiled briefly at one another and she took her wand to align the ends. She whispered the incantation and like a wisp of smoke between them was an image of tiny jagged pieces. The pieces came together to form a plain mug, and then, it disappeared. She laid the wands aside.

"His last spell was to fix a mug... He didn't defend himself..."

Nott slid his hand in hers, as though it was the most natural thing to do. "He knew his time was limited."

"How could he?"

"When Goyle came by his manor for brunch, he snuck away to search the library. That's how Draco knew he saw the book. He realized that it was too dangerous. Goyle might not have been the only one to have seen it. He came to you with the book, he changed his will, and Goyle found all of this out through connections from the Ministry."

The pieces fell into a clear picture, the events leading to where they were making sense. It was easy, but the end result would be more than difficult. "I meant.. How could he let himself die?"

He laughed shortly, her head snapping up incredulously. "You're trying very hard to look for a reason for his death. First it was a stranger, then me, Goyle, then me again, and now he killed himself? Goyle murdered him, he died to protect all of us. You're not going to get a better reason." He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles.

"He could have fought. He - He..." She cried a choked cried, and bent double to hold her heart inside of her chest. It felt like it would burst.

Nott scooted beside her and held her, held her together. He kissed her hair, and she froze, her tears running down her neck, her form shaking. He kissed her hair?

"Hermione," he sighed.

"Theo?"

His forehead rested on top of her head. "I'm in as much pain as you, but that's the wonderful thing. We'll heal each other."

"Out of indebtedness?"

"Out of care. Curse me with any curse, I do care for you. Not a debt."

She moved to her knees and hugged him around his neck. She sobbed into his shoulder, the smell of his clean soap filling her. "I care for you too."

He held her waist, kissing her cheek. "You know where this will lead, don't you? You know what happens when two people heal each other."

For someone that was in a romantic tragedy, she wasn't much of a romantic, but she was a woman. A logical woman at that, and she knew what their future could hold. She could see them, holding each other up, hand in hand, facing the cruel world, fighting together for the rest of their lives.

She didn't want it. It was a disgrace to Malfoy's memory, of their memories. Though she had everything of his, those memories were the most precious to her. She moved out of Nott's embrace.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." She stood and began to pull down the blankets. She didn't look at him.

Theo stood beside her. "Hermione, he'd be okay with it. He had his hopes for you, but he'd want you to be happy. That's what love is."

She spun on him. "What do you know about love?"

He said nothing for a minute, his eyes glazing over again, then he shrugged. "Nothing. I know nothing of it. The only love I saw was between you two. It was the most powerful thing I ever witnessed."

And looked what happened, she thought. He went off to be a Death Eater, he got himself killed, and now I'm mourning for a man I never truly had. "We have to ignore any feelings that may result in our situation."

"I'm just as skilled a liar as Draco."

"What does that mean?"

His lips pursed, he hissed out the following sentence that floored her. "You weren't an obligation. Draco knew I liked you."

When a minute passed without a comment on her part, he brought out his wand and with a flick he submerged them in darkness. She heard the squeaking of the mattress from his side of the room.

Without thinking, she felt her way to the door. She walked three steps to her right, and knocked.

In his gray boxers, Harry answered. He was shoving on his round glasses blinking at her. "Hermione," he yawned, "are you okay?"

She was still crying, streams, rivers; she could fill an empty pool. She tackled him around his middle and he stumbled a little from the force, but he held her tightly, his heart hammering against his rib cage. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, I just... Changed my mind."

He didn't ask further questions even if he knew she was avoiding the answer. He patiently led her in guiding her to the bed. Covering her with the blankets he laid beside her. He combed her hair with his fingers. "Hermione -"

"I can't tell don't ask."

She drowned in the silence that followed, and she welcomed the sweet sleep that took her in its waves.