Edited 10/14/15
16. Hit a Wall
All I've known
Is that there is an end
Then you can begin again
Day, every day
I had a dream
That the sea was helpless
Caught in the ropes and the wires
The sun settles hard in the south
Winter lives in my bones
[Winter Bones, Stars]
"Where are the notes you made during your interview, Harry? I'd like to see them before we talk to Malfoy. I want to know how it is that he managed to keep this…incident…to himself even while being questioned under veritaserum," Remus asked, with a side-long glance at Hermione that was equal parts sympathy and discomfort. They stood in a huddled group at the end of an aisle in the library within eyeshot but not earshot of Draco; Harry, Remus, Kingsley, Professor McGonagall, and Hermione. She'd had to argue rather fiercely - if only briefly - to be allowed to be privy to this exchange.
Professor McGonagall had just finished explaining what had happened with Lenora Grey and Draco, and the others were filled with a suspicion that disgusted Hermione. While she felt sick over what Lenora's words had meant, she trusted Draco, and she knew that he would never do anything like that willingly. He had been under the Imperius - whatever he had done hadn't been his fault. It didn't stop her from feeling fucking sick to her stomach, and utterly furious - at Voldemort, the war, and the doubtful faces around her.
"I followed protocol with the interview, Remus, I'm sure of it," Harry insisted, but Hermione could see he was replaying the interview in his mind, trying to work out what he'd missed, or had done wrong.
"I'm not blaming you, Harry, or saying you made any mistakes. I read the transcript, and it all seemed in order. But I'd like to look through it before we speak to Malfoy."
Hermione half tuned out Remus' soothing tone, her eyes flicking to Draco. He sat at a table with his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped, and it hurt just to look at him. Her hand splayed over her abdomen of its own accord, and she blinked back hot tears.
"I left it on the miscellany desk," Remus was saying when Hermione's attention came back to him, and she caught Harry's nod to Remus out of the corner of her eye. He looked pained and drawn, and avoided her eyes as he hurried past her out of the aisle, to a desk heaped with scrolls. Hermione grimaced, resisting the urge to grind her teeth together in frustrated anger. Harry was her best friend, but despite how much he had warmed up to Draco, despite how much he had trusted him in the past…all it had taken was just a little bit of doubt, and everything just fell apart.
"Hermione." Kingsley's voice jerked Hermione out of her thoughts, and she felt very tired as she met his dark, unreadable eyes. "I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, Hermione, but can you tell us anything that might be relevant? Anything at all."
She licked dry lips and darted a quick look at Draco, still slumped in his seat as though he were a puppet whose strings had been cut.
"No. No I don't, not really. He never mentioned anything…except that he'd never raped anyone. I do know he'd never commit any kind of sexual assault of his own free will. And that since we were - since we were captured there are things that he tries not to think about. Maybe Draco repressed what happened with, um, Lenora, so the veritaserum didn't pick up on anything?"
"That is quite possible," Kingsley said to Hermione with a nod, and then took the scrolls Harry had found and skimmed through them.
"A very rudimentary debriefing, only covering the basics," he commented neutrally as he handed the scrolls off to Remus. "You made the mistake of not asking enough detailed questions, Harry. You have to go over and over things with the person you're questioning, and draw the truth out."
"I'm sorry, Kingsley, I -"
"It's fine, Harry; an easy mistake to make. I should have double-checked at the time. Just remember for next time; detail. It's all about the details," Kingsley said, and then turned the conversation back to Draco. They talked about him coldly and clinically, as if he was a stranger, as if he hadn't fought and nearly died for them all over and over again. Hermione bit her lip and tried not to go off at them - it wouldn't help right now. She could feel Professor McGonagall's eyes watchful on her, and Remus' concerned gaze turning on her now and then, but she kept her focus on Draco, sitting at the library table, and let their words wash over her.
"We should talk to him before we go any further," Kingsley said at last, ushering the group toward the table Draco sat at alone. Hermione sat beside him and he raised his head to look at her, the movement seeming leaden and exhausted, and Hermione made herself be strong.
"It's going to be okay," she told him quietly and found his hand, wove her fingers through his unresisting ones.
"Don't tell me that," he grated, and there was a shell-shocked glaze to his eyes as he turned them on her; slate grey and very far away. Hermione didn't know what to say to that, but anger at the war that caused things like this to happen buzzed through her, harsh and unsettling.
"You were not entirely truthful with us, Malfoy," Remus said, opening the interrogation, and Draco looked at the other man, eyes suddenly snapping into raw focus.
"I - no. No, I wasn't," he said bluntly, and Hermione felt her fingers twitch involuntarily on his. Her stomach turned for reasons completely unrelated to morning sickness, and Remus' face hardened.
"Why not, Malfoy?"
Draco pressed his lips together hard, and the words ground out of him. "I didn't remember."
"You didn't remember?" Kingsley asked disbelievingly, deep voice stern, and Hermione shot the wizard a glare he didn't seem to notice. Draco stiffened.
"I didn't exactly want to remember, Shacklebolt. I must have buried it." Draco bit the words out and Hermione could feel the shame and humiliation pouring off him palpably. She understood burying things very well; even with all she did remember, it still felt like there were patches of memory in her mind where snippets of time were just…gone. She was relatively certain she could remember, but she tried so hard to forget what she did remember, that things her mind suppressed had no chance of coming to the surface unless they were forced out.
"You just blanked it all out, and now it's all completely come back to you?" Kingsley's voice was still laden with disbelief, and the others looked highly uncomfortable. Harry's eyes were fixed on the table, Remus was drawn in lines of quiet, reluctant doubt - only Professor McGonagall looked at all kindly at Draco.
"No. I had…dreams, since getting back. Nightmares that fit in with what I remember after seeing the - the girl. But I don't think I remember everything."
"You need to tell us the truth, Malfoy. All that you remember," Remus said, face solemn.
"I will, but I can't tell you what I don't fucking remember!"
"Perhaps we need to dip into our stocks of veritaserum, to make sure," Kingsley added in a hard voice.
"He was under the Imperius! That fogs the mind in and of itself, to say nothing of the mind's not uncommon involuntary suppression of extremely traumatic events, as a protective measure!" Hermione burst out, dropping Draco's had to slap both of hers on the tabletop as she pushed herself to her feet. Anger trembled through her like a physical wave. Silence blanketed the table as she held Kingsley's unreadable dark gaze.
"Draco's not on trial here is he?" she snapped, shivering like a taut bow string, and Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.
"No. Mr Malfoy is not on trial. We know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was under the Imperius Curse. He is as much a victim as Lenora, and it would do us all well to remember that. But we must know what occurred while he was under the Imperius. Now sit down, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall gave Hermione a kindly firm look, and the younger witch nodded in acceptance.
Draco had sat perfectly still and expressionless since Hermione had begun her outburst, and when she sank back into her seat he gave her an odd look. "You don't have to defend me," he muttered, his fingers digging into his knees and shoulders stiff.
"I know, Draco," she snapped back. He was acting as though Hermione should hate him for something he hadn't been able to help. But she didn't hate him, not even a little. She just felt sick and trembly, and absolutely adrift in a sea of chaos.
"The fact remains that while Malfoy was under the Imperius Curse, we don't know how much of what he did was of his own accord, and how much he was ordered to do," Kingsley said very calmly and carefully, and Hermione felt rage sweep over her.
"You must be kidding! You can't be serious, Kingsley - after everything? I can't believe you would -"
"I thought I could trust Kiam," Kingsley cut her off sharply, and Hermione remembered Kingsley's fine-boned, handsome lover in a pained flash of comprehension. "People died because of my trust in him."
"Draco isn't Kiam! It's not the same situation at all," she tried to argue, back on her feet and still furious, despite her sympathy for Kingsley, who looked very old and tired opposite her.
"I said it was unwise to have her here, she's -"
"Hermione…" Draco tried, but she ignored him, standing with her fists balled up and a glare on her face.
"Harry - tell Kingsley how paranoid he's being!"
"Hermione, I -" Harry faltered, his eyes casting away from her.
"Tell him that this is offensive and ridiculous!" Hermione's eyes flashed around the table and found no ally - even Draco just sat there with his jaw clenched and his gaze downward. Harry shrugged awkwardly.
"I do trust Draco, Hermione, but this is…"
"Suspicious," Remus finished. "I understand how upsetting this is to you, Hermione, but we can't overlook people's suspicious actions just because they have been trustworthy in the past."
Hermione bit her lip and shook her head helplessly, flabbergasted that they were all behaving like this. Yes, they might have to question him, but they didn't have to be so accusatory. Draco would never have willingly done anything like - like Lenora Grey had described; it was all the Imperius Curse. She couldn't understand why they didn't realise that. She felt betrayed by them all, and the way they so easily dismissed every time Draco had fought, been injured, nearly killed, captured, tortured…fighting on their side.
He loved her, was her fiancé, the father of her child - a good man. And just because he'd suppressed some terrible memories, suddenly it was fine for them to treat him like the enemy. It felt as though a great gulf had opened across the table between Hermione, Draco and the others, and Hermione laid her hands on the polished wood to steady herself as the room swayed around her.
"How could you doubt him?" she asked quietly, rage replaced by hurt, but no one answered her. "How?"
"You have to understand how it appears, Hermione," Remus said trying to placate her, and she almost felt sorry for the position he was in right now. "For all we know Malfoy could have been deliberately hiding this information."
Hermione bit down the bitter response that bubbled up, and sank her teeth into her tongue to quiet herself; none of them were going to listen to her.
"We are fully aware of and appreciate everything Draco has done for the war effort, but this…incident brings up questions that need to be answered," Remus told her, and Hermione flinched from the gentleness of his tone.
"Besides that, Miss Granger, we do need details of any other victims, so that the confrontation earlier can be avoided in the future," Professor McGonagall said briskly, and Hermione blinked at her, her anger further dissipating. She could see the wisdom in that. Any girls Draco might have hurt - god, that thought made her feel sick to her stomach - needed help and support.
"This isn't a trial," she said as she had before, almost a question now, and Harry's eyes met hers with honesty burning in the always slightly-too-intense green.
"It's not a trial. It's just getting the facts straight, Hermione. I swear."
She jerked in a sharp breath and then nodded and sat down, legs feeling wobbly. "Fine. Fine." It wasn't fine. Nothing was fine, because the truth was, the thought of Draco touching other women…forcing them to do…hurting them like that…that was as far from fine as Hermione could be.
The others' mistrust was merely the icing on the cake of not-fine.
But there was nothing anyone could do about how she felt, so all Hermione could do was lock those feelings down hard and nod, her eyes stinging and her throat feeling thick. If she let go of her tenuous control now, she would fall apart in the library, in front of everyone, and Professor McGonagall would hurry her off to Madam Pomfrey for a calming draught. Hermione falling apart wouldn't help Draco.
"You're sure you're…" Harry began, all furrowed brow and worried eyes.
"Yes," she snapped, folding her hands tightly up in her lap and concentrating on just calmly breathing.
"If you've finished arguing over me as though I am not here," Draco said crisply, and Hermione's eyes shot to him - his face cold and set in sharp, grim lines. "Let's get this over with," he added. "I know for a fact that we have veritaserum in stock."
"You're willing to take it?" Remus asked.
"Of course I am." Draco's lips curled into a sneer, and he stared across the table without blinking.
"You don't have to." Harry piped up, and got glared down by Remus and Kingsley.
"I know, Potter. But if it'll make these two happy…"
So once Remus had fetched it, Draco swallowed down the bitter potion, and the questioning began. Kingsley asked most of the questions, and while he was - Hermione was glad to note - non-accusatory and calm, he was also utterly relentless, prying out every scrap of memory Draco had. Draco looked straight ahead the entire time, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes, his face perfectly blank although his voice shook and cracked in places.
Hermione sat beside him in stiff silence, and when she tried to touch him near the beginning he flinched away, and then, after some of the disjointed memories, she no longer wanted to touch him. Her heart pounded and her breath came shallow, a horrible, hot, sickly sweatiness coating her. It wasn't Draco's fault and she knew that, but still… His hands, his mouth, his - Draco had done things that made her feel ill, and the thought of touching him made her skin crawl. Which in turn, made her feel horribly guilty.
So she sat silently with her hands twisted up in her lap, eyes sliding to Draco's cold face now and then, listening to what Voldemort had made him do. Mostly it seemed he had tried to resist anything of a…sexual…nature, and succeeded a great deal of the time. There were no recollections of penetrative rape and only a few of severe sexual assault, and Hermione held that small comfort tightly to her. Draco had summoned the immense willpower it had taken to defy the Imperius and taken brutal torture in order to keep from committing rape.
He said, in dull tones, that he had known Hermione would never be able to forgive him for it, and at another point in the interrogation Kingsley was directing, the veritaserum and phrasing of a question made it clear he hadn't been able to get an erection. Fury and shame had wrenched through his voice as he'd spoken, but what he'd said made it a little easier for Hermione to hear, although her nails still bit into her palms as she listened, blinking back tears.
This was the kind of situation that had the ability to break things beyond repair; to splinter and shatter them apart. And Hermione didn't want that to happen, but who really knew if she would think of this when he was touching her? She might remember everything she had heard, and feel too sickened by the thought of what he had done. It scared her. She didn't want to - she wanted everything to stay the same - but Draco kept talking, confessing, and Hermione's active imagination conjured up nightmarish images in her mind.
"…I don't remember her name, but it doesn't really matter. The Dark Lo- you-know-who, killed her when I managed to refuse."
Hermione jerked in a sharp breath and her hands trembled as she shoved herself to her feet, and Draco fell silent. Their eyes met, and she swiped at the stray tears that were beginning to spill over, her chin quivering as she tried to speak.
"I - I can't…" she admitted, staring at him full of apology and fledgling panic, and Draco's features were set in grim resignation, his grey eyes unblinking and steady on her. She just stared at him, and there was a bitter comprehension in his face that she hated the sight of - wanted to tell him was wrong, unfounded, but she couldn't wrap her tongue around the words. Because she didn't know. Not really.
She felt churned up, her head filled with vivid images of Draco hurting people and hating himself and being hurt, and it - it… She swayed on her feet, everything blurring and darkening, and a hand caught her arm, cold fingers like iron on her flesh. She leant into a hard body, and knew it was Draco even though she'd shut her eyes against her dizziness. The smell of him filled her nostrils; the hint of warm woodiness from his aftershave beneath the faint scent of fresh sweat. His arm came around her waist and her forehead bumped against his upper arm.
"What's wrong? Hermione?" Harry asked as the room tipped around her; even with her eyes squeezed shut she could feel it spinning.
"Hermione." Draco's voice was rough from all the talking and worried, and her insides went all flippity-flop.
"Sit her down," Professor McGonagall ordered with a brisk calm that Hermione clung to as she sank blindly onto her chair. "Miss Granger, Hermione - put your head down, between your knees. That's right. Deep breaths." She did as she was told and the dizziness began to slowly pass, her clammy fingers digging into Draco's hand.
"It's perfectly normal," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "Poppy said faintness was not uncommon during pregnancy."
"I think I'd like to go lie down," Hermione said weakly as she lifted her head, her vision clearing although her stomach was still swooping disconcertingly.
"Go to the hospital wing," Draco told her lowly, watching her like a hawk, but Hermione took a breath and shook her head, trying to force a small smile.
"No, I don't need to, really. I just need to lie down."
"Hermione…" He began and she shot him a warning look. "I'll bloody well drag you there myself if you don't," he threatened, and she dropped his hand and glowered.
"You wouldn't."
"I've taken veritaserum, Hermione, and yes, I would."
"Speaking of veritaserum - I apologise for interrupting, but we need to finish this before the potion wears off," Remus interrupted awkwardly. "Perhaps, Hermione, you should go -"
"I'm fine! Perfectly well. It was just a dizzy moment."
"I'll see Miss Granger to the hospital wing," Professor McGonagall interrupted, and Hermione gave her a tired frown, well aware there would be no point in arguing with the professor. Draco nodded his thanks as he resumed his seat, the worry fading from his face to be replaced with that cold, blank look that Hermione hated.
"I'll see you late," she told him quietly and he nodded again, without even sparing her a glance, his lips thinning, Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed.
"Harry. Remus, Kingsley," she acknowledged tightly, tears swarming hot behind her eyes, and then let Professor McGonagall lead her from the library.
"Malfoy?"
Potter's uncertain call stopped Draco in his tracks, and he hissed in a short breath through his teeth. He didn't want to talk to Potter; he wanted to go and get blackout drunk, and stay that way indefinitely. But he just shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the tremble to them, and turned around to face Potter tiredly.
"What?" he asked, too exhausted to bother being polite or nasty, the word coming out flat and defeated. He had remembered more than he wanted to under the meticulous questioning, and it had left him feeling beaten, disgusted with himself, helpless. He was defeated. Potter hunched his shoulders in a half shrug and gave Draco a weak smile. It was fucking uncomfortable standing in front of Potter after what he'd admitted to, and he was rather sure Potter felt the same way. But the other man just sighed and scratched his head.
"I, ah, was hoping to talk to you," Potter said. Draco quirked an eyebrow and the other man elaborated. "I'm sending my patronus to Voldemort tomorrow morning. I don't imagine it'll take him long to attack after that, and I - I have a favour to ask of you."
Potter had a favour to ask of Draco? He licked his lips to stall as his mind raced with questions, eyeing the other man cautiously. What the fuck would Potter want from him? And did he care to know? Right now he wanted to go and find the bottom of a bottle, not chat to bloody Potter. But he did want to know he realised, staring at Potter who was the epitome of awkward and eagerly heartfelt at once. And thoughts of the battle brought his own issues to mind; planning for after, for Hermione, when it was over, in case…
"Fine." Draco nodded once, a weary dip of his chin and then paused. "Know where we can find a strong drink, Potter?" he asked after a beat had passed, and a smile flashed weakly on Potter's face.
"Yeah, actually." Potter headed for the library doors and Draco fell in beside him. "I saw a bottle or two of aged mead in Dumbledore's office the other day," Potter explained as he led them toward the stairs. "I don't know if it was Dumbledore's or Snape's, but -"
"Snape doesn't drink," Draco said shortly as they ascended a staircase.
"Well, I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't begrudge us a drink right now. Merlin knows I could do with one."
"Playing nice, Potter?" Draco shot with rather lacklustre defensiveness - he had been fully expecting nothing but disgusted contempt from the Golden Boy, not this friendliness. Potter cast him a glance and shrugged.
"No point in being an arse to you because of things you couldn't control, Malfoy. I thought you'd got the memo; we're not enemies anymore, remember?"
Draco snorted, keeping pace with the other wizard and eying him with a kind of cautious surprise. "I wasn't sure that still stood, after that little interrogation."
"Oh come off it, Malfoy." Potter gave him a look of disgust. "Playing martyr doesn't suit you - you're too much of a git for people to care."
"Lovely, Potter. Very charming," Draco drawled as they turned down an empty corridor, staring at his boots. Fuck he needed that drink. He wasn't up to exchanging barbs with Potter, not when he bloody despised himself and was quite certain Hermione despised him too. How could she not, after what she'd heard? How could she ever stand to let him touch her again? Draco wanted to submerge himself in something alcoholic and never come up for air. Maybe it would help him forget the fragmented memories Shacklebolt and his damned questions had dredged up and brought into painful clarity.
"Seriously, Malfoy. Get over it. We had to question you, and you know it. We needed to know for certain that you can be trusted - not that I personally doubted you -" That made Draco's eyes widen and his stride falter for a moment. "- But it's good procedure. And we needed to know who you were, ah, forced to…hurt, so that if they're still alive we can save them the trauma of -"
"The trauma of seeing their torturer, running around free, on their side of the war?"
Potter cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah. That," he said, not looking at Draco, and they walked the rest of the way in total, uncomfortable silence.
They were just sitting down in Dumbledore's office with glasses Draco had transfigured and Potter had filled with good aged mead, before Potter finally cast a muffliato and spoke.
"I'm going to die," he said bluntly, his tone making it clear he wasn't fucking around. Deadly serious. Draco choked on his mouthful of mead and the rich burn of it seared up his nose.
"What? Imminently?" he asked stupidly, and Potter grimaced and nodded, his face very pale and strained.
"I'm - I'm a horcrux. When Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at me when I was a baby, a piece of his soul inadvertently…latched onto me. In order for Voldemort to be killed - permanently - I have to die."
Draco stared at the other man gape-mouthed, forgetting to guard his expression in the shock of Potter's revelation. His mind blurred with racing thoughts. "Shit," was what came out at last. "Well, that's a fucking rough deal."
Potter made a choked kind of laugh, his face still stark white, right to his lips. "Yeah, yeah it is, rather."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah. I found out when I viewed some memories, um, left for me." Potter shifted in his chair and sighed. "You'd better know whose memories, I suppose. They were Snape's."
"Snape?" Draco's mind whirled… He had no idea how he felt about Severus Snape right now - too much was unknown, and Snape always had ulterior motives he kept hidden from everyone.
"He's on our side. He's always been on our side. It was him who helped Hermione escape when you were both captured. Didn't she tell you?"
"We haven't talked…about that very much," Draco said awkwardly, shrugging.
"Well, he's been working for Dumbledore this whole time, and he left me memories here, one of which included Dumbledore explaining that I'm a horcrux. That I have been…raised to die, at just the right time."
"Fuck…" Draco sank back in his chair and gulped at his mead, trying to absorb that. Potter looked like he was on the verge of keeling over, and Draco found himself feeling sorry for the other man. He couldn't imagine…
"I haven't told anyone. They'd - they wouldn't accept it. They'd stall, try to protect me, to find a way around it, and we can't afford to waste any time." Potter's eyes bored into Draco's. "And there isn't a way. If there had been, Dumbledore would have found it, I'm sure. It has to happen this way. So I couldn't tell any of them, but I need someone to know, so that when I die I know someone will be ready. Ready to make sure Ginny doesn't do anything, or ready to take down Voldemort…"
"I don't know if I should be flattered that you trust me, or insulted that you don't think I'll give a fuck about you dying, Potter," Draco said a trifle hoarsely between mouthfuls of mead.
What, are you saying you care, Malfoy?" Potter made a small, twisted smile and Draco laughed shortly, hands trembling and chest tight at the burden of responsibility Potter was placing on him. Draco didn't like keeping secrets from Hermione, and here Potter was, asking Draco to hide the fact that her best friend was going to die.
"Maybe. Just a little," he allowed, thinking that maybe in a strange way Potter was a friend, and if he wasn't around anymore then yes, Draco might…miss him. In a weird, masochistic kind way. "And you really think I could take down Voldemort?" he continued, dryly now, and Potter shrugged.
"Perhaps. You're a good duellist, Malfoy. Mostly I just want to know someone will be prepared to stop Hermione or Ginny from doing anything stupid." His eyes on Draco were questioning, and Draco nodded once. Potter's features relax a bit and he continued.
"I'm going to tell Kingsley and Remus directly before the battle -"
"But not Hermione or the others?"
"No."
"Right." Draco nodded vaguely and downed some more mead, feeling its warmth seep through him in a honeyed, light feeling. "Well shit, Potter. You certainly know how to ruin my fucking plans."
"So sorry my death is inconvenient for you, Malfoy. What plans?"
Draco stared into his drink. "I was going to ask you to look after Hermione and the baby, in case…in case I die, but mostly if I end up in Azkaban. Or in case she never wants to see me again, which after what happened today -"
"Is about as likely as it was yesterday, which is to say, not at all," Potter interrupted sharply. "And you don't have to worry about Hermione, whatever happens to you. There are plenty of people who love her, and will make sure she and the baby are all right - without having to be asked."
"I know. I just wanted to hear it," Draco said quietly as he refilled their glasses with an unsteady hand.
"I can understand that. I - Ginny…" Potter began and trailed off, draining half of his topped up drink.
"Don't you think she deserves to know?" Draco asked without thinking, the three glasses of strong, aged mead filling his head and loosening his tongue. Potter glared at him.
"Did Hermione deserve to know what the Imperius made you do to those girls?"
Anger was sudden and hot. "Not the same thing, Potter. Not the same fucking thing at all." Draco forced himself to stay seated, and not haul off and punch the other man, but anger was seething in him hard, and his hand was white-knuckled around his mead glass. "It was all over and done with by the time Hermione heard about it - there was nothing she could do - nothing I could do to change things…fix things…"
"There's nothing I can do either, Malfoy," Potter said with low, tight anger. "Do you think I want to die? I'm not even twenty yet - I want to fucking live! I want to marry Ginny and have children and live happily ever after!" Potter was on his feet, breath coming hard, face furious and tearful, and Draco looked away, horrified by the stark emotion on the other man's features. "I don't want to die. I don't want to. But I don't have a choice. And I refuse to put that on Ginny, like you did with Herm-"
"I get that you're angry, Potter, and you have every bloody right to be," Draco ground out, standing himself, eyes narrowed and voice dangerously calm. "But be very fucking careful what you say."
Potter just glared back. "You shouldn't have let her hear it all."
"When the fuck did this become about me and Hermione?"
"She loves you. She shouldn't have had to hear that - that - disgusting -" Potter was sputtering and jabbing his finger at Draco, mead sloshing over the edge of his glass.
"She wanted to stay, Potter. Do you really think Hermione could live with not knowing? I certainly didn't bloody want her there." His eyes burnt and his throat felt clogged up. "It was fucking hell answering those Merlin-damned questions and knowing she was right there, hearing what I'd d-done." Tears flooded Draco's eyes and his voice stuttered and broke, and he turned his face sharply away. Blinked back tears furiously.
Potter's voice softened, lost the anger, and Draco cringed from the other man's pity. "Then why did you let her? She - she looked so…"
"You know Hermione, Potter. Do you really think she'd let me tell her what to do?" Draco replied dryly, and their eyes met, a weak laugh faltered in the air between them.
"No," said Potter abruptly as he plopped back into his chair. "I suppose not. But if you could have kept it from her, would you?"
Draco sighed. "Yes. I would have." He sat down too, feeling the weariness bear down on him like a physical weight. "But that's not to say I should have kept it from her."
And then there was a silence that stretched out between them almost companionably, as they drank, both lost in their own thoughts.
"So you're really going to do it?" Draco asked after several more glasses of mead. It wasn't an easy thing for Draco to get his head around, that the other man was willing to sacrifice himself and die, without even trying to find another way.
"I know for a fact that you'd happily die to save Hermione, Malfoy," Potter said calmly, his eyes fixed to Draco's, a resignation hanging in the air about him that was almost peaceful. Draco nodded shortly. "Well then. If I look at it like I'm saving Ginny's life - and the lives of everyone else I care about, and ending the war…" Potter smiled and Draco didn't think he'd ever seen the Boy-Who-Lived look so bitter before. "Then it's almost bearable."
Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry."
Potter raised his brows and gave a weak half-laugh. "Draco Malfoy expressing sympathy for me? Shit, there should be witnesses present for a moment like this."
"Shut up, Potter," Draco said without rancour and swiped the bottle of mead off Dumbledore's desk, wondering if perhaps he'd already had enough. He was loose-jointed and warm with alcohol and his movements were a little unsteady. "If you do live though, you'll make sure Hermione and the baby…?"
"She's my best friend, Malfoy. She's like a bloody sister to me. Of course I'll make sure she and the baby are all right if I live. But I expect I won't." Potter shrugged, a small smile flickering on his face. "And I expect you won't need anyone to make sure she's all right, because you'll be alive -"
"And locked up in Azkaban," Draco finished and Potter rolled his eyes.
"Very unlikely, Malfoy."
"But possible?" Draco insisted, and Potter made a face into his cup of mead.
"I'll give you that it's possible, but I'll also say I think you're still just a damn coward. I think a very large part of you would rather deal with death or Azkaban, than the frightening unknown of trying to live, to get past the, well, past."
Draco was surprised to find he wasn't actually angry. Perhaps Potter was right - and it was clear that he wasn't trying to piss Draco off, just stating his perspective. "I could point out that you share much of the same desires as I do, Potter. Easier to die a martyr than live with the weight of the wizarding world on your shoulders any longer, is it?"
Draco's words echoed in the air as the two men stared at each other silently for a long moment, their glasses of mead forgotten in hand as they looked at each other and saw reflections of themselves. Twisted, wavering reflections, but the threads of similarity between them were undeniable. It was…strange. Draco had never thought he'd have anything in common with Potter, except that they both loved Hermione. But they were similar in one more regard than that, it seemed. The air was stilled and Draco wondered in the hazy muzz of the mead, whether Potter was going to hit him for essentially calling him coward.
Instead, the other man smiled. "Perhaps," he said quietly, still smiling faintly. "But can you blame me, Draco?"
Draco paused. "No. No, I suppose I can't. Harry." He raised an eyebrow and smirked as he said Potter's given name, and the other wizard laughed in response.
"A toast, then. To celebrate the end of an era," Potter said with a touch of drunken wildness lurking in the vivid green of his eyes. It was the look of a man who had embraced the knowledge that he might well lose everything, Draco thought wryly, recognising it. "To life," Potter said with an ironic smile, and raised his glass. "And to freedom."
Draco's lips quirked as he lifted his glass and tipped it toward Potter in a salute. "To life and freedom," he echoed, and drank.
"Hermione!" Ron called and Hermione's head jerked up, eyes shifting from her apathetic observations of the world through the window pane, to Ron bursting in the portrait hole of the Gryffindor common room. He strode across the room and seemed to suck the colour out of it; tall, solid, vividly ginger, bright blue eyes worried - he made the rich reds and golds of the common room seem pallid and dulled.
She smiled weakly at him from her perch on the window seat, where she had been since Madam Pomfrey had released her from the hospital wing with a clean bill of health, but admonition to take it easy. Which was rather a laugh, considering the situation they were all in. Hermione had retreated here out of a sudden urge for the safety of familiarity and old happiness' - and perhaps also because Draco wasn't like to come here in search of her. She had just needed some time - she still needed some time. She was glad it was Ron who had found her.
"Ron," she said in return, craning her neck to meet his eyes as he stopped in front of her. He was steadfast, loyal, security; safe harbour in a storm - the one she turned to for crushing hugs and a shoulder to cry on when she couldn't turn to Draco. She went to Harry to discuss things, and Ron to cry things out. She wiped her reddened eyes and sniffed.
"Hermione, I heard what happened. What Malfoy -" Ron began, bristling with worry and confused anger, and Hermione cut him off before he raged down the wrong track.
"He was under the Imperius at the time, Ron. Imperioed by you-know-who himself. Draco's as much a victim as the women - well, he's a victim too; remember that before you say anything we'll both regret," she told him, firmly but low, mindful of the handful of curious Gryffindors who occupied the common room. They had thankfully left her well enough alone besides staring at her, but they were listening and watching.
"I wasn't going to, 'Mione. I know Malfoy couldn't hep what he, ah, did," Ron answered sharply. "And I really don't give a toss either way. It's you I care about, and -" He broke off as Hermione heaved a breath that shuddered out again in a sob, tears flooding her vision. It was stupid, so stupid, but hearing the fierce, protective love for her in Ron's tone broke through the wall Hermione had been resolutely damming her emotions behind.
"Oh bloody hell… 'Mione? I didn't mean to make you cry." Ron sounded bewildered and guilty, and Hermione shook her head.
"It's not you, Ron. I - I just -" She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her head, trying to hide her leaking tears. Warm hands shifted her along the window seat, and she slid along to make room for Ron.
"Oi! Give us some bloody privacy! Clear out, you lot!" she heard him bark at the other Gryffindors, and grumblings could be heard, along with rustling and footsteps as the others 'cleared out' begrudgingly. Ron's arms came around Hermione and she leant into his chest with a wobbly exhalation.
"They're all gone now," Ron told her in a low, gentle voice. "Sodding nosy lot of gossips. So go ahead, 'Mione -" His large, calloused hand patted Hermione's shoulder, and her fist came up and caught a handful of his shirt like a life preserver. "- Have a good cry."
Hermione did as he said, leaning into Ron's solid warmth, enfolded in the comfort hard brace of his arms, and thanking Merlin that Cho was so understanding. She lost herself in her tears and the comfort of Ron's silent steadiness, sobbing until her throat was raw and her eyes stung, letting it all out. Draining the poison. She clung to him for a long while, eyes shut against the world, and neither of them spoke. But she didn't feel the need to.
Hermione was a mess, and Ron had no bloody idea how to help, except to let her cry on him. Girls always seemed to feel a little better after having a good cry, and while Ron knew he wasn't the best at giving advice and comforting words, he could give a wicked hug. And thank Merlin's left testicle, that seemed to be all 'Mione wanted; someone to hold her steady while she sobbed like her ruddy heart was going to break.
Ron had only heard bits of what had apparently happened earlier, but it had been enough that Cho had all but ordered him to find Hermione and make sure she was okay. What Neville had told Ron and Cho hadn't been pretty, and what Dean and a Hufflepuff girl who had been in Fred and George's year had chimed in with had only painted a bleaker picture. Malfoy, raping girls under the Imperius, or some fucking horrific shit like that. And now 'Mione had to live with that knowledge.
It wasn't bloody fair.
Ron soothed a hand over Hermione's back as she choked on a sob, and his expression was hard as he stared into the flickering fire. Hermione didn't deserve this. Of course, Ron acknowledged silently, neither did Malfoy. He might still be an annoying, cold, git, but he wasn't the evil little prat he used to be. He was a good bloke, much as it weirded Ron out to admit it, and plus he obviously loved Hermione more than anything else in the world.
The pair of them seemed cursed with bad luck, and it hurt Ron to see Hermione going through so much pain. And now it wasn't just her - she had a baby on the way to think of too. A baby fathered by a man that everyone on the other side and half the people on their side hated. A man that apparently had done things while under the Imperius that Hermione might find hard to accept and move past.
If Hermione stayed with Malfoy, Ron knew she wouldn't have an easy time ahead of her. But he also knew she wouldn't leave Malfoy, and Ron couldn't blame her. He wouldn't care what Cho did if she had been Imperioed. Well, he corrected himself as Hermione sniffled snottily, burying her face further into his tear-wet shirt, he'd care, but he sure as hell wouldn't leave her. But like Hermione, Ron supposed he wouldn't take it well at first.
"H-h-how am I supposed to look at him, kn-knowing…?" Hermione gasped, and Ron tucked her closer to him, his mouth tightening and a sigh whooshing out of him. "I love him so - so much. But I keep picturing…" Her voice was anguished, and covered the sound of the portrait hole swinging open. Ron glanced over sharply, ready to tell the intruder to bugger off.
"I keep seeing it in my mind," Hermione went on, as Harry and Malfoy stepped into the common room. The two turned toward the sound of Hermione's wretched gasps, and Malfoy met Ron's eyes. The other man looked haggard as death, features drawn and paler than usual. "I keep seeing what he did. What he did to them…"
Malfoy flinched at Hermione's sobbed words, his skin draining of what little colour he had. Ron clutched Hermione tighter, eyes still locked on Malfoy and the expression on the other man's face. It hurt to look at him. Ron tried to urgently to hush Hermione, but now that she was talking the words just kept tumbling out of her. "How am I supposed to let him touch me, after…?"
Pain embedded itself starkly on Malfoy's haggard face, and Ron winced at the despairing look of him. Shit.
"Hermione stop - shut it, he's right -" Ron started but Malfoy turned on his heel, face stony-hard and white, and ducked out the portrait hole without a word. "Here…" Ron finished helplessly, as the portrait door swung shut with a bang in Malfoy's wake, and Hermione's face jerked up from his chest. She stared wildly over at the closed door and Harry awkward beside it, her face blotchy and shiny with tears, eyes swollen and bloodshot.
"Oh my god," she said thickly, smearing her wrists over her red-rimmed eyes. "Oh Merlin, he heard." She stared up at Ron with frantic eyes. "He fucking heard me, didn't he?"
Ron couldn't hold her gaze, not knowing how to cope with the anguish on her face. "Yeah. He - he, ah, did," he confirmed, feeling utterly useless.
"Oh shit. Fuck. Ron - Ron, I have to go after him! I have to explain!" She was shaking and clumsy as she tried to get up, and Ron set his jaw and shook his head at her - grabbed her hand and pulled her firmly back down onto the window seat. "What are you doing?" she half-screeched, and Ron cringed from the ear-splitting sound.
"You're in no bloody state to go chasing Malfoy through the corridors, or try to explain. You shouldn't have to apologise for how you're feeling, 'Mione, or try to keep it together so you can reassure him."
"Let me go, Ron! Now!" She glared at him ferociously and stomped on his foot hard enough that he yelped at the pain.
"No! You're a fucking mess, 'Mione, no offence. You need time to…I dunno, process what happened or something."
"I'm fine!"
"You're clearly not fine, and -"
"And at this point he's not likely to listen, 'Mione," Harry broke in, having crossed the room and taken up standing awkwardly by Hermione. He put a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I had a few drinks with him just before we came here, and he's…pretty bloody guilty. It was all I could do to convince him to come find you - he wanted to stay away. Didn't think you'd want to see him."
"Oh god, and I just confirmed that, didn't I?" Hermione moaned and sank back onto the window seat, head in her hands. Ron swore inwardly. What a bloody mess. He shot Harry a look, quirked an eyebrow at him; a silent communication.
"I'll go after Malfoy," Ron said with a harsh sigh at Harry's nod, not very bloody keen on the idea but resigned to it - someone had to make sure Malfoy didn't go off himself, or anything stupid like that. "You stay here with Harry, 'Mione, and try to calm down. I bet all this stress isn't good for the baby." Ron hid a weak grin as Hermione immediately subsided at that, grumbling under her breath at his use of baby blackmail and trying to wipe away her still-falling tears.
Ron left them with a kiss to Hermione's forehead and a nod to Harry, and hurried off in search of Malfoy. He had no bloody clue what he could say when he found the other man, but he had to do something, for Hermione's sake. Ron's mind raced as he jogged through the corridors, hoping he'd figure out something sodding brilliant to say to sort out Malfoy and coming up blank. Ron was not a words person - he was a hugs person. And he sure as hell wasn't hugging Malfoy. Fuck.
It was cold on top of the Astronomy Tower; the stars were bright, the wind was chill and sharp, and Draco's fingers and nose were numbed, his breath made puffs of steam in the air. He wore only a thin shirt with the sleeves rolled up, trousers and his boots, but he didn't cast a warming charm. Shivers ran through him in waves and his muscles were taut and stiff with cold, but he embraced it. He let the chill sink into his bones as he stared out at the dark horizon, and the night sky sweeping up above it, his worn boots dangling in the empty air over the edge of the tower.
Weasley had found him much earlier and stumbled out some halting, awkward words about how Hermione still loved Draco. He'd been so earnest it had been nearly painful, and Draco thought he believed both Weasley and Potter when they said Hermione loved him. Draco almost wished she didn't for her sake at this point, but it gave him a selfish, bone-deep relief to hear Weasley's stilted assurances.
Hermione was just upset, Weasley had told him, and Draco had nodded numbly; of course she was. Of course she wondered how she could let him touch her again. Of course.
His fingers curled tighter on the railing, the metal a biting cold on his skin. His teeth began to chatter and he clenched his jaw to stop them, head spinning slowly. He had been up here for hours and hours, hiding from the threats, hateful looks, and hexes that Hogwarts' current occupants had been levelling at him. And Draco thought, perhaps, that he was waiting for Hermione.
All afternoon and early evening he had waited at the top of the tower; mind drifting absently, ignoring his hunger and the chill creeping over him, the slow beat of his heart a metronome counting out the time. He waited for her to come.
Draco wasn't even sure if he should see Hermione right now, but that selfish part of him needed to like he needed to breathe. So Draco sat, and let the cold wash over him, enfold him, sink into him; it numbed him and slowed his mind, and that was welcomed. His thoughts drifted in disorganised eddies, passing through without any real import.
Lenora Grey, nails tearing at his flesh as she accused him. Confessing all he remembered while Hermione listened silently to every damning word. Potter - I'm going to die. His mother, and her suffocating concern, which Draco could never quite trust to be genuine these days. He wondered idly, cold nestled in the core of him, whether his and Hermione's relationship would survive today. Remembered the look of Potter's eyes as he'd said he didn't want to die. The sympathy on Weasley's face as he'd held Hermione in his arms and stared across the room at Draco.
Merlin it was all so fucked up, and it had happened at the worst possible time. Draco's mind turned to the battle fast approaching - the next night, Potter expected. So soon. Tomorrow at this time they could all be dead. Or they could be victorious. Victorious; Draco's eyes narrowed on the horizon and his lip curled faintly at the thought of the word. Potter would be dead and others too, inevitably, and Draco would be…dead or facing an uncertain future, picking up the shattered pieces. He wasn't sure which possibility was more daunting at this point.
If he was dead then at least it would be all over - but that was selfish cowardice talking. For Hermione, their child, his mother, and Pansy, it wouldn't be over. It would be just beginning, and Draco couldn't do that to them. He couldn't do that to Hermione and their child. He had to live. Live and face the consequences, whatever they might be. Azkaban, perhaps - it was still a possibility, whatever Nymphadora and the others said. Or just the quiet struggle to try to carve a happy existence out of the rubble the war had left them, and made them into.
Quiet footsteps approached, but Draco's eyes didn't waver from the sharp stars, picked out on the blanket of the sky in perfect, cloudless clarity. Or perhaps it would be not a picking up of the pieces, but the slow fragmenting of what he and Hermione had; perhaps the damage it had sustained was a mortal wound. Then a warm cloak settled around his shoulders.
Draco turned his head and met her eyes as she sat beside him, her irises nearly black in the starlight, her lips shaped into the faintest smile. He couldn't manage one in return, but when her fingers brushed tentatively over the back of his silver hand he caught them inside the curl of his. Gripped tightly.
"I didn't know whether to come or not," she said softly, words half-lost in the wind as it picked up, her eyes dark and steady on his. He turned his gaze away to the sky. "I wanted to, but I didn't know if you came up here to be…alone…or if you wanted to talk, and I didn't know what to - what to do. I've spent all afternoon and evening agonising over whether I should come find you or not. They nearly ordered me to in the end."
"Why?"
"I was worried about you," she whispered. "I am worried about you."
"You still…care?" Draco asked hesitantly, feeling like a vulnerable idiot but he needed to know, and Hermione made a low humming sound, and then a little sigh.
"Yes," she told him firmly. "I still care. Always."
Draco knew he didn't deserve her, and she didn't deserve this, or him. But he wasn't letting her go. Yet…
"You're certain? After today, well - I wouldn't blame you, Hermione, for not…" Draco half-offered her a way out, incoherent but she made sense of it. His gaze flicked to her face, cut in profile against the blanket of night. She smiled slightly as she stared out into the sky, a twist of her mouth that was bitter and hopeful at once.
"I won't say that getting past what you - well, I won't say it will be easy to stop thinking about what you said today, but I won't hold you accountable for what you were forced to do, Draco." She sighed, tipping her face upwards to see more of the stars, and her hand was warm in Draco's chilled one. "You literally had no choice, Draco; I've said it before and I'll say it again, because I think you need reminding - you were as much a victim as the girls Voldemort forced you to hurt." Her voice dropped at the last, and her eyes cast over to him uncertainly.
Draco shrugged a shoulder, chest feeling heavy and tight, all knotted up. All he could remember was flashes, bits and pieces, but it was enough to make him sick to his stomach. "I don't feel like a victim," he said very quietly, and Hermione's hand squeezed his, hard. After a long, silent moment she smiled a little, wry and sad.
"Besides, I already knew that you had killed people. Lenora is alive. She can heal, live her life eventually. So if I can accept that you ended lives while under the Imperius - and I can, and have - then it would be stupid of me to be unable to accept this."
Draco winced at that - at the reminder of the lives he'd taken, and at the thought of what made the two types of crimes different exactly. He sucked in a deep breath and set his jaw, felt sick as he spoke. "But we do those things. We do the things that I made - made -" Hermione's fingers were scorching as she pressed them to his cold lips, and she shook her head, eyes dark and sad.
"Don't. Don't do this to yourself. To me." She dragged her fingers lightly over his lips and down, traced up along the line of Draco's jaw, and he bit back what he had been going to say. Shut his mouth and watched her without speaking. Her features were sharp in shadow and starlight, and older and sadder than they should have been. "We've gotten through worse than this," she told him in a soft, emotion-thickened voice, her fingertips branding his cheek with heat. "This is not the end."
And then her lips were pressed firm to his, and Draco clutched at her like a drowning man, his hands on her shoulders and in her hair. But his touch stayed light despite his urgency, because…memories were fresh for both of them, and he shrank from force. But Hermione's lips parted to him and her mouth was like soft, wet fire, and Draco lost himself.
Her hand flattened to his cheek, fingertips digging in.
His hand tangled in a handful of her hair.
The fingers of their other hands laced together between them.
Her tongue dragging over his lower lip, and her heat driving the cold from his bones, licking through him like life.