Stubborn witch...
POV: Draco
Warning: There are some M parts here when Draco tells Hermione what it would be like if caught by Death Eaters.
I planned on revealing the secret prophecy to Granger on the evening of her little surprise intervention. It took me another couple of days after my last meeting with the Headmaster to overcome my annoyance at the meddling witch, and another to further gather up the nerve to ask about her friend, Emmanuelle.
So tonight, I move forward with my alternative plan that involves zero adults with convoluted agendas.
With any luck, I'll be able to convince Granger to allow me to meet her squib friend during the forthcoming winter holiday. I hope that with her go-ahead and my irresistible charm this one meeting might just allow me to present the female Slytherin heir to the half-blood psychopath on the Yuletide. This alternate plan, I sincerely hope, will forestall any need for real double agent work which might put me on the receiving end of an Avada.
It is Granger's and my night to patrol together and I pull her into an empty classroom at the end of our rounds.
"What is it, Malfoy?" she huffs, still enflamed that I had not been completely forthcoming about everything. Observing her stance, I know she is also annoyed that I had not only interrupted, but completely ignored, the lecture she'd inundated me with for the last hour. It is her customized 10-step plan that outlines how I can make myself a reformed wizard.
Right.
"Granger, remember in the library a few weeks ago, when I told you there is something that I need to tell you that you are not going to like?" I ask, purposefully ignoring her foul mood and her impatient toe-tapping.
"I thought you already told Snape and Dumbledore everything?" she snaps, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "I was there, Malfoy, remember? What other dark confession could you possibly have that I won't like?"
My hand toys with the smooth item in my pocket, the one I planned to show her.
I stumble around in my head for the words I had practiced saying to convince her of my capability to protect her friend from Riddle's insanity. At this moment, I whole-heartedly believe I have this power. Whether I'll be able to exercise it is an altogether different question.
"Granger-"
"I already don't like the sound of this, Malfoy!"
"I haven't even said anything, yet!" I say, exasperated by her vexing attitude.
"It's your tone," she snips.
"Look, Granger-"
I stop short to stare at the shiny "P" of her prefect badge, keeping myself from speaking the threat that forms in my head. I try again, more calmly this time. "Granger, there is another way to defeat Riddle."
"What?" she asks, suddenly curious and alert. "You said I wouldn't like this, Malfoy. How could I not like this?! Why didn't you tell Dumbledore and Snape? Does Harry still have to risk his life?"
"I did not tell the professors because even Voldemort does not know about it. That being the case, I am of the mind that the less people who know, the better. I did not speak of it the other day because it needs to stay between you and me. I promised my–" I stop, figuring any mention of my father might ruin any chances to get her to cooperate. "Granger, it is a matter of life and death," I insist, "Just– you just can't tell anyone else, especially Scarhead."
Despite my desperation to regain Granger's trust, the Slytherin in me smiles inwardly as I watch her frown at the sobriquet I use for Potter.
"If I could keep you out of this, Granger, I would. But you are already a part of this. You're a crucial part," I add earnestly. "As for Potter, he, unfortunately, stays relatively safe. But that remains true only if you help me," I improvise, not entirely sure I'm telling the truth.
"Who risks their life, then?"
I sigh loudly at the opening she gives me.
"Who risks their life, Malfoy?" she prompts impatiently.
I look away and draw in a long breath. "Your friend, Emmanuelle, may have to risk her life," I say quickly, hoping somehow that the speed of my admission might lessen the shock.
"What?!"
"There's a prophecy about her. My father gave it to me before he went to Azkaban. He told me to solve it and I would not have to send the Killing Curse at Dumbledore, " I explain quickly, pulling the orb out from under my robe and hand it to her.
She sends me a skeptical look.
"Look at this, Granger."
The orb glows bright in the darkness of the abandoned classroom and her eyes go wide.
"There is one, a Slytherin heir,
who will be the Dark Lord's most effective weapon
against the one who threatens to vanquish him.
He shall use her to weaken and overcome the powers of The Chosen One.
For she alone can ensure that the one marked as His equal will not survive–"
She looks stupefied, as if I'd asked her to come meet Voldemort.
Granger casts me a strange, nauseated look before speaking at last.
"So, it's about m-my friend, then," she stutters softly. I notice her voice hitches and she's dropped her gaze from mine to again focus on the prophecy in her hands. I do not concentrate on her obvious discomfort, since my mind is spinning, trying to find words that will convince her to allow me to meet the Slytherin heir.
"It appears so, Granger. I am asking you to get me close enough to your squib friend, Emmanuelle, so I can bring her to…"
She fiercely shakes her head before I can finish. I hang mine, not bothering to fight her instant resistance. I'd come into this conversation knowing that her unwillingness would pull the wind out of my sails. I figured it was a long shot anyway.
It had taken this long to convince myself to think of Granger's friend as a non-person. Still, the idea of putting an innocent at Voldemort's feet makes my stomach churn. Granger's refusal is just enough of an excuse to allow myself reasonable satisfaction that I had tried, for my parents' sake.
So, into spy work I will go. Fear be damned.
My breath hitches and I let the terror of what's to come wash over me. I watch wordlessly as Granger falls against a nearby wall and sinks to the floor still holding the prophecy in her hands. I move closer to her, fold my legs and slide down to sit beside her.
We stay like this, silently staring at the glowing orb.
I think for a moment that it might not be so bad being a Muggle without any idea of such things as dark magic… so long as I was a rich Muggle, of course.
That, perhaps, might not be so bad.
So deeply am I wallowing in my escapist fantasies that I fail to realize Granger's swift movement from dumb shock to stubborn resolve.
"Forget about involving Emmanuelle, Malfoy, you'll just have to take me to Him."
Her strong voice after so long a silence startles me. I stare at her, not comprehending her words.
"What? Granger? Have you entirely lost your mind?!"
"If you take me to Him, to your Dark Lo--"
"HE. IS. NOT. MY. LORD!" I interrupt savagely.
"Voldemort, then," she continues undaunted, though I see her flinch against the rough sound of my angry declaration. I dislike seeing the stubborn rising of her chin. I either want to pull her to me or shake her to make her see sense. I can't decide which will work to shock her out of this madness.
"When you take me to Him, Malfoy, will it save you?"
Bloody, blindly brave, self-sacrificing Gryffindor!
"Are you daft, woman? He'll kill you, Granger!" I exclaim, exasperated by her unnecessary bravado. "And, you're not even the girl in the prophecy!" I add, purposefully avoiding her question.
"But, Draco, bringing me to Him, if He believes I'm the girl in this prophecy, will it save you and your family?"
I startle at her use of my given name. Even so, I still refuse to entertain the question in my head. Her annoying know-it-all self, however, easily surmises the truth of her words.
"What if He finds out we've lied to Him?" I whisper, horrified at the real possibility. Her stubborn determination seems to strengthen with each of my objections. I work to keep my mouth shut while I sort out the best way to attack her reckless conviction.
A torturous memory of a nameless Muggleborn hanging lifeless above our dinner table at the Manor, fills my mind. I cannot shake the haunting memory of her tormented eyes.
"He doesn't have to know that I-I'm n-not what Emmanuelle is," she says with irritating certainty even though her eyes still refuse to meet mine. I notice she fidgets with the orb, turning it over and over in her hands. I attribute it to her agitation at my refusal to comply to her insane idea and her worry for her squib friend.
"You can't even begin to imagine how viciously wrathful He is, Granger! This is not a game! This is not school books! This is not practice! This is life, yours... and mine," I argue, moving back to the comfort of surnames. "He is evil personified, powerful to the nth degree, and He would see through the ruse in less than a second! You're absolute rubbish at lying!"
"But, He'll believe you," the ignorant fool beside me cries, as I start to pace the room agitated beyond belief, searching for a way to shake her from the insane idea of substituting herself for the squib.
Why hadn't I expected that she'd come up with this idea? Probably because never in a million years would I have ever thought to do what she so willlingly desires to do now!
"Read it again, Draco! It doesn't say a thing about protecting Harry," she argues. "In fact, this implies that if I help you, it will likely bring about Harry's impending death."
I honestly hadn't thought further than the point of me presenting this Emmanuelle person to Voldemort and hightailing my mother and me out of the manor to some distant corner of the Wizarding universe.
"He won't hurt me, Malfoy! Think about it! For Merlin's sake, stop fighting me!" she continues passionately. "Think like a Slytherin! You know that with this prophecy He'll believe He needs me as a weapon against Harry! Why would Voldemort kill me with that knowledge?! Honestly, I think if you take me to Him, we'll have a real chance of ending this before any violence can start, maybe before Harry even has to face Him!"
I send her a dubious look telling her she's lost all sense. "We have no idea how to properly kill this crazed half-blood wizard who seems to keep coming back to life, Granger! I suspect it is doubtful a simple Avada Kedavra will do the trick in His case."
"Malfoy, we can make this prophecy work to our advantage! Voldemort doesn't have to know about Emmanuelle. You can make it seem as though I'm the girl in the prophecy!" Again there is a halting quality to her protestations.
What is she hiding?
"You seem to hold a lot of stock in my ability to lie to the most accomplished Legilimens of all time!" I shout, incensed, frustratedly raking my hand through my hair, still wracking my brain for a way to make her see reason.
"Why on earth would I allow you to meet Emmanuelle knowing where you'll take her? She'd be defenseless!" Granger retorts loudly. "At least I'm equipped to protect myself!"
She looks strong, stronger than I've seen her all year. She's got her wand in hand and claims a wide-footed stance. I see the hidden power there. Muggleborn. Magical. Incredibly foolhardy in her loyalty. Stubborn to a fault.
I continue to shake my head, stilling my legs.
"Malfoy, you know I love Harry! He might be acting like a right arse towards me since I've befriended you, but I would never, never hurt him. Never! This is a good plan, Draco!"
"I've agreed to no plan, Granger," I seethe. I sniff at her undying, naive optimism while wincing at the sharp pain that blooms into a dull ache in my chest at hearing her utter the words I love and Potter's name in the same sentence.
"That psychotic half-blood doesn't have to kill you, Hermione," I bellow at her, purposefully using her given name to throw her off her game, just as she so adeptly used mine against me earlier. It infuriates me that, though terrifying, her words are beginning to make sense. It equally aggravates me that she's showing much more courage in this moment than I could ever possess in a lifetime.
I begin my pacing again, sifting through my vast rhetorical and debating skills for a plan. I at last decide to fight fire with fire. She's giving me her reasons for doing it, well I'll let her in on the horrid truth of why I won't allow it. Then, at least academically, she'll understand what she's in for by asking this of me.
"The Dark Lord could cast Imperius on you or any number of other vile things. Rape, Hermione! Not just of your body, but of your mind, your very soul! And, understand, it won't be just one Death Eater that does these things to you, but many... more than one at a time, even! You're talking about inviting torture, Hermione! And, I'm not insinuating anything here. Riddle likes the sight and smell of blood. He thrives on the screams of pain from Mudbloods. You are a Mudblood to Him!"
But not to me, not anymore, I want to tell her, if only to ease the pain I see flash in her eyes as I say these words, but I can't show her this emotion, not now when the truth seems to be sinking in.
"Have you ever felt the sting of a whip, Hermione?" I shout. "How about chains? Ever been tied up, deprived of water, light, food, air? All the things that keep you alive? He'll strip it all from you!"
I shudder violently against the thoughts and sights that flash in my head. The descriptions of all of these horrors tumble out of my mouth with the sole purpose of scaring her witless with the truth. I watch as my words slash into her. I relish the sound of her disbelieving gasps. I rejoice in her looks of fear. Each sound, each worry line etched in her forehead convinces me that my arguments are working.
Unbeknownst to me, however, due to my supreme ignorance of Gryffindor values, I've only managed to strengthen her resolve with my warnings. I'd unintentionally managed to convince her to go through with her hair-brained scheme to protect others from the horrifying fate I've just mapped out for her.
Powerless, I watch the stubborn light in her eyes gleam brighter. I cringe against the thought of my mad aunt coming anywhere near this particular Gryffindor. If there is anyone who could extinguish the fighting spirit I'd come to respect in Granger, it would be my Aunt Bella.
"He and His kind know no mercy, know no remorse. What they do know is how to so thoroughly curse and torture you that you'll beg loudly for the cold comfort of the Kedavra. Granger! Be reasonable! You're usually really good at that!"
I gasp inwardly at the undesired image of her feminine form having to undergo any of the horrors I'd seen over the summer. I push aside the more malevolent, vile things the Death Eaters in my house so gleefully discussed over tea, the very things implanted in my head that still keep me up at night.
It is my turn to let out an anguished cry.
"Granger, did you ever stop to think that I might have actually meant it when I took that bloody oath to protect you?! Have you even thought of that?"
She stares at me meaningfully as she replies, "Yes, I have, and I meant what I said, too! I took that same oath to protect you, Malfoy. Your life hangs in the balance! More so than mine! Don't you dare ask me not to do anything to prevent your possible demise, Ferret! You've given me an opportunity not only to relieve the death sentence on you, but to also be able to alleviate the danger that surrounds Harry as well!"
"NO! Hermione! I won't do what you ask!" I bellow, irritated and thoroughly confused by the inner-workings of her mind. "NOT EVER!"
I catch her contemplating me as I turn my back to her, leaving her to her thoughts.
"Well, if all you're concerned about is my safety, Draco" her prissy, bossy voice grates on my very last nerve, "then you're simply going to have to be there to protect me from all that, now, won't you? And besides that, you can teach me how to avoid and resist those curses and things you've seen… or find someone else we can trust who can teach me better than you can."
Why haven't I yet internalized how big a mistake it is not to engage her ever-working mind when we argue this way?
I stare at her in wide-eyed terror. I'd seen the Carrows and other powerful Death Eaters resist the Unforgivables, but not without horrifying side-effects. I know what it feels like to undergo the training that would keep you relatively safe from such dark magic.
I couldn't do that to her!
"You don't know what you're asking! You have no idea the things I've seen, Granger!" I say on a near scream. "On top of all this, you insult my magical abilities?!" Unbelievably, I still somehow strum up the energy to be infuriated with her suggestion that I am a less powerful wizard than I am.
I take in shallow, shuddering breaths. The emotions roiling inside of me threaten to make me heave what little there is in my stomach. Desperate to regain my footing, I reach for the dispassion inside of me that can even keep Snape out of my mind when he attempts Legilimency on me.
When I find the frozen calm in my mind's grasp, I turn to search her gaze again.
She is too good to be exposed to such depravity. I cannot let her become corrupted by Riddle's lunacy.
"Granger, I will not subject myself to watching those deranged maniacs do such things to you," I announce arrogantly, with as much regal finality as I can muster.
She hasn't moved from her fighting stance. She doesn't blink, doesn't seem to hear reason. I know then that my arguments have done little to change her mind. Viewing her outrageous defiance makes me lose the tight reign I hold over my fear for her. I turn away quickly to mask my concern, but even with my back to her, I'm still visibly upset. I work to quell my shaking hands and the tremors that steal over my body.
Clearly unnerved at my violent reaction to her resolve, Hermione comes up behind me and places her arms around me in a gesture of kindness and comfort that I've rarely experienced from another soul in my relatively short life.
It is not lost on me that the only other time she'd ever voluntarily touched me, while she thought I was conscious, was when she'd slapped me during Third Year after I'd insulted her precious gamekeeper. Not knowing how to respond to such compassion, particularly from her, I ease myself out of her embrace, but out of what I've convinced myself is simple curiosity, I keep her within touching distance.
"Granger, you do not have to do this. I do not want you to do this for me or for my family," I whisper, fearing any more would release a torrent of emotion I would have trouble living down. "Why, for Merlin's sake, would you want to put your life in jeopardy for the likes of us? We have only been heartless and cruel to the likes of you."
Confusion rings clear in my response. Hearing no reply from her, I regroup, searching for a better point to make. I begin my argument as soon as I discover it.
"There is a limit to the amount of Gryffindor compassion that I can stomach, Granger. My family would sooner throw you to Fenrir Greyback than stick out a little finger to help you. The protection of my family is my responsibility, not yours," I argue quietly, focusing my strength now on accepting my unclear fate under Snape's tutelage. "Besides, by all accounts, Potter will eventually unseat the Dark Lord, and you will not have to be involved at all."
I turn a soft gaze toward her and am shocked to find the blasted witch glaring at me!
"Of course I'll be involved, Draco! Either way I'll be involved! This way just seems the most sensible course of action."
"Bah! You're barking!" I roar, my stare hardening again. "So you'd go in there, wand raised, prepared to die for the likes of Potter?"
I'm seething inside at the idea of her playing martyr for that orphan with a hero complex.
"No! I have no intention of making this a kamikaze mission."
I startle at the strange Muggle word. She notices my confusion.
"This won't be suicide, Draco. Listen, at least this way I'm choosing the battle for myself, right? If you and I …and maybe even Ron, work together, the three of us can ensure Harry is safe through it all. You're right, we can't tell Harry. He'd stop us altogether and since it's you we're working with... well, I honestly don't know what his reaction would be."
"Not a good one, I assure you," I scoff, shaking my head at her reasoning.
"But, Ron could help!" she insists.
"Weasley?!" I snort, disgusted. "Granger, we don't have to tell anyone, because we are not doing this!" I yell again.
I stare at her, trying again to control my fury at her stubbornness and to search for another less emotional retort. With some surprise, I discover that I just might be going about winning this debate the wrong way.
If force, anger, and the ugly truth isn't working, why not try the unexpected?
"You do not know what you are asking, Hermione," I say gently, placing my hand atop hers, which found it's way to my forearm when I'd called her insane. She startles at my change in tone and her gaze turns suspicious. As a desperate measure, I grasp her fingers in mine, that now deliciously familiar electricity of our touch rockets through us, and with satisfaction I watch her brown eyes dilate, before turning downward to focus on my fingers clutching at hers.
"You have no idea what you're in for, Hermione," I say throatily, purposely making sure she hears a husky sound. She whips her gaze to meet mine, unsure now what to expect. "What you are asking me to be witness to ... what might become of you... what you are asking me to withstand, if you don't survive it... I can't... I won't do it, love."
She blinks at the pet name. I, too, am quite surprised I'd used it. For Merlin's sake, I'd only just started getting over the shock of hearing her call me by my first name! I set aside my thoughts on this for another time because if my use of it works, to convince her then all the better. I move to release her.
She grabs hold of my hand before I can pull away completely. Her fingers latch onto mine and I again startle at the power of her innocent touch.
Suddenly, looking into her upturned yearning face, I find it to be too much. Too much touching, too much sharing, too much... too much Granger for me to handle. I try to extract myself from her grasp, but she will not let me go. We make eye contact and she smiles gently. My breath hitches as I come to the stunning realization that I really don't want her to release me and I really don't want to let her go.
"Yes, you will help me do this, Draco. You will take me to Voldemort," she continues calmly, pushing through any previous discomfort at my intimate choice of argumentation.
"You are so bloody stubborn! You can't boss me around, Bookworm," I seethe, pushing her away again.
Her insolent smirk in response is altogether too much like my own and it bothers me that I might have rubbed off on her in even this smallest of negative ways.
"Stop looking at me like that. I told you, NO, Hermione!"
"You will, Draco!"
"Why should I, Granger?! I know better than you!" I hear the unintentional whine in my voice as I start to feel the helplessness I'd sometimes felt as a child when I wasn't given my way. I know I'm losing ground on this particular battle and losing it fast.
"You do NOT know better than me, Malfoy!" she shouts. I look down at the pointer finger of her hand that isn't holding mine. It is now a hairsbreadth from poking at my chest. "You will do this because you know you need me to help you get out of this mess with Voldemort. You don't want to do the double agent spy thing with Snape."
I glare at her for guessing right about my reticence on that matter.
"... and," she adds after taking a breath, "you know you've no choice but to help me through it because you care for me!"
I whip my head up to make eye-contact.
The bloody witch then has the audacity to offer me a saucy smile! I stare at her open-mouthed. I'm stunned that she had discovered the secret that I'd tried so desperately to keep hidden away from even myself.
I stand stock still as she moves closer, her robes brushing against mine. I am nearly cross-eyed staring at her approaching mouth.
Too close.
She places both hands atop my shoulders, her face inches closer to mine.
Too much.
I stop breathing as she pulls herself on tiptoe. I close my eyes, waiting for an experience I'd long dreamed about.
Granger.
I groan feeling her mouth, not land against mine, but brush against the sensitive side of my ear. As if her touch isn't enough to send me spiraling into madness, her whispered words give me the next shock of my life.
"…and, Draco, I am going to do this because I care for you," she purrs, moving her hand to swipe the fringe of hair that fell across my brow during our verbal duel. "So, stop your worrying, love."
I feel the comfort of her warmth surround me and just as quickly she is gone. I open my eyes to see her by the door, smiling coyly at me.
"I need to go find Ron," she announces, shaking me out of my reverie, "then we'll meet you. I'll owl you and the three of us will come up with a plan together."
I shift my gaze to rest on her and wonder how my world could change so drastically that I would think that involving Weasley might just be exactly what I need to do.
It's difficult to accept that I'm actually considering partnering with the redhead to talk Hermione out of this. But in all practicality, he has known her longer, and with both him and me telling her she's gone completely nutters, she'll stop insisting that I put her in the direct line of fire.
"Are you sure we shouldn't include Potter in this delightful meeting as well?" I sneer, toying with the idea that I would even make that sacrifice if such an alliance might keep her out of harm's way.
"Heavens, no! Harry would never let Ron and me involve ourselves like this! He probably wouldn't mind you going off to Voldemort yourself, though," she smiles sadly at me, "but certainly he wouldn't allow me to go!"
Potter obviously has no idea the strength that flows in this courageous witch, a strength belied by her slight frame. He is a right idiot for not seeing it, but perhaps his ignorance is bliss. Obviously, he'd fight tooth and nail against her insane proposition unlike me, who'd just so easily caved in to her impenetrable will, knowing she'd have as good a chance as any to emerge unscathed from the serpent's lair.
Hermione turns toward the door beckoning me with her head to follow.
I look at her bossy little self, bushy brown hair, slight figure, and it occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, Potter might be the better man for her after all.