Hermione could remember the day in third grade when she had discovered the
dog on the playground of her school. One moment she had been angry with a girl
in the class for tearing a page from her book, and the next she was standing in front of the dog. A car had hit it and the poor thing had crawled to the edge of the playground and died in the night. She could remember the smell; metallic and so very foreign and its listless staring and unseeing eyes. It was wearing a pink collar and it fur was matted with brown dried blood.
This semi-repressed memory flared up as soon as Hermione walked into the
bathroom that night.
A thin delicate stream of blood ran from Draco's deathly pale wrist as it hung limply over the side of the bathtub, pooling into a dark puddle that contrasted garishly with the gleaming white of the marble tiles. The eerily still water of the bath was tinted red and his head was contorted back at a grotesque angle beneath the surface. She could see the tendrils of blood flow from his submerged wrist like cigarette smoke over his bare chest—both equally harsh and strangely beautiful. His sun stained hair drifted around his head like a halo of light near his sharp and refined features below the tainted water.
She felt a hollow ache in her chest that clenched with bruising ferocity. The moment was silent, alien and even though she did not act for a few seconds that precious time appeared to echo and last for minutes, hours, days. Time then became disjointed and panicked as her breath returned and she rushed forward to his unmoving form. Fumbling, and fleetingly she awkwardly lifted his lolling head above the water and checked his pulse.
A weak but steady vibration sent some relief flooding into her as she seized him beneath the arms and pulled him from the water. Hermione had to stifle a cry as she slipped on his blood and fell, but she managed to keep him from hitting the tub or from falling beneath the water again. He did not slip from her arms even though he was wet. She had her arms wrapped in a death grip around his chest, and she held him half-in, half-out of the bath with his hips and legs still in the water.
Panting, a few tears trickled down her flushed cheeks as she tried not to get lost in the fear and panic and numbness. She had to act—Draco needed her to act. He was depending on her and she would not let him die. Not while she had breath in her lungs and the ability to stop it.
Taking a large gulping breath she stood still wobbling and dragged his hips and feet out with slight wet thumps and a squeak as she dragged him along the floor. She could lift him, she could catch him, and she knew she could because she had done it enough in that corporation class.
A stream of pink water leaked out of his mouth while his head was turned and she quickly checked his pulse again. Still going, good. It was then that she noticed that he was not breathing. She gamely tilted his head back, put her hand on his forehead and the other held his nose while she breathed in deep and low and forced this air into his mouth. His lips and the water were cold and Hermione did not even notice the meagre pools of
blood that were developing by both of his palms.
Then she sat up, linked her fingers and forcefully pushed on his chest then moving her hair out of the way put her head down to check his breath. Still nothing. She repeated these actions again and again mechanically but each time becoming more forceful and frantic as he took on a blue shade, became colder and his pulse was harder to find. As Hermione kept going she thought of how she had picked up the dog, not knowing what death was, took its limp body to her horrified teacher and asked her to please wake up the doggy so she could play with it.
Wake up Draco! She started the mantra in her head and between gasping breaths she began to say it aloud in first whispers then louder and finally she was screaming.
"Wake up! Come on fight! You can do it so stop being an idiot and wake up! WAKE UP DRACO!" At that she pushed painfully hard on his chest and her heart skipped a beat as she heard a watery cough and sputter.
His eyes flew open and he gazed around unseeing.
"Am I dead?" He asked hoarsely before he was consumed by blackness.
"Dear Draco,
It has been a long time since our last correspondence and I am sure that you
are excelling in your studies and practicing the curses from those books I sent
you. It is very important that you learn to do as many as possible before your
initiation because it would please us all very much. I use them all on a
weekly basis and I know you will too.
I got the notice that you discovered my charmed laces. I expected that you
would have discovered them at some point and I hope that their enchantments
have given you ample opportunities to find out things from that horrid
Granger girl. It would be to your advantage to attempt the bulk of the new spells on the Mudblood, as it would be a simple matter to modify her memory. Mudbloods and muggles have such pliant minds and I insist that you use the girl for practice, and I want a full account when I see you in two weeks.
When we triumph I am sure that the Dark Lord would permit you the honour of being the
one to kill her, because I know how much you would enjoy it. There is
nothing like crushing the life from someone tainted to give one a sense of
pleasure and power. She and her friends will be nothing more then a distant
memory and even that loathsomeness can be taken care of by a simple spell.
We have decided to have your initiation sooner then expected because our
Lord believes that Dumbledore will not check for our type again and
especially not the Head boy; you will be expected in Hogsmeade the Saturday
after your exams at 3:30 pm.
Do not be late, failure is not an option and you know the penalties for
disobedience…Do not forget to burn this letter and send a hasty response."
Each word drove daggers into his heart until he was shaking with emotion.
His mind seemed to be numb but racing and terrified at the same time. It was
then that he wandered into the bathroom. His detachment came and went and
the silence beat harshly on his head as he stared blank and aching into the
mirror.
He turned on the water of the bathtub to rid the silence and drifted into
the white noise of it. Cursing buttons, it took him nearly ten minutes to remove his shirt, and as he did so, his mind formed a conclusion.
He had no one. No help, no strength left to keep up this charade and the
vicious cycle of hurt. He would simply never be good enough for the father he had always idolized and emulated. Draco felt as if he were nothing more than a means to carry on the Malfoy name, and he hated his father for it. He hated his father for everything he put him through and expected of him. He hated everyone who had all the things he did not have, people who had others who loved and cared for them and worst of all, he hated himself—who he was and who he was expected to become. Getting the mark would be, in simple terms, signing away his soul. The years of rejection and isolation gave birth to his present state of mind wherein he was consumed with constant anguish and bouts of mental instability. In an instant he comprehended the full extent of the horrors that lie in wait for his future…and in that moment, he shattered.
Amidst the steam and the tears he felt he only had strength enough for one
final thing—a drastic act that would rid him of the pain through pain. Taking the
immaculate razor from his shaving kit that had never been used he wandered
over to the toilet, sat down and glanced at the deadly blade in a way that could almost seem bored before taking a shallow breath and making the first cut. The pain was
searing, like a demon within tearing flesh to get out and he almost laughed
as he watched the quickly flowing lifeblood trickle down in raindrops that
splashed on the white tile floor.
The second wrist followed when he got too tired of watching the first bleed—again a rush of pain and then the calm that followed. He stood, and the world became a little fuzzy and dark as he stumbled over to the tub. Turning the water off caused new jets of pain to shoot into his flesh but he ignored it and slowly stepped into it and watched as the drops spiralled into the water below. Then he sat and laid back and drifted in and out of consciousness as he sunk deeper into the water. There were no real last thoughts near the end only the white noise of sound that had resided in his ears since he read the letter slowly dying out.
----------
The night that followed was a difficult one for both Hermione and Draco. She focused her attentions on dashing about the common room preparing a variety of potions and telling herself that it would be a bad idea to take Draco to Madam Pomfrey straightaway…he would never forgive her if she gave him over to the fussy witch and the questions that would be asked afterwards—that much she was sure of, and that thought kept her hunched over steaming cauldrons full of blood restoratives and thickening agents.
He was weak and paler then normal and Hermione completely ignored her sore
eyes and fumbling motions as she tried to keep the boy alive. She had
levitated him out of the bathroom, taken off his wet pants and put him in a
bathrobe that was lying on his desk chair. Any sense of shame had fled her the moment she stumbled in upon him; keeping his body alive was the first and only thing on her mind, no blushing like a school girl at his boxers entered her brain. He tossed
and turned slightly on the common room couch, as she ran about. Checking
his forehead, checking the potion, took up half the time while the
other was spent making sure he did not roll of the couch and trying to
stop the slightly drenching flow from his wrists.
Draco's breathing was shallow and his pulse weak but steady, but she kept at it. After
three hours, with the moon waning and potion ready she tilted back his head forced open his mouth and slowly poured the yellowish bitter mixture into his parted lips. A slight trickle fell down his waxen cheek and she brushed it away with a tender caress that if she had been thinking clearly or at all, would have disturbed her slightly. A slight hurt look crossed his brow and he grimaced.
Within minutes, the bleeding had ceased and half an hour later his breathing and
pulse became more regular and reassuring to her as she began to drift to
sleep, sitting in a chair, leaning over his knees in slumber. That was how
Draco awoke the following morning.
He felt horrid—nauseated and overly sensitive to the light streaming in through the common room windows, and his mind was blank as he opened his dry eyes to see Hermione curled up so perfectly across his robed knees. He felt a slight tickle as her humid breath moved tangles of her hair against his bare leg. Eyes shooting open wide, he tensed instantly as he began to recall the letter, and the blade, and the blood.
Hermione had sensed him jerk and she too shot up to look into his tempestuous
and terror filled eyes. Her satin brown coloured eyes flicked back and
forth across his face in worry.
"Dracoo…" she breathed out low and soft, the sound at once caressing and
barging into his consciousness.
He turned his face away from her and began to take deep calming breaths as
he said in a vicious voice, "Why?"
Hermione became confused and frowned deeply, "What?"
"Why? Why did you save me? I want to DIE!" He screamed at her, hot angry tears
tearing down his face. "I want to die…I don't deserve to live and I would be
better off dead!"
Hermione reached out to grab hold of his upper arm but he jerked and looked
away.
"Why would you say…Why would you even think that Draco?"
His laugh sent a chill down her spine and a lump in her throat.
"Why? Because I have no one and my father…" His eyes became strained and
haunted and he gestured to his room.
"He is in your room?" Hermione's glance flicked fearfully up to his opened
doorway alit with greying sour light.
"No! Another letter…." His tone was almost too low to hear and Hermione
stood up quickly, went to his room and picked up the rumpled parchment from
beside his bed and returned to stand by his side.
Her eyes quickly scanned the page and with each word her mouth became dryer
and her thoughts were more disturbed.
"He wanted you to…" She could not finish the line. Pacing with sudden built
up anger she tried to put her mind in order. His father wanted him to
practice curses on her and others at the school and gave him permission to
kill her.
She sat down abruptly beside his legs on the couch and stared at him
intently.
"This is the reason? You were just going to give up?"
He avoided her eyes and wrapped his robe more tightly around his legs.
Roughly she grabbed his chin and turned his face to hers. Draco's pale eyes
were at once full of fear and shame.
Hermione spoke one word that awoke him and broke his barriers down a little
more.
"Please…"
"What would you have me say? That my father hates me, only second to
possibly how much I hate myself? That he wants a perfect copy of himself to
toy with and that I have no one…" His eyes locked fiercely onto hers and she
was moved by the depth of feeling they held as he repeated with more
emphasis, "No one…"
They sat in silence for a few tense minutes before Draco broke into their thoughts by speaking.
"Does Miss Mudblood know what true loneliness feels like? To be perfectly and truly alone?" His words were cold and Hermione felt her eyes begin to water.
"No…I…I d-don't but Draco please…"
"What?" He barked.
"Live…"
She stunned Draco. She was crying for him, pitying him. A mudblood pitied him, how horrible.
Her face was twisted as she pleaded, "Come with me…ask for help from Dumbledore. He will keep you safe, or at least he can help. But just please, live…"
"Why?" Draco asked still numb but morbidly fascinated by her reactions.
"Because, in this war you should at least try to live. If we do not have life even when we are fighting for it, what is the point of it all? Stay, fight, live and trust us. Trust Dumbledore, and please trust me…I wont have a friend of mine die when I can stop it."
She reached out again and squeezed his arm and this time he did not pull away. He wanted to shift uncomfortable under her gaze, words and touch but he refrained.
"Friend? Is that what you are?"
"Damn it Draco! Stop being an idiot and wise up! Maybe I should have not helped you last night, but then I would not have been true to myself…it just would not have been right to leave you to die."
"I am so very glad that I can alleviate your guilt, Miss Saint."
If Draco had not been fully awake before, the sting of her slap did just that. He looked at her with a shock-opened mouth as her eyes squinted and her face got red. Seconds later Hermione launched herself at his semi up right form and hugged him bracingly as she said, "I was so worried! Please, please, please…." She just kept pleading with him and he finally broke down and whispered, his voice cracking, "I am just so lost, Hermione….."
She hushed him as he cried like a little boy into her soft scattered hair on her shoulder. After an hour of tears that faded into silence with Hermione still softly rocking, he pulled back and avoided her eyes.
"Take me to him…" Hermione stood up almost eager and started for the door. "But let me get dressed first…" He said with a slight smile as she stopped in her tracks and turned around that blushed at the ground. He stood and, on second thought, hugged her lightly still needing the physical comfort that he was normally devoid of and yearning for.
After dressing slowly and having her rewrap his bandages they began the precarious and awkward walk to the Head masters office. It was still early morning, and they did not even see a ghost on this damp, shaded morning as they arrived in front of the gargoyles which after an affirmative, "Everlasting Gobstoppers," shifted aside to allow them entry.
There Dumbledore sat, in his orange night gown, writing and looking as if he merely had stayed up all night working but Hermione suspected otherwise. She had been here too many times not to know that he had the uncanny ability to pop up in his office when he was needed for something. He looked up inquiringly at the two and waited for them to speak.
"Professor Dumbledore, over the course of this year, I have gotten to know Draco here and I speak on his behalf will full confidence in his character and intentions." Had Draco not been in such a state of shock he would have laughed at the rather formal and stern way with which she was speaking to the Headmaster.
"Draco, as a show of good faith, please give the Headmaster the letter from you father." Draco raised an eye and with great reluctance handed the old man the very rumpled sheet. He felt as if he had just done something very important. In that moment he felt that he had made the first steps of regaining his soul. The old man skimmed the letter over his
half moon glasses and then looked up a Draco with a piercing stare.
"You want help?" Dumbledore asked gravely, and Draco nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "Very well, if you are able to prove your loyalties lie against those of your fathers, you will receive all of the assistance that I and my associates are able to provide. Then we will require your help for the next few weeks. It would be advantageous for our cause to have someone able to pass on information—you, being the son of a prominent Death Eater, would be in an ideal position to do so. Would you agree to this?"
Draco nodded his head, "How do I prove myself?"
Dumbledore said nothing, but Draco felt the old man prodding at his mind—Legilimency, he would have known that feeling anywhere, for his father thought himself to be quite accomplished in it. Lucius was nothing compared to Dumbledore, however, and the feeling was mildly uncomfortable. Draco focused on pulling his memories of fear and contempt for his father to the forefront of his mind and after what seemed like hours, he felt Dumbledore withdrawing from his mind. He stifled a sigh of relief and instead looked at the Headmaster expectantly.
Dumbledore stood and smiled breaking the tense atmosphere. "Things seem to be in order," he replied lightly, "and there is someone you will need to speak with at once. In the mean time, you will keep up correspondence with your father as if there is no problem—there will be plenty of those later. I feel inclined to tell you that it is a relief that you have chosen a path different from that of your father. In time, you will realize how much you have to gain by realizing your true loyalties at an early age. Now," he said muttering more to himself than the other occupants of the room, "where is that dratted can?"
He ambled up out of his high arched chair over to one of his many cluttered
table tops, as a few of the portraits watched expectantly, to pick up a very average looking muggle can. Bringing it to his mouth he mumbled a bit and then set it back down and stared at nothing in particular. Draco sincerely doubted the senility of the man he'd just entrusted his life to when Professor Snape suddenly emerged from the hearth looking quite dishevelled. He glared around, his posture stiffened when he realized that he was not the only guest in the room, yet his gaze faltered and softened when he took in the sight of Albus Dumbledore standing placidly behind his large desk in a lurid orange dressing gown.
Dumbledore walked over silently and sat down again before saying to Severus,
"Well Professor, it would seem that we have found you an accomplice at last—in both
potions and other things." He raised his eyebrow knowingly as Snape eyed
Draco with suspicion. Without warning or words he walked over to Draco and
grabbed his arm to attempt to use Legilimency, but jerked back as Draco yelped
in pain. He eyed him with glaring suspicion then turned to Dumbledore.
"Does he already have the mark?" His cold tone made Hermione uneasy.
Dumbledore shock his head and lowered his eyes.
Draco blankly pulled back his sleeves to reveal the two pristine bandages.
Snape's lip twitched in what Hermione thought was a smile as she tried to
stop from shivering.
Snape pulled back his sleeve to reveal an arm with a few silvery scars.
"Not so different are we?" He said darkly as Draco looked questioning at
Dumbledore.
"Professor Snape is one of our top spies under Voldemort, figuratively
speaking. I am sure that you two will have a lot to talk about before
graduation but not this morning and Draco you have been assigned a detention
with Professor McGonagall for the weekend your father wants you to go to
Hogsmeade. I will hold another Death eater check just after that
weekend for your sake."
Dumbledore stood up and stretched revealing a little bit too much of his
bare calves before saying, "Well, it has been a long night for us all and I
do think that we all need a good sleep. Oh dear me! It's morning already?
Well that can be fixed." With a flick of his wand the windows showed starry
night and they all returned to their rooms, with some grumbling on Snape's
part who nodded slowly to Draco and his normally expressionless face showed it all…he looked weary but was undoubtedly proud of his pupil. Upon reaching his room Draco let
himself drift into blissful dreamless sleep as Hermione fell into
slumber sideways across her still made bed.
"There is no refuge from confession but suicide; and suicide is confession."
Daniel Webster "Argument on the murder of Captain White"
A.N ( Okay I don't know if we are supposed to do these but no one has given me any grief so far for it. Carla you did wonders for this chapter! I never even thought of having Dumbledore do legimancy….that whole paragraph was her. YOU ARE FABULOUS! I hope things work out for you! I have never really thanked the people who regularly comment and I just wanted to mention prin69, Lady11Occult, Michelle Felton, xambzx, Babiblue754, and ESPECIALLY mrs. Skywalker your comment a bit back made me very happy. Big Joygasm.
Spoilers for Half-Blood Prince WARN FRICKA NING Justin dont read this unless you finished the book already skipper...
Its so weird rereading this chapter because I wrote it before I read the new book. I will still continue on with what I had in mind but the fact that the half blood prince killed the headmaster…..I am still in shoke. And I want Snape to be good in this story too, but at one point I write him saying to Draco, Not so different now are we? But in the book that is so not the case! Draco could not kill him while Snape did. I am still confused over this all. I keep wanting to think that Snape was ordered by Dumbledore if needed to kill him. I was dumbfounded after the second chapter and went through the entire book thinking that Draco was supposed to be getting Harry not the headmaster. I FRUITING LOVE that Draco could not do it! I always wanted him to be reformed or whatever he is now and the fact that he was sharing his feelings with Myrtle just made that all the much amazing….Okay enough of this….thanks for the support and MORE COMMENTS ARE DRIZZLED IN CHOCOLATE AND HAPPILY LICKED OFF! Thank you!