Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.
"Men in rage strike those that wish them best." - William Shakespeare
The stinging reminder of her parents' death made the disconsolate witch weep incessantly. Her mother and father's loving faces that had been safely locked in her memory were now fading into the past, washed away by the horrific image of their lifeless bodies. The memory was just too much to bear, and the pain weighed heavy on her grieving mind. She screamed in agony as Bill, the eldest son of the Weasley clan, carried her up the stairs to the room she shared with Ginny. She clutched herself tighter to him as she heard the soothing words and wild shouts of those around her, all she wanted was to drown it all out, their worried voices willing her to tell them what had happened.
Never had she ever felt compelled to fear death or at least to the extent she was exposed to that night. Seeing someone so close to her murdered before her very eyes was enough to drown her mind in unease. Though Hermione knew she was safe and surrounded by friends and mentors, all she could see was the face of Malfoy with his platinum blonde hair and haunted grey eyes. His predominant features masked the various reds, blacks and browns of the onlookers who witnessed her collapse into delirium. Their eyes wore the eerie look of Malfoy's that had pierced her very soul, injecting the dysphoria he felt as he allowed her to escape into the woods.
He had let her go so willingly, she did not know whether to be relieved or angry at his decision. He could have stopped what had happened, prevented the murder of her parents. Why couldn't the bloody coward use that same ounce of courage that he had shown to save me to save my parents as well?! Her scream of angry frustration triggered yet another onslaught of tears, as her mind queried his unusual behaviour. She had never seen Malfoy wear anything but disgust when she was in his presence, his pride and strict pureblood upbringing prevented him from doing anything otherwise. Sincerity was not something she had ever thought she would associate with a Malfoy, let alone Draco Malfoy. She had no clue what was worse, the fear that she may lose her mind with the swell of unanswered questions or the sound of the rugged thump of her heart that teemed in agony from her loss.
As quickly as possible, Mrs Weasley began to usher everyone out the room, closing the door trying to prevent a huge contravention amongst those being shut out; no one needed to see Hermione until she was ready. But they all know that something, someone had died. It was only later when reports flooded in to the Order that they knew why Hermione had come to them almost driven crazy in her grief.
The once merry middle-aged witch that Hermione had first met was replaced by a weatherworn and weary mother that had seen enough deaths to last a lifetime. The redheaded woman came and placed herself close to Hermione, wrapping her arms around the grieving girl as she heaved with the difficulty of breathing. All night she sobbed into the mothering arms of Mrs Weasley until she could no longer breathe, the putrid smell of death still clinging to her crazed mind. She had so wished it were her own mother cradling her to sleep like she did so many years ago when she was only a mere child. Amongst the hours of crying and the comforting embraces of the Weasley matriarch, she fell into a fitful sleep.
For a brief moment she felt completely lost, unaware of where she was when her sleepy trance was disturbed by a peculiar noise. Creak. There it was again, the creak of an old floorboard that had pulled her away from her restless sleep. Looking across the room to the other bed, she noticed a small mound of red hair fountaining over the mountain of sheets, her steady breathing and sporadic snore was evidence that the youngest of all the Weasleys was sound asleep. The red of her hair, reminded the onlooker of something, but she could not quite put her finger on it. Then her mind was overrun by the unexpected blast of a green light, the skull and serpentine shape scarring the aphotic night sky.
Hermione swiftly remembered all that had come to pass, all that she wished had never occurred. The aching feeling she had felt before was subtly creeping into her once more. Her heart clenched in pain. Curling up and drowning her sobs into her pillow, Hermione shut her eyes hoping to quickly fall back into another slumber. She just wanted to go back to sleep, forget it all again, but the quiet knock at her door soon found her awake and alert, its insistent tapping giving Hermione the incentive to get up and stop it.
"Hermione? Hermione?" A voice whispered beyond the closed door. Harry? She quickly flung the heavy quilt off her trembling body, silently edging herself off the side of her bed wishing not to wake Ginny. Grabbing her wand from the chest of draws, she cautiously opened the door, revealing the worried and drawn faces of her two closest friends. Hesitantly, they stared at one another unsure of what to do or even what to say. A beleaguered Ron shuffled slightly under Hermione's spiritless stare whilst Harry cast condoling glances towards her. She now knew what he felt every day of his life. Death hung over like an oppressive sheet of power that only brought about thoughts of sadness, not allowing a single good memory to ease itself in. He too evaded her unengaged and red rimmed eyes— her stare resembling that of a porcelain doll. To disguise the awkward moment both boys decided to run forward and engulf her in a long awaited hug, clashing momentarily into one another. This occurrence caused a strangled but quiet laugh to befall on Hermione.
"Boys," She smiled slightly, managing to pull the corners of her mouth up for a couple of seconds, but ultimately her mirth disappeared into the darkened crease of a frown.
As they squeezed her in a tight embrace, she felt Ron plant a gentle kiss against her cheek, "I'm so sorry, Hermione," She pulled away examining their faces, noticing that it was not only her eyes that were spiked with tears but those of her friends' also.
"Thank you," she managed to mumble and they gazed on her anxiously. It was so difficult to explain to them coherently of what she was thinking, when she could not even properly piece together her thoughts herself. Her mind was a torrent of 'ifs' and 'buts'. Never had she been so confused in her life. Nevertheless, her ramblings always brought her back to the same thing, which was Malfoy. She just could not think of how to explain to them what had happened without them being blinded by their prejudice towards the arrogant pureblood that had caused them hell at Hogwarts.
Despite what I know they might think, I have to tell them, she thought resolutely.
After a slight pause, she led them down to the deserted kitchen edging quickly past the painting of Sirius's mother hidden from view by a threadbare drape. She definitely did not want to set off the woman's siren-like screams once more. It was enough to send anyone insane, especially if one was immured into a cramped and suffocating place such as 12 Grimmauld Place.
As the others were settling themselves down, Hermione stared into the dying embers of the fireplace; the last flickers of the spiralling flames reminded her of a snake's spitting tongue, forked and deadly. It was as though everything was a reminder of the previous evening. She could not quite recall how long she had slept, but it did nothing to erase her memory of those gruesome events.
Quelling her mind of the ebbing memories, she turned to the two boys carefully calculating and premeditating on how she might start her puzzling account. Whilst she was relating to them what had occurred, she daren't look at them in fear that they may stop and question her. She shed no tears. Her body seemed unwilling to do so. Even as she managed to get the words out, she only stumbled over a few. She felt some things were best left unsaid or forgotten as they would never understand. Yet she could not even prevent herself from drawing out the most irrelevant and inconsequential of events. When trying to describe Malfoy's actions and looks, she could never quite fathom even from her description why he had saved her. Everything he did seemed to be at odds; some extinguished any solution she may have found for his strange behaviour, others fuelling her towards a problem that could never quite be solved.
"It was Malfoy. It was Malfoy who saved me," She noted as she ended her relation, still shocked to notice the blatancy of her statement. Finally, she looked up, nervously awaiting Harry and Ron's response to what she had told them. Harry's face closed in thought, contemplating on what Hermione had just revealed to them. He regarded her carefully. Harry knew she would never lie, because she couldn't. All he could do was look at her in disbelief. The war had taught him to think and assess situations at hand, rather than act or speak rashly.
She nodded knowing that he understood her predicament, "I just don't understand why. He had been so set to kill me— well at least hand me over to his aunt to finish off the job. I mean that's until he…performed Legilimency on me," She shuddered. Just thinking about Bellatrix Lestrange and Malfoy reading her mind gave her the chills. She had been so close to being tortured for the Order's whereabouts that she could hardly believe that it had not happened.
Harry opened his mouth to respond when Ron decided to speak up, breaking his previous bout of stupor.
"He did what?! What do you mean he performed Legilimency on you?! I'll murder that inbred ferret!"
She recoiled slightly from his outburst. She had never seen Ron show that amount of hatred before, even when he had heard of Snape's betrayal and murder of Professor Dumbledore. He hadn't shouted so much as an angry threat or curse towards their former Potions teacher that it now seemed inconceivable that he had it in him to be as fired up as he was.
As she remembered how Malfoy looked when he had finished carrying out Legilimency on her, it proved that her memories must have frightened him just as much as it did when she had first experienced them. He had ruthlessly dragged them out examining them like a Healer at St. Mungo's would inspect a wizard who had been diagnosed with Dragon Pox, and as easily as it was to find Flobberworms the most boring magical creature ever discovered.
"I—" She began to explain, but was interrupted by Ron's ongoing tirade. He was animatedly describing how he'd kill the whole Malfoy family for what the youngest had done, gesticulating his hands and arms that resembled faulty semaphores.
"Just shut up, Ron! He saved my life! I'd be dead if it weren't for him!" She screeched. She didn't care if she woke the whole bloody house up, she would not let Ronald Weasley continue to speak to her like an inept and fickle child.
"Hermione, I can't believe how stupid you've been! Can't you see it was a trap?! He did it to gain your trust! And you fell for it! Merlin, Hermione, you even gave him your bloody DA coin! That's not the Hermione I know!" She shot a poisonous glare at him, hoping it would make him be silent. It was one thing to challenge her on belief that Malfoy may have been sincere in wanting to save her and without ulterior motives, but to call her gullible and brainless was another matter entirely.
"Ron," Harry warned, but his admonition fell on an ear that was deaf to it. Harry looked to Hermione when he started to feel the charge of her magic as her animosity bred and manifested itself from Ron's continual impromptu abuse. It pulsed with power as her frown deepened, a small whirlwind caught hold of loose papers that lay helplessly unanchored to the table flinging them around the room. As her power grew it knocked cups and plates off the shelves, shattering them into sharp-edged pieces of pottery that rest like mosaics across the kitchen tiles. As she reached her breaking point, her magic suddenly directed itself toward the fire, breathing the much needed life into it to keep it burning. Though it wasn't all it did. The magic sent the flames into a chaotic flurry that engulfed its surroundings, as though it were the gateway to Hell that had been opened. The flames turned a violent shade of green that charred the remaining logs into nothing more than ash. It was as though a young child had thrown a handful of Floo powder into the grate too willful to listen to their parents' warnings.
Shocked, Ron shrank away from his position over the impassioned witch, hoping to reduce the tension between the two with that one movement. He looked to Harry who then stood and grabbed hold of Ron's arm pulling him further away as Hermione rose rancorously from her seat. Fear flashed across the two boys' eyes. Never had they imagined that Hermione would take to insults so badly, igniting a fury that could not be stopped until it destroyed everything in its path, much like the unmerciful wants of Fiendfyre.
Nervously, as Harry and Ron backed themselves towards the closed door, the latter attempted to make amends, trying to placate her uncontrollable rage, "Hermione, please, I didn't mean—"
His apology was cut short when Hermione voiced her hostile threats, "Shut up! SHUT UP!" She screamed so loud that it echoed around the room. Her wandless magic caused the glasses that decorated the many cabinets to explode, forming a cloud of glass. They glinted ferociously from the roaring fire that shone throughout the dank kitchen, beautiful but lethal.
As Ron turned to run for the door, the countless splinters of glass flung themselves towards the target of her wrath. A devilish glow encircled the young witch, an aureole which conflicted entirely with the image one would normally associate with deities and Saints. Her face was the very picture of evil, something that was purely wrong in its own right.
Quicker than she could think it was possible, Harry jumped in front of Ron, whipping his wand out of his robes and yelled Protego. A lustrous shield wrapped itself around the two boys, protecting them from the injurious onslaught of Hermione's unrestrained magic. Even though the spell reduced the shards of glass into nothing more than bits of sand, one piece managed to skim through unscathed before the defence was put up by Harry, hitting its intended target.
Hissing in pain, Ron drew back with his hand placed protectively over his cheek. Harry spun around to check his friend as Hermione took a step back in astonishment when she gazed upon what she had done. The whole kitchen was a mess, a sight not so different from the damage she has witnessed during the Battle of Hogwarts. However, that sight was not what caused her blood to curdle.
Her eyes rested on Ron. His eyes betraying the fear and hurt that he felt towards Hermione. He pulled his hand away from his face revealing a huge gash across his cheek, scarlet blood oozed profusely from the wound dripping down until it was soaked up by his vividly orange Chudley Cannons shirt.
She shook her head, reaching her hand out to touch his blood-spattered face. How could she have done this to him? It was as though her body had been taken over by some irrepressible force. Her heart beat in anguish as she saw him retreating as he looked down at her. All she saw was a solemn mask covering his normally bright eyes and goofy smile as his voice full of sorrow whispered her name.
"Ron, I— I'm sorry," She cried as he rushed out the door, shaking the whole room and sending a bit of lose plaster to the floor as he swung it open. It was not a surprise to Hermione that a crowd of frightened and questioning faces encompassed the little hallway outside the door. As soon as she spotted him bounding up the stairs, she peaked at Harry standing beside her. His eyes shone with understanding as he reached out to touch her on the shoulder. He too had felt the effects of the war what with the death of Sirius that had been only a few years before. He knew the confusion and anger that she was experiencing, and would never put what had happened against her. As for Ron, he wasn't able to tell if he would be as forgiving.
As she looked out into the dim corridor, she noticed the timid smile playing on Mrs Weasley's lips, as the anxious mother spoke, "My dear, are you all right?"
Silence.
She turned to the mass of witches and wizards clad in their diverse sets of pyjamas behind her, "Come, back to bed everyone," No one dare go against her wishes when they saw her give her fiercest glare, the one that could tame a Chimaera to do her bidding, which had in the past been reserved to scold her seven children when they were errant.
Turning to Harry one last time before he went to find Ron, she whispered, "Harry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I—" He nodded as if to say they would discuss it later. A sad smile played on her lips momentarily until she saw the faces of Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ginny, Bill, Fleur and George. They all wore an expression of uneasiness as they looked back at her as they scaled the stairs. I can't handle this anymore! Her mind screamed as she tried to edge up the staircase without having to meet anyone's eye as she passed them. Though she knew if ever they found out what had truly happen they would never have reason to want to look at her ever again.
Hurriedly, she sprinted up to the first floor taking two steps at a time ignoring the walls adorned with the heads of house-elves. Doing so, she also tried not to notice the drops of blood that had emblazoned themselves into the steps of the dilapidated staircase— a shameful reminder of her actions. Reaching the landing she hastened down the hall to hers and Ginny's room, pushing the door slightly, she scurried through into the Cimmerian gloom with only a slim beam of light coming from the hall. She couldn't face Ron now, like she had planned. She would put her friend into further danger, if they fell out a second time that evening.
Quickly reciting a lighting spell, she rummaged through her trunk, hoping to find what she was in search for. Her hunt became frantic as she was nearing the bottom, only finding the odd quill and her old and battered copies of Standard Book of Spells, grades one to seven. She just could not remember where she had placed it.
In a huff, she slammed the lid shut, turning toward the huge closet that dominated half of the wall, the wallpaper behind it dark and unsullied from its protection. Then again, the same could not be said for the rest, which was ruined by the amount of mildew and woodlice that infested the surrounding walls from the many years during the original owner's incarceration in Azkaban. Opening the closet doors, she discovered nothing more than a rack full of moth-eaten clothes belonging to various deceased members of the House of Black.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" The small voice was alarmingly close, causing the young witch to end her search early. She turned around, coming face to face with her redheaded roommate. Smiling quickly, she feverishly grabbed on to Ginny's shoulders, shaking her as she spoke, hoping to get across the state of urgency she was in. She must have looked absolute insane.
"Where is the DA coin I gave you?" Ginny's face was the personification of worry, never had she seen Hermione Granger act so peculiar. She put it down to grief, but something in the witch's demeanour made the youngest Weasley ever so hesitant to hand the Protean-charmed Galleon over.
"I— it's on the desk. Why do you ask?"
"Do you mind if I borrow it?" Without even an answer Hermione ran and swiped at the coin lying amongst a mountain of books and papers. Pointing her wand at it, she whispered the Protean charm under her breath and concentrated as she began to alter the image of the Dragon on the Galleon to that of a small riddle. This only made the coin grow crimson as though someone was burning lithium. Its red light dimmed in a matter of seconds, sending the room into darkness once more. In spite of this, the bright light had engraved the words temporarily on her lids so that she could reread the little puzzle she had sent to Malfoy.
Beside St. James Is Where I Will Be, Where The Heavenly Palace Is Overseen By The Roving Eye Of Father Time.
"What did you just do?" Ginny queried, as Hermione placed the coin back on the desk amongst the untidiness that was obviously her friend's doing and trundled into her cold bed, burrowing down under the layers of sheets and quilts.
She looked across the room catching a glimpse of a pair of blue eyes in the dimly lit bedroom and hearing the rustle of blankets as the young girl climbed into her bed. Silently, she held her breath for a moment as she thought of what to say.
"I'm doing the right thing," she stated, and yet all Hermione could see was the anguish ridden face of her much-loved friend. As he held his hand away from his blood-smeared cheek, the gash resembled the scars from Fenrir Greyback's attack on his eldest brother. The image shone with sickening clarity, enough to make her stomach flutter with uneasiness.
"I hope," She whispered doubtfully to herself. Once again she prayed she had done the right thing in the end.
A hundred miles away, the coin's counterpart shone, alerting its new master as it burned against his pale skin. He pulled it from his pocket, flipping the coin in his hands, remarking on its genius. All he could do was smirk as he looked up into the night sky.
Author's Note: Thank you for everyone that reviewed it was extremely kind of you. Keep reviewing though. If you are not a Fanfiction member I believe it's still possible that you can write reviews! If you haven't yet, go onto my profile and watch some of the amazing videos that people made for this fanfic! Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!