Ch.2: Aftermath

It had been two weeks since the fateful day. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was relieved his family had survived, for their relationship had always been strained. The Ministry had hesitantly dismissed any prison sentence, and the Malfoys had been granted salvation- although discredited in society; amongst the survivors of both the dark and light side. Draco didn't mind, for they no longer had to main their prestigious façade. Fortunately, they had retained their wealth, and despite the struggling circumstances of the family business, Lucius insisted that they would survive economically, just not societal. Draco didn't question the contradiction, and merely avoided provoking his father in any way.

During the final battle, the youngest Malfoy had defied the Dark Lord by joining forces with Harry Potter. His mother was the only reason that he wasn't already strangled and buried in the garden. Lucius rarely looked at his son now. He merely tolerated his existence.
"HE IS STILL YOUR SON! HE'S JUST CHOSEN HIS OWN PATH. WE MAY NOT AGREE BUT DAMN IT LUCIOUS, HE'S ALIVE! BE GRATEFUL." His mother had screamed, when his father had confronted the matter. Draco sported a black eye for weeks, and had made his presence, outside of his bedroom, scarce.

He had been reading the papers, updating himself on the death toll. Every day, he skimmed through the alphabetical list, dismissing the hundred or so names between A-F, heart stopping as he prepared himself. Her name never appeared. Draco couldn't have been more grateful. She had survived, and now that they were finished school, and the war was behind them he could let her move on with her life; none the wiser of his true feelings. It would save them both a lot of hassle. There had been times when he'd considered confessing, kissing her, and just knowing what it would be like. He would've died happy. The desire to live out his last days full of utter happiness and love sometimes consumed him to the extent that everything else seemed pointless and dull. Why fight at all, when in the end it would all be worthless, and he would leave the earth wondering what Hermione's lips tasted like.

Hermione lay awake yet again, tormented by the grief that had enveloped the Weasley household. From the age of eleven, she had associated the Burrow with senseless joy and love; laughter in every crevice of the cramped home. It was impossible to imagine it otherwise. Now, Molly's harrowing wails seeped through the walls, reverberating around the house, seeping into their bones. The sound was heart wrenching; gone were the tears, and were instead replaced by a hollow sound, as her body emitted animalistic, grief-stricken howls. The sleepless nights brought around a tense breakfast table, absent of Mrs. Weasley. Arthur was a ghost. He slipped into the kitchen, out of habit, though he now skipped eating, and left the house without a word. Ron stared hollowly at the empty chair, and had turned to random, angered outbursts. Harry had gone back to visit the Dursleys, insisting that he ought to salvage some form of a relationship, upon realising how helplessly mortal we all were. And George, well he was inconsolable; a piece of him had been robbed.

Yes, Hermione was torn apart by the loss. Fred had been like a brother to her, and tears never failed to spark whenever she was reminded of him. But her mind was consumed by other thoughts. Why had Draco bothered to save her? He had made it blatantly obvious, over the course of their schooldays, that he would wish nothing less than her 'deserved' death. Why not let that Death Eater finish it all? She could- should- be gone, taken like Fred and the others. That is, if Draco Malfoy hadn't interfered. Her mind then began to wander back to the day in Malfoy Manor. Her pain had vanished; her entire being was numb. Hermione had recognised the incantation immediately, but had couldn't place who had cast such a blessing. She had ruled out all of the Malfoys, and she doubted a spell that complex could be cast from the dungeons where Harry and Ron were being held. Now, she couldn't help but think that perhaps, it had been Draco. But that still didn't explain why? What had she ever done to warrant such kindness? Yes, she was noble and kind…selectively. And she was sure that she had never extended such mannerisms to the blonde-haired bully. It made her felt as though she were in debt to him.

Perhaps, you could repay me with a kiss?

Hermione held her head in her hands. She really needed to get out of the house, for surely imagining Draco's voice could be deduced as nothing less than utterly insane.

Sorry to disappoint love, but it's me, and I enjoy your thoughts too much to just leave.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD MALFOY! I'M NOT KIDDING, I WILL HEX YOU INTO OBLIVION.

You don't seem to think I did this by choice. I'm flattered Granger, but really I'm not that advanced. I can't leave. Believe me, I have tried.

Try harder, I don't want you invading my personal thoughts. Hermione shuffled in her seat, awkwardly. How much had he already heard?

'Oh, Weasley this, Weasley that!' Really Granger, if I were you I'd stop obsessing and move on. Hermione sighed, defeated; he had heard far too much. But of course, that insufferable git wouldn't even have the sense to research reading minds, let alone try to counteract such happenings. Invading his enemy's thoughts wouldn't warrant him to reverse the situation.

You seem to be forgetting, I changed allegiance, I'm no longer the enemy. I'll have you know that I'm well practiced in occlumency, and have dabbled in legilimency. Hence, why would I bother going to such extreme lengths to invade your thoughts? Have you even considered that this goes both ways, and you don't see me winging about my privacy?

Indeed, Hermione pondered, if he were simply privy to her inner workings, she should not have the ability to telepathically converse freely. Spells were far more complex than that. But now, she was left with more questions than she'd initially had. Why did he save her, countlessly? What had caused this newfound ability?