A/n: Hope you like it! This chapter has a lot of looks into their past lives together, but they circulate more around his life then interacting with Hermione. Big thanks to my beta Tessa Cresswell!
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Disclaimer: All characters belong to J. K Rowling.
Disclaimer: Plot is similar to the book Fallen by Lauren Kate, but I have never read this book (or books?) so I don't know if it will continue to be the same. This has nothing to do with angels and constantly dying, just to let you know. I don't think it will be too similar.
Part 1: Consider, 1999 (Life Six)
Draco Abraxas Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger
It had been roughly six days since Draco sent Ron's brain reeling, and now that there had been time for his threat to settle in, tension between the two had mounted. If their friends noticed they didn't say anything, but the two would constantly glance between Hermione and each other. Obviously, Ron had no idea what to make of things, and Malfoy was curious about what he would do now that he knew something was up.
But nothing happened. The days passed, and all that happened was lessons. The two weren't necessarily avoiding each other; they just hadn't spoken since the threat was administered. What was running through each of their minds was secret to everyone save themselves.
But for Hermione, tension was nothing. Her dreams were plagued with scattered images of what Malfoy had shown her, and she had yet to make a connection to any of them. What was she missing? Was there anything plainly obvious about what he had been showing her, or was she really that in the dark? Whatever reason there was that she had yet to connect anything, it was frustrating. What could any of that mean.
She had tried to confront Malfoy twice about the topic, and both times he had blown her off. It was becoming a rather annoying matter, and it wasn't as if she could divulge information to her friends. Harry and Ron would instantly become their ever-protective selves and go and interrogate Malfoy, and then he would be sure to say nothing. Why oh why would he tell them something anyways? If she told her friends, they would be overly protective or think she had lost her marbles. No, that was out of the question.
Besides, Ron had been irritable the last few days. With a sigh, Hermione packed up the objects she had brought with her that night to the library and began to head out. Unfortunately for her, her bag ripped and the contents spilled onto the floor just outside of the library's entrance. Groaning, she stooped to pick up the discarded items, never once noticing the approaching figure.
Before she knew what was happening, a book was being shoved in her face. Eyes snapping up, she met the cool disconnected eyes of one Draco Malfoy. The one bloody person I could not stand seeing tonight… just her luck.
She snatched the book away, shoving it into her bag with the others. "Something I can help you with Malfoy?"
A multitude of things actually. "Does it seem like you can? I was merely returning the book you dropped Granger; that doesn't mean I'm here to be a bother."
"You're always a bother," she muttered, standing as she swung her bag back over her shoulder. "But I'm sure you are aware of that."
"Quite," he replied, moving to pass her. Stopping to speak had been a mistake, and it had sent his mind swimming again. But unfortunately, she didn't seem done.
"Are you ever going to explain," she called, crossing her arms behind him. He didn't turn to see her stance, but knew she was waiting, expecting an answer like the stupid stuck up girl she really was. But she's not stuck up, not all the time…
He fought off the notion to shake his head as he removed the thought. Merlin, his mind might be in wonderland, thinking about her that way, but he couldn't let it wander like that. Not when he was talking with her and the urge to forget she hated him so much was strong- it was almost overpowering at times, to the point where he wanted to kiss her.
Masking his face like usual, he glared. "Why would I do that?" he said, not turning to look at her, "That would take the fun out of everything."
"You think this is fun," she hissed, storming up to his other side, so they were face to face. "There is nothing fun about this entire situation!"
You're right, there isn't. The blond shrugged, before reaching a hand up and patting her cheek. "Well, not for you anyways, Granger."
She looked completely thrown by his touch, and he took the opportunity to slip past her and continue down the hall. Merlin, she was getting too close to him, and he had learned after six centuries that it was harder to control his emotions the more connected they got. If she kept bothering him, questioning him, it would likely become as big of a bloody issue as the last time they lived together, and Merlin- that had been a disaster.
Thankfully, she didn't seem to be following him, and he hurried off to his rooms, hoping to put as much space between them as possible.
I doubt I will be sleeping well tonight.
Part 2: Regrets of Life, 1760 (Life Four)
Damian P`ere Malfoy (27) and Rivkah Tabitha Clayworth (30)
Damian looked on at the three children before him. His eldest son, Cepheus, had grown into himself and at the mere age of ten was already trying to act as mature as his father. It was endearing.
The other two children had both been brought into the world during the last ten years, since the last time he saw Rivkah. His second born, Evander, looked on at his baby sister with disdain. The boy himself was barely six, but the youngest and only female child, was but two. Her name was Aurora, and she was currently trying to chew on something. Gingerly, Damian took the object from his daughter and lifted her up.
His wife sat on the couch, gingerly holding her eldest son's hand. Damian looked on at his wife- the woman he could never really bring himself to love- and felt a pang of remorse. Gemma Flint- now Malfoy- had done nothing but try to be good to him for years. Had she loved him, when he didn't love her? The blond wasn't certain of the answer, just that he had cheated her out of a happy marriage, and it was too late to fix that. Gemma had caught some sort of illness, and was slowly dying before his eyes. He had cheated her out of a happy life, and now she would die with her only true loves being the children she bore.
It wasn't fair to her, but there was nothing he could do to take anything back. All he could do was concentrate on her degrading health, and hope that she passed when the children were not home. He didn't want them to see that.
The problem was, they didn't really know what was going on. They knew their mother was very sick, and couldn't play with them anymore. The shine in her hair was absent and she coughed often. It pained him to watch her hurt, and the boys cry because their mother was unwell. His son's were not stupid however, and you could see it in their eyes that they feared something. Evander might be too young to understand, but Cepheus was not. The worry was evident in his son's eyes.
Too bad he couldn't help them more. "Boys," he said, not bothering to hide the tiredness in his voice, "off to bed. Thou mother needs to rest." He glanced over at the maid, who had become more and more anxious about Gemma everyday. "Take Aurora up and settle her in," he commanded, waiting for the woman to take his only daughter. She did without question, and ushered the boys away as she left. He waited for their footsteps to grow faint before he approached his wife.
He sat carefully on the sofa she was settled on, cupping her face lightly. "How dost thou feel," he asked, stroking her cheek. He tried to be tender, he tried to be nice. He wanted to make her feel as well as she could, as time dwindled away. When the best Healer in London tells you there is nothing he can do, you are truly in a dead-end situation.
Gemma smiled tightly up at him, her face crinkled in pain. "Better. Cepheus speaks of Aurora learning to walk. I am pleased."
He inwardly screamed. Her child had been padding along on the floor for nearly two days, and she hadn't noticed? Granted, she wasn't awake often- but still. She was missing the things he knew she adored about their children's early years of life.
Leaning forwards, he planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. He wanted to encompass this poor woman in his arms, and take away her pain. Every day he was watching her growing closer to death, and he doubted she would even be able to leave the bedroom by tomorrow, perhaps the day after. He didn't want to let the mother of his children die- and such a pleasant woman at that- but there was nothing he could even do, and the guilt of that fact was slowly eating him alive.
"I shall take thee upstairs," he whispered, moving to pick her up and cradle her against him. He knew this movement often made her sick, but she was resistant to staying in bed. She was trying to act like things were okay, like she was okay when she wasn't. Despite everything, she wanted to be a part of her children's lives, and she was certain that couldn't happen from her bedroom.
Climbing the stairs, he bit his lip. Her body was frail, her hair limp, and her voice hoarse half the time. As he moved, he had to continually blink. Time was dwindling away on her life, and all he could do was watch. He had never loved her, but for a moment he wished he had lied better.
He wished he had given her more happy memories to replay in her mind. Guilt clouding his chest, he shut off his train of thought and continued walking, hoping she didn't suffer like this much longer.
Cepheus cried the hardest in Damian's opinion. The decline of his wife's health had rapidly sped up after that night, and it hadn't been long after that she was cold one morning in his bed. He hadn't cried no- for if Damian cried then his children would truly be at a loss- but he was mourning his wife's death in the proper way any man should; he was sad.
The funeral was a short event, with two of his children too young to understand, and the third gripping at him like the world had fallen to pieces. In the eyes of a ten year old, it probably had.
He stared at the spot she had been buried long after she had been laid to rest. His marriage had been shorter than expected; only thirteen years, but looking at the three people around him he bit his cheek until it bled. His fucking father had gotten what he wanted- grandchildren who were mixed with the Flint family; how very twisted that was, that his father, Raiquen, got the most out of that marriage.
But, Raiquen Malfoy was nothing but a bastard.
It wasn't until later that night, when the four Malfoy's had returned home that she made an appearance. And she, was the absolute last person he ever expected to see at his Manor's door. She had not been around in a long time.
"Rivkah," he said, forgetting formality. She stood in his entranceway, having been let in by the butler. In her arms she carried a baby, obviously younger then Aurora. He had not seen this woman in nine years. "What are thou doing here?"
The woman adjusted the child in her arms nervously, looking down. "I heard about thou wife, I came to pay my respects."
He thought it was rather curious that her husband Robert was nowhere to be found, nor the beauty of a daughter he had often heard his own son speaking of. "Thank you," he said curtly, unsure how to deal with the situation. She was so close, but so far away. "It is difficult."
She nodded understandingly. "I can only imagine…" her voice trailed off.
He fought the urge to fidget. This meeting was nothing like his soul hoped for. He wanted to kiss her, and to smile at her arrival, but both things would be entirely inappropriate, so he simply stood there, unsure what to say. His eyes landed on the child in her arms. "And this is?"
The woman glanced down and smiled. "My son, Talon."
He nodded politely, fighting the urge to vomit. Merlin, the two had another child… that made his stomach twist into knots. "He has thou eyes," he said instead.
Rivkah nodded, smiling. "He dost." Brushing back a strand of loose hair, she met his eyes. "I should be getting back outside. My husband is waiting for me; we stopped by on our way through town," she said, reaching out to clasp his shoulder. The action was so sudden his heart practically jumped from his chest. "It shall get better Damian."
He wanted to scream that she had no idea what she was talking about, given that she still had a healthy- if not aggravating- husband, but restrained. She had touched his shoulder, and the physical contact was almost too much. "I know."
Smiling, the woman nodded and they said their farewells. As she walked back outside, he called after her, watching his butler walk her to her carriage, "Thou should remind thee husband it is improper for a lady to wander alone in the dark!"
Her head whipped around to stare at him, but she didn't reply. Their eyes met for a moment, and for that brief spanse of time he felt more connected to a woman then he had during his entire marriage with Gemma. It made him feel like a monster.
Shutting the Manor's door, he turned and excused himself to his room, never once looking at anyone; there was too much guilt for him to meet anyone's eyes.
He loved Rivkah first and foremost, because she was Penelope's new living self, but that didn't excuse his neglect towards his wife. That had just been unacceptable.
Draco slowly awoke from his dream, the feeling of guilt slowly leaving his chest. Everything he had done in that life seemed so cruel, he had never fully been able to forget it. That had been the only time he ever really neglected his family, and the guilt had eaten at him ever since. Those four people- his wife and three children- had deserved better, but nothing could change any of that now.
The curious thing about that life though, was Rivkah had tried to be there for him when he was hurt. Penelope had always been close with him, but in their other lifetimes they had never grown nearly as close as the first. When she had cared enough to pay her respects to his dead wife, it made him remember few other instances that meant so much to him, that could prove she had ever cared.
Sitting up in bed, he leaned his back against the pillows and let his head fall. Why did he do this to himself? If he could make the memories disappear into the farthest reaches of his mind, he would, if only to find some peace. He could never shut off the memories completely, but some decent sleep would be welcomed with open arms. He hadn't had a full nights sleep since the memories began to flood back into his head when he became sixteen.
Resting his hand beneath his chin, he stared blankly at the wall. He would not sleep the rest of the night with a painful memory like that having resurfaced- what a pity, he had really been looking forward to sleeping.
In her own dorm, Hermione sat awake as well, but for different reasons. Yes, her mind was plagued by memories she thought to be nothing more then visions, but the images had still pulled her from sleep. Everything Malfoy had been showing her lately had reflected back in her mind's eye, right back up to the feeling of being slapped when she saw those last two people- Rafe and Hannelore she believed.
Sitting up in her own bed, she had a bit of scratch paper sitting before her. She had taken careful notes upon waking, and was now rereading everything she had written considering the dreams- even if it were a very small amount indeed.
-Each vision was of different people.
-Every single one seemed to center around a male and a female, who seemed to all share similar physical traits; the woman always had dark hair, and brown or green eyes, while the man always had blond hair of sorts, and blue or grey eyes.
-In at least two of the visions, the male and female and apparently been lovers; Rafe and Hannelore, and Lowell and Penelope.
In her mind's eye, she wondered how she even remembered all those names when she had never seen the same pair twice, and how she could possibly know who was with who so well; they didn't call her the brightest witch of their age for nothing apparently.
-For some reason in the most recent vision with Rafe and Hannelore, she had felt the slap to Hannelore's face.
That, unfortunately, was the most puzzling thing listed. How the bloody hell had she felt that? She must've felt so bad for the woman that she imagined being hit, but the logical part of her mind knew this hope was faulty. She had felt bad for people before, but never felt anything physical because of it.
She sighed. Nothing made sense, and there were only two ways to figure out just what was going on; ask Malfoy and demand an answer, or figure it out herself. Since the first option was probably going to prove futile, the latter seemed like a better idea.
Setting the notebook aside, she laid back down. What was she going to do now?
Well, I guess I'm going to have to make Malfoy show me something again.
The next morning Draco wandered from his dorm room half awake, blinking sleep from his eyes. His predictions the previous night had been correct, and sleeping had proven difficult. Yawning into his hand, he began the trek down to breakfast.
However, the blond was frightfully unaware of the ginger lurking behind the corner.
"Malfoy," Ron said, stepping out from his hiding space as the blond approached; to say he was startled would be an understatement. Draco's room was on the far side of the school, a floor above the Slytherin common room, and to see a Gryffindor that close to the snake's den was unusual. Granger never dared to come to his dorm or the Slytherin dungeons, and she was the bloody Head Girl.
"Weasley," the blond said, keeping his emotions in control. A simple surprise was nothing to lose his mind over, and he was fairly certain he already knew what this was about. "Something I can do for you?"
"You know there bloody well is," Weasley said, moving to jab the blond with his wand, but Malfoy drew his own and kept Ron at bay, watching him closely. "What are you playing at?"
Feigning stupidity, he raised both eyebrows. "What do you mean?"
Ron scowled. "You know what I mean!"
"No," Draco said, resisting the urge to smirk, "I don't believe I do."
The redhead's face slowly began to adapt a tinge of red itself, "Your threat!"
Ah, it's practically too easy to make his temper flare. Unable to suppress it now, he smirked. "Ah yes, that."
"Yes that," Ron mocked stepping closer but the blond did not back down. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, what you think you're going to do to Hermione, but I'm telling you now Malfoy to stay away from her. She doesn't need an arsehole like you in her life."
Yet she needs you? "And what makes you think my presence is not welcome," he asked, eyes glinting. Oh, this would be fun. "What makes you think she opposes the idea of me being in her life? Really Weasley, the girl has not been present a lot at your table, and if I'm correct you can rarely speak in class now that I'm forced to be her partner, so how would you know?"
Ron lunged, but Draco had been expecting as much and sidestepped the ginger; it was no secret he fancied his friend, after all, so it was not hard to predict an angry reaction. The blond smirked at Weasley's loss of control.
"And really Weasley," the blond continued, smirk still in place, "why should it matter to you if I choose to pursue Granger or not? She hasn't paid you any attention the past seven years, so what would change now? For all you know I could be the best thing that ever happens to her."
"You'll probably get her killed or something," he grumbled, hands clenched.
Draco shrugged, ignoring the pang in his chest. I've already done that Weasley. "That's not my intent Weasley," he said, turning to go, "but you are keeping me from my breakfast, and there really is no point to this conversation." He turned to go, but Ron was having none of that and quickly hurried in front of him, blocking his path once more.
"Stay away from her," he hissed, "you're bad news."
Actually Weasley, you've been bad news for centuries. He smirked again, resisting the urge to punch the moron in the side of the head. "Don't worry Weasley," he said coyly, "I won't hurt her." Quickly sidestepping the ginger, he took his leave down to the Great Hall, never once looking back, but the bastard didn't follow immediately.
No Weasley, you are more of a danger to her life then I am.
The first few classes that day passed without event, and although Hermione looked at Malfoy in every class she had with him, he refused to look her way. That was the problem with having to look into his eyes, if he refused it proved a difficult task indeed, especially with classrooms full of students around. If she merely had to grab his hand or something she would've done so when he reached down to retrieve a new quill in potions. Thoroughly frustrated with the situation (again), she proved to be unpleasant company throughout the entire morning.
When lunch came around, her mood lightened only a bit as she ate, prepared to head off to the library as soon as possible. She had yet to discover anything, but was certain she would be able to once she had the chance to head back. Last night she had been onto something, but the book she discovered she needed was up in the Restricted Section, and the library had nearly been closed when she discovered this. It probably wasn't something to embark on during the lunch hour, but once school was out for the day she would hurry up there and try to get that book.
Lunch was going just fine, until Ron took her hand beneath the table and shoved something into it. Startled, she glanced at him, but he was just continuing to eat as though nothing were wrong. Curious, she looked down and noted it was a piece of paper, folded once. Opening it, she read his quick note.
Stay away from Malfoy, I think he's planning to cause you some trouble. He's been acting strange lately.
She rolled her eyes. Malfoy was always strange, but that was no reason to worry. Besides, she couldn't rightly stay away from him if she planned to get some answers. She picked up a muggle pen and quickly scribbled back, I can't do that Ron, we work together in practically every class and I patrol with him. Stop being so worrisome. She handed him the note, intent on finishing her meal a bit quicker.
I'm not being worrisome! Something is off about him Hermione; he's not acting like himself.
Hermione nearly choked when he wrote that. Boy was he right! Oh, stop it Ronald, you're worrying too much. I won't listen to you warn me about this; I'm a perfectly practical girl and I'm sure I can handle myself. Quit telling me to avoid him. I am capable of deciding who really is a threat and who isn't. Now stop this silliness. I'm off to the library, so please try to not bring this up again when I see you in our next class.
Shoving the paper back to him, she stood and grabbed her bag. "I'm off to the library," she said cheerfully, smiling at the small group of friends she had been sitting with.
"Alright Hermione," Harry said, his attention still focused dominantly on Ginny, "see you next class." She nodded, and didn't wait for anymore farewells, just took her leave as quickly as possible. Merlin's beard, could Ron pester her over that Malfoy topic anymore then he already had?
Lost in her train of thought, she didn't take into account the pair of silver eyes watching her body carefully as she rushed out, never once losing sight of her until she left the hall. The boy considered following her, to make sure nothing happened, but restrained. She could handle herself in this life.
"Something troubling you mate?" Blaise asked from his side, eyebrow raised. Draco had been staring off intently in the direction of Gryffindor table since sitting down, and watching his eyes follow the Gryffindor Princess as she took her leave just proved to the Italian that something was up.
"No," he said, taking a large swig of his drink; it was Rum today, "just thinking."
Blaise knew that was a lot of Bollocks, but didn't say anything and resumed his conversation with Theodore Nott, who had been talking about some popular Quidditch Team he saw that summer. Draco ignored the conversation completely, looking longingly at the Great Hall's doors.
If only he could talk to someone about all of this.
Part 3: Too Little Too Late, 1537 (Life Two)
Dreu Antoine Malfoy (14) and Harmony Joan Potter (18)
"May I sit?" she asked politely, standing in the doorway to the blonds study. Usually he only used the large space to think, never study, but today could be an exception if anything, for he could see the true pain in her eyes.
Nodding to the chair next to his own, Dreu watched her sit carefully. Harmony had not let the events of nearly a month ago affect her life, at least not out in the open. Alabaster Snape had visited her home twice since his attack, but both times when either her mother or father were home, and as far as he knew nothing had happened since. "How is thou?" he asked, trying to be polite to someone he still had a hard time tolerating.
"Fine," she said, her lip quivering. It was no secret to the younger boy that the events of that night haunted her mind, and the actions of her always drunk fiancé bothered her immensely, but the woman was holding up fairly well for her situation. She would marry Alexander Potter soon, and that would hopefully keep Alabaster away from her, or so the girl hoped. Dreu on the other hand didn't think it would make a damn difference whether or not she was married- Snape had a twisted mind. "I am keeping together."
"As is expected," he said coldly, not quite able to show the woman compassion like she probably hoped. He thought it was rather silly of her to simply invite the man into her room to begin with. "Hast thou told thy husband yet?"
She shook her head, gripping the fine material of her expensive dress. "No, I hast not figured out just how to yet. Perhaps I shall never mention it."
He scoffed. "Then thou are just as tasteless as thou husband. He lies as well, thee know?"
She looked away, not responding. "We are to be married soon. Will thou attend?"
Dreu wanted to yell no, that he had no desire to be at this woman's wedding, nor did he really like the man she was engaged to. But, his parents had already forced him into agreeing to attend. "I shall."
Harmony smiled tightly. "Alabaster will attend as well."
"Alabaster attends all events," he replied, rolling his eyes. "That is unsurprising."
She nodded, before standing. "I hear thou are seeing someone- Miss Babcock?"
The blond nodded, smiling at the mention of the girl he was currently courting. "Yes, I shall be bringing her with to thou wedding. She is charming." And you are not.
"I am happy to hear," she said, before reaching out a hand. "I must go however, Alexander expects me home soon."
He scowls. "Get used to that. Thou shall learn to never leave home."
The raven- haired beauty frowned at that, but didn't comment. They said their farewells, and then she departed without anymore talk about who the other was seeing, and he politely watched her go from his doorstep.
He didn't realize how much of a reality check he would be in for soon.
1539; Two Years Later
He held the woman with a loving grip, but lately his thoughts towards her had changed. Marrying Anastasia Babcock at fifteen had seemed a marvelous idea at the time, just under a year ago. Now, holding her as they looked out the window, he couldn't feel more like a fool.
Oh, the memories had come back in a rush one night, causing him to rush away from the small gathering that was being held then and losing the contents of his stomach. Memories of a beautiful woman- with Harmony's facial features, but different eyes and hair- were plaguing his mind, and for days it remained that way.
It took nearly two weeks to realize just what everything meant, and by then it was far too late to change anything. Harmony was married to Alexander, and the couple had a child just last year named Acacia. Dreu was married now himself, and was working for the same goal; an heir.
If those memories of Harmony's past life had resurfaced two years ago, the last time the pair were alone together, he would have done things so differently. He would never have been cruel to her, and would have only treated her with the highest degree of respect- but too little, too late. He could do nothing with that woman when she herself was married with someone else, nor could he look at Anastasia the same. His heart now swelled ironically for the woman he had hated for years, and he could never have her. It was heartbreaking.
"Come to bed," a voice whispered in his ear, and he turned around to face his wife Anastasia, with her long blond tresses hanging free. She looked sleepy, but her fingers were lightly grazing his arm, causing Goosebumps to form. "It is cold," she continued, standing on her toes to plant a gentle kiss against his cheek.
He thought the opposite actually, for it was mid-July and the weather was fair, but if she were saying such things it was because she was looking to do something else, and he would not say no to that. After all, he would do most anything to draw his thoughts from the fact that he would probably never really be happy in life.
Slipping beneath the covers of their bed, everything became a blur. They moved quickly, frantically, both probably for different reasons. He knew he was hurrying up the process because he wanted to clear his mind, but she might have been frantic because she actually liked it. Either way, it wasn't long before her moans filled his ears and he let himself get lost in the moment, hoping for a generous amount of sleep once this was over.
It didn't take long for the both of them to finish, and return to lying on their bed, panting. At some point she curled against him and fell asleep, so in love with her blond husband. He felt the guilt pile up and block his airways. Merlin, she loved him in a way that he could never love her, not now.
But that does not change the fact that Anastasia is thou wife, and Harmony is but someone thee loathed for most of my life.
He sighed, stroking his wife's hair. Was this really how the rest of his life would feel?
A/n: So, what do you think? Nothing about the Weasley's involvement yet, but we are getting there :)