A/N: Hey gals and guys, I'm sorry to have left you on a cliffhanger but I suffered a sucky case of writer's block :/ luckily inspiration struck and Ta Da! New chapter! Anyways thank you all so much for reading and favouriting/following I seriously wish you all pumpkin pastries and chocolate frogs *smiles* :) Disclaimer: I am not JKR and never will be *cries* Forewarning: this chapter is again dark and pretty long but I promise I'm gonna try to ease up for the next couple of chapters. I'm sorry for the long A/N but I'm a newbie to the community and was wondering if anyone would like to be my beta? I so PM me. Anyway back with the story- Enjoy!
"Draco." she hisses, furiously "This is not the time to be reading books. In case you haven't realised, there are bloody intruders in the house." Draco glances at her, sending her a curious look before shrugging and turning back to Volume Three. A blush blooms across her face as her impatience towards the arrogant git intensifies. He's now murmuring under his breath and she wonders as to what the hell he's doing. Footsteps emanate from near the door, one set light and airy, the other clunky and solid. The sound increases and a cold sweat breaks out upon Hermione's spine. Draco, ever-so-calmly, places the book back on the shelf and draws his wand. He utters a soundless spell and then…
A very thin wisp of ashy grey smoke trails from the wand before it ebbs away, effortlessly dissipating into the air surrounding them. It was rather anti-climatic, Hermione thought, and if she wasn't so freaked out by the fact the intruders were just outside the door, she would've told Draco so herself. His eyes were determined however and the rigid set to his sculptured jaw signalled that whatever he was trying to achieve from that spell, it required continued effort being poured into resuming it.
Mutterings from outside eke through, before the door crumbles, the grand oak cracks and folds upon itself, fragmenting into pitiful scraps of wood. The noise it makes causes the floor to quiver in fear and Hermione involuntarily edges further into Draco's solid side. Her heavily-lidded eyes fly open as she assesses the amount of debri. The dust motes swirl and the first person to enter is obscured by the dust cloud. Cradling her wand, Hermione casts a softly muttered incantation, and hears a satisfying thump as the leg-locking spell ensnares its victim, causing him (she had determined it was a him by the buzz-cut hair visible through the smog and his strangled grunt of surprise) to fall like a leaden weight to the ground.
"Watch it!" the other one exclaims. The cloud settles, settling onto the floor and walls and coats the body laid like a carcass and swearing profusely on the floor. The one who's not spell-bound lights up his wand and the 'lumos' quickly illuminates the study. Hermione sucks in a breath, anticipating the wand-bearer to lock his beady little eyes and sneering face on her and Draco at any given moment and curse them into oblivion. She didn't like this- the maliciousness, the crackling tenseness, the sweat beading at her hairline. The companion is dressed in black combat pants and a black tee-shirt as well as a- wow, what a surprise: black cloak like his incapacitated friend. Their death marks which look a faded grey flash under the ambient glow of wand-light.
Draco places a hand on her arm and she looks down surprised at the sight. His hand is surprisingly warm, considering he comes across as such a cold-blooded snake, and rests lightly on her forearm in a comforting gesture. She fixes her amber eyes on his liquid silver ones and is amazed at how expressive they are. He seems to be pleading with her to keep quiet, to stay still and- most of all- to not give up hope. His strength feeds hers and that Gryffindor courage she's renown for flares up despite the helplessness of the situation they were stuck in.
"Get up!" the beady-eyed wand-bearer hisses at his companion. "You fool, you are going to get us both killed!" Buzz-cut makes a grunt in response and a sick smile unfolds on the standing man's wrinkled face. Without any further notice the standing man draws back his leg as if he's about to boot a scoring goal in football. Only there wasn't a ball. And this wasn't a game. The leg strikes the incapacitated man with a loud crack! Hermione winced at the sound and the agonised scream of the victim. Beady-eyes draws back his leg again and again. Kicking the screeching man's ribs until pearly bones jut out and fleshy pulp dribbles from areas where the ribs have broken the skin's barrier. There was no reason for it- no clear-cut reason as to why the nimbler beady-eyed bloke would cause such a grotesque attack on his fellow comrade- and no taunting jibes accompanied the beating, only the sadistic smirk of a man far too entrenched in the darkness to see the wrongness of his ways.
Draco was also incredibly sickened by the act. But unlike Granger, who was burying her chestnut curls deeper into his chest, barely stifling her whimpers and moans of horror, he had seen much worse things in his past. Writhing bodies under the crucio curse, blood-traitors being stripped and lashed, women watching their darling children being hit and slapped, spat on and raped: these are the vivid memories he recalled when he retired to sleep. He'd tried it all: sleeping draughts, liquor, being hit unconscious and spells. Nothing worked to prevent the malignant images which lurked behind his closed eyes. He shook of his stupor to look down at the witch snuggled into his side. He felt a rare surge of pity for her- he knew that she'd been tortured by his Aunt Bella and had seen a great much of loss for a witch of her age- but he found he didn't want her to see this. To see such an unprovoked and gruesome event, one of many he'd been embroiled into since a young age to observe. The spell he'd cast was working- thank Merlin- so they were at least temporarily completely obscured from sight. It was an ancient spell, one which drained his fatigued body of his magic and strength- because unlike mere disillusionment charms, this particular spell meant that even if the monster (for he could not at all see a hint of humane traits within the ghastly person before them) went to where they were, he would pass through them both as though they were ghosts and not corporeal humans attached firmly in the physical realm.
The pulpy remains of the man shuddered on the grimy floor then spewed a blackish vomit clotted with blood and what Draco assumed was stomach lining. Fuck he thought shakily Vomiting blood is a sure sign of internal bleeding. Plus the fact he'd been having his ribs smashed in ment his lung would most probably be pierced and he'd suffocate to death. Draco Malfoy was a unique boy with many talents, upon the surface most saw him as a snivelling cowardly death eater- too weak to kill Dumbledore- and too stupid to joining the Order. This wasn't the case at all. But most people couldn't see past his facade and drew their conclusions off of false or misunderstood evidence. A great example of this was now when, amidst the witnessing of a Death Eaters murder, Draco was not overwhelmed by disgust or fear but could force down his emotion to analyse what was going on and how exactly the dying man was hurt. His anatomy studies as well as nearly every subject Draco aced at, and so it was in sad detachment he watched the scene play out before them.
Partway through this, Hermione had come to her senses and was wriggling to try put an end to this torture. Draco knew this is what she intended to do though, being the reckless noble fool she was, and also comprehended that this was part of the reason beady-eyes was kicking the man to his death. He wanted one of them to move, he wanted the noble little witch to cry out and reveal their location, putting the young sorcerers in jeopardy.
"Draco." Hermione mouthed, doe eyes wide and insistent "Let me go." He shook his head vehemently, piercing her with a threatening and determined stare, "No, it's what he wants" he muttered darkly under his breath. The young witch continued wiggling, compelling Draco to wrap his arms fully around her (his wand still clenched in one steady hand) and pulling her closer into his side. Her warm, soft body reminded him of their close encounter the other day, and his breath hitched perceptible. Granger thankfully didn't seem to notice his strange reaction to her because she was currently struggling to weasel out of his iron-clad grip. Being the sensible witch she was, she stopped after a few moments, resigning herself that she should conserve her remaining energy on the cretin who'd intruded the Malfoy manor.
He was now finished with his murder, and stepped back calmly as if to admire his work. The young witch's lip curled in contempt, unconsciously mimicking the sneer that used to grace the Malfoy heir during their Hogwarts days. The Slytherin in question had stilled his face into a cool, placid mask and only the clenched jaw and slitted-eyed glare revealed his loathing of the murderer. The cretin in question brushed some lint off of his cloak and smirked down at his fuck-up masterpiece. A glob of saliva spewed from his mouth and landed on the man's paling face. Like a mockery of a tear it slid down the bruised man's cheek and dripped onto the thoroughly ruined woodwork.
"Come out, come out wherever you are." the inrudor cajoled harshly. The lilting voice stoked Hermione's temper and she longed to lunge at the evil man. Draco was torn- he needed to keep Granger, not to mention himself, from getting hurt and he knew there was a book somewhere within these tomes which would cause a trap door to act as a refuge for them both, yet at the same time he wanted to dispose of this cretin as quickly and efficiently as possible so as to not cause disturbance in the Manor or cause the twisted follower to go crawling back to his Dark Lord telling tales of the surviving Malfoy and his Dirty Little Secret. Before he could make up his mind what to do- Granger had slipped from his grasp and yelled "Expelliarmus" at the man. Fucking Gryffindors! Draco had chance to think before the wand flew across the air to the heroic witch. The cajoling man smiled at her and Draco knew without any real reason what the man would do next. Cretin had smiled at her, even though he was disarmed. He even had the gall to walk towards her, that soulless smile etched on his blood-spattered face. Draco dropped the spell and muttered a fire spell he had watched his Aunt perform before. The man's cloak was engulfed in orangey-red flames and Hermione wisely used the momentary distraction to start to mutter a spell Draco remembered much too vividly.
The pain in her amber eyes almost matched the fury she felt towards this wicked man. Draco had seen what violence could do to people- how it corrupted the blood like an imperceptible venom and could cause their pure, innocent hearts to go devoid and depraved. For some inexplicable reason he hated the idea of the Gryffindor Princess and Golden girl committing such an ungodly act as murder or torture. He shoved her urgently, causing her to stumble and break off her 'Sectumsempra' curse. Unfortunately, the cretin had vanquished the flames and with a snarl on his lips had launched towards the girl. Draco intervened and they both crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Cretin landed a punch on his cheekbone which made a sharp pain sluice into his brain, Draco covered his head and bucked up to try dislodge the smaller man. However, the man may have been smaller but he sure as hell was much stronger than he looked, and was undeterred by the movement. Instead he started raining punches down on Malfoy smirk firmly in place. Hermione watching the scene as the two men tussled searched desperately for a weapon. She would've casted a spell but it was much too dangerous with Draco so close to the man. Knowing her luck, she'd most probably hit him by mistake due to all the rough moving around those two were doing. Beady-eyes let out a hurt grunt when Draco wedged his knee in an opening and into the man's stomach. He used the pain to land a blow to his chin, shattering his jaw. Cretin retaliated with a headbutt, breaking the younger boy's nose which erupted into a bloody fountain. Draco then did something that caused the smug bastard to lose his malevolent smirk and cry out. He'd bitten hard and decisively into the foul man's neck.
The coppery, slimy consistency of blood washed into his mouth as he broke the skin and sliced through his carotid artery. Ugh, Draco winced internally, why he ever thought that biting the man was a good idea deserted him. Especially as now the man was screaming for his wand and a long string of curses which would make even Voldemort blush. Could the Dark Lord blush? It was a surreal thought, one which he couldn't quite visualise happening with the waxy-faced, serpentine, ruby-eyed, megalomaniac. Why was he even thinking of such perturbing thoughts that made him try- key word being try- imagine Voldemort like some japanese school girl. This of course led his mind to flail in a desperate attempt to get away from the weird-ass imagery which followed from that internal monologue.
He remembered what the hell he was doing and took a strange comfort in the horror of sucking the blood from some mindless tainted follower than picturing Voldemort as a japanese blushing schoolgirl. Draco shuddered. Am I going mad? Has the war finally caused me to lose it? Luckily he was saved from pondering that as he concluded it was all just the fatigue and death catching up to him making him think such crazy shit. Such as anime Voldemort and-and how bloody hot Granger looked knocking the man he had been biting with a weighty wood plank.
Hermione panted, jittery from knocking the foul man unconscious using a large piece of the destroyed door, and glanced down at Draco to check if he was alright. His gaze appeared full of awe before he shuttered his emotions in that irritating way of his. He scrambled to a sitting position then promptly vomited up the blood he'd been gagging on previously. She watched him as he pinched his spurting nose at the bridge to stem the bleeding and saw him rake a hand through his blonde hair restlessly. She offered a hand which he took and they both stood looking at the two men. One murdered by someone he'd trusted and the other spared unconscious by someone who was a foe. The irony made Hermione want to cry. How fucked up was the world when enemies became more merciful than the trusted.
The adrenaline stuttered out of her like a heart monitor's final beats and she turned to Draco in weariness. He was looking down at the two with something akin to pity in his eyes, but she didn't have the energy to muster up musings on the sight of it. She spun until she was directly in front of him then trembled. Draco's eyes left the two fallen and he seemed to understand exactly what she was going through. It didn't matter that they had fought a few days ago, nor did it matter that his past bigoted self would've gladly mocked the vulnerable witch. It didn't matter of their different backgrounds or who the fuck they were friends with because they had both seen an act so unspeakable that they were as intrinsically joined as Hermione had been with Rona and Harry when that troll had roared its last roar. Maybe even more so because watching a murder like that play out in front of the bookish witch had left an impression that altered her world a little more off-kilter.
Draco opened his arms slowly, his mask faltering to allow the loss and pity, fury and hurt, and solemn understanding- blessed, silent understanding- shine through. And that was all she needed. Hermione fell into his arms, clutching his shirt and sobbing against him as though he were her life-raft and she was fighting off of drowning. He stoked her head, murmuring pretty little nothings against her trembling form. Yes- he was damaged and had enough secrets to suffocate him but the young witch was quite obviously struggling too. She was feeling the full consequences of war and he was deeply sad that she had to experience all that. It was this heartbreaking embrace between the two which caused a very peculiar promise to be made between the two. Unbeknownst to them both- this promise was to alter the very course of life to come.
"Why did he do that!? Why would he murder his companion like that?" she sobbed incredulously.
"I don't know." Draco replied. He had theories but he knew now was not the time to share such things.
"I'm not scared of dying." she confessed between ragged breaths "I'm terrified f becoming like that-" she jerked her head at the unconscious Death Eater drooling next to his mangled 'friend'. "I don't want to become a monster." she whispered, melancholy.
Draco put one finger under her chin and made her eyes lock with his.
"I promise you Granger," he whispered fiercely. Bravely daring her to argue against him. "I will never ever allow you to end up anywhere near as damaged and corrupt as him." The amber eyes glistened with tears at his protective words. He knew it was time for her to rest- to sleep off the early morning horrors. Just then the rising sun made it's daily appearance, splashing golden rays across the destruction of the library.
He steered Granger out of the rubble and through the hallway. He took her to his room, where he could keep an eye on her in case any other Death Eaters appear as she slept. The adjoining bathroom made him hesitate and he decided to try run a bath for her. He grimaced at how uncomfortable it might be for her to sleep with someone's blood on their clothes and under their nails. Plus waking up would be awful. And so: he ran her a bath, gave her some folded clothes and patiently waited on his desk chair as she bathed and re-dressed herself. It was no use pretending to read, her sobs distracted him and caused guilt to unnerve him. Her eyes were red and puffy when she entered the room in his old quidditch shirt and rolled-up sweatpants. But at least she was no longer bloody and dirty and dusty. Granger smiled at him then- it was a weak forlorn smile- and hovered awkwardly near his bed. She started towards the door but he stood up and said: "Don't." She spun round quizzically then.
"I'm no healer Granger," he started a little shyly at what he was about to propose "But even I know that someone who's just been through trauma requires bathing, sleep and food…" she blinked at him, perhaps still a little numbed by this morning's events? So he carried on; "I'm not willing to keep you at a different section of the Manor while I clean up, so I'd prefer it if you could perhaps sleep here for awhile- at least until I've sorted the study a few rooms over and cleared the parameter so we are safe." She looked highly skeptical at the word 'safe' and arched her eyebrow dubiously. A smile twitched the corner of his lips and he rolled her eyes at her silent stubbornness.
"Fine, maybe not safe, but at least make us safer by putting up some more complex wards, Salazar knows how easy those buffoons got past them, and then making us both some food." Hermione stands and contemplates this. He doesn't know what runs through her intelligent mind (probably pros and cons of sleeping in his room) but finally she conceded and climbs into his emerald green sheets. This time he does smile and once she's settled he has to practically force himself to leave, murmuring one final promise to the sleeping witch.
"I will save you…"