A.N. Hello! I am back again haha. Thank you to all of you that have stuck with me! Your support is so much appreciated.
Have mercy on me. This chapter has not been beta-ed. I can't get a hold of Mistwood and I felt guilty for the huuuge gaps in between my updates. So here ya go ;).
Disclaimer: You know the drill. I own only the unrecognizable plot.
08-29-2013 I combined this chapter and what was chapter 8 and took out a bit of unnecessary stuff. I like it better this way :).
Chapter 7
Draco leaned against the headboard as he watched Hermione flit across the room with a tray laden with food. He had watched her for the past week. The only time she came in to see him was to take care of his meals, check him for fever, and to make sure he was still locked in the room. They spoke very rarely. After several attempts he gave up trying to engage her in conversation. Every time she either glared at him silently or stalked out of the room with a snide comment.
If he hadn't been worried before, the way she was treating now had him petrified by what his lost memories contained. The fact that he had no idea what she was doing in this God forsaken house, and that she only told him that she was researching, not what she was researching, only added to his stress. Why bed rest was supposed to be good for people he had no idea, it only made him more restless than rested. He constantly stewed over all the possibilities of what would happen when Hermione was finally finished with her "research". Draco blamed his over-active imagination for all of the sinister images running through his head.
If the slow decline of her appearance and the slow growth of the frizz in her hair was any indication of her progress, she wasn't getting the results that she wanted. And that was just fine for Draco. He knew that it had something to do with his memories and as far as he was concerned, he hoped that she would never find the illusive answers that had given her the horrid dark circles under her eyes.
Hermione glared at the pile of papers scattered in front of her as if they were personally concealing the answers. She was close, she could feel it in her gut. For weeks she had torn through Malfoy's library, but she had yet to find anything useful. What she had seen in Draco's mind wasn't enough for her to determine the type of spell used on his memories. She needed more to go on. The question was, should she force her way into his mind again. However, she had absolutely no desire to talk to him.
Hermione sighed, upsetting the papers on the desk. She had avoided him long enough, and she supposed it was time to gather up the courage to try and talk to him. She grimaced at the scene that ran through her head. Draco was bound to be a prick and completely unhelpful, but she was running out of options.
Stalling for as long as possible, Hermione set about straitening the papers on the desk. Just because she had to be courageous and talk to him didn't mean she had to do it right then. When she found nothing else to do, Hermione steeled herself and headed to Draco's room. Hermione berated herself for her cowardice and pushed open the door roughly. Much to her chagrin, his surprise at her sudden entrance only showed on his face for the briefest of seconds before it changed back into the cool mask of indifference that had always infuriated her.
"Granger, is the house on fire or do you enjoy trying to scare the living day lights out of me?" Hermione scoffed at the comment but decided to let it pass. She still needed him to cooperate if she had any hope of seeing an end to her research.
"No," she said in a clipped tone, "I need some information from you." Draco's expression barely shifted, but she caught the guarded look the slipped over his eyes.
"So you have come to pry into my mind again," he said with a flat tone causing Hermione to flinch guiltily. Draco caught the slip and took it as confirmation to his suspicion. He laughed bitterly, "So why didn't you just barge in and take the information you need. Isn't that exactly what you did last time?" Hermione stamped down on her conscience and raised her head haughtily.
"You are in no position to ask questions. Given the situation, my actions were justified." Draco just raised one eye brow in response, but seemed to think better of challenging her justification.
"Here," he said with a smirk, "I will make this easier for you. I'm stronger than the last time you tried to force your way in. You will need my consent this time." Hermione hesitantly made her way over to the bed and sat on the edge, as far way from him as she possibly could. When she had settled herself, Draco gestured for her to begin.
Without a warning, Hermione pulled out of his mind and rushed down to her desk without giving Malfoy a backward glance. As soon as she sat down she pulled out a fresh stack of parchment and started jotted down notes like a madwoman, desperate to write all of her findings down while they were fresh in her mind. The traces of magic she had found in Draco's mind were odd and definitely had a different magical signature than that of his own magic. This only confirmed her growing suspicion that he had not wiped his own memory. As much as she hated to admit it, the facts just didn't line up. The way he mind was erased made it seem almost as if he was being disposed of.
She had to dig deeply through the fog to find the traces of magic. They were so faint that she had almost missed them. Hermione thanked all of the powers that she was a thorough researcher and was familiar with magical residue. Beneath the initial signature, she found layers of residual from so many spells that at first she was worried that she wouldn't be able to remember them all. There was everything from memory modification to embedded compulsions to emotional alteration. It was a wonder that Draco, himself, was still in tact, for the most part. How true to his natural self he was at the moment still remained to be seen, but Hermione hadn't found any evidence that indicated any modification spell was still in place.
Pages and pages Hermione wrote of her findings, but as she continued a larger question became more clear. Why? Why had someone gone through all the trouble of setting in place a such complex series of spells to change Draco. Surely there was an abundance of Death Eaters that could have taken his place, so why bother with him? Hermione paused at that thought. Maybe it wasn't entirely true. The Malfoy that had followed in Voldemort's shadow was a step ahead of most of the Death Eaters. He was incredibly intelligent and such a cold-hearted murderer hadn't been seen since Bellatrix Lestrange herself. But she knew Draco was not naturally that way. Hermione remembered Harry telling her about his encounter with Malfoy in the bathroom back in sixth year. Regardless of the outcome, he had shown some remorse about what he was doing.
The more she began to understand what had been done to Draco's mind, the more angry she became. The fact that she was angry for him made her extremely uncomfortable, but she couldn't shake the strength of her emotion. It was extremely convenient that tonight she was scheduled to meet again with Harry. She was glad to finally have some kind of news.
Draco carefully eased himself out of bed. His head spun a bit, but he was pleased that he could at least remain upright by supporting himself on the high mattress. For several days now, he had been working hard to get his strength back. He was sick of lying down; sick of needing help to do the simplest of things. Today he decided that he would walk around the room a couple of times without any help. He was about halfway across the mercifully heavily carpeted floor when his legs decided that they were fed up with walking and buckled. He barely had time to catch himself and had to grit his teeth against the jarring in his wrists as they connected roughly with the ground. Indulging in a moment of self pity, Draco bemoaned his loss of reflexes and settled pitifully on the floor. He consoled himself with the fact that he still had at least half the day to accomplish his goal, so he need not worry about the small break.
Unfortunately, Draco and his body did not have the same level of determination. After what felt like hours of lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, his body still did not have the strength to move. When he heard soft footsteps approaching from the hallway, he cursed under his breath and tried in vain to stand up again. He could not get his legs under him to save his life, so Draco gave up and tried to catch his breath and hide his exertion while Hermione unlocked the wards around the room. Subscribing to the childish notion that someone cannot be seen if their eyes were closed, he closed his eyelids and tried to give the appearance of lounging. Even if his wonderful plan failed at least he wouldn't be able to see the look on her face when she saw him.
After a moment he heard her step into the room and close the door behind her. Odd, he thought. Her footsteps sounded heavier.
"Lounging about again are we, Draco?" His eyes flew open at the foreign voice. Towering over him was a dark man, not dark skinned, just dark as if he was formed of shadows. His heart skipped a beat and then began to try to beat its way out of his chest. Draco felt his body slip into a panic attack, but for the life of him, he didn't know why he was so afraid. His gaze traveled up the shadowy figure and as he strained to make out the features of the face, pain blossomed behind his eyes. He grabbed at his head and tried to stifle the scream that was trying to claw its way out of his throat, but he could not hold back the moan that escaped his lips.
The pain was blinding and coursed all of his nerve endings like fire. He pulled his body into a tight fetal position and willed the pain to end. After feverish minutes he felt cool hands on his face and brow a voice broke through the rushing in his ears. A clear voice was calling out his name. Draco tried to make out the other words, but he couldn't push past the pain. The darkness of unconsciousness began to claim his mind and he willingly surrendered.
Hermione sat by Draco's bed for hours waiting for him to wake up. She was concerned that she had accidentally triggered his relapse with the prolonged Legilimency she had put him through earlier that morning. For the hundredth time she reminded herself that Malfoy had been fine when she left, but she could not say that she had given his condition much thought in her hurry to get back to work. When she saw him on the floor, she couldn't deny the sudden rush of anxiety. Despite her negative feelings for him, Hermione couldn't stand seeing anyone in such pain. His eyes were clenched tightly shut and his breath was coming out in quick, shallow moans. She didn't know what else to do for him other than settle him in bed and keep him cool. He had soon stilled, but she wasn't going to relax until he woke up.
That night she skipped her scheduled meeting with Harry and slept in a cot she had transfigured next to Draco's bed.
Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes wearily. She didn't know how long she had slept, but she still felt exhausted. Even her body seemed to protest at the thought of getting up to get ready for the day, but she knew a mountain of research waited for her. She groaned into her pillow when she remembered that she needed to come up with some elaborate story, one to tell Harry to explain missing their meeting. Harry would, no doubt, give her the mother of all dressing downs after she left him alone with his overactive imagination. She had been on the receiving end of such over-protective rants too many times to count; it was part of being the only female member of their little triumvirate for all those years. Her boys had always felt the need to look after her, despite the fact that it was she who often did the saving.
With a dejected huff, Hermione dragged the blanket away from her face and stared at the ceiling as she mustered the will to move. Mornings like these really were the worst for her, but it wasn't until she sat up and had swung her legs over the side of the bed that she realized something was wrong.
First of all, she was in a bed instead of the cot she remembered conjuring. Her bed from Hogwarts. She quickly stomped down on the feelings of excitement beginning to swell in her chest. She knew in her heart that this was just a dream, like the last time she had ended up here, so there wasn't any use to falsely hope. It still stung to be in the dream of a place she most longed to be, but she didn't have time to mourn her losses before she felt a familiar tugging sensation at her core. Without time to even process the feeling, she was yanked away.
When she landed, Hermione stumbled and fell as if she had been Confunded. All around her was the acrid stench of death and she was thrown into a coughing fit from all of the smoke and dirt in the air. She searched frantically around for her wand, crawling on hands and knees through debris, only to find it half buried underneath a fallen man. Hermione whimpered as she reached out for her wand with a shaking hand. Turning away from the body as quickly as possible, she choked out a spell to filter the air and allow her to breathe easier.
As her breathing started to even out, the sounds around her came crashing into her ears. With a sense of dread that threatened to still her heart, she recognized the sounds of war. Screams of the wounded blended with the yells of curses, counter curses, defensive spells, hexes, and Unforgivables, in a distinct cacophony that would chill the heart of any man. Panic gripped her and she began to scan for familiar faces, but all she could see were blurs. She knew it was all just a dream, but it brought memories best left forgotten back to the surface.
All around her the figures of the past wove and swirled, and yet, not a single one touched her, nor did any spell. Hermione felt crushed by the voices, their struggles, and presence; it was intense enough to make her sure that she would suffocate. From all sides the chaos pressed in on her until her knees shook, and she nearly collapsed back to the ground. She had hoped to never hear the sounds of war again. All of her energy was focused on pushing the voices out of her head, and in blocking the screaming from her hearing. She centered in on her breathing and tried to calm herself, even upon self reprimand for losing her cool in a dream, not a dream, in a nightmare that wasn't even hers.
Hermione recognized the tug she felt before she found herself in this dream; it was from her earlier communication with Harry. The question was, whose dreams had she entered now? Better yet, how exactly did she get there without performing the necessary rites the dream-walking spell in the first place?
Shoving her questions aside for later, Hermione closed her eyes and stilled. She tried to feel the dream and concentrate on the source, the same way she had concentrated on Harry to reach him inside his mind. The sensation was a lot like using Legilimency and when she found the mental signature she was looking for, she barely had time to prepare herself before she was tugged further into the dream.
When the world stopped spinning, the first thing she noticed was silence. It was almost as shocking as being teleported in the midst of the battle, but the air was just as thick and stifling. Hermione looked around and found that she was in a strange clearing. She could still see the fighting going on outside of the clearing, but it was as if this small area was unaffected; like the eye of a storm.
She turned slowly, a little disoriented at the sudden shift in noise level, only to freeze when she saw what was behind her, or rather, who. Standing with his back to her was a tall man in Death Eater robes. His brilliant, silvery blond hair was pulled back with a black satin ribbon that hung well below his shoulders. Even without the cane she could still recognize Lucius Malfoy. But that was not what shocked her. Lying on the ground in front of Lucius was Draco Malfoy, not as she knew him now, but as a frightened and lanky sixteen-year-old boy.
The whole scene was so wrong. No matter how long much she hated the Malfoy family, their actions during the Second War had shown that they would do anything for each other. When the wizarding world had turned its back on them during the aftermath of Voldemort, the family had presented a solid front and survived together. Hermione would never have imagined Lucius ever turning his wand on his prized heir, but here they were. Half of her wanted to just leave him there, but the look of absolute horror on Draco's face tugged at her.
Hermione shook her head and reminded herself this was just a dream, and she closed her eyes to find the person whose dreams she had stumbled upon. She focused as she had earlier, but this time the feeling of traveling did not come. Again and again, she focused her mind, but nothing happened. Her eyes flew open with disbelief. There was only one reason the dream walking had stopped; she was in one of the Malfoy's dreams.
Unfortunately, her luck ran out before she had more time to think. She had been standing entirely too still for entirely too long and apparently Draco had noticed her. He was inching backwards and kept trying to glance at her inconspicuously. However, nothing is inconspicuous when you are scared out of your wits. Having caught his son's rather obvious shift in attention, Lucius whipped around and before Hermione had the presence of mind to react her wand was securely in his left hand. Not even a heartbeat later she felt the silent Petrificus. To say that she was shocked and terrified by how quickly the tables had turned did not do justice the chaos of emotions she felt by half. Even without the charm he had cast on her, she doubted she would even be able to move.
Ignoring Draco, Lucius slinked towards her reminded her of a predator and chilled her to the bone. As he continued to stalk forward, his features became clearer and she gasped loudly. The man before her was not Lucius, but Draco, the same Draco that haunted her dreams and scarred her body and mind. She stared, petrified, while Malfoy continued to creep towards her. It seemed to be taking forever for him to cross the twenty meters separating them. His eyes caught hers and she found herself captivated in his glassy stare. They were so wrong. They would have looked like the eyes of a doll if not for the sinister gleam that shone from them and kept her staring.
In her state of shock, Hermione didn't catch how, but their eye contact was broken and he was wrenched from her sight and thrown to the ground. By some odd grace Malfoy had directed all of his attention to her, leaving himself completely exposed for young Draco's attack, and landing them in their current position. Draco was straddling him with his wand digging into the soft skin of the underside of Malfoy's jaw. For a long time neither of them moved and the only sound was Draco's ragged breathing. Soon, however, his breath began to catch and then Hermione heard him break into racking sobs that shook his shoulders. The sobs coming from Draco were the most broken sounds that she had ever heard. Harry had never cried like this, not even after the deaths of Dumbledore or Sirius, nor had any member of the Weasley family after Fred's death. No, Draco's heart was in his cries and it sounded as if it had been shattered into a million pieces by more pain and sorrow than any sixteen-year-old deserved.
Hermione felt herself fall deeper into confusion as he began to speak between the cries.
"You stupid bastard," he gasped out. "Do you know what you have done? How could you have let this happen? I hate you! We were supposed to be strong; to escape and survive. You have killed us!" With every word, his voice rose until he was screaming into Malfoy's face. Hermione just stood there, mouth gracelessly wide open, as the boy began to wail on his older self in a flurry of flying fists.
Draco did not stop as blood began to spurt from Malfoy's now broken nose. He continued to pummel him with his anguished cries punctuating each hit. Bruises started to form on Malfoy's face and the delicate skin around his eyes began to swell. And still, Malfoy did nothing. He did not lift a finger against the young boy. Only his defiant eyes indicated that he was still alive.
Eventually Draco's swings began to slow along with his sobs until he slumped forward, utterly spent, with his forehead resting against that of his older counterpart.
"Remember," was the hoarse whisper from Draco's abused throat. "You need to remember."
No sooner did the words reach Hermione's ears that she was roughly yanked from the dream. It was so intense, that her consciousness slammed home with enough force to promise a future headache. Her eyes opened with a snap as Malfoy cried out in his sleep beside her.
"No!" He screamed to the night and thrashed in his bed. His face was scrunched up as if he was in pain, and his hands fisted as if he was fighting off the memories. Part of her hoped that he would win. His mind was too fragile. If anything else changed in his world, she was sure that his sanity could not bear it, and Malfoy would lose his invaluable memories to the curse of insanity.
In short order, Hermione had him magically restrained and knocked out with a vial of dreamless sleep. She checked the time with her wand, only to wish she hadn't, it was only half past three. There was no escaping it after her encounter with Malfoy's mind. She would have to meet with Harry. Things were getting out of hand and she had the feeling the craziness was only just getting started.
A.N. Soooooo? How about you tell me your thoughts as a birthday present? I would be super excited!
For everyone who has stuck with me, read, and reviewed, thank you so much! I seriously love all of you!
Special thanks to Glorioux for helping me out and beta-ing this chapter. I'm sorry that you had to read through all of my odd mistakes. You are awesome! Everyone should read her fics! They are truly fantastic.
xoxo
Summer Orchid