A Hundred Storms

Chapter Thirty: No One Mourns the Wicked

And goodness knows
The wicked's lives are lonely
Goodness knows,
The wicked die alone

No One Mourns the Wicked, from Wicked, the Musical

"It's my father," Draco looked up from the letter with a blank look on his face. "He's dead."

Hermione opened her mouth but then closed it. A million thoughts and memories raced through her head. Lucius Malfoy. Dead. The Chamber. The Quidditch World Cup. The Department of Mysteries. Harry's memories of Draco's father in the graveyard. Lucius watching as Hermione screamed. The final battle. The trial. The End.

The End of Lucius Malfoy.

"Draco..." Hermione finally managed a whisper.

Draco glared. "Don't," he said sharply. "Don't tell me you're sorry or any of that rubbish. You're glad. Admit it."

Hermione gulped. "I'm not glad your father is dead," she said softly. She reached out to touch his shoulder but he pulled away. "I'm not."

"What then?" Draco demanded.

"What is there to feel?" Hermione asked him desperately. "How should I feel, Draco? He tried to kill me on numerous occasions! He was a wicked, bigoted man, but-" Hermione swallowed again and glared back at him. "He was your father. Surely just by you being here he gave something remarkable to the world."

Draco began to shake and Hermione grabbed onto him as he let the letter flutter to the floor. She led him to the bed and lowered them both gently, guiding him to a sitting position.

"My mother said there was no time to come in person," he mumbled into her hair as she fiercely embraced him. "Granger...Hermione...they found him in his cell at Azkaban. He hung himself. It's going to be in the Prophet in the morning."

"Why would he do such a foolish thing?" Hermione asked aloud.

"Why wouldn't he?" Draco countered. "He lost everything. I'd do the same."

"Don't you dare say such a thing," Hermione whispered furiously. "Nothing is ever so terrible...nothing. If he really thought his only option was death...then he was a weak. He could have stayed alive, been a part of your life. A father doesn't leave his child like that." Hermione was crying now, but still staring furiously at Draco.

Draco gulped back his own tears. "What do I do now?" he asked.

Hermione recognized the lost look on his face. She saw it in Harry's for months. She saw it in her own in the mirror. "Carry on," Hermione said. "We all carry on."

"The Prophet is going to run this tomorrow. Everyone will know at breakfast," Draco didn't seem to fully understand his own words.

"That rag is of little consequence," Hermione told him softly. "The press can be quite heartless, you know that."

"I don't know what to do," Draco confessed. "My father...even when things got bad...he was a constant. Merlin, Hermione, I hated him for so long. After he let the Dark Lord into our home...I feel like I had forgotten he was my father. What kind of son am I?"

"I think it's a natural reaction," Hermione continued in her soothing voice. "Your father let you down. You were mad, upset, and your mind found a way to cope with it. Compartmentalize it. As Human beings there's simply only so much the mind can take."

"Sounds like Muggle nonsense to me," Draco grumbled.

"It's science," Hermione agreed. "And it's true. Why do you think an extended period under the Cruciatus Curse renders a person insane? After an undetermined amount of time the brain cannot process the pain. It shields itself the best it can. We all do the best we can"

Draco reflected upon this for a moment. He then dismissed it.

"I'd like you to leave now," he said softly.

"No."

Draco looked at her sharply. "No?"

"Of course not," Hermione said, not without exasperation. "I'm not going to leave you alone when you were there when my parents let me down. Not even friends yet...but there you were."

"My father hung himself, he didn't disown me," Draco argued, getting angry. "At least both of your parents are still here."

"That is true," Hermione conceded. "But the point is moot. I'm not leaving."

"This is my room! I can make you leave."

"My wards," Hermione grinned smugly. "No, you cannot."

"Granger..." Draco growled.

"Malfoy..." Hermione replied in the same tone. She looked into his eyes and held him there. "Tomorrow is going to hurt. You don't have to hurt alone."

"Why would my father's death hurt you?" Draco demanded. "You should be dancing on the tables in the Great Hall over the news."

"It hurts you," Hermione answered. "Why would I take joy in anything that causes you pain?"

Draco stared at her. At first her words made no sense. Joy in pain was was not unthinkable. There was a certain...pleasure to be had in the discomfort of others. Watching Longbottom tear away on a broom he couldn't handle, Finnigan blowing himself up again, Snape taking Potter down a peg or two every Potions class...yes. There was certainly some pleasure there. This was different. Draco kept staring, and he realized he didn't...he never did take pleasure in true pain of others. He had been a school yard bully, but the true torment of another living thing was more than he could truly stomach, let alone enjoy.

He stared, and in his eyes Hermione understood. She gripped his hand tightly and didn't say another word. She tugged at him gently and guided him to take off his shoes along with her own and sink under the covers. She snuffed out the light with a wave of her hand and joined him in the bed. She curled up against his back, feet tucked behind her knees and her arm crossing over his side and chest. They had yet to officially become lovers, and it certainly wouldn't be this night.

Hermione felt his controlled breaths and knew he was keeping his tears at bay.

"It's alright to cry," she whispered. "I know you don't want to, I know it hurts you to, but I still want you to know it's alright. There's no weakness in it."

Draco didn't reply, but Hermione felt his body shudder and shake. His sobs were quiet, and Hermione continued to hold him in the darkness.

The next morning the prophet delivered to the Great Hall a story which Hermione had expected, but what she read still made her prickle with a rage she forgot she possessed.

Lucius Malfoy, infamous Deatheater and loyal supporter of the late He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was found dead in his isolated cell in Azkaban Prison late last evening. At printing, details of the death are still being held from the public pending investigation. This reporter, however, was informed from an inside source that the demise was self inflicted. Could there be a grain of truth to the rumors currently circling the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardly regarding the late Malfoy's sole son and heir? Insiders at Hogwarts report a budding romance between Hermione Granger, the famed Muggleborn war heroine and recently acquitted presumed former Deatheater and heir to the Malfoy fortune, Draco Malfoy. Could this young love affair have been the last in a series of crushing blows to the precarious mental well-being of Lucius Malfoy? Could it be that the idea of the Malfoy heir taking a romantic interest in the influential Muggleborn sent Malfoy Senior spiraling over the brink of his sanity? This reporter will keep you abreast of the latest news and information as it becomes available.

Hermione calmly folded the paper and set it near the platter of bacon at the breakfast table. All around her were whispered words and speculation. Even Ginny and Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors were stepping lightly. She nor Draco had even attempted to keep their relationship a secret. She wouldn't have stood for it. It was perfectly reasonable for rumors to fly, Hermione was sure the whispers around her at this very moment consisted of fellow students congratulating one another on their astute observation of the couple.

Hermione looked up across the room, ignoring the stares around her and focused on the Slytherin table. Blaise sat beside Draco while the younger students kept a discreet distance. To an outsider it looked as though the two Slytherins had the plague. To Hermione it looked as though Blaise was being an unwavering friend. She knew the value of a friendship like that and knew how difficult it was to be scrutinized so. She knew they, in their own way, knew the price of fame and infamy.

She thought for a moment. Hermione gave half a glance to the rag that called itself a newspaper. She focused on Ginny and Neville, then at little Dennis Creevey. Dennis was concentrating on his pancakes and Hermione noticed he didn't seem to engage in conversation with anyone. Her heart thumped for Colin and she remembered her second year at Hogwarts and how he had almost been taken by the Basilisk only to be taken a few years later by the same evil that infiltrated the castle. Colin and Dennis were the wizards she was fighting for. They were like her. Somehow two brothers managed to inherit some magical ability. It was they that first sparked Hermione's interest in magical genetics. It had to come from somewhere or it wouldn't have come at all. Perhaps if Hermione had had a sibling they would have been magic as well. She didn't know enough about her own genealogy to make assumptions and her parents didn't seem to know a thing.

All Hermione knew in this moment was that she was the strong one. She felt the energy surging through her and she knew that there was no such thing as pureblood or Mudblood, there was just magical ability and that was all there was to it. It didn't matter if her parents were muggles. It didn't matter that Draco's were Pureblood. Magic is magic. Perhaps in itself it just manifested in those that had the energy to control it. Perhaps that was why there were Squibs. Perhaps that was why there were Mudbloods.

Hermione pushed aside her Pumpkin Juice and eggs. She realized then Rome wasn't built in a day and the Houses of Hogwarts were not changed in a breakfast hour. That didn't mean that she was not allowed to initiate it.

Hermione drew herself up and gathered her mental strength. She wanted this, didn't she? She wanted to see the houses united rather than so terribly divided. She was not technically a Gryffindor, she should have graduated a year ago. In that, she was an adult. The likes of which was never seen at Hogwarts. She was an adult, and with that she gathered herself up and stood.

A heartbeat or an hour later she stood between Blaise and Draco. She saw the discarded newspapers across the table and knew they read the story as well.

"I'm sorry, Blaise, but could you scootch over a bit?" Hermione ask shyly with her satchel of books.

Blaise immediately made room for Hermione in between himself and Draco. To his credit, Blaise didn't react as though Hermione was doing something so far out of the ordinary that no one in the room had ever witnessed such an act. Hermione looked over at Draco, who was staring at her in disbelief.

And we must unite inside her, or we'll crumble from within.

"Draco, would you mind passing the Pumpkin Juice?"

(A/N) I meant for this chapter to be much longer and include the funeral, but this felt like the best place to stop. The next chapter is going to be really heavy as well, and we're going to see the first post-war interaction between Narcissa and Hermione. I wanted to get this out in time for the new year, I hope you enjoyed it! Please review, I love to know what you think :) Happy New Year everyone!