Title: Fire and Powder
Chapter: 3.
Necessary disclaimer: See chapter 1
Note: Two updates in one day, I deserve some kind of award! It's midnight so I suppose it's technically tomorrow, but whatever. Don't get used to it, I'm never this good at updating. Expect the next chapter within the next few days, I'll do my best. STILL LOOKING FOR A BETA: MESSAGE ME IF YOU'RE INTERESTED PLEASEEEEE.
"Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come."
― William Shakespeare (Julius Caesar)
Hermione Granger stood before him, eyes blazing, brown hair forming a halo around her face.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Draco shouted, his wand trembling as he took in the sight before him.
The white light of the spell surged towards Hermione and seemed to move completely through her while she stood, completely unaffected. "What—" Draco began, completely shocked, only to be cut off by the menacing look in Hermione's eyes as she stalked towards him.
"You—!" she exclaimed, her feet loud against the wood floor. "How dare you—!" she thrust her hand into her back pocket, reaching for her wand but finding only air. "Wh—where is it?" she stammered, panic bubbling up through her throat. "What did you do with my wand?!"
Draco sat with his back pressed against the wooden emblem on the headboard, completely stunned. "How—what—"
"WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY WAND?!" Hermione repeated, reaching forward and grabbing his nightshirt by the collar and pulling hard, her snarling face a mere inches from his. Grey eyes met brown.
"I have no idea what you're talking about—Release me this instant!" Draco spit at her, finally regaining some of his sense. He pushed the girl off him and fell back towards the headboard. "How did you—what are you—why are you in my room?!"
Hermione just glared at him.
"I killed you!" Draco glared back, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. It occurred to him that he might just be dreaming. A quick pinch to his arm proved that he wasn't. This had to be some elaborate joke then, there was no way this was really happening. He'd killed the mudblood with his own wand. He'd watched as his father disposed of the body. She was dead.
Yet here she stood, next to his bed, in Switzerland, in the middle of the night.
"I killed you—and—and—" he was unable to complete the thought, this whole situation completely out of his depth.
"And I'm obviously not dead, Malfoy! Despite your attempt! How could you—"
"How could I? You're the enemy, you're the reason we're in this war in the first place, your…kind" he spit out the word, "must be eliminated."
Hermione shot forward again, gripping his nightshirt in another firm hold, yanking him forward with one hand while the other slapped him across the face. "HOW DARE YOU!"
Draco pushed her off him for the second time that night, ignoring his stinging cheek.
Hermione took a deep breath, calming herself. She had to deal with this rationally. "You killed me, with an unforgivable…and then…there was nothing…and then I was here."
"You really expect me to believe—"
She cut him off again, "I know it sounds ridiculous, I—I don't understand either—I remember…dying…I suppose, and darkness. Then it was as though I was being pulled by something or to something, I'm not sure…and suddenly I was here, and you were waking up, and I'm sure there's a logical explanation about all of this…"
"Pulling…?" Draco trailed off, recalling feeling a similar sensation himself.
"Yes, it was…peculiar…where are we exactly?" Hermione asked suddenly, as she moved to look out the window into the dark winter night.
"Use that brain of yours and figure it out while you get out of my room," Draco told her, pulling the blankets up further over his body. The fire was practically nonexistent at this time of night, and the room was rather chilly. He was tired, and clearly insane. He had had enough talking to dead people who weren't really there for one night, thank you very much.
Hermione ignored his instructions and continued peering out the window, squinting to see the view in the little moonlight. She saw hills—no—mountains in the distance, and snow covered everything from the landscape to the cozy cottages lined up like dominos. The glass was icy, and as she reached her hand towards it she realized something startling: it should have felt cold. Instead, she felt nothing. Hermione tentatively touched her finger to the glass, thankful, at least, that it didn't go completely though as though the glass didn't exist whatsoever. She smeared her finger along the surface, drawing in a surprised breath when the frost didn't accumulate on her finger. She felt no change in texture, no difference in temperature, just solid matter under her finger no different than the ground beneath her feet.
"I'm dead," she whispered eerily into the window.
Draco scoffed. "Yes, thank you for clarifying, and I'm insane. Leave."
Hermione turned towards him, amazed at his indifference. How could he be so cruel? Well, she thought, this was the boy who killed me, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.
She was dead. The thought stopped her train of thought, as though her mind had reached an impassible wall. Sorrow flooded through her like an unstoppable ocean. Her entire existence was composed of nevers. Never would she marry. Never would she have children. Never would she have a career. Never would she see her friends again. Never would she see her parents, or her grandparents, or her neighbors, or her house. Never would she see Hogwarts. Never would she see the world or experience anything. Never.
Draco watched the light die in Hermione's eyes. He tried not to notice the tears brimming, and he definitely didn't think about the last time he had seen those brown eyes filled with unshed tears. He wanted this nightmare to end more than anything else in the world. Why him? Why couldn't he just succeed at his task and move on like everyone else? The other Death Eaters certainly didn't seem to report this problem. He had never heard of anyone else being visited by their victims. Not like this.
"Go," Draco said firmly, willing his words with all his might. "Be gone."
And she was.
One second she was standing by his bed, staring blankly in front of her as though she was watching the world end and was powerless to stop it, and then suddenly she was gone, fading back into the shadows. He was left staring at the place she had stood in front of the window. He was completely insane. Bonkers. Barmy.
Bloody hell.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, blinking hard. His pillow felt less comfortable now, and his sheets held a chill that did nothing to sooth him. Tomorrow will be better, he promised himself.
This is all in my head.
But as he finally fell asleep, his last thought was of how he knew it wasn't.
Draco overslept the next morning, and woke, once again, with a start. Sun was streaming steadily in through the window, and if he listened closely enough he could hear children laughing nearby.
What a dream, he thought, recalling the incidents of last night. He wouldn't think about that. Not now.
He quickly got dressed and headed to the kitchen. His mother and father were waiting there, sitting quietly. The whole scene was eerie and unsettling.
"You overslept," Lucius said by way of greeting.
"I'm sorry, Father," Draco apologized, knowing his father hated lie ins. He was to wake up at a respectable hour if he wished to lead a respectable life. He knew better.
"Breakfast is on the counter," his mother informed him, nodding towards a plate of eggs and toast. He grabbed the breakfast and poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice before taking the chair between them. This table felt miniscule compared to the Manor dining table, which had enough space to seat 12 people comfortably. This table felt crowded just with three.
He ate his meal in silence as his father read a copy of the Daily Prophet and his mother sat staring out the window pensively.
He wanted to ask his father what was in the paper but knew better. Lucius would tell him if he thought he needed to know. As he cleared his plate, he caught sight of the front page headline: Most Wanted: Harry Potter. He wondered if the article would explain how he had escaped, yet again, from the Dark Lords clutches. He wondered if his father was wanted—if he was wanted. On second thought, he'd rather not know. Instead, he peered out the window at the snowy morning, and felt a stab of envy towards the muggles outside. Envy! Towards muggles! Now he knew he was losing it, truly. Yet, seeing them basking in their ignorance and happiness, he felt the familiar pang of jealousy.
"Why don't you go for a walk, dear," his mother spoke up, suddenly.
Draco looked at her, perplex. A walk? Outside? Weren't they wanted fugitives?
Lucius nodded at him and he got the message. They wanted to talk, uninterrupted, and this cottage was too small to allow for much privacy, plus they knew Draco was capable of breaking silencing charms.
"Alright," he agreed, stepping into the foyer.
"Don't stray too far, and remember your wand," Narcissa instructed as he was shrugging on his black wool coat.
"Of course, Mother," Draco responded, as if he would ever forget his wand. He wasn't an idiot.
The cold air greeted him like an old friend, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Nature was familiar.
He started down a familiar path towards the small Swiss town. Nobody was paying attention to him, but he cast a disillusionment charm over himself just in case. Now was an acceptable time to be paranoid.
The town was the same as he left it when he was younger. The same shops, the same thatched roofed homes, even some of the same people walking down the thin streets. He wondered, briefly, if the Muggle sweets store he'd begged his father to let him go in all those years ago was still there. He'd never been inside, his father had insisted that Muggle sweets were repugnant and should be avoided. But that hadn't made the chocolate in the window look any less enticing.
He settled himself on one of the empty benches in the street and settled in to people watch. This was what he did best: observe. It was one of his favorite Slytherin traits, and one that made him an apt spy.
Children in oversized coats rushed down the street, oohing and awing at the shop goods while their parents blundered after them. Smiles and laughter took the chill out of the air, and Draco almost found himself relaxing despite the desolate situation. Almost—until he felt a presence appear beside him.
"Where are we now, Malfoy?" a startled voice asked.
Luckily, Draco was already gripping the bench or he surely would have fallen off like an incompetent fool. Hermione Granger was next to him, seeming out of place in only her jumper and jeans, despite the snow on the ground.
"Stop doing that!" Draco shouted, before he realized he was invisible, and shouting was probably not a bright idea.
"I would if I could, honestly," Granger responded, looking around at her surroundings with interest.
"Where were you?" Draco asked.
Hermione pondered the question, chewing her lip in deliberation. Where was she, indeed. "I…I'm not sure…I remember being in your room…and now I'm here…" she looked around… "And it's morning?"
"Can you see me?" Draco asked, wondering how she could see through his disillusionment charm.
"Of course I can see you, don't be ridiculous!"
Draco checked to see his charm was in place—it was. It must just be Granger then.
"You still haven't told me where we are."
Draco sighed. He was insane. "Switzerland. Are you satisfied? Can you move on to your afterlife or heaven or hell or wherever it is you muggle borns go after death? I've answered all your questions, rest in peace, good day."
Granger huffed at him, crossing her arms across her chest. "I would go if I could, you can't possibly think I would choose to remain around you in my afterlife!"
They were quiet for a moment before she spoke again, "Why Switzerland?"
"Honestly, Granger! You're haunting my presence from the grave and all you are interested in is knowing why my family is hiding in Switzerland?!"
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blonde haired boy beside her. "Obviously I am interested in all aspects of this predicament, but as it seems you're as ignorant as I am, I am trying to get all the information I can, and this seemed like an easy enough question!"
Draco's frustration increased and he didn't bother to respond. Instead, he got up from the bench, starting back towards his cottage. Surely it had been enough time, his parents couldn't have had that much to talk about.
"Where are you going?" Granger asked after him, getting up as well and following a few steps behind him.
"Away," he answered resolutely, and when he turned around to see if she was still following him, all he saw was his own footsteps in the snow.
End Note: I can't guarantee another quick update, but I will certainly try my best. Please review!