Thanks for waiting, everyone! And for all you support, as always. I've been busy – finishing up my short fic (which is done now) and real life (the opera season has started!) My sister also starred in the local stage production of Rocky Horror Picture Show, so I've been away from my computer a lot! But here's the next part – and Hermione and Draco's escape. Will it last? Will it be a bomb? We'll see! As always, let me know what you think – good or bad. Enjoy! P.S. - I know, you might have noticed I haven't replied to the reviews this time around. It's just that I've been so insanely swamped lately and if I did that first, it would put off posting this chapter, which I'm sure you'd all rather read anyway. :) I'll do better next time, I promise! After next week, it'll just be this story again, since I'll be done with the Halloween stuff! :) I don't appreciate you any less, I swear! :D :D
LCailan
Chapter Forty
Marcus shivered, making a face. He loathed the fact that no matter how many hours he spent working with the blasted creatures, Dementors still scared the living shit out of him.
The dark, floating creatures lined each side of the lowest level of the Ministry like the living, breathing symbols of hopelessness. Nothing ever prepared Marcus for the way he felt when faced with so many of them.
He stood up straight, pushing a lock of his lank, black hair from his eyes, and then swallowed, trying to relax as best as he could, though he knew the creatures wouldn't allow it. They lived and feasted on the fear of humanity, and they seemed to draw it out when they sensed it. It was just the nature of the Dementor; it was this that the Ministry used for control and annihilation.
The tenth level of the Ministry teemed with the creatures; it seemed to Marcus as if each time he came to the Ministry headquarters, there were more and more Dementors around. It was unnerving to say the least. He rather liked working with the things, really. He was good at it; it was one of the only things, besides Quidditch, that he had ever been good at. As he stared down the suddenly long hallway towards the doors that led to Courtroom Ten, Marcus' face turned up in a grimace. There was no sound but the rattling sound of the breathing of the creatures.
I'm good with them! How many others can say that?
His worthless bitch of a mother would have been proud, although it would have been a strange thing to be proud of, his ability to control one of the vilest creatures ever to roam the earth.
Marcus sighed, stopping about halfway down the icy corridor.
No, not even being Voldemort's right hand man would have made his worthless mother proud. He wondered why he was even thinking of her at a time like this, and then decided it was because she was just like a Dementor – evil and soulless.
Marcus shivered, and his eyes shifted to the ever moving, black shadows along the walls. Once his vision focused enough he sometimes could see their long-fingered, scabby hands reaching forward, for whatever poor soul would happen into their path.
These things can't hurt you, Marcus. Just keep walking. You know how to control them, what to do to make them obey.
He bit the inside of his lip in an attempt not to panic, for the icy feeling of fear seemed to permeate every part of him and he didn't like it one bit. He didn't like not being in control, of being afraid. Closing his eyes he continued walking towards the massive doors that seemed so far away now, the grip on his wand tightening.
He tried to think of happier times, of moments that would bring him some relief from the oppression that the creatures created. He was shitty at producing a Patronus; in fact, the only time he had ever managed to conjure anything white and silvery it had died upon creation and had done nothing to protect him from the vile creatures. Because of this, Marcus had developed his own ways of dealing with the things, and most often than not, the newfound curses he had been practicing with at Azkaban had been sufficient to ward off the things long enough for him to be able to control them. And sometimes, happy thoughts seemed to help.
Except that those were few and far between, difficult to recall.
Closing his eyes he pictured his nanny, so many years ago, feeding him porridge heavy with sugar and cream. He remembered her to be sweet and happy, so unlike his abusive, drunken father and his weak, unemotional mother. Moments with his nanny had been a respite from the neglect and pain he felt at the hands of his parents.
Then Marcus recalled happier times at Hogwarts, for the letter of acceptance had been his ticket away from his parents, and once there, never did he return home until he had to, staying at the school through the holidays and all weekends that he could. Those were good times, he knew. The lessons were a distraction from the rejection he had felt at home, and Quidditch had been the first thing Marcus recalled being good at. And then, of course, there was Pansy Parkinson.
Even at the beginning, he remembered thinking she was pretty. Not beautiful like some of the other girls with their soft laughter and delicate features, long lashes and blushing pink cheeks. No, Pansy had been pretty in a no-nonsense kind of way. Pretty, approachable, and easygoing, with a brilliant mind and a good sense of humor. She had been a girl who seemed rather loyal and determined, no matter what the situation. Marcus had liked her from the beginning, and it had been the first time in his life he remembered feeling a bit nervous and speechless, hoping he wouldn't say and do the wrong thing. By far, the feelings he remembered best had been the night she had agreed to spend an evening with him in the library, tutoring him in Charms. Marcus had been older, nearly finished at Hogwarts when Pansy had been sorted into Slytherin house her first year. Yet still, somehow, they had forged a strange relationship, and one Marcus had never forgotten. Though she had never been his girl, and he would have never been brave enough to even hope for such a thing, Pansy had made him happy.
When he opened his eyes, the Dementors had slithered against the tall, stone walls, still hovering but somehow subdued by the aura of Marcus' thoughts. Knowing this, he hurried, almost sprinting the rest of the way as not to get caught in the icy claws of the creatures again.
"Mr. Flint?"
The voice came from the side and he saw her coming forth from the shadows, a glorious wolf shimmering at her head.
It's her Patronus.
"Y-yes Ma'am."
Bellatrix gave him a steady gaze.
"You really ought to practice that Patronus Charm, yes? After all, it won't do to have a high-ranking official running from the Dementors?"
Her words were mocking and a smirk played on her full lips – a smirk Marcus desperately wished he could curse away. How he loathed Bellatrix! What gave a woman the right to be a bitch just because she was a beautiful, powerful witch?
"Yes, Ma'am."
She gave him a curt nod.
"Well, at any rate, we're all waiting inside, Mr. Flint."
She led the way, allowing the shimmering Patronus to ward off any of the remaining creatures that lined this side of the corridor and Marcus kept close. He hated her for she reminded him of his mother; a woman who looked down upon him for he wasn't quite as smart and capable as she had hoped.
The courtroom was one of those places that elicited fear from those that entered. The high stone walls that rose around them to a faraway ceiling made Marcus feel as if he were sitting in the bottom of a huge, stone well lit only by flickering torches of light.
He walked to the center of the room managing deep, even breaths. He sat, and looked up at the judges' balcony. There he saw Bellatrix taking a seat next to her husband, and luckily there were only a few Interrogators dressed in the tell-tale plum robes. He also noted the presence of Antonin Dolohov.
Not good at all.
Marcus knew he wasn't on trial, and this wasn't a court proceeding, but getting in trouble with the Ministry was never something any official wanted on their record – and the worst part was that Dolohov was the kind of man who liked to dish out punishments harsher than necessary. Marcus had spent years living with a sadist; he knew the signs of such a personality. It was unfortunate for the Ministry that his father was dead – Marcus had long believed the elder Flint would have been a perfect addition to the Ministry.
Bellatrix turned to her husband and then Rodolphus gave Dolohov a nod.
"Mr. Flint," he began, and Marcus winced, the sound of the older man's voice irritating him. "We within the disciplinary committee of the Ministry of Magic believe you do not yet understand the severity of what has occurred at the alienage where you have been employed."
Marcus swallowed back a reply and only nodded. He wasn't the brightest man in the world but he knew when to keep quiet.
"The alienage in question will be shut down as of tomorrow evening. The remaining Mudbloods will be taken care of, if they haven't been already. The Dementors will be quite busy, if I do say so myself."
Marcus could only stare. He couldn't recall exactly how many people had remained at the alienage after the breakout, but he imagined the entire affair would be quite a haul as far as the Dementors were concerned. He was only sorry he wouldn't witness it.
"We cannot overlook that what happened two weeks ago could have been avoided, and all we can do is ask what happened. You, Miss Parkinson and Mr. Malfoy were in charge. It is to you that we turn now to determine the best course of action as far as employment. It is imperative that we have only the best and most loyal working for our cause, Mr. Flint."
There was no sound from the balcony and Marcus felt like he was under intense scrutiny.
"I understand, Sir."
Dolohov leaned back, lifting up a small ream of paper and tapping it against the desk that he sat at.
"Well, then, would you care to tell me what you believed happened that night?"
"I never meant disloyalty to you or to the Lord, Sir," he began, willing his voice to remain calm. "How can we be of use to the Ministry, when the one who is in charge has allowed his mind to wander?"
Dolohov raised one black, bushy eyebrow.
"And what do you mean by that? Miss Parkinson has been well educated in her mistakes of that night, to be sure."
"It is not Miss Parkinson I have an issue with, Sir."
Bellatrix let out a strange laugh.
"Ah, so you speak of my nephew?"
Marcus' eyes flittered towards the wild-haired Bellatrix, whose gaze seemed to glow even in the dimness of the room.
"Forgive me, Ma'am for saying that he's been preoccupied lately. I've tried talking to Pansy about it, but…I suppose we've all had our worries."
The words seemed unassuming in spite of the great rage that had gripped Marcus' heart. He had no sympathies for Malfoy – none at all. In fact, he couldn't remember a time, even at Hogwarts, that he hadn't hated the bastard. And, compounded with the fact that he was the one who had Pansy's heart, well, that didn't help any.
"We are aware of the fact that Mr. Malfoy made a grave error of judgment, and that Miss Parkinson was not as vigilant as she ought to have been, but I loathe bringing the personal facet into this."
Dolohov's words were as impassive as could be; none of the men, nor the woman who sat above Marcus in the balcony seemed to care about personal feelings at all.
"I assure you, Mr. Flint that we have made certain the other parties involved have been made well aware of their grave errors in judgment. I am correct in assuming that you understand your grave mistake as well. It has cost us much. The facility, which will take months to rebuild, and of course, the nearly two dozen officials that perished in the fire and fighting against the so-called Alliance!"
For the first time, there was a sense of disgust in Dolohov's voice – a sour tone that had not been there before mixed with a touch of panic. He continued, black eyes glinting.
"We cannot afford these costly mistakes."
Somehow, Marcus felt the tone of Dolohov's voice was much too like his father's, the situation one that had not been his fault, or at least, had not bee completely in his control. He began to feel a strange weight pulling at him, and the heaviness grew, making it difficult to breathe, and causing a painful pounding at his temples. It made him twitch.
"You have made that clear, Sir," he muttered, the words difficult and cloying in his throat. "At least to me."
Bellatrix raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow.
"Are you saying we, as the Ministry, have been amiss in our duties?"
Marcus strained his onyx eyes towards the balcony.
"I'm not saying that," he ground out. "I'm saying that you're making a mistake by allowing Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson to be in charge!"
Once more, the woman in the room raised her eyebrow.
"And now you dare question my decisions, do you?"
Marcus swallowed.
"Something's going on with Malfoy!" he hissed. "The night of the fire, even before, with that Mudblood he's been fucking-"
"You dare use such language!"
"I told Pansy!" he exclaimed, angered by the fact that no one seemed to be taking him seriously. "That night, before the fire started, I was trying to tell her what was going on! She's so blinded! Everyone is blinded by Malfoy!"
He knew that he was starting to sound immature and petty, but something had set it off within him, and he could not stop.
"How do any of you know that he doesn't have everything to do with this?" he questioned them. "Why try to pin this on all of us when it's clear that's he coddling and protecting that stupid little Mudblood that he's being sleeping with for months and months?"
Bellatrix furrowed her brows for a moment, and then realization set in and she rolled her eyes, sniffing with disdain.
"She remains alive only for questioning! You do speak of the one that was found with Malfoy?"
"Only because he's protecting her from you!"
Bellatrix stood, pushing aside long, black and purple robes.
"It's no matter. She's dead as we speak. No one is left behind when we abandon the alienage."
Marcus started.
"What do you mean?"
"Obviously, it's not your business. We have taken it to the Executioners. You have nothing to fret over. The distraction, as you so put it, has been eliminated."
She ran down the hallway, back towards the lifts that would take her up through the darkened bowels of the Ministry.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The incantation fell from her lips, the sound dry as sandpaper, the utterance a tiny fearful squeak. It was always something she had struggled with - the Patronus Charm. A handsome mare appeared at her head, glimmering gorgeous and white, and whisking aside the Dementors to each side as she ran.
Pansy felt like she would choke on her heart.
We have taken it to the Executioners…
What if Draco was caught in the crossfire? What if he tried to save the Mudblood's life?
Merlin knows I'd do anything – anything – to save his life if I had to! If he loves her-
She reached the lifts, eyes filling with tears.
He loves her. God help him! God help her!
Minutes later she exploded onto the street, her feet pounding against wet, hard cobbled cement. No one noticed the petite, dark haired woman as she dashed from a side alley into the streets of downtown London, heading towards the alienage.
Hermione's fingers trembled around the small metal cup that Draco had handed her. The substance inside burned her throat, and warmed her insides making her wince, but she drank it anyway, because of the expression on his face.
The way he was looking at her.
She couldn't really deny him.
As she drank, Hermione's eyes moved to the window, where the darkness was coming quickly, the skies shifting from a heavy gray to a midnight navy color. There were no stars. Neither had spoken for a long while, Hermione moving to the small bed in the infirmary, still reeling from the loss of a child she had never known and from the weakness of her condition. Draco had taken to the single paned window in the room – the only window – and silently stared out of it. She didn't know why. She didn't know he was trying to determine his next step, where they would go now.
He knew they couldn't stay here – surely they would come soon, close everything, make it so this place no longer existed, just like the people that it had housed. Draco thought briefly to Zabini and Lavender…to all those who had gotten away. He thought of the child, Lily, picturing her eyes, so much like Harry Potter's. A twinge of something inexplicable surged within him.
Where are they?
For a long while, there was nothing. Draco trembled slightly each time he moved, unable to stop his body from the tiny, uncontrollable spasms that gripped him. His fingers, white from tension would tremble against the wooden frame of the window. He felt his teeth clacking together, the sound magnified in his mind. He would feel goose bumps rise up along his bruised and battered flesh. He would set his jaw to control the quavering in vain. It wasn't the cold, he knew. It was the loss of his baby. The memories of Scorpius. Draco knew that he was on an edge – a perilous edge that he was terrified to go over, because then he would be lost. They would want that, he knew. The Ministry would, as soon as they realized what was going on, and what side he had chosen.
Where will I go? Has Zabini abandoned me to this cruel fate?
He turned then, slowly, for he was afraid that his feet would no longer hold him up. Legs wobbling a little, he moved forward a step or two. Hermione sat on the bed, her hair spilling around her shoulders, framing a pale and yet still beautiful countenance. He gazed on her for a few moments.
How can fate be cruel, if she is part of it?
As if she sensed his gaze, Hermione looked up and that forever glow burned steadily in her eyes, warming his heart in spite of the threatening cold that filled him. She was his everything. His reason. And he would never allow her to be hurt, no matter what he had to do. Anything, he knew. He would do anything. Moving quickly, Draco knelt by her side, on the hard, dusty floor, reaching for the two hands that rested on her lap. Tiny hands that had cared for so many; hands that had been the blessing of every person she had deigned touch. She was the angel in the darkness. She was saving grace.
Bringing those roughed, cold hands to his lips, Draco kissed Hermione's fingers.
"I know there isn't much hope," he whispered, his eyes glowing even in the darkness. "But I do have hope in us. In you. And I'm going to protect you no matter what. You deserve that, Hermione. That, and much more."
So much more that he was terrified he would never be able to give her. He felt her arms wrap around him, and she pulled him close, so that he was pressed against her bosom tightly, her long hair tickling his face.
"I know you'll do what you have to," she whispered in response, kissing his head tenderly. He wanted to weep and clung to her that way, their bodies in an embrace, and their hands linked together completely.
"I will."
He took a deep breath.
"I'll find us a place, somewhere to go so that we'll be safe. And then we'll leave London. Merlin, we'll leave England, you'll see. Somewhere that they'll never find us."
Somewhere that the darkness would not follow, where they could have a new life. Hermione deserved at least that, and he bloody sure needed that hope.
Beyond the navy darkness, the sky began to shimmer and then the first snow of the season fell with a silent splendor, making the sky glitter. His eyes watered, but even through the haze of tears he could see how beautiful it was. And for a few moments, Draco allowed himself to believe that all was beautiful, all was peaceful. He allowed the strong, steady beating of Hermione's heart so close to his lull him into a sense of calm. In that place he was lost to all pain – physical and emotional – and he forgot where he was.
A world with her in it cannot be ugly and hopeless. They cannot erase such life and hope. Never, no matter what they try.
His fingers tightened in hers, and Draco sighed.
Hermione rested her head atop Draco's, feeling the silkiness of his hair – such beautiful hair, she mused.
He has angelic hair. Pure, just like his intentions.
Sighing, she held him closer, always gleaning comfort from the scent of cigarettes and musk that always clung to him. Draco had the heart of an angel and the strength of all the men she had known in her life put together. How she loved him! How indelibly he had marked her! Forever his – she knew, no matter what. The world had broken her long ago, Hermione knew, and the man in her arms was the one that held all her shattered pieces and who was trying to put her together against impossible odds.
Will it even be possible?
Tears flooded her eyes, but Hermione didn't cry, blinking the burning away. She could see the start of a glittering snowfall beyond the tiny window and marveled at the beauty. For a few moments, all she could feel was the warmth of Draco against her body, and the beating of his heart so steady against her. It allowed her to hope that there was still beauty in the world.
A world without him cannot be hopeless, can it? As long as he lives, so do I.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"There is still beauty left in the world," he replied with a sigh.
Yes, there was.
The door beyond them crashed open, causing their hearts to plummet. What was next?
There was something impossibly heartbreaking about seeing the man you loved in such a…starkly real embrace with someone else.
Pansy stood framed in the doorway of the infirmary, her heart racing violently within her. She had come as quickly as she could, apparating into the empty and fire damaged remains of what had been the alienage, running across the courtyard just as the first snow of the season had begun to fall. Unable to speak for lack of breath, she stared at the couple on the tiny bed, embracing as closely as was possible, both of them looking up at her with wide, startled eyes. They never broke apart and it was that which made the dead thing that was Pansy's heart lurch with the darkest of disappointments.
Her wand, which was raised, trembled violently.
I should just kill them. Better it be by my hand than by the merciless Executioners. He would thank me, surely. Dying like this with the love of his-
She gritted her teeth against the overwhelming need to destroy the scene before her, to drain the life from the man she loved and the Mudblood he had chosen.
But then she stopped, her dying heart flooded with the feelings of that morning. Once more she was reminded that she had nothing to live for if he was dead.
I can't.
Something hot burned behind her eyes, and Pansy blinked furiously, her wand wavering for a moment.
"You have to get out of here," she rasped.
The warning was only a few words, but the gravity of them made both Hermione and Draco rise and thankfully, Pansy watched them separate, though the simplicity and the love in the embrace she had witnessed would never fade from her mind.
Better it be that he lives and is with her than dying-
Either way, she hated it – and loathed him for not feeling what she felt. Nothing was worse than the feeling that overwhelmed her. Nothing but knowing he was dead – that, well, she couldn't live with that. Pansy made her decision.
"The Executioners," she whispered hoarsely. "They know that she-"
Her eyes moved to Hermione, and her jaw stiffened.
"They know she's alive and they're coming for her now. For both of you. Sent from the Ministry. If they aren't here now, they'll be here soon. You have to go."
She swallowed.
"Both of you."
Draco's hand was tightly wrapped around Hermione's.
"You know I'd be gone if I knew where to go without them wondering, and…"
Pansy swallowed, and then gave him a shove, watching as Draco and the girl he was in love with moved out of the infirmary and into the dark, bitter, snow-laced night. She followed, her wand raised.
"Lumos."
A faint, glowing light appeared at the tip of her wand.
"There is a place," she managed to rasp out. "No one knows about it. I…"
Her eyes full of pain and fear she turned to Draco.
"I never really stopped being afraid of them," she whispered. "I hid my fear to protect whatever sanity I had left, but I never stopped being afraid. I have a place, a tiny place that they don't know about, and it's charmed in case they…"
She fished something out of her robes and handed it to Draco. He couldn't gaze at the pain in her eyes anymore, and so focused on the tiny, silver key.
"Take it," she spat. "It's a Portkey, and it'll take you where you need to go."
Draco was speechless and without another word, Pansy spun around and broke into a run, feeling hot tears burning against her icy cheeks as she let the man she loved go completely.
It was then that she heard the footsteps behind her and turning, found that he had followed, completely alone.
"Pansy," he managed. "Where will you go?"
She searched his face, unable to see much in the darkness.
"What's it matter, Draco?"
"It matters to me."
In another lifetime, and in the wild dreams that warmed her heart at night, he had spoken those very words. It was impossible to believe now that he cared for her – but Pansy felt her deadened heart warm just slightly. Her urge to run faded and she stood gazing up at him.
"It won't matter. I won't need that place."
She took a deep breath of the icy air.
"I'll tell them that I came here, saw you and made you choose. I'll tell them you chose h-her."
She broke, feeling the tears well up from within her.
"I'll tell them I had no choice but to kill you. Both of you."
Draco searched her face and saw the old determination that shone in her eyes.
"I can't…"
How could he let someone sacrifice themselves that way? Risk so much? A long time ago, in school, he had allowed her such things, had taken advantage of her in horrible ways, and now…
I can't do it.
"That makes no sense."
"Nothing else does, either. It's this or your death. And I won't have that. I won't live in a world without knowing that you're living somewhere too. You'll be free. It's a place right along the Thames, and you'll be able to catch a boat out of there without being found out."
She shoved the key into his hand forcefully.
"Don't waste another second. Go. I don't want to see you again."
Her eyes overflowed again.
"I hate her, and I loathe you for your inability to feel what I do, but I won't have your death on my hands if I can help it."
Draco was numb from the sudden cold and the finality of her words. For a second or two, he was rooted to the spot unable to do anything but grip the key tightly in his fist. And then his arms were around her and he was holding her close, realizing that he had never held her before. It had taken this, his near death to finally realize how much she did care for him.
"Thank you," he whispered knowing that he would never be able to convey in words how much what Pansy was doing, and what she had sacrificed, meant to him. Perhaps, he'd never be given a chance to show her how grateful he was.
She fought in his embrace, feeling silly and stupid, feeling embarrassed about her own feelings, like she would never belong here, or anywhere else.
"Let me go," she whispered, her face burning from shame.
"Thank you," he managed again, his voice trembling with emotion. She fought him, refused to look at him, wiping at her stupid tears over and over again.
"Go," she ground out, pointing towards the horizon.
"Pansy-"
"Go!"
Draco knew to offer any more words would mean nothing, and with one last glance, he hurried away, swallowed by the darkness.
Pansy stood rigid, watching and waiting. She hard the howling of the wind, a strange and lonely sound coming through the burned, skeletal remains of the buildings around her. Then, she saw a flash of his angelic, white-blond hair, and watched two figures dash towards the exit of the alienage, and she could see their forms along the navy horizon before they were swallowed into nothingness by the Portkey. Then, she was truly alone, and the scalding tears burned her face. She felt pain, wondering if this was her fate because of all the horrible things she had done in her life. The one thing she wanted, she would never have. Pansy closed her eyes as a flurry of snow assaulted her face, icy and stinging against her heated flesh.
She felt alone, afraid and terribly sad – a hole gouged into her heart that would never heal.
There was nothing for several moments, but soon enough Pansy heard the tell-tale sound of popping and opened her eyes to see the Executioners advancing on her, their black robes billowing in the frigid air. Taking a huge breath, she approached them, gripping her wand.
"I didn't want to do it," she began when they stopped in front of her. "But he gave me no choice…"