"We need never be ashamed of our tears."
Charles Dickens
V
As the first light of dawn crept through the window, Hermione's eyes fluttered open to the sun's gentle caress on her skin. The softness of the bed and the rich tapestries that adorned the walls were a stark contrast to the forest clearing she remembered falling asleep in. Instead, she found herself in the luxurious confines of Draco's room within Malfoy Manor.
The warmth against her back was Draco's body, his arms encircling her in a protective embrace. Hermione felt the steady rise and fall of his chest against her as he murmured her name in his sleep, his voice a tender whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.
Hermione tried to slip away, her movements cautious and gentle.
"Draco, let go, please," she whispered, but he only responded with a soft growl, his hold tightening. A deep purring sound resonated from him, a sound of contentment that seemed to echo the strange new connection between them. It was as if an invisible thread linked their very souls, allowing Hermione to sense his presence and well-being.
Determined to discover the outcome of the ritual, Hermione dressed and left the room, only to be greeted by Twirl, the manor's cheerful house-elf.
"Twirl, has Narcissa awoken yet?" Hermione inquired, her voice filled with concern.
"Oh, Mistress Narcissa is already up and waiting for young Master Draco!" Twirl replied with a bow, her large eyes sparkling with excitement.
As they walked through the corridors, Hermione noticed the transformation that had taken place within the manor. The oppressive darkness that once lingered in the air had dissipated, leaving behind a sense of peace and renewal. The shattered mirrors and stained windows of the past now reflected the beauty of the world outside.
Near Narcissa's room, Hermione paused before a portrait of a dignified man dressed in an elaborate velvet robe. He greeted her with a nod and a warm smile, his eyes reflecting gratitude.
"Good morning, Miss Granger. I cannot express my gratitude enough for what you've done for us," the man in the portrait said, his voice filled with sincerity.
"Good morning, sir. May I ask why you're so kind to me, unlike the other portraits?" Hermione responded, her curiosity piqued.
"I am Armand Malfoi, the first of our line to settle in Britain. I've always believed that the purity of one's heart is far more important than that of one's blood," Armand explained, his gaze kind and understanding.
Hermione's interest was piqued, and she couldn't help but ask about his time serving William the Conqueror.
Armand's eyes lit up with the memories of old. "Ah, those were turbulent times. I arrived with William during the conquest, and it was a period of great change. We faced many challenges, but it was also a time of opportunity and growth."
Before Hermione could respond, a woman with cornflower blue eyes and hair as pale as moonlight appeared beside Armand in the portrait. She wore a stunning brocade gown and looked at Hermione with joy.
"Armand, always living in the past," the woman said with a playful sigh. "I'm Miroslava, but please, call me Mira. It's such a pleasure to meet you, Hermione."
The witch smiled at Mira's introduction. "It's a pleasure, Mira. Your portrait is quite remarkable."
Mira beamed with pride. "I was the first in our family to come from a muggle lineage. It seems history has come full circle with you, Hermione. I'm so proud."
With a newfound knowledge and appreciation for the Malfoy legacy, Hermione continued on her way. The rose garden below, once choked by thorns, now bloomed with life, a symbol of new beginnings.
As the first light of dawn crept into the room, Hermione found herself standing at the threshold of Narcissa Malfoy's private quarters. The chamber was a testament to the Malfoy's wealth and taste, with its high ceilings, ornate furniture, and the lingering scent of exotic flowers that seemed to be perpetually in bloom. The curtains billowed gently, allowing the golden rays to illuminate the room and the figure lying in the grand bed.
Narcissa appeared to be the very picture of tranquility, her features softened in sleep, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Yet, as Hermione approached, she could see the subtle signs of distress etched into the older witch's face. It was a look that spoke of nightmares endured and fears yet to be faced.
"Good morning, Narcissa," Hermione greeted, her voice low and respectful. "You seem to be faring better today."
Narcissa's eyes fluttered open, revealing the clear blue that reminded Hermione of a winter sky. "Miss Granger," she acknowledged, her voice carrying a frailty that belied her improved appearance. "It's nice of you to come see me. What do you think, do I look any better today?"
"You look kind of bright today," Hermione noted, picking her words with thought. "But I can see something in your eyes, a sort of worry that I haven't seen in you before."
A heavy sigh escaped Narcissa's lips, and she turned her gaze towards the window. "It's Draco," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "He stands at a crossroads, and the path he is reluctant to take... it is one that leads to a fate more terrible than death itself."
Hermione's brow furrowed in concern. "What do you mean? What's happening with Draco?"
Before Narcissa could elaborate, the door to the chamber was flung open with such force that it seemed to shake the very walls. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled, his breathing ragged. His eyes, usually a steely grey, now shone with an otherworldly amber hue that seemed to pierce straight through to Hermione's soul.
"Mate!" Draco's voice was a mix of desperation and elation as he crossed the room in three long strides. He enveloped her in his arms, his embrace so tight it bordered on painful. "You are mine."
"Draco, what's gotten into you?" Hermione's voice was steady, even as her heart raced. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "We need to talk about this."
Their lips met in a kiss that was both a promise and a plea, a connection that seemed to transcend the physical world. It was a moment of pure emotion, raw and unfiltered.
Narcissa's cough, though soft, was enough to break the spell. "I see my son has finally accepted his heritage," she said, a note of amusement in her voice. "You needn't worry about the dangers that once loomed over us."
Draco, his forehead resting against Hermione's, turned to his mother with a look of concern. "Mother, you're looking much better."
"Actually, I'm feeling pretty refreshed," Narcissa replied, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.
The couple excused themselves, leaving the older witch to her rest, and made their way to the library. The room was a sanctuary of knowledge, with shelves lined with ancient tomes and the soft crackle of the fireplace providing a comforting backdrop.
Draco gestured towards the armchairs by the hearth. "Let's sit and talk," he suggested, his voice gentle yet insistent.
Hermione moved to take the seat opposite him, but the wizard's hand caught hers, pulling her down onto his lap instead. "I want you close," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
"Draco, about the ritual..." Hermione began, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "Lucius had cast a dark spell, using the estate itself as an anchor to bind your mother's life to his own twisted will."
The gravity of her words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the lengths to which Lucius Malfoy had gone to exert his control. But the ritual had been a success, breaking the curse and freeing Narcissa from the chains that had bound her.
As they sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, a strange noise caught their attention. It was a sound that didn't belong, a disturbance in the magical wards that protected the manor. The library doors were thrown open with a resounding crash, and standing in the doorway was Harry Potter, accompanied by three other Aurors.
The air was thick with tension as as Harry stormed towards Hermione. His eyes blazed with determination, his expression fierce. "Mione, we need to talk," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "Whether you like it or not."
Draco reacted instantly, positioning himself as a protective barrier between Harry and Hermione. His wings snapped open with a deafening sound, casting long, dark shadows that danced ominously on the walls. "Back off, Potter!" he snarled, his voice filled with aggression.
Harry's fists clenched tightly at his sides, his body poised and ready for action. "Move, Malfoy, or I'll force you," he threatened, his words sharp and cutting through the heavy tension in the air.
Hermione's voice emerged as a voice of reason amidst the escalating hostility. "Harry, Draco, please! This isn't the way!" she pleaded, but her words were drowned out by the rising tempers.
An alarmed Auror sprang into action, his eyes wide with concern. He swiftly cast a stunning spell towards Malfoy, but it proved futile against the shield of wings. The spell rebounded, leaving the Auror defeated and sprawled on the ground.
"Damn it!" cursed another Auror, frustrated as he and his partner unleashed a barrage of binding spells. To their dismay, the spells disintegrated against Malfoy's impenetrable defense.
Harry's intense gaze remained fixed on Hermione, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation. "Mione, I'm not asking anymore. I'm telling you to come with me now!" he barked, but she stood her ground, her loyalty to Draco unwavering.
With a roar of frustration, her friend lunged forward, but the Veela retaliated with a furious flurry of claws slicing through the air. "I warned you, Potter!" he roared, his voice echoing with terrifying intensity.
Hermione's piercing scream cut through the chaos. "Harry, stop!" But it was too late. In a moment of rage, the wizard unleashed a spell that struck Hermione directly in the chest. Her blood stained her robes like a grotesque flower in bloom.
Time seemed to freeze as color drained from Potter's face, his eyes wide with shock. "No, no, no, this can't be happening," he stammered, his voice now a mere whisper of its former fury.
Draco let out an anguished howl, cradling Hermione in his arms as if she were fragile glass. "Mia, please, open your eyes," he pleaded, tears mingling with her blood.
Narcissa descended the staircase with alarming speed, her eyes widening in horror at the scene before her. She took a sharp breath. "Mr. Potter, what have you done?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere.
Harry's response came out as a choked sob. "I didn't mean it, Mrs. Malfoy. It was an accident."
With a powerful beat of his wings, Draco took flight, holding Hermione close to his chest. Narcissa's voice crackled urgently. "Mr. Potter, explain yourself this instant!"
And so Harry did, his voice hollow as he recounted the tragic chain of events, the name Sectumsempra hanging in the air like a sentence of death. Narcissa's face turned pale, and with a sharp crack, she disappeared, leaving behind a silence that seemed louder than any spell.
The hallowed halls of St Mungos were filled with whispers and nervous glances as the Malfoy matriarch walked through the corridors, her heart heavy with dread. The news of a Veela carrying a wounded healer had spread rapidly, and she prepared herself for what awaited her.
Upon entering the room, Narcissa was met with a solemn scene. Draco sat beside Hermione's bed, his body tense with worry, his eyes filled with unspoken fears. The muggleborn witch appeared delicate, her breaths barely audible in the silence.
"Draco, my son, please talk to me," his mother pleaded, her voice filled with concern.
"Why? Why does it always have to be like this?" the wizard's voice cracked, his emotions straining against his words.
Narcissa reached out, her touch gentle. "We will find a solution," she reassured, but her comforting words seemed to dissipate without taking hold.
The door swung open, and Penelope Clearwater, the overseeing healer, entered with a serious expression. "The trauma is severe; she's in a magical coma," she stated, her words clinical yet heavy with implications.
"What can we do?" Draco's voice was urgent, desperate for a glimmer of hope.
Penelope hesitated, her gaze shifting towards Hermione. "It's... complicated. Her condition is unique."
At that moment, Clarence Allen, a young intern with hopeful eyes, spoke up. "What about Vigiliae Elixir? It could stimulate her neural pathways."
Penelope considered the suggestion, her brow furrowed in thought.
Before she could respond, mediwitch Ambrosia Maddock burst into the room, her face etched with alarm. "The tests... after the Druid ritual, her magical reserves were depleted. We're unsure if she'll wake up."
Draco's hands clenched into fists, his voice rising. "We need answers, Clearwater. Now!"
Penelope exchanged a glance with Ambrosia, silently agreeing. "We'll attempt the Excieo Anima ritual," she decided.
Preparations began, transforming the room. Clarence assisted as they invoked "Purificato Locus," cleansing the space of negative energies.
The brewing of the Vigiliae Elixir became a labor of love and desperation, Draco pouring his heart into the meticulous process. Mandrake Root, Phoenix Tears, Moonstone Dust—each ingredient a testament to their determination.
With the elixir complete, the healers and mediwitches formed a circle around Hermione, their hands joined in unity. "Expergiscere, dormiens," they chanted, their invocation a crescendo of collective will.
Penelope, with a steady hand, anointed Hermione's head with the elixir, the potion shining as a beacon of hope in the darkness.
Magic surged, the healers channeling their energy towards the young witch, their wands aimed at her heart, the source of her life force.
"Vita Redintegro!" they cried out together, the incantation a powerful roar affirming life.
A brilliant burst of light enveloped Hermione, its radiance promising renewal.
Penelope watched, her gaze never leaving the still form of the witch, the other healers standing as a vigilant guard. Yet, as hours passed, uncertainty loomed, the question of Hermione's awakening unanswered, a prayer left hanging.
Under the cloak of night, the room was silent except for the labored breaths of Hermione. Draco, ever vigilant, was at her side in an instant, his heart racing as he saw her chest rise and fall with difficulty. "Hermione, stay with me," he whispered, his voice trembling with fear.
But her breathing only grew more strained, and panic took hold. "Healers! We need help here, now!" Draco's shout pierced the stillness, a desperate plea for aid.
The door burst open, and Clearwater rushed in, her robes billowing behind her. "What's happened?" she demanded, her eyes quickly assessing the situation.
Draco's face was a mask of anguish. "She's... she's not breathing right. Please, do something!"
Clearwater moved swiftly, her hands hovering over Hermione, spells flowing from her lips. But the magic that once danced at her fingertips seemed to falter, the life force within Hermione slipping away like sand through an hourglass.
As the final breath left Hermione's body, the room fell into a deep, mournful silence. She lay there, serene and still, a peaceful expression gracing her features.
Draco's knees buckled, the pain that enveloped him was indescribable, a torment that no spell could alleviate. "No... this can't be," he murmured, his voice a ghost of its former strength.
Narcissa stepped forward, her presence a steady anchor in the storm of grief. "Draco, my dear boy," she said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She's at peace now. We must be strong."
Draco leaned into his mother's touch, the tears he had fought so hard to hold back now streaming down his face. "How do I go on without her, Mother?" he sobbed, the weight of his sorrow threatening to crush him.
Narcissa wrapped her arms around him, her own heart heavy with loss. "Together, Draco. We will find a way, together," she assured him, her voice a soothing balm in the darkness.