Hello readers!
Here I am again with a new chapter! I hope you like it as much as I do.
I want to thank my beta readers for helping me with this chapter. I would not have been able to do it without them!
Beta Readers:
- OxfordElise (link to her AO3 page: /users/OxfordElise/pseuds/OxfordElise), for helping me on this chapter as a beta reader. She is a fantastic writer and has an ongoing Dramione fanfic being posted on AO3 (link: /works/16995036/chapters/39951819 ) called "Better than Revenge" that I recommend you check out!
- Madikejla (Please find them using this username on AO3)
- Myrrh and Benzoin
Otherwise, I also want to thank you all for reading and supporting my story!
And now, enjoy :)
Chapter 17: Sobering Truths
The morning sun cast its rays through the curtains, painting the room in hues of soft warmth. Draco stirred beside Hermione, the remnants of a tranquil slumber still clinging to them. As they lay entwined in each other's arms, the events of the night lingered in the air like a sweet and forbidden secret.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, greeted by the sight of Draco's peaceful expression. The lines of worry that constantly etched his face seemed to have temporarily vanished, replaced by a serene calmness. She lightly caressed his face with her fingertips, savoring the reality of their intimacy.
Draco, sensing her gaze, slowly opened his eyes. A soft smile played on his lips as he met Hermione's warm gaze. "Good morning," he whispered, his low voice a soothing melody.
"Good morning," she replied, her heart skipping a beat at the tenderness in his eyes, his long platinum eyelashes feathering atop his silver eyes.
The room was steeped in quietude, broken only by the soft sounds of their morning whispers and the subtle rustling of sheets as they shifted. Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, a feeling that extended beyond the physical closeness they shared.
Draco propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at Hermione with a mixture of affection and concern. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Hermione nodded, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "I'm more than okay. I'm happy, Draco."
His eyes softened further at her words, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "I'm glad to hear that," he admitted, sincerity coloring his voice.
The two shared a moment of silent reflection, their intertwined fingers a testament to their newfound bond. The challenges they faced individually, and the uncertainties of the future still loomed, but in that moment, they knew that solace would be found in each other's arms.
Draco leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Hermione's forehead. "Thank you, for allowing me to be with you," he murmured, his words a whispered acknowledgment of the emotional journey they had embarked upon.
Hermione looked up at him, her hazel eyes filled with a warmth that mirrored the morning sunlight. "No, thank you," she replied, her voice carrying a quiet strength. "For being here…for everything."
With that, they lingered in each other's company, content in the knowledge that the morning after did not sober them from the nirvana they reached together. Without saying it out loud, they both knew that the path ahead would be hard and treacherous, but they were determined to face it together—one step at a time.
"I hate to say it, but I really must go back to Hogwarts. Snape is going to Avada me on sight." Draco said.
Hermione's eyes widened as realization dawned on her "Oh no! I'm sorry for keeping you, you shouldn't have- "
"Shh" Draco hushed her as he claimed her lips in a tender kiss "Never apologize for that ever again ma beauté. I would gladly face even the Dark Lord's wrath if it means falling asleep next to you. "
Hermione felt her face flush and her worries melt away in the warmth of Draco's affectionate words. As he pulled away from the kiss, a gentle smile played on his lips, reassuring her that he had no regrets about their stolen night together.
"I'll find a way to sneak out again soon," Draco whispered, his fingers gently tracing patterns on her cheek. "Until then, we will keep writing to each other."
Hermione nodded, a mixture of gratitude and longing in her gaze. "I'll be waiting."
With a final lingering kiss, Draco reluctantly pulled away and began getting dressed. She watched his toned muscles flex as he put his turtleneck back on, her face growing furiously red. She shook her head and slid out of bed, putting her cotton night robe on.
As Draco prepared to leave, Hermione walked him to the door, their fingers lingering in a reluctant farewell. "Take care, Draco," she said.
He nodded, his stormy gray eyes holding a promise. "You too, Hermione. We'll see each other again soon. I promise."
With that, Draco disapparated from the cottage, leaving Hermione standing at the door, watching the space where he had been.
Did that really happen? Did I really sleep with Draco Malfoy?!
She let out a deep sigh, and felt her lips form an involuntary smile.
Hermione Granger had never felt this way before. Not with Viktor, not for Viktor, and certainly not for Ron. She was on completely unfamiliar grounds when it came to Draco, her heart quickening just at the thought of him. She had utterly surrendered herself to him yesterday, something she had been saving for when it felt absolutely right, and she was glad that she did.
But how could her childhood bully, the one who tormented her so cruelly as a boy, grow up to become the one who would make her heart flutter with feelings so pure and warm? How could he be the one who would make her skin shiver with pleasure at his touch, who would make her want to throw caution to the wind and be whisked on a journey she only thought possible in her dreams and in fairytales?
Because it felt right, despite everything they had been through. He felt absolutely right.
And that left her both enchanted and terrified.
In the days that followed Draco's departure, Hermione found herself caught in a whirlwind of emotions. Her solitude seemed to weigh more heavily on her since their night together, her body shivering with delight at the memory every time it crossed her mind, which was very often. The traces of Draco's presence lingered like a spell woven into the very fabric of the space.
Her research became both a relief and a distraction. The ancient tomes and scrolls, once silent companions in her quest to break the curse, now bore witness to a certain wizard's soft whispers and tender touches. Each word she read, each incantation she deciphered, seemed to resonate with a newfound magic that surpassed the boundaries of the written page. She found herself yearning for the next stolen moment she could have with him, to the next time he would knock on the cottage door and take her in his arms.
As she went over and over her many notes on the curse, she felt her journal warm up next to her. She quickly grabbed it, opening it to reveal Draco's elegant handwriting:
My dearest Arwen,
I hope you are faring well.
I have been making significant progress on my mission, and I don't know what terrifies me more. The sense of satisfaction I feel with every breakthrough, or the fear of what my success will result in.
My only solace lies in the memory of the last time I laid eyes on you. Isengard is slowly turning into Mordor, just as my Arnor has become so.
Please do not come to hate me, as nothing in this world would pain me more.
Yours,
Aragorn
Hermione hadn't noticed her tears dropping onto the page, lightly smearing the ink that traced his words. She did not know what to feel, what she was allowed to feel.
Draco was effectively doing what Voldemort wants him to do, and the idea of him achieving it is enough to send bile rising up her throat and to sink her heart down to her stomach.
But the idea of him failing – she was surprised with how much she did not want to picture it.
The boy she has grown to care for more than she dared to admit was in a purgatory that was arguably more cruel than hell, with him anticipating doom with every breath he took.
Hermione sank deeper in her chair, the journal clasped tightly against her chest as conflicting emotions swirled within her. Draco's words had unraveled something deep within her. She felt torn, caught between the load of her own loyalties and the desire to be with him, to share his burdens.
Her fingers traced the inked lines of his message, her touch gentle as if hoping to bridge the physical distance that separated them. The ache in her heart grew as she grappled with the reality that Draco was walking a perilous path—one that could lead to both his triumph and his demise. The image of Hogwarts, the place where she had felt safest, getting overrun by death eaters mirrored the darkness that threatened to consume him, and she couldn't shake the foreboding sense of dread that settled in her chest.
Yet, amid the turmoil, a fierce determination burned within her. She had known fear, faced it countless times in the wizarding world, but this was different. It was a fear entwined with something else that she couldn't yet define, a fear for someone she had never expected to care so deeply about.
As she dipped her quill into the inkwell, the desire to pen her response intensified, and her words carried the burden of her conflicted soul:
My dearest Aragorn,
I cannot claim to understand the depth of your distress, but I can attempt to scratch the surface. I can feel the boulder that you carry, and it tears at my heart.
The fear of your success gnaws at me, yet the consequences of your failure seem even more unbearable. I do hope you choose to do the right thing, and that the path towards it opens up for you to do so.
But amongst all of this uncertainty, one thing remains certain—I want to be there for you.
Yours,
Arwen
She closed the journal, her hand lingering on its cover. Hermione couldn't predict the future, but in that moment, her heart was resolute in its desire to stand by Draco, to face whatever came their way together. She just hoped that Severus Snape would find a way to save Dumbledore, and by extension, Draco's soul.
In the Gryffindor common room, Harry and Ginny sat by the fireplace, absentmindedly gazing into the flames. The flickering light cast shifting shadows on Harry's face, highlighting the weariness that had settled in his eyes. Ron, who had been pacing back and forth, finally took a seat next to them, his expression clouded with anger.
"I can't believe Snape, the slimy git!" the redheaded boy snapped. "He gave me two week's worth of detention for 'daydreaming in class'. Daydreaming?! Bloody hell, I was just distracted for Merlin's sake."
"Ron," Ginny began softly, her voice laced with concern, "You can't stay angry forever. She wouldn't want this. You have to accept-"
"No! What? I'm talking about detention-"
Ginny stopped him "We both know you weren't Ron. Your anger is because of Herm-"
"Stop- I don't want to talk-"
"No, Ron," Ginny interrupted him, her voice firm, "we need to talk about what happened… about Hermione. You two have been avoiding the subject for far too long." She turned from her brother towards Harry, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Harry nodded in agreement; his gaze still fixed on the dancing flames. "I know, Ginny. But…it's hard."
Ron remained silent, his emotions swirling beneath the surface like a tempest.
Ginny sighed, taking their hands into hers. "Come on, boys. The least we can do is talk about her again."
Ron scoffed bitterly. "Talk about her? You think I need to talk about her?! I can't stop thinking about her. It's like a constant ache in my chest that no pain-numbing potion can ever get rid of." He pulled his hand away, his bitterness palpable. "Talk, you say. What's there to talk about? That…just like that…she's dead?!"
Harry spoke up, running a hand through his hair. "I miss her too, mate. I miss her so much. It doesn't feel right without her here, and I don't know what to do about it. But Ginny is right. If we don't talk about her-"
"What would happen if we didn't eh?" Ron's voice cracked, his body trembling with emotion. "Or if we did? She'd come back?" His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he continued, his voice strained. "You know…I keep expecting her to walk through that door," he gestured toward the portrait entrance of the common room, "to tell us some brilliant plan she's come up with to save the day, like the swot she's always been. But she won't. She's gone. She's…she's dead! She's left me-"
"Ron," Ginny said softly as she stood up, tears streaming down her face, "You cannot resent her anymore. You can't let your anger consume you…it kills me to see you like this." She rushed towards him, wrapping her arms around her brother's waist, her sobs muffled against his chest. Ron looked down at his little sister, his own tears mingling with hers.
A bitter smile tugged at Harry's lips as he watched the Weasley siblings. "Yeah, she always had a way of doing that, didn't she?"
They both turned to look at him, confusion etched on their faces.
Harry looked at them, his smile softening. "Getting us to open up. To let go. To forgive."
Ron snarled angrily, his pain still raw. "I could never forgive-"
"Not them, Ron." Ginny said, a lone tear tracing her cheek. "To forgive ourselves."
The room fell into a heavy silence as the weight of that revelation hung in the air.
After what seemed like an eternity, Ron spoke again, his voice breaking. "I can't believe she's gone. It just doesn't feel real."
Harry turned to Ron, his own eyes reflecting the pain they both shared. "We'll find a way to honor her, Ron. We'll make sure her sacrifice wasn't in vain. But to do that, we need to focus on what's happening at Hogwarts. Something's not right, and I can feel it."
Ron's expression turned serious. "What are you thinking, Harry?"
Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the Marauder's Map. Unfolding it, he pointed to a specific location. "Malfoy. I've been keeping an eye on him. He's been acting suspicious, disappearing to the Room of Requirement way too often. I think he's involved with the Death Eaters."
Ron's eyebrows furrowed. "I've thought about it too, constantly. Whenever I see the bloody git's face, I want to punch him into oblivion."
Ginny rolled her eyes "Oh come off it. Malfoy's an arsehole, but he's not a Death Eater. You don't really think he'd go that far, do you?"
"I don't know, but I can't shake the feeling that he's up to something," Harry replied. "I've been watching him on the map, trying to figure out what he's doing. I don't trust him."
Ron studied the map, his jaw clenched. "If he's working with the Death Eaters, we need to do something about it. We can't let them gain any more ground."
"I agree," Harry said, determination flickering in his eyes.
"You two are taking it way too far," Ginny interjected, her brow furrowed. "Don't you think Dumbledore would know if Malfoy was a danger to the school? You have no evidence for anything you're saying."
Ron's fists tightened, and he breathed out a shaky sigh. "Then we'll keep a close eye on the bloody ferret and find out what he's planning. Herm-" He swallowed, trying his best not to cry again. "Hermione wouldn't want us to sit back and let darkness take over. We have to fight."
Harry nodded, a fierce resolve reflecting in his gaze. "For Hermione. For Sirius. For Cedric. For everyone we've lost. Let's make sure their sacrifices weren't in vain."
The evening at Hogwarts was calm, the moon casting its silvery glow over the castle. The frigid wind caressed his silvery strands as he looked up to the vast expanse of the night sky. It had become a somber routine for Draco Malfoy to spend his evenings alone, in the cold, where he could attempt to forget about the world around him.
He closed his eyes and pictured her face, allowing the memory of her to wash over him. A wistful smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he thought of the small splatter of freckles around her delicate button nose. He remembered the way sunlight reflected off her golden-brown eyes, each glance like a precious moment frozen in time. The mental replay of her flushed cheeks, warmed by his proximity, sent a tingling sensation through his skin at the mere recollection.
Yet, amid the tender memories, a poignant pang of longing and sadness gripped Draco's heart.
In another world, he mused, he would take her on a million dates, traveling the world with her by his side.
In another world, he would intertwine his fingers with hers, strolling through Wizarding London unapologetically.
In another world, he would kiss her in the Great Hall without a care in the world.
In another world, she would have been his date to the Yule Ball.
But he wasn't in another world. He was Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy lordship, name, and fortune, a defender of pureblood values and traditions—a soldier tethered to the cause of keeping magic 'pure'.
He felt like he was going to be sick.
And if that wasn't difficult enough to digest, his mind, in its unrelenting cruelty, decided to remind him of a memory he had desperately tried to bury in the depths of his psyche.
"Draco Malfoy, your first mission as a death eater is primordial to proving your loyalty to me and to our most noble cause. We must rid our world of the filth that has been contaminating it for far too long. It can no longer be tolerated." Voldemort hissed like a snake, his blood red eyes piercing into his soul.
"Your father has failed me, young Malfoy."
Draco swallowed, remaining silent.
"Prove your and your family's loyalty, young Malfoy. Kill Potter's mudblood whore and her filthy muggle parents."
And that is when Draco Malfoy thought his heart was being ripped out of his chest.
"As you wish my Lord."
How he had loathed himself in that moment. How he had wanted to rip out his own tongue and feed it to that blasted snake, Nagini.
His fists tightened and his heart raced as he recalled what had happened next. Most of it had felt like a blur, flashes of fury and despair. He was fairly sure his mother had been there with him at some point, her eyes wide in horror, her hand over her mouth.
But what he knew for sure was what came after.
Draco stood in front of the Granger residence, a place that held the warmth of a loving family whose peace he was about to shatter. The moonlit night seemed to mock him, daring to cast a serene shine on the ordinary suburban house. He clenched the wand in his hand, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his composure.
As he approached the front door, images of Hermione flashed before his eyes—her laughter, her determination, her intelligence and her kindness…all of it had unknowingly seeped into his guarded heart. The contrast between the duty he was bound to and the emotions he felt tore at him like an unyielding storm.
The door creaked open, revealing her, with that same splatter of freckles around her nose, and with those very same beautiful golden-brown eyes. In that moment, Draco knew, as he had always known, that hell would have to freeze over before he would ever even think of harming a single hair on her head.
He knew he would endure the suffering of any consequence, except that of seeing her eyes lose their enchanting light.
He would protect her at all costs.
The memory fizzled away, bringing Draco back to the present. His eyes were still closed, the mental replay of that night etched into his consciousness.
In the solitude of the night, Draco grappled with the dichotomy of his existence—caught between the desires of his heart and the obligations that shackled him to a dark fate. The somber routine of aloneness felt more oppressive than ever as he yearned for a reality that could never be.
A reality where he could be just another adolescent, with dreams and aspirations.
A reality where he could be just another student, with exams to study for or Quidditch games to practice for.
But he was not. Instead, he was a pawn in a game of power and prejudice.
And that was a bitter pill he was forced to swallow every day.
Yet, his mind refused to let go of the image of Hermione—her freckles, her eyes, her blushing cheeks, and her radiant smile.
The cold wind continued to caress his silvery strands, but the warmth of Hermione's memory lingered, and he wasn't so cold anymore.
But he should have known that this wouldn't last.
And once again, Draco felt like he was going to be sick.
His dark mark had begun burning.
Panic gripped Draco's chest as he entertained the terrifying thought that Voldemort had somehow discovered Hermione's survival. The mere idea of her being in danger sent a surge of terror through him.
However, he quickly dismissed the notion, reasoning with himself that there was no conceivable way Voldemort could have found out.
In haste, Draco descended from the Astronomy Tower and made his way towards the Faculty Tower. His steps were urgent, propelled by his frightened state. He found Severus Snape in his office; the room bathed in dim candlelight. Snape's eyes, as black as the night, met Draco's with a knowing gaze. He too was gripping his arm, his face visibly pained.
"Follow me, Draco," Snape said, leading the way out of Hogwarts.
As they walked through the silent halls and out into the grounds, Draco's heart pounded in his chest. Snape spoke again, his voice low and urgent. "Whatever happens, Draco, remain calm and collected. Keep your Occlumency walls intact. You cannot afford to show weakness, especially in front of him."
Draco nodded, his jaw clenching. The night air was crisp as they apparated outside Malfoy Manor. The imposing structure loomed in an aura of darkness and gloom, reminding him that the place he used to call home was now anything but.
He followed his godfather as they walked towards the Manor's now foreboding front doors. Once there, a house-elf greeted them with a bow, his little body shaking with fear.
"Welcome young Master Draco, Professor Snape. The Dark Lord awaits you in the main drawing room."
Snape hadn't spared the small creature a look as he pushed past it towards their destination, but Draco couldn't help but stare at the way his big bulbous eyes were glistening with tears. This was Tuffy, his mother's personal house-elf, one that had helped raise him since he was born, along with Tilly. He shuddered at the horrors that he knew this elf had to now witness and endure every day.
"Thank you Tuffy." He said apologetically as he followed his godfather inside.
As they reached the drawing room, Snape gave Draco one last knowing look before ushering for him to enter. The Dark Lord would give each of them their own separate audience.
The chamber was barely lit, with only two candelabras serving as a source of light at the center of the room, where Lord Voldemort was sitting upon a throne-like chair, with his snake Nagini coiled at his side.
Draco kneeled before him, the Dark Lord's scarlet eyes fixating on him.
"Draco Malfoy," Voldemort hissed, "report on your progress with the vanishing cabinet."
Draco's throat felt dangerously dry, but his voice came out steady. "The repairs I have made are looking promising, my Lord. But the cabinet is very old and had been abandoned for a long period of time. It still requires more adjustments."
"Adjustments you say? Explain further."
"I was able to send via the cabinet some inanimate objects to Borgin and Burkes, but animated objects have been trickier to channel through." Draco's voice remained stable.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "While that is good progress, young Malfoy, it is not good enough. I had expected more from a supposed prodigy, such as yourself. I need that connection perfected quickly. Time is of the essence."
Draco felt a shiver run down his spine. "I assure you, my Lord, I am working diligently to—"
Voldemort raised a pale hand, cutting him off. "Actions speak louder than words, young Malfoy." A sinister smile spread across his lips, bearing his snake-like fangs as he spoke again "Bring her in."
The drawing room doors opened again, revealing Narcissa Malfoy who walked in with a sense of controlled composure while escorted by a lower rank death eater whose name Draco never bothered to learn.
His heart froze as he realized what was about to transpire.
"Narcissa," Voldemort addressed her, "your son here seems to be lacking the motivation to accomplish what I have tasked him with. Perhaps a demonstration of the consequences of failure will motivate him."
Narcissa's eyes flickered with horror, her carefully crafted mask of stoicism starting to crack. She hesitated before inclining her head in acknowledgment, silently conveying her understanding of the situation.
Voldemort turned his attention back to Draco, his burgundy eyes burning with anticipation. "Crucio."
The unforgiving curse lashed out, and Draco was seized by a searing pain that coursed through every fiber of his being. He bit down on his lip to stifle any cries, refusing to show weakness in front of the Dark Lord, even as his insides begged for it to end.
Narcissa began to lose all sense of control as she screamed "Draco!" the raw emotion in her voice breaking through the facade of composure "Stop this! Please, stop!"
Voldemort began to cackle as he silenced her with a flick of his wand, a spell muffling her cries. The horror in her eyes remained, the silent plea for mercy echoing in the depths of her gaze.
The torture extended, the minutes feeling like an eternity as Draco's body threatened to give up, until Voldemort finally lifted the curse.
Draco gasped for breath, his body trembling with residual agony. He spared a glance at his mother, whose eyes were still wide with terror.
"Consider that a warning, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort sneered. "I don't tolerate incompetence. Now, let's make this clear. If you fail me again, I will not hesitate to inflict punishment upon your precious mother. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal clear, my Lord."
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Voldemort allowed Draco and Narcissa to leave the drawing room. As the doors closed behind them, Draco sank to his knees, his breaths ragged. Narcissa knelt beside him, her hands hovering as her motherly instinct took over.
"I'm so sorry, my darling," she whispered, her voice filled with anguish. "I wish I could shield you from this."
"Not here." Snape said to them as he stood at the door waiting to be called in for his turn. "Go."
Narcissa helped her son stand, taking one of his arms and laying it over her shoulder as they walked away to a place where they could talk with a semblance of privacy.
As they arrived at his bedroom, his mother helped him onto his bed, his body sinking into the plush mattress.
Narcissa's hands hovered over him again, trying to think of a way to take his pain away, but found herself unable to do anything but repeating herself "I'm so sorry my darling."
Draco gritted his teeth, suppressing the pain both physical and emotional. "It's not your fault, mother. I will fix the cabinet. I won't let him hurt you because of me."
Narcissa brushed a strand of hair away from Draco's forehead, her eyes filled with concern. "I fear what he might do to you, Draco."
He took a deep breath, his body shaking furiously.
"Tuffy!" Narcissa yelled, and the elf materialized in front of them almost instantly.
"Yes, mistress."
"Bring us a calming draught at once, please!"
Tuffy disappeared and reappeared within less than a minute, a vial of light purple liquid tucked between his bony fingers. He quickly handed it to Narcissa, who rushed to pour it down her son's throat.
The room seemed to hold its breath as it waited for the potion to take effect, and gratefully, after only a couple of minutes, Draco's breaths began to calm and the shakes wracking his body began to wind down.
Narcissa let out a sigh of relief.
Draco's eyes turned to his mother, and he felt his heart break at the sight of her. She had begun to cry.
He couldn't let his mother suffer any more than she already had.
"I'm feeling better now, mother. Please don't cry."
Narcissa wiped away her tears, a mixture of relief and sorrow in her eyes. She sat beside Draco, her hand gently stroking his hair. "I hate seeing you like this, Draco. I hate that we're trapped in this nightmare."
Draco took a shaky breath, his eyes reflecting determination. "I won't let him break us, mother. I'll find a way to fix the cabinet. I'll find a way to protect you."
Narcissa cupped his face, her touch warm and comforting. "You are so brave my son. But you're just a boy…" Her voice broke, her tears threatening to fall again. "You shouldn't have to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders…I'm so sorry, my darling."
As they sat in the dimly lit room, a heavy silence enveloped them, neither knowing what else to say. The burden of their predicament pressed down on Draco's shoulders, but he refused to let it crush him. His mind raced with the urgency of the task at hand—the vanishing cabinet, the Dark Lord's demands, the ever-present threat to his mother's life…and Hermione…
He will not let anyone hurt them.
He will not let anyone take them from him.
Even if he has to die trying.
And there it is!
What did you think of this chapter? What do you think of Draco getting tortured by Voldemort for his "lack of progress"?
I would love to know, so please leave me your reviews!
Thank you all for your support, and many thanks once again to my wonderful beta readers!
Until next time!
Cleo26