Heya Guys!
Since the coronavirus is causing a global shut down I have more time for writing now. Now I didn't exactly get the response for the last chapter like I was expecting and it's kind of sad so I hope you enjoy this chapter a little more.
Please take the time to review and let me know your thoughts.
Much love 3
Draco's Point of View
When I wake up the light coming in the window is faint and for a second I look around the room, trying to find Blaise. But instead, my eyes land upon the three wands gathered on the nightstand and I remember what happened last night. My breath grows shallow and hoarse. I move off the bed and into the joining bathroom, splashing water over my face. The shock of the cold water shoots down my back and seemed to jolt me away like a knock to the head. And with that knock, last night comes flooding in, in full colour. I stop and catch myself, slowing my breath to listen to the sound from the room at my right. It's silent. She's not awake yet.
I look down at my hands and note the little cuts and scratches all over my right hand. Dried blood draws a line from my right thumb, meandering up to my forearm. I lean my arm under the tap and wash away the blood with soap. I turn off the tap with a squeak from the faucet but after that noise the house is quiet. I listen for a moment but nothing seems to be stirring. Perhaps it is too early still and perhaps I am grateful for this stolen moment.
I throw my rob over my shoulders as I leave the room and stumble upon the kitchen, shivering as I enter. Before I notice my mother in an armchair she's pulled up to the patio window, I take in the mess that I left the sitting room in last night. I look at the shards of broken wood scattered all over the couches, the large dent in the left-hand side wall and the television in pieces beneath the mark. The room is littered with broken picture frames and the pictures are dotted around the floor. I look over towards my mother. She's sleeping on the small armchair with the patio door slightly ajar which explains the cold.
I walk over and pull the patio door shut with a slight bang. She jolts awake and I move away towards the kitchen as she wakes up.
"Draco?" she calls.
"Yeah, it's me," I answer, unaware of how weak my voice sounds. My mother turns and looks up at the clock. I follow her eyes. It's 6:15 am.
"Why are you up so early?" she asks, pushing the blanket away from her lap.
"Keep that on. It's cold in here," I say and she stops fussing and stares at me.
"Draco, what's going on? Where are you going this early in the morning?"
"I have to go and get food," I say, opening the presses. They're full of old cans of food that are dangerously close to their expiry date. The fridge is full of rotten food and opening the door causes my stomach to churn.
"Why don't you eat something before you go, dear?" my mother's soothing voice asks. The voice sends chills down my arms and for a moment the dizziness is so overwhelming. I grab the door of the fridge tightly as I close it, trying to regain some control.
"I'm fine," I say but I haven't eaten since yesterday. I've gone longer before I assure myself. Pull yourself together.
"Draco, you're so pale," she comments meekly.
"I'm always pale," I retort. A small, almost indistinguishable laugh escapes her lips. I look at her and her eyes are so big, searching mine with concern, darting furiously from side to side as if the words that embody who I am are written there for her to read. When I look at her all I can see is last night. The soothing words she whispered into my hair while I cried on the floor. I can hear her words and feel her slow, shaky hands in my hair. A woman comforting me who has not comforted me like that in about as long as it's been since I last cried. I don't want to look at her. I turn away, ashamed.
"Draco?" she calls again but I head towards the door, shoving both my arms into the sleeve of my robes.
"What's going to happen?" she asks when I reach the door.
"I'm going to go out and get something for us to eat," I comment.
"No," she says and I turn to look at her in confusion. She's leaning forward from the chair in desperation and looking at her sometimes it's hard to imagine that she's been the adult all these years. Maybe because she stopped acting like it a long time ago.
"What's going to happen after?" she asks, her eyes pleading and hands fumbling together nervously.
"Maybe if we-
"Stay here, okay?" I say, cutting her off harshly. She leans back into the chair, bowing her head, scratching at her wrist repetitively.
"Don't go looking in that room for your wand. I'm taking it with me," I inform her. She bows her head lower.
"I'll be back soon," I say, shutting the door lightly behind me.
I exhale a deep sigh once I get outside and pull my robes tightly around me. It's colder than it looks outside. The sun is just rising over the horizon of the English Channel. I look out towards the water for a moment, listening to the seagulls squawking loudly overhead. I head up the hill towards the little town I remember being there when I was younger, not looking over my shoulder towards the house once.
Hermione's point of view.
I wake to the sound of mumbling in the kitchen followed by what I can only assume is the front door closing. I push up from the bed, slipping on the boots I left at the foot of the bed. Agony rips up my arm as I push myself away from the bed. I grab at it fiercely, clasping my arm around my forearm, as if somehow squeezing it can stop the pain. When I pull my hand off my arm the pressure has caused the skin to go a shade paler. The colour comes back slower and I stare down at the words etched into my skin. I spot my jacket on the back of the chair and quickly throw it over my shoulders, slipping the arms through.
I look out the window in the corner of the room and there's only a small section on the top that opens. I pull open the door to the bathroom and notice the light is on. I listen at the door on the other side. This bathroom must connect to both rooms but I'm unsure of who might be in the other room. I lean down onto my right knee, pulling out the key from the hole and stare through it. The bed comes into view but the sheets are pulled back leaving the bed empty. I look over to the left as far as the keyhole will allow me and I can just about see the corner of the door and it's open. I slowly push open the door to find the room empty.
I gradually make my way to the door and shut it as soundlessly as I can so no sounds will carry down the hallway into the kitchen. I walk over to the bed and something in me causes me to lean down towards the pillow. A smell hits me and I know the smell. But I cut off the rest of my thoughts, shaking my head slightly. I move away and take a few deep breaths. I have to keep it together. I have to stay calm and collected. I have to be the person I am expected to be. The boys are waiting for me. I need to stay together.
As quietly as I can manage, I shift through the room, pulling open presses and wardrobes but what I find doesn't attribute to anything that makes sense. The clothes in the wardrobe aren't clothes for anyone who currently stays in this house. They look as if they belong to a much older couple. The house smells that way as well. I find nothing in the draws in the room and nothing either in the draws in the bathroom. This house is lived in that much is sure but not lived in enough. This is not someones home. That much is obvious. It is missing too much of everyday necessities. There is toothpaste in the bathroom but no toothbrushes. There is an old hairdryer but no hairbrushes. The medicine cabinet contains a few different types of pain killers but no prescriptions, nothing long term. Maybe the couple fled and grabbed what they needed or maybe we're not the first people to be here. But at the same time, the house doesn't look ransacked. Perhaps it's a summer home.
I search each press and wardrobe a second time, this time a lot less quiet, more panicked. I can't help myself. The thing I'm looking for is nowhere to be found. My wand. Harry had said from day one to never leave it out of our sights. Our wand is our lifeline and without it, we are completely naked. I feel that way now. As if the air is biting away at my naked flesh. I don't remember having it on me last night. I don't remember much of last night. I just remember a lot of shouting before sleep inevitably took me. I couldn't help it. I shall pay for that weakness now.
The window in this room is much larger and the pane opens out fully onto the back garden. I walk over to it and push the window open as far as it will go. It's small but I can fit out through it. I look around the room, feeling completely lost and hopeless. I have nothing but the clothes on my back. How far can I get in that cold without my wand or all the items I had in my bag. Without even a tent for shelter amongst the elements. As if asking that question I hear a noise from the kitchen. A cough and what sounds like a readjustment on a chair. Someone is out there. Someone is still in this house. I wasn't left completely alone. Or maybe I wasn't left unguarded.
I close the window in, not locking it as I open the bedroom door and lean my head out quietly. I listen but I don't hear any more obvious sounds. I try to move as quietly as I can down the hallway but the floorboards squeak beneath my feet and I curse myself each step for being in this unfamiliar house. When I reach the kitchen, I look around and take in the room. The kitchen is small and dingy with presses open here and there. I look over towards the sitting room and its in shambles. Television smashed in the corner and bits of broken wood splashed all over the couch that faces where the television once was, sitting on what used to be a stand for it. But now looks like someone put their foot right through the wooden stand.
Someone clears their throat and my eyes immediately snap to them sitting on an armchair by the patio door. It's Narcissa Malfoy and all my comprehensions and understandings of this house go flying out the window. Shock wraps around my body and causes my intestines to squeeze and clench until a roll of nausea washes over me. I stumble back, banging into a shelf that has been pulled open, loudly shutting it as I bang into the kitchen counter. Narcissa looks me over once before turning her attention back to the patio door. I stand dumbfounded completely unsure what to make of the situation.
I scan the room as quickly as I can trying to see if I can locate my wand. But it's hard to see anything in the sitting room amongst what's left of it. I turn around, searching quickly through the presses trying to desperately find it before Narcissa stands up from the chair and does something to really kick start this nightmare.
"It's not here," she comments with a snarl at the end of her tone.
"Hmm," I say in an awkward slip of the tongue.
"Your wand!" she implies. I turn around and meet her eyes which are turned downwards towards me.
"Draco has it," she adds with implied annoyance gesturing towards the front door.
"Where is he?" I ask, unsure that this conversation is happening. I have never seen this woman for more than a few moments each year at Kings Cross and even then, it was only from a deliberate distance. To see her now up close feels surreal. Like being close to fire.
"He went out," she comments shrilly.
"Out? What do you mean, out?" I ask, panicked. Where did he go this early in the morning? Where did he think he was going with my wand?
"Why don't you tell me where he went?" she asks, leaning up from the chair with a sardonic smile.
"How the fuck should I know?" I shout, unable to keep my anger quelled. Who is this woman to talk to me like this? When I'm the one whose woken up in this house without any idea of why I'm even here to begin with.
"Well, you're the reason I'm stuck out here? You're the reason my son risked his own life to get you away from my own house. You're the reason everything has gone to shit. And for what?" she laughs menacingly.
"For you?" she says eyeing me up and down.
"I don't know what you did or said to my son to make him do this-
"I didn't say anything to your son, okay? Your son made his own god damn choice like he always does. He does whatever he wants without regard for anyone else's wishes. He's always been like that. You're his mother so that is on you! Not me. I didn't raise him and from what I hear you barely did either," I shout, almost screaming at the end.
"How dare you speak to me like that," Narcissa shouts, standing from the chair and throwing the blanket she had wrapped around her on the chair as she steps away from it.
"How dare you act like this when you're the reason for all of this mess!"
"I didn't ask him to do anything. I never asked him to get me out of there. I was willing to die for Harry, okay! I didn't ask for any of this. So, maybe blame your son, not me!" I bellow back at her. She looks aghast again as she places a hand at her heart.
"Do you realise what you've done? What you've caused?" she asks, more quietly this time, clutching at the front of her cardigan.
"I didn't cause this! Aren't you listening to a word I'm saying?"
"My son will be marked a traitor because of you. Because of all of this. They will hunt him down and kill him because of you!" she screams at me so loud that it causes my mouth to shut with an audible smack.
"I had to – "she starts but trails off, falling back into the chair slowly, her eyes completely glazed over. I wait for her to speak but she seems to slip away into a sort of doll-like trance, barely blinking. I stare, unsure of what to do.
"Narcissa?" I call. Her eyes turn to mine, searching.
"Such a waste," she murmurs in response, staring at me.
"Don't worry, once I get my wand I'm out of here," I assure her and she mumbles inaudibly to herself for a while. I sigh, staring around the room again as I hear the sound of the door open. I look over at Narcissa and notice tears are silently falling down her face. She looks much older than I'm sure her actual age is. I turn away and watch as Malfoy makes his way back into the house carrying a bag that he awkwardly tries to drop down on a broken table. He pulls his robe off briefly before noticing me standing half in the kitchen, halfback in the hallway. I stare back at him and something in my face causes him to turn and look at his mother.
"What happened?" he asks, turning back to me. I roll my eyes and move away from the kitchen counter.
"I want my wand, Malfoy," I say, unable to leave behind the tone I used with Narcissa. He sighs hanging up his coat on the half tipped over coat hanger. He runs a hand through his hair and the action causes me to pause, stunned almost. I haven't seen that mannerism in a very long time. It's almost characteristically boyish; of a different era. When we were both different people. He notices my expression and furrows his brows at me.
"We should eat first," he expresses, picking at the plastic bag.
"Malfoy, I don't think you heard me? I want my wand. I'm not sitting here to play house with you and your mother. That's something that just isn't going to happen, okay? Now give me my wand," I bark, unable to comprehend what's going through his mind right now.
"Granger," he sighs.
"Ungrateful," Narcissa murmurs from the corner. I glare at her.
"Mother, can you stay out of this please?" Malfoy barks at her and she turns her attention back out to the patio window again.
"Come on," he says and he walks over to me, putting his arm on my shoulder.
"I'm not going anywhere with you!" I exclaim, shoving his hand off me.
"Can you stop being such a brat?" he snarls at me.
"My wand, Malfoy! I'm serious," I say, extending my palm out to him.
"Okay, let's go!" He says, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me down the hallway. I push back the entire way but he's a lot stronger than me. I look over his shoulder before we enter the bathroom he slept in last night and see his mother's watchful eyes following us. Malfoy pushes me in the door and I fall forward onto the bed. He slams the door closed behind us.
"If it's okay Granger I would prefer not to rip each other apart in front of my mother," Malfoy starts.
"What does it matter? She hates me anyway," I comment, righting myself up on the bed. I fix my hair and suddenly find myself fuming again. I can't help it. It's overwhelming. I am angrier at that moment than I've been in a long time. My blood feels searing hot and I clench my fists together so tightly to the point where my nails dig deep into my palms.
"Granger," Malfoy says cautiously. "Calm down," he shifts awkwardly towards me. "Okay?"
I glare up at him as I squeeze harder into my palms turning my knuckles white. I can barely feel the pain of my nails piercing my skin. I am angry for a multitude of reason. I am angry because of this war and this stupid house that smells of old people. I am angry for the girl I lost to this war and the people we have lost so far. I am especially angry at him for everything he's done and everything he didn't do. I am angry at Narcissa for speaking to me as if I was shit on her shoe. I am angry because I am angry. The old Hermione was so empathetic, so understanding. Anger is my first emotion now, almost always. It is the first one that comes out whenever anything happens. In this entire last year, I have felt only two things. Angry and tired. I want to be how I was before. I just want to go back to that life where I thought before I spoke.
"Why are you so angry?" he asks then, unknowingly making it worse. I stand up in a burst of fury and with my balled fist I push hard against his shoulders. He stumbles back, losing his footing and falling into the door, sliding down to the ground. The bang echoes through the house and I hear Narcissa in the other room.
"Draco!" she screams. Footsteps sound in the hallway.
"It's fine!" Malfoy shouts back but I can tell the fall winded him. He pushes back up to his knees. "Go back to the kitchen," he calls to his mother and I hear nothing for a moment until eventually, she heads back to the kitchen.
"Better now?" Malfoy asks when he stands back up, brushing off the bottom of his pants. He runs his hand through his hair again as he catches my eye, righting himself properly. I look away awkwardly. I hadn't meant to push him that hard. But maybe I had. I think just before my fists made contact with his shoulders I lost a little more control and this rush of strength just came tumbling out of me. I bow my head a little ashamed. When did I become the kind of person to hurt another? To actively want to hurt another? I marvel over how different I am now. I try not to get angry about that but it's futile.
"I don't want to fight with you," I say, meekly.
"Are you sure? Because it seems like you do?" Malfoy retorts.
"What did you expect Malfoy? That I was going to be overjoyed to be here?" I ask, incredulously.
"I thought you'd be a little grateful. I did save your life?" he says, shallowly, leaning against the wardrobe door.
"I understand what you did. Let's cut the bullshit and speak plainly, okay?"
"Okay?" he replies, confused.
"You felt guilty and you saved me. That's what happened let's not pretend it was anything different. You wanted a way out and you saw this as an opportunity to get out. You used me, Malfoy, and you want me to say thank you?" I ask, searching his eyes. He lets out a small chuckle, clutching at his ribs.
"Is that what you think happened?" he asks, smugly.
"That's what happened, Malfoy," I reply.
"What world do you live in, Granger? Huh? Where everything is this magical confrontation like it is in the books you swoon over? If I wanted to leave don't you think I fucking would have already? There were countless opportunities where I could have left over the last year! I could have just disappeared if I wanted too. But I chose to just lay low, wait it out. Like everyone else I knew was doing and then disappear when it was over."
I stare at him in confusion, uncomfortable with his brutal honesty.
"I was left with an ultimatum. Okay? I didn't want you to fucking die, Granger. I didn't want you to die in my own fucking house at the hands of my own family. I guess you could say because of the thing we had a year ago I felt obligated to."
"Don't give me that bullshit!" I scream, knowing full well that Narcissa can hear every word we're saying to one another.
"You're the most ungrateful bitc-
"It's bullshit Malfoy. You expect me to believe that you did all of this for me?"
He runs his hands furiously threw his hair, scratching at his scalp. He pushes away from the wardrobe and paces around the room, uneasily.
"We're not the same people we were in Hogwarts," I say after a long pause.
"I know that. Don't you think I know that?" he argues. I sigh deeply, exhausted from this conversation.
"I was happy to just lay low Granger. You were the one who showed up in that forest and got caught after I told you to run. What the hell were you doing?" he shouts, clenching his jaw.
"I tried to get away but they didn't come from the direction you said they were coming from. They just came out of nowhere Malfoy!" I bark back.
"Why didn't ye fight? Why didn't you-
"I did fight Malfoy but there was so many of them and it was just too much. They had me first and Harry and Ron tried but they said they would kill me if Harry and Ron didn't stop so we had too. You don't think I did everything in my power to try and stop it. I fucking tried, Malfoy!"
"Okay, I understand but fuck, Granger!" Malfoy exclaims, throwing his fist into the wardrobe door.
"So you never planned on leaving the side you were on?" I ask, and he throws me that most murderous glare that I lean back away from him.
"What fucking side? Do you think I give a shit about either side? Do you think I give a shit about this entire war? No! I was just waiting for it to be over then I was going to be gone. Never heard from again!" he says, pacing. I look him up and down and it's hard to hear what he says. No side. That seems to hit me in a strange place. I have never even thought about it. Thought about this war without sides to be on because I have always been on Harry side.
"There are always sides, Malfoy," I explain.
"Yeah, and I could care less about either. This is not my war, Granger. I'm done with it now. I've opted out," he explains.
"So, what you're just going to stay in this house?"
"It's what I should have done from the start. Just lay low. I'm sick of this," he mumbles.
"Well, I'm sorry, Malfoy. But I'm not a coward," I resort. He laughs sardonically.
"Is that what you see me as? Because I'm not willing to die for something I could care less about? Because I'm not this amazing martyr you are or Potter is? If you're such a martyr why haven't you left yet?" he asks, pointing to the window I left ajar.
"Get cold feet?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. I stumble back, taken back by his animosity. Hurt. Something in me comes up. A thought I try to push away.
"I get it, Granger. I get that we're strangers now. Believe me, I feel it too but I haven't forgotten," he spits.
"I haven't thought about it in a long time," I admit, somewhat wanting to beat him too it.
"Me neither," he answers quietly. "But I still remember you," he adds. I look up to meet his eyes and I can see in them that he does remember me. The old me.
"I know how stubborn you can be, okay?"
"Malfoy I'm not stubborn," I say, lying. He rolls his eyes and turns towards the window, swinging his arms back and forth. I watch them, noticing his hands are shaking a little.
"Do you want to know what the worst thing about you is though, Granger?" he muses. I stare at him in astonishment as he stares out the window.
"You never say what you really want to say. You never say what you're really thinking. You keep that to yourself. Yet you expect honesty from everyone else," he explains, turning back towards me at the end. I wring my hands together under his sudden scrutiny. The air is biting at my naked flesh again, exposed.
"Stop it," I say, trying to keep the plea out of my voice. Anger rises again.
"And when someone gets close to what you're trying to hide you get angry," he adds. I wring my hands together tighter this time as the sweat starts on my palms. How can he still do this? After all this time, how can he still see through me?
"Stop it," I say more harshly this time. He smirks at me.
"Don't like it when I'm right, do you? You can dish out my faults but can't admit your own?" he muses.
"Fuck you!" I exclaim. He smirks again, knowing he's right and his arrogance makes me even angrier if that were possible.
"Childish," he comments. The anger has risen to a point where I can feel the heat and tears behind my eyes but I refuse to cry in front of him.
"It's okay, Granger. You know that right. To say it. To admit it," he says, more sincere this time and his tone almost unleashes my tears. I throw my head back as if that's somehow going to stop them.
"Stop pushing me," I beg, this time unable to stop the plea in my voice.
"Why? You always push me! Call me all these things and belittle me so easily when you're just the same as me. You're not angry at me Granger. You're angry at yourself because-
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I scream, standing from the bed and pushing against him again but this time his frame is structured strong. He doesn't budge and I push again against his chest, thumping my fist. He grabs both my arms and pushes me back down to the bed, leaning his mouth down close to my ear.
"-because you don't want to be in this war either." He finally says and the tears come flooding down my face.
"That's why you were willing to die for Potter. Because you wanted out. You're angry I brought you back into this. Because you don't want to be in this war anymore. Just as much as I don't," he finishes, leaning back and staring down at me. I can't see anything past the tears. They stream down my face and into my open palms on my lap.
"So, here's your 'excuse'" he says, throwing my wand onto the bed beside me. I turn, staring down at it, getting glimpses of it between each tear fall.
"What? So surprised I'd give it to you? If you want to leave, Granger? Leave."
"I hate you," I say, wiping at my nose. He shrugs.
"Hate me, Granger. I don't care. But at some point, just be honest with yourself. Life is a hell of a lot easier when you're honest with yourself," he says, turning towards the door. He leaves, shutting it quietly behind him.
Later when the light fades away and evening eventually comes, I pull the window closed against the cold and wrap the blankets around myself tightly and I think of Harry. I think of how much I have failed him.