Draco's bedroom door swung open and his mother stood in the doorway, looking pale, pinched, and very afraid. He sat up in bed immediately, shielding his eyes from the bright light that filtered into the room from the hallway.
“Pack,” he was instructed tersely, as though he'd been awake the entire evening and not sleeping, dreaming of wonderful things.
Suddenly he groaned; had he really been dreaming that he was just about to kiss Hermione Granger...? A nightmare surely.
“Take only what is necessary, leave everything else behind.” Narcissa turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
That was unexpected, he thought, as he stared perplexedly at the door.
Draco scrambled out of bed, absentmindedly rubbing his arm, which felt like it was on fire. He nearly jumped a foot when a house elf suddenly apparated before him. "Master Draco," it simpered, bowing low, "I shall endeavor to help you pack quickly."
Sighing heavily, Draco ran a hand through his white-blonde locks; it was not in his nature to address a house elf, for crying out loud, but he couldn't help himself--he had to know what was going on. "Why am I packing?" he asked, mentally kicking himself for sounding quite like a blathering idiot.
He rubbed his arm again.
"Begging pardon, sir, but--they come!" the creature squeaked.
"They?" Draco repeated blankly. "Who? Ministry of Magic Officials?"
"The D-Dark L-Lor--" The house elf began to tremble in fear; it actually began to cry as it pointed to something outside.
Draco ran over to the great double doors leading out to his private balcony. There was absolutely no need to open them, for the Dark Mark that hung over the the woods beyond the rolling landscape of Malfoy Manor was quite visible even through the heavy drapery.
Apprehension prickling his entire body, he slowly pulled back his pajama sleeve.
Draco felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. There it was; sickened, he looked at the ugly mark that had been burned into his arm the summer before--the Dark Mark. It was black--blacker than he'd ever seen it.
His stomach and heart hit the floor as ice flooded his veins. Draco frantically surveyed the room, his mind reeling; they were coming for him--he knew it instinctively.
He betrayed the Dark Lord; could they escape in time?
In the distance, he heard his mother screeching, "Hurry!"
Draco looked at the house elf, who was nearly prostrate on the floor, sobbing it's huge eyes out. "Get up!" he snapped at his servant. This seemed to help a little, for the creature jumped to its feet and wiped its nose with the tea towel it wore around its waist.
"See to my mother," Draco ordered. "Don't take anything with you--regardless of what she says. Get her out of here immediately, do you hear? Hit her over the bloody head if you have to, but get her away from here--and take her to France if at all possible."
The house elf balked at the orders, but knew that Draco, as the new head of household since his father's arrest, was not to be nay-sayed. It disappeared as quickly as it came, probably fretting at my order. Draco wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it--a house elf hitting Narcissa Malfoy on the head with a frying pan or some such thing--but the time for laughter was not now.
He dressed hurriedly, his gaze never leaving the Dark Mark. That was there for only one reason; someone had been killed in those very woods; the woods Draco played in as a child. Those days seemed long gone now as he kept himself from retching there on the floor. They're coming for me; I'm going to die his mind raced frantically. I betrayed the Dark Lord...
How long would it be before Voldemort and his Death Eaters appeared in the Malfoy's home? They could apparate, which was very likely, and who knew how he and his mother would escape then?
Draco heard the sounds of scuffling out in the hallway and his heart lurched; were the Death Eaters here all ready? He bolted out of his bedroom, wand raised, ready to do battle, when a strange sight greeted his eyes: a Weasley in his home!?
Aurors must be nearby, Draco thought wryly, if not already upon Malfoy Manor.
Another house elf was trying every trick it knew to keep gangly Ron Weasley away from Draco's door. Momentarily forgetting his mortal danger, Draco laughed.
"Call off your watchdog, Malfoy!" Weasley shouted at Draco. The blonde boy snapped his fingers and the house elf backed away and stood against the wall, giving Ron the nastiest of looks.
"What are you doing here?" Draco asked rudely.
"Your mother... Snape..." Weasley breathed.
Draco's hackles went up immediately. "Are they hurt?" he asked sharply. "Are you alone? Who else is here?" Draco demanded, not caring how upset he may have sounded.
Weasley shook his head. "No, they're fine. You... need to... get out of here."
Malfoy pushed past him and half ran down the steps. There, in the foyer, was Professor Dumbledore, Narcissa, Professors McGonagall and Lupin, Hermione Granger, the bumbling oaf Hagrid who was carrying ...the body of Harry Potter.
Draco's eyes widened as he sucked in his breath. I've dreamed of this moment, many times, Draco thought slowly, as the shocked sensation suddenly turned to one of rising glee. Potter was dead by my own hand, however--and now here he is.
Granger was crying, as were Hagrid and Professor McGonagall. Professor Dumbledore stepped forward, grasped Draco's arm, and tapped him on the head with his wand, muttering something Draco didn't understand. In turn, each person did the same to themselves; Professors McGonagall and Lupin helped Hagrid.
In a moment, everyone shimmered like heat waves in front of Draco, then slid back into focus.
"What the bloody hell--" Malfoy began.
"We'll not be seen this way, Draco," his mother spoke wearily, "but we can see each other. Don't worry; we'll be safe."
"For the time being," Professor Dumbledore finished, as he turned and strode out of the front door without another word; everyone followed suit. Professor Snape was all ready standing out there, wand raised, as if expecting anything to come popping out of the shrubbery at any moment; he nodded to Professor Dumbledore when the Headmaster approached.
Draco couldn't take my eyes off Potter however. If he was gone, how easy would it be for the Dark Lord to appear now and kill him?
"How--? How did you manage to get...?"
"His body?" Granger snapped through her tears. Hagrid began to wail, but a quick, stern look from Professor McGonagall silenced him before he could even properly inhale. Draco nodded.
"Professor Snape; but he was too late," Granger said softly. The Potions Master looked sideways at Granger with a look Draco had never seen before. "He's being hunted also," she whispered now, but Malfoy noticed Professor Snape, who put his arm on Narcissa's elbow, stiffen slightly.
"This is all so... bloody ridiculous," Draco suddenly blurted out. All eyes, including his mother's, swung toward him, and Draco saw hate and anger on several faces. Draco closed his mouth immediately, for he was not completely stupid; he knew when he was outnumbered.
"Do you want to know what's ridiculous?" Ron hissed in Draco's ear, "My mum and dad are dead. Fred and Charlie are dead. Harry's dead. Shall I go on?"
"Ron," Professor Lupin said quietly, and the redhead stepped away from Draco, swearing quietly.
Suddenly, Professor Dumbledore stopped in his tracks. Everyone else halted, except Draco; he ran into Hagrid, who turned and glared at the blonde boy, though never faltering as he carried Potter's bloody, battered body.
"They've arrived."
In unison, they turned, and saw from the hilltop, that Malfoy Manor was slowly beginning to burn. Death Eaters by the dozens dragged the house elves out to a small clearing and fell upon them like a pack of ravenous wolves, pointing their wands at them and killing each one while a lone cloaked figure stood patting the head of a huge serpent.
"Voldemort."
No one uttered a sound or moved a muscle after Dumbledore's words; they were too weary. The cloaked being turned slightly and looked in their direction for a moment, then continued to watch the Malfoy home become completely engulfed in flames.
Before Draco realized what he was doing, he broke free of the crowd and shouted, "Here! Here I am!" down the hill to the swarm of Death Eaters. Each of the hooded figures rose up from the ground and flew swiftly through the air towards Draco.
They aren't Death Eaters! Draco's mind screamed as he stumbled backwards. Those are Dementors!
He turned around to the crowd he'd followed to the hilltop, desperate for help, but they had all vanished--except for Hermione.
Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared; the Dark Lord was by his side.
"You betrayed me," his father spat. "You've betrayed our Master. You've allowed a Mudblood to fall in love with you!" Lucius reached out and grasped Hermione by the neck and began choking her.
Hermione did nothing to prevent Draco's father from attempting to kill her; she stared at Draco, tears streaming down her face, her heart in her glazed eyes.
"I... love you," she whispered. Then, with a small gasp, she fell to the ground, dead.
Draco opened his mouth to cry out, but was soon overtaken by the Dementors. As one slowly pulled it's hood back, revealing a gaping hole, Draco looked desperately at his father.
"Help me," he whimpered; Lucius turned away in disgust.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Voldemort lift his wand and shout, "Avada Kedavra!"; Draco screamed in terror as the jet of green light sped toward him...
"NO!" In a last attempt at freedom, he twisted away from the Dementors...
...and landed with a loud crash on the floor next to his bed.
Draco leapt to his feet, kicking and punching the blankets that had snaked around his body. Once free, he jumped away from them and panted heavily, leaning on the chair that stood alone near the fireplace.
He was in his dormitory; he was in Hogwarts. It had just been a most horrible dream; he was still alive!
"Thank the gods," he muttered, kicking his blanket one last time for good measure. He looked over at the hourglass clock near his door; it was 12:45 in the morning.
A knock on his door made him jump out of his skin. "Who's there?" he demanded hoarsely.
"It's me. Are you all right?"
Draco closed his eyes and sighed. "Granger." He padded over to his door and yanked it open. She stood discreetly at a distance; her long, bushy hair flowed loosely over her shoulders as she twisted her hands together fretfully.
"I was awake doing some reading for Advanced Muggle Studies," Hermione began in a rush, "and I heard you yell and fall down--you did fall down, didn't you?--so I just had to find out if you were all right and--"
Draco absentmindedly put his fingers to her lips. "You talk too much."
Hermione swatted Draco's hand away. "Since when is that a crime?" When Draco didn't answer, she pressed on. "Well? Are you or are you not hurt?"
"I'm fine," Draco sighed. "Honest."
Hermione looked askance, but held her tongue. She nodded 'good night', then returned her schoolbooks, which lay open on the floor by the fireplace.
Draco said not a word as he watched the Head Girl sit down on the hearth rug next to her cat. She heaved a thick book onto her lap, opened it, and began reading.
Hermione's lips move as she reads, Draco noted with a small smile. I didn't know that. She also held one finger on the page in front of her as her other hand lightly stroked Crookshanks' fur.
Not wanting to go back to sleep--as he was secretly afraid he's dream of the Dark Lord again--Draco stepped out into the common room.
"Do you need some help?" he called out stupidly. Hermione jerked her head up and looked at him with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.
"I'm perfectly capable of studying alone, thanks," she replied in a clipped tone. "Besides, what would you know about Muggles?"
Draco’s eyebrows shot up. "What’s the matter, Granger?" he asked, amusement dotting his words. "You seem a little tense."
"I--oh, never mind," Hermione sighed. "Just go away; You'd be the last person I'd want to discuss anything with."
"Anything like what?" Draco queried with a tilt of his head. "After you and I spent a week stuck together, you don't think I can be trusted enough with some silly little problem of yours?"
"Silly! How dare you think that my 'problems' are 'silly'?" Hermione was outraged.
Draco chuckled. "Well, of course they are; after all you're a--"
He didn't get to finish; Hermione hurled the large book straight at his head. Draco ducked just in time; the volume skittered across the floor and under a table against the wall.
"I'm sick of you always bringing that up! Can't you and I ever have a normal conversation where you don't bring up the fact that I'm 'different'?"
"But--but you are!" Draco stuttered. He skittered back as Hermione scrambled to her feet.
"Oh sure!" Hermione yelled, trying to kick Draco. "I'm a 'Mudblood', isn't that right?" She bent down and picked up her ink bottle and held it up threateningly.
"Well, yeah," Draco said slowly, trying to back away. What's gotten into her? he thought wildly. "But--"
"You're an egotistical, self-centered...child!" Hermione cried and hurled the ink pot at Draco's head. Again, he dove out of the way, but as Hermione's aim had been off, he collided with the bottle and was quickly doused in black ink.
For several long moments, the Head Girl and Boy stared at one another. Soon, Hermione began to laugh--as did Draco. Within minutes, both had collapsed onto the floor.
Finally catching his breath, Draco gasped, "GIRL! I was going to say 'girl'."
"What?" Hermione sat up, looking confused.
"I wanted to say that your problems were silly because you're a girl," Draco explained, wiping his face with his sleeve. He looked down at his pajamas; Ruined...
He sighed and continued, "I see that wouldn't have been appropriate either."
Hermione's mouth made a small 'O' before she guffawed loudly. "So--so you weren't going to call me a 'Mudblood'?" she stammered. "Oops."
"That's all you have to say?" Draco growled playfully; he flung his shirt sleeve at her, spraying her with flecks of black ink. "'Oops'?"
"Stop it!" Hermione laughed, turning away from him to retrieve her wand. "Stay still," she ordered. "I'll clean us up."
She turned back to find Draco inches from her. Without a word, he leaned forward taking her chin in his hand. Shocked at first, she started to protest and attempted to pull out of his grip, but Draco would not release her.
He'd only meant to brush Hermione's lips briefly, but when Draco's mouth touched hers, something ignited in him that couldn't be easily extinguished. He grabbed the front of her robes and crushed his mouth to hers.
Realizing she was fighting a losing battle, Hermione gave herself over to Draco's kiss, savoring the sweetness of it as all thoughts of who and where they were seemed to melt away...
Draco licked Hermione's lower lip, causing her mouth to open even wider, and he deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue even further. His mind was reeling from his boldness and he was feeling a little out of control, but he didn’t want to stop. Impulsively, he drew her trembling body against his and lost himself in her faint scent of vanilla.
This is Granger, a little voice hissed in his head. Hermione Granger; you know--the Mudblood!"
For once, Draco didn't care; he shoved those thoughts aside as Hermione gave a tiny satisfied sigh and melted into him. Against his lips, she murmured something incoherent and tried to draw herself closer to him, her fingers finding, then grasping, his white-blonde hair.
A sudden warmth rubbing against his leg startled Draco; he came to his senses and released her so quickly that Hermione nearly fell on her face, taking with her a small chunk of Draco's hair.
Draco looked down, rubbing his scalp. There, staring up at him with the most satisfied smile, was Crookshanks. The boy sneered at the cat, then jerked his attention back to Hermione. He watched the play of emotions on her face and knew she had been affected by his kiss. For several long moments, neither said a word.
Hermione--feeling as though iced water had been thrown on her--frowned. "Wh-why did you stop?" she whispered sadly into the silence, her fingers touching her lips as though she could still feel Draco's upon them.
"You might want to ask your feline."
"What?" Hermione asked thickly, still feeling a bit dazed. With glazed eyes, she scanned the room until she realized her cat was lying near Draco's feet. "Oh!" she gasped stupidly. "Crookshanks, you're a sil--"
"Do you still think I am a child?” Draco interrupted, in the calmest voice he could muster. Speechless, Hermione's face became ashen and she cast her eyes toward the fire.
"I'm not a child!" Draco growled, grasping her chin once again and forcing her to look at him. Hermione seemed to suddenly awaken, for she blinked at him in surprise. "And I'm not made of stone either," Draco finished before releasing her and stalking away, slamming his bedroom door closed.
After a moment, his knees gave out and Draco sank to the floor--his body shaking and his mind racing. When he was finally able to drag himself back to bed, Draco’s dreams were filled with lustful images of a beguiling frizzy haired witch...