When you finish this chapter, I'm sure some of you will be shouting "sequel!" For the record, I'm unsure as to whether I'll write one. Chances are slim, but not nonexistent. I do have a number of one-shots in mind, as well as some full-length fictions. I hope you'll stick by me and check out my new stories when they're posted.
Really, from the bottom of my heart, thanks again guys. And without further delay... I give you the final chapter of:
An hour ticked away any remnants of peace in the otherwise empty, dank classroom off the Entrance Hall. The two afflicted teenagers huddled in remote silence, desperately attempting to forget what reality lay outside them. The muffled beams of light streaming through the high glass windows subdued to near-darkness, engulfing the atmosphere in the same tone that had crept and thrived in their chilly hearts.
Small, cold droplets of rain began to patter against the worn windows, sounding like forceful little projectiles against a tin roof. Pat… pat… pat… went the tiny beads, slowly yet steadily, softly, gently breaking the eerie quiet.
Only, no one in that room could hear them.
Head perched loosely in exhaustion between his neck and chest, Hermione Granger was enthralled as she sat intently, listening to something else…
Thump… thump… thump…
“Where the hell is she?!” Ron inquired brutally. He and Harry had finished breakfast over thirty minutes ago, and had spent the subsequent time searching everywhere for Hermione. She’d seemed so enigmatically downtrodden on their way to the Great Hall, then she’d vanished right underneath their noses.
They were worried, and Harry had a good feeling who she was with; which did nothing to relieve his concern- and slight tinge of anger.
“I don’t know…” Harry mumbled, as his dejected body carried his expressionless being down one corridor, then another.
“Not in the Library, not in the common room, not in the Hospital wing…” Ron continued in scandalized tones.
“HERMIONE!” Ron yelled. Harry immediately flung violently around and set him with a hard glare.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What’s it sound like? I’m calling for Hermione, since we obviously can’t find her oursel-”
“Well don’t scream in my ear like that,” Harry retorted irritatingly. His mood was beyond what anyone else could ever comprehend: on the brink of total combustion. Nearly everything was annoying him, and though he wouldn’t even admit it to himself, it was simply his fear taking hold.
"Hermione!"
Draco raised his head and stared hard at the door. Hermione was still immersed in his softly warm heartbeat, completely detached from the world around her- the world she just wished would leave her alone.
“Do you hear that?” asked Draco, sitting up straighter in his chair.
“Hmm?” Hermione didn’t even open her eyes.
“Someone was calling you,” he sighed in defeat, knowing their moment was over. “Sounded like Weasley.”
Her chocolate, liquid eyes finally fluttered open, coming to rest on Draco’s neck. It was so warm there, so safe…
A heavy sigh also escaped her lips as she straightened, then hesitantly stood against her own will. She cast a saddened, dark expression at Draco and found his eyes were mirrors, reflecting the same pain she was feeling.
“I’d better go find out what he wants, then,” she murmured beneath her breath, her voice hardly audible.
Standing beside her, the two walked solemnly towards the closed door, as if walking to their death.
“Ron? Ron!” Hermione yelled once out in the hallway.
A moment passed with no answer. Hermione turned to Draco, slight confusion worn into her face.
“You sure you heard him?”
But before he could validate, a jolt of bright red hair was teeming towards her from the other end of the hall.
“Hermione!” Ron panted as he ran. “Where’ve you been?!”
“In here, why?” Hermione answered distractedly as she motioned her head towards the classroom; though her eyes and heart were still focused on Draco, as his tall frame loomed just beside her.
“Me and Harry… we’ve been looking for you,” Ron managed to sputter. Folding over, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath, he muttered, “Where is he anyway?”
“Honestly, Ron, I don’t have to be trekking around the school with you every minute, do I?” she spat. She couldn’t believe she’d given up her solitary peace with Draco so that Ron could babble on about Merlin only knows what.
Ignoring her, Ron turned his head as approaching footsteps could be heard echoing about the corridor.
“Harry! Over here, she’s over here!” Ron called.
A tall shadow stretched along the red-carpeted floor, creeping, growing larger. The strides of the one casting it were broad and methodical. The black smudge of shadow felt foreboding as Hermione finally took notice of the rain down pouring outside. It edged along the side of the wall, until finally, an equally dark figure appeared around the corner.
“Snape?” Ron stammered.
Draco stood stock-still, vision centered on his Head of House. Hermione glanced somewhat nervously around, feeling utterly helpless; for surely Snape wandering the halls in search of them was not exactly a sign of good fortune.
Reaching their location, Snape stepped almost defiantly up to the group, his lip curling, his eyes flashing dangerously at each in turn.
Hermione was sure he was about to blame them for something; perhaps loitering, or being too noisy. Either way, it was bound to end up in a loss of House points or a week’s worth of grueling, monotonous detentions. When Snape finally moved his sneering mouth to speak, she only hoped that Draco’s presence would help deflect the blow.
Except no blow came.
“Follow me,” he said abruptly.
And with a swish of his long cloak, retraced his footsteps in a descent back down the hall.
With Ron looking utterly bemused and casting nervous glances at Hermione (until he saw Draco, at which point his glances turned malicious), the three students hurried along in Snape’s wake, scuttling to keep up with him.
A minute later, they were all riding a spiral, moving staircase. Stepping off, Hermione noticed a large, grand looking door with a gold knocker; apparently, it was not necessary. For at just that moment, a familiar voice echoed from the other side.
“Come in,” it said gravely.
Draco heaved a deep breath. Hermione watched him from the corner of her eyes as they all stepped inside, their gaze curiously piercing Dumbledore’s office.
“Close the door,” Snape demanded of Hermione. She did so, then turned back to face the others- and Draco was standing completely motionless, staring a cold, hard glare directly in front of him. What’s he looking at? she wondered inquisitively.
Moving around Ron and squeezing between Draco and Snape, Hermione came to an immediate halt when she saw what Draco had been staring at.
Harry.
But not just Harry… this was deathly Harry. Pale would have been an understatement. He gave a whole new meaning to the color white. It appeared as though he’d been submerged in arctic water for hours: blue, trembling lips, white complexion, and stone-cold eyes. Only, his eyes were diverted. Harry seemed adamant on ignoring the existence of all the others in the room.
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. She made a sudden jerk, as if snapping out of a fantasy, and moved toward him with wide arms, preparing to embrace his seemingly lifeless body.
But Dumbledore cut her off, stepping solemnly in front of her and fixing his concentration on her worried face.
“Please, Ms. Granger… follow me,” he said.
“But Ha-”
Hermione’s indignant retort was stifled by Draco elbowing her arm. She turned her head to face him, and he set her with a “For Merlin’s sake, don’t argue, just follow so we can figure out what this is all about” look.
Dumbledore led them past Harry, who was now sitting with his face in his hands, and up to a small balcony overlooking his office. Crowded together, Hermione could feel Snape lingering just behind her. She felt blood rushing to her head. Her anticipation and horror must have been evident, because Draco allowed his hand to lightly brush against her own, as if saying, “I’m here.”
Dumbledore glanced at each in turn, reading their expressions, relating to their fears.
“Professor Snape has just received inside information,” he began slowly, “that the attack on London will be transpiring tonight.”
Hermione’s jaw dropped.
“What?!” she yelled. “But I thought- Draco said-”
“That is exactly it, Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore continued calmly. “Draco said. Somehow…” his voice trailed off, but his sparkling, sad eyes were resting on Draco.
“It appears that Lucius learned of Draco’s leaking information,” he continued. “He passed this on to Voldemort, and the decision was made to attack as soon as possible, in hopes of us being unsuspecting.”
Draco’s stomach fell to the floor. His eyes grew slightly wider, and small beads of sweat began formulating on his forehead. Hermione jolted her head in his direction, her eyes as wide as they would go. Doing away with secrecy, she clutched his hand and moved closer.
“This means… we must leave immediately. Harry assured me you two would want to know,” Dumbledore spoke softly, finally averting his gaze from Draco and motioning towards Ron and Hermione.
Hermione gave Draco a knowing look. She sadly let his hand fall, and stepped away from him. And that small, insignificant movement felt like leaving him forever.
“We’re going with him,” she stated firmly. She could sense Snape staring a hole into the back of her head, but now that the time had come, her grief was not lost, but rather replaced by innate courage and a feeling of loyalty to Harry. Behind her, Ron nodded in a haze.
Surprisingly, Dumbledore made no argument. In fact, Hermione felt sure that she had witnessed a whisper of a smile cross his old, worn face. And without another word, he stepped between Hermione and Ron and rushed down the stairs. Suddenly, his tone transformed from sorrowful to certain… almost business-like.
“Harry, are you alright?” Dumbledore leaned over the chair and asked.
Harry made no movement, gave no inclination that he was, indeed, “alright”, but Dumbledore seemed convinced nonetheless.
“Very well,” he said. Then, turning towards Ron, Hermione, and Draco- all of whom were currently stumbling down the stairs from the balcony- he said, “Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger- please escort Harry to the Entrance Hall. There you’ll find a number of Order members waiting. You’ll be taking a portkey to London… it should transport you to a side alley, where you’ll all wait for me. Do you understand?”
Hermione and Ron nodded nervously before walking over to Harry. While they were easing his lightly trembling body out of the chair, Malfoy boldly stepped toward Dumbledore and announced,
“I’m going with them.”
Hermione nearly dropped Harry’s arm. Her mouth hung open as she stared at Draco, utterly lost in his presence. He didn’t turn to meet her gaze, but instead kept his own fixed dramatically on Dumbledore’s face. She couldn’t believe it- he was going to risk it all… risk his life… for her.
But Dumbledore faced Draco slowly, and his tired wrinkles gave him a distinctly sad expression.
“I was afraid you’d say that, Draco,” he spoke softly. Harry had snapped up his head at Draco’s words, and was presently looking at him as if he’d never seen him before. Ron’s mouth was agape like Hermione’s. The three friends- and Snape, Hermione noticed- were watching Draco and Dumbledore as if through a television screen. It was like they were actors in an intensely captivating movie, and a plot twist had just grabbed their attention with both gripping hands.
“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore continued on. “But I cannot allow you to go.”
Draco’s mouth contoured in rage. “Why not?” he asked louder than he intended.
“Because it is not your pla-”
“Not my place, is it? And why is that? Because I’m not a Gryffindor, is that it? You’ve always showed favoritism-”
“Mr. Malfoy, that is enough!” Snape yelled.
“No! It isn’t!” Unbeknownst to Draco, Dumbledore motioned to Snape to allow him to talk, though time was running increasingly short.
“I’ve done more- I’ve put up with- I’ve seen more than anyone here cares to believe! NO ONE HAD TO GO HOME TO IT!” he shouted. This was it. This was his breaking point. “Everyone here has a sanctuary! No one knows- no one watched it living in their father, in their mother, every fucking day!” he cried. “For seventeen years I’ve had bloody front row seats to Voldemort’s power! I’ve had to understand- to witness- how much destruction he can cause, without ever fully letting myself realize it! Because if I did, if I let my thoughts or actions wander, I’d be killed! Do you really think, Headmaster that it’s not my place?!”
Hermione was looking on fearfully, torn between awe and terror. She was still slightly bent over, still grasping Harry’s arm- even though he was standing now.
“Draco,” Dumbledore sighed. “That is not what I meant.”
Ron was shooting awkward glances between Harry and Hermione. Both, however, were transfixed on Dumbledore’s reaction. Snape lingered just behind Malfoy, his black cloak pulled ominously around his shoulders. Everyone was stiff. No one dared to exhale.
“You have every right to feel the way you do. And it is your place to want to fight. It is your place to try and stand up against the nightmare that has plagued you for so long. I merely meant- Draco… this is not about you. This is about Hermione.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. He shot his cold stare at Hermione, but only briefly, before turning back to Dumbledore.
“What?” he asked impatiently.
“It is your right, and place, to risk your own life. I do not doubt that I myself would feel the same self-righteous anger if raised under such conditions. But you cannot place Ms. Granger in any more danger than she’ll already be exposed to,” he continued. Seeing Draco’s confused face, he sighed and went on. “Your father knows what you’ve done in assisting our cause. By now, I’m sure he’s also aware of your friendship with Ms. Granger. And of course, he would have told Voldemort all of this. It is, in effect, the reason why his plans for the ambush were moved to tonight. You said it yourself, Draco… you’ve seen the evil and vengeance that resides in Voldemort. You’ve watched what it could destroy every day of your life, for it destroyed you. Do you truly believe that, if given the opportunity, they would not use Hermione against you? Do you not believe that they would kill her?”
“They’d- they’d kill her anyway,” he stumbled. The visual of a lifeless, pale Hermione froze in his mind. It caused chills to run down his arms. It felt odd, talking about her as if she weren’t there. Looking over, he saw her wide, anxious eyes boring into his.
“They would kill her anyway, yes… but if you came, not before using her as a weapon. Without you, they would kill her as they kill all their victims. With you there, they would capture her, and torture her until you became the weapon.”
“Weapon? But I can’t-”
“Yes, you can. You have had insight into both Voldemort’s world and ours,” he said. “What do you know of Harry’s first year at Hogwarts?”
Befuddled, Draco answered, “Err… he saved the Philosopher’s Stone and-”
“And what of his second year?”
“He- he went into the Chamber of Secrets… he met Voldemort, only… only it was Tom Riddle, and-”
“What about his fifth year?”
“He saw images- scenes inside his head, and Voldemort placed one there… he went to the Department of Mysteries to save that Sirius bloke and-”
“Yes. He did,” Dumbledore interrupted again. “And you know this because Ms. Granger told you.” It was not a question. It was a statement.
Hermione looked nervously at Harry. He was watching her, but she couldn’t read his expression. She was about to say she was sorry for telling him everything, when-
“Do not be angry, Harry. She did not tell of the more personal things. She did not tell about the Prophecy.”
At this, Harry nodded and offered Hermione a very weak smile. Relieved, Hermione hugged his arm and smiled back.
“Prophecy? What Prophecy?” Draco asked, looking at each person in the room hoping that one of them would tell.
“It does not matter. You know enough.”
“But I don’t see how my knowing Harry’s bloody life history could be used as a weapon!”
“No, I imagine you wouldn’t,” Dumbledore frowned. “Suffice it to say that Voldemort is many things… cunning is among them. I’m certain you know something he does not. I’m even more certain he would find a way to use it against Harry.”
An extended pause ensued, until the Headmaster broke the eerie silence. “Voldemort would not hesitate to use Hermione as your undoing.”
Draco blinked. The thought of watching Hermione squirm and scream in pain under Crucio made him weak in the knees. But… Why me? he thought. He could use anyone…
“But Voldemort could do that to anyone!” he shouted. “He could use Potter or Weasley to make Hermione talk!”
“He could, yes. But he wouldn’t. He would know that to attempt that would be futile. While Ms. Granger would certainly have her feelings of hesitation, she would never give in.”
“Neither would I!” Draco bellowed indignantly.
“Draco,” Dumbledore whispered softly as he kneeled down in front of him. “Do you think that you could ever describe what it was like living in your father’s shadow? Could you ever make anyone understand how it felt?”
Air was caught in Draco’s throat. He shook his head.
“In the same sense, no one here could describe to you what it’s been like protecting and loving Harry. The difference is, Hermione would not tell because she understands the consequences. She’s seen them first hand, as you have in a different circumstance. Hermione or Ron would not tell because they love Harry. You would, because you do not.”
Draco frowned and lowered his head. His eyes were growing bright with frustrated tears. “But…” he protested weakly.
“You love Hermione, Draco. And you would sacrifice your own life, as well as Harry’s, to save hers. Love leaves no room for logic. It would not occur to you that by telling Voldemort what you know, you would be putting the world in danger. And if it did, it would not matter. You would do anything in that moment to relieve her pain… anything to stop her from screaming, anything to help her… even if that meant endangering everyone else.” Dumbledore paused, and watched Draco’s heavy eyes as they struggled to suppress his emotions.
“And that, Draco, is not your place.”
Snape led the four students down the staircase in a frantic whirl. Ron was the only one who seemed capable of keeping up with him as he ushered on the others. Harry was falling behind, tripping over trick steps like he’d never heard of them before, while Hermione was watching her feet as she solemnly persevered downward. Draco’s eyes remained slightly narrowed, as if searching for something, or as if lost in his own world. When Hermione chanced a glance up at him, she thought he looked deep within some hidden corner of his mind, and envied that she wasn’t able to do the same.
Just as Hermione looked away, Draco once again brushed his fingers against her hand. Hoping that some part of her face wasn’t obscured by her hair, she smiled, though still unwilling to lift her head and face what now lay in front of her.
Severus, where have you been?! Hermione heard a distant voice echo. With the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, she thought she heard a distinctly cold voice drawl in reply.
Alrigh’ Harry? Hermione heard. She was sure she was hearing Hagrid… sure there were people around her… why couldn’t she see them?
Hermione? She knew that voice too… for some reason, it filled her with warm determination. Who was that?
“Hermione, are you ok?” Draco asked. She shook out of her daze and slowly lifted her head.
“W- What?” she stammered.
“Are you ok?” Draco repeated. His voice was trembling. He sounded… scared. For the first time, Draco Malfoy sounded terrified.
Hermione nodded at him, as she dryly contemplated exactly what she was agreeing to. As she peered around the Entrance Hall, she maintained that it had never in all her years looked so sinister and despondent. The usually glimmering suits of armor seemed to slump, their posture almost representing the tone of the Hall. The high windows appeared looming and intimidating, like great eyes watching her defeat from afar. The whole Hall was dark. And when she finally took notice of those around her, she reckoned they didn’t look much better.
McGonagall was busying herself with Harry, apparently doing all the talking. Hagrid was behind Harry, and Professor Sprout next to him. Snape was standing off to the side eyeing the scene, as Flitwick was whispering something to Ron. She managed the strength to strain her ears, and heard…
“Your parents and siblings will be waiting for us in London… they asked me to assure you they’d be there.”
Turning to look at Ron, she watched as he nodded and straightened a little taller on the spot. “What about Professor Lupin? Have you heard from him?” Ron croaked.
“Yes yes, he’ll be there as well. We’ve contact over thirty members, and they all-”
But exactly what they all had said or done was never learned, for at that moment McGonagall came bustling to the middle of the crowd and said, “Alright, we’re ready! Everyone, gather around the portkey…”
Hermione stopped breathing. This was it. This is what they’d all be waiting for. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the portkey sitting in the middle of the room- a small teakettle that she immediately recognized from Dumbledore’s office. She felt a strong hand grab her left arm and turn her around. Everything was so surreal… this wasn’t actually happening… was it?
“Hermione… you’re coming, right?” Ron asked tentatively.
Blinking heavily, she mumbled, “Yeah… right, I- I’m coming…”
But when she looked away and met Draco’s enthralling stare, she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore. A picture of Harry imbedded in her mind was all that kept her from running away… had it not been for her love of he and Ron, giving in would have been so much easier.
“Draco,” she whispered. Looking deeply into his eyes, she couldn’t believe- she wouldn’t believe- that this would be the last time she saw him. His brow was furrowed, and those silvery eyes she’d learned to drown herself in were glossy and glistening. “I- I guess it’s time,” she whispered.
Nodding, all Draco could do was stifle his cry. She smiled sadly up at him, and he returned it with a light kiss on the cheek. “Be careful,” his breath softly tickled against her ear. He backed only inches away, and Hermione leaned into him so that their foreheads met.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Hermione cried. Her tears were silent and unstoppable. She sniffed almost inaudibly, but he could feel her fear and worry shaking through her body.
“You have to,” he said.
Hermione knew there was no argument. “Come-” Draco stammered over the lump in his throat. “Come back, alright?”
She nodded and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. She could hear McGonagall calling for her, and could feel everyone’s stare. Leaning back, she looked at him once more. “I’ve been carrying this around,” she said softly. “I- I got it for you, for Christmas… but… well… it wasn’t the best time, if you remember…”
She reached inside her cloak and pulled out a long black box as she simultaneously wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Handing it to Draco, Hermione tugged on his robe’s collar. “Don’t open it now,” she whispered. “Wait till I’m gone. I put my favorite memory in there already.” Then she leaned in, closed her eyes, and gently met his lips. Instinctively, Draco raised one hand to her face and slowly returned her kiss.
“I love you,” she whispered as she pulled away. Taking a few backwards steps toward the crowd of on-lookers waiting for her, she watched him as a single bright tear crumbled down his cheek. She knew it meant I love you too.
Far off in the distance, Draco heard McGonagall instructing everyone to touch the portkey on the count of three. Hermione had turned away from Draco, and was standing between Harry and Ron. One… he heard her say. Two seconds left, and she would be gone… Two… he heard as the taste of Hermione’s kiss lingered on his lips. Another tear fell from his eye, landing with a soft thud on the floor below. And then, looking over her shoulder with her arm outstretched toward the portkey, Hermione gave him one last cheerless smile, before- Three-
And she was gone.
Draco was lying on the sofa in the Slytherin common room watching the shadows play on the wall overhead. And though his face was blank of all expression, his heart was fit to burst with every emotion known to man.
His breathing was shallow as he half-heartedly reached into his pocket to retrieve the box Hermione had handed him before departing. He turned it around in his hand, eyeing it like it was the last part of her he had to remember. Though she’d only left ten minutes ago, it felt like eternity, and he was already having a difficult time recalling the beautiful details of her features.
Unwrapping the silver satin bow that bound the lid to its counterpart, Draco slowly sat up and felt the cold tears that had been gathering in his lids slide down his checks and neck. He took off the lid and was met by delicate, silver paper enveloping a small object inside.
When he pushed it back, a note fell from the paper. Ignoring it for a moment, he placed his attention on the gift within.
It was a long, simple chain necklace with an oval pendant hanging from it. Draco lifted it up and admired it in the dim light of the fire. It sparkled and cast a white glare on the wall opposite. Inadvertently smiling, he placed it around his neck before bending down for the escaped note. He unfolded it carefully, and read,
Draco,
I know this may seem a bit awkward, but I wanted you to have something to open on Christmas. The pendant acts as a sort of Pensieve, holding some of your memories. I put one in there already… I thought it was one you needed to remember. Happy Christmas!
-Hermione
Draco was a little taken aback by such a present. He’d never seen anything like this before. When he looked at the pendant more closely, he noticed small little hinges on one side. He sat back against the sofa, using his fingers to pry the locket open.
Finally succeeding, he looked inside. Swirls of silver-gray mist were circling around. Draco squinted his eyes in concentration, unsure as to how, exactly, these things work. On sheer impulse, he prodded the mist with his finger, and received a jolt of surprise when it whirled around violently before coming to an abrupt halt.
It was slowly manifesting itself into a picture… it looked so real. What is this place? he thought as he observed a cluster of wooden tables and chairs materialize in the necklace. And then it hit him- The Three Broomsticks.
Suddenly, the memory in the pendant whisked to a small table in the corner of the room- and he saw her. Draco’s heart stopped. There she was… her picture… and he had it saved, forever. He was just coming to appreciate how beautiful the gift really was when he watched the scene magnify. Hermione had her head lowered next to his. And suddenly, like an echo through time, he heard her words… those words that nurtured him…
“It’ll be alright, you know…” he heard her speak. The memory was playing like a movie in the small oval... “It never feels like it will at these points in your life. But the fact that you’ve made it to another one is proof that you’ll live to endure yet another… which, I know doesn’t sound reassuring, but it should.”
Draco was having trouble breathing. He could never have forgotten those words if he’d wanted to, but to see them- hear them again was overwhelming.
“You’re not your father, Malfoy. You’re not doomed to his fate. And… and I know you despise everything right now… and you have every right to- but, I’ve noticed… I’ve noticed that through everything you’ve learned about your father and this war, there’s still… you. There will always be you, there will always be… how YOU turned out, how great of a wizard you are, regardless of your tribulations and upbringing… you still managed to turn out magnificently…” Draco watched mournfully as she leaned in further and whispered her words. “And whether you believe it or not, that prospect demonstrates a bit of hope to me… and makes our circumstance seem much more tolerable. That’s saying something, Malfoy. That’s saying that someone derived hope, patience, and faith… just from you.”
And the memory collapsed into a silvery mist once more.
He smiled at the locket, as if convinced that Hermione could see him through it. He wanted to put in every memory he had of her in the pendant. Reaching for the black box, he found what he was looking for: a sheet with instructions. Following them precisely, he lifted his wand to his head, and recalled everything he could. When he broke the wand away, Draco watched in silent amazement as several tiny strand of light danced around the tip. He pushed it in the silvery mist of the pendant, removed his wand, and waited.
A moment passed. Then two. Then-
Another scene emerged from the oval. He saw himself inside it, looking deathly pale in his common room as Hermione prodded him to talk to her. Go, he heard the memory speak. Wincing, Draco poked the pendant to move to the next memory. He didn’t want to relive that night.
The next one appeared, and it was a much better memory. It began with a picture of Hermione’s bare back… it was slightly bruised as he carefully applied ointment to it. He heard his memory-self gasp at her beauty.
“What? What is it?” Draco heard Hermione ask through the pendant. “Noth- nothing, it’s just, err, really bruised, is all.”
Draco smiled to himself. He’d give anything to be back to that night again. But before he could finish his reminiscing thoughts, a new scene emerged.
“BECAUSE!” he heard himself scream. YOU ACT LIKE YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I’VE GONE THROUGH MY WHOLE LIFE! AND YOU HAVEN’T THE FAINTEST CLUE! AND YOU’RE TRYING TO CHANGE WHO I AM! WELL YOU CAN’T! SORRY IF I’M NOT UP TO YOUR STANDARDS, BUT THIS IS ME, WICKED AND EVIL, SO DROP THE SYMPATHY ACT! I’M A LOST CAUSE, ALRIGHT?!”
Tears built up in the corners of Draco’s eyes as he watched Hermione pleading for him to come back. He shook his head in shame, mesmerized at his blatant stupidity. And she never gave up, he thought to himself. She never thought I was a lost cause… He quickly shook the pendant before his tears escaped him.
But the memory that appeared next hit Malfoy the hardest.
He watched the swirl of color transform into the Gryffindor common room. This was the first night, he thought. Draco noticed the roaring fireplace before it was obscured by Hermione’s worry-filled face.
“Well then come off it, Draco heard his own voice emitting from the locket. “Fill me in, Mudblood, since you know everything. I’m sure you’ve loads to say to me, and if I were you, I’d take this precious time in my company to spat it out.
Draco cringed as his heart sank to unknown depths. He continued to be astonished by her ability to befriend him after he’d been so cruel to her. His thoughts were once again cut off as he watched Hermione retaliate.
“I’ll start with you’re a no good, evil, dirty, insensitive, nasty little prat, and I’ve severely disliked you from the very moment I laid eyes on that cocky, sneering face of yours!”
Draco could almost laugh aloud at the irony of it all.
“You’re so arrogant, so caught up in your own little world as if you’re the only one who matters. You don’t give a rat’s ass about Crabbe and Goyle, you just like the convenience they offer of doing your dirty work! You have no idea what it’s like to be Harry, to have to live in a shadow of a legend that hasn’t even developed yet, to be known for some stupid scar on your forehead, as if that’s more important than all the things he’s done! And he didn’t save Ginny or stop Voldemort countless times because his name is Harry Potter, he did it because that’s his character, because that’s what’s right, whether your names Potter or not! And you don’t care! You don’t care about anything other than yourself! You tease him like it’s a hobby, you mock his parents and their sacrifice while your own are out there murdering innocent people! Muggles and Wizards alike! You think he’s the conceited one, but he didn’t ask for his fame! You think he consciously planned on being an orphan, living with miserable Muggles, and having his Godfather die?! That’s why he’s famous, Malfoy! A stupid scar that got him nothing but turmoil, nothing but a giant pattern of death in his life… and you call him conceited?! And you think you’re so clever because you pick on Ron’s clothes, as if that’s less superficial than picking on Harry’s scar! You’ve no idea what it’s like to live like him! Constantly one less than everybody else, because you’ve so many siblings that you’re only a small slice of it all! His best friend is the most famous wizard of our age, and he’s smart enough to know that wasn’t his choice! But it still gets hard to not get any attention, because all you’re considered is a poor little Weasley. You’re stuck too far up your own ass to see anything, anything at all Malfoy- you can’t see tragedy when it’s walking right down the hall next to you, you can’t see opportunity when it’s banging it’s fist off at your door, you can’t see beauty when it’s staring you in the face, you can’t see evil when it’s your own father, you can’t see good when it’s your own Headmaster, and you can’t see ignorance when it’s yourself, staring at you through a mirror!”
Draco could no longer evade his tears. They seeped down, one by one, in lonely silence. He shut the pendant with a loud snap before tucking it away under his robes. Her words had stung him then, but they killed him now. He remembered one line in particular… You can’t see beauty when it’s staring you in the face!
But I can, he thought to himself, still convinced that Hermione could hear him. And I see you.
And that was all it took to push him over the edge.
He wasn’t going to sit there feeling sorry for himself any more. He wasn’t going to be pushed around by anyone, whether it be his father or his Headmaster. He didn’t care what Dumbledore said- there’s nothing right about letting the only person you care about risk her life without you, he thought determinedly.
Draco clasped his robes, stood with a jolt, and ran to his dormitory. He was going after her.
It didn’t take more than three full minutes for him to find his broomstick and rush onto Hogwarts’ grounds. The rain had subsided, but the clouds overhead made it as dark as night. Draco glanced at the castle one last time. He wasn’t sure if he would ever see it again. But the thought of never again seeing Hermione was far worse.
With a sort of grateful nod towards the castle, Draco kicked off from the ground.
He wasted no time, and had quickly soared over the Quidditch Pitch. Unsheathing his wand from his cloak, he placed it in the palm of his hand. He spoke to it: “Point me!”
He watched at his wand whirled around and jerked to a stop. Turning his broom in the pointed direction, Draco pushed his broom to go as fast as possible.
He ascended over the tallest trees and then higher. He forced his mind to relive other, happier memories, in hopes of propelling his body onward. For he was frozen solid now, and his breathing was abnormally shallow.
He remembered lying in bed next to Hermione, feeling her warmth embrace him like a blanket. He remembered waking up with her there, and taking in her sweet scent. He remembered how she never backed down. How, in the most unlikely of times, she befriended him despite everything he’d said and done. He remembered exactly why he loved her in the first place.
But one last memory played in his mind... he remembered those lethal words that sparked it all...
So… we can try to be friends, can’t we?” she'd asked.
“I don’t know about friends... I might settle on civility.
Civility. It had all began with mere civility. If only he had known how dangerous a thing it really was.
His thoughts must have taken longer than realized. Draco snapped out of his fantasy and felt the outside cold pummeling him senseless. But what he saw just ahead of him nearly knocked him off his broom.
Lights. A web of lights were streaking in every direction: blue, red, gold, green, yellow, silver, orange, purple. It was so far below him it looked like one giant mass, pulsating together. He knew what it was- it was London. It was Hermione. It was Harry. It was Lucius. It was Macnair, and Goyle, and Snape, and Dumbledore. It was the battle.
Draco pushed his broom onward, spiraling him toward the fight. He could feel the heat releasing from the spells’ lights already. His heart was trembling… Please don’t be dead, he thought achingly. Don’t be dead Hermione- I’m coming…
As the scene grew larger before him, he dismally admitted that didn’t know how she could not be. The spells, the curses, the unforgivables were being thrown left and right. Men in black cloaks were dodging offensive spells, other wizards could just be seen chasing after them. He was just close enough now to see properly… but he wasn’t there yet.
He cursed his broom for not moving faster. “GO, DAMN YOU!” he shouted at it. But all he could think was, Don’t be dead… please don’t be dead...
But then a sound resonated in his ears. The loud cries and screams coming from below were drowned out- was it coming from him? Was this sound his own? No, he thought. For his own was beating much too fast… this was slightly slower…
And as soon as he realized what the sound was, he knew-
She was alive.
For in his ears, he heard her life beating on… fighting… and it came in the most comforting sound he could remember...
Thump… Thump… Thump…