"Crimson" (Draco/Hermione)
Title: Crimson
Author/Artist: asentia
Prompt: A19 “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”
Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione
Word Count/Art Medium: 5821 words
Rating: R
Warning(s): Swearing, violence, infidelity
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This fic has multiple pairings that will slowly be revealed.
Summary: They weren't lovers and definitely not friends, but they wound up in each others' arms anyway. Everything has consequences though, and sometimes the best intentions end in death.
April 21, 2001
Hermione
Draco,
The thing about love is it has the uncanny ability to screw with your head and beat your brain senseless until you're not quite sure what is up and what is down and what is right and what is wrong. Rationality? There is no such thing when it comes to that damned emotion.
People all around me exclaim how they feel happy, free and oh so in love and how life is just. Picture. Perfect. But what about the people who are so in love that it hurts? What about me? When I look at your face or hear your voice or hear mention of just your name it hurts so much. Is this love? Is love just a pitiful state of painful longing? Those days when you held me in your arms, I didn't feel complete; I felt empty.
One of my students lent me a book where a boy expresses his delight in having his heart broken by a girl. Maybe he was young or maybe he was crazy or maybe I am crazy or maybe we are crazy. All I know for sure is that the past two years I was reborn and I rediscovered this world. Then you killed me and I think I killed you.
I hope you can forgive me.
H.G.
*
April 10, 2001
Draco
Dear Draco Malfoy,
It is with greatest regret that I inform you of the sudden death of your esteemed friend and colleague, Dean Thomas. His funeral will take place Friday, April 13, 2001 at St. Xavier's Anglican Church.
Regards,
Blaise Zabini
My hands shook and I dropped the paper. It landed on top of Pansy's dress, which she had forgotten in yesterday morning's escape from Hermione's wrath, and my eyes drifted over to the burn marks in my handmade Italian tapestries. I felt a burning anger rise up at me and suddenly I went blind. I heard faint crashes and rips but I all could think of was them. Why was I so stupid? Of all people to spite, why had it been the two most important to me? Why did everything I touch die? I led Dean to suicide and Hermione would never look at me again. Maybe I should just kill myself and be done with this hellhole.
My sight slowly returned and the first thing I saw was Pansy's shift hanging on the doorknob. Oh. I hadn't killed Dean. We had killed Dean.
I stepped over the broken glass coffee table and grabbed my wand from my desk.
No magic in the world could bring Dean back to life, but there were plenty of spells to end those who could only hurt others.
*
April 29, 1994
Hermione
There was a young boy; there was always a boy it seemed, when it came to matters of childhood adulation. His laugh was sharp and high as were his eyebrows and I found myself mesmerized by the pure frost in his eyes. Everything about him was barbed, from his facial build to his attitude to his forked tongue when he hissed curse words. I imagined myself hugging him and melting the icicles that had painstakingly been built around him by horrid adults and their criticisms; I knew the type.
There was rain and snow and wind and it was April and a terrible one at that. Piles of slush still bobbed lazily on puddles and the water came down like bullets. The wind was so strong it made the castle towers creak and it blew all my papers out of my small arms and into his person.
"Stupid Mudblood," he sneered in his barbed-tongued glory. There was fire in his eyes and he took out his wand.
"Protego!" I cried, but the spell was useless. He used his wand to shield himself from the rain, nothing more. And there was hurt in those frosty eyes, but I felt confusion instead of remorse.
"Bitch," he spat. His nose was red from the remnants of a long winter cold and his face followed suit, growing red like a poppy. "I wouldn't waste a good hex on scum like you."
I mumbled a quick apology and gathered all my papers before skipping away, chanting in my head, "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me. Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me. Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me..."
Fascination was a devious creature. I believe its aim after that meeting was to make me waste hours and hours thinking of him; of Draco Malfoy; and thinking of ways to slay all the dragons that hid the good person that was surely inside him. He was definitely well-read- his eyes betrayed a hint of recognition when he saw the flying title page of my essay on Miles Burke's Study on Basilisks- and I overheard his joke about snotty pure-bloods when he was chatting with that ass, Pansy Parkinson, and it was unfortunately hilarious. My sudden laughter caused the two Slytherins to swear at me and the frost reentered his thawed eyes.
"Fuck off, Mudblood," Draco Malfoy snapped. "And stop stalking me. If you, Potty, and the red-headed tramps are planning a prank, I'll hex your whole lot then throw your bodies into the Lake."
"A little too specific there," Parkinson chirped, laughing nastily. Malfoy turned to leave but Pansy smirked at me and stayed rooted to the spot. "I'll see you later."
"Don't get mud on your robes."
Parkinson came forward, grinning at me, eyes full of blood lust, and I raised my wand. Her pug-like face was so close that I could smell her horrible saccharine perfume.
"I've seen you staring at Draco like a pathetic love-sick puppy," Pansy sneered. "He's mine, okay?Mine. You're plain, annoying, and you have the body of a little boy and hair of a savage, so don't waste your time- go shag a book or something." With a huff, the Slytherin turned and flounced away in Malfoy's direction.
My chin started to quiver so I bit my lip and focused my energy on what the introduction for my Transfiguration essay would be, but Pansy's words kept on echoing in my mind.
"You have the body of a little boy and hair of a savage. You have the body of a little boy and hair of a savage..."
Every female I've ever met is insecure about something and Pansy Parkinson sprung a seed of doubt and self-consciousness in my heart. Prior, I had never thought about myself too much but Pansy changed that.
I have never hated anyone more than her.
*
April 13, 2001
Neville
She was here. What the hell was a woman like her doing at Dean Thomas's funeral? Just the appearance of that whore caused disrespect to the man's death.
"Hello, Mrs. Thomas, I'm here to offer my condolences," the harlot said crisply, holding out her gloved hand. Her long black dress was mocking.
"Some killers like to turn up at their victims' funerals because they gain pleasure from it," Seamus muttered beside me. I glared at the vixen- she knew exactly why Dean was dead.
Rain fell strong and steadily, turning the ground to mud and washing away flowers and candles placed near other gravestones but an invisible force seemed to deflect the water pellets away from Dean's stone. To his Muggle family, it seemed like an otherworldly power smiling upon them, but it was just the combined efforts of several wizards in attendance.
She followed me, after the burial. I ran through a list of curses in my head and wondered which was the best on the walk away from the cemetery. Cars rattled past and Muggles barked into their telephones and the world kept on spinning but my hands were shaking in my pockets and I struggled not to spin around and hex the bitch to high heaven.
"I didn't mean to," Pansy said, running up next to me.
"Why do you start all your sentences with I?" I said acidly.
"I didn't know he loved me."
"You mean you didn't want to know."
"No. I truly didn't know. And I'm sorry."
I stopped and glared at Pansy. "Well why the hell are you apologizing to me and not to his mother? Or to the woman who raised him? What about his sisters? Or his best friend?"
"You're the only person I know who won't try to kill me."
"Don't be so sure about that."
"I'm moving to Australia. None of you will ever see me again."
"Good. Your pug face is tarnishing his memory just by appearing."
Pansy's face crumpled. It was an old taunt that still haunted her, but instead of feeling empathy, I felt self-satisfied that I had hit a nerve. Served her right. Dean was gone and the only marks she bore were those that Malfoy had given her two weeks ago.
"Neville, if Draco asks about me, don't tell him anything. He's trying to hurt me."
I spotted Seamus in the distance and hurriedly squashed any concern that Pansy's helpless face had caused. "Who am I to stop him?" Pansy grabbed my shoulders and brought her disgusting face only a hair away from mine.
"He wants to kill me."
I pushed the bitch off. "Good." Tears began pouring down her cheeks and I remembered those rare times in seventh year when I had felt safe. "But if Malfoy comes within talking distance, I'll off him." I brushed past her and tried to forget her soft, "Thank you," that stirred up too many warring emotions in my chest.
*
April 12, 1998
Dean
I could tell Hermione wasn't okay with him, but I didn't really care, and that gave me a thrill. I was rebelling against the Golden Girl. It shouldn't have given me a high, but it did.
"What happened to the bodyguards?" Malfoy drawled. On the outside I groaned but on the inside, I chuckled.
"What do you know about Horcruxes?" Hermione asked with a blank stare.
"Pardon?"
"Imperius!"
I immediately drew my wand and aimed at Hermione but her look was still placid. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Tell me the truth," Hermione ordered, her voice cold as ice. "What do you know about Horcruxes?"
"What's a Horcrux?" Draco inquired.
"Where's Bellatrix?"
"She's at the Manor obviously."
"How do we get into the Manor?"
"You'll need a Dark Mark to get past the wards but mine will be revoked." Malfoy rolled down his sleeve and revealed a forearm that was black, charred, and was missing a good chunk. "This was personally from the Dark Lord."
"Are you in love with Pansy Parkinson?"
"No, she's too fat."
"Are you jealous of Harry?"
"Yeah, I-"
"Finite incantatem!" I cried. Hermione turned and her eyes were wide and feral. "What's wrong with you? We're supposed to be the good guys!"
"I'm sick of all this bullshit!" Hermione shrieked. "There's no time for Malfoy to grow up- I need answers!" She spat in Malfoy's face, then raised her wand and disappeared.
My flat was silent save the faint radio playing in the guest room. Suddenly the walls felt suffocating and the sun was too bright. A million thoughts floated around and collided in my head. Was Hermione cracking? If she broke, it would only be a few more days until everyone else would follow suit. I glanced at Malfoy and, for some twisted reason, he was grinning.
"That's her good mood."
*
April 2, 2001
Pansy
His stormy grey eyes stared languidly into mine and I sighed as my fingers traced the rough stubble on his chin and I drank in the musky smell of his cologne. We were the only two people in existence, in that small guest room with the dusty black sheets and the glass coffee table. For years I had dreamed of that moment and it had finally come to fruition, surpassing any and all my expectations.
"Merlin, we should've done this sooner," Draco whispered, his lips barely brushing my ear and his hand resting on my thigh. I could only nod in agreement and snuggle closer to him.
We were separate, wild flames. For two long we had only danced around each other, but in one moment, on the pretense of asking for advice, we had turned into a single bonfire, emitting smoke and an unrivaled heat. I felt sparks run up and down my body deliriously as I pressed my lips onto his once more.
I got lost in Draco and in the tangled sheets. We were on fire, metaphorically, but suddenly I felt a searing pain on my back and I shrieked. Draco swore and tried to put the flames out with the musty sheets but I still felt like boiling oil was coating every part of my body. I prayed to whoever was watching that I would go unconscious but my vision just got sharper and the pain more acute.
Suddenly the fire disappeared and I collapsed into Draco. There was no feeling from the nape of my neck down to my knees and my throat was raw from screaming.
"Are you still hot and bothered, Pansy?" the familiar voice of Hermione Granger hissed. I buried my face deeper into Draco's chest but her cursed claws grabbed my hair and yanked my head up. Suddenly, there was a burning sting on my right cheek, then another slap.
"Stop!" Draco cried next to me. I felt his big, strong hands pull me away from her grasp. When I looked up, Granger was absolutely livid but her eyes were full of sorrow and a seemingly unlimited amount of tears fell down her cheeks.
"I hope you two harlots have a nice life together," she hissed before storming out of the room and closing the door with a bang that made my heart jump.
"Draco-"
"Leave me alone," he snapped. I froze. There was nothing but ice in his eyes. "You stupid pug, get out." He glared at me and pushed me off his lap. I fell onto the hard wooden floor and ran out of the room, only stopping to grab my coat before running out of Malfoy Manor like my life depended on it.
It probably had.
*
April 1, 1996
Draco
The haunting melody of Franz Liszt's Liebestraum No. 3 echoed throughout the corridors of the fifth floor, drawing me to the small music classroom where I had snogged Astoria in forth year. I pushed the door open softly and stared at the girl rocking back and forth on the piano bench, her hands flying at impossible speeds. Wizards were almost always superior, but Muggle music had a particular depth to it, and the composers spent months, sometimes years, or even lifetimes, perfecting every single note whereas wizards relied heavily on magic.
Hermione Granger was both Wizard and Muggle. Her technique was rusty and flawed, but her playing was vivid and colourful whereas mine was flat and empty.
I must have stood there for nearly five minutes, watching her play. Mother had always played the piano when father was away on business. It had been nearly a decade since I last heard someone pour their heart out on those 88 ivory keys. My heart raced in time with Granger's patchy runs, and my breathing slowed with the deceptively simple melody.
"Malfoy?" I jerked my head up. Granger was staring at me and she suddenly pulled out her wand, her other hand still above the last notes.
I attempted a sneer but my heart still yearned for the ending and she must have seen it in my eyes. She smiled shyly, put her wand down beside her, and completed the piece. I exhaled slowly.
"Franz Liszt was a Muggle," Granger stated suspiciously after releasing the keys.
"He was probably a wizard living among Muggles," I protested. "His work is magical!"
"Then why are simple Mudbloods like me able to play it?" Granger asked, breezing over the word Mudblood.
"You're not simple." Once the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to rein them back in, tie them up, and lock them deep down in the darkest crevice of my soul.
"Thanks." Granger's smiled then began a rather playful version of Chopin's Grand Valse Brillante. Mother would have played it more majestically but the pure joy in Granger's playing brought a reluctant smile to my face. The fingers on the keys no longer belonged to a dirty Mudblood but to a talented musician.
My feet were light on the walk back to the Slytherin common room but my mood dampened when I saw Theo's grim face. He held up an envelope and any demons that Granger's music had whisked away returned.
"You have an assignment," said Theo, his mouth a thin line and his eyes fearful but full of awe at the same time. "Father said it was assigned to you personally, from the Dark Lord himself."
*
April 21, 1999
Hermione
Dean was in love in Pansy effing Parkinson.
I saw it in the way he straightened his back when she shuffled into the room. She was wearing a ratty old robe, her hair stuck up in wild spikes, and her face and body had been hollowed out into all angles, but Dean's breaths still became faster and his eyes were full of want.
"Dean?" Penelope Clearwater whispered, concerned. He glanced at her and smiled then snapped his head back toward Parkinson.
Kingsley cleared his throat then addressed Parkinson. "The jury has reviewed your case and decided your war crimes were due to threats on your life from Voldemort. You have been declared innocent and are permitted to live freely without any surveillance. Please fill out this form before leaving the Ministry. Your belongings will be Owled to you. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Parkinson." She nodded then shuffled out of the room, her head down.
Ginny would be livid once she heard the verdict but would understand- she had been a victim of Voldemort's mind games as well. Harry would roll his eyes, on the off chance he was conscious long enough to hear everything, and Ron-
Well, Ron had disappeared the second he was able to walk, and his updates were becoming fewer and far between.
Sometimes I felt like disappearing too, but there was work to be done.
I looked down at the next case file and grimaced. The doors opened with a groan and the room fell silent. My head stayed down and I avoided the defendant's eyes.
Kingsley wasted no time.
"Draco Malfoy, the jury has reviewed your case." I glanced up at him and immediately regretted it. He was staring right at me, but I couldn't look away. "Your war crimes were proven to be under threats on you and your family's lives, therefore you have been declared innocent." Draco's eyes bulged and I simply stared at Kingsley. "Please fill out this form before leaving the Ministry. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Malfoy."
Wizards and witches around me muttered under their breath and shuffled papers but no one protested. A few gave me accusing glares, as if I had personally freed him.
"You really are the devil's advocate," Dean muttered beside me.
"Says the one in love with an infant murderer," I hissed back. Dean recoiled, as if slapped, and turned his head toward the next defendant.
Maybe I should have felt bad, but Pansy was bad news. Dean deserved better.
The door closed behind Draco with a bang. Devil's advocate, was I?
So be it. Not all of us deserved better.
*
April 22, 2001
Draco
Pellets of rain beat against the window and the tenebrous clouds cast a shadow over Pansy's sleeping body. Her ancient house elf, Kavinsky, had worked for my family once. He was still loyal.
Blankets were strewn haphazardly over her legs but I had a clear view of her chest. It was so easy. My hand itched to grab my wand and burn a nice clean line across her heart, but the stain of murder wouldn't look good on my Ministry file. Instead I grabbed a knife. Knives were quite funny things- the handle offered control and power, but the blade could only offer pain.
Pansy could offer only pain.
I could offer only pain.
We were naturally death's servants and would continue to spread agony.
But I had the knife handle. I had the power to end everything.
The blade was dull and there was a bit of resistance before it bit into her smooth skin. She cried out and sounded much like a wounded dog, but I dug deeper. There was red everywhere: light crimson speckles, deep carmine currents, and near transparent drops. Her voice got weaker and weaker and my strength began to falter but I thought of Hermione, Dean, his family, and his friends and I pushed deeper. They would appreciate this act of kindness, and maybe my memory wouldn't be completely tarnished.
"Draco," Pansy gasped. Clear tears trickled down her face eventually mixing with the red around her neck and chest and pooling in her tangled hair like it was a nest.
Suddenly her eyes went still and I knew it was done. There. I had atoned for my sins. My heart felt empty and torn but surely Hermione would be able to look at me again. Pansy Parkinson was no longer a stain on this world because of me.
I threw the knife away then looked down at my hands. They were slick with blood and matted with some of Pansy's hair.
My gaze landed on her body. The cut hadn't been clean. There were shreds of skin everywhere and I could see an off-white bone that was no doubt a rib. Suddenly I felt like puking. I had killed Pansy, a murderer, but that made me a killer in turn.
"Sir?" I turned around and saw Kavinsky holding an envelope. He was old and nearly blind. "I have a letter from a Ms. Granger. Her owl won't leave until you pen a reply."
I knew what I had to do.
"Thank you."
I took the envelope. It was so flimsy, and the blood from my hands ruined it. I rubbed my hands on my trousers then reached inside my robe and pulled out a letter. It was supposed to be delivered by my hands, but I knew if I stepped outside Pansy's house, I would lose my resolve.
"Please give this to the owl."
"Of course, sir. Will Pansy need anything?"
Kavinsky the house-elf was nearly blind and utterly exhausted, but he still had his innocence. He didn't know what it felt like to hold the handle of a blade and to still lose control. He hadn't felt the small, agonizing seconds of resistance that the human skin gave against a knife or the tiny, tantalizing window of opportunity to throw away power and keep a life.
"No thank you, Kavinsky."
The house-elf toddled out of the room with my letter and I looked down at the envelope in my hand. It was Hermione's neat cursive.
I put the message in my pocket and ran to the knife on the floor before I changed my mind. There was still one more patch of darkness in this new world of light, and it had to disappear.
Hermione loved it when I kissed her neck, so I knew I couldn't tarnish mine. I stripped off my robe and my shirt then placed the tip of the blade right above my heart. So many had had theirs broken and not just because of Pansy, but because of me. I had given into temptation and taken her to my bed when I should have just waited for Hermione.
No more hearts should wither and no more lives should be taken.
The steel pierced through my skin and I smiled despite the fiery pain. The last heart had been broken.
*
April 22, 2001
Hermione
Dear Hermione,
Pansy's dead in atonement of Dean. Don't worry about me.
I can remember the first time I saw past your blood, in the music room on the fifth floor. Liebestraum No. 3 is still my favourite piece to this day.
I am so sorry for any pain I have caused you. Please don't look for me.
Love, Draco
My hands shook and dropped the paper. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to kill Pansy for being a slag and I wanted to hurt Draco for putting me through more pain. My heart felt leaden and my breaths came out in huge gasps. Then I started crying. Salty tears trailed down my cheeks and into my mouth and my shoulders heaved as I sobbed. I would never feel his warm hugs after a long day and there would be no one to look for new music with. There was no one to wake me up from my nightmares then reassure me that everything would be okay. It felt like someone had worn brass knuckles then punched me in the stomach. I had never realized how much a part of me belonged to Draco, even after the Pansy thing, but now I would never see him again.
I screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat became hoarse. Draco had to hear me. In any second he would saunter in and hug me before finding out what was wrong. He would kiss me then later say he only did it to shut me up. We would to argue and he would sleep on the couch but eventually at three in the morning I would go downstairs and snuggle against him. He would pretend to be asleep but I knew he had stayed up as long as I had.
Why? For the love of Merlin why? He said he was sorry for any pain he caused but he should have fucking known that leaving would hurt the most. Didn't he see it in the way I had looked at him? Hadn't he felt the energy that sparked whenever we touched? Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he had just left me for some other whore; maybe Pansy wasn't even dead.
I crumpled the letter and threw it at the wall. The temptation to burn it was strong but a voice told me not to. Instead I sat on the floor, brought my knees to my chest, and tried to sleep. Surely this was a nightmare. When I woke up, I would be living in my parents' house. They would know my name and hug me. Draco Malfoy would just be an interesting name. There would be no scar where Bellatrix had cut me and Lord Voldemort would only be an anagram.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep. My cheek pressed against the cold kitchen tile, eventually growing numb, and there were no more tears but my nose was clogged. It hurt to breathe through my mouth but I had no choice. Every breath caused more pain to flare in my throat so I tried to hold it as long as possible. Maybe I would stop breathing. I would join Pansy, and Draco would have no choice but to come after me.
There was a framed photo hanging on the wall from the April of fifth year. Colin Creevey had taken it then Blaise had tried to use it as blackmail. I laughed, remembering how Draco had promised he would persuade Ginny to be his Valentine in exchange for the photograph. Blaise had grown so flustered and Draco and I had teased him for days-
It hurt to laugh alone.
*
April 2, 1998
Neville
Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Carrows had been terrible but once the bell rang, I walked out of class with pride. There was a fiery pain all over my body but I wore my scars with pride. They hadn't broken me, not yet. Gran would be proud.
The corridors were mostly empty since students stayed in the safety of their common rooms. Snape and the Carrows were Slytherins, which was a nice convenience.
"Do you need help with your cuts?" I looked for the speaker and my eyes landed on Pansy Parkinson, peaking out from behind a classroom door. I immediately took out my wand and she widened her eyes. "There's no one else in here, I swear it on my mother's life!"
"Are they hiding?" I asked dubiously. The Slytherins had trouble finding people to bully, now that everyone stayed in their rooms, so finding me wounded and alone was probably an early Christmas present.
"No, they're playing Quidditch. You can even look out the window over there!" I walked closer to Parkinson and stared at her. She became a bit flustered but there was no sign of her lying. Recently, I'd noticed that she sat alone in the classes we shared. I lowered my wand but kept a firm grip on it.
"Are you going to let me in or what, Parkinson?" I said, offering a small smile. Her eyes grew even bigger with surprise as she opened the door then shut it quickly behind me.
The classroom was dusty and cluttered. There was a piano and a few other instruments lying around haphazardly and scattered desks and chairs. On one desk was a bowl of yellow liquid.
"Um, I made some Murtlap Essence," Parkinson said shyly, keeping her head down. "Some of the, uh, Slytherins like to pick on me so I use it sometimes, but I made too much."
"Why do they pick on you?" Last year, Parkinson had been the token girl of Malfoy's gang.
"My father was humiliated by the Dark Lord," she replied, her eyes watering. "He almost died. The Parkinson family name is now tarnished and I- I never believed in his ideals anyway."
"Sure you didn't," I scoffed, thinking of the countless times she'd sneered, 'Mudblood' or 'blood traitor.' There was an awkward silence, filled occasionally with Pansy's sniffs, and then she picked up a cloth, soaked it in the Murtlap Essence, and placed it gently on my cheek. The burning pain instantly cooled and I forgot who was helping me.
"Please call me Pansy," she said suddenly. I opened my eyes and saw her looking at me, no longer nervous but still lonely and vulnerable.
"Sure. And call me Neville." Pansy slowly smiled and switched the cloth to my other cheek.
*
"Why don't you just leave?" Pansy asked me suddenly. I widened my eyes.
It was probably a month after she had first offered me a bowl of Murtlap Essence, and meeting her in the dusty music room had become a routine.
"There's the D.A. to take care of," I muttered. Pansy scoffed, put down the cloth, and crossed her arms.
"Everyone in your army is fine except for you," she argued. "And what if one day the Carrows go too far?" Pansy's voice caught but she forced out a laugh. "Then what'll I do with all my Murtlap Essence?"
"I'll be fine," I assured her, even if I didn't believe it myself. She was right. I'd fallen unconscious yesterday but on the bright side, I was allowed to leave class early when I woke up five minutes later.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're such a Gryffindor."
"You say that like it's a bad thing!"
"It can be. You're all brave but pretty rash at times too." Pansy looked at me and I felt like she could see my soul. "If you get hurt, I want to be able to help you, but that won't be possible if you're dead."
At that moment, an unknown force seized me. Pansy's eyes looked so worried and concerned. No one had ever cared that much for me, maybe not even Gran.
I placed my hands behind her head and brought her lips to mine. She made a small noise of surprise then jerked away. She gaped at me and I put my head in my hands and groaned. What had I just done? There had been no fireworks or any sparks. Maybe only girls like Ginny and Hermione felt that. Ron and Harry never mentioned any of that bull. Suddenly my ears picked up a quiet giggle. I peaked through my fingers and saw Pansy shaking, with a hand clamped over her mouth.
"What's so funny?" I snapped. That had been my first kiss! Merlin's beard, she probably thought I was a creep.
"You're a terrible kisser," Pansy said with a broad grin. I felt my stomach slowly sink and I wanted to whither away, but suddenly her hands were in my hair and our faces were barely apart. "But that's okay. I can teach you."
That was the day I learned electricity wasn't just a Muggle thing.
*
April 4, 2002
Hermione
Parkinson had been buried in a private pure-blood family plot but being a war heroine had its perks. I didn't know what I intended to do- desecrate it, scream at it- but once the grave came into sight I stopped.
Neville was on his knees as he planted lilacs in front of the gravestone despite the drizzle that stirred the dirt to mud and nearly washed the plants away.
"Neville?" He jerked around and wiped his face. His cheeks were wet, not from the rain. "You- you-"
"She wasn't always a whore," he said. He took a deep breath and stood up. "In seventh year she kept me sane and safe and I fell a bit in love with her. I guess that's why it hurt so much when she slept with Malfoy. I let her go because Dean was a good match for her and I knew he'd take care of her, but she didn't take him seriously. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I'd fought harder for her. Maybe she and Malfoy would still be alive. Dean would definitely be okay."
"It's not your fault," I said quietly, putting an arm around him. What ifs? constantly haunted me but they didn't need to haunt anyone else. "They all made their own choices. Pansy, Draco, Dean. And there's nothing we can do about it except honour their memory." Neville nodded but his eyes had been glazed over by tears.
I gave Parkinson's marker one last glance and sighed. Not even she deserved a desecrated grave. That wouldn't fill the hole in my heart Draco had left.
Neville spoke suddenly, his eyes glassy but determined. "Our choices define us, Hermione, but we can't let the choices of others define us too."
They weren't words of sympathy but still words of comfort. And I couldn't agree more.
Suddenly the rain stopped and a rainbow slowly appeared. It was beautiful.
Author/Artist: asentia
Prompt: A19 “April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”
Pairing(s): Draco/Hermione
Word Count/Art Medium: 5821 words
Rating: R
Warning(s): Swearing, violence, infidelity
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: This fic has multiple pairings that will slowly be revealed.
Summary: They weren't lovers and definitely not friends, but they wound up in each others' arms anyway. Everything has consequences though, and sometimes the best intentions end in death.
April 21, 2001
Hermione
Draco,
The thing about love is it has the uncanny ability to screw with your head and beat your brain senseless until you're not quite sure what is up and what is down and what is right and what is wrong. Rationality? There is no such thing when it comes to that damned emotion.
People all around me exclaim how they feel happy, free and oh so in love and how life is just. Picture. Perfect. But what about the people who are so in love that it hurts? What about me? When I look at your face or hear your voice or hear mention of just your name it hurts so much. Is this love? Is love just a pitiful state of painful longing? Those days when you held me in your arms, I didn't feel complete; I felt empty.
One of my students lent me a book where a boy expresses his delight in having his heart broken by a girl. Maybe he was young or maybe he was crazy or maybe I am crazy or maybe we are crazy. All I know for sure is that the past two years I was reborn and I rediscovered this world. Then you killed me and I think I killed you.
I hope you can forgive me.
H.G.
*
April 10, 2001
Draco
Dear Draco Malfoy,
It is with greatest regret that I inform you of the sudden death of your esteemed friend and colleague, Dean Thomas. His funeral will take place Friday, April 13, 2001 at St. Xavier's Anglican Church.
Regards,
Blaise Zabini
My hands shook and I dropped the paper. It landed on top of Pansy's dress, which she had forgotten in yesterday morning's escape from Hermione's wrath, and my eyes drifted over to the burn marks in my handmade Italian tapestries. I felt a burning anger rise up at me and suddenly I went blind. I heard faint crashes and rips but I all could think of was them. Why was I so stupid? Of all people to spite, why had it been the two most important to me? Why did everything I touch die? I led Dean to suicide and Hermione would never look at me again. Maybe I should just kill myself and be done with this hellhole.
My sight slowly returned and the first thing I saw was Pansy's shift hanging on the doorknob. Oh. I hadn't killed Dean. We had killed Dean.
I stepped over the broken glass coffee table and grabbed my wand from my desk.
No magic in the world could bring Dean back to life, but there were plenty of spells to end those who could only hurt others.
*
April 29, 1994
Hermione
There was a young boy; there was always a boy it seemed, when it came to matters of childhood adulation. His laugh was sharp and high as were his eyebrows and I found myself mesmerized by the pure frost in his eyes. Everything about him was barbed, from his facial build to his attitude to his forked tongue when he hissed curse words. I imagined myself hugging him and melting the icicles that had painstakingly been built around him by horrid adults and their criticisms; I knew the type.
There was rain and snow and wind and it was April and a terrible one at that. Piles of slush still bobbed lazily on puddles and the water came down like bullets. The wind was so strong it made the castle towers creak and it blew all my papers out of my small arms and into his person.
"Stupid Mudblood," he sneered in his barbed-tongued glory. There was fire in his eyes and he took out his wand.
"Protego!" I cried, but the spell was useless. He used his wand to shield himself from the rain, nothing more. And there was hurt in those frosty eyes, but I felt confusion instead of remorse.
"Bitch," he spat. His nose was red from the remnants of a long winter cold and his face followed suit, growing red like a poppy. "I wouldn't waste a good hex on scum like you."
I mumbled a quick apology and gathered all my papers before skipping away, chanting in my head, "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me. Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me. Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me..."
Fascination was a devious creature. I believe its aim after that meeting was to make me waste hours and hours thinking of him; of Draco Malfoy; and thinking of ways to slay all the dragons that hid the good person that was surely inside him. He was definitely well-read- his eyes betrayed a hint of recognition when he saw the flying title page of my essay on Miles Burke's Study on Basilisks- and I overheard his joke about snotty pure-bloods when he was chatting with that ass, Pansy Parkinson, and it was unfortunately hilarious. My sudden laughter caused the two Slytherins to swear at me and the frost reentered his thawed eyes.
"Fuck off, Mudblood," Draco Malfoy snapped. "And stop stalking me. If you, Potty, and the red-headed tramps are planning a prank, I'll hex your whole lot then throw your bodies into the Lake."
"A little too specific there," Parkinson chirped, laughing nastily. Malfoy turned to leave but Pansy smirked at me and stayed rooted to the spot. "I'll see you later."
"Don't get mud on your robes."
Parkinson came forward, grinning at me, eyes full of blood lust, and I raised my wand. Her pug-like face was so close that I could smell her horrible saccharine perfume.
"I've seen you staring at Draco like a pathetic love-sick puppy," Pansy sneered. "He's mine, okay?Mine. You're plain, annoying, and you have the body of a little boy and hair of a savage, so don't waste your time- go shag a book or something." With a huff, the Slytherin turned and flounced away in Malfoy's direction.
My chin started to quiver so I bit my lip and focused my energy on what the introduction for my Transfiguration essay would be, but Pansy's words kept on echoing in my mind.
"You have the body of a little boy and hair of a savage. You have the body of a little boy and hair of a savage..."
Every female I've ever met is insecure about something and Pansy Parkinson sprung a seed of doubt and self-consciousness in my heart. Prior, I had never thought about myself too much but Pansy changed that.
I have never hated anyone more than her.
*
April 13, 2001
Neville
She was here. What the hell was a woman like her doing at Dean Thomas's funeral? Just the appearance of that whore caused disrespect to the man's death.
"Hello, Mrs. Thomas, I'm here to offer my condolences," the harlot said crisply, holding out her gloved hand. Her long black dress was mocking.
"Some killers like to turn up at their victims' funerals because they gain pleasure from it," Seamus muttered beside me. I glared at the vixen- she knew exactly why Dean was dead.
Rain fell strong and steadily, turning the ground to mud and washing away flowers and candles placed near other gravestones but an invisible force seemed to deflect the water pellets away from Dean's stone. To his Muggle family, it seemed like an otherworldly power smiling upon them, but it was just the combined efforts of several wizards in attendance.
She followed me, after the burial. I ran through a list of curses in my head and wondered which was the best on the walk away from the cemetery. Cars rattled past and Muggles barked into their telephones and the world kept on spinning but my hands were shaking in my pockets and I struggled not to spin around and hex the bitch to high heaven.
"I didn't mean to," Pansy said, running up next to me.
"Why do you start all your sentences with I?" I said acidly.
"I didn't know he loved me."
"You mean you didn't want to know."
"No. I truly didn't know. And I'm sorry."
I stopped and glared at Pansy. "Well why the hell are you apologizing to me and not to his mother? Or to the woman who raised him? What about his sisters? Or his best friend?"
"You're the only person I know who won't try to kill me."
"Don't be so sure about that."
"I'm moving to Australia. None of you will ever see me again."
"Good. Your pug face is tarnishing his memory just by appearing."
Pansy's face crumpled. It was an old taunt that still haunted her, but instead of feeling empathy, I felt self-satisfied that I had hit a nerve. Served her right. Dean was gone and the only marks she bore were those that Malfoy had given her two weeks ago.
"Neville, if Draco asks about me, don't tell him anything. He's trying to hurt me."
I spotted Seamus in the distance and hurriedly squashed any concern that Pansy's helpless face had caused. "Who am I to stop him?" Pansy grabbed my shoulders and brought her disgusting face only a hair away from mine.
"He wants to kill me."
I pushed the bitch off. "Good." Tears began pouring down her cheeks and I remembered those rare times in seventh year when I had felt safe. "But if Malfoy comes within talking distance, I'll off him." I brushed past her and tried to forget her soft, "Thank you," that stirred up too many warring emotions in my chest.
*
April 12, 1998
Dean
I could tell Hermione wasn't okay with him, but I didn't really care, and that gave me a thrill. I was rebelling against the Golden Girl. It shouldn't have given me a high, but it did.
"What happened to the bodyguards?" Malfoy drawled. On the outside I groaned but on the inside, I chuckled.
"What do you know about Horcruxes?" Hermione asked with a blank stare.
"Pardon?"
"Imperius!"
I immediately drew my wand and aimed at Hermione but her look was still placid. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Tell me the truth," Hermione ordered, her voice cold as ice. "What do you know about Horcruxes?"
"What's a Horcrux?" Draco inquired.
"Where's Bellatrix?"
"She's at the Manor obviously."
"How do we get into the Manor?"
"You'll need a Dark Mark to get past the wards but mine will be revoked." Malfoy rolled down his sleeve and revealed a forearm that was black, charred, and was missing a good chunk. "This was personally from the Dark Lord."
"Are you in love with Pansy Parkinson?"
"No, she's too fat."
"Are you jealous of Harry?"
"Yeah, I-"
"Finite incantatem!" I cried. Hermione turned and her eyes were wide and feral. "What's wrong with you? We're supposed to be the good guys!"
"I'm sick of all this bullshit!" Hermione shrieked. "There's no time for Malfoy to grow up- I need answers!" She spat in Malfoy's face, then raised her wand and disappeared.
My flat was silent save the faint radio playing in the guest room. Suddenly the walls felt suffocating and the sun was too bright. A million thoughts floated around and collided in my head. Was Hermione cracking? If she broke, it would only be a few more days until everyone else would follow suit. I glanced at Malfoy and, for some twisted reason, he was grinning.
"That's her good mood."
*
April 2, 2001
Pansy
His stormy grey eyes stared languidly into mine and I sighed as my fingers traced the rough stubble on his chin and I drank in the musky smell of his cologne. We were the only two people in existence, in that small guest room with the dusty black sheets and the glass coffee table. For years I had dreamed of that moment and it had finally come to fruition, surpassing any and all my expectations.
"Merlin, we should've done this sooner," Draco whispered, his lips barely brushing my ear and his hand resting on my thigh. I could only nod in agreement and snuggle closer to him.
We were separate, wild flames. For two long we had only danced around each other, but in one moment, on the pretense of asking for advice, we had turned into a single bonfire, emitting smoke and an unrivaled heat. I felt sparks run up and down my body deliriously as I pressed my lips onto his once more.
I got lost in Draco and in the tangled sheets. We were on fire, metaphorically, but suddenly I felt a searing pain on my back and I shrieked. Draco swore and tried to put the flames out with the musty sheets but I still felt like boiling oil was coating every part of my body. I prayed to whoever was watching that I would go unconscious but my vision just got sharper and the pain more acute.
Suddenly the fire disappeared and I collapsed into Draco. There was no feeling from the nape of my neck down to my knees and my throat was raw from screaming.
"Are you still hot and bothered, Pansy?" the familiar voice of Hermione Granger hissed. I buried my face deeper into Draco's chest but her cursed claws grabbed my hair and yanked my head up. Suddenly, there was a burning sting on my right cheek, then another slap.
"Stop!" Draco cried next to me. I felt his big, strong hands pull me away from her grasp. When I looked up, Granger was absolutely livid but her eyes were full of sorrow and a seemingly unlimited amount of tears fell down her cheeks.
"I hope you two harlots have a nice life together," she hissed before storming out of the room and closing the door with a bang that made my heart jump.
"Draco-"
"Leave me alone," he snapped. I froze. There was nothing but ice in his eyes. "You stupid pug, get out." He glared at me and pushed me off his lap. I fell onto the hard wooden floor and ran out of the room, only stopping to grab my coat before running out of Malfoy Manor like my life depended on it.
It probably had.
*
April 1, 1996
Draco
The haunting melody of Franz Liszt's Liebestraum No. 3 echoed throughout the corridors of the fifth floor, drawing me to the small music classroom where I had snogged Astoria in forth year. I pushed the door open softly and stared at the girl rocking back and forth on the piano bench, her hands flying at impossible speeds. Wizards were almost always superior, but Muggle music had a particular depth to it, and the composers spent months, sometimes years, or even lifetimes, perfecting every single note whereas wizards relied heavily on magic.
Hermione Granger was both Wizard and Muggle. Her technique was rusty and flawed, but her playing was vivid and colourful whereas mine was flat and empty.
I must have stood there for nearly five minutes, watching her play. Mother had always played the piano when father was away on business. It had been nearly a decade since I last heard someone pour their heart out on those 88 ivory keys. My heart raced in time with Granger's patchy runs, and my breathing slowed with the deceptively simple melody.
"Malfoy?" I jerked my head up. Granger was staring at me and she suddenly pulled out her wand, her other hand still above the last notes.
I attempted a sneer but my heart still yearned for the ending and she must have seen it in my eyes. She smiled shyly, put her wand down beside her, and completed the piece. I exhaled slowly.
"Franz Liszt was a Muggle," Granger stated suspiciously after releasing the keys.
"He was probably a wizard living among Muggles," I protested. "His work is magical!"
"Then why are simple Mudbloods like me able to play it?" Granger asked, breezing over the word Mudblood.
"You're not simple." Once the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to rein them back in, tie them up, and lock them deep down in the darkest crevice of my soul.
"Thanks." Granger's smiled then began a rather playful version of Chopin's Grand Valse Brillante. Mother would have played it more majestically but the pure joy in Granger's playing brought a reluctant smile to my face. The fingers on the keys no longer belonged to a dirty Mudblood but to a talented musician.
My feet were light on the walk back to the Slytherin common room but my mood dampened when I saw Theo's grim face. He held up an envelope and any demons that Granger's music had whisked away returned.
"You have an assignment," said Theo, his mouth a thin line and his eyes fearful but full of awe at the same time. "Father said it was assigned to you personally, from the Dark Lord himself."
*
April 21, 1999
Hermione
Dean was in love in Pansy effing Parkinson.
I saw it in the way he straightened his back when she shuffled into the room. She was wearing a ratty old robe, her hair stuck up in wild spikes, and her face and body had been hollowed out into all angles, but Dean's breaths still became faster and his eyes were full of want.
"Dean?" Penelope Clearwater whispered, concerned. He glanced at her and smiled then snapped his head back toward Parkinson.
Kingsley cleared his throat then addressed Parkinson. "The jury has reviewed your case and decided your war crimes were due to threats on your life from Voldemort. You have been declared innocent and are permitted to live freely without any surveillance. Please fill out this form before leaving the Ministry. Your belongings will be Owled to you. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Parkinson." She nodded then shuffled out of the room, her head down.
Ginny would be livid once she heard the verdict but would understand- she had been a victim of Voldemort's mind games as well. Harry would roll his eyes, on the off chance he was conscious long enough to hear everything, and Ron-
Well, Ron had disappeared the second he was able to walk, and his updates were becoming fewer and far between.
Sometimes I felt like disappearing too, but there was work to be done.
I looked down at the next case file and grimaced. The doors opened with a groan and the room fell silent. My head stayed down and I avoided the defendant's eyes.
Kingsley wasted no time.
"Draco Malfoy, the jury has reviewed your case." I glanced up at him and immediately regretted it. He was staring right at me, but I couldn't look away. "Your war crimes were proven to be under threats on you and your family's lives, therefore you have been declared innocent." Draco's eyes bulged and I simply stared at Kingsley. "Please fill out this form before leaving the Ministry. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Malfoy."
Wizards and witches around me muttered under their breath and shuffled papers but no one protested. A few gave me accusing glares, as if I had personally freed him.
"You really are the devil's advocate," Dean muttered beside me.
"Says the one in love with an infant murderer," I hissed back. Dean recoiled, as if slapped, and turned his head toward the next defendant.
Maybe I should have felt bad, but Pansy was bad news. Dean deserved better.
The door closed behind Draco with a bang. Devil's advocate, was I?
So be it. Not all of us deserved better.
*
April 22, 2001
Draco
Pellets of rain beat against the window and the tenebrous clouds cast a shadow over Pansy's sleeping body. Her ancient house elf, Kavinsky, had worked for my family once. He was still loyal.
Blankets were strewn haphazardly over her legs but I had a clear view of her chest. It was so easy. My hand itched to grab my wand and burn a nice clean line across her heart, but the stain of murder wouldn't look good on my Ministry file. Instead I grabbed a knife. Knives were quite funny things- the handle offered control and power, but the blade could only offer pain.
Pansy could offer only pain.
I could offer only pain.
We were naturally death's servants and would continue to spread agony.
But I had the knife handle. I had the power to end everything.
The blade was dull and there was a bit of resistance before it bit into her smooth skin. She cried out and sounded much like a wounded dog, but I dug deeper. There was red everywhere: light crimson speckles, deep carmine currents, and near transparent drops. Her voice got weaker and weaker and my strength began to falter but I thought of Hermione, Dean, his family, and his friends and I pushed deeper. They would appreciate this act of kindness, and maybe my memory wouldn't be completely tarnished.
"Draco," Pansy gasped. Clear tears trickled down her face eventually mixing with the red around her neck and chest and pooling in her tangled hair like it was a nest.
Suddenly her eyes went still and I knew it was done. There. I had atoned for my sins. My heart felt empty and torn but surely Hermione would be able to look at me again. Pansy Parkinson was no longer a stain on this world because of me.
I threw the knife away then looked down at my hands. They were slick with blood and matted with some of Pansy's hair.
My gaze landed on her body. The cut hadn't been clean. There were shreds of skin everywhere and I could see an off-white bone that was no doubt a rib. Suddenly I felt like puking. I had killed Pansy, a murderer, but that made me a killer in turn.
"Sir?" I turned around and saw Kavinsky holding an envelope. He was old and nearly blind. "I have a letter from a Ms. Granger. Her owl won't leave until you pen a reply."
I knew what I had to do.
"Thank you."
I took the envelope. It was so flimsy, and the blood from my hands ruined it. I rubbed my hands on my trousers then reached inside my robe and pulled out a letter. It was supposed to be delivered by my hands, but I knew if I stepped outside Pansy's house, I would lose my resolve.
"Please give this to the owl."
"Of course, sir. Will Pansy need anything?"
Kavinsky the house-elf was nearly blind and utterly exhausted, but he still had his innocence. He didn't know what it felt like to hold the handle of a blade and to still lose control. He hadn't felt the small, agonizing seconds of resistance that the human skin gave against a knife or the tiny, tantalizing window of opportunity to throw away power and keep a life.
"No thank you, Kavinsky."
The house-elf toddled out of the room with my letter and I looked down at the envelope in my hand. It was Hermione's neat cursive.
I put the message in my pocket and ran to the knife on the floor before I changed my mind. There was still one more patch of darkness in this new world of light, and it had to disappear.
Hermione loved it when I kissed her neck, so I knew I couldn't tarnish mine. I stripped off my robe and my shirt then placed the tip of the blade right above my heart. So many had had theirs broken and not just because of Pansy, but because of me. I had given into temptation and taken her to my bed when I should have just waited for Hermione.
No more hearts should wither and no more lives should be taken.
The steel pierced through my skin and I smiled despite the fiery pain. The last heart had been broken.
*
April 22, 2001
Hermione
Dear Hermione,
Pansy's dead in atonement of Dean. Don't worry about me.
I can remember the first time I saw past your blood, in the music room on the fifth floor. Liebestraum No. 3 is still my favourite piece to this day.
I am so sorry for any pain I have caused you. Please don't look for me.
Love, Draco
My hands shook and dropped the paper. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to kill Pansy for being a slag and I wanted to hurt Draco for putting me through more pain. My heart felt leaden and my breaths came out in huge gasps. Then I started crying. Salty tears trailed down my cheeks and into my mouth and my shoulders heaved as I sobbed. I would never feel his warm hugs after a long day and there would be no one to look for new music with. There was no one to wake me up from my nightmares then reassure me that everything would be okay. It felt like someone had worn brass knuckles then punched me in the stomach. I had never realized how much a part of me belonged to Draco, even after the Pansy thing, but now I would never see him again.
I screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat became hoarse. Draco had to hear me. In any second he would saunter in and hug me before finding out what was wrong. He would kiss me then later say he only did it to shut me up. We would to argue and he would sleep on the couch but eventually at three in the morning I would go downstairs and snuggle against him. He would pretend to be asleep but I knew he had stayed up as long as I had.
Why? For the love of Merlin why? He said he was sorry for any pain he caused but he should have fucking known that leaving would hurt the most. Didn't he see it in the way I had looked at him? Hadn't he felt the energy that sparked whenever we touched? Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he had just left me for some other whore; maybe Pansy wasn't even dead.
I crumpled the letter and threw it at the wall. The temptation to burn it was strong but a voice told me not to. Instead I sat on the floor, brought my knees to my chest, and tried to sleep. Surely this was a nightmare. When I woke up, I would be living in my parents' house. They would know my name and hug me. Draco Malfoy would just be an interesting name. There would be no scar where Bellatrix had cut me and Lord Voldemort would only be an anagram.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't fall asleep. My cheek pressed against the cold kitchen tile, eventually growing numb, and there were no more tears but my nose was clogged. It hurt to breathe through my mouth but I had no choice. Every breath caused more pain to flare in my throat so I tried to hold it as long as possible. Maybe I would stop breathing. I would join Pansy, and Draco would have no choice but to come after me.
There was a framed photo hanging on the wall from the April of fifth year. Colin Creevey had taken it then Blaise had tried to use it as blackmail. I laughed, remembering how Draco had promised he would persuade Ginny to be his Valentine in exchange for the photograph. Blaise had grown so flustered and Draco and I had teased him for days-
It hurt to laugh alone.
*
April 2, 1998
Neville
Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Carrows had been terrible but once the bell rang, I walked out of class with pride. There was a fiery pain all over my body but I wore my scars with pride. They hadn't broken me, not yet. Gran would be proud.
The corridors were mostly empty since students stayed in the safety of their common rooms. Snape and the Carrows were Slytherins, which was a nice convenience.
"Do you need help with your cuts?" I looked for the speaker and my eyes landed on Pansy Parkinson, peaking out from behind a classroom door. I immediately took out my wand and she widened her eyes. "There's no one else in here, I swear it on my mother's life!"
"Are they hiding?" I asked dubiously. The Slytherins had trouble finding people to bully, now that everyone stayed in their rooms, so finding me wounded and alone was probably an early Christmas present.
"No, they're playing Quidditch. You can even look out the window over there!" I walked closer to Parkinson and stared at her. She became a bit flustered but there was no sign of her lying. Recently, I'd noticed that she sat alone in the classes we shared. I lowered my wand but kept a firm grip on it.
"Are you going to let me in or what, Parkinson?" I said, offering a small smile. Her eyes grew even bigger with surprise as she opened the door then shut it quickly behind me.
The classroom was dusty and cluttered. There was a piano and a few other instruments lying around haphazardly and scattered desks and chairs. On one desk was a bowl of yellow liquid.
"Um, I made some Murtlap Essence," Parkinson said shyly, keeping her head down. "Some of the, uh, Slytherins like to pick on me so I use it sometimes, but I made too much."
"Why do they pick on you?" Last year, Parkinson had been the token girl of Malfoy's gang.
"My father was humiliated by the Dark Lord," she replied, her eyes watering. "He almost died. The Parkinson family name is now tarnished and I- I never believed in his ideals anyway."
"Sure you didn't," I scoffed, thinking of the countless times she'd sneered, 'Mudblood' or 'blood traitor.' There was an awkward silence, filled occasionally with Pansy's sniffs, and then she picked up a cloth, soaked it in the Murtlap Essence, and placed it gently on my cheek. The burning pain instantly cooled and I forgot who was helping me.
"Please call me Pansy," she said suddenly. I opened my eyes and saw her looking at me, no longer nervous but still lonely and vulnerable.
"Sure. And call me Neville." Pansy slowly smiled and switched the cloth to my other cheek.
*
"Why don't you just leave?" Pansy asked me suddenly. I widened my eyes.
It was probably a month after she had first offered me a bowl of Murtlap Essence, and meeting her in the dusty music room had become a routine.
"There's the D.A. to take care of," I muttered. Pansy scoffed, put down the cloth, and crossed her arms.
"Everyone in your army is fine except for you," she argued. "And what if one day the Carrows go too far?" Pansy's voice caught but she forced out a laugh. "Then what'll I do with all my Murtlap Essence?"
"I'll be fine," I assured her, even if I didn't believe it myself. She was right. I'd fallen unconscious yesterday but on the bright side, I was allowed to leave class early when I woke up five minutes later.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're such a Gryffindor."
"You say that like it's a bad thing!"
"It can be. You're all brave but pretty rash at times too." Pansy looked at me and I felt like she could see my soul. "If you get hurt, I want to be able to help you, but that won't be possible if you're dead."
At that moment, an unknown force seized me. Pansy's eyes looked so worried and concerned. No one had ever cared that much for me, maybe not even Gran.
I placed my hands behind her head and brought her lips to mine. She made a small noise of surprise then jerked away. She gaped at me and I put my head in my hands and groaned. What had I just done? There had been no fireworks or any sparks. Maybe only girls like Ginny and Hermione felt that. Ron and Harry never mentioned any of that bull. Suddenly my ears picked up a quiet giggle. I peaked through my fingers and saw Pansy shaking, with a hand clamped over her mouth.
"What's so funny?" I snapped. That had been my first kiss! Merlin's beard, she probably thought I was a creep.
"You're a terrible kisser," Pansy said with a broad grin. I felt my stomach slowly sink and I wanted to whither away, but suddenly her hands were in my hair and our faces were barely apart. "But that's okay. I can teach you."
That was the day I learned electricity wasn't just a Muggle thing.
*
April 4, 2002
Hermione
Parkinson had been buried in a private pure-blood family plot but being a war heroine had its perks. I didn't know what I intended to do- desecrate it, scream at it- but once the grave came into sight I stopped.
Neville was on his knees as he planted lilacs in front of the gravestone despite the drizzle that stirred the dirt to mud and nearly washed the plants away.
"Neville?" He jerked around and wiped his face. His cheeks were wet, not from the rain. "You- you-"
"She wasn't always a whore," he said. He took a deep breath and stood up. "In seventh year she kept me sane and safe and I fell a bit in love with her. I guess that's why it hurt so much when she slept with Malfoy. I let her go because Dean was a good match for her and I knew he'd take care of her, but she didn't take him seriously. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I'd fought harder for her. Maybe she and Malfoy would still be alive. Dean would definitely be okay."
"It's not your fault," I said quietly, putting an arm around him. What ifs? constantly haunted me but they didn't need to haunt anyone else. "They all made their own choices. Pansy, Draco, Dean. And there's nothing we can do about it except honour their memory." Neville nodded but his eyes had been glazed over by tears.
I gave Parkinson's marker one last glance and sighed. Not even she deserved a desecrated grave. That wouldn't fill the hole in my heart Draco had left.
Neville spoke suddenly, his eyes glassy but determined. "Our choices define us, Hermione, but we can't let the choices of others define us too."
They weren't words of sympathy but still words of comfort. And I couldn't agree more.
Suddenly the rain stopped and a rainbow slowly appeared. It was beautiful.