Fanfiction, Crimson and Luminous, R, H/Hr/D
Author: Jelly_Jane
Beta(s): 'N/A'
Genre: hurt/comfort
Rating: R
Warning(s): mild swearing, sex
Pairing(s):hermione/harry/draco
Disclaimer: Don't own them
Summary:: How do you make an impossible choice? What happens when you do? A one-shot exploration featuring HG, HP, and DM.
There’s fire in the sky. Arced bolts of lightning carve out twisted, tangled spider webs among the clouds, blinding blue-white snarls of electricity lasting less than a heartbeat. Every few seconds thunder rumbles overhead, underneath, and everywhere. Growling, gravelly roars that shake me to the bones. I feel the thunder echo in my chest.
There’s lightning and thunder, but no rain. Hot, moist, heavy air fills my lungs with every breath, clogging my throat, settling deep down inside me like a lazy fog, swirling and shifting and sinking within. I taste the late summer night on my lips when my tongue flits out to catch a drop of sweat trickling down the side of my face. Sticky clothes, rank and mud-covered, cling to my body, but there’s no time for a quick cleaning spell.
There’s no time for anything.
I increase my pace, careful to keep the Mobilicorpus-lifted body before me in sight, and I dodge around the thorny thickets and drooping tree limbs blocking the path to the forest clearing. I see a flicker of firelight ahead, and the urge to charge into the dell, wand blazing, seizes me, clenching my heart, my lungs, my mind. I feel breathless, nearly dizzy, with the need, but I can’t rush. I can’t charge. There’s too much at risk for a lapse in control.
The edge of the clearing appears. I yank on my wand, halting the progress of the body, and peer through the final ring of trees and brush. Three figures in the center of the nook, two limp, sagging, bound with smooth grey bonds; strange grotesqueries of living, breathing beings; Harry and Draco.
There is no blood. Not that I expected any. Wizard torture has always focused more on the mental than the physical, using wands instead of fists to elicit pain. I see Stupefication in glassy green eyes and the Cruciatus curse in the convulsive tremors of smooth, pale hands. Bile rises in my throat, and I look away, taking a moment to breathe in and out, in and out, in and out.
My gaze returns to the clearing, but I focus now on the third figure, standing behind and between Harry and Draco. Hate hot like the lightning above rushes through me at the sight of Rodolphus Lestrange. I don’t know how he captured both Harry and Draco, captured them alive no less, but the how of it doesn’t matter. The why is what’s important. Why he didn’t turn them over to Voldemort immediately post-capture. Why he requested this meeting, this exchange of prisoners instead. The why is the hope that I cling to to get the three of us out of here alive.
Rodolphus watches me step into the clearing, watches me search the surrounding wood for moving shadows. We are supposed to be alone, just us and our captives, but I would be a fool to think Rodolphus has no contingency plan in mind.
I wish I had one.
I stop a few feet from Rodolphus and, with a flick of my wand, send the unconscious form of Bellatrix Black Lestrange crumpling to the ground between us.
“Is she alive?” Rodolphus asks. He grasps his wand loosely in his left hand, and I know I’ve walked into a trap.
“Yes.”
Seconds tick by, and I see a shadow move to my right. Deep enough in the forest to be concealed from sight but close enough to watch the proceedings unobstructed. Close enough to intervene if needed.
“Revive them,” I say, keeping my wand on Bellatrix and my eyes on Rodolphus. “I want to speak to them.”
I want them to speak to me.
Rodolphus glances in the direction of the moving shadow before pointing his wand at Harry. “Enervate.” A moment passes and then Harry groans. He opens his eyes, closes them again, swallows hard, and then, squinting through the gloom, finds me. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. I see the question on his face. I move my head, an inch, two, enough that Harry understands my wordless reply. We are alone. No Order members hiding in the trees, ready to swoop down on some pre-arranged signal. No Dumbledore here to save the day. The fight for Hogwarts has begun, and the remaining Order members are needed to repel Voldemort’s attack.
Draco moans and mumbles a thick, “Bloody… fuck…” Harry’s gaze jerks from me to him. Another moan and then eyes open into blue-grey slits as Draco says, “Harry? Harry?”
Nobody speaks. A crooked spike of lightning ignites the sky, thunder cracks open the night, but still there is no rain. Rodolphus looks from Harry to Draco and to the gaze between them, and his mouth twists into a sneer. His eyes find mine as he drops the sword that’s been dangling above our heads, above my head, from the moment I entered the clearing. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve changed my mind. I have two prisoners here. But you, you only have one.”
“You only asked for Bellatrix.”
“I know I did. But you should have brought a spare. Like me. That’s very thoughtless of you, isn’t it? And people say you’re the clever one.”
Books and cleverness. I have neither at the moment. “So what now?” I ask even though I know the answer. I ask to stall for time, maybe. For what I don’t know. For hope. For a plan. For something other than the inevitable to occur.
“Now you choose.”
“That wasn’t our agreement.”
“I’m altering our agreement.”
“Y-You can’t do that.”
“Why not? Because it’s not right? I’m evil, you know, damaged morality and all that rot. Add to that a few decades spent in Azkaban and my perspective on things becomes a little… skewed.” The shadows of the forest part and two figures enter the clearing, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus’ brother, and a witch I’ve never seen before, wands raised and locked on myself and Draco. Rodolphus doesn’t look at them, but the sneer on his face widens into a cold smile. “Choose.”
I take a step closer to Bellatrix and press my wand against the back of her neck. “I’ll kill her.”
“And then I’ll kill the Malfoy brat and my brother will kill you, and I’ll still walk out of this clearing with Potter as my prisoner.” Rodolphus gazes down at his wife, and a twisted sort of tenderness shines in his eyes. “I want Bellatrix. I want her very much. It’s been too long since she’s been by my side. Far too long. But not at the price of both Potter and Malfoy. The Dark Lord wants both of them, and learning I had both at my mercy, ready for Him, only to let them go just for Bellatrix… The Dark Lord appreciates Bellatrix’s devotion to his cause, but he would appreciate a gift-wrapped Potter or Malfoy even more. And I will bring him one. One way or another.” Rodolphus focuses on me again and says, “So don’t be a fool, girl. We can both walk away from this with someone we want, or you can try something stupid and kill yourself, the brat, and Potter, too.”
“But-”
“You have one minute to decide.”
* * *
“What are you doing out here? It’s not safe, you know.”
Harry doesn’t look at me. He sits by the edge of the lake, legs crossed at the ankles, chin resting in the palm of one hand, watching the sun set crimson and luminous between two peaks of the distant hills. “I don’t care. Go report me.”
“I’m not going to report you. I don’t care about that. I’m just concerned. You know how dangerous things are now, and-”
“If it’s so unsafe, why’re you out here?”
“Because somebody has to talk some sense into you. Do you even have your wand?”
“Yes, I have my wand!” he snaps, casting a glare in my direction. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”
I hold back my sigh. Losing my temper will accomplish nothing save making Harry more angry and confrontational. And that always accomplishes nothing. “I know that. I know. It’s just…”
He looks at me now, squinting against the dying sun, green eyes burning red behind his glasses. “What? It’s just what, Hermione?”
“It’s just that I’m worried about you, all right! Is that okay with you, Harry? Can I be worried about you? We’re supposed to be friends and people generally worry when their friends sit outside alone, at night, in the middle of a war.”
Eyes dropping down to the ground, Harry finds a pebble buried beneath smashed tangles of grass and worries the stone between his fingers. Minutes pass and the sun sinks further into the earth before he speaks again. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t be there, anymore. The room…it’s different.”
I ease down onto the ground beside Harry. I wrap my arms around my legs and stare out at the scarlet sky. It’s the same shade, the lake and the sky and the sun. The same red as his hair. “I miss him, too. I…” Hot tears burn my eyes; I blink them away. “Sometimes I think I hear him saying things to me, something like if he had to hear about Hogwarts, A History one more time, he’d chuck all my books out the window. Or sometimes I see him with that expression he gets when I say something obscure and bookish, that look, the one where he’s exasperated but almost, almost proud at the same time. And then, then I realize he didn’t. That he couldn’t. Because he’s, he’s…”
“Dead.”
“Yeah.” I can’t say the word. Saying it makes it final, finished, ready to be forgotten, and I don’t ever want it to be forgotten.
I don’t want Ron to be forgotten.
Silence reigns supreme again, and I stare up at the pale shadow of the crescent moon hiding behind the clouds. What do you say to someone who watched their best friend die, watched the murder happen right in front of them, helpless, powerless to stop it? Do you give false platitudes about how he’s moved on to a better place when you both know that the place he should be is right by your sides? When you both know that there is a hole here without him, that you are not whole without him. “I… Do you have everything you need for tomorrow?” I say instead.
“I don’t need anything,” Harry says. A beat passes and then he adds, “Not for recon anyway.”
I find a rock of my own and cup it between the palms of my hands. “I don’t think you should go.”
“I know.”
“Draco doesn’t either.”
Harry throws his pebble into the lake and turns to face me. The full weight of the Potter stare falls upon me, but I’ve known Harry too well for too long to let it intimidate me. “He doesn’t,” I say again, dropping my stone back onto the brittle grass. “He agrees with me.”
“Does he now? He never said anything to me.”
“No. No, he didn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, Harry. I- It means nothing. We should get back inside.”
“Hermione.”
I stand and brush off the bits of dirt and grass stuck to my hands. “I’m serious, Harry. It’s getting dark.”
“I’m serious, too.” Harry follows me up from the ground. He grabs my hand to stop me from leaving. I feel his eyes on me, searching for answers and explanations, but I look away to keep them hidden. “Tell me.”
I shake my head and move out of his grasp, crossing the scant distance to the water’s edge. A chill spreads through me as I gaze out over the water, and I shiver in the dying summer sun.
“Hermione, please. Talk to-”
“He didn’t say anything because he knows you won’t listen. You never listen to anyone. Not anymore.” I glance down at my ink-stained hands, at fingers callused from years of grasping quills and pens and pencils, at short nails bitten down to the quick. All the knowledge that passed through these fingers means nothing now, inapplicable in this new and violent world. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I say, “He’s going with you tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Well, what did you expect? You won’t let anyone go in your place, and you can’t go alone-”
“Oh, wait. I know this one. I can’t go alone because I’m the Boy Who Lived Only to Defeat Voldemort, and I can’t take two steps outside the castle without fifty armed Aurors there to protect me from his evil ways.” Harry kicks at the ground, releasing a cloud of dark grey dirt that dusts over the caked streaks of mud and grime on his leather boots. They were an old pair of Sirius’, found in a box buried in the attic of Grimmauld Place. “It’s not like it matters anyway,” he mutters.
Over my shoulder, I look back at Harry. “What? Your life? Of course it matters.”
“Does it? Does it really? What’s left, Hermione, for me after this? Sirius, Ron, and Dumbledore are dead. Hagrid, Mrs. Weasley, dead. Should I go on? Voldemort’s taken them all away, everyone I’ve loved. Everyone who’s ever loved me.”
I close my eyes to keep the tears at bay. “That’s not true.”
“I. Fuck. Hermione, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I know you do. I know, and you… you’re… You’re all that I have left.”
I fight to keep my voice steady. Fight and fail. “That’s not true either.”
Harry sighs. I know he’s rubbing a hand over his always unruly hair; I can see it in my mind, behind my closed eyes, so sharp and clear it hurts. “I know there’s the other Order members, but it’s not-”
“I asked him not to go. I said I would go with you, that it was too risky for him to leave the castle so soon after Lucius’s death, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He never listens to me when it’s about you.”
I open my eyes and find the night rising around me. The last vestiges of sunlight gleam in the distance, a thin slice of ruby red light hovering above the horizon.
“And it’s always about you, Harry. Always.”
* * *
How do you make an impossible choice?
I feel Harry and Draco looking at me, feel the weight of their gazes press down on my body, suffocating me. I can’t look at them. I can’t. How can I choose? How? How can I decide who gets to live and who has to die? Because that’s what’s in store for the one left behind. Torture and pain and death. “I… I- Take me instead.”
“Hermione, no!”
I ignore Harry, ignore Draco struggling against his bonds, and focus solely on Rodolphus. “Let Harry and Draco go, let them return to Hogwarts, and I’ll be your prisoner. Think about it,” I say. “The cleverest witch at Hogwarts, Harry Potter’s closest friend, and a Muggle-born witch to boot, that’s sure to appease the Dark Lord. Let them go, and I’ll come with you, freely and willingly.”
Rodolphus cocks his head to the side and assesses me with dark eyes. The air hums with electricity, vibrates from the violent collisions of the positive with the negative that make the lightning. Bellatrix lurches at my feet, rolls over onto her stomach, and vomits on the ground. The potion keeping her subdued must be wearing off.
Eyes hardening, Rodolphus straightens and says, “No. You mean nothing to the Dark Lord. You’re an incovienent, Mudblood nuisance. Nothing more. Now stop stalling and make your choice or I will make it for you.” He raises his wand and points it at Harry. “And believe me, you won’t want that. You won’t want that at all.”
* * *
Morning light, pale and fragile, peeks through the gathering storm clouds on the horizon. I stand in a small patch of sunlight on the covered bridge, the one that reaches from the castle proper to the outlying grounds, and I close my eyes on the day. Breathing in, I smell the damp of the morning dew and the smoke rising from the Hogwarts kitchens; smell the heady scent of flowers growing beneath the bridge and the remnants of the soap from my shower.
I smell. I feel. I taste. I see. But I hear nothing. No birds chirping. No owls hooting. No booming bark of Fang or faint buzzing of bees around the flowers. Silence, heavy and complete, covers the breaking morning, and I think this is the calm before the storm.
He breaks the calm as he always does, as loud as he possibly can. His footfalls are dull thuds on the wooden planks, echoing like gunshots in the dawn’s stillness. And then they stop, abruptly. He’s spotted me now, I know it, and I don’t have to turn around to see the wary look on his face. He’s the simmering caution to Harry’s volatile recklessness.
I wait for Draco to speak; he always does.
“Granger? What are you doing out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t? We graduated, remember? You’re not Head Girl anymore. You don’t need to patrol the castle looking for scheming miscreants.”
I open my eyes and cast a sidelong glance at Draco. He’s dressed for espionage, all in black save for the silver Slytherin ring on his left hand. “Looks like I found one anyway.”
He arches an eyebrow at my remark. “Technically one found you. You can’t do much finding with your eyes closed.” He pauses for a moment and a wry smirk appears on his face. “And I’d say I’m more of a dashing rogue than a scheming miscreant, but you’ve always seen the worst in me. I suppose though that ‘scheming miscreant’ is somewhat better than ‘evil Slytherin scum’ or ‘nasty, rat-faced bastard.’”
I turn my head away to hide the smile on my face. “Yes, I suppose it is. I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to keep calling you ‘evil Slytherin scum.’ After all, you did save my life. Came back for me when you could have left, free and clear.”
“Yeah, well, Potter would’ve given me new meaning for the term ‘unbearable torment’ if I’d let you die, so don’t think it was some big noble sacrifice on my part.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Saving my life was a completely selfish maneuver designed solely to save your own skin.”
Draco’s eyes narrow and he nods once, slowly. I understand his confusion. Sarcasm from my mouth is a rare occurrence these days. He watches me a moment longer before shaking his head and sighing. “Well, Granger, once again we’ve shared a lovely and heartwarming chat, and I do wish I could stay and continue, but Potter’s waiting for me.” He tips his head in an imitation of a cordial goodbye and then strides past me. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”
I watch him walk away and I wonder if Harry’s truly waiting. I wonder if he made Harry wait deliberately or if he’s truly running late. I wonder if he’s lying about Harry waiting, wonder if he’s leaving the castle early to check the grounds before Harry’s arrival or to make sure Harry doesn’t sneak out and Apparate away by himself. I wonder and I say, “Do you think we could ever be friends?”
Draco stops, one foot hovering over the top step of the stairs descending to the grounds. He turns his head to the side, presenting me with his profile. “I don’t have friends. A traitor never does.”
“What about Harry?”
His hand clenches around the wood railing. “What about Harry?”
“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
Draco faces me. I see the warning on his face, hear it in his voice as he says, “Potter and I aren’t friends, Granger. We’ll never be friends.”
He wants me to drop the topic, but I don’t. I won’t. “But you don’t hate him anymore.”
He raises one eyebrow again, a cold mimic of his earlier gesture. “Don’t I?”
My heart pounds beneath my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like Hermione and not some empty, grieving, worried shell of her that walks and talks and breathes.
He speaks again before I can answer. “What’s this all about, Granger? Is your morning schedule so lacking that you woke up and decided a quick interrogation before I left would be the best way to start your day?”
“No. No, I- It’s nothing. Nothing. Just words.” I turn back to the sunrise and watch the light crest over the dark ridge of clouds, stretching across the distant land like a thick heap of blankets, warm and comforting. But the light fails to comfort me. “Be careful on your trip.”
Be careful on your trip. Be careful. Careful. The words echo in my mind as I wait for Draco to leave, to take my common locution and go. But he comes to me, closing the distance between us fast and hard, and I tense in anticipation of the fury sure to be unleashed. I crossed a line, spoke to him about one of his unspeakable subjects, and I didn’t care. I don’t care.
His hands grip my arms, and Draco swings me around to face him. His grey eyes shine silver with intensity and a fevered determination that snatches the breath right from my body. “I will bring him back to you, Granger. I promise.”
He thinks this is about Harry. Will it ever not be about Harry? “What about you?” I ask, voice pale and fragile like the dawn.
Draco blinks. “What about me?”
“Will you bring yourself back to me, too?”
He releases me, startled, and I sway from the sudden freedom. Draco takes a step back. His eyes are a torrent of emotion, but I hold his gaze, rock steady in the slate storm. He turns away. “Granger.” He leans against the bridge railing, head bowed, eyes closed. “Granger, I-”
The pressure inside me cracks, fractures, and I disconnect, free floating away from this moment and myself. I shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have spoken, shouldn’t have questioned. “You should go,” I hear myself say. Should, should, should, should. “Harry’s waiting. He’s, he’s-”
Draco reaches for and grounds me. Palm warm against my skin, his thumb slides over my hand, through the tears, to the skin beneath. I look up to find clear grey eyes. And when he speaks it’s a soft murmur I’ve never heard before but want to hear again.
“I think that can be arranged.”
* * *
How do you make an impossible choice?
For me, I lift my arm and point. I can’t say the name. Saying it makes it final. Finished. Ready to be forgotten.
And this will never be forgotten.
* * *
I dream about Harry. About the last time I saw him smile. Late seventh year. In the Great Hall under the clear blue enchanted sky. He sat at the Gryffindor table, some ways down from where I was talking with Neville, staring out into space, seeing not the stained glass of the windows or the sloping grounds behind them, I know, but the shadows of memories in his mind. There was a hush to the Hall that matched his mood, subdued and somewhat melancholy, a hush broken by a loud, insistent, “Potter! Potter! Potter!”
Harry blinked and tilted his head toward the entrance to the Hall where Draco stood, leaning against an open door with his broom in one hand. “Get off your lazy arse and get your broom! I feel the need to humiliate you with a devastating loss at Quidditch.”
Harry stared at Draco, assessing him with that quiet, penetrating stare he picked up from Remus, and Draco rolled his eyes back at Harry, sighing as he said, “While I enjoy your remarkable impersonation of a great bloody rock, Potter, could we hurry this show along? I have places to be and more interesting people to be around.”
I doubt I would have noticed the change in Harry’s expression had I not been looking at him. But I was and I saw the slight up curve of his lips, the faint easing of the tension around his eyes, and the small quirk of his brows. I looked over at Draco, and his gaze shifted from Harry to me. I saw a challenge there on his face; he dared me to say something, to Harry or to himself. He wanted me to protest this impromptu Quidditch match as lunacy or stupidity or some such descriptor.
Harry rose and headed for the double doors, for Draco. As he passed me by, I reached across the table and grabbed hold of his wrist. He glanced down at the hold and then up to me, but he didn’t break the grip and walk away like I feared he would. In my peripheral vision, I saw Draco scowl and start toward us. I let him draw a few paces closer, well within hearing distance, and then I said to Harry, “Don’t forget his broom lists to the right. He’ll try to compensate for it by staying on your left.”
Draco stopped, surprise peeking out from beneath the scowl twisting his face. Harry shifted his arm and his hand clasped my own, squeezing it lightly as he said, “I’ll remember that.”
I nodded and let go. Harry started off again, and over his shoulder, I locked eyes with Draco.
“Granger.”
An understanding passed between us-
“Granger, wake up.”
-the first of a few-
“Grang-”
I open my eyes. The Great Hall disappears, replaced by the dingy interior of a Muggle pub. I lift my head from the table, scrubbing my eyes to erase the visions of the past haunting my mind as much as the visions of the liquor strewn table before me now. The table fails to fade away like the memories, instead coming into sharper focus as I spot the figure sitting opposite me.
Draco.
He looks the same as he always does, dressed all in black with his silver Slytherin ring on his left hand, his face bereft of the lines that confront me every day in the mirror.
Voice thick from sleep and liquor, I ask, “Why are you here?”
“Because you need me to be.” A pause and then, “Why are you here?”
Tongue darting out to lick my lips, I look for and find the half-empty tumbler of whisky amid the clutter. I grab the drink and gulp down the remaining liquor, feeling it slide along my throat like a sigh. “I can’t do this tonight.”
“But you will anyway. Why else would I be here?”
It hurts to look at Draco, but I do, drinking in charcoal eyes and smooth, pale hands like the whisky in my glass. “Maybe I miss you. Maybe, maybe I’ve finally cracked completely,” I say with a shake of my head. I turn my gaze away, toward the dim pub, but the foulness of the establishment forces my eyes back down to the tabletop. “Not quite the auspicious end to Hermione Granger, former Head Girl of Hogwarts and acclaimed hero of the war against Voldemort, that the history books dictate, is it? Drinking away her guilt in a no-name Muggle pub? It would be quite the scoop for Rita Skeeter. If she were still alive, that is.”
Draco says nothing. He just sits and listens as he always does.
“I keep wondering if it, if it could have ended differently. Somehow. If I had been the one to go on that mission and been taken by Rodolphus Lestrange. His brother killed Ron, did you know that? He did. Right in front of, in front of Harry. I didn’t see it. I was unconscious by that time and no help at all. Although it seems I’m no help at all when I’m conscious either, so I guess that didn’t matter. And Bellatrix killed Sirius. Also in front of Harry. And then I-” I close my eyes and press the cool glass against my forehead. There are no tears left inside for me to cry, but my voice cracks just the same as I continue. “Everybody said I was clever. I thought I was, too. I thought there was no way a Death Eater could outsmart me. I mean, I knew. And they didn’t. They followed a ruthless, racist dictator. How could they have known anything? After all I’d seen, I still thought… I still. Harry wasn’t the only one who never listened to anyone, you know. And it, it killed…”
The tumbler falls from my hand and crashes onto the table, cracking, smashing into four jagged slices, sharp and bright. I swallow hard and cradle my head in my hands, whispering, “You should go.”
“I should.”
“Then why don’t you? Go. Go. Leave me alone. Please.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why. You know.”
I look up then. I feel like the glass, empty and hollow, broken inside and out. There is nothing left but shattered pieces of me.
“I can’t go,” Draco says, “because you won’t let me.”
I finish the truth that I tried to drink away, that I used to ease the pain, but that I can’t deny any longer. No, I can’t deny it any longer. “Because you’re just a memory. Only a memory. My memory.”
* * *
Rodolphus waves his wand and the thin bonds around Harry disappear. My eyes dart from Rodolphus to Rabastan to their witch companion; I whisper, “Enervate,” and Bellatrix opens her eyes. I take a step back from Bellatrix, lifting my wand and leveling it at Rodolphus, while Harry struggles to his feet, glancing to where Draco sits still bound and silent. I don’t look at him; I can’t look at him. Not now. Not now.
Bellatrix stands, slowly; she sways slightly and starts toward Rodolphus. As she passes by Harry, she whispers something to him. Something about Sirius. And Harry stops.
Bellatrix stops.
The rain begins to fall. A fine mist at first, picking up in speed and intensity exponentially until fat, pear-shaped drops plow down through the sky, stinging exposed skin red, crashing into the forest like liquid bulls in nature’s own china shop.
Rodolphus tips his head to the side and watches Bellatrix and Harry with a bemused smile on his face, but he makes no move closer to the pair. Wands raised, Rabastan closes in on Draco while the witch inches towards me.
I swallow hard; my tongue flits out to lick my lips. “Harry.” He doesn’t acknowledge me. I ease forward, wand on Rodolphus, heart pounding and pounding in my chest, fast and hard like the rain. “Harry, please. Don’t do this. Not now. Not here.”
Bellatrix grins and giggles. “Not now, Harry. Not here, Harry. Be a good little boy, Harry, and I won’t kill you like I killed your traitorous, good-for-nothing god-”
Harry snaps, rears back, and punches Bellatrix hard in the face, breaking bone and cartilage. He thrusts out his arm and his wand flies from the inside of Rodolphus’s robes, through the rain, and into his hand as he spins around and fires a curse at Rabastan Lestrange, who flies away from Draco deep into the forest. I rush forward, tugging at the chain dangling from my neck, and dodge a curse from the witch. Rodolphus whips his wand toward Harry and yells, “Avada,” as I swing out with the chain, slapping the pendant into Harry’s hand. Seeker to the core, he grasps the pendant instinctively, as I knew he would, and I have enough time to register the shock and betrayal on his face before the Portkey activates and sends him back to Hogsmeade, back to Hogwarts.
The witch casts another Stupefy curse in my direction, but I block it with a Protection spell. Bellatrix charges me, throwing herself into me and sending us both to the ground. We fight for control of my wand, blinded by rain, mud, and rage. Bellatrix screams and claws at my face; I grab a hold of her hair and yank her head back. Her grip loosens, and I shove the tip of the wand into her throat and yell, “Stupefy!”
The curse sends her sailing away from me and into the witch who had been circling us waiting for her opening to strike. Gasping, winded, I feel hot blood and cool rain stream down my face. I see a shape move in my peripheral vision and twist my head around to see Rodolphus seize Draco by his bonds and drag him toward the now-extinguished torch. Draco thrashes his body around, struggling against Rodolphus’s hold, and Rodolphus stumbles, falls hard upon his knees, and drops his wand.
“Persephone!” Rodolphus lunges for his wand as Draco kicks at his hands. The witch, Persephone, slips out from under Bellatrix and I scramble to my feet. She points her wand at Draco, I point my wand at her, and together we yell, “Stupefy!”
Her curse misses as does mine. But the force of the magic is enough to separate Draco and Rodolphus and knock Persephone to the ground. Free from obstructions, Rodolphus snatches up his wand and spins around to face me. The rain pours down in a steady sheet between us, grey and thick and heavy. Draco rolls over onto his knees, blonde hair matted to his head in sticky clumps, clothes and face streaked with mud. Persephone climbs to her feet and points her wand at me; she swipes at a thin stream of blood trickling from her nose with her free hand. The torch Portkey stands a scant few meters from Rodolphus and Draco, and Rodolphus’ eyes flicker to the torch to Draco to me, gauging, calculating. I have one chance, one curse to fire before Persephone attacks. One spell to try to save Draco from torture, pain, and death at the hands of Voldemort.
The end begins with the lightning. Three spells shouted into the rain, drowned out by the thunder, witnessed by the night.
“Accio torch!”
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Stupefy!”
* * *
The rain still falls when I wake some time later, alone in the clearing, on the ground and in the mud, broken wand in one hand and Draco dead beside me.
Dead, I know, because I’m the one who killed him.
* * *
“They needed him,” I say to Draco, to the memory of him sitting before me now. “He was the only one who could defeat Voldemort. I had to choose Harry.” He stays silent, staring at me over the table. “I tried to save you. I tried. I couldn’t let them take you back to him, so I…” I can’t see him anymore. I can’t see him, but I know he’s still there, with me, always. “I did what I had to do.”
For a moment I don’t think he’ll answer. But then I hear him, whispering in the back of my mind. “You always do.”
* * *
Beta(s): 'N/A'
Genre: hurt/comfort
Rating: R
Warning(s): mild swearing, sex
Pairing(s):hermione/harry/draco
Disclaimer: Don't own them
Summary:: How do you make an impossible choice? What happens when you do? A one-shot exploration featuring HG, HP, and DM.
There’s fire in the sky. Arced bolts of lightning carve out twisted, tangled spider webs among the clouds, blinding blue-white snarls of electricity lasting less than a heartbeat. Every few seconds thunder rumbles overhead, underneath, and everywhere. Growling, gravelly roars that shake me to the bones. I feel the thunder echo in my chest.
There’s lightning and thunder, but no rain. Hot, moist, heavy air fills my lungs with every breath, clogging my throat, settling deep down inside me like a lazy fog, swirling and shifting and sinking within. I taste the late summer night on my lips when my tongue flits out to catch a drop of sweat trickling down the side of my face. Sticky clothes, rank and mud-covered, cling to my body, but there’s no time for a quick cleaning spell.
There’s no time for anything.
I increase my pace, careful to keep the Mobilicorpus-lifted body before me in sight, and I dodge around the thorny thickets and drooping tree limbs blocking the path to the forest clearing. I see a flicker of firelight ahead, and the urge to charge into the dell, wand blazing, seizes me, clenching my heart, my lungs, my mind. I feel breathless, nearly dizzy, with the need, but I can’t rush. I can’t charge. There’s too much at risk for a lapse in control.
The edge of the clearing appears. I yank on my wand, halting the progress of the body, and peer through the final ring of trees and brush. Three figures in the center of the nook, two limp, sagging, bound with smooth grey bonds; strange grotesqueries of living, breathing beings; Harry and Draco.
There is no blood. Not that I expected any. Wizard torture has always focused more on the mental than the physical, using wands instead of fists to elicit pain. I see Stupefication in glassy green eyes and the Cruciatus curse in the convulsive tremors of smooth, pale hands. Bile rises in my throat, and I look away, taking a moment to breathe in and out, in and out, in and out.
My gaze returns to the clearing, but I focus now on the third figure, standing behind and between Harry and Draco. Hate hot like the lightning above rushes through me at the sight of Rodolphus Lestrange. I don’t know how he captured both Harry and Draco, captured them alive no less, but the how of it doesn’t matter. The why is what’s important. Why he didn’t turn them over to Voldemort immediately post-capture. Why he requested this meeting, this exchange of prisoners instead. The why is the hope that I cling to to get the three of us out of here alive.
Rodolphus watches me step into the clearing, watches me search the surrounding wood for moving shadows. We are supposed to be alone, just us and our captives, but I would be a fool to think Rodolphus has no contingency plan in mind.
I wish I had one.
I stop a few feet from Rodolphus and, with a flick of my wand, send the unconscious form of Bellatrix Black Lestrange crumpling to the ground between us.
“Is she alive?” Rodolphus asks. He grasps his wand loosely in his left hand, and I know I’ve walked into a trap.
“Yes.”
Seconds tick by, and I see a shadow move to my right. Deep enough in the forest to be concealed from sight but close enough to watch the proceedings unobstructed. Close enough to intervene if needed.
“Revive them,” I say, keeping my wand on Bellatrix and my eyes on Rodolphus. “I want to speak to them.”
I want them to speak to me.
Rodolphus glances in the direction of the moving shadow before pointing his wand at Harry. “Enervate.” A moment passes and then Harry groans. He opens his eyes, closes them again, swallows hard, and then, squinting through the gloom, finds me. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. I see the question on his face. I move my head, an inch, two, enough that Harry understands my wordless reply. We are alone. No Order members hiding in the trees, ready to swoop down on some pre-arranged signal. No Dumbledore here to save the day. The fight for Hogwarts has begun, and the remaining Order members are needed to repel Voldemort’s attack.
Draco moans and mumbles a thick, “Bloody… fuck…” Harry’s gaze jerks from me to him. Another moan and then eyes open into blue-grey slits as Draco says, “Harry? Harry?”
Nobody speaks. A crooked spike of lightning ignites the sky, thunder cracks open the night, but still there is no rain. Rodolphus looks from Harry to Draco and to the gaze between them, and his mouth twists into a sneer. His eyes find mine as he drops the sword that’s been dangling above our heads, above my head, from the moment I entered the clearing. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve changed my mind. I have two prisoners here. But you, you only have one.”
“You only asked for Bellatrix.”
“I know I did. But you should have brought a spare. Like me. That’s very thoughtless of you, isn’t it? And people say you’re the clever one.”
Books and cleverness. I have neither at the moment. “So what now?” I ask even though I know the answer. I ask to stall for time, maybe. For what I don’t know. For hope. For a plan. For something other than the inevitable to occur.
“Now you choose.”
“That wasn’t our agreement.”
“I’m altering our agreement.”
“Y-You can’t do that.”
“Why not? Because it’s not right? I’m evil, you know, damaged morality and all that rot. Add to that a few decades spent in Azkaban and my perspective on things becomes a little… skewed.” The shadows of the forest part and two figures enter the clearing, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus’ brother, and a witch I’ve never seen before, wands raised and locked on myself and Draco. Rodolphus doesn’t look at them, but the sneer on his face widens into a cold smile. “Choose.”
I take a step closer to Bellatrix and press my wand against the back of her neck. “I’ll kill her.”
“And then I’ll kill the Malfoy brat and my brother will kill you, and I’ll still walk out of this clearing with Potter as my prisoner.” Rodolphus gazes down at his wife, and a twisted sort of tenderness shines in his eyes. “I want Bellatrix. I want her very much. It’s been too long since she’s been by my side. Far too long. But not at the price of both Potter and Malfoy. The Dark Lord wants both of them, and learning I had both at my mercy, ready for Him, only to let them go just for Bellatrix… The Dark Lord appreciates Bellatrix’s devotion to his cause, but he would appreciate a gift-wrapped Potter or Malfoy even more. And I will bring him one. One way or another.” Rodolphus focuses on me again and says, “So don’t be a fool, girl. We can both walk away from this with someone we want, or you can try something stupid and kill yourself, the brat, and Potter, too.”
“But-”
“You have one minute to decide.”
* * *
“What are you doing out here? It’s not safe, you know.”
Harry doesn’t look at me. He sits by the edge of the lake, legs crossed at the ankles, chin resting in the palm of one hand, watching the sun set crimson and luminous between two peaks of the distant hills. “I don’t care. Go report me.”
“I’m not going to report you. I don’t care about that. I’m just concerned. You know how dangerous things are now, and-”
“If it’s so unsafe, why’re you out here?”
“Because somebody has to talk some sense into you. Do you even have your wand?”
“Yes, I have my wand!” he snaps, casting a glare in my direction. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”
I hold back my sigh. Losing my temper will accomplish nothing save making Harry more angry and confrontational. And that always accomplishes nothing. “I know that. I know. It’s just…”
He looks at me now, squinting against the dying sun, green eyes burning red behind his glasses. “What? It’s just what, Hermione?”
“It’s just that I’m worried about you, all right! Is that okay with you, Harry? Can I be worried about you? We’re supposed to be friends and people generally worry when their friends sit outside alone, at night, in the middle of a war.”
Eyes dropping down to the ground, Harry finds a pebble buried beneath smashed tangles of grass and worries the stone between his fingers. Minutes pass and the sun sinks further into the earth before he speaks again. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t be there, anymore. The room…it’s different.”
I ease down onto the ground beside Harry. I wrap my arms around my legs and stare out at the scarlet sky. It’s the same shade, the lake and the sky and the sun. The same red as his hair. “I miss him, too. I…” Hot tears burn my eyes; I blink them away. “Sometimes I think I hear him saying things to me, something like if he had to hear about Hogwarts, A History one more time, he’d chuck all my books out the window. Or sometimes I see him with that expression he gets when I say something obscure and bookish, that look, the one where he’s exasperated but almost, almost proud at the same time. And then, then I realize he didn’t. That he couldn’t. Because he’s, he’s…”
“Dead.”
“Yeah.” I can’t say the word. Saying it makes it final, finished, ready to be forgotten, and I don’t ever want it to be forgotten.
I don’t want Ron to be forgotten.
Silence reigns supreme again, and I stare up at the pale shadow of the crescent moon hiding behind the clouds. What do you say to someone who watched their best friend die, watched the murder happen right in front of them, helpless, powerless to stop it? Do you give false platitudes about how he’s moved on to a better place when you both know that the place he should be is right by your sides? When you both know that there is a hole here without him, that you are not whole without him. “I… Do you have everything you need for tomorrow?” I say instead.
“I don’t need anything,” Harry says. A beat passes and then he adds, “Not for recon anyway.”
I find a rock of my own and cup it between the palms of my hands. “I don’t think you should go.”
“I know.”
“Draco doesn’t either.”
Harry throws his pebble into the lake and turns to face me. The full weight of the Potter stare falls upon me, but I’ve known Harry too well for too long to let it intimidate me. “He doesn’t,” I say again, dropping my stone back onto the brittle grass. “He agrees with me.”
“Does he now? He never said anything to me.”
“No. No, he didn’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, Harry. I- It means nothing. We should get back inside.”
“Hermione.”
I stand and brush off the bits of dirt and grass stuck to my hands. “I’m serious, Harry. It’s getting dark.”
“I’m serious, too.” Harry follows me up from the ground. He grabs my hand to stop me from leaving. I feel his eyes on me, searching for answers and explanations, but I look away to keep them hidden. “Tell me.”
I shake my head and move out of his grasp, crossing the scant distance to the water’s edge. A chill spreads through me as I gaze out over the water, and I shiver in the dying summer sun.
“Hermione, please. Talk to-”
“He didn’t say anything because he knows you won’t listen. You never listen to anyone. Not anymore.” I glance down at my ink-stained hands, at fingers callused from years of grasping quills and pens and pencils, at short nails bitten down to the quick. All the knowledge that passed through these fingers means nothing now, inapplicable in this new and violent world. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I say, “He’s going with you tomorrow.”
“What?”
“Well, what did you expect? You won’t let anyone go in your place, and you can’t go alone-”
“Oh, wait. I know this one. I can’t go alone because I’m the Boy Who Lived Only to Defeat Voldemort, and I can’t take two steps outside the castle without fifty armed Aurors there to protect me from his evil ways.” Harry kicks at the ground, releasing a cloud of dark grey dirt that dusts over the caked streaks of mud and grime on his leather boots. They were an old pair of Sirius’, found in a box buried in the attic of Grimmauld Place. “It’s not like it matters anyway,” he mutters.
Over my shoulder, I look back at Harry. “What? Your life? Of course it matters.”
“Does it? Does it really? What’s left, Hermione, for me after this? Sirius, Ron, and Dumbledore are dead. Hagrid, Mrs. Weasley, dead. Should I go on? Voldemort’s taken them all away, everyone I’ve loved. Everyone who’s ever loved me.”
I close my eyes to keep the tears at bay. “That’s not true.”
“I. Fuck. Hermione, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I know you do. I know, and you… you’re… You’re all that I have left.”
I fight to keep my voice steady. Fight and fail. “That’s not true either.”
Harry sighs. I know he’s rubbing a hand over his always unruly hair; I can see it in my mind, behind my closed eyes, so sharp and clear it hurts. “I know there’s the other Order members, but it’s not-”
“I asked him not to go. I said I would go with you, that it was too risky for him to leave the castle so soon after Lucius’s death, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He never listens to me when it’s about you.”
I open my eyes and find the night rising around me. The last vestiges of sunlight gleam in the distance, a thin slice of ruby red light hovering above the horizon.
“And it’s always about you, Harry. Always.”
* * *
How do you make an impossible choice?
I feel Harry and Draco looking at me, feel the weight of their gazes press down on my body, suffocating me. I can’t look at them. I can’t. How can I choose? How? How can I decide who gets to live and who has to die? Because that’s what’s in store for the one left behind. Torture and pain and death. “I… I- Take me instead.”
“Hermione, no!”
I ignore Harry, ignore Draco struggling against his bonds, and focus solely on Rodolphus. “Let Harry and Draco go, let them return to Hogwarts, and I’ll be your prisoner. Think about it,” I say. “The cleverest witch at Hogwarts, Harry Potter’s closest friend, and a Muggle-born witch to boot, that’s sure to appease the Dark Lord. Let them go, and I’ll come with you, freely and willingly.”
Rodolphus cocks his head to the side and assesses me with dark eyes. The air hums with electricity, vibrates from the violent collisions of the positive with the negative that make the lightning. Bellatrix lurches at my feet, rolls over onto her stomach, and vomits on the ground. The potion keeping her subdued must be wearing off.
Eyes hardening, Rodolphus straightens and says, “No. You mean nothing to the Dark Lord. You’re an incovienent, Mudblood nuisance. Nothing more. Now stop stalling and make your choice or I will make it for you.” He raises his wand and points it at Harry. “And believe me, you won’t want that. You won’t want that at all.”
* * *
Morning light, pale and fragile, peeks through the gathering storm clouds on the horizon. I stand in a small patch of sunlight on the covered bridge, the one that reaches from the castle proper to the outlying grounds, and I close my eyes on the day. Breathing in, I smell the damp of the morning dew and the smoke rising from the Hogwarts kitchens; smell the heady scent of flowers growing beneath the bridge and the remnants of the soap from my shower.
I smell. I feel. I taste. I see. But I hear nothing. No birds chirping. No owls hooting. No booming bark of Fang or faint buzzing of bees around the flowers. Silence, heavy and complete, covers the breaking morning, and I think this is the calm before the storm.
He breaks the calm as he always does, as loud as he possibly can. His footfalls are dull thuds on the wooden planks, echoing like gunshots in the dawn’s stillness. And then they stop, abruptly. He’s spotted me now, I know it, and I don’t have to turn around to see the wary look on his face. He’s the simmering caution to Harry’s volatile recklessness.
I wait for Draco to speak; he always does.
“Granger? What are you doing out here?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t? We graduated, remember? You’re not Head Girl anymore. You don’t need to patrol the castle looking for scheming miscreants.”
I open my eyes and cast a sidelong glance at Draco. He’s dressed for espionage, all in black save for the silver Slytherin ring on his left hand. “Looks like I found one anyway.”
He arches an eyebrow at my remark. “Technically one found you. You can’t do much finding with your eyes closed.” He pauses for a moment and a wry smirk appears on his face. “And I’d say I’m more of a dashing rogue than a scheming miscreant, but you’ve always seen the worst in me. I suppose though that ‘scheming miscreant’ is somewhat better than ‘evil Slytherin scum’ or ‘nasty, rat-faced bastard.’”
I turn my head away to hide the smile on my face. “Yes, I suppose it is. I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to keep calling you ‘evil Slytherin scum.’ After all, you did save my life. Came back for me when you could have left, free and clear.”
“Yeah, well, Potter would’ve given me new meaning for the term ‘unbearable torment’ if I’d let you die, so don’t think it was some big noble sacrifice on my part.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Saving my life was a completely selfish maneuver designed solely to save your own skin.”
Draco’s eyes narrow and he nods once, slowly. I understand his confusion. Sarcasm from my mouth is a rare occurrence these days. He watches me a moment longer before shaking his head and sighing. “Well, Granger, once again we’ve shared a lovely and heartwarming chat, and I do wish I could stay and continue, but Potter’s waiting for me.” He tips his head in an imitation of a cordial goodbye and then strides past me. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”
I watch him walk away and I wonder if Harry’s truly waiting. I wonder if he made Harry wait deliberately or if he’s truly running late. I wonder if he’s lying about Harry waiting, wonder if he’s leaving the castle early to check the grounds before Harry’s arrival or to make sure Harry doesn’t sneak out and Apparate away by himself. I wonder and I say, “Do you think we could ever be friends?”
Draco stops, one foot hovering over the top step of the stairs descending to the grounds. He turns his head to the side, presenting me with his profile. “I don’t have friends. A traitor never does.”
“What about Harry?”
His hand clenches around the wood railing. “What about Harry?”
“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
Draco faces me. I see the warning on his face, hear it in his voice as he says, “Potter and I aren’t friends, Granger. We’ll never be friends.”
He wants me to drop the topic, but I don’t. I won’t. “But you don’t hate him anymore.”
He raises one eyebrow again, a cold mimic of his earlier gesture. “Don’t I?”
My heart pounds beneath my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like Hermione and not some empty, grieving, worried shell of her that walks and talks and breathes.
He speaks again before I can answer. “What’s this all about, Granger? Is your morning schedule so lacking that you woke up and decided a quick interrogation before I left would be the best way to start your day?”
“No. No, I- It’s nothing. Nothing. Just words.” I turn back to the sunrise and watch the light crest over the dark ridge of clouds, stretching across the distant land like a thick heap of blankets, warm and comforting. But the light fails to comfort me. “Be careful on your trip.”
Be careful on your trip. Be careful. Careful. The words echo in my mind as I wait for Draco to leave, to take my common locution and go. But he comes to me, closing the distance between us fast and hard, and I tense in anticipation of the fury sure to be unleashed. I crossed a line, spoke to him about one of his unspeakable subjects, and I didn’t care. I don’t care.
His hands grip my arms, and Draco swings me around to face him. His grey eyes shine silver with intensity and a fevered determination that snatches the breath right from my body. “I will bring him back to you, Granger. I promise.”
He thinks this is about Harry. Will it ever not be about Harry? “What about you?” I ask, voice pale and fragile like the dawn.
Draco blinks. “What about me?”
“Will you bring yourself back to me, too?”
He releases me, startled, and I sway from the sudden freedom. Draco takes a step back. His eyes are a torrent of emotion, but I hold his gaze, rock steady in the slate storm. He turns away. “Granger.” He leans against the bridge railing, head bowed, eyes closed. “Granger, I-”
The pressure inside me cracks, fractures, and I disconnect, free floating away from this moment and myself. I shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have spoken, shouldn’t have questioned. “You should go,” I hear myself say. Should, should, should, should. “Harry’s waiting. He’s, he’s-”
Draco reaches for and grounds me. Palm warm against my skin, his thumb slides over my hand, through the tears, to the skin beneath. I look up to find clear grey eyes. And when he speaks it’s a soft murmur I’ve never heard before but want to hear again.
“I think that can be arranged.”
* * *
How do you make an impossible choice?
For me, I lift my arm and point. I can’t say the name. Saying it makes it final. Finished. Ready to be forgotten.
And this will never be forgotten.
* * *
I dream about Harry. About the last time I saw him smile. Late seventh year. In the Great Hall under the clear blue enchanted sky. He sat at the Gryffindor table, some ways down from where I was talking with Neville, staring out into space, seeing not the stained glass of the windows or the sloping grounds behind them, I know, but the shadows of memories in his mind. There was a hush to the Hall that matched his mood, subdued and somewhat melancholy, a hush broken by a loud, insistent, “Potter! Potter! Potter!”
Harry blinked and tilted his head toward the entrance to the Hall where Draco stood, leaning against an open door with his broom in one hand. “Get off your lazy arse and get your broom! I feel the need to humiliate you with a devastating loss at Quidditch.”
Harry stared at Draco, assessing him with that quiet, penetrating stare he picked up from Remus, and Draco rolled his eyes back at Harry, sighing as he said, “While I enjoy your remarkable impersonation of a great bloody rock, Potter, could we hurry this show along? I have places to be and more interesting people to be around.”
I doubt I would have noticed the change in Harry’s expression had I not been looking at him. But I was and I saw the slight up curve of his lips, the faint easing of the tension around his eyes, and the small quirk of his brows. I looked over at Draco, and his gaze shifted from Harry to me. I saw a challenge there on his face; he dared me to say something, to Harry or to himself. He wanted me to protest this impromptu Quidditch match as lunacy or stupidity or some such descriptor.
Harry rose and headed for the double doors, for Draco. As he passed me by, I reached across the table and grabbed hold of his wrist. He glanced down at the hold and then up to me, but he didn’t break the grip and walk away like I feared he would. In my peripheral vision, I saw Draco scowl and start toward us. I let him draw a few paces closer, well within hearing distance, and then I said to Harry, “Don’t forget his broom lists to the right. He’ll try to compensate for it by staying on your left.”
Draco stopped, surprise peeking out from beneath the scowl twisting his face. Harry shifted his arm and his hand clasped my own, squeezing it lightly as he said, “I’ll remember that.”
I nodded and let go. Harry started off again, and over his shoulder, I locked eyes with Draco.
“Granger.”
An understanding passed between us-
“Granger, wake up.”
-the first of a few-
“Grang-”
I open my eyes. The Great Hall disappears, replaced by the dingy interior of a Muggle pub. I lift my head from the table, scrubbing my eyes to erase the visions of the past haunting my mind as much as the visions of the liquor strewn table before me now. The table fails to fade away like the memories, instead coming into sharper focus as I spot the figure sitting opposite me.
Draco.
He looks the same as he always does, dressed all in black with his silver Slytherin ring on his left hand, his face bereft of the lines that confront me every day in the mirror.
Voice thick from sleep and liquor, I ask, “Why are you here?”
“Because you need me to be.” A pause and then, “Why are you here?”
Tongue darting out to lick my lips, I look for and find the half-empty tumbler of whisky amid the clutter. I grab the drink and gulp down the remaining liquor, feeling it slide along my throat like a sigh. “I can’t do this tonight.”
“But you will anyway. Why else would I be here?”
It hurts to look at Draco, but I do, drinking in charcoal eyes and smooth, pale hands like the whisky in my glass. “Maybe I miss you. Maybe, maybe I’ve finally cracked completely,” I say with a shake of my head. I turn my gaze away, toward the dim pub, but the foulness of the establishment forces my eyes back down to the tabletop. “Not quite the auspicious end to Hermione Granger, former Head Girl of Hogwarts and acclaimed hero of the war against Voldemort, that the history books dictate, is it? Drinking away her guilt in a no-name Muggle pub? It would be quite the scoop for Rita Skeeter. If she were still alive, that is.”
Draco says nothing. He just sits and listens as he always does.
“I keep wondering if it, if it could have ended differently. Somehow. If I had been the one to go on that mission and been taken by Rodolphus Lestrange. His brother killed Ron, did you know that? He did. Right in front of, in front of Harry. I didn’t see it. I was unconscious by that time and no help at all. Although it seems I’m no help at all when I’m conscious either, so I guess that didn’t matter. And Bellatrix killed Sirius. Also in front of Harry. And then I-” I close my eyes and press the cool glass against my forehead. There are no tears left inside for me to cry, but my voice cracks just the same as I continue. “Everybody said I was clever. I thought I was, too. I thought there was no way a Death Eater could outsmart me. I mean, I knew. And they didn’t. They followed a ruthless, racist dictator. How could they have known anything? After all I’d seen, I still thought… I still. Harry wasn’t the only one who never listened to anyone, you know. And it, it killed…”
The tumbler falls from my hand and crashes onto the table, cracking, smashing into four jagged slices, sharp and bright. I swallow hard and cradle my head in my hands, whispering, “You should go.”
“I should.”
“Then why don’t you? Go. Go. Leave me alone. Please.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You know why. You know.”
I look up then. I feel like the glass, empty and hollow, broken inside and out. There is nothing left but shattered pieces of me.
“I can’t go,” Draco says, “because you won’t let me.”
I finish the truth that I tried to drink away, that I used to ease the pain, but that I can’t deny any longer. No, I can’t deny it any longer. “Because you’re just a memory. Only a memory. My memory.”
* * *
Rodolphus waves his wand and the thin bonds around Harry disappear. My eyes dart from Rodolphus to Rabastan to their witch companion; I whisper, “Enervate,” and Bellatrix opens her eyes. I take a step back from Bellatrix, lifting my wand and leveling it at Rodolphus, while Harry struggles to his feet, glancing to where Draco sits still bound and silent. I don’t look at him; I can’t look at him. Not now. Not now.
Bellatrix stands, slowly; she sways slightly and starts toward Rodolphus. As she passes by Harry, she whispers something to him. Something about Sirius. And Harry stops.
Bellatrix stops.
The rain begins to fall. A fine mist at first, picking up in speed and intensity exponentially until fat, pear-shaped drops plow down through the sky, stinging exposed skin red, crashing into the forest like liquid bulls in nature’s own china shop.
Rodolphus tips his head to the side and watches Bellatrix and Harry with a bemused smile on his face, but he makes no move closer to the pair. Wands raised, Rabastan closes in on Draco while the witch inches towards me.
I swallow hard; my tongue flits out to lick my lips. “Harry.” He doesn’t acknowledge me. I ease forward, wand on Rodolphus, heart pounding and pounding in my chest, fast and hard like the rain. “Harry, please. Don’t do this. Not now. Not here.”
Bellatrix grins and giggles. “Not now, Harry. Not here, Harry. Be a good little boy, Harry, and I won’t kill you like I killed your traitorous, good-for-nothing god-”
Harry snaps, rears back, and punches Bellatrix hard in the face, breaking bone and cartilage. He thrusts out his arm and his wand flies from the inside of Rodolphus’s robes, through the rain, and into his hand as he spins around and fires a curse at Rabastan Lestrange, who flies away from Draco deep into the forest. I rush forward, tugging at the chain dangling from my neck, and dodge a curse from the witch. Rodolphus whips his wand toward Harry and yells, “Avada,” as I swing out with the chain, slapping the pendant into Harry’s hand. Seeker to the core, he grasps the pendant instinctively, as I knew he would, and I have enough time to register the shock and betrayal on his face before the Portkey activates and sends him back to Hogsmeade, back to Hogwarts.
The witch casts another Stupefy curse in my direction, but I block it with a Protection spell. Bellatrix charges me, throwing herself into me and sending us both to the ground. We fight for control of my wand, blinded by rain, mud, and rage. Bellatrix screams and claws at my face; I grab a hold of her hair and yank her head back. Her grip loosens, and I shove the tip of the wand into her throat and yell, “Stupefy!”
The curse sends her sailing away from me and into the witch who had been circling us waiting for her opening to strike. Gasping, winded, I feel hot blood and cool rain stream down my face. I see a shape move in my peripheral vision and twist my head around to see Rodolphus seize Draco by his bonds and drag him toward the now-extinguished torch. Draco thrashes his body around, struggling against Rodolphus’s hold, and Rodolphus stumbles, falls hard upon his knees, and drops his wand.
“Persephone!” Rodolphus lunges for his wand as Draco kicks at his hands. The witch, Persephone, slips out from under Bellatrix and I scramble to my feet. She points her wand at Draco, I point my wand at her, and together we yell, “Stupefy!”
Her curse misses as does mine. But the force of the magic is enough to separate Draco and Rodolphus and knock Persephone to the ground. Free from obstructions, Rodolphus snatches up his wand and spins around to face me. The rain pours down in a steady sheet between us, grey and thick and heavy. Draco rolls over onto his knees, blonde hair matted to his head in sticky clumps, clothes and face streaked with mud. Persephone climbs to her feet and points her wand at me; she swipes at a thin stream of blood trickling from her nose with her free hand. The torch Portkey stands a scant few meters from Rodolphus and Draco, and Rodolphus’ eyes flicker to the torch to Draco to me, gauging, calculating. I have one chance, one curse to fire before Persephone attacks. One spell to try to save Draco from torture, pain, and death at the hands of Voldemort.
The end begins with the lightning. Three spells shouted into the rain, drowned out by the thunder, witnessed by the night.
“Accio torch!”
“Avada Kedavra!”
“Stupefy!”
* * *
The rain still falls when I wake some time later, alone in the clearing, on the ground and in the mud, broken wand in one hand and Draco dead beside me.
Dead, I know, because I’m the one who killed him.
* * *
“They needed him,” I say to Draco, to the memory of him sitting before me now. “He was the only one who could defeat Voldemort. I had to choose Harry.” He stays silent, staring at me over the table. “I tried to save you. I tried. I couldn’t let them take you back to him, so I…” I can’t see him anymore. I can’t see him, but I know he’s still there, with me, always. “I did what I had to do.”
For a moment I don’t think he’ll answer. But then I hear him, whispering in the back of my mind. “You always do.”
* * *