treat for rivertempest
Title: The World on Fire
Author: Edie
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters sadly still not mine.
Summary: An interlude during battle reunites two enemies.
Author’s Notes: This is a gift request for rivertempest, prompt #4. Hope you like it! Sorry it spun out of drabble length!
The World on Fire
The world was burning.
Staying low to the ground, Draco Malfoy took care to step lightly, cringing each time fallen leaves crunched beneath his feet. Such stealth was absolutely required but here, from his hunched over position, the smoke was the densest-it wrapped the ground heavy as blanket and made his lungs burn with each shallow breath he took. The crackle of flames was all around him, heating the soles of his shoes and lighting a sense of urgency low in his belly. The remnants of a battle just passed were an ugly mar, all twisted red, gold, and grey.
They were going to destroy everything, his side and theirs. They were going to fry the world all for some hastily cast spells, hexes shooting back and forth on a murderous trail of green. Forest sounds, typical and comforting, were drown out by the fervour of their destruction. Gripping his wand tightly, Draco cast a surreptitious look around, wishing he knew where his group was or, more important, where the enemy lay in wait. He’d been separated during the heat of things, which was unforgivable.
Now, he was lost, disorientated by the smoky ruins that had once been his trail. Awhile ago, he’d heard voices, hurt and calling, but it was not his job to go to the injured, especially when the dense smoke made it hard to know who the injured belonged to. Suppressing a cough, he hunched down lower and crept along the path he was making. Up ahead was a parting in the trees, and he made it his goal. One step, and then another.
Ten steps later, he burst through of the tree line, finding himself above a valley. The smoke had not yet invaded it, though it was low lying, but he could see it coming, curling around stumps and branches, gliding its way down the slope. He followed it with his eyes, its winding progression, followed it down and-
Draco was not alone. There, in the middle of the valley, lay a still figure-Longbottom, he thought. A woman-no, a girl-was hunched over his body, her wand a scant distance away from their forms. He imagined the scene as it must have played out, imagined her bursting through the tree line to see her fallen friend, imagined her casting her wand away in panic-stupid move-to run to him. He imagined it all, as the truth of what he was seeing washed over him.
The truth was this: Longbottom was fallen, and over him hunched Hermione Granger, familiar bush of hair framed by the golden light of the sun and her form surrounded by a sea of autumn red, bright as the fire. The truth was Hermione Granger, engulfed in Gryffindor colours as the smoke ominously crawled towards her. The truth was that he could see the sun, high above her head, and he was no longer lost.
Overall, it was quite picturesque. Draco tightened his grip on his wand, seized by indecision. Then, however, the smoke around him made up his mind without his consent. Although he tried to stop it, a cough burst out of his lungs, loud as an Avada Kedavra in its thunder.
Granger looked up. He thought of how he might look, a robed Death Eater emerging from the smoke. He heard her gasp and saw her glance at her wand, out of reach. He could kill her before she moved.
Only Draco Malfoy had always failed at that.
Not quite knowing his own mind, he heard himself query, “Is he dead?”
Her eyes were still on her wand, but she spoke clearly. “No, not quite. Not at all, if I have any say in the matter.”
Almost, he admired her gumption. Fear lit her eyes, but there was triumph there too. It was almost as though she knew he wouldn’t kill her. He wanted to, just for that, but he was overcome with everything. It was one thing to cast off blind hexes in the heat of battle, but it was another thing entirely to look upon the victim, a girl he’d sat across from in the Great Hall, and had known in a way. Draco Malfoy was the worst sort of coward, never cut out for war. He was, he could admit to himself, just a child; deep down, he knew it true of her as well. He thought of another time, of another warning, at the beginning of all of this, at a Quidditch tournament long past.
Hermione Granger, in the face of death, was strangely beautiful.
He lowered his wand and made sure she saw him do it. Glancing pointedly upward at the sun, he said, “Take him to the west. That way is safe.”
He saw her start in surprise, and then her gaze softened. They stared at one another for a moment, Draco thinking dangerous things all to the tune of what if. It made him feel dirty and unclean, oddly ashamed in truth, although why he couldn’t say. Shooting her one last glance, he turned, meaning to make his way back into the thick of the trees.
“Not that way.”
Her voice was clear and steady. It washed over him, the warmest sort of pleasure, and stilled his steps.
“To the north,” she said.
Again he looked. She’d stopped staring at her wand and was watching him now, something foreign in her expression. He wondered what she thought of things, how she remembered their Hogwarts years. Oddly, he trusted her. Tugging at his hood, he nodded at her.
“Live to fight another day then,” he called down.
Granger’s head dipped as well. “Malfoy.”
“Granger.”
She rose then and grabbed her wand, although she made her movements slow and deliberate. One last look shot over her shoulder, and then she was lifting Longbottom on gentle magic, disappearing up into the tree line in the direction he’d indicated.
Draco stayed a moment longer, staring at where she’d been. He felt curiously empty, curiously wrong, and it was not something he wished to dwell on. Shaking himself, he raised his wand again, and disappeared into the trees, heading north.
Author: Edie
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters sadly still not mine.
Summary: An interlude during battle reunites two enemies.
Author’s Notes: This is a gift request for rivertempest, prompt #4. Hope you like it! Sorry it spun out of drabble length!
The World on Fire
The world was burning.
Staying low to the ground, Draco Malfoy took care to step lightly, cringing each time fallen leaves crunched beneath his feet. Such stealth was absolutely required but here, from his hunched over position, the smoke was the densest-it wrapped the ground heavy as blanket and made his lungs burn with each shallow breath he took. The crackle of flames was all around him, heating the soles of his shoes and lighting a sense of urgency low in his belly. The remnants of a battle just passed were an ugly mar, all twisted red, gold, and grey.
They were going to destroy everything, his side and theirs. They were going to fry the world all for some hastily cast spells, hexes shooting back and forth on a murderous trail of green. Forest sounds, typical and comforting, were drown out by the fervour of their destruction. Gripping his wand tightly, Draco cast a surreptitious look around, wishing he knew where his group was or, more important, where the enemy lay in wait. He’d been separated during the heat of things, which was unforgivable.
Now, he was lost, disorientated by the smoky ruins that had once been his trail. Awhile ago, he’d heard voices, hurt and calling, but it was not his job to go to the injured, especially when the dense smoke made it hard to know who the injured belonged to. Suppressing a cough, he hunched down lower and crept along the path he was making. Up ahead was a parting in the trees, and he made it his goal. One step, and then another.
Ten steps later, he burst through of the tree line, finding himself above a valley. The smoke had not yet invaded it, though it was low lying, but he could see it coming, curling around stumps and branches, gliding its way down the slope. He followed it with his eyes, its winding progression, followed it down and-
Draco was not alone. There, in the middle of the valley, lay a still figure-Longbottom, he thought. A woman-no, a girl-was hunched over his body, her wand a scant distance away from their forms. He imagined the scene as it must have played out, imagined her bursting through the tree line to see her fallen friend, imagined her casting her wand away in panic-stupid move-to run to him. He imagined it all, as the truth of what he was seeing washed over him.
The truth was this: Longbottom was fallen, and over him hunched Hermione Granger, familiar bush of hair framed by the golden light of the sun and her form surrounded by a sea of autumn red, bright as the fire. The truth was Hermione Granger, engulfed in Gryffindor colours as the smoke ominously crawled towards her. The truth was that he could see the sun, high above her head, and he was no longer lost.
Overall, it was quite picturesque. Draco tightened his grip on his wand, seized by indecision. Then, however, the smoke around him made up his mind without his consent. Although he tried to stop it, a cough burst out of his lungs, loud as an Avada Kedavra in its thunder.
Granger looked up. He thought of how he might look, a robed Death Eater emerging from the smoke. He heard her gasp and saw her glance at her wand, out of reach. He could kill her before she moved.
Only Draco Malfoy had always failed at that.
Not quite knowing his own mind, he heard himself query, “Is he dead?”
Her eyes were still on her wand, but she spoke clearly. “No, not quite. Not at all, if I have any say in the matter.”
Almost, he admired her gumption. Fear lit her eyes, but there was triumph there too. It was almost as though she knew he wouldn’t kill her. He wanted to, just for that, but he was overcome with everything. It was one thing to cast off blind hexes in the heat of battle, but it was another thing entirely to look upon the victim, a girl he’d sat across from in the Great Hall, and had known in a way. Draco Malfoy was the worst sort of coward, never cut out for war. He was, he could admit to himself, just a child; deep down, he knew it true of her as well. He thought of another time, of another warning, at the beginning of all of this, at a Quidditch tournament long past.
Hermione Granger, in the face of death, was strangely beautiful.
He lowered his wand and made sure she saw him do it. Glancing pointedly upward at the sun, he said, “Take him to the west. That way is safe.”
He saw her start in surprise, and then her gaze softened. They stared at one another for a moment, Draco thinking dangerous things all to the tune of what if. It made him feel dirty and unclean, oddly ashamed in truth, although why he couldn’t say. Shooting her one last glance, he turned, meaning to make his way back into the thick of the trees.
“Not that way.”
Her voice was clear and steady. It washed over him, the warmest sort of pleasure, and stilled his steps.
“To the north,” she said.
Again he looked. She’d stopped staring at her wand and was watching him now, something foreign in her expression. He wondered what she thought of things, how she remembered their Hogwarts years. Oddly, he trusted her. Tugging at his hood, he nodded at her.
“Live to fight another day then,” he called down.
Granger’s head dipped as well. “Malfoy.”
“Granger.”
She rose then and grabbed her wand, although she made her movements slow and deliberate. One last look shot over her shoulder, and then she was lifting Longbottom on gentle magic, disappearing up into the tree line in the direction he’d indicated.
Draco stayed a moment longer, staring at where she’d been. He felt curiously empty, curiously wrong, and it was not something he wished to dwell on. Shaking himself, he raised his wand again, and disappeared into the trees, heading north.