"Snowbird" (Draco/Hermione)
Title: Snowbird
Author/Artist: scarletladyy
Prompt: A34 - The wind is biting and frozen rain pelts down on passersby but there's a job that needs to be done and it can't wait.
Prompt submitted by: asentia
Characters: Hermione, Draco
Word Count: 2309
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Captivity
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: I was going through the prompts and finding ones I liked, marking them down, but the moment I read this one a scene started forming in my head. I could see it as clear as day and I still can; it evoked so many emotions and feelings in me that I had to choose it. I really enjoyed writing this. I'd like to thank the mods for being very kind and patient with me, my lovely beta, and the prompter too; I hope you enjoy this.
Summary: The biting wind and frozen rain nearly makes Hermione's task impossible, but she will continue as long as she's able to do so, as long as they'll allow her to.
I think this must be the worst winter we've had in a very long time. Either that, or it feels like it is. Perhaps my weather-inadequate clothing and subsequent feeling of freezing to death is clouding my mind. My fingers are numb from the biting wind and frozen rain, and my feet are wet from the snow leaking through my boots and soaking my feet. The blisters on my hands are bleeding, and new ones are popping up on the free skin left, but I have to continue. I force myself to pick up the snow with my heavy shovel and throw it to the side, despite how much it pains me to do so, both mentally and physically.
These graves need to be dug. Everyone deserves a proper burial. That's what I told the Death Eaters, and I don't care that they laughed at me. I don't care that they're watching from their warm, cosy manor, day after day, thinking I'm no more than a fool.
I have what they do not: morals. I will not give them up because they have forced me to live when everyone I know is dead.
"It's time."
My heart sinks. I haven't dug nearly as many graves as I hoped to today. Each day it seems as if fewer and fewer are dug. Logically I know it's because I'm getting more run down and worn out. I can't carry on like this forever, but I will carry on as long as I am able.
"Please," I say pathetically, my voice dry and cracked through dehydration. I've been at it hours with nothing but the occasional rainfall to quench my thirst. I've been tempted to eat the snow, but I've not sunk that low yet. I wouldn't be so polite if it were anyone else who'd come to get me, but it's Draco, and he's the best of a bad bunch. "I'm nearly done. Five more minutes."
"No," he says firmly, then adds, "I'm sorry."
"There will be more snow tomorrow," I plead, desperate to finish. I don't care that it's gone dark and I can hardly see no more than I care about getting inside to warm up. "I'll have to re-do half of this grave after tonight's snowfall."
My pleas fall on deaf ears. Or, rather, ears that can't do anything. "It's time," he says again. I try to ignore him, pretend he's not there and carry on, but he steps forward and grabs my arm gently. He pulls me back and I drop my shovel, falling into his arms. I begin to sob, and though the tears hurt upon my cold face, they can't stop flowing. He wraps his arms around me and embraces me in his warm coat, waiting silently and patiently until my sobs pass. I appreciate the warmth and comfort; I get it so rarely these days it's a luxury. "Come on, let's get inside. You're freezing."
I don't want our embrace to end, but I know it has to. If anyone saw, Draco would be in big trouble. He took a risk with that, though I suppose he could pass it off as something else if questioned; they'll only have seen him from the back. I look back forlornly at the graves I've managed to dig, hoping the Death Eaters will keep to their promise and place the latest corpses in them. The unfinished one will remain empty, and probably with the amount of snow that'll fall tonight, I'll need to re-dig the majority of it again. "You'll make sure they―?"
"I'll try."
There's no getting around the fact that Draco is really the Death Eater's dogsbody, thanks in part to his father and his own reluctance to commit murder. He does whatever they tell him, which usually involves me. None of the others can really be arsed unless they're getting something in return.
"How many more do I need to dig?" I ask as we enter the manor. The rush of warm air hits my face, and after the initial slight pain, I welcome it. He takes me upstairs to my room, avoiding my question. I want an answer, though. I want to know how much longer I'm going to have to do this for. "How many more?"
Draco shrugs. "I don't know. Thirty, fifty? There are a lot of bodies." He touches his finger to the pad on the doorframe, opening the door. We enter and he closes it behind us, locking it. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"I do."
"No, you don't. Look at what it's doing to you! You're covered in blisters, you're soaking wet and freezing. You're going to get hypothermia at this rate." He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "What do the graves really matter?"
"They were my friends. My peers. I knew each and every single one of those people lying out there and they all deserve to buried properly." I fold my arms tightly across my chest and glare at him. How can he possibly think it doesn't matter? Does he not know me at all? "Tell me, Draco. Why do you care?"
"Because!" He flusters, hot under the collar. "Because you're going to kill yourself if you carry on."
"So?"
"So you don't deserve to die!"
"Neither did they!"
We're at an impasse, I see. He doesn't see why it's important to me, and I don't understand why he even cares in the first place. I'm nothing special. I don't deserve to live when they are dead. There are so many great people that are no longer here, and yet I am alive. Why? Why me? But is is me, and there's nothing I can do about that, so I must do what I can for them. I shiver, still frozen from being outside so long. He takes out his wand and I flinch away from him, even though I know he would never hurt me unless he had to.
"Hey," he says softly. "I'm just going to warm you up."
I blink back a few tears as he casts a very strong warming charm on me. It does the trick immediately, though my blisters are still there and my feet are still soaked in their boots. I sit down on the bed and undress, taking off my wet attire, as Draco pours me a drink of water. I have no qualms about changing in front of Draco; he's seen me naked many times already, both with my permission and without it. I take the plain, white-grey robes I left on my bed earlier and put them on, then take Draco's proffered drink. I gulp it all down fast, desperate to quench my thirst, and hold it out for him to refill.
"Aguamenti," he says, continuing the spell until my cup is full. I take it and drink the majority of it. How I wish I could do such simple spells for myself, but unless I want to drink directly from the dirty taps in my tiny, grimy en-suite, water is a luxury for me. Behind my friends, I miss magic the most of all. I miss learning new charms and hexes, brewing potions and, predictably, getting good marks and praise from the professors. That seems like a lifetime ago, now. Draco tells me Hogwarts only re-opened a few months ago, though they're not accepting Muggleborns anymore. I'm not surprised. "Is there anything else you need?"
"Can you stay? For a while?"
"For a while." He sits down on the bed next to me and we sit silently for a few moments. I don't have anything worth saying to him, I just want his company. I'm here alone most of the time, locked up in this tiny little room with nothing but my own thoughts that end up driving me mad. Draco is a remnant from my past that I can cling onto. He looks different now, so very different to how he did in Hogwarts, but he was there. He knows it happened and he remembers me as who I was. He remembers Harry and Ron and Ginny and Neville and everyone else. Voldemort may be trying to re-write history and pretend they never even existed, but as long as Draco knows too, I know I'm not going mad. I know I didn't make it all up. "Maybe I could see if they'll let you do some work around the manor. Housework, chores, that sort of thing. I know it's not great, but it'll get you out of this room."
"The graves..."
"You could still do them too, if you wanted." He places a hand on my knee. "It's not healthy being cooped up in here all the time."
I let out a merciless laugh. "You say that like I have a choice in the matter."
"No, but if could get you doing some jobs around the manor, would you be up for it?" He searches my eyes to try and find an answer. He doesn't want to broach the idea and look ridiculous if I later refuse to do it. "They'd probably put me in charge of you, so I could try and ensure they left you alone."
"I don't know." There are so many factors to consider. Having a bit more freedom would be great, but I'm not sure I want to place myself nearer to the Death Eaters than I have to. Draco says he'll try and look after me, but that's all he can do: try. If they decided to do anything, he wouldn't be able to stop them. I don't want to go mad, though. I don't want to be alone all the time with my own thoughts, dividing my time between digging graves and, as Draco so rightly put it, being cooped up in here. I suppose it would help me retain some of my sanity. "I suppose."
Draco almost smiles. He lifts his lips up as though he's going to, then they turn into a piercing thin line, as if he's forgotten how to. I wouldn't blame him if he had; it must have been months since I've smiled myself. "I'll see what I can do, then."
I nod my thanks and he stands. I cling onto the hand he had on my knee, not caring that the blisters sting as I do so. I don't want him to go just yet. "Not yet."
"I have to," he says firmly, pulling out of my grasp. "I have somewhere I need to be." Draco's very good at being decisive when he has to. He locks his emotions up in a tiny little box where nobody can get at them in order to do what he must. I can see the box threatening to burst when he's forced to prove his loyalty to his Lord through me, but as time goes by, he's getting stronger. His eyes cloud over and he looks right through me, enabling him to do what he's ordered. It scares me how easily it appears he can do it, though deep down I know it's a personal struggle for him. "I'll come and get you in the morning for the graves."
"Okay." I don't follow him as he goes to the door. He presses his finger to the little pad on the doorframe again and walks through, without a backwards glance to me. By the tone of his voice, he's probably got a raid on tonight. He'll probably come back to the manor with the others after midnight, covered in blood. With the heavy winter weather, no doubt the snow outside where they're going will turn crimson. The dead bodies won't add to the number of graves I need to dig, though. They never bring the bodies back. I think they only agreed to let me dig the graves for the bodies we do have at the manor for their own entertainment; to see me in such distress.
I lie back down on the bed and look up at the ceiling. There's a small skylight window above my bed, but I can't see anything because it's covered in snow. I can hear the blustery wind outside blowing a gale, and in a few hours the snow will fall again. I can't remember it ever being this snowy before. We only had snow―and relatively light snow, at that―a few times whilst we were at Hogwarts, but I remember how it used to be a source of fun and games.
I don't think I'll ever know fun again. Nothing but a lifetime of misery awaits me, courtesy of the Death Eaters keeping me alive as part of their twisted plans. Harry had to die, and Ron was too much trouble, but they thought they'd make an example out of me. It's at odds with their plans of re-writing history though; I think I'm only meant to set an example to the current generation. The next one, Voldemort hopes, will know no better. I know that means I won't be alive for that much longer. I'd say I have ten years left, if that.
I don't dwell on it, though. I accepted my fate a long time ago. This is my life, and it's not going to get any better. If anything, it's going to get worse. The only tiny light in my future of misery is Draco; I'm counting on him to keep me sane and offer me occasional company until my time runs out. He'll do what he can for me, which I appreciate, even though I know it's mostly out of guilt rather than a sense of liking me or feeling anything at all for me.
But it'll do. I'll take it, not least because I have to.
~*~*~
Author/Artist: scarletladyy
Prompt: A34 - The wind is biting and frozen rain pelts down on passersby but there's a job that needs to be done and it can't wait.
Prompt submitted by: asentia
Characters: Hermione, Draco
Word Count: 2309
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): Captivity
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: I was going through the prompts and finding ones I liked, marking them down, but the moment I read this one a scene started forming in my head. I could see it as clear as day and I still can; it evoked so many emotions and feelings in me that I had to choose it. I really enjoyed writing this. I'd like to thank the mods for being very kind and patient with me, my lovely beta, and the prompter too; I hope you enjoy this.
Summary: The biting wind and frozen rain nearly makes Hermione's task impossible, but she will continue as long as she's able to do so, as long as they'll allow her to.
I think this must be the worst winter we've had in a very long time. Either that, or it feels like it is. Perhaps my weather-inadequate clothing and subsequent feeling of freezing to death is clouding my mind. My fingers are numb from the biting wind and frozen rain, and my feet are wet from the snow leaking through my boots and soaking my feet. The blisters on my hands are bleeding, and new ones are popping up on the free skin left, but I have to continue. I force myself to pick up the snow with my heavy shovel and throw it to the side, despite how much it pains me to do so, both mentally and physically.
These graves need to be dug. Everyone deserves a proper burial. That's what I told the Death Eaters, and I don't care that they laughed at me. I don't care that they're watching from their warm, cosy manor, day after day, thinking I'm no more than a fool.
I have what they do not: morals. I will not give them up because they have forced me to live when everyone I know is dead.
"It's time."
My heart sinks. I haven't dug nearly as many graves as I hoped to today. Each day it seems as if fewer and fewer are dug. Logically I know it's because I'm getting more run down and worn out. I can't carry on like this forever, but I will carry on as long as I am able.
"Please," I say pathetically, my voice dry and cracked through dehydration. I've been at it hours with nothing but the occasional rainfall to quench my thirst. I've been tempted to eat the snow, but I've not sunk that low yet. I wouldn't be so polite if it were anyone else who'd come to get me, but it's Draco, and he's the best of a bad bunch. "I'm nearly done. Five more minutes."
"No," he says firmly, then adds, "I'm sorry."
"There will be more snow tomorrow," I plead, desperate to finish. I don't care that it's gone dark and I can hardly see no more than I care about getting inside to warm up. "I'll have to re-do half of this grave after tonight's snowfall."
My pleas fall on deaf ears. Or, rather, ears that can't do anything. "It's time," he says again. I try to ignore him, pretend he's not there and carry on, but he steps forward and grabs my arm gently. He pulls me back and I drop my shovel, falling into his arms. I begin to sob, and though the tears hurt upon my cold face, they can't stop flowing. He wraps his arms around me and embraces me in his warm coat, waiting silently and patiently until my sobs pass. I appreciate the warmth and comfort; I get it so rarely these days it's a luxury. "Come on, let's get inside. You're freezing."
I don't want our embrace to end, but I know it has to. If anyone saw, Draco would be in big trouble. He took a risk with that, though I suppose he could pass it off as something else if questioned; they'll only have seen him from the back. I look back forlornly at the graves I've managed to dig, hoping the Death Eaters will keep to their promise and place the latest corpses in them. The unfinished one will remain empty, and probably with the amount of snow that'll fall tonight, I'll need to re-dig the majority of it again. "You'll make sure they―?"
"I'll try."
There's no getting around the fact that Draco is really the Death Eater's dogsbody, thanks in part to his father and his own reluctance to commit murder. He does whatever they tell him, which usually involves me. None of the others can really be arsed unless they're getting something in return.
"How many more do I need to dig?" I ask as we enter the manor. The rush of warm air hits my face, and after the initial slight pain, I welcome it. He takes me upstairs to my room, avoiding my question. I want an answer, though. I want to know how much longer I'm going to have to do this for. "How many more?"
Draco shrugs. "I don't know. Thirty, fifty? There are a lot of bodies." He touches his finger to the pad on the doorframe, opening the door. We enter and he closes it behind us, locking it. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"I do."
"No, you don't. Look at what it's doing to you! You're covered in blisters, you're soaking wet and freezing. You're going to get hypothermia at this rate." He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "What do the graves really matter?"
"They were my friends. My peers. I knew each and every single one of those people lying out there and they all deserve to buried properly." I fold my arms tightly across my chest and glare at him. How can he possibly think it doesn't matter? Does he not know me at all? "Tell me, Draco. Why do you care?"
"Because!" He flusters, hot under the collar. "Because you're going to kill yourself if you carry on."
"So?"
"So you don't deserve to die!"
"Neither did they!"
We're at an impasse, I see. He doesn't see why it's important to me, and I don't understand why he even cares in the first place. I'm nothing special. I don't deserve to live when they are dead. There are so many great people that are no longer here, and yet I am alive. Why? Why me? But is is me, and there's nothing I can do about that, so I must do what I can for them. I shiver, still frozen from being outside so long. He takes out his wand and I flinch away from him, even though I know he would never hurt me unless he had to.
"Hey," he says softly. "I'm just going to warm you up."
I blink back a few tears as he casts a very strong warming charm on me. It does the trick immediately, though my blisters are still there and my feet are still soaked in their boots. I sit down on the bed and undress, taking off my wet attire, as Draco pours me a drink of water. I have no qualms about changing in front of Draco; he's seen me naked many times already, both with my permission and without it. I take the plain, white-grey robes I left on my bed earlier and put them on, then take Draco's proffered drink. I gulp it all down fast, desperate to quench my thirst, and hold it out for him to refill.
"Aguamenti," he says, continuing the spell until my cup is full. I take it and drink the majority of it. How I wish I could do such simple spells for myself, but unless I want to drink directly from the dirty taps in my tiny, grimy en-suite, water is a luxury for me. Behind my friends, I miss magic the most of all. I miss learning new charms and hexes, brewing potions and, predictably, getting good marks and praise from the professors. That seems like a lifetime ago, now. Draco tells me Hogwarts only re-opened a few months ago, though they're not accepting Muggleborns anymore. I'm not surprised. "Is there anything else you need?"
"Can you stay? For a while?"
"For a while." He sits down on the bed next to me and we sit silently for a few moments. I don't have anything worth saying to him, I just want his company. I'm here alone most of the time, locked up in this tiny little room with nothing but my own thoughts that end up driving me mad. Draco is a remnant from my past that I can cling onto. He looks different now, so very different to how he did in Hogwarts, but he was there. He knows it happened and he remembers me as who I was. He remembers Harry and Ron and Ginny and Neville and everyone else. Voldemort may be trying to re-write history and pretend they never even existed, but as long as Draco knows too, I know I'm not going mad. I know I didn't make it all up. "Maybe I could see if they'll let you do some work around the manor. Housework, chores, that sort of thing. I know it's not great, but it'll get you out of this room."
"The graves..."
"You could still do them too, if you wanted." He places a hand on my knee. "It's not healthy being cooped up in here all the time."
I let out a merciless laugh. "You say that like I have a choice in the matter."
"No, but if could get you doing some jobs around the manor, would you be up for it?" He searches my eyes to try and find an answer. He doesn't want to broach the idea and look ridiculous if I later refuse to do it. "They'd probably put me in charge of you, so I could try and ensure they left you alone."
"I don't know." There are so many factors to consider. Having a bit more freedom would be great, but I'm not sure I want to place myself nearer to the Death Eaters than I have to. Draco says he'll try and look after me, but that's all he can do: try. If they decided to do anything, he wouldn't be able to stop them. I don't want to go mad, though. I don't want to be alone all the time with my own thoughts, dividing my time between digging graves and, as Draco so rightly put it, being cooped up in here. I suppose it would help me retain some of my sanity. "I suppose."
Draco almost smiles. He lifts his lips up as though he's going to, then they turn into a piercing thin line, as if he's forgotten how to. I wouldn't blame him if he had; it must have been months since I've smiled myself. "I'll see what I can do, then."
I nod my thanks and he stands. I cling onto the hand he had on my knee, not caring that the blisters sting as I do so. I don't want him to go just yet. "Not yet."
"I have to," he says firmly, pulling out of my grasp. "I have somewhere I need to be." Draco's very good at being decisive when he has to. He locks his emotions up in a tiny little box where nobody can get at them in order to do what he must. I can see the box threatening to burst when he's forced to prove his loyalty to his Lord through me, but as time goes by, he's getting stronger. His eyes cloud over and he looks right through me, enabling him to do what he's ordered. It scares me how easily it appears he can do it, though deep down I know it's a personal struggle for him. "I'll come and get you in the morning for the graves."
"Okay." I don't follow him as he goes to the door. He presses his finger to the little pad on the doorframe again and walks through, without a backwards glance to me. By the tone of his voice, he's probably got a raid on tonight. He'll probably come back to the manor with the others after midnight, covered in blood. With the heavy winter weather, no doubt the snow outside where they're going will turn crimson. The dead bodies won't add to the number of graves I need to dig, though. They never bring the bodies back. I think they only agreed to let me dig the graves for the bodies we do have at the manor for their own entertainment; to see me in such distress.
I lie back down on the bed and look up at the ceiling. There's a small skylight window above my bed, but I can't see anything because it's covered in snow. I can hear the blustery wind outside blowing a gale, and in a few hours the snow will fall again. I can't remember it ever being this snowy before. We only had snow―and relatively light snow, at that―a few times whilst we were at Hogwarts, but I remember how it used to be a source of fun and games.
I don't think I'll ever know fun again. Nothing but a lifetime of misery awaits me, courtesy of the Death Eaters keeping me alive as part of their twisted plans. Harry had to die, and Ron was too much trouble, but they thought they'd make an example out of me. It's at odds with their plans of re-writing history though; I think I'm only meant to set an example to the current generation. The next one, Voldemort hopes, will know no better. I know that means I won't be alive for that much longer. I'd say I have ten years left, if that.
I don't dwell on it, though. I accepted my fate a long time ago. This is my life, and it's not going to get any better. If anything, it's going to get worse. The only tiny light in my future of misery is Draco; I'm counting on him to keep me sane and offer me occasional company until my time runs out. He'll do what he can for me, which I appreciate, even though I know it's mostly out of guilt rather than a sense of liking me or feeling anything at all for me.
But it'll do. I'll take it, not least because I have to.
~*~*~