The destruction was devastating. Draco could hardly recognize the crumbling castle.
Worst of all- the bodies of the dead remained.
Towards the end of yesterday’s battle, after Potter had been killed, the surviving members of the resistance, members of the Order of the Phoenix, stray students, assorted magical species, and members of the Wizarding community at large, had fought hard. Many had been killed, including some Death Eaters. At a certain point in the battle, the Dark Lord had begun personally executing individuals one at a time, with striking precision. It had taken only minutes after that for the remaining survivors to flee, leaving their dead.
Draco had been given the task of returning to the castle, to check for survivors who remained.
It was a punishment, he knew, for having allowed Potter to find the Diadem in the Come and Go Room. If Draco failed this mission, his mother would pay the price.
Draco searched the castle floor by floor.
It took only a few bodies for Draco to deduce the need for occlumency.
He constructed the barriers hastily, but firmly. He would allow his surface level mind to check for signs of life, while the emotional and subconscious parts of his mind were sublimated.
He proceeded, blocking out as much as he could.
Toward the end of his search, Draco wasn’t sure if he felt relief or horror at not having found any survivors.
Gratefully, he walked toward the courtyard.
Then, his eyes caught a tiny flicker movement in the corner of his vision. He turned his head slowly.
A crumpled heap lay on a stairway.
Draco knew who it was before he approached. That bushy hair.
There was a sizable pool of blood drying beneath her, Draco guessed she must be within minutes, maybe an hour, of bleeding to neurological deficit or death.
Draco had found Hermione Granger- she was alive.
And Draco… Draco had to kill her.
He turned so quickly he nearly slipped on the steps. He was seven steps away before his feet froze of their own accord. Draco had stuffed a fist into his mouth to muffle a scream of profanity. The sudden noise echoed off the damaged walls, causing a flutter of birds in the courtyard.
Here he was, once again, facing this challenge. Kill, or be killed.
Draco turned again to face Granger.
Granger was a mudblood. Who cared if she died? St. Potter was already gone. Her parents were muggles, it wasn’t as though they had the capacity to care. The world would be better off without her.
He paced away from Granger, to finish checking the rest of the slain for signs of life. There were a handful more. None were alive. Just Granger.
The sickening image of an old man on the other side of Draco’s wand crossed Draco’s vision. An echo of the same panic from that night rose up in him. He was still the same weak boy. He couldn’t bring himself to kill someone now, any more than he could that night.
Another image crossed his mind, this one entirely of his own imagining. His mother’s body, suspended above their dining table.
Draco had barely time to turn away and drop to his knees before he was violently ill all over the dusty ground.
He wanted desperately to return home and dust himself of this entire visit. To sit on the edge of his bed and carefully remove the images from his mind. To occlude so strongly that even his own mother would have no idea of the horrors he witnessed.
But Granger had to be dealt with.
The mudblood girl lay on her back, her body prone. Clearly, she’d hit the back of her head in a fall and was bleeding out.
Her face was turned up toward the sky. Although her face was smudged with dirt and covered in nicks, she looked serene. Her pale, bloodless face contrasted sharply against the dark of her eyebrows and hair. Her lips were turned up just the slightest bit. Her body struck him as smaller than it should be, smaller than he remembered. Her arms were splayed on their side of her. She looked like a delicate bird, ready to take flight.
Memories from the deepest recess of his mind began to claw their way to the front. The sound of her screams, ragged, as his aunt tortured her. Worse, the pleading look Granger had given him directly. Begging him, but resigned, for both of them knew he would never have stopped his aunt.
Draco drew his wand. He pointed it at Granger. He ignored the way his hand shook. He willed the words to come to him.
The images of his mother’s dead body and Granger’s on the sitting room floor warred in his mind, flickering back and forth.
He recalled one of the only memories he could summon from his sixth year, when the regular activities of Hogwarts had lost his interest. It had been October or September, before true understanding of his situation had hit him. Granger had been answering a question in Slughorne’s class. Amortentia, he thought. She was explaining how it smelled different to everyone, depending on what attracted them. Granger’s amortentia, she told the class, smelled of grass, and parchment, and spearmint toothpaste.
The distant memory was tainted with the smell of parchment, which was coincidentally an element of Draco’s amortentia as well.
Despite himself, Draco lowered his trembling wand.
Thunder cracked overhead. A cascade of rain began to fall through the splintered roof. Drops of heavy rain hit the top of Draco’s head and began to pool down unkempt strands of his white-blond hair.
Hand still trembling, Draco raised his wand again and cast the only diagnostic charm he knew. The spell shimmered above her, outlining her body in teal sparks. Red dots appeared where there were cuts and lacerations. Two fine gold lines ran through his ribcage, showing a fracture. Another fine gold line appeared to run along the base of her skull. This, Draco knew, was the big problem.
The rain was coming down heavily now. Raindrops pounded against the tops of his head and shoulders. Draco threw himself down to sit a few feet away from Granger.
To leave her here was to kill her. It was no different than casting a killing curse.
It was clear that the other survivors thought she was dead or were otherwise detained, or else they would have some back for her already. Draco wasn’t sure exactly how much time she had left, but surely it couldn’t be more than an hour. He had seen the way Charity Burbage had bled out, along with two muggles his aunt had killed over the last summer. Granger hadn’t moved an inch besides the heaving of her chest. Not even the flicker of en eyelid.
Draco couldn’t help it. Tears of frustration began to cloud his vision.
Why was this happening to him? All Draco had ever wanted was to make his father proud. He had been so excited to join the Death Eaters, to get his first mission, to show the Dark Lord how the Malfoys were the best. But now, all Draco felt when he thought of the Dark Lord was fear.
Tears mixed with rain as they ran down his cheeks. Draco glared at Granger’s body through his squinted eyes.
Why did she have to be alive? Why couldn’t she just fuck off and let him life his life?
Draco picked up a chunk of plaster next to him and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the floor.
If Draco did not kill Granger, the Dark Lord would kill Draco’s mother.
If Draco left Granger here, it would be the same thing as killing her.
Draco couldn’t force himself to leave.
Around and around Draco’s mind chased itself, getting more frustrated by the minute. He wanted desperately for the will to kill Granger and be done with it. But every time he tried to envision the words of the curse, or even stand to leave, Draco’s mouth went dry, or his knees buckled.
The pool of blood beneath Granger’s head was getting distorted by the rain. Draco couldn’t tell how much the pool had grown since he found her. It wouldn’t be long now.
Draco clenched his fists in his hair.
It was time. He had to make a decision.
Draco opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened hit again.
“Dolly!”
The cry came out strangled, Draco almost didn’t recognize his own voice.
With a crack, a house elf appeared in front of him. Her tied tea-cozy was instantly soaked by the pouring rain. Large droplets hit the tips of her long pointed ears.
“Master Draco!” The elf squeaked.
She sank into a curtsy.
Draco pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, toward Granger. “Take the mudblood to the Cottage. Get her some blood replenishing potions, see if you can mend her skull and ribs. Fix her cuts. See if you can clean her up.”
Dolly’s wide brown eyes opened even wider at Draco’s command.
“Master Draco-”
“Now, Dolly! And do not-” Draco seized the front of the elf’s tea cozy. “Do not tell my father hear about this. Or anyone else for that matter.”
Dolly frantically shook her head yes, that she understood.
Satisfied, Draco released the elf.
He stayed for long enough to watch the elf assess Granger, carefully place a stasis charm, and dissaperate with her. He knew that would crack back into existence many kilometers away, near the ocean. He knew the elf was capable of fixing Granger as well as Granger could be fixed at this point.
Draco didn’t give himself time to overthink the plan he was devising as he went. He too turned on his heel.
Thankfully, the Dark Lord had not yet returned. When Draco made it up to his bedroom, the gravity of his decision to not only spare Granger, but bring her to the cottage, hit him. The Dark Lord was a skilled legillimens. Although Draco was a skilled occlumens who had been trained by his mother and aunt, this would be the most serious test of his abilities. He’d stowed away doubts about the task of killing Dumbledore. And his feelings when the Dark Lord had asked him what he thought about Nymphadora marrying Lupin. But really, those things were nothing compared to a secret like hiding Hermione Granger.
His only option was to remain in service of the Dark Lord and give him absolutely no reason to look at Draco too closely. If the Dark Lord chose to pry into his mind, Draco wasn’t certain he could resist. He would have to quietly execute each order the Dark Lord gave.
This was the only way Draco could keep all of them alive.
Draco ate a silent meal with his mother.
Just past midnight, hair still dripping from the storm outside, Draco stepped into the central room of the cottage, to see a sleeping Granger. One hand was rested on her stomach, the other lolling off the couch. Her hair was caked with dried, black blood. Her muggle jacket and jumper were torn and ripped. Bruises were starting to bloom under her eyes. Her face was turned toward him, eyes still shut. Her breath was steady, but labored. She sounded like a damn dementor with their creepy, rattling breath. Draco wrinkled his nose. Filthy mudblood.
He’d have to speak with Dolly in the morning about making sure the girl was cleaned up.
Draco tossed his soaked cloak to the side and stormed upstairs for something to read.
The Cottage, as Draco called it, was one of the minor Malfoy estates. Located on one of Scotland’s coasts, his mother found it dreary, and therefore the estate was left mostly untouched, with only a staff of a few house elves to keep the grounds and buildings tidy and intact.
When the Dark Lord had begun using Malfoy Manor as a base of operations last year, Draco had inadvertently turned this estate into his new home.
It was traditional for the new heir to reign over their own property, Draco told himself.
The building they were in, an old mother-in-law suite, had only had a few rooms. The front door let into the room where Granger lay, with the kitchen adjacent. On the other side of the kitchen, close to the front door, he found a simple bedroom and adjoining bathroom. Both had large windows, which Draco knew overlooked the garden and the orchards beyond. Right now, all he could see was torrential rain. Returning to the living room, he tracked down the hallway that led to the stairs.
Upstairs was the master bedroom, which Draco had turned into his space. This room was much larger, although the furniture was quite as outdated as that in the rest of the house. There was an adjoining bathroom here as well, and through a large hallway, yes, the study. The ancient, carved oak desk was the most prominent feature, even under another impressive stack of books. The entire study was made of wrap-around shelving that had very few decorations and quite a few books. Like the bookshelf downstairs, this one was crammed with heaps and heaps of them.
When Draco returned to the living room, Granger was still asleep.
His eyes flitted to Granger’s left arm, which hung off the sofa. Pink, raw flesh spelled out the word he’d spat at her so many times. It could never be healed. Never be soothed. She would bear this scar for the rest of her life.
Draco placed the books he’d selected into a careful stack next to the armchair, across from the sofa where Granger slumbered. Tomorrow, he would have to ask Dolly when he should expect Granger to wake.
Finally, Draco settled into his reading.
He looked up only a handful of times to check that Granger was still breathing.
After the first few chapters, Draco realized he had read the same sentence three times. He started back at the top of the page, trying to refresh himself on the context. He did not want to fall asleep. This would be the first time he slept since the battle. The dreams that would greet him would be gruesome.
The warmth of the fire was so comfortable...
The rain pounding on the roof of the cottage was a soothing drum beat...
His head lolled to the side, and Draco fell asleep.