Her hope burns

—
“Harry Potter is dead”

The cackles of the Death Eaters laughter echos across the broken parapets.

“And now is the time to declare yourself! Come forward and join us, or die.”
“Draco! Draco.”
“Draco. Come.”

—

Narcissa’s call, her plea, for her son goes ignored. The only force stronger than a mothers love stops him before he can even think of moving, think of walking past his fellow students, before he can even stomach the idea of walking back into the cluster of snakes. HER!

She had been facing Voldemort, gaze piercing and eyes lingering on the body of her first real friend, and now she was facing him. He swore she had been metres away and now it felt like a mere breath, like he could flex his wrist and touch her. There was no hope, none, not a single iota within his body his mind. But he knew then as she gazed up at him, not with hate, not with fear – not like the others around him – no there was hope in her, in those firewhisky eyes.

So Draco stood strong, holding his ground, staring back at her and praying to Merlin, Salazar and Godric fucking Gryfindor that she would keep looking at him, keep filling him up with hope because if the Golden Fucking Girl commands you with her eyes to stay put you bloody well do it.

So as the ice inside him melted, the bitter and cold anger flowing out of him, not for Potter or Weasley but instead for the Dark Lord, for his father, and even - Merlin help him - his Mother, the warmth of her hope filled him instead.

Rising his gaze then lifting up until his golden fucking defiance nearly radiated out of him, it was the perfect opportunity it seemed for Harry fucking Potter to squint open one eye and Slytherin help him, the hope she had filled him with was electrified.

—

He found her after, after the snake had died and the battle had continued, after Saint Bloody Potter (and truly Draco did think him a saint whatever that meant – maybe he’d let granger tell him about them) had polished off the bald fucking cunt. He had fought himself, casting curses and hex’s at whatever bloody Death Eater, Cousin, Aunt and Uncle that came across his path. Blood caked every part of him, the same colour as Granger’s had been whilst she had been cut up on his drawing room floor, and that was the point wasn’t it, it was supposed to be different but it never was. So after the last of the black clad Death Eaters had been bound with incancerous charms, as he found his Father skull cracked open on the rubble on the stairs, his Mother bound and shaking over the man she had loved for so many years, he had gone in search of her.

Walking into the great hall, where the hero’s of Hogwarts laid, where the grieving friends and families stood over them cut into Draco, it hurt worse than Potter’s curse, worse than the mark he had taken and worse then the recollection of Granger’s screams. Nothing had prepared him for it, and nothing ever would, not when the students he had been forced to torture under the Carrow’s stared at him as he entered, not when Potter looked up from the huddle of red heads standing over one of their own, and definitely not when Granger herself strode up to him, and pulled him into her arms.

Maybe she knew he needed it, though he had never thought of wanting such a thing. Maybe she needed it, but how could she think he would provide her with the comfort that she so clearly needed. Maybe just fucking maybe the universe had opened its gates for him and an angel had been bestowed upon him, because as his knees gave out and he slumped to the floor, Granger slowing his fall, and everything going black he realised that her around him was the only thing he would ever need.