Who is She?
“Theo, would you shut your trap?! Dolohov is right around the corner,” Pansy whisper-yells to the curly-haired imbecile.
“Just the facts, Pans,” he replies smugly.
“Both of you, respectfully, shut the fuck up!” Draco groans, running his hand over his face.
“For shit’s sake, Draco, live a little.” Theo punches his arm.
“That’s a little difficult to do when the Dark Lord is having your every move monitored by those two numpties,” he mutters under his breath. He didn’t understand why Antonin and Barty were still supervising the trio; Draco and Theo had been working perfectly fine on their own. They supposed that they would just take Pansy along for the ride. Draco had slowly been climbing the ranks over the past year, at a pace that would allow his achievements to go unnoticed by the Order. The last thing he needed was for the group to come and ambush him. (2)
The three had been standing outside their destination for approximately two hours now. They’d been sent to keep watch on the area; the Order would be arriving tonight. They would be here to confront them about the hostages they’d been holding captive, earning them the yawn-inducing chore of guarding the territory that the prisoners would be transferred throughout. It wasn’t easy moving the victims from one place to another without being spotted—the mastermind behind the Order’s work, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had the eyes of a hawk. He always knew exactly where they were, and when. Draco would credit him to that. Otherwise, the man was a complete dolt. “Pans, would you quit that?!” Theo snaps, shooting daggers at the girl.
“What?” She sounds genuinely confused as to what he is talking about.
“Stop moving around so much. I can hear you snapping twigs and stepping on leaves from over here,” he complains again.
“I’m not,” she replies. Shite.
“Don’t move,” Draco commands. The Order is here. He begins to hear the pops of apparition behind him, signalling the other Death Eaters’ arrivals. Dolohov or Crouch must’ve noticed the opposing side’s presence, too. As the dark wizards begin to appear at the scene, the Order members quickly lift their disillusionment charms, coming into view. He scans the group and recognizes their faces: Hannah Abbott, Colin Creevey, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter. Fucking idiots they are, Draco thinks. Sending in a group of four to fight against an avalanche of Death Eaters. He begins firing curses at the quartet, quickly dodging their attacks at the same time. Pansy and Theo have split up, simultaneously attacking from the right and left. Abbott and Potter are slowly sidling towards the warded cages holding the prisoners as spells spark from the ends of their wands. Draco nearly gets hit by a bombarda, rolling to the ground. He takes note of Granger who is hurtling curses and Unforgivables at the small swarm of Death Eaters closing in on her and Creevey, and Potter, who is shouting at her from the side.
“Hermione, what are you doing?! Why are you—” He yells, his voice cutting off as he narrowly misses a green flash of light. Draco points his wand at Creevey, a crucio at the tip of his tongue. He is now in the centre of the battlefield, approaching Granger and Creevey with curses rising at the back of his throat.
“Crucio!” Draco yells, red light emitting from his wand. Creevey falls to the floor, his body convulsing, tremors running through his small figure.
“Shite! Harry, Hannah, get the others to safety! Collin’s been hit!” Granger orders. Draco spins around, noticing the cage has disappeared entirely, along with Potter and Abbott. What the fuck?
“Nott, Parks, how did they get away?! We’re all fucked now!” Draco’s face twists in discontentment before he builds his Occlumency walls back up. Breathe, Draco, he thinks, calming the hurricane unfurling in his mind. He turns to Granger, who is kneeling next to Creevey’s now limp body. He lifts his wand, walking closer and closer until his wand is pointed inches from her chest. “Cruc-”
And his body falls to the floor.
He feels like he's been submerged under water. Who is he?
Flashes of brunette curls and freckles. A familiar scent he can't quite decipher the owner of tickles his nostrils. Honey. Vanilla. Old parchment.
Warmth emanates from the frizzy-haired girl. He wants to touch her, take some of that warmth and use it to thaw his own cold demeanor.
Who is she?
Draco blinks, his vision blurred and distorted. He catches glimpses of dark, curly hair. Shorter than he'd been dreaming of prior. Brown skin contrasting with a pale, gaunt palette. He begins to hear muffled voices, slowly crescendoing into clarity.
"Draco? Draco, can you hear me?" A gentle voice, distinct and grounding among the plethora of panicked shrieks. Astoria. He sits up quickly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his left hand.
"How long was I out for?" His voice comes out hoarse.
"Two days, give or take," Pansy's voice echoes from the hallway. The blood drains from Draco's face.
"She's joking, Drake. You were only out for the remainder of the day yesterday and this morning," Blaise reassures him.
"Don't wet your knickers. Voldy Baby's army hasn't fallen apart in your absence," Theo deadpans. Draco rolls his eyes as the brunette sticks his tongue out at him, blowing his raspberry like a child. Draco stands up from the heavily cushioned bed he'd been resting on, reaching for his wand.
"What happened to me? What caused this?" He asks, furrowing his brow.
"I think it's more a matter of who," Theo says.
"Wha-?" His voice is cut off by Pansy, who returns from down the corridor with his Death Eater mask and robes covered in blood.
"Take a look at this." She tosses the clothing to him, nodding at the mask in particular. And there, inscribed in the surface of the porcelain, is what makes him stumble backwards onto the mattress again.
H.J.G