Heartbreaking Farewells
Draco Malfoy stumbled through the overgrown path leading to his small, secluded home. The air was thick with tension, and the ominous clouds hung low, mirroring the turmoil in his heart. He had seen the Dark Mark—the twisted emblem of death—hovering above their house, and panic had seized him. Hermione, Scorpius—his family—were inside. His breath came in ragged gasps as he sprinted toward the door, the splintered wood yielding to his desperate force. Please, he begged.
The once-beloved bookshelves lay in ruins, their precious contents scattered like forgotten memories. But Draco didn’t care. He had one purpose: to reach them, to ensure their safety. His wand was drawn, trembling in his hand, as he raced up the narrow staircase. The cries of a baby echoed through the hallway—a sound that both comforted and terrified him.
He cautiously walked for what felt like miles, his heart thumping with every step. Part of Draco did not want to continue any further; wanting the illusion to last, even if it was for a few seconds. What was awaiting him past the threshold? Hermione was fine. Scorpius was fine. They were safe. Just how he left them, right? Everything was going to be fine. However, the deafening silence and Scorp’s wails told him otherwise. That’s when it set in. The panic was crashing into him; like a raging storm, waves crashing into one another. It was the unknown. What was awaiting him and the end of the hallway? He had finally reached his destination.
And that’s when he saw her—the love of his life, Hermione Granger—lying motionless on the floor. Her chestnut hair fanned out around her, and her eyes, once filled with determination, now stared vacantly at the ceiling. Her lips, once warm and inviting, were now a lifeless shade of blue. Draco’s heart shattered, falling into a thousand pieces; like sand falling through fingers, with no way of stopping it. Draco was so caught up in his trance, that he didn’t realize the familiar orange-haired body laying a few feet away. Draco was unable to take his eyes of his late wife. It was the screeching of Scorpius’ high-pitched squeal that broke his daze. Scorpius.
Without skipping a beat, he stepped over her, his legs unsteady. In no time, Draco reached his crib. His son wailed, tiny fists clenched, eyes wide with fear. Draco scooped him up, pressing the child against his chest, shielding him from the devastating sight before them. Scorpius’s tears-soaked Draco’s shirt, and he whispered soothing words, though his own heart bled. He had to be brave for his little boy. Shifting him in his arms, Draco slowly made his way down the hallway before venturing down the staircase. As carefully as he could, with the baby tucked safely away in his arms, did he weave his way through the bodies that lay scattered the ground.
As if the heavens were sending down an angel, Harry Potter had appeared at the doorway of their home—a beacon of hope in the darkness. Draco didn’t speak; he couldn’t.
Whatever he wanted to say was caught in his throat. Draco had never experienced anything like it in his entire life. Helplessness? Loss? Despair? Or was it the simple fact that his lifeless wife was laying upstairs. Too overwhelmed, he simply passed Scorpius to Harry, who took the child with a tenderness that belied their past. Harry’s eyes met Draco’s, and they exchanged a silent understanding—take him please. No harm would come to Scorpius on Harry’s watch. He would get him out of there. This was not the place for such an innocent baby.
Harry gave one last fleeting glance at Draco, before apparating out of sight.
Draco ran back to the room, his legs heavy, his vision blurred by tears. Hermione lay there, her body cold and fragile. She looked like a snow angel; almost as if she lay sleeping. The only abnormality was her gazed eyes and the blue paleness of her skin. He sank to his knees beside her, pulling her into his lap. Draco cradled her in his arms. Her skin, once warm and full of life, now chilled him to the bone. He rocked her gently, as if willing life back into her. Silently pleading for her to show him a sign of life. Her features—the curve of her jaw, the freckles across her nose—etched themselves into his memory.
And then Fred and George stumbled through the door. Their eyes widened at the sight, death Eaters littered the floor, debris laying everywhere, Hermione laying in the arms of Draco. George had dropped to the floor beside Draco, placing a hand on his shoulder as silent tears began to freely fall. While Fred remained stoic, the grief clearly evident across his face at the loss of his friend. Both Fred and George had come to know Granger through their time they’d spent in Dumbledore’s army and had gotten along better than expected, sharing a few laughs here and there while being paired up on missions together. Hermione’s seriousness and personality had complemented the twins, and they had enjoyed her company. She was the only person who could tell each other apart, even their own mother could not. Fred had taken to making sure that the room was secure, apart from himself, there was only two other magic signatures, which were George and Draco’s. As Fred’s eyes wandered, he couldn’t help but notice a familiar Wizard His body lying on the floor, his distinctive, famous Weasley orange hair standing out from the rest of the robed wizards.
It was Ron.
But he was wearing a Death Eater robe, a mask lightly grasped in his left hand; death mark just visible, peaking out of the sleave of his robe. Oh no. Fred was going to be sick. The sight makes him want to resurrect him and kill him all over again.
“George, Draco…”
George and Draco jerk their heads in Fred’s direction. What could be so bloody important?
“Fred, what’s wrong? Your awfully pale, mate. All most like you’ve see a ghost…” George trails off.
Fred doesn’t say anything, he just shakes his head and raises a shaky finger towards Ron’s body.
Their eyes travel down his arm and down to the ground, falling onto the silhouette of the younger Weasley. This causes George to shoot up from his place on the ground and Draco’s blood to boil. This was not a good sign. Draco nodded in Fred’s direction, he didn’t care, all he cared about was the body in his arms. George rushed over to a paralyzed Fred and fell next to his younger brother, lifting in in his arms. Tears reappeared in his eyes and his chest tightens, the pain almost unbearable. The twins were supposed to protect him and Ginny, that was their job, besides pranking people and making others laugh of course. They took it very seriously. Sure, they’d played jokes on him and teased him to their hearts content but deep down they loved him and would even risk their lives for him if it ever came down to it. It was too late. They had thought he had just had enough. Maybe he was hiding, or his wand had broken and there was no way of getting in touch. From what Harry and Hermione had told them, he had just walked away and left them there.
It wasn’t until Fred crouched down beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder and muttered about his arm that he looked down and saw the tattoo. It stood out against his pale skin. They had thought wrong. So dreadfully wrong. George got up and ran towards the door, the vast sick feeling overcoming the distain in his stomach. He vomited. This drew Draco’s attention to George
“What the hell, Weasley! What-"
“I... I can’t…”
Draco turned to Fred.
“What is it?”
“He’s one of them. He’s got the mark”.